Our fathers would not know Thy ways, And Thou hast left them to their own. But present still, though now unseen! Our harps we left by Babel's streams, The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn; No censer round our altar beams, And mute are timbrel, harp, and horn. But Thou hast said, The blood of goat, The flesh of rams, I will not prize; A contrite heart, a humble thought, Are mine accepted sacrifice. SONG. FROM "THE LADY OF THE LAKE." The heath this night must be my bed, The bracken,' curtain for my head,— My lullaby, the warder's tread, Far, far, from love and thee, Mary; To-morrow eve, more stilly laid, My couch may be my bloody plaid, My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid! It will not waken me, Mary! I may not, dare not, fancy now The grief that clouds thy lovely brow; A time will come with feeling fraught; Shall be a thought on thee, Mary. 1 Fern. NORA'S VOW. Hear what Highland Nora said: I would not wed the Earlie's son!" "A maiden's vows," old Callum spoke, "The swan," she said, "the lake's clear breast Still in the water-lily's shade Her wonted nest the wild-swan made; James Montgomery. Montgomery (1771-1854), son of a Moravian missionary, was a native of Irvine, in Ayrshire, Scotland. While at school in Yorkshire, he heard of the death of both his parents in the East Indies. He began life as assistant in a village shop; went to London, tried to get a volume of poems published, but failed. He then entered the service of Mr. Joseph Galcs, of Sheffield, father of the much - esteemed gentleman of the same name who be came one of the founders of the National Intelligencer, long the leading newspaper in Washington, D. C. In 1794 Montgomery started the Sheffield Iris, and was imprisoned three months for printing some verses by an entire stranger, that proved offensive to government. The following year he was imprisoned six months and JAMES MONTGOMERY. fined because of seditious remarks on a riot at Sheffield, where two men were shot by soldiers. The chief poetical works of Montgomery are, "The Wanderer in Switzerland" (1806); "The West Indies" (1809); "Greenland" (1810); "The World before the Flood" (1812); "The Pelican Island, and Other Poems" (1827). In addition to these he published "Songs of Zion" (1822); "Prose by a Poet" (1824). But his strength lies rather in his lyrics than in his long poems. Many of his short pieces are distinguished for their tenderness and grace, and in some of his hymns high literary art is united with deep religious feeling. Mrs. Sigourney, the American authoress, who saw him in 1840, describes him as "small of stature, with an amiable countenance, and agreeable, gentlemanly manners." Erewhile his portion, life and light, To him exist in vain. The clouds and sunbeams o'er his eye That once their shade and glory threw, Have left, in yonder silent sky, No vestige where they flew. The annals of the human race, Their ruins since the world began, Of him afford no other trace Than this-THERE LIVED A MAN. 303 JAMES MONTGOMERY.-SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 305 HUMILITY. The bird that soars on highest wing, Builds on the ground her lowly nest; And she that doth most sweetly sing, Sings in the shade when all things rest: -In lark and nightingale we sce What honor hath humility. When Mary chose "the better part," She meekly sat at Jesus' feet; And Lydia's gently opened heart Was made for God's own temple meet; -Fairest and best adorned is she, Whose clothing is humility. The saint that wears heaven's brightest crown, In deepest adoration bends; The weight of glory bows him down, Then most when most his soul ascends: Samuel Taylor Coleridge. The son of a vicar, Coleridge (1772-1834) was born at Ottery, Devonshire, October 21st. Left an orphan at nine years of age, he became a pupil at Christ's Hospital, where he had Charles Lamb for a school-fellow. In 1791 he entered at Jesus College, Cambridge, where he obtained the prize for a Greek ode on the subject of the slave-trade. Becoming a Unitarian in his religious opinions, he deserted the University in the second year of his residence, and, after wandering about the streets of London in a state of destitution, at last enlisted in the 15th Dragoons. From this position he was rescued by his friends, and returned to Cambridge. Eventually he left the University without taking a degree. At Bristol he formed the acquaintance of Southey and Robert Lovell. They planned the founding of a pantisocracy (an all-equal government) on the banks of the Susquehanna; but lack of means compelled them to give up the wild scheme. The ideal republic evaporated in the more matter-of-fact event of love and matrimony; and the three pantisocrats married three sisters of the name of Fricker, daughters of a small Bristol