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Then told us that her husband serv’d
A soldier, far away,
And therefore to her parish she
Was begging back her way.
I turn'd me to the rich man then,
For silently stood he
"You ask'd me why the poor complain,
And these have answer'd thee."
E left his home with a bounding heart, For the world was all before him;
And felt it scarce a pain to part,
Such sun-bright beams came o'er him.
The rainbow's hues were round him;
And a father's bodings-a mother's tears
Might not weigh with the hopes that crowned them.
That mother's cheek is far paler now
Than when she last caressed him :
There's an added gloom on that father's brow,
Since the hour when last he blessed him.
[Though not, perhaps, entitled to a place in the foremost rank of English poets, the name of ROBERT SOUTHEY must ever be dear to the lovers of English literature, as that of a diligent, talented, and honestminded man. With the exception of certain rather violent outpourings of his youthful muse, which drew upon him the strictures of the critics and the ridicule of many, there is nothing among the voluminous works of Southey which the writer need wish expunged. His prose writings are very valuable, especially his biographical works. His longer poems are less successful than his shorter ballads, many of which have become exceedingly popular. Southey was made poet-laureate in 1813, and in his declining days obtained a well-earned pension of £300. He died in 1843, at the age of sixtynine, and was succeeded in the laureateship by Wordsworth.]
Oh! that all human hopes should prove
Like the flowers that will fade to-morrow; And the cankering fears of anxious love
Ever end in ruth and sorrow.
He left his home with a swelling sail,
He should have died in his own loved land,
With no thought, save heaven, to cheer him.
Then why repine? Can he feel the rays
It hath 'scaped the storm's deep chiding;
She was a Phantom of Delight.
HE was a phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament ;
I saw her upon nearer view,
A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet ;
A creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
And now I see with eye serene
A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveller between life and death:
The reason firm, the temperate will,
The poor inhabitant beholds in vain.
Oh, Liberty, thou goddess heavenly bright,