To cheat poor me (no conjurer, God wot!)
And's self accomplice in the plot.
Can you then wonder if I went astray?
Not bards alone, nor lovers mad as they ;-
All nature day-dreams in the month of May.
And if I pluck'd each flower that sweetest blows,—
Who walks in sleep, needs follow must his nose.
Thus, long accustom'd on the twy-fork'd hill,
To pluck both flower and floweret at my will;
The garden's maze, like No-man's-land, I tread,
Nor common law, nor statute in my head ;
For my own proper smell, sight, fancy, feeling,
With autocratic hand at once repealing

Five Acts of Parliament 'gainst private stealing!
But yet from who despairs of grace?
There's no spring-gun or man-trap in that face!
Let Moses then look black, and Aaron blue,
That look as if they had little else to do:
For speaks, "Poor youth! he's but a waif !
The spoons all right? the hen and chickens safe?
Well, well, he shall not forfeit our regards—
The Eighth Commandment was not made for Bards!"

CHOLERA CURED BEFOREHAND.

Or a premonition promulgated gratis for the use of the Useful Classes, spécially those resident in St. Giles's, Saffron Hill, Bethnal Green, &c. and likewise, inasmuch as the good man is merciful even to the beasts, for the benefit of the Bulls and Bears of the Stock Exchange.

PAINS ventral, subventral,

In stomach or entrail,

Think no longer mere prefaces

For grins, groans, and wry faces;

But off to the doctor, fast as ye can crawl!

Yet far better 'twould be not to have them at all.

Now to 'scape inward aches,
Eat no plums nor plum-cakes;
Cry avaunt! new potatoe―
And don't drink, like old Catɔ

Ah! beware of Dispipsy,
And don't ye get tipsy!
For tho' gin and whiskey
May make you feel frisky,
They're but crimps to Dispipsy;

And nose to tail, with this gipsy

Comes, black as a porpus,

The diabolus ipse,

Call'd Cholery Morpus;

Who with horns, hoofs, and tail, croaks for carrion to feed him, Tho' being a Devil, no one never has seed him!

You'll find it too true.

Och the hallabaloo !

Och! och how you'll wail,
When the offal-fed vagrant

Shall turn you as blue

As the gas-light unfragrant,

That gushes in jets from beneath his own tail;-
'Till swift as the mail,

He at last brings the cramps on,
That will twist you like Samson.

So without further blethring,
Dear mudlarks! my brethren!
Of all scents and degrees,
(Yourselves and your shes)
Forswear all cabal, lads,
Wakes, unions, and rows,

Hot dreams, and cold salads

And don't pig in sties that would suffocate sows !

Quit Cobbett's, O'Connell's, and Beelzebub's banners,

And whitewash at once bowels, rooms, hands, and manners!

COLOGNE.

IN Köhln, a town of monks and bones,
And pavements fang'd with murderous stones,
And rags, and hags, and hideous wenches;
I counted two and seventy stenches,
All well-defined, and several stinks!

Ye Nymphs that reign o'er sewers and sinks,
The river Rhine, it is well known,

Doth wash your city of Cologne ;

But tell me, Nymphs! what power divine
Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine?

ON MY JOYFUL DEPARTURE FROM THE SAME CITY.

As I am rhymer,

And now at least a merry one,

Mr. Mum's Rudesheimer
And the church of St. Geryon

Are the two things alone

That deserve to be known

In the body and soul-stinking town of Cologne.

WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM,

PARRY seeks the polar ridge;

Rhymes seeks S. T. Coleridge,

Author of works, whereof-tho' not in Dutch-
The public little knows-the publisher too much.

TO THE AUTHOR OF THE ANCIENT MARINER,

YOUR poem must eternal be,
Dear Sir! it can not fail!
For 'tis incomprehensible,

And without head or tail.

METRICAL FEET. LESSON FOR A BOY .

Trōchée trips from lōng to shōrt;

From long to long in solemn sort

Slow spōndée stalks; strong foot! yet ill able
Evěr to come up with Dactyl trisỹllǎblě.

Iambics march from shōrt to lông;

With ǎ leap and ǎ bound the swift Ānăpăsts thrōng;
One syllable long, with one short at each side,
Amphibrǎchys hastes with ǎ stately stride ;-

First and last being lõng, middle short, Amphimăcer
Strikes his thundering hoofs like å proud high-bred Racer.

If Derwent be innocent, steady, and wise,

And delight in the things of earth, water, and skies;
Tender warmth at his heart, with these metres to show it,
With sound sense in his brains, may make Derwent a poet,-
May crown him with fame, and must win him the love
Of his father on earth and his Father above.

Could

My dear, dear child!*

you stand upon Skiddaw, you would not from its whole ridge See a man who so loves you as your fond S. T. Coleridge.

TRANSLATED FROM SCHILLER.

I. THE HOMERIC HEXAMETER DESCRIBED AND EXEMPLIFIED.

STRONGLY it bears us along in swelling and limitless billows, Nothing before and nothing behind but the sky and the Ocean.

II. THE OVIDIAN ELEGIAC METRE DESCRIBED AND EXEMPLIFIED.

In the hexameter rises the fountain's silvery column;
In the pentameter aye falling in melody back.

TO THE YOUNG ARTIST, KAYSER OF KASERWERTH.

KAYSER! to whom, as to a second self,

Nature, or Nature's next-of-kin, the Elf,
Hight Genius, hath dispens'd the happy skill
To cheer or soothe the parting friend's, alas!

Turning the blank scroll to a magic glass,
That makes the absent present at our will;
And to the shadowing of thy pencil gives
Such seeming substance, that it almost lives.

Well hast thou given the thoughtful Poet's face!
Yet hast thou on the tablet of his mind

A more delightful portrait left behind-
Ev'n thy own youthful beauty, and artless grace,
Thy natural gladness and eyes bright with glee!
Kayser! farewell! .

Be wise! be happy! and forget not me.

1833.

JOB'S LUCK.

SLY Beelzebub took all occasions
To try Job's constancy and patience;
He took his honors, took his health,
He took his children, took his wealth,
His camels, horses, asses, cows—

And the sly Devil did not take his spouse.

But Heaven that brings out good from evil,
And loves to disappoint the Devil,
Had predetermined to restore
Twofold all Job had before,

His children, camels, horses, cows—
Short-sighted Devil, not to take his spouse!

ON A VOLUNTEER SINGER.

SWANS sing before they die : 'twere no bad thing,
Should certain persons die before they sing.

ON AN INSIGNIFICANT.

'Tis Cipher lies beneath this crust-
Whom Death created into dust.