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TO CHRISTABEL ROSE COLERIDGE.

NATURE and Fortune, and the doom severe
Of my own faults, forbid me to desire
The bliss of fathers seated by the fire;
Happy to know their darlings all are near,
Happy the crowing note of babe to hear,
Happy with lads that, restless to inquire,
Ask curious questions that might tease and tire
Aught less affectionate than parent's ear.
Yet though the name of uncle, in the mind
Of childhood, be with horrid deeds combined
Of bloody Richard, and that covetous man
That left the poor babes in the wildering wood,
I would be Uncle Toby if I could,

Or Oliver returned from Hindostan.
Sweet Christabel, that hath a lovely name
That would the sweetest thing commemorate

That ever poet dreamed, be not thy fate

Like hers, to tremble with a faultless shame!
Oh, may no act of thine provoke the blame
Which, least deserved, is ever keenest felt!
Thine innocent flesh, that softest touch can melt,
May never worldly thought or speech defame!
But in the world thou must be incomplete,
For who of Christabel can close the story?—
The name, sweet child, it is an omen meet
Of all that earth bestows of good and glory.
May'st thou for aye in love and fancy dwell
Like thy good grandsire's lovely Christabel !

VOL. II.

L

PRIMITIÆ.

SWEET child! I write, because I fain would see
In thy unspotted book my jagged hand,
The rudest sketch and primal prophecy

Of what thy wit may win or sense command.

Some men would tell thee that thy soul is yet
An album, open for all men to write in.
I deem not so, for thou canst not forget

What most thou art, and what I most delight in.

Ere thou wert born "into this breathing world,"
God wrote some characters upon thy heart.
Oh, let them not like beads of dew impearl'd
On morning blades before the noon depart!

But morning drops before the noon exhale,
And yet those drops appear again at even;
So childish innocence on earth must fail,

Yet may return to usher thee to heaven.

FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY.

THE Christian virtues, one, two, three,
Faith and Hope and Charity,

May all find exercise in thee.

In Faith, sweet infant that thou art,
Of God's sublime decrees a part,

Thy mother holds thee to her heart.

Hope is the joy of Faith.

It were

Sad to behold a babe so fair

Without the hope that makes a joy of care.

Well 'twill be if we can learn,

If loving thee, babe, we discern

The love of God, and let it clearly burn.

The love which sanctifies desire

Is, like the bush, unhurt by fire,

For which God grants what longing souls desire.

LINES,

WRITTEN IN A BIBLE PRESENTED BY THE AUTHOR TO HIS GODCHILD.

"TIS little I can give thee now,

And less that I shall leave;

Yet this small present, as I trow,

Is, in acquittance of my vow,

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