Volume Iii Part 74 (1/2)

THE TABLES TURNED An Evening Scene On The Same Subject

Up! up! my friend, and quit your books; Or surely you'll grow double: Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks; Why all this toil and trouble?

The sun, above the mountain's head, A freshening l.u.s.ter mellow Through all the long green fields has spread, His first sweet evening yellow.

Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life There's more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!

He, too, is no mean preacher: Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth, Our minds and hearts to bless-- Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health, Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; Our meddling intellect Misshapes the beauteous forms of things:-- We murder to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art; Close up those barren leaves; Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives.

William Wordsworth [1770-1850]

SIMPLE NATURE

Be it not mine to steal the cultured flower From any garden of the rich and great, Nor seek with care, through many a weary hour, Some novel form of wonder to create.

Enough for me the leafy woods to rove, And gather simple cups of morning dew, Or, in the fields and meadows that I love, Find beauty in their bells of every hue.

Thus round my cottage floats a fragrant air, And though the rustic plot be humbly laid, Yet, like the lilies gladly growing there, I have not toiled, but take what G.o.d has made.

My Lord Ambition pa.s.sed, and smiled in scorn; I plucked a rose, and, lo! it had no thorn.

George John Romanes [1848-1894]

”I FEAR NO POWER A WOMAN WIELDS”

I fear no power a woman wields While I can have the woods and fields, With comrades.h.i.+p alone of gun, Gray marsh-wastes and the burning sun.

For aye the heart's most poignant pain Will wear away 'neath hail and rain, And rush of winds through branches bare With something still to do and dare,--

The lonely watch beside the sh.o.r.e, The wild-fowl's cry, the sweep of oar, The paths of virgin sky to scan Untrod, and so uncursed by man.

Gramercy, for thy haunting face, Thy charm of voice and lissome grace, I fear no power a woman wields While I can have the woods and fields.

Ernest McGaffey [1861-

A RUNNABLE STAG