of his friends, he would talk by the hour, and though in these 'conversational monologues' he resembled rather than approached his father, he delivered himself with a luminous wisdom all his own. He edited the works of his father, his brother, and of his two friends, Winthrop Mackworth Praed and John Moultrie. Of his sister Sara, it has been said that her father looked down into her eyes, and left in them the light of his own.' Her beauty and grace were as remarkable as her talents, her learning, and her accomplishments; but her chief characteristic was 'the radiant spirituality of her intellectual and imaginative being.' This, with other rare qualities of mind and spirit, is indicated in Wordsworth's affectionate appreciation in The Triad, and conspicuous in her fairy-tale Phantasmion, and in the letters which compose the bulk of her Memoirs. GENEVIEVE POEMS MAID of my Love, sweet Genevieve ! DURA NAVIS 1786. Shalt thou be at this hour from danger free? Perhaps with fearful force some falling Wave Shall wash thee in the wild tempestuous Sea, And in some monster's belly fix thy grave; 20 Or (woful hap!) against some wave worn rock Which long a Terror to each Bark had stood 1 State, Grandeur. This school exercise written in the 15th year of my age does not contain a line that any clever schoolboy might not have written, and like most school poetry is a Putting of Thought into Verse; for such Verses as strivings of mind and struggles after the Intense and Vivid are a fair Promise of better things.-S. T. C. ætat sua 51. [1823.] B 1 I well remember old Jemmy Bowyer, the 'plagosus Orbilius' of Christ's Hospital, but an admirable educer no less than Educator of the Intellect, bade me leave out as many epithets as would turn the whole into eight-syllable lines, and then ask myself if the exercise would not be greatly improved. How often have I thought of the proposal since then, and how many thousand bloated and puffing lines have I read, that, by this process, would have tripped over the tongue excellently. Likewise, I remember that he told me on the same occasion-‘Coleridge! the connections of a Declamation are not the transitions of Poetry-bad, however, as they are they are better than "Apostrophes" and "O thou's," for at the worst they are something like common sense. The others are the grimaces of Lunacy.' --S. T. Coleridge. Or who shall heal his wounded mind, If tortur'd by misfortune's smart? Who Hymeneal bliss will never prove, But soon emerging in her radiant might She o'er the sorrow-clouded breast of Care That more than friendship,( friendship Sails, like a meteor kindling in its flight. mix'd with love. ANTHEM 1788. FOR THE CHILDREN OF CHRIST'S HOSPITAL SERAPHS! around th' Eternal's seat who throng With tuneful ecstasies of praise : Of fervent gratitude to raise- To dwell on that Almighty name Who bade the child of woe no longer sigh, And Joy in tears o'erspread the widow's eye. Th' all-gracious Parent hears the wretch's prayer; The meek tear strongly pleads on high; Wan Resignation struggling with despair The Lord beholds with pitying eye; Sees cheerless Want unpitied pine, Disease on earth its head recline, And bids Compassion seek the realms of woe To heal the wounded, and to raise the low. She comes! she comes! the meekeyed power I see With liberal hand that loves to bless; The clouds of sorrow at her presence flee; Rejoice! rejoice! ye children of distress! The beams that play around her head Thro' Want's dark vale their radiance spread : Now hid behind the dragon-winged The young uncultured mind imbibes the And Vice reluctant quits th' expected The strange misfortunes, oh! what words prey. can tell? Tell ye neglected sylphs! who lap-dogs guard, Cease, thou lorn mother! cease thy Why snatch'd ye not away your precious wailings drear; ward? Why suffer'd ye the lover's weight to fall On the ill-fated neck of much-loved Ball? The favourite on his mistress casts his eyes, Gives a short melancholy howl, and— dies. Sacred his ashes lie, and long his rest! Anger and grief divide poor Julia's breast. Her eyes she fixt on guilty Florio first: On him the storm of angry grief must burst. The storm he fled: he wooes a kinder fair, Whose fond affections no dear puppies share. 'Twere vain to tell, how Julia pin'd away: Unhappy Fair! that in one luckless day From future Almanacks the day be crost!— At once her Lover and her Lap-dog lost. 1789. QUÆ NOCENT DOCENT [IN CHRIST'S HOSPITAL BOOK] O mihi præteritos referat si Jupiter annos! OH! might my ill-past hours return again! No more, as then, should Sloth around me throw Her soul-enslaving, leaden chain! No more the precious time would I employ In giddy revells, or in thoughtless joy, A present joy producing future woe. But o'er the midnight Lamp I'd love to pore, I'd seek with care fair Learning's depths to sound, And gather scientific Lore: Or to mature the embryo thoughts inclin'd, |