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When human ruin choked the streams,
Fell in connuest's glutted hour,
Sudden blasts of triumph swelling,
Rush around her narrow dwelling!
Foul her life, and dark her doom-
Dance like death-fires round her temb!
Each some tyrant-murderer's fate!
My soul beheld thy vision ! Where alone,
Voiceless and stern, before the cloudy throne, Aye Memory sits; thy robe inscribed with gore, With many an imaginable groan
Thou storied'st thy sad hours! Silence ensued, Deep silence o'er the ethereal multitude. Whose locks with wreaths, whose wreaths with glories shone.
Then, his eye wild ardours glancing,
From the choirèd gods advancing,
Not yet enslaved, not wholly vile,
Echo to the bleat of flocks
Proudly ramparted with rocks);
Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star
Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody
Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought,
Awake, my soul! not only passive praise
Thou first and chief, sole sovran of the vale !
And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad !
Ye ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow
Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost! Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest ! Ye eagle's playmates of the mountain storm! Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!. Ye signs and wonders of the element ! Utter forth God,' and fill the hills with praise ! Thou too, hoar mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks, Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene, Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast Thou too, again, stupendous mountain! thou, That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low
In adoration, upward from thy base
That crazed that bold and lovely knight, All are but ministers of love,
And that he crossed the mountain-woods. And feed his sacred flame.
Nor rested day nor night ; Oft in my waking dreams do I
That sometimes from the savage den, Live o'er again that happy hour,
And sometimes from the darksome shade When midway on the mount I lay, And sometimes starting up at once, Beside the ruined tower.
In green and sunny glade,
This miserable knight!
He leaped amid a murderous band,
And saved from outrage worse than death Amid the lingering light.
The lady of the land ; Few sorrows hath she of her own, And how she wept and clasped his knees My hope, my joy, my Genevieve!, And how she tended him in vainShe loves me best whene'er I sing And ever strove to expiate The songs that make her grieve.
The scorn that crazed his brain. I played a soft and doleful air,
And that she nursed him in a cave; I sang an old and moving story
And how his madness went away, An old rude song that suited well
When on the yellow forest leaves That ruin wild and hoary.
A dying man he lay! She listened with a flitting blush, His dying words—but when I reached Wi downcast eyes and modest grace; That tenderest strain of all the ditty, For well she knew I could not choose My faltering voice and pausing harp But gaze upon her face.
Disturbed her soul with pity ! I told her of the knight that wore
Al impulses of soul and sense Upon his shield a burning brand; Had thrilled my guileless GenevieveAnd that for ten long years he wooed The music and the doleful tale, The lady of the land.
The rich and balmy eve; I told her how he pined ; and ah! And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, The deep, the low, the pleading tone An undistinguishable throng; With which I sang another's love, And gentle wishes long subdued, Interpreted my own.
Subdued and cherished long! She listened with a flitting blush, She wept with pity and delight, With downcast eyes and modest grace;
She blushed with love and virgin shame: And she forgave me that I gazed
And like the murmur of a dream
I heard her breathe my name.
Her bosom heaved, she stept aside; 'Twas partly love, and partly fear,
The swelling of her heart.
bending back her head, looked up And so I won my Genevieve,
My bright and beauteous bride!
up the interspersed vacancies
Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Love, Hope, and Patience in Education.
Love too will sink and die,
And the soft murmurs of the mother-dove,
When overtasked at length,
Youth and Age.
I'll think it but a fond conceit-
It cannot be that thou art gone!
What strange disguise hast now put on, This breathing house not built with To make-believe that thou art gone? hands,
I see these locks in silvery slips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes
That Youth and I are housemates stin. That ask no aid of sail or oar, That fear no spite of wind or tide! Dewdrops are the gems of morning, Nought cared this body for wind or But the tears of mournful eve! weather,
Where no hope is, life's a warning When Youth and I lived in 't together. That only serves to make us grieve
When we are old : Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like; That only serves to make us grieve Friendship is a sheltering tree;
With oft and tedious taking leave; O the joys that came down shower-like, Like some poor nigh-related guest, Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, That may not rudely be dismissed, Ere I was old!
Yet hath outstayed his welcome while, Ere I was old ? Ah woful Ere,
And tells the jest without the smile. Among the day-dreams of Coleridge, as we have already men. tioned, was the hope of producing a great philosophical work, which he conceived would ultimately effect
in what has been called philosophy or metaphysics in England and France. The only complete philosophical attempt of the poet was a slight introduction to the Encyclopædia ‘Metropolitana,' a preliminary treatise on Method,' from which we subjoin an extract.
Importance of Method. The habit of method should always be present and effective; but in order to render it so, a certain training or education of the mind is indispensably necessary. Events and images, the lively and spirit-stirring machinery of the external world, are like ligut, and air, and moisture to the seed of the mind, which would else rot and perish.
In all processes of mental - tion the objects of the senses must stimulate the mind ; and the mind must in n assimilate and digest the food which it thus receives from without. Method, therefore, must result from the due mean or balance between our passive impressions and the mind's reaction on them. So in the healthful state of the human body, waking, and sleeping, rest and labour, reciprocally succeed each other, and mutually contribute to liveliness, and activity, And strength. There are certain stores proper, and, as it were, indigenous to the