A CASKET OF JEWELS
SELECTED FROM POETS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY

SEEECTEI) FROM POETS

_^£ E. J. I R V I N G -^.

RIJKSUNIVERSITEIT

l\'KINTEI» HV I». C. .V. THIKMK NYMKUKN.

POETS OF THE FIRST GENERATIOM

WILLIAM YVOROSWORTH.

WlLLlAM WoRDSWORTH, the poet of nature and the Hmf Ie

domestic affections, was bom at Cockermouth in Cu moerland,
April 7¹\'¹ 1870 From liis carliest years he determined to be
a poet and nothing bul a poet. An opportune legacy enabled
him to fulfil this rcsolntion. J/is tastes were simple and fru-
gal, and by a curieus run of good fortune money seetned
always to come to him when he needtdit. PVordsworth\'s early
poelry attracted littlt at tention; even Mis Lyrical Ballads, 1798.
were received with small faveur, in his later years, Aowever,
Ais poems oblained wide rccognition, and his fame is noiv
established as one 0/ the most original and \'thoughtful\'writers
of modern times. Wordsworth\'s longest poem is The Excur-
sion, 1814, which, very lengthy as it is, was intended to be
merelypart of\'aprojcctedMoral Epic. The Prelude, orGrowth
of my Own Mind, was writtcn comparatively early, bul not
published till aft^r the author\'s death in 1850. Of the shor-
ter poems, the most important are the Ode on the Inlimations
of Immortality, Laodamia, and the series of Sonnets on the
subject of Liberty ; but much of the poefs finest Work is
found in his shorter lyrics.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

0 BLITHB new-comer | I have heard,

1 hear thee and rejoice :

0 Cuckoo ! shall I call thee bird,
Or but a wandering voice?

While I am lying on the grass,
Thy loud note smites my ear!
Krom hill to hill it seems to pass,
At once far off and near!

1 hear thee babbling to the vale
Üf sunshine and of flowers;
And unto me thou bring\'st a tale
Of visionary hours.

Thrice welcome, darling of the spring !

Even yet thou art to me

No bird, but an invisible thing,

The same whom in my school-boy days
I listen\'d to; that cry
Which made me look a thousand ways
In bush, and tree, and sky.

To seek thee did 1 often rove
Through woods and on the green;
And thou wert still a hope, a love;
Still long\'d for, never seen !

And I can listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain

And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.

O blessed bird ! the earth we pace
Again appears to be
An unsubstantial, fairy place ;
That is fit home for thee!

Ethereai. minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky !
Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound ?
Or while the wings aspire, are heart and eye
Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will,
Those quivering wings composed, that music still!

To the last point of vision, and beyond,

Mount, daring warbler! that love-prompted stram

\'Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond

Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain :

Vet mightst thou seem, proud privilege ! to ring

All independent of the leafy Spring.

Leave to the nightingale her shady wood ;

A privacy of glorious light is thine,

Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood

Of harmony, with instinct more divine ;

Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam

True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

THE EDUCATION OF NATURE.

Th kek ycars she grew in sim and shower,

Then Xalure said ,,A lovelier flower

On earth was never sown :

This child I to myself will take :

She shall he mine, and I will make

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 kindie or restrain.

She shall be sporlive 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 thinys.

The floating clouds their state shall lend

To her; for her the willow bend ;

Nor shall she fail to see

K\'en in the motions of the storm

Grace that shall mould the maiden\'s form

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 boni 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

Whde 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 calin and quiet scène ;

The memory of what has been,

And never more will be.

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!

12 WIIXIAM WORDSWORTH.

I travell\'d among unknown men,

In lands bevond the sea;
Nor, England ! did I know till then

What love I bore to thee.

\'Tis past, that melancholy dream !

Nor will I quit thy shore
A second time ; for still I seem

To love thee more and more.

Among thy mountains did I feel

The joy of my desire;
And she I cherish\'d turn\'d her wheel

Beside an English fire.

Thy mornings show\'d, thy nights conceal\'d
The bowers where Lucy play\'d;

And thine is too the last green field
That I.ucy\'s eyes survey\'d.

THE SAILOR\'S MOTHER.

One morning (raw it was and wet,
A foggy day in winter time)
A woman on the road I met,
Not old, though something past her prime:
Majestic in her person, tall and straight;
And like a Roman matron\'s was her mien and gait.

The ancient spirit is not dead :

Old times, thought I, are breathing there ;

THE SAILOR\'S MOTHER.

Proud was I that my country bied
Such strength, a dignity so fair :
She begg\'d an alms, like one in poor estate;
I look\'d at her again, nor did my pride abate.

When from these lofty thoughts I woke,
VVith the first word I had to spare,
I said to her, Beneath your cloak,
What\'s that which on your arms you bear?"
She answer\'d, soon as she the question heard,
,,A simple burthen, sir, a little singing biid."

And thus eontinuing, she said,
I had a son, who many a day
Sail\'d on the seas ; but he is dead ;
In Denmark he was cast away ;
And I have travell\'d far as Huil, to see
What clothes he might have Ieft, or other property.

The bird and cage tliey both were nis;
\'Twas my son\'s bird; and neat and trim
He kept it: many voyages
His singing-bird had gone with him ;
When last he sail\'d he left the bird behind,
As it might be, perhaps, from bodings of his mind.

He to a fellow-lodger\'s care
Had left it, to be watch\'d and fed.
Till he came back again ; and there
I found it when my son was dead;
And now God help me for my little wit
I bear it with me, sir! he took so much delight in it."

WII.UAM WORDSWORTH.

 A SIMPLB Chilct,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death .\'

I met a little cottage Girl:
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air,

And she was wildly clad :

Her eyes were fair, and very fair:

Her beauty made me glad.

Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
How many may you be ?"
How many? Seven in all," she said,
And wondering looked at me.

And where are they .^: I pray you teil."
She answered, Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dweil,
And two are gone to sea.

Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the church-yard cottage, I
Dweil near them with my mother."

Vou say that two at Conway dweil,
And two are gone to sea,

Vet ye are seven ! I pray you teil,
Sweet Maid, how this may be."

Then did the little Maid reply,
Seven boys and girls are we :
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
Heneath the churchyard tree."

You run about, my little Maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the church-yard laid,
Then ye are only live."

Their gravos are green, they may be seen,
The little Maid replied,

Twelve steps or more from mother\'s door,
And they are side by side.

My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem ;
And there upon the ground I sit,
And sing a song to them.

And often after sun-set, Sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.

The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.

So in the church-yard she was laid;
And, all the summer dry,
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.

6 WIl.LIAM WORDSWORTH.

And when the ground was white with snow,

And I could run and slide,

My brother John was forced to go ;

And he lies by her side."

How many are you, then," said I,
,,[f they two are in heaven ?"\'
Ouick was the little Maid\'s reply,
O Master ! we are seven."

Hut they are dead ; those two are dead !
Their spirits are in heaven I"
,,\'Twas throwing words away ; for still
The little Maid would have her wil],
And said, Nay, we are seven" !

ENGLANfD AND SWITZERLAND.

Two voices are there one is of the sea,
One of the mountains each a mighty voice :
In both, from age to age, thou didst rejoice,
They were thy chosen music, Liberly !
There canie a tyrant, and with holy glee
Thou fought\'st against him ; but hast vainly striven,
Thou from thy Alpine hold at length art driven,
Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee.
Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft:
Then cleave, oh, cleave to that which still is left;
For, high-soulM maid, what sorrow would it be
Thnt niountain floods should thunder as before,
And ocean bellow from his rocky shore,
And neither awful voice be heard by thee!

Tuk world is too much with us; late and soon,
(ïetting and spending, we lay waste our ]>o\\vers :
Little we see in Nature that is ours ;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon !
This sea that bears her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be bowling at all hours
And are up garher\'d now like sleeping flowers;
Kor this, for everything we are out of tune ;
It moves us not. (ireat (Jod ! 1\'d rather be
A pagan suckled in a creed outworn ;
So might I, standing 011 this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn,
Have sight of Proteus coming from the sea,
dr hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

The fame of Scotfs Waverley Novels, 181326, kas
cclipsed that of his metrical romances, The Lay of the Last
Minstrel, Marmion, The Lady of the Lake, Rokeby, The
Lord of the Isles. But the ballads and lyrics scattered over
Ais novels and long poems retain a high place in public
cstimation. Scott was bom in Edinburgh, August 13"¹ 1871.
studied law, and devoled himself for a long time to the col-
lection of old ballads. /fis Lay of the Last Minstrel wat
published in 1805, and from that time to 1825 his writings
were the delight of the reading world. They brought hint
enormous sums of money, which he invested partly in land,
partly in a secret partnership vjith his printers and publi-
shers. For Scott \'s great ambition was to become a large landed
proprietor, and found a new baronialfamily. Thepublishers
failed in 1825; Scott found himself resfonsible for a debl
of nearly £ 120.000. Refusing to compound with his cre-
ditors, Scott set himself to pay the whole sui/t by his literary
labours, and had all but succceded when he was struck with
paralysis. After lingering for some time Sir Walter, who
had been. created a. baronet in 1820; died (1832) at the Gothic
Castte of Abbotsford, which he had built at great expense.

JOCK O\' HAZELDEAN.

JOCK O\' HAZELDEAN. »)

\'Why weep ye by the tide, lady ?
Why weep ye by the tide ?
I\'ll wed ye to my youngest son,
And ye shall be his bride
And ye shall be his bride, lady,
So comely to be seen\'
But aye she let the tears down fall
For Jock of Hazeldean.

\'Now let this wilful grief be done,
And dry that cheek so pale ;
Voung Frank is chief of Errington
And lord of Langley-dale ;
His step is flrst in peaceful hall,
His sword in battle keen \'
Hut aye she let the tears down fall
For Jock of Hazeldean.

\'A chain of gold ye shall not lack.
Nor braid to bind your hair,
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,
Nor palfrey fresh and fair;
And you the foremost of them all
Shall ride our forest-queen\'
But aye she let the tears down fall
For Jock of Hazeldean.

The kirk was decked at morning tide,
The tapers glimmered fair:

1) The spelling of this lavourüe t>allad ia ilightly Mtered Trom the Scotch.

SIR WALTER SCUTT.

The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,
And dame and knight are there :
They sought her both by bower and hall; \')
The lady was not seen !
She\'s o\'er the Border, and awa\'
With Jock of Hazeldean.

All! County Guy, the hour is nigh,

The sun has left the lea,

The orange-flower perfumes the bower,

The breeze is on the sea.

The lark, his lay who trilled all day,

Sits hushed his partner nigh;

Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour,

Bat where is County Guy?

The village maid steals through the shade

Her shepherd\'s suit to hear;

To Beauty shy, by lattice high,

Sings highborn Cavalier.

The star of Love, all stars above,

Xow reigns o\'er earth and sky,

And high and low the influence know

Uut where is County Guy?

I) IlfilL is pronounced ha to rhyiue with ttt\'n\' (awny) in the "tli line.

() listen, listen, ladies gay!
No haaghty feat of arms I teil;
Soft is the note and sad the lay
That mourns the lovely Rosabelle.

Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew;
And, gentle lady, deign to stay!
Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch,
Nor tempt the stormy tirth to-day \'),

The blackening wave is edgcd with white;
To inch ²) and rock the sea-mews fly;
The tishers have heard the Water Sprite,
Whose screams forbode that wreek is nigh.

