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LYRICAL BALLADS,

WITH

PASTORAL

AND

OTHER POEMS.

Pectus enim id est quod disertos facit, et vis mentis; ideoque imperitis quoque, si modo sint aliquo affectu concitati, verba non desunt.

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EXPOSTULATION

AND

REPLY.

Why, William, on that old gray stones Thus for the length of half a day,

Why, William, sit you thus alone,
And dream your

time

away ?

Where are your books ?-that light bequeath'd To beings else forlorn and blind! * Up! up! and drink the spirit breath'd - From dead men to their kind,

“ You look round on your mother earth, « As if she for no purpose

bore

you; “ As if you were her first-born birth, “ And none had lived before you!"

One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake,
When life was sweet, I knew not why,
To me my good friend Matthew spake,
And thus I made reply:

« The

eye

it cannot choose but see; “ We cannot bid the ear be still ; "Our bodies feel, where'er they be, “ Against, or with our will.

« Nor less I deem that there are powers " Which of theniselves our minds impress; “ That we can feed this mind of ours « In a wise passiveness.

“ Think you, mid all this mighty sum
“Of things for ever speaking,
That nothing of itself will come,
“But we must still be seeking ?

"Then ask not wherefore, here, alone, “ Conversing as I may, " I sit upon

this old gray stone, “ And dream my time away."

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