THE OVIDIAN ELEGIAC METRE

DESCRIBED AND EXEMPLIFIED

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

? 1799.

ON A CATARACT [308:1]

FROM A CAVERN NEAR THE SUMMIT OF A MOUNTAIN PRECIPICE

STROPHE

Unperishing youth!
Thou leapest from forth
The cell of thy hidden nativity;
Never mortal saw
The cradle of the strong one; [5]
Never mortal heard
The gathering of his voices;
The deep-murmured charm of the son of the rock,
That is lisp'd evermore at his slumberless fountain.
There's a cloud at the portal, a spray-woven veil 10
At the shrine of his ceaseless renewing;
It embosoms the roses of dawn,
It entangles the shafts of the noon,
And into the bed of its stillness
The moonshine sinks down as in slumber, 15
That the son of the rock, that the nursling of heaven
May be born in a holy twilight!

ANTISTROPHE

The wild goat in awe
Looks up and beholds
Above thee the cliff inaccessible;— [20]
Thou at once full-born
Madd'nest in thy joyance,
Whirlest, shatter'st, splitt'st,
Life invulnerable.

? 1799.

FOOTNOTES:

[308:1] First published in 1834. For the original (Unsterblicher Jüngling) by Count F. L. Stolberg see Note to Poems, 1844, pp. 371-2, and Appendices of this edition.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] Improved from Stolberg. On a Cataract, &c. 1844, 1852.

[[2-3]]

Thou streamest from forth
The cleft of thy ceaseless Nativity

MS. S. T. C.

Between [7] and 13.

The murmuring songs of the Son of the Rock,
When he feeds evermore at the slumberless Fountain.
There abideth a Cloud,
At the Portal a Veil,
At the shrine of thy self-renewing;
It embodies the Visions of Dawn,
It entangles, &c.

MS. S. T. C.

[[20]]

Below thee the cliff inaccessible MS. S. T. C.

[[22-3]]

Flockest in thy Joyance,
Wheelest, shatter'st, start'st.

MS. S. T. C.

TELL'S BIRTH-PLACE [309:1]

IMITATED FROM STOLBERG

Mark this holy chapel well!
The birth-place, this, of William Tell.
Here, where stands God's altar dread,
Stood his parents' marriage-bed.

Here, first, an infant to her breast, 5
Him his loving mother prest;
And kissed the babe, and blessed the day,
And prayed as mothers use to pray.

III

'Vouchsafe him health, O God! and give
The child thy servant still to live!' 10
But God had destined to do more
Through him, than through an arméd power.

God gave him reverence of laws,
Yet stirring blood in Freedom's cause—
A spirit to his rocks akin, 15
The eye of the hawk, and the fire therein!

To Nature and to Holy Writ
Alone did God the boy commit:
Where flashed and roared the torrent, oft
His soul found wings, and soared aloft! 20

The straining oar and chamois chase
Had formed his limbs to strength and grace:
On wave and wind the boy would toss,
Was great, nor knew how great he was!

VII

He knew not that his chosen hand, [25]
Made strong by God, his native land
Would rescue from the shameful yoke
Of Slavery——the which he broke!

? 1799.

FOOTNOTES:

[309:1] First published in Sibylline Leaves, 1817: included in 1828, 1829, and 1834. For the original (Bei Wilhelm Tells Geburtsstätte im Kanton Uri) by Count F. L. Stolberg see Appendices of this edition. There is no evidence as to the date of composition.

LINENOTES:

[[28]]

Slavery] Slavery, all editions to 1834.

THE VISIT OF THE GODS [310:1]

IMITATED FROM SCHILLER

Never, believe me,
Appear the Immortals,
Never alone:
Scarce had I welcomed the Sorrow-beguiler,
Iacchus! but in came Boy Cupid the Smiler; 5
Lo! Phoebus the Glorious descends from his throne!
They advance, they float in, the Olympians all!
With Divinities fills my
Terrestrial hall!

How shall I yield you 10
Due entertainment,
Celestial quire?
Me rather, bright guests! with your wings of upbuoyance
Bear aloft to your homes, to your banquets of joyance,
That the roofs of Olympus may echo my lyre! 15
Hah! we mount! on their pinions they waft up my soul!
O give me the nectar!
O fill me the bowl!

Give him the nectar!
Pour out for the poet, 20
Hebe! pour free!
Quicken his eyes with celestial dew,
That Styx the detested no more he may view,
And like one of us Gods may conceit him to be!
Thanks, Hebe! I quaff it! Io Paean, I cry! 25
The wine of the Immortals
Forbids me to die!

? 1799.

FOOTNOTES:

[310:1] First published in Sibylline Leaves, 1817: included in 1828, 1829 ('Vision of the Gods', Contents, vol. i, pp. 322-3 of both editions), and in 1834. For Schiller's original (Dithyrambe) see Appendices of this edition.

FROM THE GERMAN [311:1]

Know'st thou the land where the pale citrons grow,
The golden fruits in darker foliage glow?
Soft blows the wind that breathes from that blue sky!
Still stands the myrtle and the laurel high!
Know'st thou it well, that land, beloved Friend? 5
Thither with thee, O, thither would I wend!

? 1799.

FOOTNOTES:

[311:1] First published in 1834. For the original ('Mignon's Song') in Goethe's Wilhelm Meister see Appendices of this edition.

WATER BALLAD [311:2]

[FROM THE FRENCH]

'Come hither, gently rowing,
Come, bear me quickly o'er
This stream so brightly flowing
To yonder woodland shore.
But vain were my endeavour 5
To pay thee, courteous guide;
Row on, row on, for ever
I'd have thee by my side.

'Good boatman, prithee haste thee,
I seek my father-land.'— 10
'Say, when I there have placed thee,
Dare I demand thy hand?'
'A maiden's head can never
So hard a point decide;
Row on, row on, for ever 15
I'd have thee by my side.'

The happy bridal over
The wanderer ceased to roam,
For, seated by her lover,
The boat became her home. 20
And still they sang together
As steering o'er the tide:
'Row on through wind and weather
For ever by my side.'

? 1799.

FOOTNOTES:

[311:2] First published in The Athenaeum, October 29, 1831. First collected in P. and D. W., 1877-80. For the original ('Barcarolle de Marie') of François Antoine Eugène de Planard see Appendices of this edition.

ON AN INFANT [312:1]

WHICH DIED BEFORE BAPTISM

'Be, rather than be called, a child of God,'
Death whispered! With assenting nod,
Its head upon its mother's breast,
The Baby bowed, without demur—
Of the kingdom of the Blest
Possessor, not Inheritor.

April 8, 1799.

FOOTNOTES:

[312:1] First published in P. W., 1834. These lines were sent in a letter from Coleridge to his wife, dated Göttingen, April 6, 1799:—'Ah, my poor Berkeley!' [b. May 15, 1798, d. Feb. 10, 1799] he writes, 'A few weeks ago an Englishman desired me to write an epitaph on an infant who had died before its Christening. While I wrote it, my heart with a deep misgiving turned my thoughts homeward. "On an Infant", &c. It refers to the second question in the Church Catechism.' Letters of S. T. C. 1895, i. 287.

LINENOTES:

[[1]]

called] call'd MS. Letter, 1799.

[[3]]

its] the MS. letter, 1799.

[[4]]

bow'd and went without demur MS. Letter, 1799.

SOMETHING CHILDISH, BUT VERY NATURAL [313:1]

WRITTEN IN GERMANY

If I had but two little wings
And were a little feathery bird,
To you I'd fly, my dear!
But thoughts like these are idle things,
And I stay here. [5]

But in my sleep to you I fly:
I'm always with you in my sleep!
The world is all one's own.
But then one wakes, and where am I?
All, all alone. 10

Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids:
So I love to wake ere break of day:
For though my sleep be gone,
Yet while 'tis dark, one shuts one's lids,
And still dreams on. 15

April 23, 1799.

FOOTNOTES:

[313:1] First published in the Annual Anthology (1800), with the signature 'Cordomi': included in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. The lines, without title or heading, were sent in a letter from Coleridge to his wife, dated Göttingen, April 23, 1799 (Letters of S. T. C., 1895, i. 294-5). They are an imitation (see F. Freiligrath's Biographical Memoir to the Tauchnitz edition of 1852) of the German Folk-song Wenn ich ein Vöglein wär. For the original see Appendices of this edition. The title 'Something Childish', &c., was prefixed in the Annual Anthology, 1800.

LINENOTES:

[[3]]

you] you MS. Letter, 1799.

[[6]]

you] you MS. Letter, 1799.

HOME-SICK [314:1]

WRITTEN IN GERMANY

'Tis sweet to him who all the week
Through city-crowds must push his way,
To stroll alone through fields and woods,
And hallow thus the Sabbath-day.

And sweet it is, in summer bower, 5
Sincere, affectionate and gay,
One's own dear children feasting round,
To celebrate one's marriage-day.

But what is all to his delight,
Who having long been doomed to roam, [10]
Throws off the bundle from his back,
Before the door of his own home?

Home-sickness is a wasting pang;
This feel I hourly more and more:
There's healing only in thy wings, [15]
Thou breeze that play'st on Albion's shore!

May 6, 1799.

FOOTNOTES:

[314:1] First published in the Annual Anthology (1800), with the signature 'Cordomi': included in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, 1828, 1829, 1834. The lines, without title or heading, were sent in a letter from Coleridge to Poole, dated May 6, 1799 (Letters of S. T.C., 1895, i. 298). Dr. Carlyon in his Early Years, &c. (1856, i. 66), prints stanzas 1, 3, and 4. He says that they were written from Coleridge's dictation, in the Brockenstammbuch at the little inn on the Brocken. The title 'Home-Sick', &c., was prefixed in the Annual Anthology, 1800.

LINENOTES:

[[13]]

a wasting pang] no baby-pang MS. Letter, 1799, An. Anth.

[[15]]

There's only music in thy wings MS. Letter, 1799.

LINES [315:1]

WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM AT ELBINGERODE, IN THE HARTZ FOREST

I stood on Brocken's [315:2] sovran height, and saw
Woods crowding upon woods, hills over hills,
A surging scene, and only limited
By the blue distance. Heavily my way
Downward I dragged through fir groves evermore, [5]
Where bright green moss heaves in sepulchral forms
Speckled with sunshine; and, but seldom heard,
The sweet bird's song became a hollow sound;
And the breeze, murmuring indivisibly,
Preserved its solemn murmur most distinct [10]
From many a note of many a waterfall,
And the brook's chatter; 'mid whose islet-stones
The dingy kidling with its tinkling bell
Leaped frolicsome, or old romantic goat
Sat, his white beard slow waving. I moved on [15]
In low and languid mood:[315:3] for I had found
That outward forms, the loftiest, still receive
Their finer influence from the Life within;—
Fair cyphers else: fair, but of import vague
Or unconcerning, where the heart not finds [20]
History or prophecy of friend, or child,
Or gentle maid, our first and early love,
Or father, or the venerable name
Of our adoréd country! O thou Queen,
Thou delegated Deity of Earth, [25]
O dear, dear England! how my longing eye
Turned westward, shaping in the steady clouds
Thy sands and high white cliffs!

My native Land!
Filled with the thought of thee this heart was proud,
Yea, mine eye swam with tears: that all the view [30]
From sovran Brocken, woods and woody hills,
Floated away, like a departing dream,
Feeble and dim! Stranger, these impulses
Blame thou not lightly; nor will I profane,
With hasty judgment or injurious doubt, [35]
That man's sublimer spirit, who can feel
That God is everywhere! the God who framed
Mankind to be one mighty family,
Himself our Father, and the World our Home.

May 17, 1799.

FOOTNOTES:

[315:1] First published in the Morning Post, September 17, 1799: included in the Annual Anthology (1800) [signed C.], in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. The lines were sent in a letter from Coleridge to his wife, dated May 17, 1799. Part of the letter was printed in the Amulet, 1829, and the whole in the Monthly Magazine for October, 1835. A long extract is given in Gillman's Life of S. T. C., 1838, pp. 125-38.

[315:2] The highest Mountain in the Harz, and indeed in North Germany.

[315:3]

——When I have gaz'd
From some high eminence on goodly vales,
And cots and villages embower'd below,
The thought would rise that all to me was strange
Amid the scenes so fair, nor one small spot
Where my tired mind might rest and call it home.

Southey's Hymn to the Penates.

LINENOTES:

[[3]]

surging] surging M. P.

[[4]]

Heavily] Wearily MS. Letter.

[[6]]

heaves] mov'd MS. Letter.

[[8]]

a] an all editions to 1834.

[[9]]

breeze] gale MS. Letter.

[[11]]

waterfall] waterbreak MS. Letter.

[[12]]

'mid] on MS. Letter.

[[16]]

With low and languid thought, for I had found MS. Letter.

[[17]]

That grandest scenes have but imperfect charms MS. Letter, M. P., An. Anth.

[[18]]

Where the eye vainly wanders nor beholds

MS. Letter.

Where the sight, &c.

M. P., An. Anth.

[[19]]

One spot with which the heart associates MS. Letter, M. P., An. Anth.

[[19-21]]

Fair cyphers of vague import, where the Eye
Traces no spot, in which the Heart may read
History or Prophecy

S. L. 1817, 1828.

[[20]]

Holy Remembrances of Child or Friend

MS. Letter.

Holy Remembrances of Friend or Child

M. P., An. Anth.

[[26]]

eye] eyes MS. Letter.

[[28-30]]

Sweet native Isle
This heart was proud, yea mine eyes swam with tears
To think of thee: and all the goodly view

MS. Letter.

[[28]]

O native land M. P., An. Anth.

[[34]]

I] I MS. Letter.

[[38]]

family] brother-hood MS. Letter.

THE BRITISH STRIPLING'S WAR-SONG [317:1]

IMITATED FROM STOLBERG

Yes, noble old Warrior! this heart has beat high,
Since you told of the deeds which our countrymen wrought;
O lend me the sabre that hung by thy thigh,
And I too will fight as my forefathers fought.

Despise not my youth, for my spirit is steel'd, [5]
And I know there is strength in the grasp of my hand;
Yea, as firm as thyself would I march to the field,
And as proudly would die for my dear native land.

In the sports of my childhood I mimick'd the fight,
The sound of a trumpet suspended my breath; [10]
And my fancy still wander'd by day and by night,
Amid battle and tumult, 'mid conquest and death.

My own shout of onset, when the Armies advance,
How oft it awakes me from visions of glory;
When I meant to have leapt on the Hero of France, [15]
And have dash'd him to earth, pale and breathless and gory.

As late thro' the city with banners all streaming
To the music of trumpets the Warriors flew by,
With helmet and scimitars naked and gleaming,
On their proud-trampling, thunder-hoof'd steeds did they fly; [20]

I sped to yon heath that is lonely and bare,
For each nerve was unquiet, each pulse in alarm;
And I hurl'd the mock-lance thro' the objectless air,
And in open-eyed dream proved the strength of my arm.

Yes, noble old Warrior! this heart has beat high, [25]
Since you told of the deeds that our countrymen wrought;
O lend me the sabre that hung by thy thigh,
And I too will fight as my forefathers fought!

? 1799.

FOOTNOTES:

[317:1] First published in the Morning Post, August 24, 1799: included in the Annual Anthology for 1800: reprinted in Literary Remains, 1836, i. 276, in the Gentleman's Magazine, 1848. ('Communicated to the Bath Herald during the Volunteer Frenzy of 1803') (N. S. xxix, p. 60), and in Essays on His Own Times, iii. 988-9. First collected in P. W., 1877-80, ii. 200-1. The MS. is preserved in the British Museum. The text follows that of the Annual Anthology, 1800, pp. 173-4. For the original by Count F. L. Stolberg (Lied eines deutschen Knaben) see Appendices of this edition.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] The Stripling's War-Song. Imitated from the German of Stolberg MS. The Stripling's, &c. Imitated from Stolberg L. R. The British Stripling's War Song M. P., An. Anth., Essays, &c. The Volunteer Stripling. A Song G. M.

[[1]]

Yes] My MS., L. R.

[[2]]

Since] When G. M. which] that MS., L. R. our] your M. P., Essays, &c.

[[3]]

Ah! give me the sabre [~~Falchion~~] that [which L. R.] MS., Essays, &c.

[[5]]

O despise MS., L. R., Essays, &c.

[[7]]

march] move MS., L. R.

[[8]]

would] could Essays, &c. native land] fatherland L. R.

[[9]]

fight] sight G. M.

[[10]]

sound] shrill [~~sound~~] MS., L. R. a] the M. P., Essays, &c.

[[12]]

Amid tumults [tumult L. R.] and perils MS. 'mid] and Essays, &c. Mid battle and bloodshed G. M.

[[13]]

My own eager shout in the heat of my trance

MS., MS. correction in An. Anth., L. R.

My own shout of onset,

in the heat of my trance G. M., 1893.
~~when the armies advance~~

[[14]]

visions] dreams full MS., L. R. How oft it has wak'd G. M.

[[15]]

When I dreamt that I rush'd G. M.

[[16]]

breathless] deathless L. R. pale, breathless G. M.

[[17]]

city] town G. M.

[[17-18]]

with bannerets streaming
~~with a terrible beauty~~

To [And L. R.] the music

MS.

[[19]]

scimitars] scymetar MS., L.R., Essays, &c., G. M.: scymeter M. P.

Between [20-1]

And the Host pacing after in gorgeous parade
All mov'd to one measure in front and in rear;
And the Pipe, Drum and Trumpet, such harmony made
As the souls of the Slaughter'd would loiter to hear.

MS. erased.

[[21]]

that] which L. R.

[[22]]

For my soul MS. erased.

[[23]]

I hurl'd my MS., L. R., Essays, &c. objectless] mind-peopled G. M.

