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A SOLILOQUY. UXCHANGED within to see all changed without, Is a blank lot and hard to bear, no doubt. Yet why at others' warnings shouldst thou fret? Then only mightst thou feel a just regret, Hadst thou withheld thy love or hid thy light In selfish forethought of neglect and slight. O wiselier then, from feeble yearnings freed, While, and on whom, thou mayestshine on! nor heed Whether the object by reflected light Retum thy radiance or absorb it quite ; And though thou notest from thy safe recess Old Friends burn dim, like lamps in noisome air, Love them for what they are : nor love them less, Because to thee they are not what they were.

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!
Ah for the change 'twixt now and then!
This breathing house not built with hands,
This body that does me grievous wrong,
O'er airy cliffs and glittering sands,
How lightly then it flash'd 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.




A LOVELY form there sate beside my bed,
And such a feeding calm its presence shed,
A tender love so pure from earthly leaven
That I unnethe the fancy might control,
T was my own spirit newly come from heaven
Wooing its gentle way into my soul !
But ah! the change-It had not stirr’d, and yet,
Alas! that change how fain would I forget!
That shrinking back, like one that had mistook !
That weary, wandering, disavowing Look!
'T' was all another, feature, look, and frame,
And still, methought, I knew it was the same!

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,
Which tells me, Youth's no longer here!
O 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 tollid :-
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:


This riddling tale, to what does it belong ? Is i history ? vision? or an idle song?

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 house-mates still.

What outward form and feature are

He guesseth but in part;
But what within is good and fair

He seeth with the heart.



My eyes make pictures, when they are shut :-
I see a fountain, large and fair,

OB. ANNO DOM. 1088.
A willow and a ruin'd hut,

No more 'twixt conscience staggering and the Pope,
And thee, and me, and Mary there. Soon shall I now before my God appear,
O Mary! make thy gentle lap our pillow!

By him to be acquitted, as I hope ; Bend o'er us, like a bower, my beautiful green willow! By him to be condemned, as I fear, A wild-rose roofs the ruin'd shed,

REFLECTIONS ON THE ABOVE. And that and summer well agree : Lynx amid moles! had I stood by thy bed, And lo! where Mary leans her head,

Be of good cheer, meek soul! I would have said. Two dear names carved upon the tree! I see a hope spring from that humble fear. And Mary's tears, they are not tears of sorrow: All are not strong alike through storms to steer Our sister and our friend will both be here to-morrow. Right onward. What though dread of threaten'd

death "T was day! But now few, large, and bright, And dungeon torture made thy hand and breath

The stars are round the crescent moon! Inconstant to the truth within thy heart? And now it is a dark warm night,

That truth, from which, through fear, thou twice i The balmiest of the month of June !

didst start, A glow-worm fallen, and on the marge remounting Fear haply told thee, was a learned strife, Shines, and its shadow shines, fit stars for our sweet Or not so vital as to claim thy life: fountain.

And myriads had reach'd Heaven, who never knew

Where lay the difference 'twixt the false and true! O ever-ever be thou blest! For dearly, Asra! love I thee!

Ye who, secure 'mid trophies not your own, This brooding warmth across my breast, Judge him who won them when he stood alone,

This depth of tranquil bliss_ah me! And proudly talk of recreant BERENGAREFount, tree and shed are gone, I know not whither, O first the age, and then the man compare! But in one quiet room we three are still together. That age how dark ! congenial minds how rare!

No host of friends with kindred zeal did burn! The shadows dance upon the wall,

No throbbing hearts awaited his return! By the still dancing fire-flames made; Prostrate alike when prince and peasant fell, And now they slumber, moveless all !

He only disenchanted from the spell, And now they melt to one deep shade! Like the weak worm that gems the starless nighi, But not from me shall this mild darkness steal thee: Moved in the scanty circlet of his light: I dream thee with mine eyes, and at my heart I feel And was it strange if he withdrew the ray thee! That did but guide the night-birds to their

prey Thine eyelash on my cheek doth play The ascending Day-star with a bolder eye 'Tis Mary's hand upon my brow!

Hath lit each dew-drop on our trimmer lawn! But let me check this tender lay,

Yet not for this, if wise, will we decry Which none may hear but she and thou! The spots and struggles of the timid Dawn! Like the still hive at quiet midnight humming, Lest so we tempt th' approaching Noon to scorn Murmur it to yourselves, ye two beloved women! The mists and painted vapors of our Morn.





