It cannot be that Thou art gone !
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd :-
And thou wert aye a masker bold !
What strange disguise hast now put on,
To make believe, that Thou art gone ?
I see these locks in silvery slips,
This drooping gait, * this alter'd size :
But spring-tide blossoms on thy lips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes !
Life is but thought : so think I will
That Youth and I are house-mates still. †

*

Dew-drops are the gems of morning,
But the tears of mournful eve!
Where no hope is, life's a warning
That only serves to make us grieve,

When we are old :
That only serves to make us grieve
With oft and tedious taking-leave,
Like some poor nigh-related guest,

* This dragging gait-Bijou.

+ Here the poem ends in The Bijou, and the Literary Sou. venir. The remaining portion was published under the title of “ The Old Man's Sigh, a Sonnet,” dated “ The Grove, Highgate, 18th May, 1832," in Blackwood's Magazine, June 1832. I That only serves to make us grieve

In our old age,
Whose bruised wings quarrel with the bars of the still

narrowing cage.-1832.

That may not rudely be dismist;
Yet hath outstay'd his welcome while,

And tells the jest without the smile. [O! might Life cease ! and Selfless Mind, Whose total Being is Act, alone remain behind!]

A DAY-DREAM.* My eyes make pictures, when they are shut :

Y

I see a fountain, large and fair, A willow and a ruin'd hut,

And thee, and me and Mary there. O Mary! make thy gentle lap our pillow ! Bend o'er us, like a bower, my beautiful green

willow !

A wild-rose roofs the ruin'd shed,

And that and summer well † agree : And lo! where Mary leans her head,

Two dear names carved upon the tree ! And Mary's tears, they are not tears of sorrow : Our sister and our friend will both be here to-morrow.

'Twas day : but now few, large, and bright,

The stars are round the crescent moon; And now it is a dark warm night,

The balmiest of the month of June !

* Printed in The Bijou, 1828.
+ In The Bijou “will agree,"-probably a misprint.

A glow-worm fall'n, and on the marge remounting Shines, and its shadow shines, fit stars for our sweet

fountain

O ever—ever be thou blest!

For dearly, Asra, love I thee! +
This brooding warmth across my breast,

This depth of tranquil bliss—ah, me!
Fount, tree and shed are gone, I know not whither,
But in one quiet room we three are still together.

The shadows dance upon the wall,

By the still dancing fire-flames made; And now they slumber moveless all !

And now they melt to one | deep shade! But not from me shall this mild darkness steal thee: I dream thee with mine eyes, and at my heart I feel

thee !

Thine eyelash on my cheek doth play

'Tis Mary's hand upon my brow ! But let me check this tender lay

Which none may hear but she and thou ! Like the still hive at quiet midnight humming, Murmur it to yourselves, ye two beloved women !

FIRST ADVENT OF LOVE.

O FAIR is Love's first hope to gentle mind!

As Eve's first star thro' fleecy cloudlet peeping; * In the marge-Bijou. 7 Asra! dearly love I thee!-ib. * They make to me-ib.

And sweeter than the gentle south-west wind,
O'er willowy meads and shadow'd waters creeping,
And Ceres' golden fields ;-the sultry hind
Meets it with brow uplift, and stays his reaping.

NAMES.*

I ASK'D my fair one happy day,

What I should call her in my lay ; By what sweet name from Rome or Greece; Lalage, Neæra, Chloris, Sappho, Lesbia, or Doris,

Arethusa or Lucrece.

“Ah !" replied my gentle fair,
Beloved, what are names but air ?

Choose thou whatever suits the line ;
Call me Sappho, call me Chloris,
Call me Lalage or Doris,

Only, only call me thine."

WATER BALLAD.†
“COME hither, gently rowing,

Come bear me quickly o’er
This stream so brightly flowing

To yonder woodland shore.

* Morning Post, August 27, 1799; and, with the names given somewhat differently, in The Keepsake for 1829.

f The Athenæum, Oct. 29, 1831. [Now first included in any collection of Coleridge's Poems.] VOL. II.

X

But vain were my endeavour

To pay thee, courteous guide; Row on, row on, for ever

I'd have thee by my side.

6

“Good boatman, prithee haste thee,
I seek my father-land.”—
Say, when I there have placed thee,

Dare I demand thy hand ?' “ A maiden's head can never

So hard a point decide; Row on, row on, for ever

I'd have thee by my side.”

The happy bridal over

The wanderer ceased to roam, For, seated by her lover,

The boat became her home. And still they sang together

As steering o'er the tide : “Row on through wind and weather For ever by my

side."

DESIRE.

WHERE true Love burns Desire is Love's pure

flame;

It is the reflex of our earthly frame,
That takes its meaning from the nobler part,
And but translates the language of the heart.