« AnteriorContinuar »
Now, not inaptly craved, commencing thus :
We'll pillow on the grass,
And fondly ruminate
Pastures track'd deep with cows,
Marking the cow boy-who so merry trills
Wooing the winds to pause
Till echo sings again,
To rob the little birds
And sloes, dim cover'd, as with dewy veils,
Arching their prickly trails
Half o'er the narrow lane;
His leathern garb, thorn-proof,
Wild sorceress ! me thy restless mood delights
Where, giddy with the din,
Heart sickening for the silence that is thine-
That lone and vagrant bee
The filtering winds, that winnow through the
woods In tremulous noise, now bid, at every breath,
Some sickly canker'd leaf
Let go its hold and die !
Thee urging to thine end,
And yet, sublime in grief, thy thoughts delight
Haply forgetting now,
They but prepare thy shroud !
Burns with thy mellow touch,
Soon must I view thee as a pleasant dream,
As sad the wind sinks low,
In dirges for their queen!
Starts from his shielding clod,
Thy life is waning now, and silence tries
As stooping low she ben:ls,.
Forming with leaves thy grave!
Then from thine ivy'd trance
9. T. COLERIDGE.
Oh! it is pleasant, with a heart at ease,
Just after sunset or by moonlight skies, To make the shifting clouds be what you please ;
Or yield the easily persuaded eyes.
To each quaint image issuing from the mould
Of a friend's fancy; or with head bent low, And cheek aslant, see rivers flow of gold
'Twixt crimson banks : and then, a traveller, go
From mount to mount, through CLOUDLAND,
gorgeous land ! Or listening to the tide, with closed sight, Be that blind bard, who on the Chian strand, By those deep sounds possess'd, with inward
light Beheld the ILIAD and the ODYSSEE Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea !
THE CHAPEL ON THE CLIFF.
Like childhood making mirth of age,
In its unthinking levity,
Spends his meridian glee.
The chapel grey, and him who now Upon the ivy-stone reclines,
With wrinkled hand and brow. And yet I sin, perhaps-forgive,
Creator of the orb of day!
Wax peevish with decay.
Woke joy, for all was light within ;
Exclaims, such time hath been ! Be still, ye glossy beechen leaves !
Ye echoes of the broken hill,
A moment be ye still !
That, as the prophet's prayer for rain, May pour new life into a heart
Long shrunk in every vein :
Thy dreamy mantle wraps my frame : I see the vision of my youth
In all, save life, the same.
In her fast-ripening loveliness
I note a white-robed maiden shine, And faithful to her foot-print, one
Whose form and face were mine. 'Tis summer with the blue, blue sky,
With earth and with its flow'rets fair; 'Tis summer with the glancing lake,
And with that happy pair : They're roaming by the water side ;
They're seated in a fairy skiff,
The chapel on the cliff.
A merry, wanton breeze, I trow;
And lips her breast of snow.
Her heart, to still its throb of fear ; 'Tis not more flattered than thy own,
Thou timid mariner ! Among the lilies of the lake
The youth has moored the tiny skiff ;
Ascending the rude cliff.
Which topples o'er the depths below!
That waveth to and fro.
He culls the rarest of the bough,
And a half-murmured vow.