HEATH. 



escape the society in which he has found only disappoint- 

 ment. Such an one Wordsworth has portrayed, — 



" He was one who owned 

 No common soul. In youth by science nursed, 

 And led by Nature into a wild scene 

 Of lofty hopes, he to the world went forth 

 A favoured being, knowing no desire 

 Which genius did not hallow, — 'gainst the taint 

 Of dissolute tongues, and jealousy and hate, , 



And scorn, — against all enemies prepared, 

 All but neglect. The world, for so it thought, 

 Owed him no service : wherefore he at once 

 With indignation turned himself away. 

 And with the food of pride sustained his soul 

 In Solitude. Stranger ! these gloomy boughs 

 Had charms for him ; and here he loved to sit, 

 ****** 



And on these barren rocks, with juniper, 

 And Heath, and thistle, thinly sprinkled o'er. 

 Fixing his downcast eye, he many an hour 

 A morbid pleasure nourished, tracing here 

 An emblem of his own unfruitful life ; 

 ****** 



* * * and so, lost man ! 



On visionary views would fancy feed, 

 Till his eye streamed with tears." 



To him the barren Heath was soHtude indeed ; but not less 

 may it be found in the crowded streets, thronged with myriads, 

 of human beings, bent each one upon his pursuit after plea- 

 sure or business, seeking how he may carry out his plans for 

 self or others : there we may pass along undisturbed, our 

 thoughts concentrated upon the subject of our reflections, 



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