A-walking the DEVIL is gone,

To visit his little snug farm of the earth,
Nay, dearest Anna! why so grave ?

And see how his stock went on.
I said, you had no soul, 't is true !
For what you are you cannot have:

Over the hill and over the dale,
'Tis I, that have one since I first had you! And he went over the plain,

And backwards and forwards he swish'd his long tail

As a gentleman swishes his cane.
I HAVE heard of reasons manifold

And how then was the Devil drest ?
Why Love must needs be blind,

Oh! he was in his Sunday's best :
But this the best of all I hold-

His jacket was red and his breeches were blue, His eyes are in his mind.

And there was a hole where the tail came through

He saw a LAWYER killing a Viper
On a dung-heap beside his stable,

CONSTANCY TO AN IDEAL OBJECT. And the Devil smiled, for it put him in mind

SINCE all, that beat about in Nature's range, Of Cain and his brother, Abel.

Or veer or vanish, why shouldst thou remain

The only constant in a world of changeA POTHECARY on a white horse

O yearning THOUGHT, that livest but in the brain ? Rode by on his vocations,

Call to the HOURS, that in the distance play, And the Devil thought of his old Friend

The fairy people of the future dayDEATH in the Revelations.

Fond THOUGHT! not one of all that shining swarm

Will breathe on thee with life-enkindling breath,

Till when, like strangers shelt'ring from a storm, He saw a cottage with a double coach-house,

Hope and Despair meet in the porch of Death! A cottage of gentility!

Yet still thou haunt'st me; and though well I see, And the Devil did grin, for his darling sin

She is not thou, and only thou art she, Is pride that apes humility.

Still, still as though some dear embodied good,

Some living love before my eyes there stood, He went into a rich bookseller's shop,

With answering look a ready ear to lend, Quoth he! we are both of one college; I mourn to thee and say—“Ah! loveliest friend ! For I myself sate like a cormorant once

That this the meed of all my toils might be,
Fast by the tree of knowledge.*

To have a home, an English home and thee!
Vain repetition! Home and thou art one.

The peacefull’st cot the moon shall shine upon,
Down the river there plied with wind and tide,
A pig, with vast celerity;

Lull'd by the thrush and waken'd by the lark, And the Devil look'd wise as he saw how the while, Without thee were but a becalmed Bark, It cut its own throat. There! quoth he, with a smile, Whose helmsman on an ocean waste and wide Goes “ England's commercial prosperity.”

Sits mute and pale his mouldering helm beside.

And art thou nothing? Such thou art, as when As he went through Cold-Bath Fields, he saw

The woodman winding westward up the glen A solitary cell,

At wintry dawn, where o'er the sheep-track's maze And the Devil was pleased, for it gave him a hint

The viewless snow-mist weaves a glist'ning haze, For improving his prisons in Hell.

Sees full before him, gliding without tread,

An imaget with a glory round its head;
The enamour'd rustic worships its fair hues,

Nor knows, he makes the shadow he pursues !
General -'s burning face

He saw with consternation,
And back to Hell his way did he take,
For the Devil thought, by a slight mistake,

It was general conflagration.

ERE the birth of my life, if I wish'd it or no
No question was ask'd me-it could not be so!

If the life was the question, a thing sent to try.
And all amid them stood the Tree of Life
High eminent, blooming ambrosjal fruit

And to live on be Yes; what can No be? to die. of vegetable gold (query paper money?); and next to Life Our Death, the Tree of Knowledge, grew fast by.

Is 't return'd as 't was sent? Is 't no worse for the wear?
Think first, what you ARE! Call to mind what you

So clomb this first grand thief

I gave you innocence, I gave you hope, Thence up he flew, and on the tree of life

Gave health, and genius, and an ample scope. Sat like a cormorant.-Par. Lost, IV.

Return you me guilt, lethargy, despair? The allegory here is so apt, that in a catalogue of various Make out the Invent'ry; inspect, compare! readings obtained from collating the MSS. one might expect to Then die—if die you dare ! find it noted, that for "Life" Cod. quid habent, " Trade." Though indeed the trade, i. e. the bibliopolic, so called, ràr' coxny, may be regarded as Life sansu eminentiori : a suggestion, which I owe to a young retailer in the hosiery line, he might have been mistaken, and most certainly he did not who on bearing a description of the net profits, dinner parties, hear any names mentioned. In simple verity, the Author never country houses, etc. of the trade, exclaimed, “Ay! that's meant any one, or indeed any thing but to put a concluding what I call Life now!"-This "Life, our Death," is thus stanza to his doggerel. happily contrasted with the fruits of Authorship.Sic nos non + This phenomenon, which the Author has himself exponobis mellificamus Apes. Of this poem, with wbich the Fire, Famine and Slaughter of the earlier volumes of the Manchester Philosophical Trans

rienced, and of which the reader may find a description in ono first appeared in the Morning Post, the three first stanzas, which actions, is applied figuratively in the following passage of the are worth all the rest, and the ninth, were dictated by Mr. Aids to Reflection: Southey. Between the ninth and the concluding stanza, two or three are omitted as grounded on subjects that have lost their on different characters, holds equally true of Genius: as many

