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They wished their lot like hers:
A wretched widow now,
With only one preserved,
She wanders o'er the wilderness.
But sometimes, when the boy
Would wet her hand with tears,
Utter a feeble groan.
He gave, He takes away!
How calmly, gliding through the dark-blue sky,
HARTLEY COLERIDGE, the eldest son of the great poet of the same name, was born at Clevedon A.D. 1796. In his early childhood a poem of Wordsworth's,“O thou whose Fancies from afar are brought," was inscribed to him; and, at a yet earlier period, he was addressed by his father in lines entitled “Frost at Midnight.” To the last hour of his life these poems seemed to delineate Hartley Coleridge, and record what they had prophesied. His childhood passed like a dream, for he was ever in reverie; and the rest of his life partook largely of the same character. In 1808 he was placed, as a day-scholar, under the care of the Rev. John Dawes, at Ambleside, and thus found himself in frequent intercourse with many of the most emi. nent poets then living, including his uncle Mr. Southey, and Wordsworth. In 1815 he went to Oxford. His genius soon made itself known there; and he obtained a fellowship at Oriel College, which promised a secure provision for the rest of his life. Unfortunately he had not the self-control necessary in order to withstand the convivial temptations to which he was constitutionally subject. He lost his appointment; and that loss he never recovered. He continued, throughout a desultory life, to make literature his main pursuit. In 1832 he published his Worthies of Yorkshire and Lancashire, and the next year a volume of poems. His latter years were spent at the “ Nab Cottage," on the banks of Rydal Water. Here he lived in the midst of literary pursuits, alternated with frequent wanderings amid the vales of the north, endeared to all his neighbours by his cordiality and ready sympathies yet more than by his rare literary and conversational powers. He died of bronchitis Jan. 6, 1849.
That infirmity of will which is so touchingly acknowledged and deplored in the poetry of Hartley Coleridge was the cause doubtless of his not reaching a far higher place in literature. His poems are excellent alike for soundness of thought, descriptive power, fancy, and felicity of diction; and their moral tone is elevating. His sonnets are very remarkable. They are the most imaginative part of his writings, as well as the most highly finished; and possess that indescribable union of sweetness and subtle pathos for which the sonnets of Shakespeare are so remarkable.
If I have sinn'd in act, I may repent ;
That makes my hungry passion still keep Lent
TO THE NAUTILUS.
Where Ausonian summers glowing
Warm the deep to life and joyance;
Dost thou appear
Through the white foam proudly dashing ;
O’er the furrow'd waters gliding ; Thou nor wreck nor foeman dreadest, Thou nor helm nor compass needest : While the sun is bright above thee, While the bounding surges love thee, In their deepening bosoms hiding,
Thou canst not fear,
Bear thee to the desert ocean
Follows Nature's course but slowly,
Bold faith and cheer,
Are thine within thy pearly dwelling,
To thee a law of life compelling,
THOMAS CAMPBELL was born in Scotland, A.D. 1777. He was very early brought into notice by the success of his first poem, The Pleasures of Hope. Still more admired were his minor poems, which appeared several years later; and his Gertrude of Wyoming, a tale rich in beauty and pathos, raised him to a reputation shared by but few. During a long literary life, Campbell sustained the unusual and flattering reproach of publishing too little. He wrote with that care which the greatest genius can turn to the best account, and without which its products have little chance of reaching posterity. The labour with which Campbell composed teaches us, however, another danger, from which poetry may suffer as much as from care. lessness. His was too often an ill-directed labour, less regardful of what is essential in poetry than solicitous about its ornaments. In repeated corrections the main thought seems frequently to have escaped him; and many a passage powerfully condensed, and ex. hibiting high touches of art, is deficient in the humbler requisites of sound logic, and correctness of grammar and diction. His lyrics, however, especially his naval odes, possess a noble fire and energy which disposes the reader to overlook imperfections of detail, though of that kind in which imperfection is most to be regretted. Camp. bell died in the year 1843.
THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.
Of Nelson and the north
Like Leviathans afloat,
It was ten of April morn by the chime.
Now joy, old England, raise !