Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home,

The wisdom that I learn'd so ill in this
The wisdom which is love-till I become

Thy fit companion in that land of bliss ?

A DAY-DREAM. COLERIDGE is remarkable for the suggestive character of his compositions. He not only conveys his own beautiful and profound thoughts to the reader, but makes the reader think for himself and create new thoughts of his own. This is remarkably seen in the following:My eyes make pictures when they're shut:

I see a fountain large and fair, A willow and a ruin'd hut,

And thee, and me, and Mary there, O Mary! make thy gentle lap our pillow! Bend o'er us like a bower, my beautiful green willow ! A wild rose roofs the ruin'd shed,

And that and summer well agree; And lo! where Mary leans her head,

Two dear names carved upon the tree ! And Mary's tears, they are not tears of sorrow : Our sister and our friend will both be here to-morrow. 'Twas day! But now, few, large and bright,

The stars are round the crescent moon ! And now it is a dark, warm night,

The balmiest of the month of June. A glow-worm fallen, and on the marge remounting Shines, and its shadow shines, fit stars for our sweet

fountain !
O, ever, ever be thou blest !

For dearly, Nora! love I thee!
This brooding warmth across my breast,

This depth of tranquil bliss-ah, me!
Fount, tree, and shed are gone, I know not whither
But in one quiet room we three are still together.
The shadows dance upon the wall,

By the still-dancing fire-flames made;
And now they slumber, moveless all !

And now they melt to one deep shade!

When I walked forth upon the glittering grass,
And wept, I knew not why: until there rose
From the near school-room, voices, that, alas !
Were but one echo from a world of woes
The harsh and grating strife of tyrant and of foes.

Alas, that love should be a blight and snare
To those who seek all sympathies in one!
Such once I sought in vain; then black despair,
The shadow of a starless night, was thrown
Over the world in which I moved alone :--
Yet never found I one not false to me,
Hard hearts, and cold, like weights of icy stone

Which crush'd and wither'd mine, that could not be Aught but a lifeless clog, until revived by thee.

Thou Friend, whose presence on my wintry heart
Fell, like bright Spring upon some herbless plain,
How beautiful and calm and free thou wert
In thy young wisdom, when the mortal chain
Of Custom thou didst burst and rend in twain,
And walk'd as free as light the clouds among,
Which many an envious slave then breathed in vain

From his dim dungeon, and my spirit sprung
To meet thee from the woes which had begirt it long.

No more alone through the world's wilderness,
Although I trod the paths of high intent,
I journey'd now : no more companionless,
Where solitude is like despair, I went.-
There is the wisdom of a stern content
When Poverty can blight the just and good,
When Infamy dares mock the innocent,

And cherish'd friends turn with the multitude
To trample: this was ours, and we unshaken stood !

Now has descended a serener hour,
And with inconstant fortune, friends return;
Though suffering leaves the knowledge and the power
Which says :-Let scorn be not repaid with scorn.
And from thy side two gentle babes are born
To fill our home with smiles, and thus are we
Most fortunate beneath life's beaming morn:

And these delights, and thou, have been to me
The parents of the Song I consecrate to thee.

And what art thou? I ke per ser
Time may interpret tu tür sister
Yet in the paleness of the tuyagitar u
And in the bigut think atspx. iure un
And in thy sweetest smits. eitere
And in thy gentle speeeit. & propux"
Is whispered, to subdue minute in

And through thine eyes, even is. tu ovla
A lamp of vestal fire burning interes

They say that thou wert lovet fruk int
Of glorious parents thou aspiring bans
I wonder not-for One tisse. set fra var
Whose life was like a betting praktis
Which clothed thee in the ressalts with
Of its departing glory; etil s pise
Shines on thee, througl. tu bus paar '. *.
Which shake these latin wye ou y e
The shelter, from thy Sirs, of the sitt. *

One voice came forth frok, lase in that can can
Which was the vehy of tuis Lavas;
And the tumultuous wuris blast malay mo
As some lone man who was
The msie of his boma - -
Fell on the pale uppoove o m
And Faith. aud Cuen a syr o r att den stor

Like thunder-BUI VOKAS Skogu av to a gente
Left the turi buwan berat in itsas mer.

Truth's deathless pans a Da
If there must e appaa
If men must be made by a fury and
On bis puts one way she
Sweet Friend I can 1993 1992 our wa y
Like lampe way the watch
Two trangul stans, while loud
Wlúch way they txon the outer
That pura free par



But not from me shall this mild darkness steal thee :
I dream thee with mine eyes, and at my heart I feel thee.

Thine eyelash on my cheek doth play;

'Tis Mary's hand upon my brow! But let me check this tender lay

Which none may hear but she and thou !
Like the still hive at quiet midnight humming,
Murmur it to yourselves, ye two beloved women!

By R. F. HOUSMAN, an American poet.
It was a vision pure and mild

As ever bless'd a waking eye;
The sweet form of a sinless child,

Beneath a summer sky.
I sat beside the mossy-roots

Of an old Elm-a hoary tree ;
And near my feet a little rill

Went dancing in its glee

Went dancing on the livelong day,

Through flickering scenes of light and shade ;
Yet soinetimes paused in flowery nooks,

And with the flowerets played.
I gazed upon the restless thing,

With mingled thoughts of joy and pain ;
For that blithe streamlet led my heart

To childhood's sunny plain.
When hark! the greenwood thickets stir-

The tangled hazel boughs divide-
And, lo ! a bright-hair'd, happy child

Is standing at my side!
'Tis wearied with its summer play-

As roses droop with too much dew,
And on its smooth cheek deeply burns

The rose's crimson hue.

Around its brow a coronal

Of fairest leaves and buds entwine; And on its lip a thousand gems

Lie fresh from Nature's mine.

'Tis wearied out with summer play:

The sparkling wreath aside is flung-
And in the young moss sweetly sleeps

A child, as bright and young !
But years since then have pass'd away,

And years bring change, and blight, and woeAnd they who come the latest here

Are of the first to go.
The phantom of the greenwood glen

Is sleeping in a quiet tomb,
Beneath the ancient yew, that fills

The churchyard with its gloom. The crimson blush of dappled dawn

Wakes all sweet things in bower and brake, The bird, the flower, the lamb, the fawn

But she may never wake.

Yet often in the summer time

I sit beside the hoary tree, And love to watch the little rill

Go dancing in its glee.

And when a small bird breaks away

From its dim nook of shrouding leaves, My startled spirit owns the spell

That subtle fancy weaves ;

And then I see, or seem to see,

Between the blossom'd branches wild, Come stealing in with silent step,

The solitary child !

« 上一頁繼續 »