Feeble and dim! Stranger, these im- | But what is all, to his delight, pulses

Who having long been doomed to Blame thou not lightly; nor will I pro

roam, fane,

Throws off the bundle from his back, With hasty judgment or injurious doubt, Before the door of his own home? That man's sublimer spirit, who can feel That God is everywhere! the God who Home-sickness is a wasting pang ; framed

This feel I hourly more and more : Mankind to be one mighty family,

There's healing only in thy wings,

Thou breeze that play'st on Albion's Himself our Father, and the World our Home.

shore ! May 17, 1799.

Alay 26, 1799.






IF I had but two little wings
And were a little feathery bird,

To you I'd fly, my dear !
But thoughts like these are idle things,

And I stay here.

If thou wert here, these tears were tears

of light ! But from as sweet a vision did I start As ever made these eyes grow idly bright!

And though I weep, yet still around

my heart

But in my sleep to you I fly:

A sweet and playful tenderness doth I'm always with you in my sleep!

linger, The world is all one's own.

Touching my heart as with an infant's But then one wakes, and where am I?

finger. All, all alone.

My mouth half open, like a witless man, Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids : I saw our couch, I saw our quiet room, So I love to wake ere break of day: Its shadows heaving by the fire-light For though my sleep be gone,

gloom ; Yet while ’tis dark, one shuts one's lids, And o'er my lips a subtle feeling ran, And still dreams on.

All o'er my lips a soft and breeze-like April 23, 1799.

feelingI know not what--but had the same been

stealing HIOME-SICK

Upon a sleeping mother's lips, I guess WRITTEN IN GERMANY

It would have made the loving mother 'Tis sweet to him who all the week

dream Through city-crowds must push his That she was softly bending down to kiss way,

Her babe, that something more than To stroll alone through fields and woods,

babe did seem, And hallow thus the Sabbath-day. A floating presence of its darling father,

And yet its own dear baby self far rather! And sweet it is, in summer bower, Sincere, affectionate and gay,

Across my chest there lay a weight, so One's own dear children feasting round,

warm ! To celebrate one's marriage-day.

As if some bird had taken shelter there;



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And lo! I seem'd to see a woman's form- He saw a cottage with a double coachThine, Sara, thine ? O joy, if thine it

house, were !

A cottage of gentility ! I gazed with stifled breath, and fear'd to And the Devil did grin, for his darling sin stir it,

Is pride that apes humility. No deeper trance e'er wrapt a yearning spirit !

He went into a rich bookseller's shop,

Quoth he! we are both of one college, And now, when I seem'd sure thy face to For I myself sate like a cormorant once see,

Fast by the tree of knowledge. 1 Thy own dear self in our own quiet

1 'And all amid them stood the TREE OF LIFE home;

High, eminent, blooming ambrosial fruit There came an elfish laugh, and waken'd

Of vegetable gold (query paper-money), and me:

next to Life 'Twas Frederic, who behind my chair Our Death, the TREE OF KNOWLEDGE, grew had clomb,

fast by:And with his bright eyes at my face was peeping

So clomb this first grand thiefI bless'd him, tried to laugh, and fell Thence up he flew, and on the tree of life a-weeping !

Sat like a cormorant.' 1799.

Par. Lost, iv.

The allegory here is so apt, that in a catalogue THE DEVIL'S THOUGHTS

of various readings obtained from collating the

MSS. one might expect to find it noted, that for FROM his brimstone bed at break of day

‘LIFE' Cod. quid, habent, 'TRADE. Though A walking the DEVIL is gone,

indeed THE TRADE, i.e. the bibliopolic, so called

κατ' εξόχην, may be regarded as LIFE sensu To visit his little snug farm of the earth

eminentiori; a suggestion, which I owe to a And see how his stock went on.

young retailer in the hosiery line, who on hearing Over the hill and over the dale,

a description of the net profits, dinner parties,

country houses, etc., of the trade, exclaimed, 'Ay! And he went over the plain,

that's what I call Life now!'--This ‘Life, our And backward and forward he swished

Death,' is thus happily contrasted with the fruits his long tail

of Authorship.-Sic nos non nobis mellificamus As a gentleman swishes his cane.


