And one by one (I know not whence) were brought

All spirits of power that most had stirr'd my thought

In selfless boyhood, on a new world tost

Of wonder, and in its own fancies lost;
Or charm'd my youth, that, kindled from above,
Loved ere it loved, and sought a form for love;
Or lent a lustre to the earnest scan

Of manhood, musing what and whence is man!
Wild strain of Scalds, that in the sea-worn caves
Rehearsed their war-spell to the winds and

waves;

Or fateful hymn of those prophetic maids,
That call'd on Hertha in deep forest glades;
Or minstrel lay, that cheer'd the baron's feast;
Or rhyme of city pomp, of monk and priest,
Judge, mayor, and many a guild in long array,
To high-church pacing on the great saint's day;
And many a verse which to myself I sang,
That woke the tear yet stole away the pang,
Of hopes which in lamenting I renew'd ;
And last, a matron now, of sober mien,
Yet radiant still and with no earthly sheen,
Whom as a faery child my childhood woo'd
Even in my dawn of thought,-Philosophy;
Though then unconscious of herself, pardie,
She bore no other name than Poesy;

And, like a gift from heaven, in lifeful glee,
That had but newly left a mother's knee,
Prattled and play'd with bird and flower, and
stone,

As if with elfin playfellows well known,
And life reveal'd to innocence alone.

Thanks, gentle artist! now I can descry
Thy fair creation with a mastering eye,
And all awake! And now in fix'd gaze stand,
Now wander through the Eden of thy hand;
Praise the green arches, on the fountain clear
See fragment shadows of the crossing deer;
And with that serviceable nymph I stoop
The crystal from its restless pool to scoop.
I see no longer! I myself am there,
Sit on the ground-sward, and the banquet
share ;

'Tis I, that sweep that lute's love-echoing strings,

And gaze upon the maid who gazing sings;

Or

pause and listen to the tinkling bells From the high tower, and think that there she dwells.

With old Boccaccio's soul I stand possest, And breathe an air like life, that swells my chest.

The brightness of the world, O thou once free,

And always fair, rare land of courtesy !

O Florence! with the Tuscan fields and hills,
And famous Arno, fed with all their rills;
Thou brightest star of star-bright Italy!
Rich, ornate, populous, all treasures thine,
The golden corn, the olive, and the vine;
Fair cities, gallant mansions, castles old,
And forests, where beside his leafy hold
The sullen boar hath heard the distant horn,
And whets his tusks against the gnarled thorn ;
Palladian palace with its storied halls;

Fountains, where Love lies listening to their

falls;

Gardens, where flings the bridge its airy span,
And Nature makes her happy home with man ;
Where many a gorgeous flower is duly fed
With its own rill, on its own spangled bed,
And wreathes the marble urn, or leans its head,
A mimic mourner, that with veil withdrawn
Weeps liquid gems, the presents of the dawn ;-
Thine all delights, and every muse is thine;
And more than all, the embrace and intertwine
Of all with all in gay and twinkling dance!
Mid gods of Greece and warriors of romance,
See! Boccace sits, unfolding on his knees
The new-found roll of old Mæonides;
But from his mantle's fold, and near the heart,
Peers Ovid's holy book of Love's sweet smart! 2

O all-enjoying and all-blending sage,
Long be it mine to con thy mazy page,

1 The new-found roll, &c.] Boccaccio claimed for himself the glory of having first introduced the works of Homer to his countrymen.-C.

2 Ovid's holy book.] I know few more striking or more interesting proofs of the overwhelming influence which the study of the Greek and Roman classics exercised on the judgments, feelings, and imaginations of the literati of Europe at the commencement of the restoration of literature, than the passage in the Filocopo of Boccaccio, where the sage instructor, Racheo, as soon as the young prince and the beautiful girl Biancofiore had learned their letters, sets them to study the Holy Book, Ovid's Art of Love. "Incominciò Racheo a mettere il suo officio in esecuzione con intera sollecitudine. E lora, in breve tempo, insegnato a conoscer le lettere, fece leggere il santo libro d'Ovvidio, nel quale il sommo poeta mostra come i santi fuochi di Venere si debbano ne' freddi cuori accendere."-C. Compare note to Alice Du Clos.

Where, half conceal'd, the eye of fancy views Fauns, nymphs, and winged saints, all gracious to thy muse!

Still in thy garden let me watch their pranks, And see in Dian's vest between the ranks

Of the trim vines, some maid that half believes The vestal fires, of which her lover grieves, With that sly satyr peeping through the leaves !

LINES

WRITTEN IN THE COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF MISS

BARBOUR, DAUGHTER OF OUR LATE

MINISTER TO ENGLAND.*

*

HILD of my muse! in Barbour's gentle hand

Go cross the main: thou seek'st no

foreign land:

"Tis not the clod beneath our feet we name Our country. Each heaven-sanction'd tie the

same,

Laws, manners, language, faith, ancestral blood,
Domestic honour, awe of womanhood!—
With kindling pride thou wilt rejoice to see
Britain with elbow-room and doubly free!
Go seek thy countrymen! and if one scar

* Dated, Grove, Highgate, August, 1829. Printed in the New York Mirror, Dec. 19, 1829. See Athenæum, May 3, 1884.

Still linger of that fratricidal war,

Look to the maid who brings thee from afar ;
Be thou the olive leaf and she the dove,

And say,

I greet thee with a brother's love!

WATER BALLAD.*

OME hither, gently rowing,
Come bear me quickly o'er
This stream so brightly flowing
To yonder woodland shore.
But vain were my endeavour
To pay thee, courteous guide;
Row on, row on, for ever

I'd have thee by my side.

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,

* Discovered in The Athenæum, 1831, by the editor of Macmillan's edition. This poem is the least like Coleridge of any poem of his we know. It is probably from the German.