Imágenes de páginas

Guardian and friend of the Moon, O Earth, whom IV. THE OVIDIAN ELEGIAC METRE DESCRIBED the Comets forget not,

AND EXEMPLIFIED. Yea, in the measureless distance wheel round, and

In the hexameter rises the fountain's silvery column; again they behold thee! Fadeless and young (and what if the latest birth of In the pentameter aye falling in melody back.

Creation ?)
Bride and consort of Heaven, that looks down upon

thee enamored!
Say, mysterious Earth! O say, great Mother and God-

V. A VERSIFIED REFLECTION. dess! Was it not well with thee then, when first thy lap

[A Force is the provincial term in Cumberland for was ungirdled,

any narrow fall of water from the summit of a mounThy lap to the genial Heaven, the day that he wooed tain precipice. — The following stanza (it may not thee and won thee!

arrogate the name of poem) or versified reflection, Fair was thy blush, the fairest and first of the blushes was composed while the author was gazing on three

parallel Forces, on a moonlight night, at the foot of of morning!

the Saddleback Fell.-S. T. C.] Deep was the shudder, O Earth! the throe of thy

self-retention : July thou strovest to fee, and didst seek thyself at

On stern BLENCARTHUR's perilous height thy centre !

The wind is tyrannous and strong: Mightier far was the joy of thy sudden resilience;

And flashing forth unsteady light and forth with

From stern Blencarthur's skiey height Myriad myriads of lives teemed forth from the mighty

As loud the torrents throng! embracement, Thousand-fold tribes of dwellers, impelled by thou- Beneath the moon in gentle weather sand-fold instincts,

They bind the earth and sky together : Filled, as a dream, the wide waters: the rivers sang But oh! the Sky, and all its forms, how quiet! on their channels;

The things that seek the Earth, how full of noise Laughed on their shores the hoarse seas : the yearn. and riot!

ing ocean swelled upward: Young life lowed through the meadows, the woods,

and the echoing mountains, Wandered bleating in valleys, and warbled in blos



Like a lone ARAB, old and blind,

Some caravan had left behind;

Who sits beside a ruin'd well,

Where the shy Dipsads* bask and swell! O, what a life is the Eve's! what a strange and And now he cowers with low-hung head aslant, inscrutable essence!

And listens for some human sound in vain : Him, that is utterly blind, nor glimpses the fire that And now the aid, which Heaven alone can grant,

warms him; Him, that never beheld the swelling breast of his Even thus, in languid mood and vacant hour,

Upturns his eyeless face from Heaven to gain mother;

Resting my eye upon a drooping plant, Him, that smiled in his gladness, as a babe that smiles with brow low-bent, within my garden bower, in its slumber;

I sate upon its couch of Camomile: Even for Him it exists! It moves and stirs in its And lo!-or was it a brief sleep, the while prison !

I watch'd the sickly calm and aimless scope Lives with a separate life; and- •"* Is it a Spirit?" of my own heart?—I saw the inmate, Hops, he murmurs :

That once had made that heart so warm, “ Sure, it has thoughts of its own, and TO SEE is only

Lie lifeless at my feet! a language!"

And Love stole in, in maiden form,

Toward my arbor-seat!

She bent and kissed her sister's lips,

As she was wont to do:

Alas! 'l was but a chilling breath,
STRONGLY it bears us along in swelling and limitless

That woke enough of life in death billows,

To make Hope die anew. Nothing before and nothing behind but the sky and the ocean.

* The Asps of the sand-deserts, anciently named Dipsade



LIGHT-HEARTEDNESS IN RHYME. Thus long accustomed on the twy-fork'd hill, *

To pluck both flower and floweret at my will; "I expect no rense, worth listening to, from the man who Nor common law, nor statute in my head ;

The garden's maze, like No-man's land, I tread, never dares talk nonsense."- Anon.