[[26]]

Since] When G. M.

[[27]]

Ah! give me the falchion MS., L. R.

NAMES [318:1]

[FROM LESSING]

I ask'd my fair one happy day,
What I should call her in my lay;
By what sweet name from Rome or Greece;
Lalage, Neaera, Chloris,
Sappho, Lesbia, or Doris, [5]
Arethusa or Lucrece.

'Ah!' replied my gentle fair,
'Belovéd, what are names but air?
Choose thou whatever suits the line;
Call me Sappho, call me Chloris, [10]
Call me Lalage or Doris,
Only, only call me Thine.'

1799.

FOOTNOTES:

[318:1] First published in the Morning Post: reprinted in the Poetical Register for 1803 (1805) with the signature Harley. Philadelphia, in the Keepsake for 1829, in Cottle's Early Recollections (two versions) 1837, ii. 67, and in Essays on His Own Times, iii. 990, 'As it first appeared' in the Morning Post. First collected in 1834. For the original (Die Namen) see Appendices of this edition.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] Song from Lessing M. P., Essays, &c.: From the German of Lessing P. R.: Epigram Keepsake, 1829, Cottle's Early Recollections.

[[1]]

fair] love Cottle, E. R.

[[4]]

Iphigenia, Clelia, Chloris,

M. P., Cottle, E. R., P. R.

Neaera, Laura, Daphne, Chloris,

Keepsake.

[[5]]

Laura, Lesbia, or Doris,

MS. 1799, M. P., Cottle, E. R.

Carina, Lalage, or Doris,

Keepsake.

[[6]]

Dorimene, or Lucrece, MS. 1799, M. P., Cottle, E. R., P. R., Keepsake.

[[8]]

Belovéd.] Dear one Keepsake.

[[9]]

Choose thou] Take thou M. P., P. R.: Take Cottle, E. R.

[[10]]

Call me Laura, call me Chloris MS. 1799, Keepsake.

[[10-11]]

Call me Clelia, call me Chloris,
Laura, Lesbia or Doris

M. P., Cottle, E. R.

[[10-12]]

Clelia, Iphigenia, Chloris,
Laura, Lesbia, Delia, Doris,
But don't forget to call me thine.

P. R.

THE DEVIL'S THOUGHTS [319:1]

From his brimstone bed at break of day
A walking the Devil is gone,
To visit his snug little farm the earth,
And see how his stock goes on.

Over the hill and over the dale, [5]
And he went over the plain,
And backward and forward he switched his long tail
As a gentleman switches his cane.

III

And how then was the Devil drest?
Oh! he was in his Sunday's best: [10]
His jacket was red and his breeches were blue,
And there was a hole where the tail came through.

He saw a Lawyer killing a Viper
On a dunghill hard by his own stable;
And the Devil smiled, for it put him in mind [15]
Of Cain and his brother, Abel.

He saw an Apothecary on a white horse
Ride by on his vocations,
And the Devil thought of his old Friend
Death in the Revelations.[320:1] [20]

He saw a cottage with a double coach-house,
A cottage of gentility;
And the Devil did grin, for his darling sin
Is pride that apes humility.

VII

He peep'd into a rich bookseller's shop, [25]
Quoth he! we are both of one college!
For I sate myself, like a cormorant, once
Hard by the tree of knowledge.[321:1]

VIII

Down the river did glide, with wind and tide,
A pig with vast celerity; [30]
And the Devil look'd wise as he saw how the while,
It cut its own throat. 'There!' quoth he with a smile,
'Goes "England's commercial prosperity."'

As he went through Cold-Bath Fields he saw
A solitary cell; [35]
And the Devil was pleased, for it gave him a hint
For improving his prisons in Hell.

He saw a Turnkey in a trice
Fetter a troublesome blade;
'Nimbly,' quoth he, 'do the fingers move [40]
If a man be but used to his trade.'

He saw the same Turnkey unfetter a man,
With but little expedition,
Which put him in mind of the long debate
On the Slave-trade abolition. [45]

XII

He saw an old acquaintance
As he passed by a Methodist meeting;—
She holds a consecrated key,
And the devil nods her a greeting.

XIII

She turned up her nose, and said, [50]
'Avaunt! my name's Religion,'
And she looked to Mr. ——
And leered like a love-sick pigeon.

XIV

He saw a certain minister
(A minister to his mind) 55
Go up into a certain House,
With a majority behind.

The Devil quoted Genesis
Like a very learnéd clerk,
How 'Noah and his creeping things 60
Went up into the Ark.'

XVI

He took from the poor,
And he gave to the rich,
And he shook hands with a Scotchman,
For he was not afraid of the —— [65]

XVII

General ——[323:1] burning face
He saw with consternation,
And back to hell his way did he take,
For the Devil thought by a slight mistake
It was general conflagration. [70]

1799.

FOOTNOTES:

[319:1] First published in the Morning Post, September 6, 1799: included in 1828, 1829, and 1834. It is printed separately as the Devil's Walk, a Poem, By Professor Porson, London, Marsh and Miller, &c., 1830. In 1827, by way of repudiating Porson's alleged authorship of The Devil's Thoughts, Southey expanded the Devil's Thoughts of 1799 into a poem of fifty-seven stanzas entitled The Devil's Walk. See P. W., 1838, iii. pp. 87-100. In the Morning Post the poem numbered fourteen stanzas; in 1828, 1829 it is reduced to ten, and in 1834 enlarged to seventeen stanzas. Stanzas iii and xiv-xvi of the text are not in the M. P. Stanzas iv and v appeared as iii, iv; stanza vi as ix; stanza vii as v; stanza viii as x; stanza ix as viii; stanza x as vi; stanza xi as vii; stanza xvii as xiv. In 1828, 1829, the poem consists of stanzas i-ix of the text, and of the concluding stanzas stanza xi ('Old Nicholas', &c.) of the M. P. version was not reprinted. Stanzas xiv-xvi of the text were first acknowledged by Coleridge in 1834.

[320:1] And I looked, and behold a pale horse, and his name that sat on him was Death, Rev. vi. 8. M. P.

[321:1] This anecdote is related by that most interesting of the Devil's Biographers, Mr. John Milton, in his Paradise Lost, and we have here the Devil's own testimony to the truth and accuracy of it. M. P.

'And all amid them stood the tree of life
High, eminent, blooming ambrosial fruit
Of vegetable gold (query paper-money), and next to Life
Our Death, the tree of knowledge, grew fast by.—
* * * * *
* * * * *
So clomb this first grand thief—
Thence up he flew, and on the tree of life
Sat like a cormorant.'—Par. Lost, iv.

The allegory here is so apt, that in a catalogue of various readings obtained from collating the MSS. one might expect to find it noted, that for 'Life' Cod. quid. habent, 'Trade.' Though indeed the trade, i. e. the bibliopolic, so called κατ' ἐξοχήν, may be regarded as Life sensu eminentiori; a suggestion, which I owe to a young retailer in the hosiery line, who on hearing a description of the net profits, dinner parties, country houses, etc., of the trade, exclaimed, 'Ay! that's what I call Life now!'—This 'Life, our Death,' is thus happily contrasted with the fruits of Authorship.—Sic nos non nobis mellificamus Apes.

Of this poem, which with the 'Fire, Famine, and Slaughter' first appeared in the Morning Post [6th Sept. 1799], the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 9th, and 16th stanzas [321:A] were dictated by Mr. Southey. See Apologetic Preface [to Fire, Famine and Slaughter]. [Between the ninth and the concluding stanza, two or three are omitted, as grounded on subjects which have lost their interest—and for better reasons. 1828, 1829.]

If any one should ask who General —— meant, the Author begs leave to inform him, that he did once see a red-faced person in a dream whom by the dress he took for a General; but he might have been mistaken, and most certainly he did not hear any names mentioned. In simple verity, the author never meant any one, or indeed any thing but to put a concluding stanza to his doggerel.

[321:A] The three first stanzas, which are worth all the rest, and the ninth 1828, 1829.

[323:1] In a MS. copy in the B. M. and in some pirated versions the blank is filled up by the word 'Gascoigne's'; but in a MS. copy taken at Highgate, in June, 1820, by Derwent Coleridge the line runs 'General Tarleton's', &c.

LINENOTES:

[[3-4]]

To look at his little snug farm of the Earth
To visit, &c.

1828, 1829.

And see how his stock went on.

M. P., 1828, 1829.

[[7]]

switched] swish'd M. P., 1828, 1829.

[[8]]

switches] swishes M. P., 1828, 1829.

[[9-12]]

Not in M. P.

[[14]]

On the dunghill beside his stable M. P.: On a dung-heap beside his stable 1828, 1829.

[[15-16]]

Oh! oh; quoth he, for it put him in mind
Of the story of Cain and Abel

M. P.

[[16]]

his] his 1828, 1829.

[[17]]

He . . . on] An Apothecary on M. P.: A Pothecary on 1828, 1829.

[[18]]

Ride] Rode M.P., 1828, 1829. vocations] vocation M. P.

[[20]]

Revelations] Revelation M. P.

[[21]]

saw] past M. P.

[[23]]

And he grinn'd at the sight, for his favourite vice M. P.

[[25]]

peep'd] went M. P., 1828, 1829.

[[27]]

sate myself] myself sate 1828, 1829.

[[28]]

Hard by] Upon M. P.: Fast by 1828, 1829.

[[29-33]]

He saw a pig right rapidly
Adown the river float,
The pig swam well, but every stroke
Was cutting his own throat.

M. P.

[[29]]

did glide] there plied 1828, 1829.

Between [33-4]

Old Nicholas grinn'd and swish'd his tail
For joy and admiration;
And he thought of his daughter, Victory,
And his darling babe, Taxation.

M. P.

[[34-5]]

As he went through —— —— fields he look'd
At a

M. P.

[[37]]

his] the M. P. in] of M. P.

[[39]]

Fetter] Hand-cuff M. P.: Unfetter 1834.

[[40-1]]

'Nimbly', quoth he, 'the fingers move
If a man is but us'd to his trade.'

M. P.

[[42]]

unfetter] unfettering M. P.

[[44]]

And he laugh'd for he thought of the long debates M. P.

[[46]]

saw] met M. P.

[[47]]

Just by the Methodist meeting. M. P.

[[48]]

holds] held M. P. key] flag [323:A] M. P.

[323:A] The allusion is to Archbishop Randolph consecrating the Duke of York's banners. See S. T. Coleridge's Notizbuch aus den Jahren 1795-8 . . . von A. Brandl, 1896, p. 354 (p. 25 a, l. 18 of Gutch Memorandum Book, B. M. Add. MSS. 27,901).

[[49]]

And the Devil nods a greeting. M. P.

[[50-2]]

She tip'd him the wink, then frown'd and cri'd
'Avaunt! my name's ——
And turn'd to Mr. W——

M. P.

[[66]]

General ——] General ——'s M. P.

[[68]]

way did take M. P.

[[70]]

general] General M. P.

LINES COMPOSED IN A CONCERT-ROOM [324:1]

Nor cold, nor stern, my soul! yet I detest
These scented Rooms, where, to a gaudy throng,
Heaves the proud Harlot her distended breast,
In intricacies of laborious song.

These feel not Music's genuine power, nor deign 5
To melt at Nature's passion-warbled plaint;
But when the long-breathed singer's uptrilled strain
Bursts in a squall—they gape for wonderment.

Hark! the deep buzz of Vanity and Hate!
Scornful, yet envious, with self-torturing sneer [10]
My lady eyes some maid of humbler state,
While the pert Captain, or the primmer Priest,
Prattles accordant scandal in her ear.

O give me, from this heartless scene released,
To hear our old Musician, blind and grey, 15
(Whom stretching from my nurse's arms I kissed,)
His Scottish tunes and warlike marches play,
By moonshine, on the balmy summer-night,
The while I dance amid the tedded hay
With merry maids, whose ringlets toss in light. [20]

Or lies the purple evening on the bay
Of the calm glossy lake, O let me hide
Unheard, unseen, behind the alder-trees,
For round their roots the fisher's boat is tied,
On whose trim seat doth Edmund stretch at ease, 25
And while the lazy boat sways to and fro,
Breathes in his flute sad airs, so wild and slow,
That his own cheek is wet with quiet tears.

But O, dear Anne! when midnight wind careers,
And the gust pelting on the out-house shed 30
Makes the cock shrilly in the rainstorm crow,
To hear thee sing some ballad full of woe,
Ballad of ship-wreck'd sailor floating dead,
Whom his own true-love buried in the sands!
Thee, gentle woman, for thy voice remeasures 35
Whatever tones and melancholy pleasures
The things of Nature utter; birds or trees,
Or moan of ocean-gale in weedy caves,
Or where the stiff grass mid the heath-plant waves,
Murmur and music thin of sudden breeze. [40]

1799.

FOOTNOTES:

[324:1] First published in the Morning Post, September 24, 1799: included in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. There is no evidence as to the date of composition. In a letter to Coleridge, dated July 5, 1796, Lamb writes 'Have a care, good Master Poet, of the Statute de Contumeliâ. What do you mean by calling Madame Mara harlots and naughty things? The goodness of the verse would not save you in a Court of Justice'—but it is by no means certain that Lamb is referring to the Lines Composed in a Concert-Room, or that there is any allusion in line 3 to Madame Mara. If, as J. D. Campbell suggested, the poem as it appeared in the Morning Post is a recast of some earlier verses, it is possible that the scene is Ottery, and that 'Edmund' is the 'Friend who died dead of' a 'Frenzy Fever' (vide ante, p. [76]). In this case a probable date would be the summer of 1793. But the poem as a whole suggests a later date. Coleridge and Southey spent some weeks at Exeter in September 1799. They visited Ottery St. Mary, and walked through Newton Abbot to Ashburton and Dartmouth. It is possible that the 'Concert-Room,' the 'pert Captain,' and 'primmer Priest' are reminiscences of Exeter, the 'heath-plant,' and the 'ocean caves' of Dartmoor and Torbay. If so, the 'shame and absolute rout' (l. [49] of variant, p. 325) would refer to the victory of Suwaroff over Joubert at Novi, which took place August 15, 1799. See Letters of S. T. C., 1895, i. 307.

LINENOTES:

[[14]]

heartless] loathsome M. P.

[[24]]

Around whose roots M. P., S. L.

[[40]]

thin] then M. P.

After line [40]

Dear Maid! whose form in solitude I seek,
Such songs in such a mood to hear thee sing,
It were a deep delight!—But thou shalt fling
Thy white arm round my neck, and kiss my cheek,
And love the brightness of my gladder eye 45
The while I tell thee what a holier joy

It were in proud and stately step to go,
With trump and timbrel clang, and popular shout,
To celebrate the shame and absolute rout
Unhealable of Freedom's latest foe, 50
Whose tower'd might shall to its centre nod.

When human feelings, sudden, deep and vast,
As all good spirits of all ages past
Were armied in the hearts of living men,
Shall purge the earth, and violently sweep 55
These vile and painted locusts to the deep,
Leaving un—— undebas'd
A —— world made worthy of its God.

M. P.

[The words in lines 57, 58 were left as blanks in the Morning Post, from what cause or with what object must remain a matter of doubt.]

WESTPHALIAN SONG [326:1]

[The following is an almost literal translation of a very old and very favourite song among the Westphalian Boors. The turn at the end is the same with one of Mr. Dibdin's excellent songs, and the air to which it is sung by the Boors is remarkably sweet and lively.]

When thou to my true-love com'st
Greet her from me kindly;
When she asks thee how I fare?
Say, folks in Heaven fare finely.

When she asks, 'What! Is he sick?' 5
Say, dead!—and when for sorrow
She begins to sob and cry,
Say, I come to-morrow.

? 1799.

FOOTNOTES:

[326:1] First published in the Morning Post, Sept. 27, 1802: reprinted in Essays on His Own Times, 1850, iii. 992. First collected in P. W., 1877-80, ii. 170.

HEXAMETERS [326:2]

PARAPHRASE OF PSALM XLVI

Gōd ĭs oŭr Strēngth ănd oŭr Rēfŭge: thērefŏre wīll wĕ nŏt trēmblĕ,
Thō' thĕ Eārth bĕ rĕmōvĕd ănd thō' thĕ pĕrpētŭăl Moūntaīns
Sink in the Swell of the Ocean! God is our Strength and our Refuge.
There is a River the Flowing whereof shall gladden the City,
Hallelujah! the City of God! Jehova shall help her. 5
Thē Idōlătĕrs rāgĕd, the kingdoms were moving in fury;
But he uttered his Voice: Earth melted away from beneath them.
Halleluja! th' Eternal is with us, Almighty Jehova!
Fearful the works of the Lord, yea fearful his Desolations;
But He maketh the Battle to cease, he burneth the Spear and the Chariot. 10
Halleluja! th' Eternal is with us, the God of our Fathers!

1799.

FOOTNOTES:

[326:2] Now published for the first time. The lines were sent in a letter to George Coleridge dated September 29, 1799. They were prefaced as follows:—'We were talking of Hexameters with you. I will, for want of something better, fill up the paper with a translation of one of my favourite Psalms into that metre which allowing trochees for spondees, as the nature of our Language demands, you will find pretty accurate a scansion.' Mahomet and, no doubt, the Hymn to the Earth may be assigned to the end of September or the beginning of October, 1799.

HYMN TO THE EARTH [327:1]

[IMITATED FROM STOLBERG'S HYMNE AN DIE ERDE]

HEXAMETERS

Earth! thou mother of numberless children, the nurse and the mother,
Hail! O Goddess, thrice hail! Blest be thou! and, blessing, I hymn thee!
Forth, ye sweet sounds! from my harp, and my voice shall float on your surges—
Soar thou aloft, O my soul! and bear up my song on thy pinions.

