his literary labours. He laughed at misfortunes while he alone was a sufferer, but he could ill bear the presence of poverty in the home of his family. He visited London in 1833, for the first and only time, and like every stranger of distinction was cordially welcomed in the higher circles as well as by all literary men; but he returned even poorer than he went, and at the end of two years,-on the twenty-first of November, 1835, he died. He was a frank, generous, simple-hearted man; vain, indeed, of his abilities, but never unwilling to recognise genius in others. KILMENY. BONNY KILMENT gaed up the glen; And lang, lang greet or Kilmeny come hame Late, late in a gloamin, when all was still, Kilmeny look'd up with a lovely grace, blew. But it seem'd as the harp of the sky had rung, And the airs of heaven play'd round her tongue, When SOUTHEY visited Scotland in 1820, he remarked to Mr. TELFORD, his companion, that there was "one distinguished individual whom he would wish to see again-the Ettrick Shepherd, who," said he, "is altogether an extraordinary being, a character such as will not appear twice in five centuries, and differing most remarkably from BURNS and all other self-taught writers." He admired his peculiar and innate power, of which there are ample evidences in all his poetical works, however defective they may be as to the accomplishment of art." 66 When she spake of the lovely forms she had seen, And oh, her beauty was fair to see, Oh, then the glen was all in motion. It was like an eve in a sinless world! THE BROKEN HEART. Now lock my chamber-door, father, Of all this bitter weeping. For there's a pang at my young heart Oh, let me lie, and weep my fill O'er wounds that heal can never; And oh, kind Heaven! were it thy will, To close these eyes for ever. For how can maid's affections dear Recall her love unshaken ? Or how can heart of maiden bear To know that heart forsaken ? Oh, why should vows so fondly made, To one who loved as never maid Farewell, dear Yarrow's mountains green, And all is dark desponding- THE SKYLARK. BIRD of the wilderness, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! Blest is thy dwelling-place Oh to abide in the desert with thee! Wild is thy lay, and loud, Far in the downy cloud, Love gives it energy, love gave it birth. Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. O'er fell and fountain sheen, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, Musical cherub, soar, singing away! Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling-place, Oh to abide in the desert with thee! QUEEN MARY'S RETURN TO SCOTLAND. AFTER a youth by woes o'ercast, Her comely form and graceful mien Amid commotions, broils, and war. A queen so courteous, young, and fair- Who would not stand-who would not die? Light on her airy steed she sprung, Which through the broom-wood blossoms flew, SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. COLERIDGE was perhaps the most wonderful genius of the nineteenth century. His mind was essentially philosophical, in the highest sense of the word. In all his studies, and in all his teachings, he fastened upon the leading principles involved in his subject, and traced them with a logical power and a metaphysical skill seldom equalled in any age. Doubtless, his most enduring claim to the gratitude and recollection of the world grows out of his agency in first making the English mind acquainted with the spiritual philosophy which has since his day, and in a great degree through his efforts, entirely supplanted the sensuous system of Locks and other materialists. But it is only with his life and poetry that we are now concerned. He was born on the twentieth of October, 1773, at Ottery St. Mary's, in Devonshire, and was the youngest of eleven children. His father was a clergyman of sound learning and ability. At school, young COLERIDGE was the wonder and delight of all who knew him. Even in boyhood he was famous for his wonderful acquirements, and still more for those remarkable powers of conversation which gained for him from his school-fellow, the inimitable CHARLES LAMB, the name of the "inspired charity boy." He was from the earliest age extremely fond of philosophical and theological discussions; and he pursued his studies with so much ardour that he became by far the best scholar in the school. In 1791 he was entered at Jesus College, Cambridge, which he left, however, without taking his degree. In a thoughtless mood he enlisted in the army, and astonished his fellow-soldiers by learned and eloquent lectures on Greek verse and Greek philosophy; and his careless display of his learning led to his discharge from the service and his restoration to his friends. In 1794 he published a small volume of poems, which included also some by WORDSWORTH. In common with many of the most gifted and enthusiastic young men of the time, he became greatly interested in the French revolution, then in progress, and delivered lectures at Bristol on human rights and kindred topics involved in the events of the time. His views then were extremely radical, and were soon after entirely rejected as the offspring of heated, unthinking enthusiasm. In 1795 he married, and in 1798 went to Germany, where he spent some time in making himself familiar with the language and philosophical literature of that land of scholars. In 1800 he returned to England, and became a firm and consistent Christian, maintaining the doctrines of the evangelical churches, and devoting a great portion of his thoughts to the evolution of a system which should reconcile Philosophy and Christianity. Its great leading principles are scattered throughout his works; but he did not live to combine them into a regular system, or to set them forth as clearly and connectedly as he designed to do. For a time, and for lack of other employment, he wrote leading articles for the "London Morning Post;" and he passed the last nineteen years of his life in the family of his ardent and devoted friend, Dr. GILMAN, of Highgate. He was afflicted for a long period with most severe and painful illness, which would have crushed the mental power of inferior men; but through it all he laboured incessantly, and without "abating one jot of heart or hope." He had a large circle of friends, among whom were some of his most gifted cotemporaries, who regarded him with a reverence seldom accorded to any man and he was in their midst a philosophic teacher, expounding the highest truths with an eloquence and persuasive beauty which PLATO might have envied. His conversation is universally acknowledged to have been of the most