For my own proper smell, sight, fancy, feeling,

With autocratic hand at once repealing 1. THE REPROOF AND REPLY:

Five Acts of Parliament 'gainst private stealing! OR, THE FLOWER-THIEF'S APOLOGY, FOR A ROBBERY But yet from C-m, who despairs of grace? COMMITTED IN MR. AND MRS. —'s GARDEN, ON There's no spring-gun nor man-trap in that face! SUNDAY MORNING, 25TH OF MAY, 1833, BETWEEN Let Moses then look black, and Aaron blue,

That look as if they had little else to do:

For C -m speaks. “ Poor youth! he's but a waif! Fre, Mr. Coleridge! - and can this be you ?

The spoons all right? The hen and chickens safe? Break two commandments ?-and in church-time 100? Well, well, he shall not forfeit our regards — Have you not heard, or have you heard in vain,

The Eighth Commandment was not made for Bards !" The birth-and-parentage-recording strain ? Confessions shrill, that shrill cried mack'rel drownFresh from the drop—the youth not yet cut down

II. IN ANSWER TO A FRIEND'S QUESTION. Letter to sweet-heart--the last dying speech - Her attachment may differ from yours in degree, And did'nt all this begin in Sabbath-breach?

Provided they are both of one kind ; You, that knew better! In broad open day

But friendship, how tender so ever it be, Steal in, steal out, and steal our flowers away?

Gives no accord to love, however refined. What could possess you ? Ah! sweet youth, I fear,

Love, that meets not with love, its true nature The chap with horns and tail was at your ear!"

revealing, Such sounds, of late, accusing fancy brought

Grows ashamed of itself, and demurs : From fair — to the Poet's thought.

If you cannot lift hers up to your state of feeling, Now hear the meek Parnassian youth's reply :

You must lower down your state to hers.
A bow-a pleading look-a downcast eye-
And then :

III. LINES TO A COMIC AUTHOR, ON AN ABU. "Fair dame! a visionary wight,

SIVE REVIEW. Hard by your hill-side mansion sparkling white, What though the chilly wide-mouth'd quacking His thought all hovering round the Muses' home,

chorus Long hath it been your Poet's wont to roam. From the rank swamps of murk Review-land croak: And many a morn, on his bed-charmed sense, So was it, neighbour, in the times before us, So rich a stream of music issued thence,

When Momus, throwing on his Attic cloak, He deem'd himself, as it flow'd warbling on, Romped with the Graces : and each tickled Muse Beside the vocal fount of Helicon!

(That Turk, Dan Phæbns, whom bards call divine, Bot when, as if to settle the concern,

Was married to – at least, he kept — all nine) A nymph too he beheld, in many a turn,

They fed ; but with reverted faces ran! Guiding the sweet rill from its fontal urn;

Yet, somewhat the broad freedoms to excuse, Say, can you blame ?-No! none, that saw and heard, They had allured the audacious Greek to use. Could blame a bard, that he, thus inly stirr'd, Swore they mistook him for their own Good Man. A muse beholding in each fervent trait,

This Momus — Aristophanes on earth Took Mary - for Polly Hymnia !

Men called him — maugre all his wit and worth, Or, haply as thou stood beside the maid

Was croaked and gabbled at. How, then, should you, One loftier form in sable stole arrayed,

Or I, Friend, hope to 'scape the skulking crew ? If with regretful thought he hail'd in thee,

No: laugh, and say aloud, in tones of glee, Cm, his long-lost friend Mol Pomonè ?

“ I hate the quacking tribe, and they hate me !". Bat most of you, soft warblings, I complain! Twas ye, that from the bee-hive of my brain

Did lure the fancies forth, a freakish rout,
And witched the air with dreams turn’d inside out.


FROM THE CITY OF COLOGNE, Thus all conspired-each power of eye and ear,

As I am Rhymer, And this gay month, th' enchantress of the year,

And now at least a merry one, To cheat poor me (no conjurer, God wot!)

Mr. Mum's Rudesheimer |
And C-m's self accomplice in the plot.

And the church of St. Geryon
Can you then wonder if I went astray?
Not bards alone, nor lovers mad as they

The English ParnassUR is remarkable for its two summits All Nature day-dreams in the month of May,

of unequal height, the lower denominaled Hampstead, ting And if I pluck'd each flower that sweetest blows'- higher Highgate. Who walks in sleep, needs follow must his nose. The apotheosis of Rhenish wine.