Travelling the vale with mine eyes—green meadows and lake with green island, [5]
Dark in its basin of rock, and the bare stream flowing in brightness,
Thrilled with thy beauty and love in the wooded slope of the mountain,
Here, great mother, I lie, thy child, with his head on thy bosom!
Playful the spirits of noon, that rushing soft through thy tresses,
Green-haired goddess! refresh me; and hark! as they hurry or linger, 10
Fill the pause of my harp, or sustain it with musical murmurs.
Into my being thou murmurest joy, and tenderest sadness
Shedd'st thou, like dew, on my heart, till the joy and the heavenly sadness
Pour themselves forth from my heart in tears, and the hymn of thanksgiving.

Earth! thou mother of numberless children, the nurse and the mother, 15
Sister thou of the stars, and beloved by the Sun, the rejoicer!
Guardian and friend of the moon, O Earth, whom the comets forget not,
Yea, in the measureless distance wheel round and again they behold thee!
Fadeless and young (and what if the latest birth of creation?)
Bride and consort of Heaven, that looks down upon thee enamoured! 20
Say, mysterious Earth! O say, great mother and goddess,
Was it not well with thee then, when first thy lap was ungirdled,
Thy lap to the genial Heaven, the day that he wooed thee and won thee!
Fair was thy blush, the fairest and first of the blushes of morning!
Deep was the shudder, O Earth! the throe of thy self-retention: 25
Inly thou strovest to flee, and didst seek thyself at thy centre!
Mightier far was the joy of thy sudden resilience; and forthwith
Myriad myriads of lives teemed forth from the mighty embracement.
Thousand-fold tribes of dwellers, impelled by thousand-fold instincts,
Filled, as a dream, the wide waters; the rivers sang on their channels; [30]
Laughed on their shores the hoarse seas; the yearning ocean swelled upward;
Young life lowed through the meadows, the woods, and the echoing mountains,
Wandered bleating in valleys, and warbled on blossoming branches.

1799.

FOOTNOTES:

[327:1] First published in Friendship's Offering, 1834, pp. 165-7, with other pieces, under the general heading:—Fragments from the Wreck of Memory: or Portions of Poems composed in Early Manhood: by S. T. Coleridge. A Note was prefixed:—'It may not be without use or interest to youthful, and especially to intelligent female readers of poetry, to observe that in the attempt to adapt the Greek metres to the English language, we must begin by substituting quality of sound for quantity—that is, accentuated or comparatively emphasized syllables, for what in the Greek and Latin Verse, are named long, and of which the prosodial mark is ¯; and vice versâ, unaccented syllables for short marked ˘. Now the Hexameter verse consists of two sorts of feet, the spondee composed of two long syllables, and the dactyl, composed of one long syllable followed by two short. The following verse from the Psalms is a rare instance of a perfect hexameter (i. e. line of six feet) in the English language:—

But so few are the truly spondaic words in our language, such as Ēgȳpt, ūprŏar, tūrmoĭl, &c., that we are compelled to substitute, in most instances, the trochee; or ¯ ˘, i. e. in such words as mērry̆, līghtly̆, &c., for the proper spondee. It need only be added, that in the hexameter the fifth foot must be a dactyl, and the sixth a spondee, or trochee. I will end this note with two hexameter lines, likewise from the Psalms:—

S. T. C.'

On some proof-sheets, or loose pages of a copy of The Hymn as published in Friendship's Offering for 1834, which Coleridge annotated, no doubt with a view to his corrections being adopted in the forthcoming edition of his poems (1834), he adds in MS. the following supplementary note:—'To make any considerable number of Hexameters feasible in our monosyllabic trocheeo-iambic language, there must, I fear, be other licenses granted—in the first foot, at least—ex. gr. a superfluous ˘ prefixed in cases of particles such as 'of, 'and', and the like: likewise ¯ ˘ ¯ where the stronger accent is on the first syllable.—S. T. C.'

The Hymn to the Earth is a free translation of F. L. Stolberg's Hymne an die Erde. (See F. Freiligrath's Biographical Memoirs prefixed to the Tauchnitz edition of the Poems published in 1852.) The translation exceeds the German original by two lines. The Hexameters 'from the Psalms' are taken from a metrical experiment which Coleridge sent to his brother George, in a letter dated September 29, 1799 (vide [ante]). First collected in 1834. The acknowledgement that the Hymn to the Earth is imitated from Stolberg's Hymne an die Erde was first prefixed by J. D. Campbell in 1893.

LINENOTES:

[[8]]

his] its F. O. 1834.

[[9]]

that creep or rush through thy tresses F. O. 1834.

[[33]]

on] in F. O. 1834.

After [33]

* * * * *

F. O. 1834.

MAHOMET [329:1]

Utter the song, O my soul! the flight and return of Mohammed,
Prophet and priest, who scatter'd abroad both evil and blessing,
Huge wasteful empires founded and hallow'd slow persecution,
Soul-withering, but crush'd the blasphemous rites of the Pagan
And idolatrous Christians.—For veiling the Gospel of Jesus, 5
They, the best corrupting, had made it worse than the vilest.
Wherefore Heaven decreed th' enthusiast warrior of Mecca,
Choosing good from iniquity rather than evil from goodness.
Loud the tumult in Mecca surrounding the fane of the idol;—
Naked and prostrate the priesthood were laid—the people with mad shouts 10
Thundering now, and now with saddest ululation
Flew, as over the channel of rock-stone the ruinous river
Shatters its waters abreast, and in mazy uproar bewilder'd,
Rushes dividuous all—all rushing impetuous onward.

? 1799.

FOOTNOTES:

[329:1] First published in 1834. In an unpublished letter to Southey, dated Sept. 25, 1799, Coleridge writes, 'I shall go on with the Mohammed'. There can be no doubt that these fourteen lines, which represent Coleridge's contribution to a poem on 'Mahomet' which he had planned in conjunction with Southey, were at that time already in existence. For Southey's portion, which numbered 109 lines, see Oliver Newman. By Robert Southey, 1845, pp. 113-15.

LOVE [330:1]

All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
All are but ministers of Love,
And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my waking dreams do I [5]
Live o'er again that happy hour,
When midway on the mount I lay,
Beside the ruined tower.

The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene
Had blended with the lights of eve; 10
And she was there, my hope, my joy,
My own dear Genevieve!

She leant against the arméd man,
The statue of the arméd knight;
She stood and listened to my lay, [15]
Amid the lingering light.

Few sorrows hath she of her own,
My hope! my joy! my Genevieve!
She loves me best, whene'er I sing
The songs that make her grieve. [20]

I played a soft and doleful air,
I sang an old and moving story—
An old rude song, that suited well
That ruin wild and hoary.

She listened with a flitting blush, [25]
With downcast eyes and modest grace;
For well she knew, I could not choose
But gaze upon her face.

I told her of the Knight that wore
Upon his shield a burning brand; [30]
And that for ten long years he wooed
The Lady of the Land.

I told her how he pined: and ah!
The deep, the low, the pleading tone
With which I sang another's love, [35]
Interpreted my own.

She listened with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes, and modest grace;
And she forgave me, that I gazed
Too fondly on her face! [40]

But when I told the cruel scorn
That crazed that bold and lovely Knight,
And that he crossed the mountain-woods,
Nor rested day nor night;

That sometimes from the savage den, [45]
And sometimes from the darksome shade,
And sometimes starting up at once
In green and sunny glade,—

There came and looked him in the face
An angel beautiful and bright; [50]
And that he knew it was a Fiend,
This miserable Knight!

And that unknowing what he did,
He leaped amid a murderous band,
And saved from outrage worse than death [55]
The Lady of the Land!

And how she wept, and clasped his knees;
And how she tended him in vain—
And ever strove to expiate
The scorn that crazed his brain;— [60]

And that she nursed him in a cave;
And how his madness went away,
When on the yellow forest-leaves
A dying man he lay;—

His dying words—but when I reached 65
That tenderest strain of all the ditty,
My faultering voice and pausing harp
Disturbed her soul with pity!

All impulses of soul and sense
Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve; 70
The music and the doleful tale,
The rich and balmy eve;

And hopes, and fears that kindle hope,
An undistinguishable throng,
And gentle wishes long subdued, [75]
Subdued and cherished long!

She wept with pity and delight,
She blushed with love, and virgin-shame;
And like the murmur of a dream,
I heard her breathe my name. [80]

Her bosom heaved—she stepped aside,
As conscious of my look she stepped—
Then suddenly, with timorous eye
She fled to me and wept.

She half enclosed me with her arms, 85
She pressed me with a meek embrace;
And bending back her head, looked up,
And gazed upon my face.

'Twas partly love, and partly fear,
And partly 'twas a bashful art, [90]
That I might rather feel, than see,
The swelling of her heart.

I calmed her fears, and she was calm,
And told her love with virgin pride;
And so I won my Genevieve, [95]
My bright and beauteous Bride.

1799.

FOOTNOTES:

[330:1] First published (with four preliminary and three concluding stanzas) as the Introduction to the Tale of the Dark Ladie, in the Morning Post, Dec. 21, 1799 (for complete text with introductory letter vide Appendices): included (as Love) in the Lyrical Ballads of 1800, 1802, 1805: reprinted with the text of the Morning Post in English Minstrelsy, 1810 (ii. 131-9) with the following prefatory note:—'These exquisite stanzas appeared some years ago in a London Newspaper, and have since that time been republished in Mr. Wordsworth's Lyrical Ballads, but with some alterations; the Poet having apparently relinquished his intention of writing the Fate of the Dark Ladye': included (as Love) in Sibylline Leaves, 1828, 1829, and 1834. The four opening and three concluding stanzas with prefatory note were republished in Literary Remains, 1836, pp. 50-2, and were first collected in 1844. For a facsimile of the MS. of Love as printed in the Lyrical Ballads, 1800 (i. 138-44), see Wordsworth and Coleridge MSS., edited by W. Hale White, 1897 (between pp. 34-5). For a collation of the Introduction to the Tale of the Dark Ladie with two MSS. in the British Museum [Add. MSS., No. 27,902] see Coleridge's Poems. A Facsimile Reproduction, &c. Ed. by James Dykes Campbell, 1899, and Appendices of this edition.

It is probable that the greater part of the Introduction to the Tale of the Dark Ladie was written either during or shortly after a visit which Coleridge paid to the Wordsworths's friends, George and Mary, and Sarah Hutchinson, at Sockburn, a farm-house on the banks of the Tees, in November, 1799. In the first draft, ll. 13-16, 'She leaned, &c.' runs thus:—

She lean'd against a grey stone rudely carv'd,
The statue of an arméd Knight:
She lean'd in melancholy mood
Amid the lingering light.

In the church at Sockburn there is a recumbent statue of an 'armed knight' (of the Conyers family), and in a field near the farm-house there is a 'Grey-Stone' which is said to commemorate the slaying of a monstrous wyverne or 'worme' by the knight who is buried in the church. It is difficult to believe that the 'arméd knight' and the 'grey stone' of the first draft were not suggested by the statue in Sockburn Church, and the 'Grey-Stone' in the adjoining field. It has been argued that the Ballad of the Dark Ladié, of which only a fragment remains, was written after Coleridge returned from Germany, and that the Introduction to the Tale of the Dark Ladie, which embodies Love, was written at Stowey in 1797 or 1798. But in referring to 'the plan' of the Lyrical Ballads of 1798 (Biog. Lit., 1817, Cap. XIV, ii. 3) Coleridge says that he had written the Ancient Mariner, and was preparing the Dark Ladie and the Christabel (both unpublished poems when this Chapter was written), but says nothing of so typical a poem as Love. By the Dark Ladié he must have meant the unfinished Ballad of the Dark Ladié, which, at one time, numbered 190 lines, not the Introduction to the Tale of the Dark Ladie, which later on he refers to as the 'poem entitled Love' (Biog. Lit., 1817, Cap. XXIV, ii. 298), and which had appeared under that title in the Lyrical Ballads of 1800, 1802, and 1805.

In Sibylline Leaves, 1828, 1829, and 1834, Love, which was the first in order of a group of poems with the sub-title 'Love Poems', was prefaced by the following motto:—

Quas humilis tenero stylus olim effudit in aevo,
Perlegis hic lacrymas, et quod pharetratus acuta
Ille puer puero fecit mihi cuspide vulnus.
Omnia paulatim consumit longior aetas,
Vivendoque simul morimur, rapimurque manendo.
Ipse mihi collatus enim non ille videbor:
Frons alia est, moresque alii, nova mentis imago,
Voxque aliud sonat—
Pectore nunc gelido calidos miseremur amantes,
Jamque arsisse pudet. Veteres tranquilla tumultus
Mens horret, relegensque alium putat ista locutum.

Petrarch.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] Introduction to the Tale of the Dark Ladie M. P.: Fragment, S. T. Coleridge English Minstrelsy, 1810.

[Opening] stanzas

O leave the Lilly on its stem;
O leave the Rose upon the spray;
O leave the Elder-bloom, fair Maids!
And listen to my lay.

A Cypress and a Myrtle bough,
This morn around my harp you twin'd,
Because it fashion'd mournfully
Its murmurs in the wind.

And now a Tale of Love and Woe,
A woeful Tale of Love I sing:
Hark, gentle Maidens, hark! it sighs
And trembles on the string.

But most, my own dear Genevieve!
It sighs and trembles most for thee!
O come and hear what cruel wrongs
Befel the dark Ladie.

The fifth stanza of the Introduction finds its place as the fifth stanza of the text, and the sixth stanza as the first.

[[3]]

All are] Are all S. L. (For Are all r. All are. Errata, p. [xi]).

[[5-6]]

O ever in my waking dreams
I dwell upon

M. P., MS. erased.

[[7]]

lay] sate M. P.

[[15]]

lay] harp M. P., MS., L. B.

[[[21]]

soft] sad M. P., MS. erased.

[[22]]

sang] sung E. M.

[[23]]

suited] fitted M. P., MS., L. B.

[[24]]

That ruin] The Ruin M. P., MS., L. B.: The ruins E. M.

[[29]]

that] who M. P.

[[31]]

that] how M. P.

[[34]]

The low, the deep MS., L. B.

[[35]]

In which I told E. M.

[[42]]

That] Which MS., L. B. that] this M. P., MS., L. B.

[[43]]

And how he roam'd M. P. that] how MS. erased.

Between [44-5]

And how he cross'd the Woodman's paths [path E. M.]
Tho' briars and swampy mosses beat,
How boughs rebounding scourg'd his limbs,
And low stubs gor'd his feet.

M. P.

[[45]]

That] How M. P., MS. erased.

[[51]]

that] how M. P., MS. erased.

[[53]]

that] how M. P., MS. erased.

[[54]]

murderous] lawless M. P.

[[59]]

ever] meekly M. P. For still she MS. erased.

[[61]]

that] how M. P., MS. erased.

[[78]]

virgin-] maiden-M. P., MS., L. B.

[[79]]

murmur] murmurs M. P.

Between [80-1]

I saw her bosom

heave
~~rise~~ and swell,

Heave and swell with inward sighs—
I could not choose but love to see
Her gentle bosom rise.

M. P., MS. erased.

[[81]]

Her wet cheek glowed M. P., MS. erased.

[[84]]

fled] flew M. P.

[[94]]

virgin] maiden MS. erased.

[[95]]

so] thus M. P.

After [96]

And now once more a tale of woe,
A woeful tale of love I sing;
For thee, my Genevieve! it sighs,
And trembles on the string.

When last I sang [sung E. M.] the cruel scorn
That craz'd this bold and lonely [lovely E. M.] knight,
And how he roam'd the mountain woods,
Nor rested day or night;

I promis'd thee a sister tale
Of Man's perfidious Cruelty;
Come, then, and hear what cruel wrong
Befel the Dark Ladie.

End of the Introduction M. P.

ODE TO GEORGIANA, DUCHESS OF
DEVONSHIRE [335:1]

ON THE TWENTY-FOURTH STANZA IN HER 'PASSAGE OVER
MOUNT GOTHARD'

And hail the Chapel! hail the Platform wild!
Where Tell directed the avenging dart,
With well-strung arm, that first preservst his child,
Then aim'd the arrow at the tyrant's heart.

Splendour's fondly-fostered child!
And did you hail the platform wild,
Where once the Austrian fell
Beneath the shaft of Tell!
O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure! [5]
Whence learn'd you that heroic measure?

Light as a dream your days their circlets ran,
From all that teaches brotherhood to Man
Far, far removed! from want, from hope, from fear!
Enchanting music lulled your infant ear, [10]
Obeisance, praises soothed your infant heart:
Emblazonments and old ancestral crests,
With many a bright obtrusive form of art,
Detained your eye from Nature: stately vests,
That veiling strove to deck your charms divine, [15]
Rich viands, and the pleasurable wine,
Were yours unearned by toil; nor could you see
The unenjoying toiler's misery.
And yet, free Nature's uncorrupted child,
You hailed the Chapel and the Platform wild, 20
Where once the Austrian fell
Beneath the shaft of Tell!
O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure!
Whence learn'd you that heroic measure?

There crowd your finely-fibred frame 25
All living faculties of bliss;
And Genius to your cradle came,
His forehead wreathed with lambent flame,
And bending low, with godlike kiss
Breath'd in a more celestial life; [30]
But boasts not many a fair compeer
A heart as sensitive to joy and fear?
And some, perchance, might wage an equal strife,
Some few, to nobler being wrought,
Corrivals in the nobler gift of thought. [35]
Yet these delight to celebrate
Laurelled War and plumy State;
Or in verse and music dress
Tales of rustic happiness—
Pernicious tales! insidious strains! [40]
That steel the rich man's breast,
And mock the lot unblest,
The sordid vices and the abject pains,
Which evermore must be
The doom of ignorance and penury! [45]
But you, free Nature's uncorrupted child,
You hailed the Chapel and the Platform wild,
Where once the Austrian fell
Beneath the shaft of Tell!
O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure! [50]
Whence learn'd you that heroic measure?

