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Yet gentle Hope on every stage,
The comforter, attends; And if the toil-worn traveller droops
With heaviness opprest, She cheers his heart, and bids him see
The distant place of rest.
To school the little exile goes,
And quits his mother's arms; What then shall soothe his earliest woes,
When novelty has lost its charms, Condemned to suffer through the day
Restraints that no rewards repay, And cares, where love has no concern!
If memory still the present sours, Hope lightens as she counts the hours
That hasten his return.
A sunshine of good will and cheerfulness
Youth comes, and eager fancy hails
The long-expected days: Youth comes, and he is duom'd to prove The fears and jealousies of love,
And all its long delays. But when the passions with their might
Afflict the doubtful breast, Hope bids him yet expect delight,
And happiness, and rest.
LOVE. Taey sin who tell us love can die; With life all other passions fly, All others are but vanity. In heaven ambition cannot dwell, Nor avarice in the vaults of hell; Earthly these passions as of earth, They perish when they have their birth; But love is indestructible,Its holy flame for ever burneth,-From heaven it came, to heaven returnedh; Too oft on earth a troubled quest, At times deceived, at times opprest; It here is tried and purified, And hath in heaven its perfect rest; It soweth here with toil and care, But the harvest time of Love is there. Oh when a mother meets on high The babe she lost in infancy, Hath she not then, for pains and fears, The day of woe, the anxious night, For all her sorrow, all her tears, An over-payment of delight!
When inanhood comes with troubles rife, And all the toils and cares of life
Usurp the busy mind, Where shall the tired and harass'd heart
Its consolation find ? llope doubts not yet the meed to obtain
Of difficulties past,
To wealth, enjoy'd at last.
llis pilgrim feet attain,
That earthly cares are vain.
Who sooth'd his troubles past,
The truest friend at last.
Are life's last pangs relieved ;
That cannot be deceived.
ON THE DEATH OF QUEEN CHARLOTTE.
Death has gone up into our palaces!
The light of day once more
Of mortal royalty,
НОРЕ. . Man hath a weary pilgrimage
As through the world he wends,
But not as when the silence of that vault
Was interrupted last
Like one by sudden grief
All that our fathers in their prayers desired,
When first their chosen Queen
All by indulgent Heaven
At Court the household Virtues had their place;
The marriage-bed was blest,
Come, Lucy, let me dry those tearful eyes;
Take thou, dear child, a lesson not unholy, From one whom Nature taught to moralize
Both in his mirth and in bis melancholy.
Too fondly upon perishable things;
Upon that theme, in vain the poet sings.
And this the soul's unerring instincts tell: Therefore, I say, let us love worthily,
Dear Child, and then we cannot love too well.
No cause for sorrow then, but thankfulness;
Life's business well performed,
Resigns itself to sleep,
Belter it is all losses to deplore,
Which dutiful affection can sustain, Than that the heart should, to its inmost core,
Harden without it, and have lived in vain.
Oh end to be desired! whene'er, as now,
Good works have gonc before,
And good Report, and good
Her left hand knew pot of the ample alms
Whiclı her right hand had done,
The promises were fiers
This love which thou hast lavishd, and the woe
Which makes thy lip now quiver with distress, Are but a vent, an innocent overflow,
From the deep springs of female tenderness. And something I would teach thee from the grief
That thus hath fill'd those gentle eyes with tears, The which may be thy sober, sure relief,
When sorrow visits thee in after years. I ask not whither is the spirit flown
That lit the eye which there in death is seald; Our Father hath not made ihal mystery known;
Needless the knowledge, therefore not reveala.
With more than Royal honours to the tomb
Her bier is borne; with more
With blessings and with prayers
Long, long then shall Queen Charlotte's name be dear;
And future Queens to her
Who imitates her best
But didst thou know, in sure and sacred truth,
It had a place assigu'd in yonder skies ; There, through an codless life of joyous youth,
To warble in the bowers of Paradise,
Lucy, if then the power to thee were given
In that cold clay its life to re-engage, Woulust thou call back the warbler from its heaven,
To be again the tenant of a cage ?
LUCY AND HER BIRD.