Last night the gifted seer did view
A wet shroud swathed round lady gay ):
Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch;
Why cross the gloomy tirth to-day?

\'Tis not because Lord Lindesay\'s heir
To night at Roslin ⁴) leads the ball,
Rut that my lady-mother there
Sits lonely in her castle hall.

\'Tis not because the ring they ride,
And Lindesay at the ring rides well,
But that my sire the wine will chide
If \'tis not filled by Rosabelle!

1) The I\'i\'ith of 1\'orlh. S) .V suiall tsland. 3) tn old time» every
noble Scottian faiuüy niaiatained a hoUMhold poet. The hard was supposed
lo possess the gift of ..seeond stght", he wotud pri\'dict events tweiity-l\'oiir
hours heforehanil, 4) The mins of RosUn Castte stand on the banks of
the Ksk. not far front Kdinbnrgh. The other places mention?d nre all in
the neifihbourhood.

SIR WAI.TER SCOTT.

O\'er Roslin all that dreary nighl
A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam;
\'Twas broader than the watch-fire\'s light.
And redder than the bright moonbeam.

It glared on Roslin\'s castled rock,
It ruddied all the copse-wood glen;
\'Twas seen from Dryden\'s groves of oak,
And seen from caverned Hawthornden.

Seemed all on lire that chapel proud
Where Roslin\'s chiefs uncoffined lie,
Kach Baron, for a sable shroud,
Shealhed in his iron panoply.

Seemed all on rlre within, around.

Deep sacristy and altar\'s pale:

Shone every pillar foliage-bound,

And glimmered all the dead men\'s mail.

Mazed battlement and pinnet high,
Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair
So still they blaze, when fate is nigh
The lordly line of high Saint Clair.

There are twenty of Roslin\'s ba ons bold
Lie buried within that proud chapelle;
Each one the holy vault doth hold,
Bat the sea holds lovely Rosabelle!

And each Saint Clair was buried there
With candle, with book, and with knell:
Bul the sea caves rung, and the wild winds sung
The dirge of lovely Rosabelle.

GATHBKING SONG OF DON AID THE 11LACK.

GATHERING SONG OF DONALD THE BLACK.

PlliROCH \') of Donuil Dhu
Pibroch of Donuil
Wake thy wild voice anew,
Summon Clan Conuil.
Come away, corae away,
Hark to the sumnions!
Come in your war-array,
Gentles and commons.

Come from deep glen, and
From mountain so rocky;
The war-pipe and pennon
Are at Inverlocky.
Come every hill plaid and
True heart that wears one,
Come every steel blade and
Strong hand that bears one.

Leave untended the herd,
The flock without sheler;
Leave the corpse uninterr\'d,
The bride at the altar :
Leave the deer, leave the steer,
Leave nets and barges ;
Come with your fighting-gear,
Broadswords and targes.

Come as the winds come, when

Come as the «aves come, when

11 The pibroch 11 a wild, Irregular pie of uraaic plavei! on thebagpipes.
It rentier* by imltative sounds the vnrimis phasps of a battle the march,
thp ns*ault, the llpht. the llight nml pursuit, the lauient l\'or the lallen.

SIR WAI.TER SCOTT.

Navies are stranded;

Kaster corae, faster come,

Chief, vassal, page and groom,

Kast they come, iast they come ;

See how they gather !

Wide wave» the eagle pldme

Blended with heather.

Cast your plaids, draw your blades,

Forward each man set!

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu.

Knell for the onset!

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

Coi.f.ridge was born in Devonsliire, October 2I^S|, 1771,
and educated at C/irist Hospital, London, whetice he passed
to Cambridge. Likt his fricnds Wordsworth and Southey,
Colerii/ge looi a strong interest in the revolutionary agita-
tions of the feriod, and his early jioetry is f uil of the
democratie spirit. Almost all his best poems were wrilten in
^lT)li the year af ter his marriage. These are The Ancient
Mariner, published 179S as a part of the Lyrical Ballads :
Christabel, Part I. Ode to France, The Nightingale. Love,
the drcam-poem Kubla Khan, and the tragedy Remorse.
Coltridge\'s second period, 18021818, was devoted to lite-
rary and fine art criticism; his third, from 1818 to his
death in 1834, to theology and metaphysics. He wrote liltle
poetry after his thirlieth year.



		THE LOST I.OVE.
		I I


		And beauty boni 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 Whde 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 calin and quiet scène ; The memory of what has been, And never more will be.

		THE LOST LOVE. 1. 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!



		Zt
		R03A1SELLE.


		ROSAIiELLE. () listen, listen, ladies gay! No haaghty feat of arms I teil; Soft is the note and sad the lay That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew; And, gentle lady, deign to stay! Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, Nor tempt the stormy tirth to-day \'), The blackening wave is edgcd with white; To inch ²) and rock the sea-mews fly; The tishers have heard the Water Sprite, Whose screams forbode that wreek is nigh. Last night the gifted seer did view A wet shroud swathed round lady gay ): Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch; Why cross the gloomy tirth to-day? \'Tis not because Lord Lindesay\'s heir To night at Roslin ⁴) leads the ball, Rut that my lady-mother there Sits lonely in her castle hall. \'Tis not because the ring they ride, And Lindesay at the ring rides well, But that my sire the wine will chide If \'tis not filled by Rosabelle!

		1) The I\'i\'ith of 1\'orlh. S) .V suiall tsland. 3) tn old time» every noble Scottian faiuüy niaiatained a hoUMhold poet. The hard was supposed lo possess the gift of ..seeond stght", he wotud pri\'dict events tweiity-l\'oiir hours heforehanil, 4) The mins of RosUn Castte stand on the banks of the Ksk. not far front Kdinbnrgh. The other places mention?d nre all in the neifihbourhood.



		YOUTH AND AÜK.
		29


		I calmed her fears ; and she was calm, And told her love with virgin pride; And so I won my Genevieve, My bright and beauteous bride!

		YOUTH AND AGE. Krom Poems written in later i.ife. Verse, a breezc \'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 ! Ah, for the change \'twixt Now and Then ! This breathing house not built with hands, This body that does me grievous wrong, O\'er aery clitTs and glittering sands, How lightly then it flashed along: Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, On winding lakes and rivers wide. That ask no aid of sail or oar, That fear no spite of wind or tide! Nought 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; O the joys that came down shower-like, Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, Ere I was old! Ere I was old ? Ah, woful Ere,



		TWENTY YEARS HENCE.
		4\'


		And like snow not seen through, by eye or sun: Yet every one her gown received from me Was fairer than the first ... I thought not so, But so she praised them to reward my care. I said: You fimt the largesl. This indeed Cried she, is large and sweel. She held one forth, Whether for me to look at or to take She knew not, nor did I; but taking it, Would best have solved (and this she feit) her doubts. I dared not touch it; for it seemed a part Of her own self; fresh, full, the most mature Of blossoms; yet a blossom; with a touch To fall, and yet unfallen. She drew back The boon she tendered, and then finding not The ribbon at her waist to fix it in, Dropt it, as loath to drop it, on the rest.

		TWENTY YEARS HENCE. Twenty years hence my eyes may grow If not quite dim, yet rather so; Vet yours from others they shall know Twenty years hence. Twenty years hence, though it may hap That I be called to take a nap In a cool cell where thunder-clap Is never heard,



		THOMAS MOORE.
		5 2


		With thee were the dreams of my earliest love; Every thought of my reason was thine: In my last humble prayer to the spirit above Thy name shall be mingled with mine! O! biest are the lovers and friends who shall live The days of thy glory to see; Bat the next dearest Messing that Heaven ean give Is the pride of thus dying for thee.

		THE LIVING TO THE ÜEAD. At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I rly To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye; And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air To revisit past scènes of delight, thou wilt come to me there, And teil me our love is remembered, even in the sky ! Then I sing the wild song it once was rapture to hear When our voices, commingling, breathed like one on the ear; And as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison rolls, I think, O my Love! \'tis thy voice, from the Kingdom of Souls Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear.



		Li 15. Jfif J* A CASKET OF JEWELS SEEECTEI) FROM POETS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY BV _^£ E. J. I R V I N G -^.

		S N E E K H. PYTTERSEN Tz 1887

		BIRLIOTHEEK OER RIJKSUNIVERSITEIT UTRECHT,



		8
		WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.


		TO THE CUCKOO. 0 BLITHB new-comer \| I have heard, 1 hear thee and rejoice : 0 Cuckoo ! shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice? While I am lying on the grass, Thy loud note smites my ear! Krom hill to hill it seems to pass, At once far off and near! 1 hear thee babbling to the vale Üf sunshine and of flowers; And unto me thou bring\'st a tale Of visionary hours. Thrice welcome, darling of the spring ! Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery. The same whom in my school-boy days I listen\'d to; that cry Which made me look a thousand ways In bush, and tree, and sky. To seek thee did 1 often rove Through woods and on the green; And thou wert still a hope, a love; Still long\'d for, never seen ! And I can listen to thee yet; Can lie upon the plain



		TO THE SKYLARK,		9


		And listen, till I do beget That golden time again. O blessed bird ! the earth we pace Again appears to be An unsubstantial, fairy place ; That is fit home for thee!

		TO THE SKYLARK. Ethereai. minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky ! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound ? Or while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground? Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, Those quivering wings composed, that music still! To the last point of vision, and beyond, Mount, daring warbler! that love-prompted stram \'Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain : Vet mightst thou seem, proud privilege ! to ring All independent of the leafy Spring. Leave to the nightingale her shady wood ; A privacy of glorious light is thine, Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood Of harmony, with instinct more divine ; Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home.



		WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

		THE EDUCATION OF NATURE. Th kek ycars she grew in sim and shower, Then Xalure said ,,A lovelier flower On earth was never sown : This child I to myself will take : She shall he 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 kindie or restrain. She shall be sporlive 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 thinys. The floating clouds their state shall lend To her; for her the willow bend ; Nor shall she fail to see K\'en 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,



		12 WIIXIAM WORDSWORTH.

		It.

		I travell\'d among unknown men, In lands bevond the sea; Nor, England ! did I know till then What love I bore to thee. \'Tis past, that melancholy dream ! Nor will I quit thy shore A second time ; for still I seem To love thee more and more. Among thy mountains did I feel The joy of my desire; And she I cherish\'d turn\'d her wheel Beside an English fire. Thy mornings show\'d, thy nights conceal\'d The bowers where Lucy play\'d; And thine is too the last green field That I.ucy\'s eyes survey\'d.

		THE SAILOR\'S MOTHER. One morning (raw it was and wet, A foggy day in winter time) A woman on the road I met, Not old, though something past her prime: Majestic in her person, tall and straight; And like a Roman matron\'s was her mien and gait.

		The ancient spirit is not dead : Old times, thought I, are breathing there ;



		THE SAILOR\'S MOTHER.
		\'3


		Proud was I that my country bied Such strength, a dignity so fair : She begg\'d an alms, like one in poor estate; I look\'d at her again, nor did my pride abate. When from these lofty thoughts I woke, VVith the first word I had to spare, I said to her, Beneath your cloak, What\'s that which on your arms you bear?" She answer\'d, soon as she the question heard, ,,A simple burthen, sir, a little singing biid." And thus eontinuing, she said, I had a son, who many a day Sail\'d on the seas ; but he is dead ; In Denmark he was cast away ; And I have travell\'d far as Huil, to see What clothes he might have Ieft, or other property. The bird and cage tliey both were nis; \'Twas my son\'s bird; and neat and trim He kept it: many voyages His singing-bird had gone with him ; When last he sail\'d he left the bird behind, As it might be, perhaps, from bodings of his mind. He to a fellow-lodger\'s care Had left it, to be watch\'d and fed. Till he came back again ; and there I found it when my son was dead; And now God help me for my little wit I bear it with me, sir! he took so much delight in it."



		WII.UAM WORDSWORTH.

		WE ARE SE VEN. A SIMPLB Chilct, That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death .\' I met a little cottage Girl: She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad : Her eyes were fair, and very fair: Her beauty made me glad. Sisters and brothers, little Maid, How many may you be ?" How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me. And where are they .^: I pray you teil." She answered, Seven are we; And two of us at Conway dweil, And two are gone to sea. Two of us in the church-yard lie, My sister and my brother; And, in the church-yard cottage, I Dweil near them with my mother." Vou say that two at Conway dweil, And two are gone to sea,



		WE ARE SEVEN.

		Vet ye are seven ! I pray you teil, Sweet Maid, how this may be." Then did the little Maid reply, Seven boys and girls are we : Two of us in the church-yard lie, Heneath the churchyard tree." You run about, my little Maid, Your limbs they are alive; If two are in the church-yard laid, Then ye are only live." Their gravos are green, they may be seen, The little Maid replied, Twelve steps or more from mother\'s door, And they are side by side. My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem ; And there upon the ground I sit, And sing a song to them. And often after sun-set, Sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there. The first that died was sister Jane; In bed she moaning lay, Till God released her of her pain; And then she went away. So in the church-yard she was laid; And, all the summer dry, Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I.



		6 WIl.LIAM WORDSWORTH.

		And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go ; And he lies by her side." How many are you, then," said I, ,,[f they two are in heaven ?"\' Ouick was the little Maid\'s reply, O Master ! we are seven." Hut they are dead ; those two are dead ! Their spirits are in heaven I" ,,\'Twas throwing words away ; for still The little Maid would have her wil], And said, Nay, we are seven" !

		ENGLANfD AND SWITZERLAND. 1802. Two voices are there one is of the sea, One of the mountains each a mighty voice : In both, from age to age, thou didst rejoice, They were thy chosen music, Liberly ! There canie a tyrant, and with holy glee Thou fought\'st against him ; but hast vainly striven, Thou from thy Alpine hold at length art driven, Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft: Then cleave, oh, cleave to that which still is left; For, high-soulM maid, what sorrow would it be Thnt niountain floods should thunder as before, And ocean bellow from his rocky shore, And neither awful voice be heard by thee!



		THE WORLD.
		17


		THE WORLD. Tuk world is too much with us; late and soon, (ïetting and spending, we lay waste our ]>o\\vers : Little we see in Nature that is ours ; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! This sea that bears her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be bowling at all hours And are up garher\'d now like sleeping flowers; Kor this, for everything we are out of tune ; It moves us not. (ireat (Jod ! 1\'d rather be A pagan suckled in a creed outworn ; So might I, standing 011 this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn, Have sight of Proteus coming from the sea, dr hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

		2



		*<%MS*



		mm fQ3^>3



		ROBERT SOUTHEY. Of the one hundred and nine volumes published by Sonthey very few are now in circulation: one volume of selected poems, The Life of Nelson, The History of the Penins- ular War, and (recently reprinted) The Doctor. Southey\'s poems consist of long Epics: Joan of Are, Madoc, Thalaba, Roderick the Last of the Goths, The Curse of Kehama; and a number of ballads and lyrics. The two specimens subjoined are considcred the most perfeet. Southey was bom at Brhtol in 1774/ began to publish in his twentieth year; was appointed Poet Lattreate in 1813; received a pension in 1835; ""d <&#* * \'843.

		AFTER BLENHEIM. It was a summer evening, Old Kaspar\'s work was done; And he befoie his cottage door Was sitting in the sun, And by hun sported on the green His little grandchild Wilhelmine.



		35
		MARY THE MAID OK THE INN.


		Two guests sat enjoying tlie lire that burnt bright. And smoking in silence with tranquil delight They listen\'d to hear the wind roar. Tis pleasant," cried one, seated by the fire-side, To hear the wind whistle without." What a night for the Abbey!" his comrade replied, Methinks a man\'s courage would now be well tried Who should wander the ruins about. I myself, like a school-boy, should tremble to hear The hoarse ivy shake over my head; And could fancy 1 saw, half persuaded by fear, Some ugly old Abbot\'s grim spirit appear, For this wind might awaken the dead I" l\'ll wager a dinner," the other one cried, That Mary would venture there now." Then wager and lose I" with a sneer he replied, l\'ll warrant she\'d fancy a ghost by her side, And faint if she saw a white cow," Will Mary this charge on her courage allow ? \' His companion exclaim\'d with a smile ; 1 shall win, for I know she will venture there now, And earn a new bonnet by bringing a bough Krom the elder that grows in the aisle." With fearless good humour did Mary comply, And her way to the Abbey she bent; The night was dark, and the wind was high, And as hollowly howling it swept through the sky. She shiver\'d with cold as she went. O\'er the path so well known still proceeded the Maid Where the Abbey rosé dim on the sight;