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Are the two things alone

Yet haply there will come a weary day,
That deserve to be known

When over-task'd at length
In the body-and-soul-stinking town of Cologne. Both Love and Hope beneath the load give way,

Then with a statue's smile, a statue's strength,

Stands the mute sister, PATIENCE, nothing loth,

And both supporting does the work of both.
In Coun, t a town of monks and bones, 1
And pavements fang'd with murderous stones;
And rags, and hags, and hideous wenches;

I counted two-and-seventy stenches,
All well-defined and several stinks!

medio de fonte leporum Ye nymphs that reign o'er sewers and sinks,

Surgit amari aliquid.-Luerét.
The river Rhine, it is well known,
Doch wash your city of Cologne ;

JULIA was blest with beauty, wit, and grace:
But tell me, nymphs! what power divine Small poets loved to sing her blooming face.
Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine ?) Before her altars, lo ! a numerous train

Preferr'd their vows; yet all preferr'd in vain :

Till charming Florio, born to conquer, came,

And touch'd the fair one with an equal flame.
EX IMPROVISA ON HEARING A SONG IN PRAISE OF A The flame she felt, and ill could she conceal

What every look and action would reveal.

With boldness then, which seldom fails to move, 'T is not the lily brow I prize,

He pleads the cause of marriage and of love;
Nor roseate cheeks, nor sunny eyes,

The course of hymeneal joys he rounds,
Enough of lilies and of roses !

The fair one's eyes dance pleasure at the sounds.
A thousand fold more dear to me

Nought now remain'd but “ Noes" - how litde
The gentle look that love discloses,
The look that love alone can see.

And the sweet coyness that endeans consent
The youth upon his knees enraptured fell : ---

The strange misfortune, oh! what words can tell !

Tell! ye neglected sylphs ! who lap-dogs guard, TO A LADY'S QUESTION RESPECTING THE ACCOMPLISH- Why snatch'd ye not away your precious ward ? MENTS MOST DESIRABLE IN AN INSTRUCTRESS OF Why suffer'd ye the lover's weight to fall

On the ill-fated neck of much-loved Ball ?

The favorite on his mistress casts his eyes, O'er wayward childhood would'st thou hold firm rule, Gives a short melancholy howl, and — dies ! And sun thee in the light of happy faces ;

Sacred his ashes lie, and long his rest! Love, Hope, and PATIENCE, these must be thy Graces, Anger and grief divide poor Julia's breast. And in thine own heart let them first keep school.

Her eyes she fix'd on guilty Florio first, For as old Atlas on his broad neck places

On him the storm of angry grief must burst. Heaven's starry globe, and there sustains it ; 80

That storm he fled :- he wooes a kinder fair, o these upbear the little world below

Whose fond affections no dear puppies share. of Education, PATIENCE, Love, and HOPE.

"T were vain to tell how Julia pined away ;Methinks, I see them group'd in seemly show,

Unhappy fair, that in one luckless day The straiten'd arms upraised, the palms aslope

(From future almanacs the day be cross'd!) And robes that touching, as adown they flow,

At once her lover and her lap-dog lost! Distinctly blend, like snow embossd in snow.

1789. part them never! If Hope prostrate lie,

Love too will sink and die. But Love is subtle, and will proof derive

- I yet remain

To mourn the hours of youth (yet mourn in vain) From her own life that Hope is yet alive. And bending o'er, with soul-transfusing eyes,

That fed neglected; wisely thou hast trod

The better path - and that high meed which God And the soft murmurs of the Mother Dove,

Assign'd to virtue tow'ring from the dust,
Wooes back the fleeting spirit, and half supplies :

Shall wait thy rising, Spirit pure and just !
Thus Love repays to Hope what Hope first gave to

O God! how sweet it were to think, that all

Who silent mourn around this gloomy ball The German name of Cologne, * of the eleven thousand virgin martyrs.

