rally a good one, was perplexed with vague and confused remembrances. Those who run from one subject to another of the most opposite and uncongenial kinds, receive of course, but very imperfect and transitory impressions. Southey, though an imaginative writer, does not complain of want of memory, because he is singularly regular and methodical in his studies. Coleridge may have done so, because his thoughts were dream-like and indistinct; but he no doubt recollected the wildest visions and most romantic tales with greater strength and facility than the generality of mankind, though he could not perhaps have carried a domestic pecuniary account in his head from one street to another. When a man finds that he forgets those things in which he takes a deep interest and which other persons who take less interest in them remember, he may then-but not till then, complain of want of memory. But as no man can remember all things, he must be satisfied to confine the exertions of his memory within a chosen range, and to retain only those things which are the dearest to his heart and the most congenial to his mind. A MOONLIGHT ASSIGNATION. [A FRAGMENT.] "Where is the nymph whose azure eye Can shine through rapture's tear? Moore. HAIL to the lovely Queen of Night, No threatening shades her brows enshroud, She rules o'er scenes of love and light, Calmly blest and purely bright, And the beam is soft of her pensive eye, As she looks from her silver throne on high! Now Solitude, meek timid maid! And the plaintive voice of the sad night-breeze, Ye radiant stars! and thou, sweet moon, Or Echo's tremulous voice reply But oh! your rays begin to fade, And absent still the faithless maid Than ye, proud host of stars! more bright, Or even thou, fair Queen of Night! The Spirit of Morn advances near, And all the neighbouring grove doth cheer! Off glide the dream-like shades of night! Maid of my heart! oh, why so long? The speckled lark ascends the sky The mavis and merle are gaily singing, And the woods with their joyous matins are ringing! Is it Fancy's vision wild? Is Reason from my soul exiled? Is it Hope's delusive beam ? Is it Love's delirious dream? Oh, rapturous joy! 'Twas her I love Whose advent waked the vocal grove, Whose form a fresh radiance of beauty adorning, A LOVER'S THOUGHT. "Tis true that we no more may meet, I may not hear thy lips repeat The dictates of thine heart ;- As 'neath the same unbroken ray SONNET. WRITTEN ON THE BANKS OF THE GANGES. How fraught with music, beauty and repose, When every note that trembles on the gale, Seems caught from realms untrod by mortal feet Where everlasting harmonies prevail Where rise the purified, their God to greet! *The Fire-fly. [86] SONNET-EVENING AT SEA. How calm and beautiful! The broad sun now Yet downward and above the glorious rays SONNET-TO A CHILD. THOU lovely child! When I behold the smile As darts on rippling waves the morning ray, Thy sinless graces win my soul away From dreams and thoughts that darken and defile! Scion of Beauty! If a stranger's eye Thus linger on thee-if his bosom's pain Charmed by thy cherub looks forget to smart Oh! how unutterably sweet her joy! Oh! how indissolubly firm the chain, That binds, with links of love, thy Mother's heart! |