		SIR WALTER SCOTT. The fame of Scotfs Waverley Novels, 181326, kas cclipsed that of his metrical romances, The Lay of the Last Minstrel, Marmion, The Lady of the Lake, Rokeby, The Lord of the Isles. But the ballads and lyrics scattered over Ais novels and long poems retain a high place in public cstimation. Scott was bom in Edinburgh, August 13"¹ 1871. studied law, and devoled himself for a long time to the col- lection of old ballads. /fis Lay of the Last Minstrel wat published in 1805, and from that time to 1825 his writings were the delight of the reading world. They brought hint enormous sums of money, which he invested partly in land, partly in a secret partnership vjith his printers and publi- shers. For Scott \'s great ambition was to become a large landed proprietor, and found a new baronialfamily. Thepublishers failed in 1825; Scott found himself resfonsible for a debl of nearly £ 120.000. Refusing to compound with his cre- ditors, Scott set himself to pay the whole sui/t by his literary labours, and had all but succceded when he was struck with paralysis. After lingering for some time Sir Walter, who had been. created a. baronet in 1820; died (1832) at the Gothic Castte of Abbotsford, which he had built at great expense.



		JOCK O\' HAZELDEAN.
		19


		JOCK O\' HAZELDEAN. ») \'Why weep ye by the tide, lady ? Why weep ye by the tide ? I\'ll wed ye to my youngest son, And ye shall be his bride And ye shall be his bride, lady, So comely to be seen\' But aye she let the tears down fall For Jock of Hazeldean. \'Now let this wilful grief be done, And dry that cheek so pale ; Voung Frank is chief of Errington And lord of Langley-dale ; His step is flrst in peaceful hall, His sword in battle keen \' Hut aye she let the tears down fall For Jock of Hazeldean. \'A chain of gold ye shall not lack. Nor braid to bind your hair, Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, Nor palfrey fresh and fair; And you the foremost of them all Shall ride our forest-queen\' But aye she let the tears down fall For Jock of Hazeldean. The kirk was decked at morning tide, The tapers glimmered fair:

		1) The spelling of this lavourüe t>allad ia ilightly Mtered Trom the Scotch.



		SIR WALTER SCUTT.
		20

		The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, And dame and knight are there : They sought her both by bower and hall; \') The lady was not seen ! She\'s o\'er the Border, and awa\' With Jock of Hazeldean.

		A SERENADE. All! County Guy, the hour is nigh, The sun has left the lea, The orange-flower perfumes the bower, The breeze is on the sea. The lark, his lay who trilled all day, Sits hushed his partner nigh; Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour, Bat where is County Guy? The village maid steals through the shade Her shepherd\'s suit to hear; To Beauty shy, by lattice high, Sings highborn Cavalier. The star of Love, all stars above, Xow reigns o\'er earth and sky, And high and low the influence know Uut where is County Guy?

		I) IlfilL is pronounced ha to rhyiue with ttt\'n\' (awny) in the "tli line.



		GATHBKING SONG OF DON AID THE 11LACK.		23


		GATHERING SONG OF DONALD THE BLACK. PlliROCH \') of Donuil Dhu Pibroch of Donuil Wake thy wild voice anew, Summon Clan Conuil. Come away, corae away, Hark to the sumnions! Come in your war-array, Gentles and commons. Come from deep glen, and From mountain so rocky; The war-pipe and pennon Are at Inverlocky. Come every hill plaid and True heart that wears one, Come every steel blade and Strong hand that bears one. Leave untended the herd, The flock without sheler; Leave the corpse uninterr\'d, The bride at the altar : Leave the deer, leave the steer, Leave nets and barges ; Come with your fighting-gear, Broadswords and targes. Come as the winds come, when Forests are rended, Come as the «aves come, when

		11 The pibroch 11 a wild, Irregular pie of uraaic plavei! on thebagpipes. It rentier* by imltative sounds the vnrimis phasps of a battle the march, thp ns*ault, the llpht. the llight nml pursuit, the lauient l\'or the lallen.



		24		SIR WAI.TER SCOTT.


		Navies are stranded; Kaster corae, faster come, Faster and faster, Chief, vassal, page and groom, Tenant and master. Kast they come, iast they come ; See how they gather ! Wide wave» the eagle pldme Blended with heather. Cast your plaids, draw your blades, Forward each man set! Pibroch of Donuil Dhu. Knell for the onset!



		SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. Coi.f.ridge was born in Devonsliire, October 2I^S\|, 1771, and educated at C/irist Hospital, London, whetice he passed to Cambridge. Likt his fricnds Wordsworth and Southey, Colerii/ge looi a strong interest in the revolutionary agita- tions of the feriod, and his early jioetry is f uil of the democratie spirit. Almost all his best poems were wrilten in ^lT)li the year af ter his marriage. These are The Ancient Mariner, published 179S as a part of the Lyrical Ballads : Christabel, Part I. Ode to France, The Nightingale. Love, the drcam-poem Kubla Khan, and the tragedy Remorse. Coltridge\'s second period, 18021818, was devoted to lite- rary and fine art criticism; his third, from 1818 to his death in 1834, to theology and metaphysics. He wrote liltle poetry after his thirlieth year.

		LOVE. All thoughts, all passions, all delights, VVhatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame.