Tue Sky-lark hath perceived his prison-door
Unclosed; for liberly the captive tries: Puss eagerly hath watch'd him from the floor,
And in her grasp he tlutters, pants, and dies.
Only that thou mightst cherish it again,
Wouldst thou the object of thy love recall To mortal life, and chance, and change, and pain,
And death, which must be suffer'd once by all!
Oh no, thou sayst,--oh surely not, not so!
I read the answer which those looks express: For pure and true affection well I know
Leaves in the heart no room for selfishness. Such love of all our virtues is the gem;
We bring with us the immortal seed at birth: Of Heaven it is, and heavenly; woe lo them
Who make it wholly earthly and of earth! What we love perfectly, for its own sake
We love and not our own; being ready thus Whate'er self-sacrifice is asked to make,
That which is best for it, is best for us. O, Lucy! treasure up that pious thought;
It hath a balm for sorrow's deadliest darts, And with true comfort thou wilt find it fraught,
If grief should reach thee in thy heart of hearts.
ADDRESSED TO J. M. W. TURNER, ESQ. R. A. ON HIS
VIEW OF THE LAGO MAGGIORE, FROM ARONA.
TURNER, thy pencil brings to mind a day,
When from Laveno and the Beuscer hill, I over Lake Verbanus lield my way
In pleasant fellowship, with wind at will; Smooth were the waters wide, the skies serene, And our hearts gladdend with the joyful scene.
Joyful,--for all things minister'd delight,
The lake and land, the mountains and the vales: The Alps their snowy summits reard in light,
Tempering with gelid breath the summer gales; And verdant shores and woods refreshi'd the eye That else had ached beneath that brilliant sky.
THE DEVIL'S WALK.'
A walking the Devil is gone,
And see how his stock goes on;
Ile walked, and over the plain, And backwards and forwards he switched his long tail,
As a gentleman switches lois cane. And pray how was the Devil drest?
0! he was in his Sunday's best, His coat was red, and luis breeches were blue,
With a hole behind that his tail went through.
On a dunghill, beside his own stable;
Of Caio and his brother Abel.
Rode by on his avocations,
Death in the Revelations. »
A cottage of gentility;
Is the pride that apes humility!
Says he, « We are both of one college ;
Hard by on the Tree of Knowledge.»
A solitary cell;
For improving the prisons in Hell.
Felter a troublesome jade;
When they're used to their trade.»
But with little expedition:
On the Slave-Trade Abolition.
A piy with vast celerity,
How it cut its own throat, and he thought with a smile,
(A Minister to his mind) Go up into a certain House
With a majority behind; The Devil quoted Genesis
Like a very learned clerk, llow « Noah and his creeping things
Went up into the Ark.» General Gascoigne's burning face
lle saw with consternation, And back to Hell his way did take
For the Devil thought, by a slight mistake, ·T was the General Conflagration!
í This has generally been attributed to Professor l'orson; but as in the last edition of Coleridge's Works, it is given as his joint production with Mr Southey, we insert it heru.
To that elaborate island were we bound, of
yore the scene of Borromean pride,Folly's prodigious work; where all around,
Under its coronel and self belied,
you cannot chuse but see The obtrusive motto's proud « HUMILITY!»
Far off the Borromean Saint was seen,
Distinct though distant, o'er his native town, Where his Colossus with benignant mien
Looks from its station on Arona down: To is the inland sailor lifts his eyes, From the wide lake, when perilous storms arise.
But no storm threaten'd on that summer day;
The whole rich scene appear'd for joyance made; With many a gliding bark the Mere was gay
The fields and groves in all their wealth arrayed: I could have thought the sun beheld with smiles Those towns and palaces and populous isles.
From fair Arona even on such a day,
When gladaess was descending like a shower, Great painter, did thy gifted eye survey
The splendid scene; and, conscious of its power, Well hath thine hand inimitable given The glories of the lake, and land, and licaven.
EPISTLE TO ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.