Of this poem, which with the 'Fire, Famine, And how then was the Devil drest?

and Slaughter' first appeared in the Norning Oh ! he was in his Sunday's best :

Post (6th Sept. 1799), the three first stanzas, His jacket was red and his breeches which are worth all the rest, and the ninth, were were blue,

dictated by Mr. Southey. See Apologetic Preface And there was a hole where the tail came [to ' Fire, Famine and Slaughter '). Between the through.

ninth and the concluding stanza, two or three are

omitted as grounded on subjects which have Ile saw a LAWYER killing a Viper

lost their interest—and for better reasons. On a dung heap beside his stable,

If any one should ask who General meant, And the Devil smiled, for it put him in

the Author begs leave to inform him, that he did mind

once see a red-faced person in a dream whom by

the dress he took for a General; but he might Of Cain and his brother, Abel.

have been mistaken, and most certainly he did A POTHECARY on a white horse

not hear any names mentioned. In simple verity,

the author never meant any one, or indeed any Rode by on his vocations,

thing but to put a concluding stanza to his And the Devil thought of his old Friend doggerel. [S. T. C.'s note in 1829.] [See the DEATH in the Revelations.

originalversion of the poem in the "Notes."- ED.]




Down the river there plied, with wind While the pert Captain, or the primmer and tide,

Priest, A pig with vast celerity;


Prattles accordant scandal in her ear. And the Devil look'd wise as he saw how the while,

O give me, from this heartless scene It cut its own throat. * There !' quoth

released, he with a smile,

To hear our old musician, blind and "Goes “England's commercial prosper

grey, ity.”

(Whom stretching from my nurse's arms

I kissed,) As he went through Cold-Bath Fields he

His Scottish tunes and warlike marches saw

play, A solitary cell ;

By moonshine, on the balmy summerAnd the Devil was pleased, for it gave

night, him a hint

The while I dance amid the tedded For improving his prisons in Hell.

hay With merry maids, whose ringlets toss in

light. General

burning face He saw with consternation, And back to hell his way did he take, 40 Or lies the purple evening on the bay For the Devil thought by a slight mistake Of the calm glossy lake, O let me hide It was general conflagration.

Unheard, unseen, behind the alder


For round their roots the fisher's boat is LINES COMPOSED IN A


On whose trim seat doth Edmund CONCERT-ROOM

stretch at ease, Nor cold, nor stern, my soul ! yet I

And while the lazy boat sways to and

fro, detest These scented Rooms, where, to a

Breathes in his flute sad airs, so wild

and slow, gaudy throng, Heaves the proud Harlot her distended

That his own cheek is wet with quiet

tears. breast In intricacies of laborious song.

But 0, dear Anne ! when midnight These feel not Music's genuine power,

wind careers, nor deign

And the gust pelting on the out-house To melt at Nature's passion-warbled

shed plaint,

Makes the cock shrilly in the rainBut when the long - breathed singer's

storm crow, uptrilled strain

To hear thee sing some ballad full of Bursts in a squall -- they gape for

woe, wonderment.

Ballad of ship-wreck'd sailor floating

dead, Hark! the deep buzz of Vanity and Whom his own true-love buried in the Hate !

sands! Scornful, yet envious, with self-tortur- Thee, gentle woman, for thy voice reing sneer

measures My lady eyes some maid of humbler state, 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 unenjoying toiler's misery.
And yet, free Nature's uncorrupted child,
You hailed the Chapel and the Platform

Where once the Austrian fell

Beneath the shaft of Tell !
O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure !
Whence learnt you that heroic measure?

