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A sunshine of good will and cheerfulness
Enlivened all around. Oh! marvel not,
If, in the morning of his fair career,
which promised all that honour could bestow
On high desert, the youth was summoned hence!
His soul required no farther discipline,
Pure as it was, and capable of heaven.—
Upon the spot from whence he just had seen
His General borne away, the appointed ball
Reached him. But not in that Gallician ground
Was it his fate, like many a British heart,
To mingle with the soil; the sea received
His mortal relics, to a watery grave
Consigned so near his native shore, so near
His father's house, that they who loved him best,
Unconscious of its import, heard the gun
Which fired his knell'—Alas! if it were known
When, in the strife of nations dreadful Death
Mows down, with indiscriminating sweep,
His thousands ten times told,—if it were known
what ties are severed then, what ripening hopes
Blasted, what virtues in their bloom cut off,
How far the desolating scourge extends,
How wide the misery spreads, what hearts beneath
Their grief are broken, or survive to feel
Always the irremediable loss,
Oh! who of woman born could bear the thought!
Who but would join with fervent piety
The prayer that asketh in our time for peace!—
Nor in our time alone!—Enable us,
Father which art in Heaven' but to receive
And keep thy word, thy kingdom then should come,
Thy will be done on earth, the victory
Accomplished over Sin as well as Death,
And the great scheme of Providence fulfilled!

LOVE. They sin who tell us love can die;— With life all other passions fly, All others are but vanity. In heaven ambition cannot dwell, Nor a varice in the vaults of hell; Earthly these passions as of earth, They perish where they have their birth; But love is indestructible, Its holy flame for ever burneth,< From heaven it came, to heaven returneth; Too oft on earth a troubled guest, At times deceived, at times opprest; It here is tried and purified, And hatl, 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 might, For all her sorrow, all her tears, An over-payment of delight !

HOPE. MAN hath a weary pilgrimage As through the world he wends,

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Oh no, thou sayst,-oh surely not, not so! - -
I read the answer which those looks express: • THE DEVIL’S WALK."
For pure and true affection well I know From his brimstone bed, at break of day,
Leaves in the heart no room for selfishness. A walking the Devil is gone,
To visit his snug little farm of the Earth,
Such love of all our virtues is the gem; And see how his stock goes on;
We bring with us the immortal seed at birth: And over the hill and over the dale
Of Heaven it is, and heavenly; woe to them He walked, and over the plain,
Who make it wholly earthly and of earth! And backwards and forwards he switched his long tail,

As a gentleman switches his cane.

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.

And pray how was the Devil drest?
O! he was in his Sunday's best,
His coat was red, and his breeches were blue,
With a hole behind that his tail went through.
He saw a Lawyer killing a viper,
On a dunghill, beside his own stable;
And the Devil smiled, for it put him in mind
Of Caiu and his brother Abel.

An Apothecary on a white horse
- Rode by on his avocations,

STANZAS « Oli "w says the Devil, a there's my old friend
Death in the Revelations.”
Additessed to J. M. witur NER, Esq. it. A. on his He saw a cottage with a double coach-house,
view of the LAGo MAGGlohe, Ffowl ARoxA. A cottage of gentility;
And the Devil was pleased, for his darling vice

Is the pride that apes humility!

0, 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.

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Tunnea, thy pencil brings to mind a day,
When from Laveno and the Beuscer hill,

I over Lake Verbanus held my way He stepp'd into a rich Bookseller's shop:
In pleasant fellowship, with wind at will; Says he, “We are both of one college;

Smooth were the waters wide, the skies serene, For I myself sat, like a cormorant, once,

And our hearts gladden d with the joyful scene. Hard by on the Tree of Knowledge.”

- As he pass'd through Cold Bath Fields he saw

Joyful, for all things minister'd delight, A solitary cell;
The lake and land, the mountains and the vales: And the Devil was charm'd, for it gave him a hint

The Alps their snowy summits rear'd in light, For improving the prisons in Hell.

Tempering with gelid breath the summer gales; And verdant shores and woods refresh'd the eye That else had ached beneath that brilliant sky.

