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O winged bark! how swift along the night 0 206. Song Love. COLERIDGE.
Pass'd thy proud keel ! nor shall I let go by All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Lightly of that drear hour the memory, . Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
When wet and chilly on thy deck I stood, Are all but ministers of Love,
Unbonneted, and gazed upon the flood,

And feed his sacred flame.
Even till it seem'd a pleasant thing to die,- of in my waking dreams do I
To be resolv'd into th' elemental wave,
Or take my portion with the winds that rave. When midway on the mount I lay,

Live o'er again that happy hour,

Beside the ruin's tower. 8 203. Sonnet written under the Engraving The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene,

of a Portrait of Rafael, painted by himself Had blended with the lights of eve; when he was young. L. Hunt.

And she was there, my hope, my joy,' RAFAEL ! It must be he; we only miss [fair; My own dear Genevieve! Something which manhood gave him, and the She leant against the armed man, A look still sweeter and more thoughtful air ; The statue of the armed knight; But for the rest, 'tis every feature his,

She stood and listen'd to my lay,
The oval cheek, clear eye, mouth made to kiss,

Amid the lingering light.
Terse, lightsome chin, and flush of gentle hair
Clipped ere it loitered into ringlets there,

Few sorrows hath she of her own,
The beauty, the benignity, the bliss. · My hope ! my joy ! my Genevieve!
How sweetly sure he looks ! how unforlorn!

She loves me best, whene'er I sing There is but one such visage at a time;

The songs that make her grieve, 'Tis like the budding of an age new born, I play'd a soft and doleful air, Remembered youth, the cuckoo in the prime, I sang an old and moving storyThe maid's first kiss, or any other thing An old rude song, that suited well Most lovely, and alone, and promising.

That ruin

wild and hoary.

She listen'd with a flitting blush, 204. Sonnet. The Nile. L. Hunt. With downcast eyes and modest grace, It flows through old hushed Ægypt and its

For well she knew, I could not choose sands,


But gazę upon her face,
Like some grave, mighty thought threading a I told her of the Knight that wore
And times and things, as in that vision, seem Upon his shield a burning brand ;
Keeping along it their eternal stands,–

And that for ten long years he woo'd
Caves, pillars, pyramids, the shepherd bands The Lady of the Land.
That roamed through the young world, the I told her how he pin'd; and, ah !
glory extreme

The deep, the low, the pleading tone
Of high Sesostris, and that Southern beam, With which I sang another's love,
The laughing queen that caught the world's Interpreted my own.
great hands.

She listen'd with a flitting blush,
Then comes a mightier silence, stern and strong, With downcast eyes, and modest grace;
As of a world left empty of its throng,

And she forgave me, that I gazed
And the void weighs on us; and then we wake,
And hear the fruitful stream lapsing along

Too fondly on her face!

But when I told the cruel scorn ?Twixt villages, and think how we shall take Our own calm journey on for human sake,

That craz'd that bold and lovely Knight,

And that he cross'd the mountain-woods, 0 205. Sonnet. On a sequestered Rivulet.

Nor rested day nor night;
CORNWALL, That sometimes from the savage den,

And sometimes from the darksome shade, THERE is no river in the world more sweet,

And sometimes starting up at once Or fitter for a sylván poet's dream,

In green and sunny glade, Than this romantic, solitary stream,

There came and look'd him in the face Over whose banks so many branches meet,

An angel beautiful and bright; Entangling :-a more shady bower or neat

And that he knew it was a fiend,
Was never fashioned in a summer dream,

This miserable Knight!
Where Nymph or Naiad from the hot sunbeam
Might hide, or in the waters cool her feet. And that, unknowing what he did,
-A lovelier rivulet was never seen

He 'leap'd amid a murderous band, Wandering amidst Italian meadows, where And sav'd from outrage worse than death Clitumnus lapses from his fountain fair;

The Lady of the Land ! Nor in that land where gods, 'tis said, have And how she wept, and clasp'd his knees, been;

And how she tended him in vain ;
Yet there Cephisus ran through olives green, And ever strove to expiate
And on its banks Aglaia bound her hair.

The scorn that craz'd his brain ;

to' me;

And that she nursed him in a cave;

Stranger. And how his madness went away,

They've set about it When on the yellow forest-leaves

In right good earnest. All the front is gone; A dying man he lay ;

Here's to be turf, they tell me, and a road His dying words—but when I reach'd Round to the door. There were some yew That tenderest strain of all the ditty,

trees too My faltering voice and pausing harp

Stood in the court-
Disturb'd her soul with pity!