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There crowd your finely-fibred frame

All living faculties of bliss;
And Genius to your cradle came,
His forehead wreathed with lambent

flame, And bending low, with godlike kiss Compi

Breath'd in a more celestial life; 30 But boasts not many a fair compeer

A heart as sensitive to joy and fear? And some, perchance, might wage an

equal strife,
Some few, to nobler being wrought,
Co-rivals in the nobler gift of thought.

Yet these delight to celebrate
Laurelled War and plumy State ;
Or in verse and music dress

Tales of rustic happiness-
Pernicious tales ! insidious strains ! 40

That steel the rich man's breast,

And mock the lot unblest, The sordid vices and the abject pains, Lou ta on Which evermore must be

The doom of ignorance and penury !
But you, free Nature's uncorrupted child,
You hail'd the Chapel and the Platform

Where once the Austrian fell

Beneath the shaft of Tell !
O Lady, nursed in pomp and plea-
sure !

50 Whence learnt you that heroic measure?


Light as a dream your days their circlets

ran, From all that teaches brotherhood to

Man Far, far removed ! from want, from hope,

from fear ! Enchanting music lulled your infant ear, Obeisance, praises soothed your infant

heart : Emblazonments and old ancestral

crests, With many a bright obtrusive form of art, Detained your eye from Nature : stately

vests, That veiling strove to deck your charms

divine, Rich viands, and the pleasurable wine, Were yours unearned by toil ; nor could

you see

You were a Mother ! That most holy

Which Heaven and Nature bless,
I may not vilely prostitute to those

Whose infants owe them less
Than the poor caterpillar owes

Its gaudy parent fly.
You were a mother! at your bosom





The babes that loved you. You, with

laughing eye,
Each twilight-thought, each nascent feel-

They told her how a glorious light, ing read,


Streaming from a heavenly throng, Which you yourself created. Oh !

Around them shone, suspending night! delight!

While sweeter than a mother's song, A second time to be a mother,

Blest Angels heralded the Saviour's birth, Without the mother's bitter groans:

Glory to God on high ! and Peace on

Another thought, and yet another,
By touch, or taste, by looks or

O’er the growing sense to roll,

She listened to the tale divine,
The mother of your infant's soul !

And closer still the Babe she pressed ;
The Angel of the Earth, who, while he

And while she cried, the Babe is mine! guides

The milk rushed faster to her breast: His chariot-planet round the goal of Joy rose within her, like a summer's day,

morn; All trembling gazes on the eye of

Peace, Peace on Earth ! the Prince of

Peace is born.
A moment turned his awful face away ;
And as he viewed you, from his aspect

New influences in your being rose, Thou Mother of the Prince of Peace,
Blest intuitions and communions fleet

Poor, simple, and of low estate ! 20
With living Nature, in her joys and

That strife should vanish, battle cease, woes !

O why should this thy soul elate? Thenceforth your soul rejoiced to see

Sweet Music's loudest note, the Poet's The shrine of social Liberty !

story, —o beautiful ! O Nature's child !

Didst thou ne'er love to hear of fame 'Twas thence you hailed the Plat

and glory?
form wild,
Where once the Austrian fell 80

Beneath the shaft of Tell !
O Lady, nursed in pomp and And is not War a youthful king,
pleasure !

A stately hero clad in mail ? Thence learnt you that heroic Beneath his footsteps laurels spring ; measure.


Him Earth's majestic monarchs hail Their friend, their playmate! and his

bold bright eye

Compels the maiden's love-confessing A CHRISTMAS CAROL


The shepherds went their hasty way,

And found the lowly stable-shed Tell this in some more courtly scene,
Where the Virgin-Mother lay :

Tomaids and youths in robes of state !
And now they checked their eager I am a woman poor and mean,

And therefore is my soul elate.
For to the Babe, that at her bosom clung, War is a ruffian, all with guilt defiled,
A Mother's song the Virgin-Mother sung. That from the aged father tears his child



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