Is shining at this very hour
In all his glory, all his power;
And when the cloud is past, again
Will dry up every drop of rain.

TO THE RIVER OTTER.

By COLERIDGE.

DEAR native brook! wild streamlet of the West!
How many various-fated years have past,

What happy, and what mournful hours, since last
I skimm'd the smooth thin stone along thy breast,
Numbering its light leaps! yet so deep imprest
Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes
I never shut amid the sunny ray,

But straight with all their tints thy waters rise,

Thy crossing plank, thy marge with willows gray, And bedded sand that, vein'd with various dyes, Gleam'd through thy bright transparence! On my way Visions of childhood! oft have ye beguiled Lone manhood's cares, yet waking fondest sighs: Ah! could I be once more a careless coild!

A SKETCH FROM NATURE.

From an old periodical entitled the Germ.

THE air blows pure, for twenty miles,
Over this vast countrié:

Over hill and wood and vale, it goeth,

Over steeple, and stack, and tree:

And there's not a bird on the wind but knoweth
How sweet these meadows be.

The swallows are flying beside the wood,
And the corbies are hoarsely crying;

And the sun at the end of the earth hath stood,
And, through the hedge and over the road,
On the grassy slope is lying:

And the sheep are taking their supper-food
While yet the rays are dying.

Sleepy shadows are filling the furrows,
And giant-long shadows the trees are making;
And velvet soft are the woodland tufts,
And misty-gray the low-down crofts;
But the aspens there have gold-green tops,
And the gold-green tops are shaking:
The spires are white in the sun's last light;
And yet a moment ere he drops,
Gazes the sun on the golden slopes.

Two sheep, afar from fold,

Are on the hill-side straying,
With backs all silver, breasts all gold:
The merle is something saying,
Something very very sweet :-

"The day—the day—the day is done : "

There answereth a single bleat—

The air is cold, the sky is dimming,

And clouds are long like fishes swimming.

OF MY LADY

IN DEATH.

Found in an old magazine.

ALL seems a painted show. I look
Up through the bloom that's shed
By leaves above my head,

And feel the earnest life forsook
All being, when she died :-
My heart halts, hot and dried

As the parch'd course where once a brook
Through fresh growth used to flow,-
Because her past is now

No more than stories in a printed book.

The grass has grown above that breast,
Now cold and sadly still,

My happy face felt thrill:

Her mouth's mere tones so much express'd!

Those lips are now close set,—
Lips which my own have met;
Her eyelids by the earth are press'd;
Damp earth weighs on her eyes;
Damp earth shuts out the skies.
My lady rests her heavy, heavy rest.

To see her slim perfection sweep,
Trembling impatiently,

With eager gaze at me!

Her feet spared little things that creep:-
"We've no more right," she'd say,
"In this the earth than they."
Some remember it but to weep.

Her hand's slight weight was such,
Care lighten'd with its touch;

My lady sleeps her heavy, heavy sleep.

My day-dreams hover'd round her brow;
Now o'er its perfect forms

Go softly real worms.
Stern death, it was a cruel blow,
To cut that sweet girl's life
Sharply, as with a knife.
Cursed life that lets me live and grow,
Just as a poisonous root,

From which rank blossoms shoot;

My lady's laid so very, very low.

Dread power, grief cries aloud, "unjust,"-
To let her young life play

Its easy, natural way;
Then, with an unexpected thrust,
Strike out the life you lent,

Just when her feelings blent

With those around whom she saw trust
Her willing power to bless,

For their whole happiness;

My lady moulders into common dust.

Small birds twitter and peck the weeds
That wave above her head,

Shading her lowly bed:

Their brisk wings burst light globes of seeds,

Scattering the downy pride
Of dandelions, wide:

Speargrass stoops with watery beads:
The weight from its fine tips
Occasionally drips:

The bee drops in the mallow-bloom, and feeds.

About her window, at the dawn,

From the vine's crooked boughs
Birds chirupp'd an arouse :

Flies, buzzing, strengthen'd with the morn ;—
She'll not hear them again

At random strike the pane : No more upon the close-cut lawn, Her garment's sun-white hem Bend the prim daisy's stem,

In walking forth to view what flowers are born.

No more she'll watch the dark-green rings
Stain'd quaintly on the lea,

To image fairy glee;

While through dry grass a faint breeze sings, And swarms of insects revel

Along the sultry level :

No more will watch their brilliant wings,
Now lightly dip, now soar,

Then sink, and rise once more.

My lady's death makes dear these trivial things.

Within a huge tree's steady shade,
When resting from our walk,
How pleasant was her talk!
Elegant deer leap'd o'er the glade,

Or stood with wide bright eyes,
Staring a short surprise:
Outside the shadow cows were laid,
Chewing with drowsy eye

Their cuds complacently:

Dim for sunshine drew near a milking-maid.

Rooks caw'd and labour'd through the heat;
Each wing-flap seem'd to make

Their weary bodies ache:
The swallows, though so very fleet,

Made breathless pauses there At something in the air :— All disappear'd: our pulses beat

Distincter throbs: then each

Turn'd and kiss'd, without speech,

She trembling, from her mouth down to her feet.

My head sank on her bosom's heave,

So close to the soft skin

I heard the life within.

My forehead felt her coolly breathe,
As with her breath it rose:

To perfect my repose

Her two arms clasp'd my neck. The eve
Spread silently around,

A hush along the ground,

And all sound with the sunlight seem'd to leave.

By my still gaze she must have known
The mighty bliss that fill'd

My whole soul, for she thrill'd,
Drooping her face, flush'd, on my own;
I felt that it was such

By its light warmth of touch.
My lady was with me alone:

That vague sensation brought
More real joy than thought.

I am without her now, truly alone.
We had no heed of time: the cause
Was that our minds were quite
Absorb'd in our delight,

Silently bless'd. Such stillness awes,

And stops with doubt, the breath,
Like the mute doom of death.
I felt Time's instantaneous pause;
An instant, on my eye

Flash'd all eternity:

I started, as if clutch'd by wild beasts' claws,

Awaken'd from some dizzy swoon:

I felt strange vacant fears,
With singings in my ears,

And wonder'd that the pallid moon