The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.

His high endeavours are an inward light That makes the path before him always bright.

How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land!

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

A lawyer art thou? Draw not nigh! Go, carry to some fitter place The keenness of that practised eye, The hardness of that sallow face.

Lady of the Mere, Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.

Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.