’Twas on a sunny summer day I trod a mighty city’s street, And when I started on my way My heart was full of fancies sweet; But soon, as nothing could be seen, But countenances sharp and keen, Nought heard or seen around but told Of something bought or something sold, And none that seemed to think or care That any save himself was there,— Full soon my heart began to sink With a strange shame and inward pain, For I was sad within to think Of this absorbing love of gain, And various thoughts my bosom tost; When suddenly my path there crossed, Locked hand in hand with one another, A little maiden and her brother— A little maiden, and she wore Around her waist a pinafore. And hand in hand along the street This pretty pair did softly go, And as they went, their little feet Moved in short even steps and slow: It was a sight to see and bless, That little sister’s tenderness; One hand a tidy basket bore Of flowers and fruit—a chosen store, Such as kind friends oft send to others— And one was fastened in her brother’s. It was a voice of meaning sweet, And spake amid that scene of strife Of home and homely duties meet, And charities of daily life; And often, should my spirit fail, And under cold strange glances quail, ’Mid busy shops and busier throng, That speed upon their ways along The thick and crowded thoroughfare, I’ll call to mind that little pair. 1836 _THE THREAD OF TRUTH._ Truth is a golden thread, seen here and there In small bright specks upon the visible side Of our strange being’s party-coloured web. How rich the converse! ’Tis a vein of ore Emerging now and then on Earth’s rude breast, But flowing full below. Like islands set At distant intervals on Ocean’s face, We see it on our course; but in the depths The mystic colonnade unbroken keeps Its faithful way, invisible but sure. Oh, if it be so, wherefore do we men Pass by so many marks, so little heeding? 1839 _REVIVAL._ So I went wrong, Grievously wrong, but folly crushed itself, And vanity o’ertoppling fell, and time And healthy discipline and some neglect, Labour and solitary hours revived Somewhat, at least, of that original frame. Oh, well do I remember then the days When on some grassy slope (what time the sun Was sinking, and the solemn eve came down With its blue vapour upon field and wood And elm-embosomed spire) once more again I fed on sweet emotion, and my heart With love o’erflowed, or hushed itself in fear Unearthly, yea celestial. Once again My heart was hot within me, and, me seemed, I too had in my body breath to wind The magic horn of song; I too possessed Up-welling in my being’s depths a fount Of the true poet-nectar whence to fill The golden urns of verse. 1839 _THE SHADY LANE._