He saw a Turnkey in a trice
Fetter a troublesome jade;
• Ah! nimble, quoth he, a do the fingers move
when they're used to their trade.”
Ile saw the same Turnkey unfetter the same,
But with little expedition:
And the Devil thought on the long debates
On the Slave-Trade Abolition.

To that elaborate island were we bound,
Of yore the scene of Borromean pride-

Folly's prodigious work; where all around,
Under its corouet and self belied,

Look where you will you cannot chuse but see

The obtrusive motto's proud « Il LMility on Down the river did glide, with wind and with tide,
A pig with vast celerity,
Far off the Borromean Saint was seen, And the Devil grinn'd, for he saw all the while
Distinct though distant, o'er his native town, how it cut its own throat, and he thought with a smile,
Where his Colossus with benignant mien Of England's commercial prosperity or

Looks from its station on Arona down:
To it the inland sailor lifts his eyes,
From the wide lake, when perilous storms arise.

he saw a certain Minister
(A Minister to his mind)
Go up into a certain House
with a majority behind;
The Devil quoted Genesis
Like a very learned clerk,
How & Noah and his creeping things
Went up into the Ark.”

But no storm threaten’d on that summer day;
The whole rich scene appeard 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. General Gascoigue's burning face
IIe saw with consternation,

From fair Arona even on such a day, And back to Hell his way did take;
When gladness was descending like a shower, For the Devil thought, by a slight mistake,

Great painter, did thy gifted eye survey "T was the General Conflagration!
The splendid scene; and, conscious of its power, 1 This has generally been attributed to Profssor Porson; but as

Well hath thine hand inimitable given in the last on of Coleridge's works, it is given as his joint
The glories of the lake, and land, and heaven. production wal, Mr Southey, we inser; it here.

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EPISTLE TO ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

Well, Heaven be thanked friend Allan, here I am,
Once more, to that dear dwelling-place returned,
where I have passed the whole mid stage of life,
Not idly, certes, not unworthily—.
So let me hope; where Time upon my head
Hath laid his frone and monitory hand;
And when this poor frail earthly tabernacle
Shall be dissolved—(it matters not how soon
Or late, in God's good time)—where I would fain
He gathered to my children, earth to earth.

Needless it were to say how willingly
I bade the huge metropolis farewell;
Its dust and dirt and din and smoke and smut,
Thames water, pavior's ground, and London sky!
Weary of hurried days and restless nights;
Watchmen, whose office is to murder sleep,
When sleep might else have a weighed one's eyelids
down; ,

Rattle of carriages, and roll of carts,
And tramp of iron hoofs; and worse than all,
(Confusion being worse confounded then
With coachmen's quarrels, and with footmen's shouts)
My next door neighbours, in a street not yet
Macadamized (memiserable !) at home'
For then had we, from midnight until morn,
House-quakes, street thunders, and door batteries.
(0 Government, in thy wisdom and thy wants,
Tax knockers! in compassion to the sick
And those whose sober habits are not yet
Inverted, topsy-turvying night and day;
Tax them more heavily than thou hast charged
Armorial bearings and bepowdered pates!)
Escaping from all this, the very whirl
Of mail-coach wheels, bound outwards from Lad Lane,
Was peace and quietness; three hundred miles
Of homeward way, seemed to the body rest,
And to the mind repose.

Donne did not hate
More perfectly that city. Not for all
Its social, all its intellectual joys,
(Which having touched, I may not condescend
To name aught else the demon of the place
Might as his lure hold forth); not even for these
Would I forego gardens and green fields, walks,
And hedgerow trees and stiles and shady lanes,
And orchards,-were such ordinary scenes
Alone to me accessible, as those
Wherein learnt in infancy to love
The sights and sounds of nature; wholesome sights,
Gladdening the eye that they refresh; and sounds
Which, when from life and happiness they spring,
Bear with them to the yet unhardened heart
A sense that thrills its cords of sympathy;
Or, if proceeding from insensate things,
Give to tranquillity a voice wherewith
To woo the ear and win the soul attuned.
Oh not for all that London might bestow,
Would I renounce the genial influences
And thoughts and feelings, to be found where'er
We breathe beneath the open sky, and see
Earth's liberal bosom. Judge then from thyself,
Allan, true child of Scotland; thou who art