		26
		SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.


		Oft in my waking dreams do I Live oer again that happy hour When midway on the mount I lay, Beside the ruined tower. The moonshine, stealing o\'er the scène Had blended with the lights of eve ; And she was there, my hope, my joy, My own dear (lenevieve I She lean\'d against the armed man, The statue of the armed knight: She stood and listened to my lay, Amid the lingering light. Kew sorrows hath she of her own, My hope ! my joy! my Genevieve ! She loves me best, whene\'er I sing The songs that make her grieve. I played a soft and doleful air, I sang an old and moving story An old rude song, that suited well That ruin wild and hoary. She listened with a rlitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace; Kor well she knew, I could not choose Bot gaze upon her face. I told her of the knight that wore L\'pon his shield a burning brand ; And that for ten long years he wooed The lady of the land. I told her how he pined; and ah ! The deep, the low, the pleading tone



		27
		LOVE.


		With which I sang another\'s love, Interpreted my own. She listened with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace ; And she forgave me that I gazed Too fondly on hei\' face. But when I told the cruel scorn That crazed that bold and lovely knight, And that he crossed the mountain woods, Nor rested day nor night ; That sometimes from the savage den, And sometimes from the darksome shade, And sometimes starting up at once, In green and sunny glade, There came and looked him in the face An angel beautiful and bright; And that he knew it was a fiend, This miserable knight! And that, unknowing what he did, He leaped amid a murderous band. And saved from outrage wor?e than death The lady of the land ; And how she wept and clasped his knees, And how she tended him in vain And ever strove to expiate The scorn that crazed his brain. And that she nursed him in a cave; And how his madness went away, When on the yellow forest leaves A dying man he lay ;



		2S
		SAMUF.I. TAVLOR COI.KRIIX3E.

		II is dying words but when I reached That tenderest strain of all the ditty, My faltering voice and pausing harp Disturbed her sonl with pity! All impulses of soul and sense Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve The music and the doleful tale, That rich and lialmy eve; And hopes, and fears that kindie hope, An undistinguishable throng; And gentle wishes long subdued, Subdued and cherished long ! She wept with pity and delight, She blushed with love and virgin shame; And like the murmur of a dream I heavd her breathe my name. Her bosom heaved, she stept aside ; As conseious of my look she stept Then suddenly. with timorous eye, She fled to me and wept. She half enclosed me with her arms, She pressed me with a meek embrace, And bending back her head, looked up And gazed upon my face. \'Twas partly love, and partly fear, And partly \'twas a bashful art, That I might rather feel than sec The swelling of her heart.



		SAMl\'EL TAYI.OR COLERILGE.

		Which tells me, Youth\'s no longer here! 0 Youth ! for years so many and sweet, \'Tis known that Ihou 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 tolled, And thou wert ave a masker bold ! What strange disguise hast now put on, To make-believe that thou art gone ? 1 see these locks in silvery slips, This drooping gait, this altered size; But springtide blossoms on thy lips, And tears take sunshine from thine eyes! Life is but thought: so think I will That Youth and I are housemates still. Dewdrops are the gems of morning, Hut the tears of mournful eve! Where no hope is, life\'s a warning That only serves to make us grieve, \\Yhen we are old : That only serves to make us grieve With oft and tedious taking leave; Like some poor nigh related guest, That may not rudely be dismissed, Yet hath outstayed his welcome while, And tells the jest without the smile.



		32		RoBKRT SOUTHEY


		She saw her brother 1\'eterkin Roll something large and round, That he beside the rivulet In playing there had found ; He came to ask what he had found. That was so large, and smooth. and round. Old Kaspar took it from the boy, Who stood expectant by ; And then the old man shook his head, And, with a natura! sigh, \'Tis sorae poor fellow"s skull, said he, Who feil in the great victory. I lind them in the garden, for There\'s many here about, And often when I go to plough, The ploughshare turns them out; For many thousand men, said he, Were slain in the great victory. Now teil us what \'twas all about Young 1\'eterkin he cries. And little Wilhelmine looks up With wonder-waiting eyes ; Now teil us all about the war, And what they kill\'d each other for. It was the English, Kaspar eried, That put the French to rout; Bat what they kill\'d each other for, 1 could nol well make out. Uut everybody said, quoth he, That \'twas a famous victory.



		AFTER BLENHEIM.

		My father lived at Blenheim then, Yon little stream hard by, They burnt his dweiling to the ground, And he was forced to fly ; So with his wife and child he fled, Nor had he where to rest his head. With tire and sword the country round Was wasted far and wide, And many a childing mother then, And new-born infant died. But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory. They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won, For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun; But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory. Great praise the Duke of Marlbro\' won, And our good Prince Eugene. Why \'twas a very wicked thing! Said little Wilhelmine. Nay nay my little girl, quoth he, It was a famous victory. And everybody praised the Duke Who such a fight did win. But what good came of it at last? Quoth little Peterkin. Why, that I cannot teil, said he, But \'twas a famous victory.



		34 KOBERT SOUTHEY.

		MARY THE MAID OF THE INN. Who is yonder poor Maniac, whose wildly-fix\'d eyes Seem a heart overcharged to express ? She weeps not, vet often and deeply she sighs ; She never complains, but her silence implies The composure of settled distress. Xo pity she looks for, no alms doth she seek ; Nor for raiment nor food doth she care: Tlirough her tatters the winds of the winter blow bleak < >n her poor wither\'d bosom half bare, and her cheek Math the hue of a mortal despair. Vet cheerfo] acd happy, nor distant the day, l\'oor Mary the Maniac hath been : The Traveller remembers who journey\'d this way No damsel so Iovely. no damsel so gay, As Mary. the Maid of the Inn. Her cheerful address till\'d the guests with delight As she welcomed them in with a smile; Her heart was a stranger to childish affright, And Mary would walk by the Abbey at night When the wind whistled down the dark aisle. She loved; and young Richard had settled the day, And she hoped to be happy for life : Hut Richard was idle and worthless, and they Who knew him would pity poor Mary, and say That she was too good for his wife. Twas in autumn, and stormy and dark was the night, And fast were the Windows and door ;



