VI.

"Tell this in some more courtly scene,
To maids and youths in robes of state!
I am a woman poor and mean,

And therefore is my soul elate.

War is a ruffian, all with guilt defiled,

That from the aged father tears his child!

VII.

"A murderous fiend, by fiends adored,
He kills the sire and starves the son;
The husband kills, and from her board
Steals all his widow's toil had won;

Plunders God's world of beauty; rends away
All safety from the night, all comfort from the day.

VIII.

"Then wisely is my soul elate,

That strife should vanish, battle cease:

I'm poor and of a low estate,

The Mother of the Prince of Peace.

Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn:

Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is

born."

1799.

LINES TO W. L.

WHILE HE SANG A SONG TO PURCELL'S MUSIC.

WHILE my young cheek retains its healthful hues,
And I have many friends who hold me dear;
L- -! methinks, I would not often hear
Such melodies as thine, lest I should lose
All memory of the wrongs and sore distress,
For which my miserable brethren weep!
But should uncomforted misfortunes steep
My daily bread in tears and bitterness;
And if at death's dread moment I should lie
With no beloved face at my bed-side,
To fix the last glance of my closing eye,

Methinks, such strains, breathed by my angelguide,

Would make me pass the cup of anguish by, Mix with the blest, nor know that I had died!

1890.

THE KNIGHT'S TOMB.

WHERE is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn?
Where may the grave of that good man be?—
By the side of a spring, on the breast of Helvellyn,
Under the twigs of a young birch tree!
The oak that in summer was sweet to hear,
And rustled its leaves in the fall of the year,
And whistled and roared in the winter alone,

Is gone, and the birch in its stead is grown.—
The Knight's bones are dust,

And his good sword rust;

His soul is with the saints, I trust.

1802.

METRICAL FEET. LESSON FOR A BOY.

TROCHEE trips from long to shōrt;

From long to long in solemn sort

Slow Spondée stalks; strong foot! yet ill able Evěr to come up with Dactyl trĭsyllablě.

Ťambics march from shōrt to lōng ;—

With ǎ leap ănd ă bōund, the swift Anăpăsts thường;

One syllable long, with one short at each side, Amphibrǎchys hastes with ǎ stately stride ;— First and last being lōng, middlě shōrt, Amphĭmācer

Strikes his thundering hoofs like a proud high bred Racer.

If Derwent be innocent, steady, and wise,

And delight in the things of earth, water, and skies; Tender warmth at his heart, with these metres to show it,

With sound sense in his brains, may make Derwent a poet,

May crown him with fame, and must win him the

love

Of his father on earth and his Father above.

My dear, dear child!

Could you stand upon Skiddaw, you would not from its whole ridge

See a man who so loves you as your fond

S. T. COLERidge.

1807.

A CHILD'S EVENING PRAYER.

ERE on my bed my limbs I lay,

God grant me grace my prayers to say `
O God! preserve my mother dear
In strength and health for many a year
And, O! preserve my father too,
And may I pay him reverence due;
And may I my best thoughts employ
To be my parents' hope and joy;
And, O! preserve my brothers both
From evil doings and from sloth,
And may we always love each other,
Our friends, our father, and our mother:
And still, O Lord, to me impart
An innocent and grateful heart,
That after my great sleep I may
Awake to thy eternal day!

Amen.

1802