In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.

Recognizes ever and anon The breeze of Nature stirring in his soul.

Because the good old rule Sufficeth them,-the simple plan, That they should take who have the power, And they should keep who can.

This solitary Tree! a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay; Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed.

The moving accident is not my trade; To freeze the blood I have no ready arts: 'Tis my delight, alone in summer shade, To pipe a simple song for thinking hearts.

Minds that have nothing to confer Find little to perceive.

Where is it now, the glory and the dream?