Old Man.
All impulses of soul and sense

Ay, Master ! fine old trees ! Had thrill'd my guileless Genevieve; My grandfather could just remember back The music, and the doleful tale,

When they were planted there. It was my task The rich and balmy eve;

To keep them trimmd, and 'twas a pleasure And hopes, and fears that kindle hope,

(wall ! An undistinguishable throng,

All straight and smooth, and like a great green And gentle wishes long subdued,

My poor old Lady many a time would come Subdued and cherish'd long !

And tell me where to shear, for she had play'd

In childhood under them, and 'twas her pride She wept with pity and delight,

To keep them in their beauty. Plague, I say, She blush'd with love and virgin shame;

On their new-fangled whimsies ! we shall have And, like the murmur of a dream, I heard her breathe my name.

A modern shrubbery here stuck full of firs

And your pert poplar trees ;-I could as soon Her bosom heav'd-she stept aside,

Have plough'd my father's grave as cut them As conscious of my look she stept

down! Then suddenly, with timorous eye

She fled to me and wept.

But 'twill be lighter and more cheerful now; She half enclosed me with her arms, A fine smooth turf, and with a gravel road She press'd me with a meek embrace;

Round for the carriage, now it suits my taste. And, bending back her head, look'd up,

I like a shrubbery too, it looks so fresh;
And gazed upon my face.

And then there's some variety about it. 'Twas partly love, and partly fear,

In spring the lilac and the snow-ball flower, And partly 'twas a bashful art,

And the laburnum, with its golden strings That I might rather feel, than see,

Waving in the wind : and when the autumn The swelling of her heart. I calm'd her fears, and she was calm,

The bright red berries of the mountain-ash, And told her love with virgin pride.

With pines enough in winter to look green, And so I won my Genevieve,

And show that something lives. Sure this is My bright and beauteous bride.


Than a great hedge of yew that makes it look 0 207. Eclogue. The Old Mansion-House. All the year round like winter, and for ever

SOUTHEY. Dropping its poisonous leaves from the under Stranger.

boughs OLD friend! why, you seem bent on parish duty, Wither'd and bare ! Breaking the highway stones,—and 'tis a task

Old Man. Somewhat too hard, methinks for age like yours!

Ah! so the new Squire thinks, Old Man.

And pretty work he makes of it! what 'tis Why yes ! for one with such a weight of years

To have a stranger come to an old house! Upon his back—I've lived here, man and boy,

In this same parish, well nigh the full age
Of man, being hard upon threescore and ten. It seems you know him not?
I can remember, sixty years ago,

Old Man.
The beautifying of this mansion here,

No, sir ; not I. When my late Lady's father, the old Squire, They tell me he's expected daily now; Came to the estate,

But in my Lady's time he never came

for they were very distant kin. Why then you have outlasted If he had play'd about here when a child All his improvements; for you see they're In that fore court, and eat the yew-berries, making

And sate in the porch threading the jessamine Great alterations here.

flowers Old Man.

Which fell so thick, he had not had the heart

To mar all thus !
Ay-great indeed!
And if my poor old Lady could rise up

God rest her soul !—'twould grieve her to behold

Come-come! all is not wrong i The wicked work is here

Those old, dark windows,


But once,

Old Man.

They must fall too. Well! well! I did not think They're demolish'd too,-|To live to see all this, and 'tis perhaps As if he could not see through casement glass ! A comfort I sha’n't live to see it long. The very red-breasts, that so regular Came to my Lady for her morning crums.

Stranger. Wo'n't know the window now!

Bụt sure all changes are not needs for the worse,

My friend?

Old Man.
Nay, they were small,
And then so darkend round with jessamine,

Mayhap they mayn't, sir ;-for all that,

I like what I've been used to. I remember Harboring the vermin ;—yet I could have

All this from a child up, and now to lose it, wish'd That jessamine had been saved, which canopied As 'twas ; – I go abroad, and only meet

'T'is losing an old friend. There's nothing left And bower'd and lined the porch.

With men whose fathers I remember boys; Old Man.

The brook that used to run before my door,

It did one good That's gone to the great pond; the trees I learnt T'o pass within ten yards when 'twas in blossom. To climb are down; and I see nothing now There was a sweet briar, too, that grew beside ; That tells me of old times,-except the stones My Lady loved at evening to sit there In the church-yard. You are young, sir, and, I And knit; and her old dog lay at her feet,

hope, And slept in the sun;, 'twas an old favorite Have many years in store,—but pray to God dog,

You mayn't be left the last of all your friends. She did not love him less that he was old And feeble, and he always had a place

Stranger, By the fire-side; and when he died at last

Well! well ! you've one friend more than She made me dig a grave in the garden for him. you're aware of.

