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Church, which has kindled and displayed more bright self eminently tolerant, and far more so, both in Spirit and burning lights of Genius and Learning. than all land in fact, than many of her most bitter opponents, other protestant churches since the Reformation, was who profess to deem toleration itself an insult on the (with the single exception of the times of Laud and rights of mankind! As to myself, who not only know Sheldon) least intolerant, when all Christians unhappily the Church-Establishment to be tolerant, but who see deemed a species of intolerance their religious duty; in it the greatest, if not the sole safe bulwark of Tolerathat Bishops of our church were among the first that 'tion. I feel no necessity of defending or palliating opcontended against this error; and finally, that since the pressons under the two Charleses, in order to exclaim reformation, when tolerance became a fashion, the , with a full and fervent heart, Esro Psapetua Church of England, in a tolerating age, has shown her

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The wedding-ouest sat on a stone, - - -
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,

He rannot chuse but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man, A* green as enerald.
The bright-eyed mariner. And through the drifts the snowy clifts o, o o:
Did send a dismal sheen: ...o.

The ship was cheer'd, the harbour clear'd, Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken— living thing was

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And to repay the other! Why rejoices
Thy heart with hollow joy for hollow good?
Why cowl thy face beneath the Mourner's hood,
Why waste thy sighs, and thy lamenting voices,
Image of image, Ghost of Ghostly Elf, -
That such a thing as thou feel'st warm or cold!
Yet what and whence thy gain, if thou withhold
These costless shadows of thy shadowy self?
Be sad! be glad be neither! seek, or shun!
Thou hast no reason why! Thou canst have none :
Thy being's being is contradiction.

THE VISIT OF THE GODS. iMilitated ritomi schillen.

NEven, believe me,
Appear the Immortals,
Never alone:

Scarce had I welcomed the Sorrow-beguiler,
Iacchus! but in came Boy Cupid the Smiler;
Lo! Phoebus the Glorious descends from his Throne!
They advance, they float in, the Olympians all!

With Divinities fills my

Terrestrial Hall!

How shall I yield you Due entertainment, Celestial Quire? Me rather, bright guests! with your wings of upbuoyance Bear aloft to your homes, to your banquets of joyance, That the roofs of Olympus may echo my lyre! Ha! we mount! on their pinions they waft up my Soul!

O give me the Nectar! O fill me the Bowl Give him the Nectar! Pour out for the Poet, Hebe! pour free Quicken his eyes with celestial dew, That Styx the detested no more he may view, And like one of us Gods may conceit him to be! Thanks, Hebe! I quaff it! Io Paan, I cry! The Wine of the Immortals Forbids me to die!

ELEGY, IMitated FroM one of AKENside's BLANK VERSE inscriptions.

Near the lone pile with ivy overspread,
Fast by the rivulet's sleep-persuading sound,

Where sleeps the moonlight- on yon verdant bed—
O humbly press that consecrated ground!

For there does Edmund rest, the learned swain!
And there his spirit most delights to rove:

Young Edmund ! famed for each harmonious strain,
And the sore wounds of ill-requited love.

Like some tall tree that spreads its branches wide, And loads the west-wind with its soft perfume,

IIis manhood blossom'd : till the faithless pride Of fair Matilda sank him to the tomb.

But soon did righteous Heaven her guilt pursue!
Where'er with wilder'd step she wander'd pale,

Still Edmund's image rose to blast her view,
Still Edmund's voice accused her in each gale.

With keen regret, and conscious guilt's alarms, Amid the pomp of affluence she pined;

Nor all that lured her faith from Edmund's arms Could lull the wakeful horror of her mind.

Go, Traveller! tell the tale with sorrow fraught:
Some tearful maid perchance, or blooming youth,

May hold it in remembrance; and be taught
That Riches cannot pay for Love or Truth.

KUBLA KHAN ;

on, A vision IN A DREAM.

[The following fragment is here published at the request of a poet of great and deserved celebrity, and, as far as the Author's own opinions are concerned, rather as a psychological curiosity, than on the ground of any supposed poetic merits.

in the summer of the year 1797, the Author, then in ill bealth.

had retired to a lonely farm-house between Porlock and Linton, on the Exmoor confines of Somerset and Devonshire. In consequence

of a slight indisposition, an anodyne had been prescribed, from the effects of which he fell asleep in his chair at the moment that he was reading the following sentence, or words of the same substance,

in Purchas's - Pilgrimage:--- Here the Khan Kubla commanded a palace to be built, and a stately garden thereunto ; and thus ten miles of fertile ground were inclosed with a wall." The author continued for about three hours in a profound sleep, at least of the external senses, during which time he has the most vivid confidence that he could not have composed less than from two to three hundred

lines; if that indeed can be called composition in which all the images rose up before him as things, with a parallel production of the correspondent expressions, without any sensation, or consciousness of effort. On awaking he appeared to himself to have a dis– tinct recollection of the whole, and taking his pen, ink, and paper, instantly and eagerly wrote down the lines that are here preserved. At this moment he was unfortunately called out by a person on business from Porlock, and detained by him al-ove an bour, and on his return to his rootn, found. to his no small surprise and mortification, that though he still retained some vague and dim recollection of the general purport of the vision, y, t, with the exception of some eight or ten scattered lines and images, all the rest had passed away like the images on the surface of a stream into which a stone had been cast, but, alas! without the after restoration of the latter:

