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His Scottish tunes and warlike marches play, By moonshine, on the balmy summer-night,

The while I dance amid the tedded hay With merry maids, whose ringlets toss in light.

Or lies the purple evening on the bay

Of the calm glossy lake, O let me hide

Unheard, unseen, behind the alder-trees, For round their roots the fisher's boat is tied, On whose trim seat doth Edmund stretch at

ease,

And while the lazy boat sways to and fro, Breathes in his flute sad airs, so wild and slow,

That his own cheek is wet with quiet tears.

But O, dear Anne! when midnight wind careers,

And the gust, pelting on the out-house shed, Makes the cock shrilly in the rain-storm

crow,

To hear thee sing some ballad full of woe, Ballad of ship-wreck'd sailor floating dead,

Whom his own true-love buried in the sands! Thee, gentle woman, for thy voice re-measures Whatever tones and melancholy pleasures

The things of Nature utter; birds or trees, Or moan of ocean-gale in weedy caves, Or where the stiff grass 'mid the heath-plant

waves,

Murmur and music thin of sudden breeze.

THE KEEPSAKE.*

HE tedded hay, the first-fruits of the soil,

The tedded hay and corn-sheaves in

one field,

Show summer gone, ere come.

tall

The foxglove

Sheds its loose purple bells, or in the gust,
Or when it bends beneath the up-springing
lark,

Or mountain-finch alighting. And the rose
(In vain the darling of successful love)
Stands, like some boasted beauty of past years,
The thorns remaining, and the flowers all gone.
Nor can I find, amid my lonely walk,

By rivulet, or spring, or wet road-side,
That blue and bright-eyed floweret of the brook,
Hope's gentle gem, the sweet Forget-me-not!'
So will not fade the flowers which Emmeline
With delicate fingers on the snow-white silk
Has work'd, (the flowers which most she knew
I loved,)

And, more beloved than they, her auburn hair.

*Printed in 1802.

1 Forget-me-not.] One of the names (and meriting to be the only one) of the Myosotis Scorpioides Palustris, a flower from six to twelve inches high, with blue blossom and bright yellow eye. It has the same name over the whole Empire of Germany (Vergissmein nicht) and, I believe, in Denmark and Sweden.-C.

In the cool morning twilight, early waked By her full bosom's joyous restlessness, Softly she rose, and lightly stole along,

Down the slope coppice to the woodbine bower, Whose rich flowers, swinging in the morning breeze,

Over their dim fast-moving shadows hung,
Making a quiet image of disquiet

In the smooth, scarcely moving river-pool. There, in that bower where first she own'd her love,

And let me kiss my own warm tear of joy From off her glowing cheek, she sate and stretch'd

The silk upon the frame, and work'd her name Between the Moss-Rose and Forget-me-not,— Her own dear name, with her own auburn hair! That forced to wander till sweet spring return, I yet might ne'er forget her smile, her look, Her voice, (that even in her mirthful mood Has made me wish to steal away and weep,) Nor yet the entrancement of that maiden kiss With which she promised, that when spring return'd,

She would resign one half of that dear name, And own thenceforth no other name but mine!

TO A LADY.

WITH FALCONER'S " SHIPWRECK."

H! not by Cam or Isis, famous streams,

In arched groves, the youthful poet's choice;

Nor while half-listening, 'mid delicious dreams, To harp and song from lady's hand and voice:

Nor yet while gazing, in sublimer mood,

On cliff, or cataract, in Alpine dell;

Nor in dim cave with bladdery sea-weed strew'd,

Framing wild fancies to the ocean's swell;

Our sea-bard sang this song! which still he sings,

And sings for thee, sweet friend! Hark, Pity, hark!

Now mounts, now totters on the tempest's wings,

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Now groans, and shivers, the replunging bark!

Cling to the shrouds!" In vain! The breakers 'roar

Death shrieks! With two alone of all his clan, Forlorn the poet paced the Grecian shore,

No classic roamer, but a ship-wreck'd man!

Say then, what Muse inspired these genial strains,

And lit his spirit to so bright a flame?

The elevating thought of suffer'd pains, Which gentle hearts shall mourn; but chief, the name

Of gratitude! remembrances of friend,

Or absent or no more! shades of the Past, Which love makes substance! Hence to thee I send,―

O dear as long as life and memory last!

I send, with deep regards of heart and head, Sweet maid, for friendship form'd, this work to thee:

And thou, the while thou canst not choose but shed

A tear for Falconer, wilt remember me!

TO A YOUNG LADY.

ON HER RECOVERY FROM A FEVER.

MMM

CHY need I say, Louisa dear!
How glad I am to see you here,

A lovely convalescent;

Risen from the bed of pain and fear,
And feverish heat incessant.1

Stated in The Annual Anthology, 1800, where the signature "Laberius" is attached to it, to have been " written in the Spring, 1799." It must have been written in Germany. It was printed in The Morning Post, immediately after Coleridge's return.

The lady is called Ophelia in The Annual Anthology. There are also many variations in the text.

1 Incessant.] For such an ear, and the like, as Cole

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