« ПретходнаНастави »
She might be sent without delay Home to her father's mansion.
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder;
O then the baron forgot his age !
Nay, by my soul!” said Leoline.
And now the tears were on his face,
Was it for thee,
“ Bard Bracy, bard Bracy! your horses are
fleet, Ye must ride up the hall, your music so sweet, More loud than your horses' echoing feet! And loud and loud to Lord Roland call, Thy daughter is safe in Langdale hall! Thy beautiful daughter is safe and freeSir Leoline greets thee thus through me. He bids thee come without delay With all thy numerous array ; And take thy lovely daughter home: And he will meet thee on the way With all his numerous array, White with their panting palfreys' foam: And by mine honour! I will say That I repent me of the day When I spake words of high disdain To Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine For since that evil hour hath flown, Many a summer's sun hath shone; Yet ne'er found I a friend again Like Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine."
Again she saw that bosom old,
The touch, the sight, had pass'd away,
With new surprise, “ What ails then my beloved child ?” The baron said.-His daughter mild Made answer, “ All will yet be well !" I ween, she had no power to tell Augut else; so mighty was the spell.
The lady fell, and clasp'd his knees,
Yet he, who saw this Geraldine,
And in my dreams, methought, I went
That all her features were resign'd
Thus Bracy said: the baron, the while,
Why is thy cheek so wan and wild,
for whom thy lady died.
Sir Leoline ! And wouldst thou wrong thy only child,
Her child and thine ?
A snake's small eye blinks dull and shy,
Within the baron's heart and brain
THE CONCLUSION TO PART II.
The maid, alas ! her thoughts are gone,
A LITTLE child, a limber elf,
Over the hill and over the dale
And he went over the plain, And backward and forward he swish'd his long tail
As a gentleman swishes his cane.
Must needs express his love's excess
And how then was the Devil drest?
0! he was in his Sunday's best: His jacket was red and his breeches were blue, And there was a hole where the tail came
He saw a LAWYER killing a viper
On a dung-heap beside his stable, And the Devil smiled, for it put him in mind
Of Cain and his brother, Abel.
YOUTH AND AGE.
A POTHECARY on a white horse
Rode by on his vocations, And the Devil thought of his old friend
DEATH in the Revelations.
He saw a cottage with a double coach-house,
A cottage of gentility!
Is pride that apes humility.
VERSE, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying,
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
When I was young! When I was young ? —Ah, woful when! Ah for the change 'twixt now and then ! This breathing house not built with hands, This body that does me grievous wrong, O'er airy cliffs and glittering sands, How lightly then it flash'd along :Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, On winding lakes and rivers wide, That ask no aid of sail or oar, That fear no spite of wind or tide! Naught cared this body for wind or weather, When Youth and I lived in't together.
He went into a rich bookseller's shop,
Quoth he! we are both of one college ; For I myself sate like a cormorant once,
Fast by the tree of knowledge.*
Down the river there plied with wind and tide,
A pig, with vast celerity ;
* And all amid them stood the Tree of Life
High eminent, blooming ambrosial fruit
Flowers are lovely ; love is flower-like;
Ere I was old!
So clomb this first grand thief
Sat like a cormorant.-Par. Lost, IV. The allegory here is so apt, that in a catalogue of da. rious readings obtained from collating the MSS. one might expect to find it noted, that for "Life" Cod. quid habent, “ Trade." Though indeed the trade, i. e. the bibliopolic, so called, kàr'efóxnu, may be regarded as life sansu eminentiori: a suggestion, which I owe to a young retailer in the hosiery line, who on hearing a description of the net profits, dinner parties, country houses, etc. of the trade, exclaimed, " Ay! that's what I call life now !" -This "Lise, our Death," is thus bappily contrasted with the fruits of authorship.-Sic nos non nobis mellificamus Apes.
or this poem, with which the Fire, Famine, and Slaughter first appeared in the Morning Post, the three first stanzas, which are worth all the rest, and the ninth, were dictated by Mr. Southey. Between the ninth and the concluding stanza, two or three are omiuled as grounded on subjects that have lost their interest—and for better reasons. any one should ask, who General
meant, the author begs leave to inform him, that he did once see a red-laced person in a dream whom by the dress he took for a general; but he might have been mistaken, and most certainly he did not hear any names mentioned. In simple verity, the author never meant any one, or indeed any thing but to put a concluding stanza to his dog. gerel.
3 B 2
THE DEVIL'S THOUGHTS.
FROM his brimstone bed at break of day
A-walking the Devil is gone, To visit his little snug farm of the earth, And see how his stock went on.
II. “ Ab,” replied my gentle fair; “Dear one, what are names but air ? Choose thou whatever suits the line ; Call me Laura, call me Chloris, Call me Lalage, or Doris, Only-only-call me thine!”