		56
		ROBERT SOUTHEY.


		Through the gateway she enter\'d, she feit not afraid, Yet the ruins were lonely and wild. and their shade Seem\'d to deepen the gloom of the night. All around her was silent, save when the rude binst Howl\'d dismally round the old pile; Over weed-cover\'d fragments she fearlessly pass\'d, And arrived at the innermost ruin at last Where the elder-tree grew in the aisle. Well pleased did she reach it, and quickly drew near, And hastily gather\'d the bough; When the sound of a voice seem\'d to rise on her ear, She paused, and she listen\'d all eager to hear, And her heart panted fearfully now. The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head, She listen\'d, nought else could she hear; The wind feil; her heart sunk in her bosom with dread, For she heard in the ruins distinctly the tread Of footsteps approaching her near. Kehind a wide column half breathless with fear She crept to conceal herself there: That instant the moon o\'er a dark cloud shone clear, And she saw in the moonlight two ruffians appear. And between them a corpse did they bear. Then Mary could feel her heart-blood curdle cold; Again the rough wind hurried by, It blew off the hat of the one, and behold Even close to the feet of poor Mary it roll\'d, She feit, and expected to die. Curse the hat!" he exclaims: Nay, come on till we hide The dead body," his comrade replies.



		MARV THE MA1D OF THE INN. 37

		She beholds them in safety pass on by her side, She seizes the hat, fear her courage supplied, And fast through the Abbey she flies. She ran with wild speed, she rush\'d in at the door, She gazed in her terror around, Then her limbs could support their faint burthen no more, And exhausted and breathless she sank on the floor, Unable to utter a sound. Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart, For a moment the hat met her view; Her eyes from that object convulsively start, For O God! what cold horror then thrilled through her heart When the name of her Richard she knew ! Where the old Abbey stands, on the common hard by, His gibbet is now to be seen; His irons you still from the road may espy; The traveller beholds them, and thinks with a sigh Of poor Mary, the Maid of the Inn.

		THE SCHOLAR IN HIS LIBRARY. My days among the Dead are past : Around me I behold, Where\'er these casual eyes are cast, The mighty minds of old : My never-failing friends are they, With whom I converse day by day. With them I take delight in weal And seek relief in woe;



		38
		ROKERT SOUTHEY.


		And while I understand and feel How much to them I owe, My cheeks have often been bedewed YVith tears of thoughtful gratitude. My thoughts are with ihe Uead ; with them I live in long-past years, Their virtues love, their faults condemn, l\'artake their hopes and fears, And from their lessons seek and lind Instruction with an humble mind. My hopes are with the Uead; anon My place with them will be, And I with them shall travel on Through all Futurity; Vet leaving here a name, I trust, That will not perish in the dust.



		WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. Tuis author is more famous for his prose thaii hispoetry. His Imaginary Conversations were published at intervals (/uring /lis long literary career, and secure for kim a place in the pront rank of prose ivriters. Landor was bom in Warwickshire in 1775 and died at Florence in 1864, hoving led a troubled and wandering life ; cheered hoivever, liy the friendship of three generations of poets. Sotilhey, the Brow- nings, Swinliume, were all friends of Savage jMtidor, whose first poe/n, Gebir, was published in 1798, his last. Dry Sticks Kaggoted, in 1858. In kis ninetieth year He was slill working at kis Imaginary Conversations.

		FAESULAN IDYL. Here, where precipitate Spring, with one light bound, Into hot Summer\'s lusty arms expires; And where go forth at morn, at eve, at night, Soft airs, that want the lute to play with them, And softer sighs, that know not what they want : Under a wall, beneath an orangetree



		40 WALTER SA VAGE LANDOR.

		Whose tallest flowers could teil the lowlier ones Of sights in Fiesole right up above, While I was gazing a few paces off At what they seemed to show me with their nods, Their frequent whispers and their pointing shoots, A gentle maid came down the garden steps And gathered the pure treasure in her lap. I heard the branches rustle, and stept forth To drive the ox away, or mule or goat, (Such I believed it must be); for sweet scents Are the swift vehicles of still sweeter thoughts, And nurse and pillow the dull memory That would let drop without them her best stores. They bring me tales of youth and tones of love. And \'tis and ever was my wish and way To let all flowers live freely. and all die, Whene\'er their Genius bids their souls depart, Among their kindred in their native place. I never pluck the rosé; the violet\'s head Hath shaken with my breath upon its bank And not reproached me; the eversacred cup Of the pure lily hath between my hands Kelt safe, unsoiled, nor lost one grain of gold. I saw the light that made the glossy leaves More glossy; the fair arm, the fairer cheek Warmed by the eye intent on its pursuit; I saw the foot, that although half-erect Krom its grey slipper, could not lift her up To what she wanted; I held down a branch, And gathered her some blossoms, since their hour Was come, and bees had wounded them, and flies Of harder wing were working their way through And scattering them in fragments under foot. So crisp were some, they rattled unevolved, Others, ere broken off, feil out like shells, For such appear the petals when detached, Unbending, brittle, lucid, white like snow,



		42 WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.

		There breatbe but o\'er my arch of grass A not too sadly sighed ,Alas!\' And I shall catch, ere you can pass, That wingéd word.

		ON Hl MS EL F. I STROVE with none, for none was worth my strife; Nature I loved, and next to nature, art; I warmed both hands before the fire of Iifc: It sinks, and I am ready to depart.



		CHARLES LAMB. The author of the dclightful Essays of Elia was lom in London Feb, 18, 1775. He sfent all his life, or nearly all, in the crowded city; for many years ai a clerk in the East India House. In his leisure hours /ie studied £liza- btthan literature, The fruit of this study was his specimens of The English Dramatists, with critical notes. Lamh\'t Essays and Poems are f uil of fersonal reminiscences.

		TO HESTER. When maidens such as Hester die, Their place ye may not well supply, Though ye among a thousand try, With vain endeavour.

		A month or more she hath been dead, Vet cannot I by force be led To think upon the wormy bed And her together.