O reader! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle reader! you would find A tale in everything. What more I have to say is short, And you must kindly take it; It is no tale; but, should you think, Perhaps a tale you'll make it. One summer-day I chanced to see This old man doing all he could To unearth the root of an old tree, A stump of rotten wood. The mattock totter'd in his hand So vain was his endeavour That at the root of the old tree He might have work'd for ever. "You're overtask'd, good Simon Lee, Give me your tool," to him I said; And at the word right gladly he Received my proffer'd aid. I struck, and with a single blow The tangled root I sever'd, At which the poor old man so long And vainly had endeavour'd. The tears into his eyes were brought, And thanks and praises seem'd to run So fast out of his heart, I thought They never would have done. --I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds With coldness still returning; Alas! the gratitude of men Has oftener left me mourning. W. WORDSWORTH. 220. THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES. I have had playmates, I have had companions In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I have been laughing, I have been carousing, Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I loved a Love once, fairest among women: Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her-- All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man: Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly; Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces. Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhood, Earth seem'd a desert I was bound to traverse, Seeking to find the old familiar faces. Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling? So might we talk of the old familiar faces, How some they have died, and some they have left me, And some are taken from me; all are departed; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. C. LAMB. 221. THE JOURNEY ONWARDS. As slow our ship her foamy track Against the wind was cleaving, Her trembling pennant still look'd back To that dear isle 'twas leaving. So loth we part from all we love, From all the links that bind us; So turn our hearts, as on we rove, To those we've left behind us!