in Macbeth's mind, _rendered temptible
by previous dalliance with ambitious thoughts_." Here Coleridge
denies the _necessity_ of "logical consistency, so as to meet
metaphysical objectors," although he has, throughout his criticisms
upon Shakspere, endeavored, and nearly always with success, to prove
the _existence_ of that consistency; and so strongly has he felt the
want of it here, that he has, in order to satisfy himself, _assumed_
that "previous dalliance with ambitious thoughts," whose existence it
has been our object to _prove_.

But, putting Coleridge's imperfect perception of the truth out of the
question, surely nothing can be easier than to believe _that_ for the
belief in which we have so many precedents. How many beauties, lost
upon Dryden, were perceived by Johnson; How many, hidden to Johnson
and his cotemporaries, have been brought to light by Schlegel and by
Coleridge.

Repining

She sat alway thro' the long day
Spinning the weary thread away;
And ever said in undertone:
"Come, that I be no more alone."

From early dawn to set of sun
Working, her task was still undone;
And the long thread seemed to increase
Even while she spun and did not cease.
She heard the gentle turtle-dove
Tell to its mate a tale of love;
She saw the glancing swallows fly,
Ever a social company;
She knew each bird upon its nest
Had cheering songs to bring it rest;
None lived alone save only she;--
The wheel went round more wearily;
She wept and said in undertone:
"Come, that I be no more alone."

Day followed day, and still she sighed
For love, and was not satisfied;
Until one night, when the moonlight
Turned all the trees to silver white,
She heard, what ne'er she heard before,
A steady hand undo the door.
The nightingale since set of sun
Her throbbing music had not done,
And she had listened silently;
But now the wind had changed, and she
Heard the sweet song no more, but heard
Beside her bed a whispered word:
"Damsel, rise up; be not afraid;
For I am come at last," it said.

She trembled, tho' the voice was mild;
She trembled like a frightened child;--
Till she looked up, and then she saw
The unknown speaker without awe.
He seemed a fair young man, his eyes
Beaming with serious charities;
His cheek was white, but hardly pale;
And a dim glory like a veil
Hovered about his head, and shone
Thro' the whole room till