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WRITTEN IN GERMANY

ON ONE OF THE COLDEST DAYS OF THE CENTURY

1799 1800

A bitter winter it was when these verses were composed by the side of my Sister, in our lodgings at a draper's house in the romantic imperial town of Goslar, on the edge of the Hartz Forest. In this town the German emperors of the Franconian line were accustomed to keep their court, and it retains vestiges of ancient splendour. So severe was the cold of this winter, that when we passed out of the parlour warmed by the stove, our cheeks were struck by the air as by cold iron. I slept in a room over a passage which was not ceiled. The people of the house used to say, rather unfeelingly, that they expected I should be frozen to death some night; but, with the protection of a pelisse lined with fur, and a dog's-skin bonnet, such as was worn by the peasants, I walked daily on the ramparts, or in a sort of public ground or garden, in which was a pond. Here, I had no companion but a kingfisher, a beautiful creature, that used to glance by me. I consequently became much attached to it. During these walks I composed the poem that follows.

The Reader must be apprised, that the Stoves in NorthGermany generally have the impression of a galloping horse upon them, this being part of the Brunswick Arms.

A PLAGUE on your languages, German and Norse!
Let me have the song of the kettle;

And the tongs and the poker, instead of that horse

That gallops away with such fury and force
On this dreary dull plate of black metal.

See that Fly, a disconsolate creature! perhaps
A child of the field or the grove;

And, sorrow for him! the dull treacherous heat
Has seduced the poor fool from his winter retreat,
And he creeps to the edge of my stove.

Alas! how he fumbles about the domains
Which this comfortless oven environ!

He cannot find out in what track he must crawl,
Now back to the tiles, then in search of the wall,
And now on the brink of the iron.

Stock-still there he stands like a traveller bemazed:
The best of his skill he has tried;

His feelers, methinks, I can see him put forth

To the east and the west, to the south and the north;
But he finds neither guide-post nor guide.

His spindles sink under him, foot, leg, and thigh!

His eyesight and hearing are lost;

Between life and death his blood freezes and thaws;
And his two pretty pinions of blue dusky gauze

Are glued to his sides by the frost.

1

No brother, no mate has he near him - while I
Can draw warmth from the cheek of my Love;
As blest and as glad, in this desolate gloom,

As if green summer grass were the floor of my room,
And woodbines were hanging above.

Yet, God is my witness, thou small helpless Thing!
Thy life I would gladly sustain

Till summer come up from the south, and with crowds Of thy brethren a march thou should'st sound through the clouds,

And back to the forests again!

"BLEAK SEASON WAS IT, TURBULENT

AND WILD”

1800(?) 1851

BLEAK season was it, turbulent and wild,
When hitherward we journeyed, side by side,

Through bursts of sunshine and through flying showers,
Paced the long vales, how long they were, and yet
How fast that length of way was left behind! -
Wensley's rich dale, and Sedberge's naked heights.
The frosty wind, as if to make amends

For its keen breath, was aiding to our steps,
And drove us onward as two ships at sea;

Or like two birds, companions in mid-air,
Parted and reunited by the blast.

Stern was the face of Nature; we rejoiced

In that stern countenance; for our souls thence drew A feeling of their strength.

The naked trees,

The icy brooks, as on we passed, appeared

To question us, "Whence come ye, to what end?”

"ON NATURE'S INVITATION DO I

COME"

1800(?) 1851

ON Nature's invitation do I come,

By Reason sanctioned. Can the choice mislead,
That made the calmest, fairest spot on earth,
With all its unappropriated good,

My own; and not mine only, for with me
Entrenched-say rather peacefully embowered-
Under yon orchard, in yon humble cot,
A younger orphan of a name extinct,

The only daughter of my parents, dwells:

Aye, think on that, my heart, and cease to stir;
Pause upon that, and let the breathing frame
No longer breathe, but all be satisfied.

Oh, if such silence be not thanks to God

For what hath been bestowed, then where, where then Shall gratitude find rest? Mine eyes did ne'er

Fix on a lovely object, nor my mind

Take pleasure in the midst of happy thought,
But either she, whom now I have, who now
Divides with me that loved abode, was there,
Or not far off. Where'er my footsteps turned,

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