And elmy fields, seems like society—
Conversing with the mind, and giving it
A livelier impulse and a dance of thought!
And now, beloved Stowey! I behold

Thy church-tower, and, methinks, the four huge elms
Clustering, which mark the mansion of my friend;
And close behind them, hidden from my view,
Is my own lowly cottage, where my babe
And my babe's mother dwell in peace! With light
And quickened footsteps thitherward I tend,
Remembering thee, O green and silent dell!
And grateful, that by nature's quietness
And solitary musings, all my heart

Is softened, and made worthy to indulge

Love, and the thoughts that yearn for human kind.

Nether Stowey,
April 28th, 1798.

}

FIRE, FAMINE, AND SLAUGHTER.

A WAR ECLOGUE. WITH AN APOLOGETIC PREFACE. *

The Scene a desolated Tract in La Vendée. FAMINE is discovered lying on the ground; to her enter FIRE and SLAUGHTER.

Fam. SISTERS! sisters! who sent you here?
Slau. [to Fire.] I will whisper it in her ear.
Fire. No! no! no!

Spirits hear what spirits tell ;

'Twill make a holiday in Hell.
No! no! no!

Myself, I named him once below,
And all the souls that damned be,
Leaped up at once in anarchy,

Clapped their hands and danced for glee.

They no longer heeded me;

But laughed to hear Hell's burning rafters
Unwillingly re-echo laughters!

No! no! no!

*Printed on page 217.

Spirits hear what spirits tell :

'Twill make a holiday in Hell!

Fam. Whisper it, sister! so and so!

In a dark hint, soft and slow.

Slau. Letters four do form his name

And who sent you?

Both.

The same the same!

Slau. He came by stealth and unlocked my den,

And I have drunk the blood since then

Of thrice three hundred thousand men.
Both. Who bade you do it?

Slau.

The same! the same!

Letters four do form his name.

He let me loose, and cried Halloo !

To him alone the praise is due.

Fam. Thanks, sister, thanks! the men have bled, Their wives and their children faint for bread.

I stood in a swampy field of battle;

With bones and skulls I made a rattle,

To frighten the wolf and carrion-crow

And the homeless dog-but they would not go,
So off I flew; for how could I bear
To see them gorge their dainty fare?
I heard a groan and a peevish squall,
And through the chink of a cottage-wall-
Can you guess what I saw there?

Both. Whisper it, sister! in our ear.
Fam. A baby beat its dying mother:

I had starved the one and was starving the other!
Both. Who bade you do't?

Fam.

The same! the same!

Letters four do form his name.

He let me loose, and cried Halloo !

To him alone the praise is due.

Fire. Sisters! I from Ireland came!

Hedge and corn-fields all on flame,
I triumphed o'er the setting sun!
And all the while the work was done,
On as I strode with my huge strides,
I flung back my head and I held my sides,

It was so rare a piece of fun

To see the sweltered cattle run

With uncouth gallop through the night,
Scared by the red and noisy light!

By the light of his own blazing cot
Was many a naked rebel shot:

The house-stream met the flame and hissed,
While crash! fell in the roof, I wist,
On some of those old bed-rid nurses,

That deal in discontent and curses.
Both. Who bade you do't?

Fire.

The same! the same!

Letters four do form his name.

He let me loose, and cried Halloo !

To him alone the praise is due.

All. He let us loose, and cried Halloo !

How shall we yield him honor due?

Fam. Wisdom comes with lack of food.

I'll gnaw, I'll gnaw the multitude,

Till the cup of rage o'erbrim :

They shall seize him and his brood

Slau. They shall tear him limb from limb! Fire. O thankless beldames and untrue!

And is this all that you can do

For him, who did so much for you?
Ninety months he, by my troth!
Hath richly catered for you both;
And in an hour would you repay
An eight years' work?-Away! away!
I alone am faithful! I

Cling to him everlastingly.

1796.

II. LOVE POEMS.

Quas humilis tenero stylus olim effudit in ævo,
Perlegis hic lacrymas, et quod pharetratus acuta
Ille puer puero fecit mihi cuspide vulnus.
Omnia paulatim consumit longior ætas,
Vivendoque simul morimur, rapimurque manendo.
Ipse mihi collatus enim non ille videbor:

Frons alia est, moresque alii, nova mentis, imago,
Voxque aliud sonat-

Pectore nunc gelido calidos miseremur amantes,
Jamque arsisse pudet. Veteres tranquilla tumultus
Mens horret, relegensque alium putat ista locutum.

LOVE.

ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,

All are but ministers of Love,

And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my waking dreams do I
Live o'er again that happy hour,
When midway on the mount I lay,
Beside the ruined tower.

The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene
Had blended with the lights of eve;
And she was there, my hope, my joy,
My own dear Genevieve!

She lean'd against the armed man,
The statue of the armed knight;
She stood and listened to my lay,

Amid the lingering light.

PETRARCH,

Few sorrows hath she of her own,
My hope my joy! my Genevieve !
She loves me best, whene'er I sing

The songs that make her grieve.

I played a soft and doleful air,
I sang an old and moving story-
An old rude song, that suited well
That ruin wild and hoary.

She listened with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes and modest grace;
For well she knew, I could not choose
But gaze upon her face.

I told her of the Knight that wore
Upon his shield a burning brand;
And that for ten long years he wooed
The Lady of the Land.

I told her how he pined and ah!
The deep, the low, the pleading tone
With which I sang another's love,
Interpreted my own.

She listened with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes, and modest grace;
And she forgave me, that I gazed
Too fondly on her face!

But when I told the cruel scorn

That crazed that bold and lovely Knight,
And that he crossed the mountain-woods,
Nor rested day nor night;

That sometimes from the savage den,
And sometimes from the darksome shade
And sometimes starting up at once
In green and sunny glade,—

There came and looked him in the face
An angel beautiful and bright;