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A violet by a mossy stone
Hall hidden from the eye ! Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know
When Luy ceased to be ; But she is in her grave, and 0,
The difference to me!
THE PRETTY GIRL OF LOC'H DAN.
But, Mary, you have naught to fear,
Though smiled on by two stranger-men. Not for a crown would I alarm
Your virgin pride by word or sign, Nor need a painful blush disarm
My friend of thoughts as pure as mine. Her simple heart could not but feel
The words we spoke were free from guile ; She stooped, she blushed, she fixed her wheel,
"T is all in vain, she can't but smile ! Just like sweet April's dawn appears
Her modest face, -- I see it yet,
Methinks I never could forget
Fills all her downcast eyes with light;
The white teeth struggling into sight, The dimples eddying o'er her cheek,
The rosy cheek that won't be still :0, who could blame what Hatterers speak,
Did smiles like this reward their skill ?
The shades of eve had crossed the glen
That frowns o'er infant Avonmore, When, nigh Loch Dan, two weary men,
We stopped before a cottage door. “God save all here," my comrade cries,
And rattles on the raised latch-pin; “God save you kinally,” quick replies
A clear sweet voice, and asks us in.
A rosy girl with soft black eyes ;
Her blushing grace and pleased surprise.
For, all the way to Glenmalure, Her mother hail that morning gone,
And left the house in charge with her. But neither household cares, nor yet
The shame that startled virgins feel,
Her wonted hospitable zeal.
Sweet milk that smacked of mountain thyme, Oat cake, and such a yellow roll
Of butter, it gilds all my rhyme !
For such another smile, I vow,
Though loudly beats the midnight rain, I'd take the mountain-side e'en now,
And walk to Luggelaw again !
TO A HIGHLAND GIRL.
AT INVERSNEYDE, UPON LOCH LOMOND.
And, while we ate the grateful food
(With weary limbs on bench reclined), Considerate and discreet, she stool
Apart, and listened to the wind.
SWEET Highland Girl, a very shower
-- a veil just half withdrawn,
Kind wishes both our souls engaged,
From breast to breast spontaneous ran The mutual thought, we stood and pledged
THE MODEST ROSE ABOVE Loch Dan.
“ The milk we drink is not more pure,
Sweet Mary,- bless those budding charms! Than your own generous heart, I'm sure,
Nor whiter than the breast it warms !"
She turned and gazed, unused to hear
Such language in that homely glen;
With earnest feeling I shall pray For thee when I am far away ;
SWEET STREAM, THAT WINDS. Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade, Apt emblem of a virtuous mail, Silent and chaste she steals along, Far from the world's gay, busy throng ; With gentle yet prevailing force, Intent upon her destined course ; Graceful and useful all she does, Blessing and blest where'er she goes ; Pure-bosomed as that watery glass, And Heaven reflected in her face.
For never saw 1 mien or face
RUTH. She stood breast high amid the corn, Clasped hy the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss liad won.
On her cheek an autumn flush
Round her eyes her tresses fell, --
What hand but would a garland cull
Now thanks to Heaven ! that of its grace
Love's Cure, Act ii, Sc. 2.
Behold, my lords, As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame, Although the print be little, the whole matter I lisped in numbers, for the numbers came. And copy of the father : eye, nose, lip,
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. The trick of his frown, his forehead ; nay, the valley,
But strive still to be a man before your mother.
Thou wilt scarce be a man before thy mother.
BEAUMONT and FLETCHER. O, 't is a parlous boy; Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable ; He is all the mother's from the top to toe.
SCHOOL-DAYS. Richard III., Act. iii. Sc. I.
The school-boy, with his satchel in his hand,
Whistling aloud to bear his courage up. EARLY DEATH. “Whom the gods love die young," was said of Besides, they always smell of bread and butter.
Manfred yore. Don Juan, Cant. iv. Star. 12.
You'd scarce expect one of my age Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade,
To speak in public on the stage ; Death came with friendly care ;
And if I chance to fall below The opening bud to Heaven conveyed,
Demosthenes or Cicero, And bade it blossom there.
Don't view me with a critic's eye, Epitaph on an Infant.
But pass my imperfections by.
Large streams from little fountains flow,
Lines written for a School Delamation.
Don Juan, Cant. ii.
S. T. COLERIDGE.