"Pindar's fine remark respecting the different effects of music interest and for better reasons. If any one should ask, who General —meant, the Author The beholder either recognizes it as a projected form of his own

as are not delighted by it are disturbed, perplexed, irritated. bega leave to inform him, that he did once see a red-faced per- Being, that moves before him with a Glory round its head, or son in a dream whom by the dress he took for a General ; but recoils from it as a spectre."--Aids to Reflection, p. 220. 2 D


Or call my destiny niggard ? O no! no!

It is her largeness, and her overflow,

Which being incomplete, disquieteth me so!


For never touch of gladness stirs my heart,

But tim'rously beginning to rejoice I seem to have an indistinct recolloction of having read either Like a blind Arab, that from sleep doth start in one of the ponderous tomes of George of Venice,

or in some In lonesome tent, I listen for thy voice. other compilation from the uninspired Hebrew Writers, an Apologue or Rabbinical Tradition to the following purpose:

Beloved ! 't is not thine; thou art not there! While our first parents stood before their offended Maker, Then melts the bubble into idle air, and the last words of the sentence were yet sounding in Adam's And wishing without hope I restlessly despair. ear, the guileful false serpent, a counterfeit and a usurper from the beginning, presumptuously took on himself the character

5. of advocate or mediator, and pretending to intercede for Adam, exclaimed: "Nay. Lord, in thy justice, not so: for the Man The mother with anticipated glee was the least in fault

. Rather let the Woman return at once Smiles o'er the child, that standing by her chair, to the dust, and let Adam remain in this thy Paradise.” And And flatt’ning its round cheek upon her knee, the word of the Most High answered Satan : " The tender Looks up, and doth its rosy lips prepare mercies of the wicked are cruel. Treacherous Fiend ! if with guilt like thine, it had been possible for thee to have the heart To mock the coming sounds. At that sweet sight of a Man, and to feel the yearning of a human soul for its She hears her own voice with a new delight; counterpart, the sentence, which thou now counsellest, should And if the babe perchance should lisp the notes have been inflicted on thyself."


6. (The title of the following poem was suggested by a fact mentioned by Linnæus, of a Dale-tree in a nobleman's garden, Then is she tenfold gladder than before! which year after year had put forth a full show of blossoms, But should disease or chance the darling take, but never produced fruit, till a branch from a Date-tree bad What then avail those songs, which sweet of yore been conveyed from a distance of some hundred leagues. The first leaf of the MS. from which the poem has been Were only sweet for their sweet echo's sake? transcribed, and which contained the two or three introduc- Dear maid! no pruttler at a mother's knee tory stanzas, is wanting: and the author has in vain taxed Was e'er so dearly prized as I prize thee: his memory to repair the loss. But a rude draught of the Why was I made for love, and love denied to me poem contains the substance of the stanzas, and the reader is requested to receive it as the substitute. It is not impossible, that some congenial spirit, whose years do not exceed those of the author at the time the poem was written, may find a pleasure in restoring the Lament to its original integ

FANCY IN NUBIBUS, rity by a reduction of the thoughts to the requisite Metre.



0! it is pleasant, with a heart at ease, 1.

Just after sunset, or hy moonlight skies, Beneath the blaze of a tropical sun the moun- To make the shifting clouds be what you please, tain peaks are the Thrones of Frost, through the Or let the easily persuaded eyes absence of objects to reflect the rays. “What no Own each quaint likeness issuing from the mould one with us shares, seems scarce our own." The

Of a friend's fancy; or with head bent low presence of a ONE,

And cheek aslant, see rivers flow of gold
The best beloved, who loveth me the best,

"Twixt crimson banks; and then, a traveller, go is for the heart, what the supporting air from within From mount to mount through CLOUDLAND, goris for the hollow globe with its suspended car. Deprive it of this, and all without, that would have Or list’ning to the tide, with closed sight, buoyed it aloft even to the seat of the gods, becomes Be that blind bard, who on the Chian strand a burthen, and crushes it into flatness.