Well, Heaven be thanked! friend Allan, here I am,
So oft in spirit on thy native hills,
Needless it were to say how willingly
Yet, Allan, of the cup of social joy I bade the huge metropolis farewell;
No mau drinks freelier ; nor with heartier thirst, Ils dust and dirt and din and smoke and smut,
Nor kcener relish, where I see around Thames' water, pavior's ground, and London sky! Faces which I have known and loved so long, Weary of hurried days and restless nights ;
That, when he prints a dream upon my brain, Watchmen, whose office is to murder sleep,
Dan Morpheus takes them for his readiest types: When sleep might else have « weighied one's eyelids and therefore in that loathed metropolis dowo;»
Time measured out to me some golden hours. Rattle of carriages, and roll of carts,
They were not leaden-footed while the clay, And tramp of iron hoofs; and worse than all, Beneath the patient touch of Chantrey's hand, (Confusion being worse confounded then
Grew to the semblance of my lincaments. With coachimeu's quarrels, and with foolmen's shouts) Lit up in memory's landscape, like green spots My next door neighbours, in a street not yet
Of sunshine, are the mornings, when in talk Macadamized (me miserable!) ut home!
With him and thee and Bedford (my true friend For then had we, from midnight until morn,
Of forty years) I saw the work proceed, House-quakes, street thunders, and door batteries. Subject the while myself to no restraint, (O Government, in thy wisdom and thy wants, But pleasurably in frank discourse engaged ; Tax knockers ! in compassion to the sick
Pleased too, and with no unbecoming pride, And those whose sober habits are not yet
To think this countenance, such as it is, Inverted, topsy-turvying night and day;
So oft by rascally mislikeness wronged, Tax them more heavily than thou hast charged Should faithfully to those who ia his works Armorial bearings and bepowdered pates!)
Have seen the inner man portrayed, be shown ; Escaping from all this, the very whirl
And in enduring marble should partake
I have been libelled, Allan, as thou knowest, And to the mind repose.
Through all degrees of calumny: but ibey
Who put one's name, for public sale, beneath More perfectly that city. Not for all
A set of features slanderously unlike, Its social, all its intellectual joys,
Are our worst libellers. Against the wrong (Which having touched, I may not condescend Which they inflict, Time hath no remedy. To name aught else the demon of the place,
Injuries there are which Time redresscth best, Might as his lure hold forth); not even for these Being more sure in judgment, though perhaps Would I forego gardens and green fields, walks, Slower in his process even than the Court, And hedgerow trees and stiles and shady laves, Where Justice, tortoise-footed and mole-eyed, And orchards,- were such ordinary scenes
Sleeps undisturbed, fanged by the lulling wings Alone to me accessible, as those
Of harpies at their prey. We soon live down Wherein I learnt in infancy to love
Evil or good report, if undeserved. The sights and sounds of nature; wholesome sights, Let then the dogs of faction bark and bay,-Gladdening the eye that they refresh; and sounds Its bloodhounds savayed by a cross of wolf,Which, when from life and happiness they spring, Jis full-bred kennel from the Blatant Beast, Bear with them to the yet unhardened heart
Jis poodles by unlucky training marred, A sense that thrills its cords of sympathy;
Mongrel and cur and bobtail;- let them yelp Or, if proceeding from insensate things,
Till weariness and hoarseness shall at length Give to tranquillity a voice wherewith
Silence the poisy pack; meantime be sure To woo the ear and win the soul attuned.
I shall not stoop tor stones to cast among them! Oh not for all that London might bestow,
So too its foumarts and its skunks may «stink Would I renounce the genial influences
And be secure:n and its yet viler swarm, And thoughts and feelings, to be found where'er The vermin of the press, both those that skip We breathe bencaih the open sky, and sce
And those that creep and crawl,—I do not catch Earth's liberal bosom. Judge then from dayself, And pin them for exposure on the page; Allan, true child of Scotland; thou who art
Their filth is their defence,
But I appeal Against the limner and the graver's wrong! Their evil works survive them. Bilderdyk (Whom I am privileged to call my friend), Suffering by graphic libels in like wise, Gave his wrath vent in verse. Would I could give The life and spirit of his vigorous Dutch, As his dear consort hath transfused my strains Into her native speech, and made them known On Rhine, and Yssel, and rich Amstel's banks, And wheresoe'er the voice of Vondel still Is heard; and still Hooft and Antonides Are living agencies; and Father Cats, The Household Poet, teacheth in his songs The love of all things lovely, all things pure; Dest poet, who delights the happy mind Of childhood, stores with moral strength the heart Of youth, with wisdom maketh mid life rich, And fills with quiet tears the eyes of age.