You were a Mother! That most holy name,
Which Heaven and Nature bless,
I may not vilely prostitute to those
Whose infants owe them less [55]
Than the poor caterpillar owes
Its gaudy parent fly.
You were a mother! at your bosom fed
The babes that loved you. You, with laughing eye,
Each twilight-thought, each nascent feeling read, [60]
Which you yourself created. Oh! delight!
A second time to be a mother,
Without the mother's bitter groans:
Another thought, and yet another,
By touch, or taste, by looks or tones, 65
O'er the growing sense to roll,
The mother of your infant's soul!
The Angel of the Earth, who, while he guides [337:1]
His chariot-planet round the goal of day,
All trembling gazes on the eye of God [70]
A moment turned his awful face away;
And as he viewed you, from his aspect sweet
New influences in your being rose,
Blest intuitions and communions fleet
With living Nature, in her joys and woes! [75]
Thenceforth your soul rejoiced to see
The shrine of social Liberty!
O beautiful! O Nature's child!
'Twas thence you hailed the Platform wild,
Where once the Austrian fell 80
Beneath the shaft of Tell!
O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure!
Thence learn'd you that heroic measure.

1799.

FOOTNOTES:

[335:1] First published in the Morning Post, December 24, 1799 (in four numbered stanzas): included in the Annual Anthology, 1800, in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. The Duchess's poem entitled 'Passage over Mount Gothard' was published in the Morning Chronicle on Dec. 20 and in the Morning Post, Dec. 21, 1799.

[337:1] In a copy of the Annual Anthology Coleridge drew his pen through ll. 68-77, but the lines appeared in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, and in all later editions (see P. W., 1898, p. 624).

LINENOTES:

[Motto] 4

Then wing'd the arrow to

M. P., An. Anth.

[Sub-title]] On the 24^th stanza in her Poem, entitled 'The Passage of the Mountain of St. Gothard.' M. P.

[[1-2]]

Lady, Splendor's foster'd child
And did you

M. P.

[[2]]

you] you An. Anth.

[[7]]

your years their courses M. P.

[[9]]

Ah! far remov'd from want and hope and fear M. P.

[[11]]

Obeisant praises M. P.

[[14]]

stately] gorgeous M. P.

[[15]]

om. An. Anth.

[31] foll.

But many of your many fair compeers
[But many of thy many fair compeers M. P.]
Have frames as sensible of joys and fears;
And some might wage an equal strife

An. Anth.

[[34-5]]

(Some few perchance to nobler being wrought),
Corrivals in the plastic powers of thought.

M. P.

[[35]]

Corrivals] co-rivals An. Anth., S. L. 1828.

[[36]]

these] these S. L. 1828, 1829.

[[40]]

insidious] insulting M. P.

[[45]]

penury] poverty M. P., An. Anth.

[[47]]

Hail'd the low Chapel M. P., An. Anth.

[[51]]

Whence] Where An. Anth., S. L. 1828, 1829.

[[56]]

caterpillar] Reptile M. P., An. Anth.

[[60]]

each] and M. P.

[[72]]

you] thee M. P.

[[73]]

your] thy M. P.

[[76]]

O Lady thence ye joy'd to see M. P.

A CHRISTMAS CAROL [338:1]

The shepherds went their hasty way,
And found the lowly stable-shed
Where the Virgin-Mother lay:
And now they checked their eager tread,
For to the Babe, that at her bosom clung, [5]
A Mother's song the Virgin-Mother sung.

They told her how a glorious light,
Streaming from a heavenly throng,
Around them shone, suspending night!
While sweeter than a mother's song, [10]
Blest Angels heralded the Saviour's birth,
Glory to God on high! and Peace on Earth.

III

She listened to the tale divine,
And closer still the Babe she pressed;
And while she cried, the Babe is mine! 15
The milk rushed faster to her breast:
Joy rose within her, like a summer's morn;
Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born.

Thou Mother of the Prince of Peace,
Poor, simple, and of low estate! 20
That strife should vanish, battle cease,
O why should this thy soul elate?
Sweet Music's loudest note, the Poet's story,—
Didst thou ne'er love to hear of fame and glory?

And is not War a youthful king, 25
A stately Hero clad in mail?
Beneath his footsteps laurels spring;
Him Earth's majestic monarchs hail
Their friend, their playmate! and his bold bright eye
Compels the maiden's love-confessing sigh. 30

'Tell this in some more courtly scene,
To maids and youths in robes of state!
I am a woman poor and mean,
And therefore is my soul elate.
War is a ruffian, all with guilt defiled, [35]
That from the agéd father tears his child!

VII

'A murderous fiend, by fiends adored,
He kills the sire and starves the son;
The husband kills, and from her board
Steals all his widow's toil had won; [40]
Plunders God's world of beauty; rends away
All safety from the night, all comfort from the day.

VIII

'Then wisely is my soul elate,
That strife should vanish, battle cease:
I'm poor and of a low estate, [45]
The Mother of the Prince of Peace.
Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn:
Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born.'

1799.

FOOTNOTES:

[338:1] First published in the Morning Post, December 25, 1799: included in the Annual Anthology, 1800, in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834.

LINENOTES:

[[8]]

a] an M. P., An. Anth.

[[10]]

While] And M. P.

[[35]]

War is a ruffian Thief, with gore defil'd M. P., An. Anth.

[[37]]

fiend] Thief M. P., An. Anth.

[[41]]

rends] tears M. P.

After [49]

Strange prophecy! Could half the screams
Of half the men that since have died
To realise War's kingly dreams,
Have risen at once in one vast tide,
The choral music of Heav'n's multitude
Had been o'erpower'd, and lost amid the uproar rude!

ESTEESI.
M. P., An. Anth.

TALLEYRAND TO LORD GRENVILLE [340:1]

A METRICAL EPISTLE

[As printed in Morning Post for January 10, 1800.]

To the Editor of The Morning Post.

Mr. Editor,—An unmetrical letter from Talleyrand to Lord Grenville has already appeared, and from an authority too high to be questioned: otherwise I could adduce some arguments for the exclusive authenticity of the following metrical epistle. The very epithet which the wise ancients used, 'aurea carmina,' might have been supposed likely to have determined the choice of the French minister in favour of verse; and the rather when we recollect that this phrase of 'golden verses' is applied emphatically to the works of that philosopher who imposed silence on all with whom he had to deal. Besides is it not somewhat improbable that Talleyrand should have preferred prose to rhyme, when the latter alone has got the chink? Is it not likewise curious that in our official answer no notice whatever is taken of the Chief Consul, Bonaparte, as if there had been no such person [man Essays, &c., 1850] existing; notwithstanding that his existence is pretty generally admitted, nay that some have been so rash as to believe that he has created as great a sensation in the world as Lord Grenville, or even the Duke of Portland? But the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Talleyrand, is acknowledged, which, in our opinion, could not have happened had he written only that insignificant prose-letter, which seems to precede Bonaparte's, as in old romances a dwarf always ran before to proclaim the advent or arrival of knight or giant. That Talleyrand's character and practices more resemble those of some regular Governments than Bonaparte's I admit; but this of itself does not appear a satisfactory explanation. However, let the letter speak for itself. The second line is supererogative in syllables, whether from the oscitancy of the transcriber, or from the trepidation which might have overpowered the modest Frenchman, on finding himself in the act of writing to so great a man, I shall not dare to determine. A few Notes are added by

Your servant,

Gnome.

P.S.—As mottoes are now fashionable, especially if taken from out of the way books, you may prefix, if you please, the following lines from Sidonius Apollinaris:

'Saxa, et robora, corneasque fibras
Mollit dulciloquâ canorus arte!'

TALLEYRAND, MINISTER OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS AT PARIS, TO LORD GRENVILLE, SECRETARY OF STATE IN GREAT BRITAIN FOR FOREIGN AFFAIRS, AUDITOR OF THE EXCHEQUER, A LORD OF TRADE, AN ELDER BROTHER OF TRINITY HOUSE, ETC.

My Lord! though your Lordship repel deviation
From forms long establish'd, yet with high consideration,
I plead for the honour to hope that no blame
Will attach, should this letter begin with my name.
I dar'd not presume on your Lordship to bounce, 5
But thought it more exquisite first to announce!

My Lord! I've the honour to be Talleyrand,
And the letter's from me! you'll not draw back your hand
Nor yet take it up by the rim in dismay,
As boys pick up ha'pence on April fool-day. [10]
I'm no Jacobin foul, or red-hot Cordelier
That your Lordship's ungauntleted fingers need fear
An infection or burn! Believe me, 'tis true,
With a scorn like another I look down on the crew
That bawl and hold up to the mob's detestation 15
The most delicate wish for a silent persuasion.
A form long-establish'd these Terrorists call
Bribes, perjury, theft, and the devil and all!
And yet spite of all that the Moralist [341:1] prates,
'Tis the keystone and cement of civilized States. 20
Those American Reps![342:1] And i' faith, they were serious!
It shock'd us at Paris, like something mysterious,
That men who've a Congress—But no more of 't! I'm proud
To have stood so distinct from the Jacobin crowd.

My Lord! though the vulgar in wonder be lost at 25
My transfigurations, and name me Apostate,
Such a meaningless nickname, which never incens'd me,
Cannot prejudice you or your Cousin against me:
I'm Ex-bishop. What then? Burke himself would agree
That I left not the Church—'twas the Church that left me. 30
My titles prelatic I lov'd and retain'd,
As long as what I meant by Prelate remain'd:
And tho' Mitres no longer will pass in our mart,
I'm episcopal still to the core of my heart.
No time from my name this my motto shall sever: 35
'Twill be Non sine pulvere palma[342:2] for ever!

Your goodness, my Lord, I conceive as excessive,
Or I dar'd not present you a scroll so digressive;
And in truth with my pen thro' and thro' I should strike it;
But I hear that your Lordship's own style is just like it. 40
Dear my Lord, we are right: for what charms can be shew'd
In a thing that goes straight like an old Roman road?
The tortoise crawls straight, the hare doubles about;
And the true line of beauty still winds in and out.
It argues, my Lord! of fine thoughts such a brood in us 45
To split and divide into heads multitudinous,
While charms that surprise (it can ne'er be denied us)
Sprout forth from each head, like the ears from King Midas.
Were a genius of rank, like a commonplace dunce,
Compell'd to drive on to the main point at once, 50
What a plentiful vintage of initiations [342:3]
Would Noble Lords lose in your Lordship's orations.
My fancy transports me! As mute as a mouse,
And as fleet as a pigeon, I'm borne to the house
Where all those who are Lords, from father to son, 55
Discuss the affairs of all those who are none.
I behold you, my Lord! of your feelings quite full,
'Fore the woolsack arise, like a sack full of wool!
You rise on each Anti-Grenvillian Member,
Short, thick and blustrous, like a day in November![343:1] 60
Short in person, I mean: for the length of your speeches
Fame herself, that most famous reporter, ne'er reaches.
Lo! Patience beholds you contemn her brief reign,
And Time, that all-panting toil'd after in vain,
(Like the Beldam who raced for a smock with her grand-child) 65
Drops and cries: 'Were such lungs e'er assign'd to a man-child?'
Your strokes at her vitals pale Truth has confess'd,
And Zeal unresisted entempests your breast![343:2]
Though some noble Lords may be wishing to sup,
Your merit self-conscious, my Lord, keeps you up, 70
Unextinguish'd and swoln, as a balloon of paper
Keeps aloft by the smoke of its own farthing taper.
Ye sixteens [343:3] of Scotland, your snuffs ye must trim;
Your Geminies, fix'd stars of England! grow dim,
And but for a form long-establish'd, no doubt 75
Twinkling faster and faster, ye all would go out.

Apropos, my dear Lord! a ridiculous blunder
Of some of our Journalists caused us some wonder:
It was said that in aspect malignant and sinister
In the Isle of Great Britain a great Foreign Minister 80
Turn'd as pale as a journeyman miller's frock coat is
On observing a star that appear'd in Bootes!
When the whole truth was this (O those ignorant brutes!)
Your Lordship had made his appearance in boots.
You, my Lord, with your star, sat in boots, and the Spanish 85
Ambassador thereupon thought fit to vanish.

But perhaps, dear my Lord, among other worse crimes,
The whole was no more than a lie of The Times.
It is monstrous, my Lord! in a civilis'd state
That such Newspaper rogues should have license to prate. 90
Indeed printing in general—but for the taxes,
Is in theory false and pernicious in praxis!
You and I, and your Cousin, and Abbé Sieyes,
And all the great Statesmen that live in these days,
Are agreed that no nation secure is from vi'lence 95
Unless all who must think are maintain'd all in silence.
This printing, my Lord—but 'tis useless to mention
What we both of us think—'twas a curséd invention,
And Germany might have been honestly prouder
Had she left it alone, and found out only powder. 100
My Lord! when I think of our labours and cares
Who rule the Department of foreign affairs,
And how with their libels these journalists bore us,
Though Rage I acknowledge than Scorn less decorous;
Yet their presses and types I could shiver in splinters, 105
Those Printers' black Devils! those Devils of Printers!
In case of a peace—but perhaps it were better
To proceed to the absolute point of my letter:
For the deep wounds of France, Bonaparte, my master,
Has found out a new sort of basilicon plaister. 110
But your time, my dear Lord! is your nation's best treasure,
I've intruded already too long on your leisure;
If so, I entreat you with penitent sorrow
To pause, and resume the remainder to-morrow.

1800.

FOOTNOTES:

[340:1] First published in the Morning Post, January 10, 1800: reprinted in Essays on His Own Times, 1850, i. 233-7. First collected P. and D. W., 1877, 1880.

[341:1] This sarcasm on the writings of moralists is, in general, extremely just; but had Talleyrand continued long enough in England, he might have found an honourable exception in the second volume of Dr. Paley's Moral Philosophy; in which both Secret Influence, and all the other Established Forms, are justified and placed in their true light.

[342:1] A fashionable abbreviation in the higher circles for Republicans. Thus Mob was originally the Mobility.

[342:2] Palma non sine pulvere In plain English, an itching palm, not without the yellow dust.

[342:3] The word Initiations is borrowed from the new Constitution, and can only mean, in plain English, introductory matter. If the manuscript would bear us out, we should propose to read the line thus: 'What a plentiful Verbage, what Initiations!' inasmuch as Vintage must necessarily refer to wine, really or figuratively; and we cannot guess what species Lord Grenville's eloquence may be supposed to resemble, unless, indeed, it be Cowslip wine. A slashing critic to whom we read the manuscript, proposed to read, 'What a plenty of Flowers—what initiations!' and supposes it may allude indiscriminately to Poppy Flowers, or Flour of Brimstone. The most modest emendation, perhaps, would be this—for Vintage read Ventage.

[343:1] We cannot sufficiently admire the accuracy of this simile. For as Lord Grenville, though short, is certainly not the shortest man in the House, even so is it with the days in November.

[343:2] An evident plagiarism of the Ex-Bishop's from Dr. Johnson:—

'Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign,
And panting Time toil'd after him in vain:
His pow'rful strokes presiding Truth confess'd,
And unresisting Passion storm'd the breast.'

[343:3] This line and the following are involved in an almost Lycophrontic tenebricosity. On repeating them, however, to an Illuminant, whose confidence I possess, he informed me (and he ought to know, for he is a Tallow-chandler by trade) that certain candles go by the name of sixteens. This explains the whole, the Scotch Peers are destined to burn out—and so are candles! The English are perpetual, and are therefore styled Fixed Stars! The word Geminies is, we confess, still obscure to us; though we venture to suggest that it may perhaps be a metaphor (daringly sublime) for the two eyes which noble Lords do in general possess. It is certainly used by the poet Fletcher in this sense, in the 31st stanza of his Purple Island:—

'What! shall I then need seek a patron out,
Or beg a favour from a mistress' eyes,
To fence my song against the vulgar rout,
And shine upon me with her geminies?'

LINENOTES:

[[14]]

With a scorn, like your own Essay, &c., 1850.

APOLOGIA PRO VITA SUA [345:1]

The poet in his lone yet genial hour
Gives to his eyes a magnifying power:
Or rather he emancipates his eyes
From the black shapeless accidents of size—
In unctuous cones of kindling coal, [5]
Or smoke upwreathing from the pipe's trim hole,
His gifted ken can see
Phantoms of sublimity.

1800.

FOOTNOTES:

[345:1] Included in the text of The Historie and Gests of Maxilian: first published in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, January, 1822, vol. xi, p. 12. The lines were taken from a MS. note-book, dated August 28, 1800. First collected P. and D. W., 1877-80.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] The Poet's ken P. W., 1885: Apologia, &c. 1907.

[[1-4]]

The poet's eye in his tipsy hour
Hath a magnifying power
Or rather emancipates his eyes
Of the accidents of size

MS.

[[5]]

cones] cone MS.

[[6]]

Or smoke from his pipe's bole MS.

[[7]]

His eye can see MS.

THE KEEPSAKE [345:2]

The tedded hay, the first fruits of the soil,
The tedded hay and corn-sheaves in one field,
Show summer gone, ere come. The foxglove tall
Sheds its loose purple bells, or in the gust,
Or when it bends beneath the up-springing lark, 5
Or mountain-finch alighting. And the rose
(In vain the darling of successful love)
Stands, like some boasted beauty of past years,
The thorns remaining, and the flowers all gone.
Nor can I find, amid my lonely walk [10]
By rivulet, or spring, or wet roadside,
That blue and bright-eyed floweret of the brook,
Hope's gentle gem, the sweet Forget-me-not![346:1]
So will not fade the flowers which Emmeline
With delicate fingers on the snow-white silk [15]
Has worked (the flowers which most she knew I loved),
And, more beloved than they, her auburn hair.