Might hear the voice of joy ;- but 't is the will $ As Necessity is the mother of Invention, and extremes of man's great Author, that through good anı ill beget each other, the fact above recorded may explain how this Calm he should hold his course, and so sustain ancient town (which, alas! as sometimes happens with venison, has been kept too long. came to be the birth-place of the His varied lot of pleasure, toil, and pain. most fragrant of spirituous fluids, the Eau de Cologne.



That my mute thoughts are sad before his throne,
Prepared, when He his healing ray vouchsafes,
Thanksgiving to pour forth with lifted heart,
And praise him gracious with a brother's joy!



TO THE REV. W. I. HORT Hush! ye clamorous cares, be mute!

Again dear harmonist, again Through the hollow of thy flute

Breathe that passion-warbled strain ; Till memory back each form shall bring

The loveliest of her shadowy throng, And hope, that soars on sky-lark's wing,

Shall carol forth her gladdest song ! O skill'd with magic spell to roll The thrilling tones that concentrate the soul ! Breathe through thy flute those tender notes again, While near thee sits the chaste-eyed maiden mild; And bid her raise the poet's kindred strain In soft impassion'd voice, correctly wild.

In freedom's undivided dell
Where toil and health with mellow'd love shall dwell:

Far from folly, far from men,
In the rude romantic glen,
Up the cliff, and through the glade,
Wand'ring with the dear loved maid,
I shall listen to the lay

And ponder on the far away ;-
Still as she bids those thrilling notes aspire,
Making my fond attuned heart her lyre),
Thy honord form, my friend ! shall reappear,
And I will thank thee with a raptured tear!


SISTER of lovelorn poets, Philomel !
How many bards in city garrets pent,
While at their window they with downward eye
Mark the faint lamp-beam on the kennell’d mud,
And listen to the drowsy cry of the watchmen,
(Those hoarse unfeather'd nightingales of time!
How many wretched bards address the name,
And hers, the full-orb'd queen, that shines above.
But I do hear thee, and the high bough mark,
Within whose mild moon-mellow'd foliage hid,
Thou warblest sad thy pity-pleading strains.
Oh, I have listen'd, till my working soul,
Waked by those strains to thousand phantasies,
Absorb’d, hath ceased to listen! Therefore oft
I hymn thy name ; and with a proud deliglot
Oft will I tell thee, minstrel of the moon
Most musical, most melancholy bird !
That all thy soft diversities of tone,
Though sweeter far than the delicious airg
That vibrate from a white-arm'd lady's harp,
What time the languishment of lonely love
Melts in her eye, and heaves her breast of snow
Are not so sweet, as is the voice of her,
My Sara — best beloved of human kind !
When breathing the pure soul of tenderness,
She thrills me with the husband's promised name !


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TO CHARLES LAMB. WITH AN UNFINISHED POEM. Thus far my scanty brain hath built the rhyme Elaborate and swelling ;-- yet the heart Not owns it. From thy spirit-breathing powers 1 ask not now, my friend! the aiding verse Tedious to thee, and from thy anxious thought Of dissonant mood. In fancy (well I know) From business wand'ring far and local cares Thou creepest round a dear loved sister's bed, With noiseless step, and watchest the faint look, Soothing each pang with fond solicitudes And tenderest tones medicinal of love. 1, too, a sister had, an only sister She loved me dearly, and I doted on her; To her I pour'd forth all my puny sorrows; (As a sick patient in a nurse's arms) And of the heart those hidden maladies That e'en from friendship's eye will shrink ashamed. 0! I have waked ut midnight, and have wept Because she was not!— Cheerily, dear Charles ! Thou thy best friend shall cherish many a year ; Such warm presages feel Lof high hope ! For not uninterested the dear maid l've view'd-her soul affectionate yet wise, Her polish'd wit as mild as lambent glories That play around a sainted infant's head. He knows (the Spirit that in secret sees, Of whose omniscient and all-spreading love Anght to implore were impotence of mind !)

