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For, from this pregnant spot of ground, such thoughts
Rise to the notice of a serious Mind
By natural exhalation. With the Dead
In their repose, the Living in their mirth,
Who can reflect, unmoved, upon the round
Of smooth and solemnized complacencies,
By which, on Christian Lands from age to age
Profession mocks Performance. Earth is sick,
And heaven is weary, of the hollow words
Which States and Kingdoms utter when they talk
Of truth and justice. Turn to private life
And social neighbourhood; look we to ourselves;
A light of duty shines on every day
For all; and yet how few are warmed or cheered!
How few who mingle with their fellow-men
And still remain self-governed, and apart,
Like this our honoured friend; and thence acquire
Right to expect his vigorous decline,
That promises to the end a blest old age!"
"Yet," with a smile of triumph thus exclaimed
The Solitary, "In the life of Man,
If to the poetry of common speech