Then all the charin Is broken—all that phantom-world so fair Wanishes, and a thousand circlets spread, And each mis-shape the other. Stay awhile, Poor youth who scarcely darest lift up thine eyesThe stream will soon renew its smoothness, soon The visions will return And Io, he stays, And soon the fragments dim of lovely forms Come trembling back, nnite, and now once more The pool becomes a mirror.

Yet from the still surviving recollections in his mind, the Author has frequently purposed to finish for himself what had been originally, as it were, given to him. Xzusgow zdrow zao: bat the to-morrow is yet to come. As a contrast to this vision, I have annexed a fragment of a very different character, describing with equal fidelity the dream of pain and disease. —Note to the first Edition, 1816.)

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree ?
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man,
Down to a sunless sea.

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So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round :
And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossom d many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were fores's ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As eer beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover !
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty sountain momently was forced :
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles, meandering with a mazy motion,
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reach'd the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in turn ult to a lifeless ocean :
And mid this tunnult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The shadow of the dome of pleasure Floated midway on the waves; Where was heard the mingled measure From the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice! A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw : It was an Abyssinian maid, And on her dulcimer she play'd, Singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight 't would win me, That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome! those caves of ice! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware! Beware! His flashing eyes, his floating hair! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed And drank the milk of Paradise.

The PAiNS OF SLEEP.

Ene on my bed my limbs I lay,
It hath not been my use to pray
With moving lips or bended knees;
But silently, by slow degrees,
My spirit I to love compose,
In humble Trust mine eye-lids close,
With reverential resignation,
No wish conceived, no thought express d!
Only a sense of supplication.
A sense o'cr all my soul imprest
That I am weak, yet not unblest,

Since in me, round me, every where Eternal Strength and Wisdom are.

But yester-night I pray'd aloud In anguish and in agony, Up-starting from the fiendish crowd Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me: A lurid light, a trampling throng, Sense of intolerable wrong, And whom I scorn'd, those only strong! Thirst of revenge, the powerless will Still baffled, and yet burning still! Desire with loathing strangely mix’d, On wild or hateful objects fixd. Fantastic passions! maddening brawl.' And shame and terror over all! Deeds to be hid which were not hid, Which all confused I could not know, Whether I suffer'd, or I did : For all seem'd guilt, remorse, or woe, My own or others, still the same Life-stifling fear, soul-stilling shame.

So two nights pass'd : the night's dismay
Sadden'd and stunn'd the coming day.
Sleep, the wide blessing, seem'd to me
Distemper's worst calamity.
The third night, when my own loud scream
Had waked me from the fiendish dream,
O'ercome with sufferings strange and wild,
I wept as I had been a child;
And having thus by tears subdued
My anguish to a milder mood,
Such punishments, I said, were due
To natures deepliest stain'd with sin:
For aye entempesting anew
The unfathomable hell within,
The horror of their deeds to view,
To know and loathe, yet wish and do!
Such griefs with such men well agree,
But wherefore, wherefore fall on me?
To be beloved is all I need,
And whom I love, I love indeed.

APPENDIX.

APOLOGETIC PREFACE to “ FIRE, FAMINE, AND slaughTER." (See page 26). At the house of a gentleman, who by the principles and corresponding virtues of a sincere Christian consecrates a cultivated genius and the favourable accidents of birth, opulence, and splendid connexions, it was my good fortune to meet, in a dinner-party, with more men of celebrity in science or polite literature, than are commonly found collected round the same table. In the course of conversation, one of the party reminded an illustrious Poet, then present, of some verses which he had recited that morning, and which had appeared in a newspaper under the name of a War-Eclogue, in which Fire, Famine, and Slaughter, were introduced as the speakers. The gentleman so addressed replied, that he was rather

