"
A village schoolmaster was he,
With hair of glittering gray;
As blithe a man as you could see
On a spring holiday.
A village schoolmaster was he,
With hair of glittering gray;
As blithe a man as you could see
On a spring holiday.
Golden Treasury
Ah woeful Ere,
Which tells me, Youth's no longer here!
O Youth! for years so many and sweet
'Tis known that Thou and I were one,
I'll think it but a fond conceit--
It cannot be, that Thou art gone!
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd:--
And thou wert aye a masker bold!
What strange disguise hast now put on
To make believe that thou art gone?
I see these locks in silvery slips,
This drooping gait, this alter'd size:
But Springtide blossoms on thy lips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!
Life is but Thought: so think I will
That Youth and I are housemates still.
Dew-drops are the gems of morning,
But the tears of mournful eve!
Where no hope is, life's a warning
That only serves to make us grieve
When we are old:
--That only serves to make us grieve
With oft and tedious taking-leave,
Like some poor nigh-related guest
That may not rudely be dismist,
Yet hath out-stay'd his welcome while,
And tells the jest without a smile.
S. T. COLERIDGE.
281. THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS.
We walk'd along, while bright and red
Uprose the morning sun;
And Matthew stopp'd, he looked, and said,
"The will of God be done!
"
A village schoolmaster was he,
With hair of glittering gray;
As blithe a man as you could see
On a spring holiday.
And on that morning, through the grass,
And by the steaming rills
We travel'd merrily, to pass
A day among the hills.
"Our work," said I, "was well begun;
Then, from thy breast what thought,
Beneath so beautiful a sun,
So sad a sigh has brought? "
A second time did Matthew stop;
And fixing still his eye
Upon the eastern mountain-top,
To me he made reply:
"Yon cloud with that long purple cleft
Brings fresh into my mind
A day like this, which I have left
Full thirty years behind.
"And just above yon slope of corn
Such colours, and no other,
Were in the sky, that April morn
Of this the very brother.
"With rod and line I sued the sport
Which that sweet season gave,
And, to the church-yard come, stopp'd short
Beside my daughter's grave.
"Nine summers had she scarcely seen,
The pride of all the vale;
And then she sang:--she would have been
A very nightingale.
"Six feet in earth my Emma lay;
And yet I loved her more--
For so it seem'd,--than till that day
I e'er had loved before.
"And, turning from her grave, I met,
Beside the church-yard yew,
A blooming Girl, whose hair was wet
With points of morning dew.
"A basket on her head she bare;
Her brow was smooth and white:
To see a child so very fair,
It was a pure delight!
"No fountain from its rocky cave
E'er tripped with foot so free;
She seem'd as happy as a wave
That dances on the sea.
"There came from me a sigh of pain
Which I could ill confine;
I looked at her, and looked again
And did not wish her mine! "
--Matthew is in his grave, yet now,
Methinks I see him stand
As at that moment, with a bough
Of wilding in his hand.
W. WORDSWORTH.
282.
Which tells me, Youth's no longer here!
O Youth! for years so many and sweet
'Tis known that Thou and I were one,
I'll think it but a fond conceit--
It cannot be, that Thou art gone!
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd:--
And thou wert aye a masker bold!
What strange disguise hast now put on
To make believe that thou art gone?
I see these locks in silvery slips,
This drooping gait, this alter'd size:
But Springtide blossoms on thy lips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!
Life is but Thought: so think I will
That Youth and I are housemates still.
Dew-drops are the gems of morning,
But the tears of mournful eve!
Where no hope is, life's a warning
That only serves to make us grieve
When we are old:
--That only serves to make us grieve
With oft and tedious taking-leave,
Like some poor nigh-related guest
That may not rudely be dismist,
Yet hath out-stay'd his welcome while,
And tells the jest without a smile.
S. T. COLERIDGE.
281. THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS.
We walk'd along, while bright and red
Uprose the morning sun;
And Matthew stopp'd, he looked, and said,
"The will of God be done!
"
A village schoolmaster was he,
With hair of glittering gray;
As blithe a man as you could see
On a spring holiday.
And on that morning, through the grass,
And by the steaming rills
We travel'd merrily, to pass
A day among the hills.
"Our work," said I, "was well begun;
Then, from thy breast what thought,
Beneath so beautiful a sun,
So sad a sigh has brought? "
A second time did Matthew stop;
And fixing still his eye
Upon the eastern mountain-top,
To me he made reply:
"Yon cloud with that long purple cleft
Brings fresh into my mind
A day like this, which I have left
Full thirty years behind.
"And just above yon slope of corn
Such colours, and no other,
Were in the sky, that April morn
Of this the very brother.
"With rod and line I sued the sport
Which that sweet season gave,
And, to the church-yard come, stopp'd short
Beside my daughter's grave.
"Nine summers had she scarcely seen,
The pride of all the vale;
And then she sang:--she would have been
A very nightingale.
"Six feet in earth my Emma lay;
And yet I loved her more--
For so it seem'd,--than till that day
I e'er had loved before.
"And, turning from her grave, I met,
Beside the church-yard yew,
A blooming Girl, whose hair was wet
With points of morning dew.
"A basket on her head she bare;
Her brow was smooth and white:
To see a child so very fair,
It was a pure delight!
"No fountain from its rocky cave
E'er tripped with foot so free;
She seem'd as happy as a wave
That dances on the sea.
"There came from me a sigh of pain
Which I could ill confine;
I looked at her, and looked again
And did not wish her mine! "
--Matthew is in his grave, yet now,
Methinks I see him stand
As at that moment, with a bough
Of wilding in his hand.
W. WORDSWORTH.
282.
