














ishes, 
oO 
Golt F 
Hartley Coleridge, 
ESTLESS forms of living light, 
Quivering on your lucid wings, 
Cheating still the curious sight 
With a thousand shadowings, 
Various as the tints of even, 
Gorgeous as the hues of heaven, 
Reflected on your native streams 
In flitting, flashing, billowy gleams. 
Harmless warriors clad in mail 
Of silver breast-plate, golden seale ; 
Mail of Nature’s own bestowing, 
With peaceful radiance mildly glowing, 
Keener than the Tartar’s arrow, 
Sport ye in your sea so narrow, 
Was the sun himself your sire 2 
Were ye born of vital fire! 
Or of the shade of golden flowers, 
Such as we fetch from Hastern bowers, 
To mock this murky clime of ours? 




