A PORTRAIT. She was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; I saw her upon nearer view, Her household motions light and free, A countenance in which did meet For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. And now I see with eye serene SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. (1772-1834.) (Scene from Christabel.) THE lovely lady, Christabel, Whom her father loves so well, What makes her in the wood so late, Of her own betrothed knight; And she in the midnight wood will pray She stole along, she nothing spoke, The sighs she heaved were soft and low, She kneels beneath the huge oak-tree, On the other side it seems to be, Of the huge, broad-breasted, old oak-tree. The night is chill; the forest bare; Hush, beating heart of Christabel ! Jesu Maria shield her well! She folded her arms beneath her cloak, And stole to the other side of the oak. There she sees a damsel bright, The gems entangled in her hair. THE POET IN THE CLOUDS. Oh! it is pleasant, with a heart at ease, Own each quaint likeness issuing from the mould Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea. ROBERT SOUTHEY. (1774-1843.) APPROACH TO PADALON, OR THE INDIAN HADES. FAR other light than that of day there shone They, too, in darkness entering on their way, A glow, as of a fiery furnace light, Filled all before them. "T was a light that made A thing of comfort; and the sight, dismayed, The world of woe before them opening wide, Girding the realms of Padalon around, A sea of flame, it seemed to be Sea without bound; For neither mortal nor immortal sight Could pierce across through that intensest light. |