So didst thou travel on life's common way,
In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart
The lowliest duties on herself did lay.

ON THE DEPARTURE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT
FROM ABBOTSFORD FOR NAPLES

A TROUBLE, not of clouds, or weeping rain,
Nor of the setting sun's pathetic light
Engendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height:
Spirits of Power, assembled there, complain
For kindred Power departing from their sight;
While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain,
Saddens his voice again and yet again.

Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners! for the might
Of the whole world's good wishes with him goes;
Blessings and prayers, in nobler retinue

Than sceptred king or laurelled conqueror knows,
Follow this wondrous Potentate.

Be true,

Ye winds of ocean, and the midland sea,
Wafting your Charge to soft Parthenope!

5

THE SOLITARY REAPER

BEHOLD her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!

Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen for the vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.

5

No nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:

A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings?
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:

Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?

Some natural sorrow, loss or pain,
That has been, and may be again?

Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending;-
I listened, motionless and still;

And, as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore,

10

15

20

25

30

Long after it was heard no more.

I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD

I WANDERED lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

5

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never ending line
Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay

In such a jocund company:

I gazed and gazed- but little thought.
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT

SHE was a Phantom of delight

When first she gleamed upon my sight;

A lovely Apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament;

Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;

Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From Maytime and the cheerful Dawn;
A dancing Shape, an Image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

5

ΙΟ

I saw her upon nearer view,

A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty;

A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;

A Creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene

The very pulse of the machine;
A Being breathing thoughtful breath,
A Traveller between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright
With something of angelic light.

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE

1772-1834

COLERIDGE, the son of a clergyman and schoolmaster, was born in Devonshire, in the southwest of England. He was sent to Cambridge, but left before he had finished the course of study. This incident is a type of the greater part of his life-he left most things unfinished. His life was little more than a series of fragments. He and Southey planned a communistic society on the banks of the Susquehanna, far away from the crusted prejudices of England; but the plan was never carried out. He married and children were born to him; but these were, for long years, fed and housed by others. His head was full of schemes of all sorts, but very few of these plans were ever executed. "His mind," says Southey, "is in a perpetual St. Vitus' dance-eternal activity without action."

This great defect-this way of leaving things unfinished-was partly due, no doubt, to the opium habit, and partly to inherited weakness of will. Much of his time was also frittered away in fruitless metaphysical speculation. In his later years he almost forsook poetry, and occupied his mind with political, critical, and religious subjects.

Coleridge's fame as a poet rests upon Christabel (a fragment), The Ancient Mariner, and a few shorter poems. These scant remains show such brilliant imaginative power, coupled with such unusual skill in poetic expression, that all the world wishes that Coleridge had given up to poetry alone those vast powers which he scattered over so many fields.