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Still glides the Stream, and shall for ever glide;
The Form remains, the Function never dies;
While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise,
Enough, if something from our hands have power
Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent
410 COMPOSED AT NEIDPATH CASTLE, THE PROPERTY OF
To level with the dust a noble horde,
The fate of those old trees; and oft with pain
ADMONITION TO A TRAVELLER Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye! -The lovely cottage in the guardian nook Hath stirr'd thee deeply; with its own dear brook, Its own small pasture, almost its own sky!
But covet not the abode; O do not sigh
-Think what the home must be if it were thine, Even thine, though few thy wants !-Roof, window, door, The very flowers are sacred to the Poor,
The roses to the porch which they entwine:
A FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by
Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth?
Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room;
And students with their pensive citadels;
Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom,
High as the highest peak of Furness-fells,
Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells: In truth the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is: and hence for me,
In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound
Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground; Pleased if some souls (for such there needs must be) Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,
Should find brief solace there, as I have found.
SCORN not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frown'd,
Shakespeare unlock'd his heart; the melody
With it Camöens sooth'd an exile's grief;
The Sonnet glitter'd a gay myrtle leaf Amid the cypress with which Dante crown'd His visionary brow: a glow-worm lamp,
It cheer'd mild Spenser, call'd from Faery-land To struggle through dark ways; and, when a damp
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand The Thing became a trumpet; whence he blew Soul-animating strains—alas, too few!
WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES
DOVER CLIFFS On these white cliffs, that calm above the flood Uplift their shadowy heads, and at their feet Scarce hear the surge that has for ages beat, Sure many a lonely wanderer has stood; And while the distant murmur met his ear, And o'er the distant billows the still eve Sailed slow, has thought of all his heart must leave
To-morrow; of the friends he loved most dear;
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE
IN SEVEN PARTS
ARGUMENT.—How a Ship having passed the Line was driven by storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole; and how from thence she made her course to the tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific Ocean; and of the strange things that befell; and in what inanner the Ancyent Marinere came back to his own Country. [1798.]
Part I An ancient
It is an ancient Mariner, Mariner And he stoppeth one of three. meeteth three Gallants" By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, bidden to a
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?
“The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,
He holds him with his skinny hand,
There was a ship,” quoth he.
“Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!" The Wedding. Eftsoons his hand dropt he. Guest is spellbound by the
He holds him with his glittering eyeeye of the old seafaring man, The Wedding-Guest stood still, and con
And listens like a three years' child: strained to hear his tale
The Mariner hath his will.
The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:
“The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,
“The sun came up upon the left,
“Higher and higher every day,
The bride hath paced into the hall,
The Wedding Guest heareth the bridal music; but the Mariner continueth his tale
The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
“ And now the Storm-blast came, and he
The ship driven by a storm toward the south pole
“With sloping masts and dipping prow,