So oft in spirit on thy native hills,
And yonder Solway shores; a poet thou,
Judge from thyself how strong the ties which bind
A poet to his home, when—makin; thus
Large recompense for all that, haply, else
Might seem perversely or unkindly done,—
Fortune hath set his happy habitacle
Among the ancient hills, near mountain streams
And lakes pellucid; in a land sublime
And lovely, as those regions of romance,
Where his young fancy in its day dreams roamed,
Expatiating in forests wild and wide,
Loegrian, or of dearest Faery land.

Yet, Allan, of the cup of social joy
No man drinks freelier; nor with heartier thirst,
Nor keener relish, where I see around
Faces which I have known and loved so long,
That, when he prints a dream upon my brain,
Dan Morpheus takes them for his readiest types:
And therefore in that loathed metropolis
Time measured out to me some golden hours.
They were not leaden-footed while the clay,
Beneath the patient touch of Chantrey's haud,
Grew to the semblance of my lineaments.
Lit up in memory's landscape, like green spots
Of sunshine, are the mornings, when in talk
With him and thee and Bedford (my true friend
of forty years) I saw the work proceed,
Subject the while myself to no restraint,
But pleasurably in frank discourse engaged;
Pleased too, and with no unbecoming pride,
To think this countenance, such as it is,
So oft by rascally mislikeness wronged.
Should faithfully to those who in his works
Have seen the inner man portrayed. be shown ;
And in enduring marble should partake
Of our great Sculptor's immortality.

I have been libelled, Allan, as thou knowest.
Through all degrees of calumny: but they
Who put one's name, for public sale, beneath
A set of features slanderously unlike,
Are our worst libellers. Against the wroug
Which they inflict, Time hath no remedy.
Injuries there are which Time redresseth best,
Being more sure in judgment, though perhaps
Slower in his process even than the Court,
Where Justice, tortoise-footed and mole-eyed,
Sleeps undisturbed, fanned by the lulling wings
Of harpies at their prey. We soon live down
Evil or good report, if undeserved.
Let then the dogs of faction bark and bay.-
Its bloodhounds savaged by a cross of wolf,
Its full-bred kennel from the Blatant Beast.—
Its poodles by unlucky training marred,—
Mongrel and cur and bobtail;-let them yelp
Till weariness and hoarseness shall at length
Silence the noisy pack; meantime he sure
I shall not stoop for stones to cast among them :
So too its foumarts and its skunks may “stink
And be secure: o and its yet wiler swarm,
The vermin of the press, both those that skip
And those that creep and crawl, I do not catch
And pin them for exposure on the page;
Their filth is their defence.

But I appeal

Against the limner and the graver's wrong!
Their evil works survive them. Bilderdwk
(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 Wondel 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;

Best 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 loose;
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:
And, lastly, one who, trained up in the way
Of worldly craft, hath not forsaken it,
But hath served Mammon with his whole intent,
(A thing of Nature's worst materials made),
Low minded, stupid, base, and insolent.
I–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 notion? 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,
And in such workmanship, that sooth to say,
Humanity disowns the imitation,
And the dolt image is not worth its clay.
Then comes there one who will to admiration
In plastic wax the perfect face present:
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.”

“And who is Bilderdykow 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 thou then in the world of letters known on
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

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 might, 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 his own fortunes, in proscription, exile, Want, obloquy, ingrate neglect, and what Of yet severer trials Providence Sometimes inflicteth, chastening whom it loves,<In all, through all, and over all, hath 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 man! True lover of his country and his kind; In knowledge and in inexhaustive stores Of native genius rich; philosopher, Poet, and sage. The language of a state Inferior 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 mind
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' a cheerful thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind,” and these again
Give place to calm content, audstedfast hope,
And happy faith, assured.—Return we now,
With such transition as our daily life
Imposes 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 upon me,
It were enough to make me in mere shame
Take up an alias and forswear myself.

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