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On all that humble happiness
What unreflected light would be,
Is just thy spirit without me.
Thou art the flame, whose rising spire
In the dark air sublimely sways, With rights, though not too closely scanned. And I the tempest that swift fire Enjoyed, as far as known
Gathers at first, and then obeys: With will, by no reverse unmanned
All that was thine ere we were wed With pulse of even tone
Have I by right inherited. They from to-day and from to-night
Expected nothing more, Than yesterday and yesternight
Is life a stream? Then from thy hair
One rosebud on the current fell,
As adamant immovable :
Its steadfast place shall know no more Of duties to be done,
The sense of after and before.
A race where all must run;
To mine nor gold nor ill can bring;
Mine grows no more; no more it fears Each with his fronting foe.
Even the brushing of his wing;
I have no flowers that he can mow.
Puts on, and proudly wears
Youth and Manhood.
Youth, that pursuest with such eager pace They went about their gravest deeds,
Thy even way, As noble boys at play.
Thou pantest on, to win a mournful race:
Then stay! oh, stay!
Once past, thou never wilt come back again
A second boy. Because, from all that round thee move, The hills of manhood wear a noble face, Planets of beauty, strength, and grace,
When seen from far; I am elected to thy love,
The mist of light from which they take their And have my home in thy embrace,
grace I wonder all men do not see
Hides what they are. The crown that thou hast set on me.
The dark and weary path those cliffs betBecause, when prostrate at thy feet,
Thou canst not know, Thou didst emparadise my pain,
And how it leads to regions never-green, Because thy heart on mine has beat,
Dead fields of snow. Thy head within my hands has lain,
Pause, while thou mayst, nor deem that fate I am transfigured, by that sign,
thy gain, Into a being like to thine.
Which, all too fast,
plain, The mirror from its glossy plain
A man at last.
Harthley Coleridge, ein Sohn des grossen Dichters Samuel Taylor Coleridge, veröffentlichte im Jahre 1833 einen Band Gedichte, welche seiner hohen Abstammung keineswegs unwürdig sind. Es giebt wenig Sonette in der englischen Sprache, die durch Gedankenfülle und Versbau vorzüglicher wären. Coleridge starb zu Ryndal, Westerland, am 6 Januar 1849. Er war ein thätiger Mitarbeiter am Blackwood Magazin, ein sehr origineller und beliebter Schriftsteller und Verfasser einer bedeutenden Anzahl kleiner Gedichte von grossem Verdienst und poetischer Kraft.
Sonnet on Shakspeare. Or the firm fatal purpose of the heart
Can make of man. Yet thou wert still the The soul of man is larger than the sky,
same, Deeper than ocean or the abysmal dark Serene of thought, unhurt by thy own flame. Of the unfathomed centre. Like that ark, Which in its sacred hold uplifted high, O'er the drowned hills, the human family,
Sonnets to a Friend. And stock reserved of every living kind, So, in the compass of the single mind, When we were idlers with the loitering rills, The seeds and pregnant forms in essence lie, The need of human love we little noted: That make all worlds. Great poet, 'twas Our love was nature; and the peace that thy art
floated To know thyself, and in thyself to be On the white mist, and dwelt upon the hills, Whate'er Love, Hate, Ambition, Destiny, To sweet accord subdued our wayward wills : One soul was ours, one mind, one heart de-| Where flowrets blow and whispering Naiads voted,
dwell. That, wisely doting, asked not why it doted, Yet now we meet, that parted were so wide, And ours the unknown joy, which knowing O'er rough and smooth to travel side by side.
kills. But now I find how dear thou wert to me; That man is more than half of nature's trea
To Certain Golden Fishes. Of that fair beauty which no eye can see, Of that sweet music which no ear can mea
Restless forms of living light, sure;
Quivering on your lucid wings, And now the streams may sing for other's
Cheating still the curious sight pleasure,
With a thousand shadowings;
Various as the tints of even,
Harmless warriors clad in mail
Of silver breastplate, golden scale ; Where many souls there are that breathe and
Mail of Nature's own bestowing, die,
With peaceful radiance mildly glowing; Scarce knowing more of nature's potency Keener than the Tartar's arrow, Than what they learn from heat, or cold, or
Sport ye in your sea so narrow. rain
Was the sun himself your sire ? The sad vicissitude of weary pain:
Were ye born of vital fire ? For busy man is lord of ear and eye,
Or of the shade of golden flowers, And what hath Natur but the vast void sky,
Such as we fetch from eastern bowers, And the thronged river toiling to the main ?
To mock this murky clime of ours ? Oh! say not so, for she shall have her part
Upwards, downwards, now ye glance, In every smile, in every tear that falls,
Weaving many a mazy dance; And she shall hide her in the secret heart,
Seeming still to grow in size, Where love persuades, and sterner duty calls :
When ye would elude our eyes. But worse it were than death, or sorrow's
Pretty creatures! we might deem smart,
Ye were happy as ye seem,
As gay, as gamesome, and as blithe,
And yet, since on this hapless earth
To drown the outcry of the heart, And thy fleet course hath been through many It may be, that your ceaseless gambols,
Your wheelings, dartirgs, divings, rambles, In foreign lands, where silvery Padus gleams Your restless roving round and round To that delicious sky, whose glowing beams The circuit of your cristal bound, Brightened the tresses that old poets praise; Is but the task of weary pain, Where Petrarch's patient love and artful lays, An endless labour, dull and vain; And Ariosto's song of many themes,
And while your forms are gaily shining, Moved the soft air. But I, a lazy brook, Your little lives are inly pining! As close pent up within my native dell,
but still I fain would dream Have crept along from nook to shady nook, That ye are happy as ye seem.
Mrs Southey, welche auch häufig unter dem Namen Caroline Bowles gefunden wird, hat sich als sehr fruchtbare Schriftstellerin ausgezeichnet. Unter ihren zahlreichen poetischen Schriften mögen hier nur einige angeführt werden: Ellen Fitzarthur 1820;
The Widow's Tale and other Poems 1822; The Birthday and other Poems 1836; Solitary Hours 1838 u. a.
Caroline Southey ist eine der beliebtesten Dichterinnen der Gegenwart. Ihre poetischen Leistungen zeichnen sich durch Natürlichkeit, durch Reichthum der Gedanken und schönen Versbau aus.
Miss Elizabeth Barrett, welche jetzt meist unter dem Namen Mrs Browning schreibt, lebt gegenwärtig in London. Sie hat sich nicht allein durch mehrere eigene poetische Schriften, wie „The Seraphim and other Poems" 1838, so wie Poetical Works in zwei Bänden 1844, sondern auch durch ihre Gelehrsamkeit und Uebersetzung des Prometheus von Aeschylus: Prometheus Bound and other Poems 1833, berühmt gemacht.
Barrett's Dichtungen sind nicht ohne Tiefe der Gedanken und ohne Wärme der Empfindung geschrieben.
The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep
His dew drops mutely on the hill;
What do we give to our beloved?
A little dust, to overweep
The whole earth blasted for our sake! 'He giveth His beloved sleep.'
His cloud above it saileth still,
Though on its slope men toil and reap!
'He giveth His beloved sleep.'
Ha! men may wonder while they scan