The charities, that soothe, and heal, and bless, Are scattered at the feet of Man, like flowers. The Prelude. Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, But to be young was very Heaven. HON. WILLIAM ROBERT SPENCER. 1770-1834. Lines to Lady A. Hamilton. Too late I stayed,- forgive the crime; How noiseless falls the foot of time, SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 1772-1834. The Ancient Mariner. Part i. And the Spring comes slowly up this way. And listens like a three years' child. Part ii. We were the first that ever burst Into that silent sea. As idle as a painted ship Water, water, everywhere, Part iv. Alone, alone, all, all alone, Part v. A noise like of a hidden brook Part vii. He prayeth well, who loveth well He prayeth best, who loveth best A sadder and a wiser man, Christabel. Part ii. Alas! they had been friends in youth; Fears in Solitude. Forth from his dark and lonely hiding-place, Sailing on obscene wings athwart the noon, The Devil's Thoughts. And the Devil did grin, for his darling sin, Love. All thoughts, all passions, all delights, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Translated from Schiller i. THE HOMERIC HEXAMETER. Strongly it bears us along in swelling and limitless billows, Nothing before and nothing behind but the sky and the ocean. ii. THE OVIDIAN ELEGIAC METRE. In the hexameter rises the fountain's silvery column; In the pentameter aye falling in melody back. Reflections on having left a Place of Retirement. Blest hour! it was a luxury - to be! Hymn in the Vale of Chamouni. Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines. Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. The Three Graves. A mother is a mother still, The Visit of the Gods. Never, believe me, Never alone. The Knight's Tomb. The Knight's bones are dust, His soul is with the saints, I trust. On Taking Leave of —. 1817. To know, to esteem, to love - and then to part, Makes up life's tale to many a feeling heart! Epitaph on an Infant. Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade, And bade it blossom there. Dejection. An Ode. Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud, And thence flows all that charms, or ear or sight, All melodies the echoes of that voice, All colors a suffusion from that light. Reproof. Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends! And three firm friends, more sure than day and night, A Christmas Carol. Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn. Cologne. The river Rhine, it is well known, |