aurorsod has one of as would have noticed or heard
* -ie orem as or nad been at the time, a good deal
tood of in scarazo. It may be easily opposed that
mo erosios were at this moon: not of the most co-
fortable and of au present, one only knew, or sus-
zero me a be the author: a man who would have
estaoaned himself in the first rank of Englands living
poets of the Genius of our country had not decreed that
he would rather be the first in the first rank of its Pho-
owners and scientific Benefactors. It appeared the
genera: wish to hear the lines. As my friend chose to
remain silent, I chose to follow his example, and Mr "
rer, of the Poern. This he could do with the better
groe, being known to have ever been not only a firm
and active Anti-Jacobin and Anti-Galican, but likewise
a zealous admirer of Mr Pitt. both as a good man and a
great statesman. As a Poet exclusively, he had been
amused with the Łcłogue: as a Poet. he recited it; and in
a spirit, which made it evident, that he would have read
and repeated it with the same pleasure, had his own
name been attached to the imaginary object of agent.
After the recitation, our amiable host observed, that
in his opinion Mr “” had over-rated the merits of the
poetry; but had they been tenfold greater, they could
not have compensated for that malignity of heart, which
could alone have prompted sentiments so airocious. I
perceived that my slustrious friend became greatly dis- |
treased on my account; but fortunately 1 was able to
preserve fortitude and presence of mind enough to take
up the subject without exciting even a suspicion how
nearly and painfully it interested me.
What follows, is substantially the same as I then re-
plied, but dilated and in language less colloquial. It was
not my intention, I said, to justify the publication,
whatever its author's feelings might have been at the
time of composing it. That they are calculated to call
forth so severe a reprobation from a good man, is not
the worst feature of such poems. Their moral deformity
is agoravated in proportion to the pleasure which they
are capable of affording to vindictive, turbulent, and
unpron, pled readers. Could it be supposed, though for
a moment, that the author seriously wished what he had
thus wildly imagined, even the attempt to palliate an
inhumanity so monstrous would be an insult to the
hearers. out it seeinca to me worthy of consideration,
whether the mood of mind, and the general state of sen-
autions, in which a Poet produces such vivid and fantas-
tic images, is likely to co-exist, or is even compatible
with, that gloomy and deliberate ferocity which a serious
wish to realize them would pre-suppose. It had been
often observed, and all my experience tended to confirm
the observation, that prospects of pain and evil to others,
and in general, all deep feelings of revenge, are com-
monly expressed in a few words, ironically tame, and
mild. The mind under so direful and fiend-like an in-
sluence seems to take a morbid pleasure in contrasting
the intensity of its wishes and feelings, with the slight-
ness or levity of the expressions by which they are
hinted; and indeed feelings so intense and solitary, if
they were not precluded (as in almost all cases they
would be) by a constitutional activity of fancy and as-
sociation, and by the specific joyousness combined with
it, would assuredly themselves preclude such activity.
Pussion, in its own quality, is the antagonist of action;
though in an ordinary and natural degree the former
alternates with the latter, and thereby revives and

strengthens it. But the more intense and insane the
Paon is the fewer and the more fixed are the corres-
Poadent forms and notions. A rooted hatred, an in-
veterate thirst of revenge, is a sort of inadness, and still
evides round its favourite object and exercises as it were
a perpetual tautclox of mind in thoughts and words,
which admit of no adequate substitutes. Like a fish in
a giobe of glass it tricves restlessly round and round the
<arty circumference, which it cannot leave without
to-eg is vial element.
There is a second character of such imaginary repre-
sentations as spring from a real and earnest desire of
evil to another, which we often see in real life, and might
even anticipate from the nature of the mind. The
images. I mean. that a vindictive man places before his
imagination, will most often be taken from the realities
of life: they will be images of pain and suffering which
he has himself seen intlicted on other men, and which
he can fancy himself as intlicting on the object of his
hatred. I will suppose that we had beard at different

| times two common sailors, each speaking of some one

who had wronged or offended him : that the first with apparent violence had devoted every part of his adversary's body and soul to all the horrid phantoms and fantastic Places that ever Quevedo dreamt of, and this in a rapid flow of those outre and wildly-combined execrations, which too often with our lower classes serve for escape-valves to carry off the excess of their passions, as so much superiluous steam that would endanger the vessel if it were retained. The other, on the contrary, with that sort of calmness of tone which is to the ear what the paleness of anger is to the eye, shall simply sav, . If I chance to be made boatswain, as I hope I soon shall, and can but once get that fellow under my hand (and I shall be upon the watch for him, I'll tickle his pretty skin' I wont hurt him ' oh no! I'll only cut the ——— to the liver'. I dare appeal to all present, which of the two they would regard as the least deceptive symptom of deliberate malignity; nay, whether it would surprise them to see the first fellow, an hour or two afterward, cordially shaking hands with the very man, the fractional parts of whose body and soul he had been |so charitably disposing of; or even perhaps riskins: his life for him. What language Shakspeare considered characteristic of malignant disposition, we see in the speech of the good-natured Gratiano, who spoke - an infinite deal of nothing more than any man in all Venice;

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