Thus for the length of half-a-day,
Why, William, sit you thus alone,
And dream your time away?
"'Where are your books? that light bequeathed
To beings else forlorn and blind!
Up! up! and drink the spirit breathed
From dead men to their kind.
"'You look round on your mother earth,
As if she for no purpose bore you;
As if you were her first-born birth,