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" Farewell, farewell! and Mary grant,

When old and frail you be, l'ou never may the shelter want,

That's now denied to me."

All sunk and dim her eyes so bright,

Her form decay'd by pining,
Till through her wasted hand, at night,

You saw the taper shining;
By fits, a sultry hectic hue

Across her cheek was flying;
By fits, so ashly pale she grew,

Her maidens thought her dying.

The Ranger on his couch lay warm,

And heard him plead in vain ; But oft amid December's storm,

He'll hear that voice again :

For low, when through the vapors dank,

Morn shone on Ettrick fair, I corpse amid the alders rank,

The Palmer welter'd there.

Yet keenest powers to see and hear,

Seem'd in her frame residing;
Before the watch-clog prick'd his ear,

She heard her lover's riding;
Ere scarce a distant form was kenn'd,

She knew, and waved to greet him;
And o'er the battlement did bend,

As on the wing to meet him.

He came

- he pass'd — a heedless gaze, THE MAID OF NEIDPATH.

As o'er some stranger glancing; [There is a tradition in Tweeddale, that, when

Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase, Neidpath Castle, near Peebles, was inhabited Lost in his courser's prancing – by the Earls of March, a mutual passion sub- The castle arch, whose hollow tone isted between a daughter of that noble family,

Returns each whisper spoken, and a son of the Laird of Tushielaw, in Ettrick Forest. As the alliance was thought unsuit

Could scarcely catch the feeble moan, able by her parents, the young man went Which told her heart was broken. abroad. During his absence, the lady fell into a consumption; and at length, as the only ineans of saving her life, her father consented that her lover should be recalled. On the day when he was expected to pass through Peebles, on the road to Tushielaw, the young lady,

REBECCA'S HYMN. though much exhausted, caused herself to be carried to the balcony of a house in Peebles,

[From Ivanhoe.] belonging to the family, that she might see him as he rode past. Her anxiety and eager

When Israel, of the Lord beloved, ness gave such force to her organs, that she is Out from the land of bondage came, said to have distinguished his horse's footsteps at an incredible distance. But Tushielaw, un

Her fathers' God before her moved, prepared for the change in her appearance, and An awful guide in smoke and flame not expecting to see her in that place, rode on By day, along the astonish'd lands without recognizing her, or even slackening his

The clouded pillar glided slow; pace. The lady was unable to support the shock; and, after a short struggle, died in the By night Arabia's crimson'd sands arms of her attendants. There is an incident Return'd the fiery column's glow. similar to this traditional tale in Count Hamilton's " Fleur d'Epine."]

Ther', rose the choral hymn of praise, O LOVERS' eyes are sharp to see,

And trump and timbrel answer'd keen, And lovers' ears in hearing;

And Zion's daughters pour'd their lays, And love, in life's extremity,

With priest's and warrior's voice beCan lend an hour of cheering.

tween. Disease had been in Mary's bower, No portents now our foes amaze, And slow decay from mourning,

Forsaken Israel wanders lone: Though now she sits on Neidpath's Our fathers would not know Thy ways, tower,

And Thou hast left them to their To watch her love's returning.


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Awake in thy chamber, thou sweet Be his pilot experienced, and trusty, southland gale!

and wise, Like the sighs of his people, breathe To measure the seas and to study the soft on his sail :

skies: Be prolong'd as regret, that his vassals May he hoist all his canvas from streamer must know,

to deck, Be fair as their faith, and sincere as But O! crowd it higher when wafting their woe:

him backBe so soft, and so fair, and so faithful, Till the cliffs of Skooroora, and Couan's sweet gale,

glad vale, Warting onward Mackenzie, High Chief Shall welcome Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail !

of Kintail !



(SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE was born at Ottery Saint Mary in the year 1772, was educated at Christ's Hospital and Jesus College, Cambridge, and died in 1834, at Highgate, in the house of Mr. Gillman, under whose friendly care he had passed the last eighteen years of his life, during which years he wrote but little. His first volume of poems was published at Bristol in 1796, and in 1798, Wordsworth's famous volume of Lyrical Ballads, to which Coleridge contributed The Ancient Mariner, together with some other pieces. Christabel, after lying long in manuscript, was printed in 1816, three editions of it appearing in one year: and in the next year Coleridge published a collection of his chief poems, under the title of Sibylline Leares, " in allusion," as he says, “to the fragmentary and wildly-scattered state in which they had been long suffered to remain." ' A desultory writer both in prose and verse, he published the first really collective edition of his Poetical and Dramatic Works in the year 1828, in three volumes arranged by himself; a third and more complete issue of which, arranged by another hand, appeared in 1834, the year of his death. The latest reprint, with notes and an excellent memoir, and some poems not included in any earlier collection, is founded on that final edition of 1834.]

DEAD CALM IN THE TROPICS. Right up above the mast did stand, (The Ancient Mariner.]

No bigger than the Moon. THE fair bieeze blew, the white foam Day after day, day after day, fiew,

We stuck, nor breath nor motion; The furrow followed free;

As idle as a painted ship We were the first that ever burst Upon a painted ocean. Into that silent sea.

