e is a property in the horizon which no man has
but he whose eye can integrate all the parts--that is, the poet. This is
the best part of these men's farms, yet to this their warranty-deeds
give no title.

_II.--HER DELIGHT_

In the presence of Nature a wild delight runs through the man in spite
of real sorrow. Not the sun or the summer alone, but every hour and
season yields its tribute of delight; for every hour and change
corresponds to and authorises a different state of mind, from breathless
noon to grimmest midnight. Crossing a bare common, in snow puddles, at
twilight, under a clouded sky, without having in my thoughts any
occurrence of special good fortune, I have enjoyed a perfect
exhilaration. I am glad to the brink of fear. In the woods, too, a man
casts off his years as the snake his slough, and at what period soever
of life is always a child. Within these plantations of God a decorum and
sanctity reign, a perennial festival is dressed, and the guest sees not
how he should tire of them in a thousand years. Standing on the bare
ground, my head bathed in the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite
space, all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eyeball; I am
nothing; I see all; the currents of universal being circulate through
me; I am a part or particle of God. I am the lover of uncontained and
immortal beauty.

Yet it is certain that the power to produce this delight does not reside
in Nature, but in man, or in a harmony of both. It is necessary to use
these pleasures with great temperance. For Nature is not always tricked
in holiday attire, but the same scene which yesterday breathed perfume
and glittered as for the frolic of nymphs is overspread with melancholy
to-day. Nature always wears the colours of the spirit.

The misery of man appears like childish petulance when we explore the
steady and prodigal provision that has been made for his support and
delight on this green ball which floats him through the heavens. All the
parts incessantly work into each other's hands for the profit of man.
The wind sows the seed; the sun evaporates the sea; the wind blows the
vapour to the field; the ice on the other side of the planet condenses
the rain on this; the plant feeds the animal; and thus the endless
circulations of the divine charity nourish man.

The useful arts are reproductions or new combinations by the wit of man
of the same natural benefactors. The private poor man hath cities,
ships,