(warrant Ah! she was good to all! a woeful day

If the Squire's taste don't suit with yours, I 'Twas for the poor when to her grave she went! That's all you'll quarrel with: walk in and taste

His beer, old friend ! and see if your old Lady Stranger.

Ere broach'd a better cask. You did not know They lost a friend then ?

meOld Man.

But we're acquainted now. 'Twould not be easy You're a stranger here, To make you like the outside ; but within, Or you wouldn't ask that question. Were That is not changed, my friend! you'll always

find they sick ? She had rare cordial waters, and for herbs

The same old bounty and old welcome there. She could have taught the doctors. Then at winter,

0 208. To H. C.-Six years old. When weekly she distributed the bread

WORDSWORTH. In the poor old porch, to see her and to hear O THOU! whose fancies from afar are brought! The blessings on her! and I warrant them Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel, They were a blessing to her when her wealth And fittest to unutterable thought Had been no comfort else. At Christmas, sir! The breeze-like motion and the self-born carol; · It would have warm'd your heart if you had seen Thou fairy voyager ! that dost float Her Christinas kitchen,-how the blazing fire In such clear water, that thy boat Made her fine pewter shine, and holly boughs May rather seem So cheerful red,-and as for mistleoe, - To brood on air than on an earthly stream; The finest bough that grew in the country Suspended in a stream as clear as sky, [gery; round

[went Where earth and heaven do make one imaWas mark'd for Madam. Then her old ale o blessed vision! happy child'! So bountiful about ! a Christmas cask, That art so exquisitely wild, And 'twas a noble one!-God help me, sir! I think of thee with many fears But I shall never see such days again. For what may be thy lot in future years. Stranger.

I thought of times when Pain might be thy

guest, Things may be better yet than you suppose,

Lord of thy house and hospitality;
And you should hope the best.

And Grief, uneasy lover! never rest
Old Man.

But when she sate within the touch of thee.

It don't look well,- Oh! too industrious folly! These alterations, sir ! I'm an old man, Oh! vain and causeless melancholy! And love the good old fashions; we don't find Nature will either end thee quite; Old bounty in new houses. They've destroy'd Or, lengthening out thy season of delight, All that my Lady loved ! her favorite walk Preserve for thee, by individual right, Grubb'd up,—and they do say that the great row A young lamb's heart among the full-grown Of elms behind the house, which meet a-top, flocks.

VOL. vi. Nos. 91 & 92.


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What hast thou to do with sorrow,

A month or more hath she been dead,
Or the injuries of to-morrow? [forth, Yet cannot I by force be led
Thou art a dew-drop, which the morn brings To think upon the wormy bed,
Not framed to undergo unkindly shocks,

And her together.
Or to be trailed along the soiling earth;

A springy motion in her gait,
A gem that glitters while it lives,

A rising step, did indicate
And no forewarning gives;

Of pride and joy no common rate,
But, at the touch of wrong, without a strife,

That flush'd her spirit,
Slips in a moment out of life.

I know not by what name beside
$ 209. Lines written while sailing in a Boat I shall it call :—if-'twas not pride,
at Evening. WORDSWORTH. It was a joy to that allied,

,' She did inherit.
How richly glows the water's breast
Before us, tinged with evening hues, Her parents held the Quaker rule,
While, facing thus the crimson west,

Which doth the human feeling cool,
The boat her silent course pursues !

But she was train'd in Nature's school;
And see how dark the backward stream!

Nature had bless'd her.
A little moment pass'd so smiling!

A waking eye, a prying mind,
And still, perhaps, with faithless gleam,

A heart that stirs, is hard to bind,
Some other loiterers beguiling.

A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind,
Such views the youthful bard allure;

Ye could not Hester.
But, heedless of the following gloom,

My sprightly neighbor, gone before
He deems their colours shall endure

To that unknown and silent shore,
Till peace go with him to the tomb.
And let him nurse his fond deceit,

Shall we not meet, as heretofore,
And what if he must die in sorrow!

Some summer morning,
Who would not cherish dreams so sweet, When from thy cheerful eyes a ray
Though grief and pain may come to-morrow? Hath struck a bliss upon the day,

A bliss that would not go away,
$ 210. Remembrance of Collins, composed A sweet fore-warning
upon the Thames, near Richmond.