In the cool morning twilight, early waked
By her full bosom's joyous restlessness,
Softly she rose, and lightly stole along, 20
Down the slope coppice to the woodbine bower,
Whose rich flowers, swinging in the morning breeze,
Over their dim fast-moving shadows hung,
Making a quiet image of disquiet
In the smooth, scarcely moving river-pool. [25]
There, in that bower where first she owned her love,
And let me kiss my own warm tear of joy
From off her glowing cheek, she sate and stretched
The silk upon the frame, and worked her name
Between the Moss-Rose and Forget-me-not— 30
Her own dear name, with her own auburn hair!
That forced to wander till sweet spring return,
I yet might ne'er forget her smile, her look,
Her voice, (that even in her mirthful mood
Has made me wish to steal away and weep,) [35]
Nor yet the enhancement of that maiden kiss
With which she promised, that when spring returned,
She would resign one half of that dear name,
And own thenceforth no other name but mine!

? 1800.

FOOTNOTES:

[345:2] First published in the Morning Post, September 17, 1802 (signed, ΕΣΤΗΣΕ): included in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, 1828, 1829, 1834. 'It had been composed two years before' (1802), Note, 1893, p. 624. Mr. Campbell may have seen a dated MS. Internal evidence would point to the autumn of 1802, when it was published in the Morning Post.

[346:1] One of the names (and meriting to be the only one) of the Myosotis Scorpioides Palustris, a flower from six to twelve inches high, with blue blossom and bright yellow eye. It has the same name over the whole Empire of Germany (Vergissmeinnicht) and, we believe, in Denmark and Sweden.

LINENOTES:

[[1]]

om. M. P.

[[2]]

one] one M. P.

[[12]]

Line 13 precedes line 12 M. P.

[[17]]

they] all M. P.

[[19]]

joyous] joyless S. L. 1828.

[[19-21]]

joyous restlessness,
Leaving the soft bed to her sister,
Softly she rose, and lightly stole along,
Her fair face flushing in the purple dawn,
Adown the meadow to the woodbine bower

M. P.

Between [19-20] Leaving the soft bed to her sleeping sister S. L. 1817.

[[25]]

scarcely moving] scarcely-flowing M. P.

[[39]]

thenceforth] henceforth M. P.

A THOUGHT SUGGESTED BY A VIEW [347:1]

OF SADDLEBACK IN CUMBERLAND

On stern Blencartha's perilous height
The winds are tyrannous and strong;
And flashing forth unsteady light
From stern Blencartha's skiey height,
As loud the torrents throng! [5]
Beneath the moon, in gentle weather,
They bind the earth and sky together.
But oh! the sky and all its forms, how quiet!
The things that seek the earth, how full of noise and riot!

1800.

FOOTNOTES:

[347:1] First published in the Amulet, 1833, reprinted in Friendship's Offering, 1834: included in Essays on His Own Times, 1850, iii. 997. First collected in P. and D. W., 1877-80. These lines are inserted in one of the Malta Notebooks, and appear from the context to have been written at Olevano in 1806; but it is almost certain that they belong to the autumn of 1800 when Coleridge made a first acquaintance of 'Blencathara's rugged coves'. The first line is an adaptation of a line in a poem of Isaac Ritson, quoted in Hutchinson's History of Cumberland, a work which supplied him with some of the place-names in the Second Part of Christabel. Compare, too, a sentence in a letter to Sir H. Davy of Oct. 18, 1800:—'At the bottom of the Carrock Man . . . the wind became so fearful and tyrannous, etc.'

LINENOTES:

[Title]] A Versified Reflection F. O. 1834. In F. O. 1834, the lines were prefaced by a note:—[A Force is the provincial term in Cumberland for any narrow fall of water from the summit of a mountain precipice. The following stanza (it may not arrogate the name of poem) or versified reflection was composed while the author was gazing on three parallel Forces on a moonlight night, at the foot of the Saddleback Fell. S. T. C.] A —— by the view of Saddleback, near Threlkeld in Cumberland, Essays, &c.

[[1]]

Blencartha's] Blenkarthur's MS.: Blencarthur's F. O.: Blenharthur's Essays, &c., 1850.

[[2]]

The wind is F. O.

[[4]]

Blencartha's] Blenkarthur's MS.: Blencarthur's F. O.: Blenharthur's Essays, &c., 1850.

[[8]]

oh!] ah! Essays, &c.

THE MAD MONK [347:2]

I heard a voice from Etna's side;
Where o'er a cavern's mouth
That fronted to the south
A chesnut spread its umbrage wide:
A hermit or a monk the man might be; [5]
But him I could not see:
And thus the music flow'd along,
In melody most like to old Sicilian song:

'There was a time when earth, and sea, and skies,
The bright green vale, and forest's dark recess, [10]
With all things, lay before mine eyes
In steady loveliness:
But now I feel, on earth's uneasy scene,
Such sorrows as will never cease;—
I only ask for peace; [15]
If I must live to know that such a time has been!'
A silence then ensued:
Till from the cavern came
A voice;—it was the same!
And thus, in mournful tone, its dreary plaint renew'd: [20]

'Last night, as o'er the sloping turf I trod,
The smooth green turf, to me a vision gave
Beneath mine eyes, the sod—
The roof of Rosa's grave!

My heart has need with dreams like these to strive, [25]
For, when I woke, beneath mine eyes I found
The plot of mossy ground,
On which we oft have sat when Rosa was alive.—
Why must the rock, and margin of the flood,
Why must the hills so many flow'rets bear, [30]
Whose colours to a murder'd maiden's blood,
Such sad resemblance wear?—

'I struck the wound,—this hand of mine!
For Oh, thou maid divine,
I lov'd to agony! [35]
The youth whom thou call'd'st thine
Did never love like me!

'Is it the stormy clouds above
That flash'd so red a gleam?
On yonder downward trickling stream?— 40
'Tis not the blood of her I love.—
The sun torments me from his western bed,
Oh, let him cease for ever to diffuse
Those crimson spectre hues!
Oh, let me lie in peace, and be for ever dead!' [45]

Here ceas'd the voice. In deep dismay,
Down thro' the forest I pursu'd my way.

1800.

FOOTNOTES:

[347:2] First published in the Morning Post, October 13, 1800 (signed Cassiani junior): reprinted in Wild Wreath (By M. E. Robinson), 1804, pp. 141-4. First collected in P. W., 1880 (ii, Supplement, p. 362).

LINENOTES:

[Title]] The Voice from the Side of Etna; or the Mad Monk: An Ode in Mrs. Ratcliff's Manner M. P.

[[8]]

to] an M. P.

[[14]]

sorrows] motions M. P.

[[16]]

Then wherefore must I know M. P.

[[23]]

I saw the sod M. P.

[[26]]

woke] wak'd M. P.

[[27]]

The] That M. P.

[[28]]

On which so oft we sat M. P.

[[31]]

a wounded woman's blood M. P.

[[38-9]]

It is the stormy clouds above
That flash

M. P.

After [47]

The twilight fays came forth in dewy shoon
Ere I within the Cabin had withdrawn
The goatherd's tent upon the open lawn—
That night there was no moon.

M. P.

INSCRIPTION FOR A SEAT BY THE ROAD SIDE
HALF-WAY UP A STEEP HILL FACING SOUTH [349:1]

Thou who in youthful vigour rich, and light
With youthful thoughts dost need no rest! O thou,
To whom alike the valley and the hill
Present a path of ease! Should e'er thine eye
Glance on this sod, and this rude tablet, stop! 5
'Tis a rude spot, yet here, with thankful hearts,
The foot-worn soldier and his family
Have rested, wife and babe, and boy, perchance
Some eight years old or less, and scantly fed,
Garbed like his father, and already bound 10
To his poor father's trade. Or think of him
Who, laden with his implements of toil,
Returns at night to some far distant home,
And having plodded on through rain and mire
With limbs o'erlaboured, weak from feverish heat, 15
And chafed and fretted by December blasts,
Here pauses, thankful he hath reached so far,
And 'mid the sheltering warmth of these bleak trees
Finds restoration—or reflect on those
Who in the spring to meet the warmer sun 20
Crawl up this steep hill-side, that needlessly
Bends double their weak frames, already bowed
By age or malady, and when, at last,
They gain this wished-for turf, this seat of sods,
Repose—and, well-admonished, ponder here 25
On final rest. And if a serious thought
Should come uncalled—how soon thy motions high,
Thy balmy spirits and thy fervid blood
Must change to feeble, withered, cold and dry,
Cherish the wholesome sadness! And where'er 30
The tide of Life impel thee, O be prompt
To make thy present strength the staff of all,
Their staff and resting-place—so shalt thou give
To Youth the sweetest joy that Youth can know;
And for thy future self thou shalt provide 35
Through every change of various life, a seat,
Not built by hands, on which thy inner part,
Imperishable, many a grievous hour,
Or bleak or sultry may repose—yea, sleep
The sleep of Death, and dream of blissful worlds, 40
Then wake in Heaven, and find the dream all true.

1800.

FOOTNOTES:

[349:1] First published in the Morning Post, October 21, 1800 (Coleridge's birthday) under the signature Ventifrons: reprinted in the Lake Herald, November 2, 1906. Now first included in Coleridge's Poetical Works. Venti Frons is dog-Latin for Windy Brow, a point of view immediately above the River Greta, on the lower slope of Latrigg. Here it was that on Wednesday, August 13, 1800, Wordsworth, his sister Dorothy, and Coleridge 'made the Windy Brow seat'—a 'seat of sods'. In a letter to his printers, Biggs and Cottle, of October 10, 1800, Wordsworth says that 'a friend [the author of the Ancient Mariner, &c.] has also furnished me with a few of these Poems in the second volume [of the Lyrical Ballads] which are classed under the title of "Poems on the Naming of Places"' (Wordsworth and Coleridge MSS., Ed. W. Hale White, 1897, pp. 27, 28). No such poems or poem appeared, and it has been taken for granted that none were ever written. At any rate one 'Inscription', now at last forthcoming, was something more than a 'story from the land of dreams'!

A STRANGER MINSTREL [350:1]

WRITTEN [TO MRS. ROBINSON,] A FEW WEEKS BEFORE HER DEATH

As late on Skiddaw's mount I lay supine,
Midway th' ascent, in that repose divine
When the soul centred in the heart's recess
Hath quaff'd its fill of Nature's loveliness,
Yet still beside the fountain's marge will stay [5]
And fain would thirst again, again to quaff;
Then when the tear, slow travelling on its way,
Fills up the wrinkles of a silent laugh—
In that sweet mood of sad and humorous thought
A form within me rose, within me wrought [10]
With such strong magic, that I cried aloud,
'Thou ancient Skiddaw by thy helm of cloud,
And by thy many-colour'd chasms deep,
And by their shadows that for ever sleep,
By yon small flaky mists that love to creep [15]
Along the edges of those spots of light,
Those sunny islands on thy smooth green height,
And by yon shepherds with their sheep,
And dogs and boys, a gladsome crowd,
That rush e'en now with clamour loud 20
Sudden from forth thy topmost cloud,
And by this laugh, and by this tear,
I would, old Skiddaw, she were here!
A lady of sweet song is she,
Her soft blue eye was made for thee! 25
O ancient Skiddaw, by this tear,
I would, I would that she were here!'

Then ancient Skiddaw, stern and proud,
In sullen majesty replying,
Thus spake from out his helm of cloud [30]
(His voice was like an echo dying!):—
'She dwells belike in scenes more fair,
And scorns a mount so bleak and bare.'

I only sigh'd when this I heard,
Such mournful thoughts within me stirr'd [35]
That all my heart was faint and weak,
So sorely was I troubled!
No laughter wrinkled on my cheek,
But O the tears were doubled!
But ancient Skiddaw green and high 40
Heard and understood my sigh;
And now, in tones less stern and rude,
As if he wish'd to end the feud,
Spake he, the proud response renewing
(His voice was like a monarch wooing):— 45
'Nay, but thou dost not know her might,
The pinions of her soul how strong!
But many a stranger in my height
Hath sung to me her magic song,
Sending forth his ecstasy 50
In her divinest melody,
And hence I know her soul is free,
She is where'er she wills to be,
Unfetter'd by mortality!
Now to the "haunted beach" can fly,[352:1] [55]
Beside the threshold scourged with waves,
Now where the maniac wildly raves,
"Pale moon, thou spectre of the sky!"[352:2]
No wind that hurries o'er my height
Can travel with so swift a flight. 60
I too, methinks, might merit
The presence of her spirit!
To me too might belong
The honour of her song and witching melody,
Which most resembles me, 65
Soft, various, and sublime,
Exempt from wrongs of Time!'

Thus spake the mighty Mount, and I
Made answer, with a deep-drawn sigh:—
Thou ancient Skiddaw, by this tear, 70
I would, I would that she were here!'

November, 1800.

FOOTNOTES:

[350:1] First published in Memoirs of the late Mrs. Robinson, Written by herself. With some Posthumous Pieces, 1801, iv. 141: reprinted in Poetical Works of the late Mrs. Mary Robinson, 1806, i. xlviii, li. First collected in P. W., 1877-80.

[352:1] 'The Haunted Beach,' by Mrs. Robinson, was included in the Annual Anthology for 1800.

[352:2] From 'Jasper', a ballad by Mrs. Robinson, included in the Annual Anthology for 1800.

LINENOTES:

[[1]]

Skiddaw's] Skiddaw 1801.

[[8]]

wrinkles] wrinkle 1801.

[[13]]

chasms so deep 1801.

[[17]]

sunny] sunshine 1801.

[[32]]

in] by 1801.

[[38]]

on] now 1801.

[[57]]

Now to the maniac while he raves 1801.

ALCAEUS TO SAPPHO [353:1]

How sweet, when crimson colours dart
Across a breast of snow,
To see that you are in the heart
That beats and throbs below.

All Heaven is in a maiden's blush, 5
In which the soul doth speak,
That it was you who sent the flush
Into the maiden's cheek.

Large steadfast eyes! eyes gently rolled
In shades of changing blue, 10
How sweet are they, if they behold
No dearer sight than you.

And, can a lip more richly glow,
Or be more fair than this?
The world will surely answer, No! 15
I, Sappho, answer, Yes!

Then grant one smile, tho' it should mean
A thing of doubtful birth;
That I may say these eyes have seen
The fairest face on earth! 20

1800.

FOOTNOTES:

[353:1] First published in the Morning Post, November 24, 1800: reprinted in Letters from the Lake Poets, 1889, p. 16. It is probable that these lines, sent in a letter to Daniel Stuart (Editor of the Morning Post), dated October 7, 1800, were addressed to Mrs. Robinson, who was a frequent contributor of verses signed 'Sappho'. A sequence of Sonnets entitled 'Sappho to Phaon' is included in the collected edition of her Poems, 1806, iii. 63-107.

THE TWO ROUND SPACES ON THE TOMBSTONE [353:2]

The Devil believes that the Lord will come,
Stealing a march without beat of drum,
About the same time that he came last,
On an Old Christmas-day in a snowy blast:
Till he bids the trump sound neither body nor soul stirs, [5]
For the dead men's heads have slipt under their bolsters.

Oh! ho! brother Bard, in our churchyard,
Both beds and bolsters are soft and green;
Save one alone, and that's of stone,
And under it lies a Counsellor keen. [10]
'Twould be a square tomb, if it were not too long;
And 'tis fenced round with irons sharp, spear-like, and strong.

This fellow from Aberdeen hither did skip
With a waxy face and a blubber lip,
And a black tooth in front, to show in part [15]
What was the colour of his whole heart.
This Counsellor sweet,
This Scotchman complete,
(The Devil scotch him for a snake!)
I trust he lies in his grave awake. [20]
On the sixth of January,
When all around is white with snow,
As a Cheshire yeoman's dairy,
Brother Bard, ho! ho! believe it, or no,
On that stone tomb to you I'll show [25]
Two round spaces void of snow.
I swear by our Knight, and his forefathers' souls,
That in size and shape they are just like the holes
In the house of privity
Of that ancient family. [30]
On those two places void of snow,
There have sat in the night for an hour or so,
Before sunrise, and after cock-crow,
He kicking his heels, she cursing her corns,
All to the tune of the wind in their horns, [35]
The Devil and his Grannam,
With a snow-blast to fan 'em;
Expecting and hoping the trumpet to blow,
For they are cock-sure of the fellow below!

1800.

FOOTNOTES:

[353:2] First published in the Morning Post, December 4, 1800: reprinted in Fraser's Magazine both in February and in May, 1833, and in Payne Collier's Old Man's Diary, i. 35. First collected in P. W., 1834, with the following Prefatory Note:—'See the apology for the "Fire, Famine, and Slaughter", in first volume. This is the first time the author ever published these lines. He would have been glad, had they perished; but they have now been printed repeatedly in magazines, and he is told that the verses will not perish. Here, therefore, they are owned, with a hope that they will be taken—as assuredly they were composed—in mere sport.' These lines, which were directed against Sir James Mackintosh, were included in a letter to [Sir] Humphry Davy, dated October 9, 1800. There is a MS. version in the British Museum in the handwriting of R. Heber, presented by him to J. Mitford. Mr. Campbell questions the accuracy of Coleridge's statement with regard to his never having published the poem on his own account. But it is possible that Davy may have sent the lines to the Press without Coleridge's authority. Daniel Stuart, the Editor of the Morning Post, in the Gentleman's Magazine for May, 1838, says that 'Coleridge sent one [poem] attacking Mackintosh, too obviously for me not to understand it, and of course it was not published. Mackintosh had had one of his front teeth broken and the stump was black'. Stuart remembered that the lines attacking his brother-in-law had been suppressed, but forgot that he had inserted the rest of the poem. The poem as printed in 1893, despite the heading, does not follow the text of the Morning Post.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] Skeltoniad (To be read in the Recitative Lilt) MS. Letter: The Two Round Spaces; A Skeltoniad M. P.