wonderful character. To a scholarship surpassing that of nearly all the men of his age, he added an attractive manner and a musical voice; and those who were in the habit of hearing him, have spoken of the nature and effect of his conversation, in termis which seem wild and extravagant, but which we have every reason to believe fall short of the truth. : Many critics have spoken of COLERIDGE as having promised much and accomplished little. But whether we look at the actual number of works he wrote, at the profound and weighty character of his productions, or at the influence he exerted upon the world, he will be found to have done more than any of his cotemporaries. His prose writings occupy some eight or ten large volumes, and contain more thought than twice the number of the works of any of his fellows. They constitute a perfect treasure of philosophical truth; and we know of no books in the language better adapted to implant the seeds of true and noble character in the heart than his. His poems are comprised in three volumes, and contain some of the most exquisitely beautiful productions which an age prolific in great poets has produced. They all exhibit a wonderfully gorgeous and powerful imagination, and a perfect command of language and its harmonies. His taste was most exquisite, and his knowledge of the spiritual, in man and in nature, clear and calm. He was greatly in the habit of blending philosophy with poetry, and the tragedy of “Remorse" is a most admirable philosophical development of his conception of the nature of conscience, as well as a powerful production of the imagination and the poetic faculty. The life of COLERIDGE is uniformly described as having been adorned by the sweetest temper and all the social virtues. The late distinguished WASHINGTON ALLSTON, who was for a considerable period his intimate associate, declared his disposition to be angelic. He was a close and ardent friend, a profound scholar, and in every respect a great and good man. "Poetry," he said, "has been to me its own exceeding great reward: it has soothed my afflictions; it has multiplied and refined my enjoyments; it has endeared solitude; and it has given me the habit of wishing to discover the good and the beautiful in all that meets and surrounds me." He died on the twenty-third of July, 1834. DEJECTION. WELL!-if the bard was weather-wise, who made The coming on of rain and squally blast. And sent my soul abroad,— Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give, Might startle this dull pain-and make it move and live! A grief without a pang-void, dark, and drear— Oh, lady in this wan and heartless mood,— And its peculiar tint of yellow-green; Those stars, that glide behind them or between, I see, not feel, how beautiful they are! And what can these avail To lift the smothering weight from off my breast? It were a vain endeavour, Though I should gaze for ever On that green light that lingers in the west :- within! Oh, lady! we receive but what we give, Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth Enveloping the earth And from the soul itself must there be sent Joy, virtuous lady!-joy, that ne'er was given Joy, lady! is the spirit and the power We in ourselves rejoice! And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight,- Whence fancy made me dreams of happiness. But oh! each visitation From my own nature all the natural man,This was my sole resource-my only plan: Till that which suits a part infects the whole, And now is almost grown the habit of my soul. Hence! viper thoughts, that coil around my mind,Reality's dark dream! I turn from you; and listen to the wind, Which long has raved unnoticed. What a scream Of agony, by torture lengthen'd out, [without,That lute sent forth! Thou wind, that ravest Bare crag, or mountain-tarn, or blasted tree, Or pine-grove whither woodman never clomb, Or lonely house long held the witches' home, Methinks, were fitter instruments for thee! Mad lutanist! who, in this month of showers, Of dark-brown gardens and of peeping flowers, Makest devils' yule, with worse than wintry song, The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves among! Thou actor, perfect in all tragic sounds! Thou mighty poet, e'en to frenzy bold! What tell'st thou now about? "Tis of the rushing of a host in rout, With groans of trampled men, with smarting wounds At once they groan with pain and shudder with the cold! But hush! there is a pause of deepest silence! And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd, With groans, and tremulous shudderings-all is over! It tells another tale, with sounds less deep and A tale of less affright, [loud; And temper'd with delight, As Otway's self had framed the tender lay: :"Tis of a little child, Upon a lonesome wild, Not far from home-but she had lost her way; And now, moans low, in bitter grief and fear, And now, screams loud, and hopes to make her mother hear! "Tis midnight!-but small thoughts have I of sleep. Full seldom may my friend such vigils keep! Visit her, gentle sleep! with wings of healing! And may this storm be but a mountain-birth! May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling, Silent as though they watch'd the sleeping earth! With light heart may she rise, Gay fancy, cheerful eyes, Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice! To her may all things live, from pole to pole,— Their life the eddying of her living soul! Oh, simple spirit! guided from above.Dear lady!-friend devoutest of my choice,Thus mayst thou ever, evermore rejoice! YOUTH AND AGE. VERSE, a breeze mid blossoms straying, Where hope clung feeding like a bee-Both were mine! Life went a-maying, With nature, hope and poesy, When I was young! When I was young?-Ah, woful when! How lightly then it flash'd along!- That fear no spite of wind or tide,Naught cared this body for wind or weather, When Youth and I lived in 't, together! Flowers are lovely-love is flower-like; Friendship is a sheltering tree;Oh! the joys that came down, shower-like, Of friendship, love and liberty, Ere I was old! Ere I was old?-Ah, woful ere, Which tells me, Youth's no longer here! Oh, Youth! for years so many and sweet, "Tis known that thou and I were one, I'll think it but a fond conceit It cannot be that thou art gone! Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd:And thou wert aye a masker bold! What strange disguise hast now put on, To make believe that thou art gone? I see these locks in silvery slips, This drooping gait, this alter'd size ;But springtide blossoms on thy lips, And tears take sunshine from thine eyes! But the tears of mournful eve! H |