0 212. The old familiar Faces. LAMB.
GLIDE gently, thus for ever glide,
O Thames! that other bards may see

I HAVE had playmates, I have had companions, As lovely visions by thy side

In my days of childhood, in my joyful schoolAs now, fair river! come to me.

O glide, fair stream ! for ever so,

All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
Thy quiet soul on all bestowing,
Till all our minds for ever flow,

I have been laughing, I have been carousing,
As thy deep waters now are flowing.

Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cro-'
Vain thought !-Yet be as now thou art,
That in thy waters may be seen

All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
The image of a poet's heart,

I loved a love once, fairest among women!
How bright, how solemn, how serene ! Closed are her doors on me, I must not see
Such as did once the poet bless,

Who, murmuring here a later ditty, All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
Could find no refuge from distress
But in the milder grief of pity.

I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man;

Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly ;
Now let us, as we float along,

Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces,
For him suspend the dashing oar;
And pray that never child of song.

Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my
May know that poet's sorrows more.

childhood. How calm' how still! the only sound,

Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse,
The dripping of the oar suspended !

Seeking to find the old familiar faces.
-The evening darkness gathers round, Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother,
By virtue's holiest powers attended.

Why wert not thou born in my father's dwell

ing? 0 211. Hester. LAMB.

So might we talk of the old familiar faces-
WHEN maidens such as Hester die,

How some they have died, and some they have
Their place ye may not well supply,
Though ye among a thousand try,

And some are taken from me; all are departed;
With vain endeavor.

All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.


left me,


II. 0 213. The common Lot. MONTGOMERY.

Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's Once, in the flight of ages past,


[shed, There lived a man :-and who was HE?

Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are -Mortal! howe'er thy lot be cast,

Shook from the tangled boughs of heaven and That man tesembled thee.

ocean, Unknown the region of his birth,

Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread The land in which he died unknown :

On the blue surface of thine airy surge, His name has perished from the earth,

Like the bright hair uplifted from the head This truth survives alone :

Of some fierce mænad, even from the dim verge That joy and grief, and hope and fear, Of the horizon to the zenith's height, [dirge Alternate triumph'd in his breast;

The locks of the approaching storm. Thou His bliss and woe,-a smile, a tear!

Of the dying year, to which this closing night -Oblivion hides the rest.

Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, The bounding pulse, the languid limb, Vaulted with all thy congregated might The changing spirits' rise and fall;

Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere We know that these were felt by him,

Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst ; 0; For these are felt by all.

hear! He suffer'd,—but his pangs are o'er;

III. Enjoy'd,—but bis delights are fled;

Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams Had friends,-his friends are now no more ; And foes,-his foes are dead.

The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,

Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams, He loved, but whom he loved the grave

Beside a pumice isle in Baiæ's bay,
Hath lost in its unconscious womb:

And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
O she was fair :--but nought could save
Her beauty from the tomb.

Quivering within the wave's intenser day,

All overgrown with azure moss and flowers He saw whatever thou hast seen;

So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! thou Encounter'd all that troubles thee :

For whose path the Atlantic's level powers He was—whatever thou hast been; He is what thou shalt be.

Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below

The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear The rolling seasons, day and night,

The sapless foliage of the ocean, know
Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and main,
Erewhile his portion, life and light,

Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear, To him exist in vain.

And tremble, and despoil themselves : 0, hear! The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye

That once their shades and glory threw, If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
Have left in yonder silent sky

If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
No vestige where they few.

A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share The annals of the human race,

The impulse of thy strength, only less free Their ruins since the world began,

Than thou, 0, uncontrollable ! if even Of him afford no other trace

I were as in my boyhood, and could be Than this,—THERE LIVED A MAN!

The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven,

As then, when to outstrip thy skyey speed $ 214. Ode to the West Wind. SHELLEY. Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne'er have I.

striven O, Wild West Wind, thou breath of autumn's As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. being,

[dead Oh! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud! Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed : Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter flee- A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowing,


[proud. Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, One too like thee : tameless, and swift, and Pestilence-stricken multitudes : 0 thou, Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, What if my leaves are falling like its own! Each like a corpse within its grave, until The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Thine azure sister of the spring shall blow

Will take from both a deep autumnal tone, Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit fierce, (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) My spirit! be thou me, impetuous one ! With living hues and odours plain and hill:

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Wild spirit which art moving every where; Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth' Destroyer and preserver; hear, o hear! And, by the incantation of this verse,


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