Hear then, in English rhyme, how Bilderdyk Describes his wicked portraits, one by one.
« A madman, who from Bedlam hath broke Joose;
An honest fellow of the numskull race; And, pappier-headed still, a very goose
Staring with eyes aghast and vacant face; A Frenchman, who would mirthfully display
On some poor idiot his malicious wit;
Of worldly craft, hath not forsaken it,
(A thing of Nature's worst materials made), Low minded, stupid, base, and insolent.
1-1-a poet, --- have been thus portrayed ! Can
ye believe that my true effigy Among these vile varieties is found ? What thought, or line, or word hath fallen from me
In all my numerous works, whereon to ground The opprobrious otion? safely I may smile
At these, acknowledging no likeness here. But worse is yet to come, so—soft a while!
For now in potter's earth must I appear,
Humanity disowns the imitation,
Then comes there one who will to admiration
And what of his performance comes at last? Folly itself in every lineament!
Its consequential features overcast With the coxcombical and shallow laugh
Of one who would, for condescension, hide, Yet in his best behaviour can but half
Suppress, the scornfulness of empty pride.»
There to be known deserved.»
A man he is Who hath received upon his constant breast The sharpest arrows of adversity. Whom not the clamours of the multitude, Demanding, in their madness and their miglit, Iniquitous things, could shake in his firm mind; Nor the strong hand of instant tyranny From the straight path of duty turn aside; But who, in public troubles, in the wreck Of bisown fortunes, in proscription, exile, Want, obloquy, ingrate neglect, and what Of yet severer trials Providence Sometimes inflicteth, chastening whom it loves,In all, througlı all, and over all, bath borne An equal heart; as resolute toward The world, as humbly and religiously Beneath his heavenly Father's rod resigned. Right-minded, happy-minded, righteous mau! True lover of his country and his kind; Jo knowledge and in inexhaustive stores Of native genius rich; philosopher, Poet, and sage. The language of a state Jnferior in illustrious deeds to none, But circumscribed by narrow bounds, and now Sinking in irrecoverable decline, Hath pent within its sphere a name, with which Europe should else have rung from side to side. Such, Allan, is the Hollander to whom Esteem and admiration have attached My soul, not less than pre-consent of inind And gratitude for benefits, when being A stranger, sick, and in a foreign land, He took me, like a brother, to his house, And ministered to me, and made the weeks Which had been wearisome and careful else, So pleasurable, that in my kalendar There are no whiter days. "T will be a joy For us to meet in heaven, though we should look Upon each other's earthly face no more. -Such is this world's complexion! « cheerful thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind,» and these again Give place to calm content, aud stedfast hope, And happy faith, assured.—Return we now, With such transition as our daily life Jinposes in its wholesome discipline, To a lighter strain; and from the Gallery Of the Dutch poet's misresemblances, Pass into mine;' where I will show thee, Allan, Such an array of villanous visages, That if among them all there were but one Which as a likeness could be proved impon me, Il were enough to make me in mere shame Take up an alias and forswear myself. Whom have we first? a dainty gentleman, His sleepy eyes half closed, and countenance To no expression stronger than miglic suit A simper, capable of being moved; Saucy and sentimental, with an air So lack-thought and so lack-a-daisycal, That one might guess the book whiclı in his hand He holds were Zimmerman on Solitude. Then comes a jovial Landlord, who hath made it Part of his trade to be the shoeing-horn
« And who is Bilderdyk ?» methinks thou sayest : A ready question ; yet which, trust me, Allan, Would not be asked, had not the curse that came From Babel, clipt the wings of Poetry. Napoleon asked him once, with cold fixed look, « Art ibou then in the world of letters known?» And meeting his imperial look with eye As little wont to turn away before The face of man, the Hollander replied, « At least I have done that whereby I have