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The pious man, 

 In ttis "bad world, when mists and couch ant storms, 

 Hide Heaven's fine circlet, springs aloft in faith 

 Above the clouds that threat him, to the fields 

 Of ether, where the day is never veiled 

 With intervening vapours ; and looks down 

 Serene upon tlie troublous sea, that hides 

 The earth's fair breast, that sea whose nether face 

 To grovelling mortals frowns and darkens all ; 

 But on whose billov/y back, from man concealed 

 The glaring sunbeam plays. 



III. 



Lo ! on the eastern summit, clad in gray, 

 Morn, like a horseman girt for travel, comes *, 

 And from his tower of mist, 

 Ki^ht's watchman hurries down. 



IV. 



There was a little bird upon that pile ,' 



It perched upon a ruined pinnacle, 



And made sweet melody. 



The song was soft, yet cheerful and most clear, 



For other note none swelled the air but his. 



It seemed as if the little chorister, 



Sole tenant of the melancholy pile. 



Were a lone hermit, outcast from his kind. 



Yet withal cheerful. — I have heard the note 



Echoing so lonely o'er the aisle forlorn, 



Much musing — 



