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 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
No. V.—NEVER ALONE.
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
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 XI. 
 XII. 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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132

No. V.—NEVER ALONE.

Alone? alone? I'm never alone!
Ten thousand spirits walk with me,
Over the street and its flinty stone,
Over the sands of the rolling sea,
Through the quiet woodland, blithe with birds,
And the purple moor where the plover cries;
Through meadows speck'd with flocks and herds,
By lakes that mirror the evening skies.
High on the mountain's icy crest,
And down, down 'mid the dust below,
Companions come at my soul's behest,
And hover about me where'er I go.

133

'Tis only in the midst of men,
Their hatreds, meannesses, and spites,
Their sneering scorn, their jests forlorn,
Their base, unmannerly delights,
That I feel the weight of Solitude,
And pine for the moorlands bleak and wild,
For the freshening balms of the pathless wood,
Or the prattle of a little child;—
I long to fly to the ends of the Earth,
Into communion of mine own,
Anywhere out of their dreary mirth,—
Alone—alone—but never alone!