TO HARTLEY COLERIDGE,

SIX YEARS OLD.

O THOU ! whose fancies from afar are brought;
Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel,
And fittest to unutterable thought

The breeze-like motion and the self-born carol;
Thou faery Voyager! that dost float

In such clear water, that thy boat

May rather seem

To brood on air than on an earthly stream;

Suspended in a stream as clear as sky,

Where earth and heaven do make one imagery;

O blessed Vision! happy Child!

That art so exquisitely wild,

I think of thee with many fears

For what may be thy lot in future years.

I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest,

Lord of thy house and hospitality;

And Grief, uneasy Lover! never rest

But when she sate within the touch of thee.

O too industrious folly!

O vain and causeless melancholy!

Nature will either end thee quite ;

Or, lengthening out thy season of delight,

Preserve for thee, by individual right,

A young Lamb's heart among the full-grown flocks. What hast Thou to do with sorrow,

Or the injuries of to-morrow?

Thou art a Dew-drop, which the morn brings forth,

Ill fitted to sustain unkindly shocks;

Or to be trailed along the soiling earth ;

A gem that glitters while it lives,

And no forewarning gives;

But, at the touch of wrong, without a strife

Slips in a moment out of life.

"O NIGHTINGALE, THOU SURELY ART."

O NIGHTINGALE! thou surely art

A Creature of a fiery heart ;

These notes of thine-they pierce and pierce ;
Tumultuous harmony and fierce!

Thou sing'st as if the God of wine
Had helped thee to a Valentine;
A song in mockery and despite
Of shades, and dews, and silent night;
And steady bliss, and all the loves
Now sleeping in these peaceful groves.

I heard a Stock-dove sing or say
His homely tale, this very day;
His voice was buried among trees,
Yet to be come at by the breeze :

He did not cease; but cooed-and cooed ;
And somewhat pensively he wooed :
He sang of love, with quiet blending,
Slow to begin, and never ending;
Of serious faith, and inward glee;
That was the Song-the Song for me!

66

STRANGE FITS OF PASSION HAVE I

KNOWN."

STRANGE fits of passion have I known :

And I will dare to tell,

But in the Lover's ear alone,

What once to me befel.

When she I loved was strong and gay,

And like a rose in June,

I to her cottage bent my way,
Beneath the evening Moon.

Upon the Moon I fixed my eye,

All over the wide lea;

My Horse trudged on—and we drew nigh

Those paths so dear to me.

And now we reached the orchard plot ;

And, as we climbed the hill,

Towards the roof of Lucy's cot
The Moon descended still.

In one of those sweet dreams I slept,

Kind Nature's gentlest boon!

And all the while my eyes I kept
On the descending Moon.

My Horse moved on; hoof after hoof
He raised, and never stopped:

When down behind the cottage roof,

At once, the bright Moon dropped.

What fond and wayward thoughts will slide

Into a Lover's head!

"O mercy!" to myself I cried,

"If Lucy should be dead !"

56

"THREE YEARS SHE GREW."

THREE years she grew in sun and shower,
Then Nature said, "A lovelier flower
On earth was never sown;

This Child I to myself will take ;

She shall be mine, and I will make
A Lady of my own.

Myself will to my darling be

Both law and impulse: and with me

The Girl, in rock and plain,

In earth and heaven, in glade and bower,
Shall feel an overseeing power

To kindle or restrain.

"She shall be sportive as the Fawn

That wild with glee across the lawn

Or up the mountain springs;

And hers shall be the breathing balm,
And hers the silence and the calm

Of mute insensate things.

"The floating Clouds their state shall lend

To her; for her the willow bend;

Nor shall she fail to see

Even in the motions of the Storm

Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form

By silent sympathy.

"The Stars of midnight shall be dear

To her; and she shall lean her ear

In many a secret place

Where Rivulets dance their wayward round,

And beauty born of murmuring sound
Shall pass into her face.

"And vital feelings of delight

Shall rear her form to stately height,
Her virgin bosom swell;

Such thoughts to Lucy I will give

While she and I together live

Here in this happy Dell."

Thus Nature spake-The work was done —

How soon my Lucy's race was run!

She died, and left to me

This heath, this calm and quiet scene;

The memory of what has been,
And never more will be.

"SHE DWELT AMONG THE
UNTRODDEN WAYS."

SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,

A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love :

A Violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
-Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know

When Lucy ceased to be;

But she is in her grave, and, oh,

The difference to me!