[[1]]

The Devil believes the Fraser (1).

[[3]]

time] hour MS. Letter, M. P., Fraser (1), Collier. At the same hour MS. H.

[[4]]

an Old] a cold Fraser (1): On Old MS. H.

[[5]]

neither] nor MS. Letter, M. P.: Till he bids the trump blow nor Fraser (2): Till the trump then shall sound no Collier: Until that time not a body or MS. H.

[[6]]

their] the Collier.

[[7]]

Oh! ho!] Ho! Ho! M. P., MS. H.: Oho Fraser (1). Brother Collier. our] our MS. Letter.

[[8]]

Both bed and bolster Fraser (2). The graves and bolsters MS. H.

[[9]]

Except one alone MS. H.

[[10]]

under] in Fraser (2).

[[11]]

This tomb would be square M. P.: 'Twould be a square stone if it were not so long Fraser (1). It would be square MS. H. tomb] grave Collier.

[[12]]

And 'tis railed round with iron tall M. P.: And 'tis edg'd round with iron Fraser (1): 'Tis fenc'd round with irons tall Fraser (2): And 'tis fenc'd round with iron tall Collier. 'tis] its MS. H.

[[13-20]]

om. M. P.

[[13]]

From Aberdeen hither this fellow MS. Letter. hither] here Fraser (2).

[[14]]

blubber] blabber MS. Letter, Fraser (1), (2), MS. H.

[[15]]

in front] before MS. H.

[[17]]

Counsellor] lawyer so MS. H.

[[19]]

The Devil] Apollyon MS. Letter. scotch] scotch Collier.

[[20]]

trust] hope Collier.] (A humane wish) Note in MS. Letter.

[[21]]

sixth] seventh M. P., Collier: fifth MS. H.

[[22]]

When all is white both high and low MS. Letter, M. P., Fraser (2), Collier, MS. H.: When the ground All around Is as white as snow Fraser (1).

[[23]]

As] Or Fraser (1): Like MS. H.

[[24]]

ho! ho!] oho! Fraser (1). it] me M. P.

[[25]]

stone] tall MS. Letter, M. P., Fraser (2), Collier. On the stone to you MS. H.

[[25-6]]

om. Fraser (1).

Between [25-6] After sunset and before cockcrow M. P. Before sunrise and after cockcrow Fraser (2).

[[26]]

void] clear M. P.

[[27]]

I swear by the might Of the darkness of night, I swear by the sleep of our forefathers' souls Fraser (1). souls] soul MS. H.

[[26-8]]

om. Fraser (2).

[[28]]

Both in shape and size MS. Letter: Both in shape and in size M. P.: That in shape and size they resembled Fraser (1), Collier: That in shape and size they are just like the Hole MS. H.

[[29]]

In the large house M. P.

[[29-30]]

In mansions not seen by the general eye
Of that right ancient family.

Fraser (1).

[[31]]

two] round MS. Letter. places] spaces Collier, MS. H. void] clear M. P.

[[32]]

Have sat Fraser (1), (2): There have sat for an hour MS. H.

[[33]]

om. MS. Letter, M. P.

[[36]]

Devil] De'il M. P.

[[37]]

With the snow-drift M. P.: With a snow-blast to fan MS. Letter.

[[38]]

Expecting and wishing the trumpet would blow Collier.

THE SNOW-DROP [356:1]

Fear no more, thou timid Flower!
Fear thou no more the winter's might,
The whelming thaw, the ponderous shower,
The silence of the freezing night!
Since Laura murmur'd o'er thy leaves 5
The potent sorceries of song,
To thee, meek Flowret! gentler gales
And cloudless skies belong.

Her eye with tearful meanings fraught,
She gaz'd till all the body mov'd 10
Interpreting the Spirit's thought—
The Spirit's eager sympathy
Now trembled with thy trembling stem,
And while thou droopedst o'er thy bed,
With sweet unconscious sympathy 15
Inclin'd the drooping head.[357:1]

She droop'd her head, she stretch'd her arm,
She whisper'd low her witching rhymes,
Fame unreluctant heard the charm,
And bore thee to Pierian climes! 20
Fear thou no more the Matin Frost
That sparkled on thy bed of snow;
For there, mid laurels ever green,
Immortal thou shalt blow.

Thy petals boast a white more soft, 25
The spell hath so perfuméd thee,
That careless Love shall deem thee oft
A blossom from his Myrtle tree.
Then, laughing at the fair deceit,
Shall race with some Etesian wind 30
To seek the woven arboret
Where Laura lies reclin'd.

All them whom Love and Fancy grace,
When grosser eyes are clos'd in sleep,
The gentle spirits of the place [35]
Waft up the insuperable steep,
On whose vast summit broad and smooth
Her nest the Phœnix Bird conceals,
And where by cypresses o'erhung
The heavenly Lethe steals. 40

A sea-like sound the branches breathe,
Stirr'd by the Breeze that loiters there;
And all that stretch their limbs beneath,
Forget the coil of mortal care.
Strange mists along the margins rise, 45
To heal the guests who thither come,
And fit the soul to re-endure
Its earthly martyrdom.

The margin dear to moonlight elves
Where Zephyr-trembling Lilies grow, [50]
And bend to kiss their softer selves
That tremble in the stream below:—
There nightly borne does Laura lie
A magic Slumber heaves her breast:
Her arm, white wanderer of the Harp, 55
Beneath her cheek is prest.

The Harp uphung by golden chains
Of that low wind which whispers round,
With coy reproachfulness complains,
In snatches of reluctant sound: [60]
The music hovers half-perceiv'd,
And only moulds the slumberer's dreams;
Remember'd Loves relume her cheek
With Youth's returning gleams.

1800.

FOOTNOTES:

[356:1] First published in P. W., 1893. The two last stanzas[*] were omitted as 'too imperfect to print'. The MS. bears the following heading: Lines written immediately after the perusal of Mrs. Robinson's Snow Drop.

To the Editor of the Morning Post.

Sir,

I am one of your many readers who have been highly gratified by some extracts from Mrs. Robinson's 'Walsingham': you will oblige me by inserting the following lines [sic] immediately on the perusal of her beautiful poem 'The Snow Drop'.—Zagri.

The 'Lines' were never sent or never appeared in the Morning Post.

To the Snow Drop.

Fear thou no more the wintry storm,
Sweet Flowret, blest by Laura's song:
She gaz'd upon thy slender form,
The mild Enchantress gaz'd so long;
That trembling as she saw thee droop,
Poor Trembler! o'er thy snowy bed,
With imitation's sympathy
She too inclin'd her head.

She droop'd her head, she stretch'd her arm,
She whisper'd low her witching rhymes:
A gentle Sylphid heard the charm,
And bore thee to Pierian climes!
Fear thou no more the sparkling Frost,
The Tempest's Howl, the Fog-damp's gloom:
For thus mid laurels evergreen
Immortal thou shalt bloom!

3 [Stanza 2]
With eager ~~feelings~~ unreprov'd
With ~~steady eye and brooding thought~~
Her eye with tearful meanings fraught,
~~My Fancy saw her gaze at thee~~
She gaz'd till all the body mov'd
~~Till all the moving body caught,~~
Interpreting, the Spirit's sympathy—
The Spirit's eager sympathy
Now trembled with thy trembling stem,
And while thou drooped'st o'er thy bed,
With sweet unconscious sympathy

Inclin'd

her ~~portraiture~~
the drooping head.

First draft of Stanzas 1-3. MS. S. T. C.

[357:1] The second stanza of Mrs. Robinson's ('Perdita') 'Ode to the Snow-drop' runs thus:

All weak and wan, with head inclin'd,
Its parent-breast the drifted snow,
It trembles, while the ruthless wind
Bends its slim form; the tempest lowers,
Its em'rald eye drops crystal show'rs
On its cold bed below.

The Poetical Works of the late Mrs. Mary Robinson, 1806, i. 123.

LINENOTES:

[[36]]

insuperable] unvoyageable MS. erased.

[[53-4]]

Along that marge does Laura lie
Full oft where Slumber heaves her breast

MS. erased.

[[64]]

With Beauty's morning gleams

MS. erased.

ON REVISITING THE SEA-SHORE [359:1]

AFTER LONG ABSENCE, UNDER STRONG MEDICAL RECOMMENDATION
NOT TO BATHE

God be with thee, gladsome Ocean!
How gladly greet I thee once more!
Ships and waves, and ceaseless motion,
And men rejoicing on thy shore.

Dissuading spake the mild Physician, [5]
'Those briny waves for thee are Death!'
But my soul fulfilled her mission,
And lo! I breathe untroubled breath!

Fashion's pining sons and daughters,
That seek the crowd they seem to fly, [10]
Trembling they approach thy waters;
And what cares Nature, if they die?

Me a thousand hopes and pleasures
A thousand recollections bland,
Thoughts sublime, and stately measures, [15]
Revisit on thy echoing strand:

Dreams (the Soul herself forsaking),
Tearful raptures, boyish mirth;
Silent adorations, making
A blessed shadow of this Earth! 20

O ye hopes, that stir within me,
Health comes with you from above!
God is with me, God is in me!
I cannot die, if Life be Love.

August, 1801.

FOOTNOTES:

[359:1] First published in the Morning Post (signed Εστησε), September 15, 1801: included in the Sibylline Leaves, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. The lines were sent in an unpublished letter to Southey dated August 15, 1801. An autograph MS. is in the possession of Miss Arnold of Foxhow.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] A flowering weed on the sweet Hill of Poesy MS. Letter, 1801: Ode After Bathing in the Sea, Contrary to Medical Advice M. P. After bathing in the Sea at Scarborough in company with T. Hutchinson. Aug. 1801 MS. A.

[[3]]

ceaseless] endless MS. Letter, M. P., MS. A.

[[4]]

men] life MS. Letter, M. P., MS. A.

[[5]]

Gravely said the

mild MS. A.
sage Physician MS. Letter:

Mildly said the mild Physician M. P.

[[6]]

To bathe me on thy shores were death MS. Letter, M. P., MS. A.

[[10]]

That love the city's gilded sty MS. Letter, M. P., MS. A.

[[13]]

hopes] loves MS. Letter, MS. A.

[[16]]

echoing] sounding MS. Letter, M. P., MS. A.

[[18]]

Grief-like transports MS. Letter, M. P., MS. A.

ODE TO TRANQUILLITY [360:1]

Tranquillity! thou better name
Than all the family of Fame!
Thou ne'er wilt leave my riper age
To low intrigue, or factious rage;
For oh! dear child of thoughtful Truth, [5]
To thee I gave my early youth,
And left the bark, and blest the steadfast shore,
Ere yet the tempest rose and scared me with its roar.

Who late and lingering seeks thy shrine,
On him but seldom, Power divine, 10
Thy spirit rests! Satiety
And Sloth, poor counterfeits of thee,
Mock the tired worldling. Idle Hope
And dire Remembrance interlope,
To vex the feverish slumbers of the mind: [15]
The bubble floats before, the spectre stalks behind.

But me thy gentle hand will lead
At morning through the accustomed mead;
And in the sultry summer's heat
Will build me up a mossy seat; [20]
And when the gust of Autumn crowds,
And breaks the busy moonlight clouds,
Thou best the thought canst raise, the heart attune,
Light as the busy clouds, calm as the gliding moon.

The feeling heart, the searching soul, [25]
To thee I dedicate the whole!
And while within myself I trace
The greatness of some future race,
Aloof with hermit-eye I scan
The present works of present man— 30
A wild and dream-like trade of blood and guile,
Too foolish for a tear, too wicked for a smile!

1801.

FOOTNOTES:

[360:1] First published in the Morning Post (with two additional stanzas at the commencement of the poem), December 4, 1801: reprinted in The Friend (without heading or title), No. 1, Thursday, June 1, 1809: included in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. The stanzas were not indented in the Morning Post or The Friend.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] Vix ea nostra voco M. P.

[Before 1]

What Statesmen scheme and Soldiers work,
Whether the Pontiff or the Turk,
Will e'er renew th' expiring lease
Of Empire; whether War or Peace
Will best play off the Consul's game;
What fancy-figures, and what name
Half-thinking, sensual France, a natural Slave,
On those ne'er-broken Chains, her self-forg'd Chains, will grave;

Disturb not me! Some tears I shed
When bow'd the Swiss his noble head;
Since then, with quiet heart have view'd
Both distant Fights and Treaties crude,
Whose heap'd up terms, which Fear compels,
(Live Discord's green Combustibles,
And future Fuel of the funeral Pyre)
Now hide, and soon, alas! will feed the low-burnt Fire.

M. P.

[[8]]

tempest] storm-wind M. P.

[[15]]

To] And The Friend, 1809. slumbers] slumber M. P., The Friend.

[[17]]

thy gentle hand] the power Divine M. P.

[[21]]

Autumn] Summer M. P.

[[23]]

The best the thoughts will lift M. P.

[[26]]

thee] her M. P.

[[28]]

some] a M. P.

[[29]]

hermit] hermit's M. P.

TO ASRA [361:1]

Are there two things, of all which men possess,
That are so like each other and so near,
As mutual Love seems like to Happiness?
Dear Asra, woman beyond utterance dear!
This Love which ever welling at my heart, 5
Now in its living fount doth heave and fall,
Now overflowing pours thro' every part
Of all my frame, and fills and changes all,
Like vernal waters springing up through snow,
This Love that seeming great beyond the power 10
Of growth, yet seemeth ever more to grow,
Could I transmute the whole to one rich Dower
Of Happy Life, and give it all to Thee,
Thy lot, methinks, were Heaven, thy age, Eternity!

1801.

FOOTNOTES:

[361:1] First published in 1893. The Sonnet to 'Asra' was prefixed to the MS. of Christabel which Coleridge presented to Miss Sarah Hutchinson in 1804.

THE SECOND BIRTH [362:1]

There are two births, the one when Light
First strikes the new-awaken'd sense—
The other when two souls unite,
And we must count our life from then.

When you lov'd me, and I lov'd you, 5
Then both of us were born anew.

? 1801.

FOOTNOTES:

[362:1] First published from a MS. in 1893.

LOVE'S SANCTUARY [362:2]

This yearning heart (Love! witness what I say)
Enshrines thy form as purely as it may,
Round which, as to some spirit uttering bliss,
My thoughts all stand ministrant night and day
Like saintly Priests, that dare not think amiss.

? 1801.

FOOTNOTES:

[362:2] First published from a MS. in 1893.

DEJECTION: AN ODE [362:3]

[WRITTEN APRIL 4, 1802]

Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon,
With the old Moon in her arms;
And I fear, I fear, my Master dear!
We shall have a deadly storm.

Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence.

Well! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made
The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,
This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence
Unroused by winds, that ply a busier trade
Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes, [5]
Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes
Upon the strings of this Æolian lute,
Which better far were mute.
For lo! the New-moon winter-bright!
And overspread with phantom light, [10]
(With swimming phantom light o'erspread
But rimmed and circled by a silver thread)
I see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling
The coming-on of rain and squally blast.
And oh! that even now the gust were swelling, [15]
And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast!
Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed,
And sent my soul abroad,
Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give,
Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live! [20]

A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief,
Which finds no natural outlet, no relief,
In word, or sigh, or tear—
O Lady! in this wan and heartless mood, [25]
To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd,
All this long eve, so balmy and serene,
Have I been gazing on the western sky,
And its peculiar tint of yellow green:
And still I gaze—and with how blank an eye! [30]
And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars,
That give away their motion to the stars;
Those stars, that glide behind them or between,
Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen:
Yon crescent Moon, as fixed as if it grew [35]
In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue;
I see them all so excellently fair,
I see, not feel, how beautiful they are!

III

My genial spirits fail;
And what can these avail 40
To lift the smothering weight from off my breast?
It were a vain endeavour,
Though I should gaze for ever
On that green light that lingers in the west:
I may not hope from outward forms to win [45]
The passion and the Life, whose fountains are within.

O Lady! we receive but what we give,
And in our life alone does Nature live:
Ours is her wedding garment, ours her shroud!
And would we aught behold, of higher worth, [50]
Than that inanimate cold world allowed
To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd,
Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth
A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud
Enveloping the Earth— [55]
And from the soul itself must there be sent
A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth,
Of all sweet sounds the life and element!

O pure of heart! thou need'st not ask of me
What this strong music in the soul may be! [60]
What, and wherein it doth exist,
This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist,
This beautiful and beauty-making power.
Joy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne'er was given,
Save to the pure, and in their purest hour, [65]
Life, and Life's effluence, cloud at once and shower,
Joy, Lady! is the spirit and the power,
Which wedding Nature to us gives in dower
A new Earth and new Heaven,
Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud— [70]
Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud—
We in ourselves rejoice!
And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight,
All melodies the echoes of that voice,
All colours a suffusion from that light. [75]

There was a time when, though my path was rough,
This joy within me dallied with distress,
And all misfortunes were but as the stuff
Whence Fancy made me dreams of happiness:
For hope grew round me, like the twining vine, [80]
And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seemed mine.
But now afflictions bow me down to earth:
Nor care I that they rob me of my mirth;
But oh! each visitation
Suspends what nature gave me at my birth, [85]
My shaping spirit of Imagination.
For not to think of what I needs must feel,
But to be still and patient, all I can;
And haply by abstruse research to steal
From my own nature all the natural man— [90]
This was my sole resource, my only plan:
Till that which suits a part infects the whole,
And now is almost grown the habit of my soul.

