the jarrings and conflicts of the wide world." "Nay," said Thelwall, "to make one forget them altogether." The visit of this man to Coleridge was, as I believe Coleridge has related, the occasion of a spy being sent by government to watch our proceedings, which were, I can say with truth, such as the world at large would have thought ludicrously harmless.]

I HAVE a boy of five years old;

His face is fair and fresh to see;

His limbs are cast in beauty's mould,
And dearly he loves me.

One morn we strolled on our dry walk,
Our quiet home all full in view,

And held such intermitted talk
As we are wont to do.

My thoughts on former pleasures ran;
I thought of Kilve's delightful shore,
Our pleasant home when spring began,1
A long, long year before.

A day it was when I could bear
Some fond regrets to entertain; 2
With so much happiness to spare,
I could not feel a pain.

The green earth echoed to the feet

Of lambs that bounded through the glade,

From shade to sunshine, and as fleet
From sunshine back to shade.3

1 1836.

Birds warbled round me- -and each trace

Of inward sadness had its charm;
Kilve, thought I, was a favoured place,
And so is Liswyn farm.

I said, and took him by the arm,

"On Kilve's smooth shore, by the green sea, Or here at Liswyn farm?" 2

In careless mood he looked at me,
While still I held him by the arm,
And said, "At Kilve I'd rather be
Than here at Liswyn farm."

"Now little Edward, say why so:
My little Edward, tell me why.".
"I cannot tell, I do not know."-
"Why, this is strange," said I;

For, here are woods, hills smooth and warm:1
There surely must some reason be

Why you would change sweet Liswyn farm .
For Kilve by the green sea."

At this, my boy hung down his head,
He blushed with shame, nor made reply;2
And three times to the child I said,

"Why, Edward, tell me why?" 3

His head he raised-there was in sight,
It caught his eye, he saw it plain—
Upon the house-top, glittering bright,
A broad and gilded vane.

Then did the boy his tongue unlock,
And eased his mind with this reply:
"At Kilve there was no weather-cock;
And that's the reason why."

4

O dearest, dearest boy! my heart
For better lore would seldom yearn,

Could I but teach the hundredth part

Of what from thee I learn.

In edd. 1798 to 1843 the title of this Poem is "Anecdote for Fathers, showing how the practice of lying may be taught."--ED.

[Written at Alfoxden. Arose out of my observing, on the ridge of Quantock Hill, on a stormy day, a thorn which I had often past in calm and bright weather, without noticing it. I said to myself, " Cannot I by some invention do as much to make this Thorn permanently an impressive object as the storm has made it to my eyes at this moment?" I began the poem accordingly, and composed it with great rapidity. Sir George Beaumont painted a picture from it which Wilkie thought his best. He gave it me: though when he saw it several times at Rydal Mount afterwards, he said, "I could make a better, and would like to paint the same subject over again." The sky in this picture is nobly done, but it reminds one too much of Wilson. The only fault, however, of any consequence is the female figure, which is too old and decrepit for one likely to frequent an eminence on such a call.]

II.

Like rock or stone, it is o'ergrown.
With lichens to the very top,

And hung with heavy tufts of moss,
A melancholy crop:

Up from the earth these mosses creep,
And this poor Thorn they clasp it round
So close you'd say that they are bent 1
With plain and manifest intent
To drag it to the ground;

And all have joined in one endeavour 2
To bury this poor thorn for ever.

1 1836.

III.

High on a mountain's highest ridge,
Where oft the stormy winter gale

Cuts like a scythe, while through the clouds
It sweeps from vale to vale;

Not five yards from the mountain path,

This Thorn you on your left espy;

And to the left, three yards beyond,

You see a little muddy pond

Of water-never dry,

Though but of compass small, and bare

To thirsty suns and parching air.3