TO SARA. The stream with languid murmur creeps

In Sumin's flow'ry vale ;
Beneath the dew the lily weeps,

Slow waving to the gale.
Cease, restless gale," it seems to say,

“ Nor wake me with thy sighing : The honours of my vernal day

On rapid wings are flying. “ Tomorrow shall the traveller come,

That erst beheld me blooming ; His searching eye shall vainly roam

The dreary vale of Sumin."
With eager gaze and wetted cheek

My wanton haunts along,
Thus, lovely maiden, thou shalt seek

The youth of simplest song.
But I along the breeze will roll

The voice of feeble power, And dwell, the moon-beam of thy soul, In slumber's nightly hour


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My gentle love ! caressing and caress'd,

With heaving heart shall cradle me to rest; If we except Lucretius and Statius, I know no Shed the warm tear-drop from her smiling eyes, Latin poet, ancient or modern, who has equalled Casi- Lull the fond woe, and med 'cine me with sighs; mir in boldness of conception, opulence of fancy, or while finely-flushing float her kisses meek, beauty of versification. The odes of this illustrious Like melted rubies, o'er my pallid cheek. Jesuit were translated into English about 150 years Chillid by the night, the drooping rose of May ago, by a G. Hils, I think. I never saw the transla- Mourns the long absence of the lovely day:

A few of the odes have been translated in a Young day returning at the promised bour,
very animated manner by Watts. I have subjoined Weeps o'er the sorrows of the fav'rile flower,-
the third ode of the second Book, which, with the Weeps the soft dew, the balmy gale she sigbs,
exception of the first line, is an effusion of exquisite And daris a trembling lustre from her eyes.
elegance. In the imitation attempted I am sensible New life and joy th’ expanding flow'ret feels :
that I have destroyed the effect of suddenness, by His pitying mistress mourns, and mourning heals
translating into two stanzas what is one in the original.


In my calmer moments I have the firmest faith that
SONORA buxi filia sutilis,

all things work together for good. But, alas! it seems

a long and a dark process :-
Pendebis alta, barbite populo,
Dum ridet aer, et supinas

The early year's fast-flying vapors stray
Solicitat levis aura frondes.

In shadowing train across the orb of day;
Te sibiluntis lenior habitus

And we poor insects of a few short hours,
Perflabit Euri: me jiuet intrim 4

Deem it a world of gloom.
Collum reclinasse, et verenti

Were it not better hope, a nobler doom,
Sic temere jacuisse ripa.

Proud to believe, that with more active powers

On rapid many-colour'd wing,
Eheu! serenum quæ nebulæ tegunt We thro' one bright perpetual spring
Repente cælum : quis sonus imbrium! Shall hover round the fruits and flowers,
Surgarnus - heu semper fuguei

Screen'd by those clouds, and cherish'd by those
Gaudia præteritura passu !





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The solemn breathing air is ended

Cease, oh Lyre! thy kindred lay! From the poplar branch suspended,

Glitter to the eye of day! On thy wires, hov'ring, dying

Softly sighs the summer wind : I will slumber, careless lying

By yon waterfall reclined. In the forest hollow-roaring

Hark! I hear a deep'ning sound-
Clouds rise thick with heavy low'ring!

See! th' horizon blackens round!
Parent of the soothing measure,

Let me seize thy netted string!
Swiftly flies the flatterer, pleasure,

Headlong, ever on the wing!

THESE, Virtue, are thy triumph, that adorn
Fitliest our nature, and bespeak us born
For loftiest action ;-not to gaze and run
From clime to clime; or batten in the sun,
Dragging a drony flight from flower to flower,
Like summer insects in a gaudy hour;
Nor yet o'er lovesick tales with fancy range,
And cry, •'T is pitiful, 't is passing strange!'
But on life's varied views to look around,
And raise expiring sorrow from the ground:
And be—who thus hath borne his part assign'd
In the sad fellowship of human kind.
Or for a moment soothed the bitter pain
Of a poor brother-has not lived in vain.







Composed during illness and in absence.)
viM Hour! that sleep'st on pillowing clouds afar,
Oh, rise and yoke the turtles to thy car!
Bend o'er the traces, blame each lingering dove,
And give me to the bosom of my love!

THO' Miss - 's match is a subject of mirth,

She consider'd the matter full well,
And wisely preferr'd leading one ape on earth
To perhaps a whole dozen in hell. 1796

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