Page images
PDF
EPUB

Our fathers would not know Thy ways, And Thou hast left them to their own.

But present still, though now unseen!
When brightly shines the prosperous day,
Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen,
To temper the deceitful ray.
And oh, when stoops on Judah's path
In shade and storm the frequent night,
Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath,
A burning and a shining light!

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;
I dare not think upon thy vow,
And all it promised me, Mary.
No fond regret must Norman know;
When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe,
His heart must be like bended bow,
His foot like arrow free, Mary

A time will come with feeling fraught;
For, if I fall in battle fought,
Thy hapless lover's dying thought

Shall be a thought on thee, Mary.
And, if returned from conquered foes,
How blithely will the evening close,
How sweet the linnet sing repose,
To my young bride and me, Mary!

1 Fern.

NORA'S VOW.

Hear what Highland Nora said:
"The Earlie's son I will not wed,
Should all the race of nature die,
And none be left but he and I.
For all the gold, for all the gear,
And all the lands both far and near,
That ever valor lost or won,

I would not wed the Earlie's son!"

"A maiden's vows," old Callum spoke,
"Are lightly made and lightly broke;
The heather on the mountain's height
Begins to bloom in purple light:
The frost-wind soon shall sweep away
That lustre deep from glen and brae;
Yet Nora, ere its bloom be gone,
May blithely wed the Earlie's son."

"The swan," she said, "the lake's clear breast
May barter for the eagle's nest;
The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn,.
Ben-Cruaichan fall and crush Kilchurn;
Our kilted clans, when blood is high,
Before their foes may turn and fly;
But I, were all these marvels done,
Would never wed the Earlie's son."

Still in the water-lily's shade

Her wonted nest the wild-swan made;
Ben-Cruaichan stands as fast as ever,
Still downward foams the Awe's fierce river;
To shun the clash of foeman's steel,
No Highland brogue has turned the heel;
But Nora's heart is lost and won-
She's wedded to the Earlie's son!

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.

[blocks in formation]

303

[blocks in formation]

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:
-Nearest the throne itself must be
The footstool of humility.

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
A poet lies, or that which once seemed he-
Oh, lift a thought in prayer for S. T. C.!
That he who many a year with toil of breath
Found death in life, may here find life in death!
Mercy for praise-to be forgiven for fame,

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 thürmte hoch in des Aethers Wölbung
Mächtig und kühn dein umstrahltes Antlitz?
"Wer goss Ench hoch aus des ewigen Winters Reich,
O Zackenströme, mit Dounergetōs', herab?
Und wer gebietet laut mit der Allmacht Stimme:
'Hier sollen ruhen die starrenden Wogen?'

"Wer zeichnet dort dem Morgensterne die Bahn?
Wer kränzt mit Blüthen des ewigen Frostes Saum?
Wem tönt in schrecklichen Harmonien,

Wilder Arveiron, dein Wogentümmel?
"Jehovah! Jehovah! kracht's im berstenden Eis:
Lavinendonner rollen's die Kluft hinab:
Jehovah rauscht's in den hellen Wipfeln,
Flühstert's an rieselden Silberbächen."

TRANSLATION.

"From the deep shadow of the still fir-groves
Trembling I look to thee, eternal height !
Thou dazzling summit, from whose top my soul
Floats, with dimmed vision, to the infinite!
"Who sank in earth's firm lap the pillars deep
Which hold through ages thy vast pile in place?
Who reared on high, in the clear ether's vault,
Lofty and strong, thy ever-radiant face?
"Who poured you forth, ye mountain torrents wild,
Down thundering from eternal winter's breast?
And who commanded, with almighty voice,
'Here let the stiffening billows find their rest?'

"Who points to yonder morning-star his path?

Borders with wreaths of flowers the eternal frost?
To whom, in awful music, cries thy stream,

O wild Arveiron! in fierce tumult tossed?
"Jehovah God! bursts from the crashing ice;

The avalanche thunders down its steeps the call:
Jehovah rustle soft the bright tree-tops,

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,
Whatever stir this mortal frame,
All are but ministers of Love,

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,
With downcast eyes and modest grace;
For well she knew I could not choose
But gaze upon her face.

I told her of the knight that wore
Upon his shield a burning brand,
And how for ten long years he wooed
The Lady of the Land:

I told her how he pined: and ah!
The deep, the low, the pleading tone
With which I sang another's love,
Interpreted my own.

She listened with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes and modest grace;
And she forgave me that I gazed
Too fondly on her face!

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
An angel beautiful and bright;
And how he knew it was a fiend,
This miserable knight!

And how, unknowing what he did,
He leaped amid a murderous band,
And saved from outrage worse than death
The Lady of the Land;-

And how she wept, and clasped his knees;
And how she tended him in vain-
And ever strove to expiate

The scorn that crazed his brain;—

And how she nursed him in a cave;
And how his madness went away
When on the yellow forest-leaves
A dying man he lay;-

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!

« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »