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It is a weary and a bitter hour When first the real disturbs the poet's world, And he distrusts the future. Not for that Should cold despondency weigh down the soul: It is a glorious gift, bright poetry, And should be thankfully and nobly used. Let it look up to heaven!

" is earlier than I thought," said Walter Maynard, as the sound of one of the French clocks disturbed the gloomy revery in which he had been plunged; "but I have not spirits to go out. Every day I feel more and more disinclined to the least exertion; and yet I never was in a position that demanded it