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My fugitive years are all hasting away,
'Tis a sight to engage me, if anything can,
I KNEW by the smoke, that so gracefully curl'd
Above the green elms, that a cottage was near,
A heart that was humble might hope for it here!”
In silence reposed the voluptuous bee;
But the woodpecker tapping the hollow beech-tree.
" With a maid who was lovely to soul and to eye, Who would blush when I praised her, and weep if I blamed,
How blest could I live, and how calm could I die!
"By the shade of yon sumach, whose red berry dips
In the gush of the fountain, how sweet to recline,
AN ITALIAN SONG.
DEAR is my little native vale,
The ringdove builds and murmurs there ;
To every passing villager.
In orange-groves and myrtle-bowers,
That breathe a gale of fragrance round,
With my loved lute's romantic sound;
The ballet danced in twilight glade,
Sung in the silent green-wood shade ;
IF I had but two little wings,
To you I'd fly, my dear!
And I stay here.
The world is all one's own.
All, all alone.
For tho' my sleep be gone,
Samuel T. Coleridge.
THE POET'S NEW-YEAR'S GIFT.
To Lady Throckmorton.
For thee wish'd many a time,
But never yet in rhyme.
To wish thee fairer is no need,
More prudent or more sprightly, Or more ingenious, or more freed
From temper-flaws unsightly.
Can I for thee require,
To thy whole heart's desire ?
Full bliss is bliss divine;
And doubtless one in thine.
Which Fate shall brightly gild,
TO A LADY.
'Tis not the lily brow I prize,
Enough of lilies and of roses !
The look that gentle love discloses, That look which Love alone can see.
Samuel T. Coleridge.
TO HESTER SAVORY.
WHEN maidens such as Hester die,
With vain endeavour.
And her together.
A springy motion in her gait,
That flush'd her spirit :
She did inherit.
Her parents held the Quaker rule
Nature had blest her.
Ye could not Hester.
My sprightly neighbour! gone before
Some summer morning-
My Lilla gave me yestermorn
“ Since this sweet rose I owe to you,
MARGARET AND DORA.
MARGARET's beauteous_Grecian arts
Ne'er drew form completer, Yet why, in my heart of hearts,
Hold I Dora's sweeter ?
Dora's eyes of heavenly blue
Pass all paintings' reach,
The music of her speech.
And on canvas show it ;
CLEMENTINA AND LUCILLA.
IN Clementina's artless mien,
Lucilla asks me what I see, And are the roses of sixteen
Enough for me?
Lucilla asks, if that be all,
Have I not cull'd as sweet before Ah, yes, Lucilla ! and their fall
I still deplore. I now behold another scene,
Where Pleasure beams with heaven's own light, More pure, more constant, more serene,
And not less bright.
Faith on whose breast the Loves repose,
Whose chain of flowers no force can sever, And Modesty, who when she goes,
Is gone for ever.
Walter Savage Landor.