« ПредишнаНапред »
notion of his eloquence and manner, — of the hold which he soon got on his audienceof the variety of his stores of information or, finally, of the artlessness of his habits, or the modesty and temper with which he listened to, and answered arguments, contradictory to his own.”-J. T. C.
The following Pieces were accidentally omitted in
the Collection of Mr. Coleridge's Poetical Works lately published.
THE HOUR WHEN WE SHALL MEET AGAIN.
(Composed during illness and in absence.)
Dim Hour! that sleep’st on pillowing clouds afar,
Weeps the soft dew, the balmy gale she sighs,
The Butterfly the ancient Grecians made
* A lady, who had read the Ancient Mariner and Christabel, told Mr. Coleridge, after reading the above lines, “ that now she did, indeed, see that he was a poet!” And the poet bade me preserve the verses for the sake of the criticism. — ED.
REPROOF. For shame, dear friend ! renounce this canting strain ! What would'st thou have a good great man obtain ? Place — titles — salary — a gilded chain ? Or throne of corses which his sword hath slain ? Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends ! Hath he not always treasures, always friends, [Light, The good great man? Three treasures — Love, and And calm Thoughts, regular as infant's breath; — And three firm friends, more sure than day and night, Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.
INSCRIPTION FOR A TIME-PIECE. NOW! It is gone. — Our brief hours travel post, Each with its thought or deed, its Why, or How:But know, each parting hour gives up a ghost To dwell within thee -- an eternal NOW!
ISRAEL'S LAMENT ON THE DEATH OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE OF WALES.
Translated from the Hebrew of Hymen Hurwitz.
Mourn, Israel ! Sons of Israel, mourn!
Give utterance to the inward throe,
The virgin clad in robes of woe !
Mourn the young Mother snatch'd away
From light and life's ascending sun! ..
Earn’d by long pangs, and lost ere won!
Mourn the bright Rose that bloom'd, and went
Ere half disclosed its vernal hue !
It brake the stem on which it grew!
Mourn for the universal woe
With solemn dirge and falt'ring tongue;
So dear, so lovely, and so young!