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5. Alas! alas! fair Ines! she went ăwāy with song, With music waiting on her steps, and shoutings of the throng ; But some were sad, and felt no mirth, but only Music's wrong, Insounds thatsang Farewell, Farewell to her you've loved so long.
6. Farewell, farewell, fair Ines! that vessel never bore So fair a lady on its deck, nor danced so light beforeAlas for pleasure on the sea, and sorrow on the shore! The smile that blest one lover's heart has broken many more!
LL thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
And feed his sacred flame.
Live o'er again that happy hour,
Beside the ruined tower.
Had blended with the lights of eve ;
My own dear Genevieve!
The statue of the armed knight;
Amid the lingering light.
My hope! my joy! my Genevieve!
The songs that make her grieve.
I sang an old and moving story-
That ruin wild and hoary.
7. She listened with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes
grace ; For well she knew I could not choose
But gaze upon her face.
Upon his shield a burning brand;
The Lady of the Land.
The deep, the low, the pleading tone
Interpreted my own.
and modest grace ; And she forgave me that I gazed
Too fondly on her face!
That crazed that bold and lovely knight,
Nor rested day nor night; 12. That sometimes from the
savage den, And sometimes from the darksome shade, And sometimes starting up
An angel beautiful and bright;
This miserable knight!
He leaped amid a murderous band,
The Lady of the Land. 15. And how she wept, and clasped his knees;
And how she tended him in vain-
The scorn that crazed his brain ;16. And that she nursed him in a cave;
And how his madness went away,
When on the yěllow forest-leaves
A dying man he lay.
That tenderèst strain of all the ditty,
Disturbed her soul with pity!
Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve;
The rich and balmy eve ;
An undistinguishable throng,
Subdued and cherished long!
She blushed with love, and virgin shame;
I heard her breathe my name.
As conscious of my look she stept-
She fled to me and wept.
She pressed me with a meek embrace ;
And gazed upon my face.
And partly 'twas a bashful art,
The swelling of her heart.
And told her love with virgin pride;
COLERIDGE SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE, one of the most imaginative and original of poets, the youngest son of the vicar of St. Mary Ottery, in Devonshire, England, was bom at that place in October, 1772. Left an orphan in his ninth year, he was educated for seven years at Christ's Hospital; and in 1791 he became student of Jesus College, Cambridge. His reading embraced almost numberless books, especially on theology, metaphysics, and poetry. In 1794 was published the drama called "The-Fall of Robespierre," of which the first act was Coleridge's, and the other two were Southey's. In 1795 he married Miss Fricker, whose sister soon afterward became Mrs. Southey; and in the same year he became acquainted with Wordsworth. About the same period he went to reside in a cottage at Stowey, Somersetshire, about two miles from the residence of the latter; and the poets bound themselves in the closest friendship. He here wrote some of his most beautiful poetry-his “Ode on the Departing Year,” “Tears in Solitude," “ France, an Ode," "Frost at Midnight," the first part of “Christabel,” "The Ancient Mariner," and his tragedy of “Remorse." In 1798 he went to Germany to complete his education, and resided for fourteen months at Ratzburg and Gottingen. On his return to England he resided in the lake district near Southey and Wordsworth, and contributed political articles and poems for the “Morning Post” newspaper, which was followed, some years later, by similar employment in the “Courier.” For fifteen months, in 1804 and 1805, he was secretary to Sir Alexander Ball, the governor of Malta. In 1816 he found a quiet and friendly home in the house of Mr. Gillman, surgeon of Highgate, where, after a residence of eighteen years, he died in July, 1834. There both mind and body were restored from the excitement and ill health caused by the use of opium, first taken in illness, and afterward used habitually. His numerous productions in prose and verse, as well as his unsurpassed Table-Talk, have since been published, proving a perpetual delight; and, like Nature, furnishing subjects of admiration aud imitation for the refined and observing.
T was the time when lilies blow,
Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe
To give his cousin, Lady Clare.
Lovers lòng-betrothed were they :
Göd's blessing on the day!
Nor for my lands so broad and fair ;
And that is well," said Lady Clare.
Said, “Who was this that went from thee?
“ To-morrow he weds with me."
“That all comes round so just and fair :
Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands,
And you are not the Lady Clare.” 6. “Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse ?"
Said Lady Clare, “that ye speak so wild ?" “As God's above,” said Alice the nurse,
“I speak the truth : you are my child.
I speak the truth as I live by bread!
And put my child in her stead.” 8. "Falsely, falsely have ye done,
O mother,” she said, “if this be true,
So many years from his due.”
“But keep the secret for your life, And all you have will be Lord Ronald's
When you are man and wife.” 10. "If I'm a beggar born," she said,
“I will speak out, for I dare not lie : Pull off, pull off the brooch of gold,
And fling the diamond necklace by.” 11. “Nay now, my child,” said Alice the nurse,
“But keep the secret all ye can.” She said, “Not so : but I will know,
If there be any faith in man.” 12. “Nay now, what faith ?” said Alice the nurse;
“ The man will cleave unto his right.”
“Though I should die to-night.”
Alas, my child, I sinned for thee."
“So strānge it seems to me.
My mother dear, if this be so ;
And bless me, mother, ere I go.”