By those deep sounds possess'd, with inward light 2.

Beheld the ILIAD and the ODYSSEY The finer the sense for the beautiful and the lovely,

Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea. and the fairer and lovelier the object presented to the sense ; the more exquisite the individual's capacity of joy, and the more ample his means and opportunities of enjoyment, the more heavily will he feel

THE TWO FOUNTS. the ache of solitariness, the more unsubstantial becomes the feast spread around him. What matters

STANZAS ADDRESSED TO A LADY ON HER RECOVERY, it, whether in fact the viands and the ministering


TACK OF PAIN. graces are shadowy or real, to him who has not hand to grasp nor arms to embrace them?

'Twas my last waking thought, how it could be 3.

That thou, sweet friend, such anguish shouldst endure: Imagination; honorable Aims;

When straight from Dreamland came a Dwarf, and he Free Commune with the choir that cannot die; Could tell the cause, forsooth, and knew the cure. Science and Song; Delight in little things, The buoyant child surviving in the man;

Methought he fronted me, with peering look Fields, forests, ancient mountains, ocean, sky, Fix'd on my heart; and read aloud in game With all their voices~0 dare I accuse

The loves and griefs therein, as from a book : My earthly lot as guilty of my spleen,

And utter'd praise like one who wish'd to blame.

geous land!

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As though the spirits of all lovely flowers, To each quaint image issuing from the mould
Inweaving each its wreath and dewy crown, Of a friend's fancy; or with head bent low,
Or ere they sank to earth in veral showers, And cheek aslant, see rivers flow of gold
Had built a bridge to tempt the angels down. 'Twixt crimson banks; and then, a traveller, go
Even so, Eliza! on that face of thine,

From mount to mount, through Cloudland, gorgeous On that benignant face, whose look alone

land! (The soul's translucence through her crystal shrine :)| Or listening to the tide, with closed sight, Has power to soothe all anguish but thine own. Be that blind bard, who on the Chian strand,

By those deep sounds possess'd, with inward light
A beauty hovers still, and ne'er takes wing, Beheld the Iliad and the Odyssey
But with a silent charm compels the stern

Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea !
And tort'ring Genius of the bitter spring
To shrink aback, and cower upon his urn.
Who then needs wonder, if (no outlet found

In passion, spleen, or strife) the FOUNT OF PAIN

O'erflowing beats against its lovely mound,
And in wild flashes shoots from heart to brain?

I ASK'd my fair, one happy day,

What I should call her in my lay, Sleep, and the Dwarf with that unsteady gleam

By what sweet name from Rome, or Greece, On his raised lip, that aped a critic smile,

Neæra, Laura, Daphne, Chloris, Had pass'd: yet I, my sad thoughts to beguile,

Carina, Lalage, or Doris, Lay weaving on the tissue of my dream:

Dorimene, or Lucrece? Till audibly at length I cried, as though

II. Thou hadst indeed been present to my eyes,

“Ah," replied my gentle fair ; O sweet, sweet sufferer! if the case be so,

“ Dear one, what are names but air I pray thee, be less good, less sweet, less wise !

Choose thou whatever suits the line;

Call me Laura, call me Chloris, In every look a barbed arrow send,

Call me Lalage, or Doris,
On these soft lips let scorn and anger live!

Only-only-call me thine!
Do any thing, rather than thus, sweet friend!
Hoard for thyself the pain thou wilt not give!

Sly Belzebub took all occasions
To try Job's constancy, and patience.

He took his honor, took his health ;

He took his children, took his wealth,
RESEMBLES life what once was held of light,

His servants, oxen, horses, cows,
Too ample in itself for human sight?

But cunning Satan did not lake his spouse.
An absolute self? an element ungrounded ?
All that we see, all colors of all shade

But Heaven, that brings out good from evil,
By encroach of darkness made ?

And loves to disappoint the devil,
Is very life by consciousness unbounded ?

Had predetermined to restore
And all the thoughts, pains, joys of mortal breath, Twofold all he had before ;
A war-embrace of wrestling life and death?

His servants, horses, oxen, cow-
Short-sighted devil, not to take his spouse!

We pledged our hearts, my love and I,-

I in my arms the maiden clasping;
I could not tell the reason why,

But, oh! I trembled like an aspen.

HOARSE Mævius reads his hobbling verte
To all, and at all times;
And finds them both divinely smooth,
His voice as well as rhymes.

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