And this reft house is that the which he built

And what if all of animated nature Be but organic harps diversly fram'd, That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweeps Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze, At once the Soul of each, and God of All?

Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade, Death came with friendly care; The opening bud to heaven conveyed, And bade it blossom there.

Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn.

A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw

O! I do love thee, meek Simplicity!

Poor little foal of an oppressèd race! I love the languid patience of thy face.