ARGUMENT OF THE SIXTH BOOK. Bells at a distance.-Their effect.-A fine noon in winter. A sheltered walk.-Meditation better than books. Our familiarity with the course of nature makes it appear less wonderful than it is. The transformation that spring effects in a shrubbery discribed.--A mistake concerning the course of nature Corrected.--God maintains it by an unremitted act. The amusements fashionable at this hour of the day reproved.—Animals happy, a delightful sight.-Origin of cruelty to animals. That it is a great crime proved from scrip. ture. That proof illustrated by a tale.-A line drawn between the lawful and unlawful destruc tion of them. Their good and useful properties insisted on.- Apology for the encomiums bestowed by the author on animals.-Instances of man's extravagant praise of man.—The groans of the creation shall have an end. A view taken of the restoration of all things.-An invocation and an invitation of him who shall bring it to pass.-The retired man vindicated from the charge of useless ness. Conclusion, The Task. BOOK VI. THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. THERE is in souls a sympathy with sounds, And as the mind is pitched the car is pleased With melting airs of martial, brisk or grave; Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touched within us, and the heart replies. How soft the music of those village bells, Falling at intervals upon the ear In cadence sweet, now dying all away, Now pealing loud again, and louder still Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on! With easy force it opens all the cells Where Memory slept. Wherever I have heard A kindred melody, the scene recurs, And with it all its pleasures and its pains. Such comprehensive views the spirit takes, That in a few short inoments I retrace (As in a map the voyager his course) The windings of my way through many years. Short as in retrospect the journey seems, When most severe and mustering all its force, But not to understand a treasure's worth, And makes the world the wilderness it is. The few that pray at all pray oft amiss, The night was winter in its roughest mood; And where the woods fence off the northern blast, And has the warmth of May. The vault is blue The walk, still verdant, under oaks and elms, The frequent flakes has kept a path for me. With slender notes, and more than half suppressed; From spray to spray, where'er he rests he shakes |