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HARTLEY COLERIDGE.

I.

FIRST WORDS OF ADAM.

WHAT was 't awakened first the untried ear
Of that sole man who was all human kind?
Was it the gladsome welcome of the wind,
Stirring the leaves that never yet were sere?
The four mellifluous streams which flowed so near,
Their luiling murmurs all in one combined?
The note of bird unnamed? The startled hind
Bursting the brake, in wonder, not in fear,
Of her new lord? Or did the holy ground
Send forth mysterious melody to greet
The gracious pressure of immaculate feet?
Did viewless seraphs rustle all around,

Making sweet music out of air as sweet?
Or his own voice awake him with its sound?

II.

SONNET TO A FRIEND.

WE parted on the mountains, as two streams
From one clear spring pursue their several ways;
And thy fleet course hath been through many a maze
In foreign lands, where silvery Padus gleams
To that delicious sky, whose glowing beams
Brightened the tresses that old poets praise;
Where Petrarch's patient love and artful lays,
And Ariosto's song of many themes,
Moved the soft air. But I, a lazy brook,

As close pent up within my native dell,
Have crept along from nook to shady nook,
Where flow'rets blow, and whispering Naiads dwell.
Yet now we meet, that parted were so wide,
O'er rough and smooth to travel side by side.

III.

LONG time a child, and still a child, when years
Had painted manhood on my cheek, was I;
For yet I lived like one not born to die:

A thriftless prodigal of smiles and tears,
No hope I needed, and I knew no fears.

But sleep, though sweet, is only sleep; and waking,
I waked to sleep no more; at once o'ertaking
The vanguard of my age, with all arrears
Of duty on my back. - Nor child, nor man,
Nor youth, nor sage, I find my head is gray,
For I have lost the race I never ran;

A rathe December blights my lagging May;
And still I am a child, though I be old :
Time is my debtor for my years untold.

IV.

MAY-TIME IN ENGLAND.

(1832.)

Is this the merry May of tale and song?

Chill breathes the north, the sky looks chilly blue, The waters wear a cold and iron hue,

Or wrinkle as the crisp wave creeps along, Much like an ague-fit. The starry throng

Of flow'rets droop, o'erdone with drenching dew, Or close their leaves at noon, as if they knew And felt, in helpless wrath, the season's wrong. Yet in the half-clad woods, the busy birds

Chirping with all their might to keep them warm, The young hare flitting from her ferny form, The vernal lowing of the amorous herds, And swelling buds, impatient of delay,

Declare it should be, though it is not, May.

V.

SECOND NUPTIALS.

THERE is no jealousy in realms above:
The spirit, purified from earthly stain,
And knowing that its earthly loss was gain,
Transfers its property in earthly love
(Though love it was she does not yet reprove)
To her by Heaven appointed to sustain

The honored matron's part; to bear the pain,
The joy, the duty, all things that behoove
A Christian wedded. She that dwells on high
May be a guardian angel to the wife
That her good husband chooses to supply
Her place, vacated in the noon of life ;
With holy gladness may support the bride
Through happy cares, to her by death denied.

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