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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!


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LL thoughts, all passions, all delights,

Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
All are but ministers of Love,

And feed his sacred flame.
2. Oft in my waking dreams do I

Live o'er again that happy hour,
When midway on the mound I lay,

Beside the ruined tower.
3. The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene,

Had blended with the lights of eve ;
And she was there, my hope, my joy,

My own dear Genevieve!
4. She leaned against the armed man,

The statue of the armed knight;
She stood and listened to my lay,

Amid the lingering light.
5. Few sorrows hath she of her own.

My hope! my joy! my Genevieve!
She loves me best whene'er I sing

The songs that make her grieve.
6. I played a soft and doleful air ;

I sang an old and moving story-
An old, rude song, that suited well

That ruin wild and hoary.

7. She listened with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes

and modèst

grace ; For well she knew I could not choose

But gaze upon her face.
8. I told her of the knight that wore

Upon his shield a burning brand;
And that for ten long years he wooed

The Lady of the Land.
9. I told her how he pined—and ah!

The deep, the low, the pleading tone
With which I sang another's love,

Interpreted my own.
10. She listened with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes

and modest grace ; And she forgave me that I gazed

Too fondly on her face!
11. But when I told the cruel scorn

That crazed that bold and lovely knight,
And that he crossed the mountain-woods,

Nor rested day nor night; 12. That sometimes from the

savage den, And sometimes from the darksome shade, And sometimes starting up

at once
In green and sunny glade,-
13. There came and looked him in the face

An angel beautiful and bright;
And that he knew it was a fiend,

This miserable knight!
14. And that, unknowing what he did,

He leaped amid a murderous band,
And saved from outrage worse than death,

The Lady of the Land. 15. And how she wept, and clasped his knees;

And how she tended him in vain-
And ever strove to expiate

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.
17. His dying words—but when I reached

That tenderèst strain of all the ditty,
My faltering voice and pausing harp

Disturbed her soul with pity!
18. All impulses of soul and sense

Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve;
The music and the doleful tale,

The rich and balmy eve ;
19. And hopes, and fears that kindle hope,

An undistinguishable throng,
And gentle wishes long subdued,

Subdued and cherished long!
20. She wept with pity and delight-

She blushed with love, and virgin shame;
And like the murmur of a dream,

I heard her breathe my name.
21. Her bosom heaved ; she stepped aside-

As conscious of my look she stept-
Then suddenly, with timorous eye,

She fled to me and wept.
22. She half inclosed me with her arms :

She pressed me with a meek embrace ;
And bending back her head, looked up,

And gazed upon my face.
23. 'Twas partly love, and partly fear,

And partly 'twas a bashful art,
That I might rather feel, than see,

The swelling of her heart.
24. I calmed her fears, and she was calm,

And told her love with virgin pride;
And so I won my Genevieve,
My bright and beauteous bride.

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,

I air,

Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe

To give his cousin, Lady Clare.
2. I trów they did not part in scorn :

Lovers lòng-betrothed were they :
They two shall wed the morrow morn;

Göd's blessing on the day!
3. “He does not love me for my birth,

Nor for my lands so broad and fair ;
He loves me for my own true worth,

And that is well," said Lady Clare.
4. In there came old Alice the nurse,

Said, “Who was this that went from thee?
"It was my cousin,” said Lady Clare ;

“ To-morrow he weds with me."
5. “O God be thanked !” said Alice the nurse,

“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.
7. “The old Earl's daughter died at my breast;

I speak the truth as I live by bread!
I buried her like my own sweet child,

And put my child in her stead.” 8. "Falsely, falsely have ye done,

O mother,” she said, “if this be true,
To keep the best man under the sun

So many years from his due.”
9. “Nay now, my child,” said Alice the nurse,

“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.”
"And he shall have it,” the lady replied,

“Though I should die to-night.”
13. “Yět give one kiss to your mother dear!

Alas, my child, I sinned for thee."
O mother, mother, mother,” she said,

“So strānge it seems to me.
14. “Yět here's a kiss for my mother dear,

My mother dear, if this be so ;
And lay your hand upon my head,

And bless me, mother, ere I go.”

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