From Country to Town: Continued

'Tis strange to me, who long have seen no face, .-
That was not like a book, whose every page
I knew by heart, a kindly common-place,
And faithful record of progressive age, —
To wander forth, and view an unknown race ; a.
Of all that I have been, to find no trace,
No footstep of my by-gone pilgrimage.
Thousands I pass, and no one stays his pace a-
To tell me that the day is fair, or rainy ;
Each one his object seeks with anxious chase,
And I have not a common hope with any :
Thus like one drop of oil upon a flood,
In uncommunicating solitude,
Single am I amid the countless many.