Sly Beelzebub took all occasions
But Heaven, that brings out good from evil,
Of late, in one of those most weary hours,
Emerging from a mist: or like a stream
dream, Gazed by an idle eye with silent might The picture stole upon my inward sight. A tremulous warmth crept gradual o'er my chest, As though an infant's finger touch'd my breast. And one by one (I know not whence) were brought All spirits of power that most had stirr'd my
thought. In selfless boyhood, on a new world tost Of wonder, and in its own fancies lost; Or charm'd my youth, that kindled from above, Loved ere it loved, and sought a form for love; Or lent a lustre to the earnest scan Of manhood, musing what and whence is man! Wild strain of scalds, that in the sea-worn caves Rehearsed their war-spell to the winds and waves;
HOARSE Mævius reads his hobbling verse
But folks say Mævius is no ass;
THERE comes from old Avaro's grave
Or fateful hymn of those prophetic maids,
Fair cities, gallant mansions, castles old, That call'd on Hertha in deep forest glades; And forests, where beside his leafy hold Or minstrel lay, that cheer'd the baron's feast; The sullen boar hath heard the distant horn, Or rhyme of city pomp, of monk and priest, And whets his tusks against the gnarled thorn; Judge, mayor, and many a guild in long array, Palladian palace with its storied halls ; To high-church pacing on the great saint's day. Fountains, where love lies listening to their falls ; And
many a verse which to myself I sang, Gardens, where fings the bridge its airy span, That woke the tear, yet stole away the pang,
And nature makes her happy home with man; Of hopes which in lamenting I renew'd.
Where many a gorgeous lower is duly fed And last, a matron now, of sober mien,
With its own rill, on its own spangled bed, Yet radiant still and with no earthly sheen,
And wreathes the marble urn, or leans its head, Whom as a faëry child my childhood wood A mimic mourner, that with veil withdrawn E'en in my dawn of thought-Philosophy.
Weeps liquid gems, the presents of the dawn, Though then unconscious of herself, pardie, Thine all delights, and every muse is thine: She bore no other name than poesy;
And more than all, th' embrace and intertwine And, like a gift from heaven, in lifesul glee, Of all with all in gay and twinkling dance ! That had but newly left a mother's knee,
'Mid gods of Greece and warriors of romance, Prattled and play'd with bird, and Power, and stone, See! Boccace sits, unfolding on his knees As with elfin playfellows well known,
The new-found roll of old Mæonides ;* And life reveal'd to innocence alone.
But from his mantle's fold, and near the heart,
Peers Ovid's Holy Book of Love's sweet smart !t Thanks, gentle artist! now I can descry
O all-enjoying and all-blending sage, Thy fair creation with a mastering eye,
Long be it mine to con thy mazy page, And all awake! And now in fix'd gaze stand, Where, half-conceal'd, the eye of fancy views Now wander through the Eden of thy hand; Fauns, nymphs, and winged saints, all gracious to Praise the green arches, on the fountain clear
thy muse! See fragment shadows of the crossing deer, And with that serviceable nymph I stoop,
Still in thy garden let me watch their pranks, The crystal from its restless pool to scoop.
And see in Dian's vest between the ranks I see no longer! I myself am there,
Of the trim vines, some maid that half believes Sit on the ground-sward, and the banquet share.
The vestal fires, of which her lover grieves, 'Tis 1, that sweep that lute's love-echoing strings,
With that sly satyr peering through the leaves ! And gaze upon the maid, who gazing sings:
* Boccaccio claimed for himself the glory of having first Or pause and listen to the tinkling bells
introduced the works of Homer to his country. From the high tower, and think that there she
t I know few more striking or more interesting proofs dwells.
of the overwhelming influence which the study of the With old Boccaccio's soul I stand possest,
Greek and Roman classics exercised on the judgments, And breathe an air like life, that swells my chest.
feelings, and imaginations of the literati of Europe at the commencement of the restoration of literature, than the
passage in the Filocopo of Boccaccio: where the sage in. The brightness of the world, O thou once free,
structer, Racheo, as soon as the young prince and the And always fair, rare land of courtesy !
beautiful girl, Biancafiore had learned their letters, sels 0, Florence! with the Tuscan fields and hills ! them to study the Holy Book, Ovid's Art of Love. u InAnd famous Arno fed with all their rills ;
cominciò Racheo a mettere il suo officio in essecuzione
con intera sollecitudine. E loro, in breve tempo, inseg. Thou brightest star of star-bright Italy !
nalo a conoscer le lettere, fece legere il santo libro d' Oo. Rich, ornate, populous, all treasures thine,
vidio, nel quale il sommo poeta mostra, come i santi The golden corn, the olive, and the vine.
fuochi di Venere si debbano ne freddi cuori occendere."