Prompt to move but firm to wait - knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.

The common growth of Mother Earth Suffices me,-her tears, her mirth, Her humblest mirth and tears.

Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow; The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow!

Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain That has been, and may be again.

Science appears but what in truth she is, Not as our glory and our absolute boast, But as a succedaneum, and a prop To our infirmity.

At length the man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day.

Ten thousand saw I at a glance, tossing their heads in sprightly dance.