If thou art beautiful, and youth and thought endue thee with all truth-be strong;--be worthy of the grace of God.

The child shall become father to the man.

But hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity.

Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives.

He murmurs near the running brooks A music sweeter than their own.

And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.

I have said that poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity: the emotion is contemplated till, by a species of reaction, the tranquillity gradually disappears, and an emotion, kindred to that which was before the subject of contemplation, is gradually produced, and does itself actually exist in the mind.