CXLV.

A

SONG.

H! County Guy, the hour is nigh,
The sun has left the lea,

The orange-flower perfumes the bower,

The breeze is on the sea.

The lark, his lay who trilled all day,
Sits hushed his partner nigh;

Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour,
But where is County Guy?

The village maid steals through the shade
Her shepherd's suit to hear;
To beauty shy, by lattice high,
Sings high-born cavalier.
The star of love, all stars above,

Now reigns o'er earth and sky;
And high and low the influence know-
But where is County Guy?

CXLVI

FLORA'S SONG.

HE sun upon the lake is low,

THE

The wild birds hush their song,

The hills have evening's deepest glow,
Yet Leonard tarries long.

Now all whom varied toil and care

From home and love divide,

In the calm sunset may repair
Each to the loved one's side.

The noble dame on turret high,
Who waits her gallant knight,
Looks to the western beam to spy
The flash of armour bright.

The village maid, with hand on brow,
The level ray to shade,

Upon the footpath watches now

For Colin's darkening plaid.

Now to their mates the wild swans row,

By day they swam apart,

And to the thicket wanders slow

The hind beside the hart.

P

The woodlark at his partner's side

Twitters his closing song

All meet whom day and care divide, But Leonard tarries long!

CXLVII.

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE, 1772-1834.

THE KNIGHT'S TOMB.

THERE is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn?

WH

Where may the grave of that good man be?---By the side of a spring, on the breast of Helvellyn, Under the twigs of a young birch tree!

The oak that in summer was sweet to hear,
And rustled its leaves in the fall of the year,
And whistled and roared in the winter alone,
Is gone, and the birch in its stead is grown.
The Knight's bones are dust,

And his good sword rust ;

His soul is with the saints, I trust.

CXLVIII.

YOUTH AND AGE.

VERSE, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying,

VER

Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee-
Both were mine! life went a-maying

With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,

When I was young!

When I was young? ah! woeful when ;
Ah! for the change 'twixt now and then ;
This breathing house not built with hands,
This body that does me grievous wrong,
O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands,
How lightly then it flashed along :
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,

On winding lakes and rivers wide,

That ask no aid of sail or oar,

That fear no spite of wind or tide!

Nought cared this body for wind or weather When youth and I lived in 't together.

Flowers are lovely; love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;

O! the joys, that came down shower-like,
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty,

Ere I was old!

Ere I was old? Ah woeful ere!
Which tells me, youth's no longer here.
O youth for years so many and sweet,
'Tis known, that thou and I were one,
I'll think it but a fond conceit--
It cannot be that thou art gone!
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet tolled:
And thou wert aye a masker bold !
What strange disguise hast now put on,