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A FANCY SKETCH.

I knew a gentle maid : I ne'er shall view

Her like again : and yet the vulgar eye

Might pass the charms I traced regardless by : For pale her cheek, unmarked with roseate hue ;

Nor beamed from her mild eye a dazzling glance ; Nor flashed her nameless graces on the sight; Yet beauty never woke such pure delight.

Fine was her form, as Dian's in the dance ; Her voice was music; in her silence dwelt

Expression, every look instinct with thought :

Though oft her mind by youth to rapture wrought Struck forth wild wit, and fancies ever new, The lightest touch of woe her soul would melt:

And, on her lips, when gleamed a lingering smile,

Pity's warm tear gushed down her cheek the while : Thy like, thou gentle maid ! I ne'er shall view.

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE,

The son of a clergyman, was born in October, 1772, at Ottery St. Mary, in Devonshire. He was educated at Christ's Hospital, where he pursued his studies with so much zeal and perseverance, that he became Grecian, or captain of the school. He was then entered at Jesus College, Cambridge. Three years afterwards he left the University, and returned to London, where, after wandering about the streets for some days, he enlisted in the 15th Dragoons. A Latin sentence written by him on the stable wall, and seen by an officer, led to the discovery of who he was, and procured him his discharge. In 1795, he married, and subsequently visited Germany. On his return to England, he renounced Unitarianism, which he had formerly professed, and died a firm believer in the doctrines of Christianity, on the 25th of July, 1834, at the house of his devoted friends, Mr. and Mrs. Gillman, at Highgate, with whom he had resided the last nineteen years of his life.

TO GENERAL LA PAYETTE.

As when far off the warbled strains are heard,
That soar on morning's wing the vales amỏng,
Within his cage the imprisoned matin bird
Swells a full chorus with a generous song:
He bathes no pinion in the dewy light,
No father's joy, no lover's bliss he shares,
Yet still the rising radiance cheers his sight-
His fellow's freedom soothes the captive's cares;
Thou, Fayette! who didst wake with startling voice
Life's better sun from that long wintry night,
Thus in thy country's triumphs shalt rejoice,
And mock with raptures high the dungeon's might:
For, lo! the morning struggles into day,
And slavery's spectres shriek, and vanish from the ray.

TO GENEVIEVE.

Maid of my love! sweet Genevieve;
In beauty's light you glide along:
Your eye is like the star of eve,
And sweet your voice, as seraph's song.
Yet not your heavenly beauty gives
This heart with passion soft to glow :
Within

your

soul a voice there lives!
It bids you hear the tale of woe.
When sinking low, the sufferer wan
Beholds no hand outstretcht to save;
Fair, as the bosom of the swan
That rises graceful o'er the wave,
I've seen your breast with pity heave,
And, therefore, love I you, sweet Genevieve!

Sweet Mercy! how my very heart has bled
To see thee, poor old man! and thy grey

hairs
Hoar with the snowy blast; while no one cares
To clothe thy shrivelled limbs and palsied head.
My father! throw away this tattered vest

That mocks thy shivering! Take my garment-use A young man's arm.

I'll melt these frozen dews That hang from thy white beard, and numb thy breast. My Sara, too, shall tend thee, like a child:

And thou shalt talk, in our fire-side's recess,

Of purple pride, that scowls on wretchedness.
He did not scowl, the Galilean mild,

Who met the lazar turned from rich man's doors,
And called him friend, and wept upon his sores!

Pale roamer through the night! thou poor forlorn! Remorse, that man on his death-bed

possess, Who in the credulous hour of tenderness Betrayed, then cast thee forth to want and scorn! The world is pitiless; the chaste one's pride, Mimic of virtue, scowls on thy distress; Thy kindred, when they see thee, turn aside, And vice alone will shelter wretchedness! 0! I am sad to think, that there should be Men, born of woman, who endure to place Foul offerings on the shrine of misery, And force from famine the caress of love! Man has no feeling for thy sore disgrace: Keen blows the blast upon the moulting dove!

TO MRS. SIDDONS.

As when a child, on some long winter's night
Affrighted, clinging to its grandam's knees,
With eager wondering, and perturbed delight,
Listens strange tales of fearful dark decrees,
Muttered to wretch by necromantic spell;
Or of those hags, who at the witching time
Of murky midnight, ride the air sublime,
And mingle foul embrace with fiends of hell:
Cold horror drinks its blood! Anon the tear
More gentle starts, to hear the grandam tell
Of pretty babes, that loved each other dear,
Murdered by cruel uncle's mandate fell:
Ev'n such the shivering joys thy tones impart,
Ev’n so thou, Siddons, meltest my sad heart.

OU CLIMBING THE ASCENT OF BROCKLEY-COOMB, SOMERSET

SHIRE, MAY, 1795.

With many a pause and oft reverted eye
I climb the Coomb's ascent: sweet songsters near
Warble in shade their wild-wood melody:
Far off th' unvarying cuckoo soothes my ear.
Up scour the startling stragglers of the flock,
That on green plots o'er precipices browze;
From the forced fissures of the naked rock,
The yew-trees burst. Beneath its dark green boughs
('Mid which the May-thorn blends its blossoms white,)
Where broad smooth stones jut out in mossy seats,
I rest. And now have gained the topmost site.
Ah! what a luxury of landscape meets
My gaze! Proud towers, and cots more dear to me;
Elm-shadowed fields, and prospect-bounding sea ;
Deep sighs my lonely heart; I drop the tear :
Enchanting spot! O were my Sara here !

TO THE AUTUMNAL MOON.

Mild splendour of the various-vested night!
Mother of wildly-working visions, hail!
I watch thy gliding, while with watery light
Thy weak eye glimmers through a fleecy veil ;
And when thou lovest thy pale orb to shroud,
Behind the gathered blackness lost on high:
And when thou dartest from the wind-rent cloud,
Thy placid lightning o'er the awakened sky.
Ah, such is Hope! as changeful and as fair!
Now dimly peering on the wistful sight;
Now hid behind the dragon-winged despair:
But soon emerging, in her radiant might,
She, o'er the sorrow-clouded breast of care,
Sails, like a meteor, kindling in its flight.

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