THE HERMIT OF MELVERN WATER 309
More blest than he who, doomed to roam
'Midst jostling crowds, can find no brother, Town on all sides, yet ne'er a home ; Where each lives for himself in gloom, None for another.
��THE GAY.
I've seen him stroll with thumb- worn book
At least five miles from any house. And for whole hours he'll stand and look In the bright waters of the brook, Still as a mouse.
Sure no Narcissus glances back !
That leathern skin and visage weird Might almost turn the waters black. How hooked his nose ! How crooked his back ! What frowsy beard !
��THE GRAVE.
Lovely to see, in streamlet fair,
Wisdom beholding its own face ! Gleams back no hatred, no despair ; Smiles only are reflected there. And virtue's grace.
��THE GAY.
What an unthrifty life he leads !
But one small patch of beans and peas ! He plants a few poor garden seeds. His radish beds are full of weeds, His own of fleas.
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