Water, water, everywhere, Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt | And all the boards did shrink; down,

Water, water, everywhere, 'Twas sad as sad could be;

Nor any drop to drink.
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!

The very deep did rot: 0 Christ!

That ever this should be ! All in a hot and copper sky,

Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs The bloody Sun, at noon,

Upon the slimy sea.

Within the shadow of the ship
I watched their rich attire :
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,
They coiled and swam; and every track
Was a flash of golden fire.


THE DEAD BODIES OF THE SAILORS. ALONE, alone, all, all alone, Alone on the wide wide sea! And never a saint took pity on My soul in agony. The many men, so beautiful ! And they all dead did lie: And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on; and so did I.

O happy living things! no tongue
Their beauty might declare:
A spring of love gushed from my heart,
And I blessed them unaware :
Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
And I blessed them unaware.
The selfsame moment I could pray;
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea.

I looked upon the rotting sea,
And drew my eyes away;
I looked upon the rotting deck,
And there the dead men lay.


I looked to heaven, and tried to pray;
But or ever a prayer had gusht,
A wicked whisper came, and made
My heart as dry as dust.
I closed my eyes and kept them close,
And the balls like pulses beat;
For the sky and the sea, and the sea and

the sky,
Lay like a load on my weary eye,
And the dead were at my feet.
The cold sweat melted from their limbs,
Nor rot nor reck did they :
The look with which they looked on me
Had never passed away.
An orphan's curse would drag to hell
A spirit from on high;
But oh! more horrible than that
Is the curse in a dead man's eye!
Seven days, seven nights, I saw that

curse, And yet I could not die.

Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,
Beloved from pole to pole!
To Mary Queen the praise be given !
She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven,
That slid into my soul.
The silly buckets on the deck,
That had so long remained,
I dreamt that they were filled with dew;
And when I woke, it rained.

My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
My garments all were dank;
Sure I had drunken in my dreams,
And still my body drank.
I moved, and could not feel my limbs :
I was so light -- almost
I thought that I had died in sleep,
And was a blessed ghost.

And soon I heard a roaring wind:
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the sails,
That were so thin and sere.

BEYOND the shadow of the ship,
I watched the water-snakes:
They moved in tracks of shining white,
And when they reared, the elfish light
Fell off in hoary flakes.

The upper air burst into life!
And a hundred fire-flags sheen,
To and fro they were hurried about!
And to and fro, and in and out,
The wan stars danced between.

And the coming wind did roar more loud, The lovely lady, Christabel,
And the sails did sigh like sedge; Whom her father loves so well,
And the rain poured down from one What makes her in the wood so late,
black cloud;

A furlong from the castle gate?
The Moon was at its edge.

She had dreams all yesternight

Of her own betrothed knight; The thick black cloud was cleft, and still Dreams that made her moan and leap The Moon was at its side:

As on her bed she lay in sleep; Like waters shot from some high crag, And she in the midnight wood will pray The lightning fell with never a jag, For the weal of her lover that's far A river steep and wide.

away. She stole along, she nothing spoke,

The sighs she heaved were soft and THE BEST PRAYER.

low, He prayeth best, who loveth best

And naught was green upon the oak All things both great and small;

But moss and rarest mistletoe: For the dear God who loveth us,

She kneels beneath the huge oak tree, We made and loveth all.

And in silence prayeth she.
The lady sprang up suddenly,

The lovely lady, Christabel !

It moaned as near as near can be,

But what it is she cannot tell. 'Tis the middle of night by the castle On the other side it seems to be clock,

Of the huge, broad-breasted, old oak And the owls have awaken'd the crow

tree. ing cock, Tu-whit !—Tu-whoo!

The night is chill; the forest bare; And hark, again! the crowing cock,

Is it the wind that moaneth bleak? How drowsily it crew.

There is not wind enough in the air

To move away the ringlet curl Sir Leoline, the Baron rich,

From the lovely lady's cheek — Hath a toothless mastiff bitch;

There is not wind enough to twirl From her kennel beneath the rock The one red leaf, the last of its clan, She maketh answer to the clock, That dances as often as dance it can, Four for the quarters, and twelve for Hanging so light, and hanging so high, the hour;

On the topmost twig that looks up at Ever and aye, by shine and shower,

the sky. Sixteen short howls, not over loud; Some say, she sees my lady's shroud. Hush, beating heart of Christabel !

Jesu Maria, shield her well! Is the night chilly and dark?

She folded her arms beneath her cloak, The night is chilly, but not dark. And stole to the other side of the oak. The thin gray cloud is spread on high, What sees she there? It covers but not hides the sky. The moon is behind, and at the full; There she sees a damsel bright, And yet she looks both small and dull. Drest in a silken robe of white, The night is chill, the cloud is gray: That shadowy in the moonlight shone:

Tis a month before the month of May, | The neck that made that white roho And the Spring comes slowly up this

wan, way.

Her stately neck and arms were bare;

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