VII

Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind,
Reality's dark dream! [95]
I turn from you, and listen to the wind,
Which long has raved unnoticed. What a scream
Of agony by torture lengthened out
That lute sent forth! Thou Wind, that rav'st without,
Bare crag, or mountain-tairn,[367:1] or blasted tree, [100]
Or pine-grove whither woodman never clomb,
Or lonely house, long held the witches' home,
Methinks were fitter instruments for thee,
Mad Lutanist! who in this month of showers,
Of dark-brown gardens, and of peeping flowers, 105
Mak'st Devils' yule, with worse than wintry song,
The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves among.
Thou Actor, perfect in all tragic sounds!
Thou mighty Poet, e'en to frenzy bold!
What tell'st thou now about? [110]
'Tis of the rushing of an host in rout,
With groans, of trampled men, with smarting wounds—
At once they groan with pain, and shudder with the cold!
But hush! there is a pause of deepest silence!
And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd, [115]
With groans, and tremulous shudderings—all is over—
It tells another tale, with sounds less deep and loud!
A tale, of less affright,
And tempered with delight,
As Otway's self had framed the tender lay,— [120]
'Tis of a little child
Upon a lonesome wild,
Not far from home, but she hath lost her way:
And now moans low in bitter grief and fear,
And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother hear. [125]

VIII

'Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep:
Full seldom may my friend such vigils keep!
Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing,
And may this storm be but a mountain-birth,
May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling, [130]
Silent as though they watched the sleeping Earth!
With light heart may she rise,
Gay fancy, cheerful eyes,
Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice;
To her may all things live, from pole to pole, 135
Their life the eddying of her living soul!
O simple spirit, guided from above,
Dear Lady! friend devoutest of my choice,
Thus mayest thou ever, evermore rejoice.

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[362:3] First published in the Morning Post, October 4, 1802. Included in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. The Ode was sent in a letter to W. Sotheby, dated Keswick, July 19, 1802 (Letters of S. T. C., 1895, i. 379-84). Two other MS. versions are preserved at Coleorton (P. W. of W. Wordsworth, ed. by William Knight, 1896, iii. App., pp. 400, 401). Lines 37, 38 were quoted by Coleridge in the Historie and Gests of Maxilian (first published in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine for January, 1822, and reprinted in Miscellanies, &c., ed. by T. Ashe, 1885, p. 282): l. 38 by Wordsworth in his pamphlet on The Convention of Cintra, 1809, p. 135: lines 47-75, followed by lines 29-38, were quoted by Coleridge in Essays on the Fine Arts, No. III (which were first published in Felix Farley's Bristol Journal, Sept. 10, 1814, and reprinted by Cottle, E. R., 1837, ii. 201-40); and lines 21-28, ibid., in illustration of the following Scholium:—'We have sufficiently distinguished the beautiful from the agreeable, by the sure criterion, that when we find an object agreeable, the sensation of pleasure always precedes the judgment, and is its determining cause. We find it agreeable. But when we declare an object beautiful, the contemplation or intuition of its beauty precedes the feeling of complacency, in order of nature at least: nay in great depression of spirits may even exist without sensibly producing it.' Lines 76-93 are quoted in a letter to Southey of July 29, 1802; lines 76-83 are quoted in a letter to Allsop, September 30, 1819, Letters, &c., 1836, i. 17. Lines 80, 81 are quoted in the Biographia Literaria, 1817, ii. 182, and lines 87-93 in a letter to Josiah Wedgwood, dated October 20, 1802: see Cottle's Rem., 1848, p. 44, and Tom Wedgwood by R. B. Litchfield, 1903, pp. 114, 115.

[367:1] Tairn is a small lake, generally if not always applied to the lakes up in the mountains and which are the feeders of those in the valleys. This address to the Storm-wind [wind S. L.], will not appear extravagant to those who have heard it at night and in a mountainous country.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] Dejection, &c., written April 4, 1802 M. P.

[[2]]

grand] dear Letter to Sotheby, July 19, 1802.

[[5]]

Than that which moulds yon clouds Letter, July 19, 1802.

cloud] clouds M. P., S. L.

[[6]]

moans] drones Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.

[[12]]

by] with Letter, July 19, 1802.

[[17-20]]

om. Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.

[[21-8]]

Quoted as illustrative of a 'Scholium' in Felix Farley's Journal, 1814.

[[22]]

stifled] stifling Letter, July 19, 1802.

[[23]]

Which] That Letter, July 19, 1802, F. F.

Between [24-7]

This, William, well thou knowst
Is the sore evil which I dread the most
And oft'nest suffer. In this heartless mood
To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd
That pipes within the larch-tree, not unseen,
The larch, that pushes out in tassels green
Its bundled leafits, woo'd to mild delights
By all the tender sounds and gentle sights
Of this sweet primrose-month and vainly woo'd!
O dearest Poet in this heartless mood.

Letter, July 19, 1802.

[[25]]

O Edmund M. P.: O William Coleorton MS.: O dearest Lady in this heartless mood F. F.

[[26]]

by yon sweet throstle woo'd F. F.

[[28]]

on] at F. F.

[[29]]

peculiar] celestial F. F.

yellow green] yellow-green Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.

[[30]]

blank] black Cottle, 1837.

[[35-6]]

Yon crescent moon that seems as if it grew
In its own starless, cloudless

F. F.

Between [36-7] A boat becalm'd! thy own sweet sky-canoe Letter, July 19, 1802: A boat becalm'd! a lovely sky-canoe M. P.

[[38]]

I see not feel M. P., Letter, July 19, 1802: I see . . . . they are F. F.

[[45-6]]

Quoted in the Gests of Maxilian, Jan. 1822, and Convention of Cintra, 1809, p. 135.

[[47]]

Lady] Wordsworth Letter, July 19, 1802: William Coleorton MS.: Edmund M. P., F. F. we receive but what we give Coleorton MS., F. F.

[[48]]

our] our M. P., F. F.

[[51]]

allowed] allow'd Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.

[[57]]

potent] powerful Letter, July 19, 1802, F. F.

[V]] Stanza v is included in stanza iv in M. P.

[[60]]

What] What Letter, July 19, 1802.

[[61]]

exist] subsist F. F.

[[64]]

virtuous Lady] blameless Poet Letter, July 19, 1802: virtuous Edmund M. P. Joy, O belovéd, Joy that F. F.

[[66]]

om. Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.: Life of our life the parent and the birth F. F. effluence] effulgence S. L. Corr. in Errata p. [xii], and in text by S. T. C. (MS.).

[[67]]

Lady] William Letter, July 19, 1802: Edmund M. P.: om. F. F.

[[68]]

Which] That Letter, July 19, 1802.

[[69]]

A new heaven and new earth F. F.

[[71]]

om. Letter, July 19, 1802: This is the strong voice, this the luminous cloud F. F.

[[72]]

We, we ourselves Letter,July 19, 1802, M. P.: Our inmost selves F. F.

[[73]]

flows] comes Letter, July 19, 1802. charms] glads F. F.

[[74]]

the echoes] an echo Letter, July 19, 1802.

After [75]

Calm steadfast Spirit, guided from above,
O Wordsworth! friend of my devoutest choice,
Great son of genius! full of light and love
Thus, thus dost thou rejoice.
To thee do all things live from pole to pole,
Their life the eddying of thy living soul
Brother and friend of my devoutest choice
Thus may'st thou ever, evermore rejoice!

Letter, July 19, 1802.

Before [76] Yes, dearest poet, yes Letter, July 19, 1802: Yes, dearest William! Yes! Coleorton MS. [Stanza v] Yes, dearest Edmund, yes M. P.

[[76]]

The time when Letter, Sept. 30, 1819.

[[77]]

This] The Letters, July 19, 1802, Sept. 30, 1819. I had a heart that dallied Letter to Southey, July 29, 1802.

[[80]]

For] When Biog. Lit., Letter, Sept. 30, 1819. twining] climbing Letters, July 19, 29, 1802, Biog. Lit.

[[80-1]]

Quoted in Biog. Lit., 1817, ii. 180.

[[81]]

fruits] fruit Letter, July 19, 1802.

[[82]]

But seared thoughts now Letter, Sept. 30, 1819.

[[83]]

care] car'd Letter, July 19, 1802.

[[86]]

In M. P. the words 'The sixth and seventh stanzas omitted' preceded three rows of four asterisks, lines 87-93 (quoted in Letter to Josiah Wedgwood, Oct. 20, 1802) being omitted. The Coleorton MS. ends with line 86.

[[87]]

think] think Letters, July 19, 29, 1802.

[[91]]

was] is Letter, Sept. 30, 1819. only] wisest Letters, July 19, 29, 1802.

[[92]]

Till] And Letters, July 19, 29, 1802.

[[93]]

habit] temper Letters, July 19, 29, Oct. 20, 1802.

[[94-5]]

Nay [O M. P.] wherefore did I let it haunt my mind
This dark distressful dream.

Letter, July 19, 1802.

[[96]]

you] it Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.

[[99]]

That lute sent out! O thou wild storm without Letter, July 19, 1802. O Wind M. P.

[[104]]

who] that Letter, July 19, 1802.

[[112]]

With many groans from men Letter, July 19, 1802: With many groans of men M. P.

[[115]]

Again! but all that noise Letter, July 19, 1802.

[[117]]

And it has other sounds less fearful and less loud Letter, July 19, 1802.

[[120]]

Otway's self] thou thyself Letter, July 19, 1802: Edmund's self M. P.

[[122]]

lonesome] heath Letter, July 19, 1802.

[[124]]

bitter] utter Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.

[[125]]

hear] hear Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.

[VIII]] om. Letter, July 19, 1802.

[[126]]

but] and M. P.

[[128]]

her] him M. P.

[[130]]

her] his M. P.

[[131]]

watched] watch'd M. P.

[[132]]

she] he M. P.

After [133]

And sing his lofty song and teach me to rejoice!
O Edmund, friend of my devoutest choice,
O rais'd from anxious dread and busy care,
By the immenseness of the good and fair
Which thou see'st everywhere, 5
Joy lifts thy spirit, joy attunes thy voice,
To thee do all things live from pole to pole,
Their life the eddying of thy living soul!
O simple Spirit, guided from above,
O lofty Poet, full of life and love, 10
Brother and Friend of my devoutest choice,
Thus may'st thou ever, evermore rejoice!

ΕΣΤΗΣΕ. M. P.

[Note.—For lines 7, 8, 11, 12 of this variant, vide ante, variant of lines [75 foll.]]

THE PICTURE [369:1]

OR THE LOVER'S RESOLUTION

Through weeds and thorns, and matted underwood
I force my way; now climb, and now descend
O'er rocks, or bare or mossy, with wild foot
Crushing the purple whorts;[369:2] while oft unseen,
Hurrying along the drifted forest-leaves, 5
The scared snake rustles. Onward still I toil,
I know not, ask not whither! A new joy,
Lovely as light, sudden as summer gust,
And gladsome as the first-born of the spring,
Beckons me on, or follows from behind, 10
Playmate, or guide! The master-passion quelled,
I feel that I am free. With dun-red bark
The fir-trees, and the unfrequent slender oak,
Forth from this tangle wild of bush and brake
Soar up, and form a melancholy vault [15]
High o'er me, murmuring like a distant sea.

Here Wisdom might resort, and here Remorse;
Here too the love-lorn man, who, sick in soul,
And of this busy human heart aweary,
Worships the spirit of unconscious life [20]
In tree or wild-flower.—Gentle lunatic!
If so he might not wholly cease to be,
He would far rather not be that he is;
But would be something that he knows not of,
In winds or waters, or among the rocks! [25]

But hence, fond wretch! breathe not contagion here!
No myrtle-walks are these: these are no groves
Where Love dare loiter! If in sullen mood
He should stray hither, the low stumps shall gore
His dainty feet, the briar and the thorn [30]
Make his plumes haggard. Like a wounded bird
Easily caught, ensnare him, O ye Nymphs,
Ye Oreads chaste, ye dusky Dryades!
And you, ye Earth-winds! you that make at morn
The dew-drops quiver on the spiders' webs! 35
You, O ye wingless Airs! that creep between
The rigid stems of heath and bitten furze,
Within whose scanty shade, at summer-noon,
The mother-sheep hath worn a hollow bed—
Ye, that now cool her fleece with dropless damp, [40]
Now pant and murmur with her feeding lamb.
Chase, chase him, all ye Fays, and elfin Gnomes!
With prickles sharper than his darts bemock
His little Godship, making him perforce
Creep through a thorn-bush on yon hedgehog's back. 45

This is my hour of triumph! I can now
With my own fancies play the merry fool,
And laugh away worse folly, being free.
Here will I seat myself, beside this old,
Hollow, and weedy oak, which ivy-twine [50]
Clothes as with net-work: here will I couch my limbs,
Close by this river, in this silent shade,
As safe and sacred from the step of man
As an invisible world—unheard, unseen,
And listening only to the pebbly brook [55]
That murmurs with a dead, yet tinkling sound;
Or to the bees, that in the neighbouring trunk
Make honey-hoards. The breeze, that visits me,
Was never Love's accomplice, never raised
The tendril ringlets from the maiden's brow, 60
And the blue, delicate veins above her cheek;
Ne'er played the wanton—never half disclosed
The maiden's snowy bosom, scattering thence
Eye-poisons for some love-distempered youth,
Who ne'er henceforth may see an aspen-grove 65
Shiver in sunshine, but his feeble heart
Shall flow away like a dissolving thing.

Sweet breeze! thou only, if I guess aright,
Liftest the feathers of the robin's breast,
That swells its little breast, so full of song, [70]
Singing above me, on the mountain-ash.
And thou too, desert stream! no pool of thine,
Though clear as lake in latest summer-eve,
Did e'er reflect the stately virgin's robe,
The face, the form divine, the downcast look [75]
Contemplative! Behold! her open palm
Presses her cheek and brow! her elbow rests
On the bare branch of half-uprooted tree,
That leans towards its mirror! Who erewhile
Had from her countenance turned, or looked by stealth, 80
(For Fear is true-love's cruel nurse), he now
With steadfast gaze and unoffending eye,
Worships the watery idol, dreaming hopes
Delicious to the soul, but fleeting, vain,
E'en as that phantom-world on which he gazed, [85]
But not unheeded gazed: for see, ah! see,
The sportive tyrant with her left hand plucks
The heads of tall flowers that behind her grow,
Lychnis, and willow-herb, and fox-glove bells:
And suddenly, as one that toys with time, [90]
Scatters them on the pool! Then all the charm
Is broken—all that phantom world so fair
Vanishes, and a thousand circlets spread,
And each mis-shape the other. Stay awhile,
Poor youth, who scarcely dar'st lift up thine eyes! 95
The stream will soon renew its smoothness, soon
The visions will return! And lo! he stays:
And soon the fragments dim of lovely forms
Come trembling back, unite, and now once more
The pool becomes a mirror; and behold 100
Each wildflower on the marge inverted there,
And there the half-uprooted tree—but where,
O where the virgin's snowy arm, that leaned
On its bare branch? He turns, and she is gone!
Homeward she steals through many a woodland maze [105]
Which he shall seek in vain. Ill-fated youth!
Go, day by day, and waste thy manly prime
In mad love-yearning by the vacant brook,
Till sickly thoughts bewitch thine eyes, and thou
Behold'st her shadow still abiding there, [110]
The Naiad of the mirror!
Not to thee,
O wild and desert stream! belongs this tale:
Gloomy and dark art thou—the crowded firs
Spire from thy shores, and stretch across thy bed,
Making thee doleful as a cavern-well: [115]
Save when the shy king-fishers build their nest
On thy steep banks, no loves hast thou, wild stream!

This be my chosen haunt—emancipate
From Passion's dreams, a freeman, and alone,
I rise and trace its devious course. O lead, [120]
Lead me to deeper shades and lonelier glooms.
Lo! stealing through the canopy of firs,
How fair the sunshine spots that mossy rock,
Isle of the river, whose disparted waves
Dart off asunder with an angry sound, [125]
How soon to re-unite! And see! they meet,
Each in the other lost and found: and see
Placeless, as spirits, one soft water-sun
Throbbing within them, heart at once and eye!
With its soft neighbourhood of filmy clouds, [130]
The stains and shadings of forgotten tears,
Dimness o'erswum with lustre! Such the hour
Of deep enjoyment, following love's brief feuds;
And hark, the noise of a near waterfall!
I pass forth into light—I find myself [135]
Beneath a weeping birch (most beautiful
Of forest trees, the Lady of the Woods),
Hard by the brink of a tall weedy rock
That overbrows the cataract. How bursts
The landscape on my sight! Two crescent hills [140]
Fold in behind each other, and so make
A circular vale, and land-locked, as might seem,
With brook and bridge, and grey stone cottages,
Half hid by rocks and fruit-trees. At my feet,
The whortle-berries are bedewed with spray, 145
Dashed upwards by the furious waterfall.
How solemnly the pendent ivy-mass
Swings in its winnow: All the air is calm.
The smoke from cottage-chimneys, tinged with light,
Rises in columns; from this house alone, [150]
Close by the water-fall, the column slants,
And feels its ceaseless breeze. But what is this?
That cottage, with its slanting chimney-smoke,
And close beside its porch a sleeping child,
His dear head pillowed on a sleeping dog— 155
One arm between its fore-legs, and the hand
Holds loosely its small handful of wild-flowers,
Unfilletted, and of unequal lengths.
A curious picture, with a master's haste
Sketched on a strip of pinky-silver skin, [160]
Peeled from the birchen bark! Divinest maid!
Yon bark her canvas, and those purple berries
Her pencil! See, the juice is scarcely dried
On the fine skin! She has been newly here;
And lo! yon patch of heath has been her couch— 165
The pressure still remains! O blesséd couch!
For this may'st thou flower early, and the sun,
Slanting at eve, rest bright, and linger long
Upon thy purple bells! O Isabel!
Daughter of genius! stateliest of our maids! [170]
More beautiful than whom Alcaeus wooed,
The Lesbian woman of immortal song!
O child of genius! stately, beautiful,
And full of love to all, save only me,
And not ungentle e'en to me! My heart, [175]
Why beats it thus? Through yonder coppice-wood
Needs must the pathway turn, that leads straightway
On to her father's house. She is alone!
The night draws on—such ways are hard to hit—
And fit it is I should restore this sketch, [180]
Dropt unawares, no doubt. Why should I yearn
To keep the relique? 'twill but idly feed
The passion that consumes me. Let me haste!
The picture in my hand which she has left;
She cannot blame me that I followed her: 185
And I may be her guide the long wood through.