tradesman. In 1794 Coleridge published a volume of poems, for which Cottle gave him £30. It was while occupying a cottage at Nether-Stowey that he became acquainted with Wordsworth; and here he composed his "Ancient Mariner" and his "Christabel." In 1796 he published another volume of poems, interspersed with pieces by Charles Lamb. In 1798, by the kindness of Mr. Thomas Wedgwood, he was enabled to pursue his studies in Germany. On his return to England, he went to live at the Cumberland Lakes, where Southey and Wordsworth were already settled. The three friends were called the Lake poets; and the Lake School of poetry became an object of attack to Byron and others. Here the Jacobin became a Royalist, and the Unitarian a devoted believer in the Trinity. In 1810 Coleridge removed, but not with his family, to London. Leaving his wife and children dependent ou the kindness of Southey, he settled at the house of Mr. James Gillman, at Highgate, where he lived the remainder of his life. He had become addicted to opium-eating, and a painful estrangement ensued between himself and his family. Mr. Gillman, who was a surgeon, undertook the cure of this unfortunate habit. At Highgate Coleridge wrote his "Lay Sermons," his "Aids to Reflection," and the "Biographia Literaria." There, likewise, he studied the German metaphysicians, and became noted for his rare conversational powers. The winter preceding his death he wrote the following epitaph for himself: "Stop, Christian passer-by! stop, child of God! And read with gentle breast. Beneath this sod He asked and hoped through Christ-do thou the same!" The poems of Coleridge are various in style and manner, embracing ode, tragedy, and love-poems, and strains of patriotism and superstition. His translation of Schiller's "Wallenstein" is, in many parts, less a translation than a paraphrase, and often shows a lavishness of original power. As a Shakspearian critic, he stands deservedly high; and among philosophers, his fame as an expounder of the thoughts of others is still considerable. The most original of Coleridge's poems, "The Ancient Mariner," has a weird charm which has given it much celebrity. The hymn on "Chamouni," fervid, stately, and brilliant, is, in parts, a paraphrase from the German of Friederike Brun's "Chamouni at Sunrise." The cditor of Coleridge's "Table Talk" admits the obligation, but excuses it on the ground that it is too obvious to be concealed. We append the original, and a translation of it by John Sullivan Dwight, of Boston. "Aus tiefem Schatten des schweigenden Tannenhains Erblick ich bebend dich, Scheitel der Ewigkeit, Blendender Gipfel, von dessen Höhe Ahnend mein Geist ins Unendliche schwebet! "Wer senkte den Pfeiler tief in der Erde Schoos, Der seit Jahrtausenden, fest deine Masse stützt? "Wer zeichnet dort dem Morgensterne die Bahn? Wilder Arveiron, dein Wogentümmel? TRANSLATION. "From the deep shadow of the still fir-groves "Who points to yonder morning-star his path? Borders with wreaths of flowers the eternal frost? O wild Arveiron! in fierce tumult tossed? The avalanche thunders down its steeps the call: Whisper the silver brooks that murmuring fall." The fame of Coleridge has suffered no diminution since his death. Great as a thinker and critic, he is yet more eminent for his natural gifts as a poet. LOVE. All thoughts, all passions, all delights, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I Live o'er again that happy hour, When midway on the mount I lay Beside the ruined tower. The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, Had blended with the lights of eve; And she was there, my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve! She leaned against the arméd man, The statue of the arméd knight; She stood and listened to my lay, Amid the lingering light. Few sorrows hath she of her own, My hope, my joy, my Genevieve! She loves me best whene'er I sing The songs that make her grieve. I played a soft and doleful air, I sang an old and moving storyAn old rude song, that suited well That ruin wild and hoary. She listened with a flitting blush, I told her of the knight that wore I told her how he pined: and ah! She listened with a flitting blush, But when I told the cruel scorn That crazed that bold and lovely knight, And how he crossed the mountain-woods, Nor rested day nor night; That sometimes from the savage den, And sometimes from the darksome shade, And sometimes starting up at once In green and sunny glade,- There came and looked him in the face And how, unknowing what he did, And how she wept, and clasped his knees; The scorn that crazed his brain;— And how she nursed him in a cave; His dying words-but when I reached That tenderest strain of all the ditty, My faltering voice and pausing harp Disturbed her soul with pity! |