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[369:1] First published in the Morning Post, September 6, 1802: included in the Poetical Register for 1802 (1804), in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834.

It has been pointed out to me (by Mr. Arthur Turnbull) that the conception of the 'Resolution' that failed was suggested by Gessner's Idyll Der feste Vorsatz ('The Fixed Resolution'):—S. Gessner's Schriften, i. 104-7; Works, 1802, ii. 219-21.

[369:2] Vaccinium Myrtillus, known by the different names of Whorts, Whortle-berries, Bilberries; and in the North of England, Blea-berries and Bloom-berries. [Note by S. T. C. 1802.]

LINENOTES:

[[3]]

wild] blind M. P., P. R.

[[17-26]]

om. M. P., P. R.

[[17-25]]

Quoted in Letter to Cottle, May 27, 1814.

[[18]]

love-lorn] woe-worn (heart-sick erased) Letter, 1814.

[[20]]

unconscious life Letter, 1814.

[[22]]

wholly cease to Be Letter, 1814.

[[27]]

these] here M. P.

[[28]]

For Love to dwell in; the low stumps would gore M. P., P. R.

[[31-3]]

till, like wounded bird
Easily caught, the dusky Dryades
With prickles sharper than his darts would mock.
His little Godship

M. P., P. R.

[[34-42], [44]]

om. M.P., P.R.

[[51]]

here will couch M. P., P. R., S. L.

[[55]]

brook] stream M. P., P. R., S. L. (for stream read brook Errata, S. L., p. [xi]).

[[56-7]]

yet bell-like sound
Tinkling, or bees

M. P., P. R., S. L. 1828.

[[58]]

The] This M. P., P. R., S. L.

[[70]]

That swells its] Who swells his M. P., P. R., S. L.

[[75]]

the] her downcast M. P., P. R. Her face, her form divine, her downcast look S. L.

[[76-7]]

Contemplative, her cheek upon her palm
Supported; the white arm and elbow rest

M. P., P. R.

Contemplative! Ah see! her open palm
Presses

S. L.

[[79-80]]

He, meanwhile,
Who from

M. P., P. R., S. L.

[[86]]

om. M. P., P. R., S. L.

[[87]]

The] She M. P., P. R., S. L.

[[91-100]]

These lines are quoted in the prefatory note to Kubla Khan.

[[94]]

mis-shape] mis-shapes M. P.

[[108]]

love-yearning by] love-gazing on M. P., P. R.

[[114]]

Spire] Tow'r M. P., P. R., S. L.

[[118]]

my] thy S. L. (for thy read my Errata, S. L., p. [xi]).

[[121]]

and] to M. P., P. R.

[[124]]

waves] waters P. R., S. L.

[[126-32]]

How soon to re-unite! They meet, they join
In deep embrace, and open to the sun
Lie calm and smooth. Such the delicious hour

M. P., P. R., S. L.

[[133]]

Of deep enjoyment, foll'wing Love's brief quarrels M. P., P. R. Lines 126-33 are supplied in the Errata, S. L. 1817 (p. xi).

[[134]]

And] But Errata, S. L. (p. xi).

[[135]]

I come out into light M. P., P. R.: I came out into light S. L. For came read come Errata, S. L. (p. xi).

[[144]]

At] Beneath M. P., P. R., S. L. (for Beneath read At Errata, S. L., p. [xi]).

[[152]]

this] this M. P., P. R.: this S. L. 1828, 1829.

[[162]]

those] these P. R.

[[174]]

me] one M. P., P. R.

[[177]]

straightway] away M. P., P. R.

[[184]]

The] This M. P., P. R.

TO MATILDA BETHAM FROM A STRANGER [374:1]

['One of our most celebrated poets, who had, I was told, picked out and praised the little piece 'On a Cloud,' another had quoted (saying it would have been faultless if I had not used the word Phoebus in it, which he thought inadmissible in modern poetry), sent me some verses inscribed "To Matilda Betham, from a Stranger"; and dated "Keswick, Sept. 9, 1802, S. T. C." I should have guessed whence they came, but dared not flatter myself so highly as satisfactorily to believe it, before I obtained the avowal of the lady who had transmitted them. Excerpt from 'Autobiographical Sketch'.]

Matilda! I have heard a sweet tune played
On a sweet instrument—thy Poesie—
Sent to my soul by Boughton's pleading voice,
Where friendship's zealous wish inspirited,
Deepened and filled the subtle tones of taste: [5]
(So have I heard a Nightingale's fine notes
Blend with the murmur of a hidden stream!)
And now the fair, wild offspring of thy genius,
Those wanderers whom thy fancy had sent forth
To seek their fortune in this motley world, 10
Have found a little home within my heart,
And brought me, as the quit-rent of their lodging,
Rose-buds, and fruit-blossoms, and pretty weeds,
And timorous laurel leaflets half-disclosed,
Engarlanded with gadding woodbine tendrils! [15]
A coronal, which, with undoubting hand,
I twine around the brows of patriot Hope!

The Almighty, having first composed a Man,
Set him to music, framing Woman for him,
And fitted each to each, and made them one! 20
And 'tis my faith, that there's a natural bond
Between the female mind and measured sounds,
Nor do I know a sweeter Hope than this,
That this sweet Hope, by judgment unreproved,
That our own Britain, our dear mother Isle, 25
May boast one Maid, a poetess indeed,
Great as th' impassioned Lesbian, in sweet song,
And O! of holier mind, and happier fate.

Matilda! I dare twine thy vernal wreath
Around the brows of patriot Hope! But thou [30]
Be wise! be bold! fulfil my auspices!
Tho' sweet thy measures, stern must be thy thought,
Patient thy study, watchful thy mild eye!
Poetic feelings, like the stretching boughs
Of mighty oaks, pay homage to the gales, [35]
Toss in the strong winds, drive before the gust,
Themselves one giddy storm of fluttering leaves;
Yet, all the while self-limited, remain
Equally near the fixed and solid trunk
Of Truth and Nature in the howling storm, [40]
As in the calm that stills the aspen grove.
Be bold, meek Woman! but be wisely bold!
Fly, ostrich-like, firm land beneath thy feet,
Yet hurried onward by thy wings of fancy
Swift as the whirlwind, singing in their quills. 45
Look round thee! look within thee! think and feel!
What nobler meed, Matilda! canst thou win,
Than tears of gladness in a Boughton's [376:1] eyes,
And exultation even in strangers' hearts?

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[374:1] First printed in a 'privately printed autobiographical sketch of Miss Matilda Betham', preserved in a volume of tracts arranged and bound up by Southey, now in the Forster Collection in the Victoria and Albert Museum: reprinted (by J. Dykes Campbell) in the Athenaeum (March 15, 1890): and, again, in A House of Letters, by Ernest Betham [1905], pp. 76-7. First collected in 1893 (see Editor's Note, p. 630). Lines 33-41 are quoted in a Letter to Sotheby, September 10, 1802. See Letters of S. T. C., 1895, i. 404.

[376:1] Catherine Rose, wife of Sir Charles William Rouse-Boughton, Bart. Sir Charles and Lady Boughton visited Greta Hall in September, 1802.

LINENOTES:

[[7]]

murmur] murmurs 1893.

[[16]]

coronal] coronel P. Sketch.

[[34]]

stretching] flexuous MS. Letter, Sept. 10, 1802.

[[35]]

pay] yield MS. Letter, 1802.

[[39]]

solid] parent MS. Letter, 1802.

[[40]]

Of truth in Nature—in the howling blast MS. Letter, 1802.

HYMN BEFORE SUN-RISE, IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI [376:2]

Besides the Rivers, Arve and Arveiron, which have their sources in the foot of Mont Blanc, five conspicuous torrents rush down its sides; and within a few paces of the Glaciers, the Gentiana Major grows in immense numbers, with its 'flowers of loveliest [liveliest Friend, 1809] blue.'

Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star
In his steep course? So long he seems to pause
On thy bald awful head, O sovran Blanc,
The Arve and Arveiron at thy base
Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful Form! [5]
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines,
How silently! Around thee and above
Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black,
An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it,
As with a wedge! But when I look again, [10]
It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Thy habitation from eternity!
O dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon thee,
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense,
Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer [15]
I worshipped the Invisible alone.

Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,
So sweet, we know not we are listening to it,
Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my Thought,
Yea, with my Life and Life's own secret joy: 20
Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused,
Into the mighty vision passing—there
As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven!

Awake, my soul! not only passive praise
Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, [25]
Mute thanks and secret ecstasy! Awake,
Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake!
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my Hymn.

Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the Vale!
O struggling with the darkness all the night,[378:1] 30
And visited all night by troops of stars,
Or when they climb the sky or when they sink:
Companion of the morning-star at dawn,
Thyself Earth's rosy star, and of the dawn
Co-herald: wake, O wake, and utter praise! [35]
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in Earth?
Who filled thy countenance with rosy light?
Who made thee parent of perpetual streams?

And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad!
Who called you forth from night and utter death, [40]
From dark and icy caverns called you forth,
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks,
For ever shattered and the same for ever?
Who gave you your invulnerable life,
Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, [45]
Unceasing thunder and eternal foam?
And who commanded (and the silence came),
Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest?

Ye Ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow
Adown enormous ravines slope amain— [50]
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge!
Motionless torrents! silent cataracts!
Who made you glorious as the Gates of Heaven
Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun [55]
Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers [379:1]
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?—
God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God!
God! sing ye meadow-streams with gladsome voice! [60]
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!
And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow,
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!

Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost!
Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! [65]
Ye eagles, play-mates of the mountain-storm!
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!
Ye signs and wonders of the element!
Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise!

Thou too, hoar Mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks, [70]
Oft from whose feet the avalanche,[380:1] unheard,
Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene
Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy breast—
Thou too again, stupendous Mountain! thou
That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low [75]
In adoration, upward from thy base
Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears,
Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud,
To rise before me—Rise, O ever rise,
Rise like a cloud of incense from the Earth! [80]
Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills,
Thou dread ambassador from Earth to Heaven,
Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky,
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. [85]

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[376:2] First published in the Morning Post, Sept. 11, 1802: reprinted in the Poetical Register for 1802 (1803), ii. 308, 311, and in The Friend, No. XI, Oct. 26, 1809: included in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. Three MSS. are extant: (1) MS. A, sent to Sir George Beaumont, Oct. 1803 (see Coleorton Letters, 1886, i. 26); (2) MS. B, the MS. of the version as printed in The Friend, Oct. 26, 1809 (now in the Forster Collection in the Victoria and Albert Museum); (3) MS. C, presented to Mrs. Brabant in 1815 (now in the British Museum). The Hymn before Sunrise, &c., 'Hymn in the manner of the Psalms,' is an expansion, in part, of a translation of Friederika Brun's 'Ode to Chamouny', addressed to Klopstock, which numbers some twenty lines. The German original (see the Appendices of this edition) was first appended to Coleridge's Poetical Works in 1844 (p. 372). A translation was given in a footnote, P. W. (ed. by T. Ashe), 1885, ii. 86, 87. In the Morning Post and Poetical Register the following explanatory note preceded the poem:—

'Chamouni, the Hour before Sunrise.

'[Chamouni is one of the highest mountain valleys of the Barony of Faucigny in the Savoy Alps; and exhibits a kind of fairy world, in which the wildest appearances (I had almost said horrors) of Nature alternate with the softest and most beautiful. The chain of Mont Blanc is its boundary; and besides the Arve it is filled with sounds from the Arveiron, which rushes from the melted glaciers, like a giant, mad with joy, from a dungeon, and forms other torrents of snow-water, having their rise in the glaciers which slope down into the valley. The beautiful Gentiana major, or greater gentian, with blossoms of the brightest blue, grows in large companies a few steps from the never-melted ice of the glaciers. I thought it an affecting emblem of the boldness of human hope, venturing near, and, as it were, leaning over the brink of the grave. Indeed, the whole vale, its every light, its every sound, must needs impress every mind not utterly callous with the thought—Who would be, who could be an Atheist in this valley of wonders! If any of the readers of the Morning Post [Those who have P. R.] have visited this vale in their journeys among the Alps, I am confident that they [that they om. P. R.] will not find the sentiments and feelings expressed, or attempted to be expressed, in the following poem, extravagant.']

[378:1] I had written a much finer line when Sca' Fell was in my thoughts, viz.:—

O blacker than the darkness all the night
And visited

Note to MS. A.

[379:1] The Gentiana major grows in large companies a stride's distance from the foot of several of the glaciers. Its blue flower, the colour of Hope: is it not a pretty emblem of Hope creeping onward even to the edge of the grave, to the very verge of utter desolation? Note to MS. A.

[380:1] The fall of vast masses of snow, so called. Note MS. (C).

LINENOTES:

[Title]] Chamouny The Hour before Sunrise A Hymn M. P., P. R.: Mount Blanc, The Summit of the Vale of Chamouny, An Hour before Sunrise: A Hymn MS. A.

[[3]]

On thy bald awful head O Chamouny M. P., P. R.: On thy bald awful top O Chamouny MS. A: On thy bald awful top O Sovran Blanc Friend, 1809.

[[4]]

Arve] Arvè M. P., P. R., MS. (C).

[[5]]

dread mountain form M. P., P. R., MS. A. most] dread Friend, 1809.

[[6]]

forth] out MS. A.

[[8]]

Deep is the sky, and black: transpicuous, deep M. P., P. R.: Deep is the sky, and black! transpicuous, black. MS. A.

[[11]]

is thine] seems thy M. P., P. R.

[[13]]

Mount] form M. P., P. R., MS. A.

[[14]]

the bodily sense] my bodily eye M. P., P. R.: my bodily sense MS. A.

[[16]]

Invisible] Invisible M. P., P. R., Friend, 1809, MS. A.

[[17]]

Yet thou meantime, wast working on my soul,
E'en like some deep enchanting melody

M. P., P. R., MS. A.

[19] foll.

But [Now MS. A] I awake, and with a busier mind,
And active will self-conscious, offer now
Not as before, involuntary pray'r
And passive adoration!
Hand and voice,
Awake, awake! and thou, my heart, awake!
Awake ye rocks! Ye forest pines awake! (Not in MS. A.)
Green fields

M. P., P. R., MS. A.

[[29-30]]

And thou, O silent Mountain, sole and bare
O blacker than the darkness all the night

M. P., P. R.

[[29]]

And thou, thou silent mountain, lone and bare MS. A. The first and chief, stern Monarch of the Vale Errata to 'Hymn', &c., The Friend, No. XIII, Nov. 16, 1809.

[[38]]

parent] father M. P., P. R., MS. A.

[[41]]

From darkness let you loose and icy dens M. P., P. R., MS. A.

[[46]]

Eternal thunder and unceasing foam MS. A.

[[48]]

'Here shall the billows . . .' M. P., P. R.: Here shall your billows MS. A.

[[49]]

the mountain's brow] yon dizzy heights M. P., P. R.

[[50]]

Adown enormous ravines steeply slope M. P., P. R., MS. A. [A bad line; but I hope to be able to alter it Note to MS. A].

[[56]]

with lovely flowers
Of living blue

M. P., P. R., MS. A.

Between [58-64]

God! God! the torrents like a shout of nations
Utter! the ice-plain bursts and answers God!
God, sing the meadow-streams with gladsome voice,
And pine-groves with their soft and soul-like sound,
The silent snow-mass, loos'ning thunders God!

M. P., P. R.

These lines were omitted in MS. A.

[[64]]

Ye dreadless flow'rs that fringe M. P., P. R. living] azure MS. A. livery S. L. (corrected in Errata, p. [xi]).

[[65]]

sporting round] bounding by M. P., P. R., MS. A.

[[66]]

mountain-storm] mountain blast M. P., P. R.

[[69]]

God] God. M. P., P. R.

Between [70-80]

And thou, O silent Form, alone and bare
Whom, as I lift again my head bow'd low
In adoration, I again behold,
And to thy summit upward from thy base
Sweep slowly with dim eyes suffus'd by tears,
Awake thou mountain form! rise, like a cloud

M. P., P. R.

And thou thou silent mountain, lone and bare
Whom as I lift again my head bow'd low
In adoration, I again behold!
And from thy summit upward to the base
Sweep slowly, with dim eyes suffus'd with tears
Rise, mighty form! even as thou seem'st to rise.

MS. A.

[[70]]

Thou too] And thou, Errata, Friend, No. XIII. Once more, hoar Mount MS. (C), S. L. (For once more, read Thou too Errata, S. L., p. [xi]).

[[72]]

through] in Friend, 1809. In the blue serene MS. (C).

[[74]]

again] once more MS. (C).

[[75]]

That as once more I raise my Head bow'd low Friend, No. XI, 1809 (see the Errata, No. XIII).

[[83-4]]

tell thou the silent stars,
Tell the blue sky

MS. A.

[[84]]

yon] the M. P., P. R., MS. A.

[[85]]

praises] calls on M. P., P. R., MS. A.

THE GOOD, GREAT MAN [381:1]

'How seldom, friend! a good great man inherits
Honour or wealth with all his worth and pains!
It sounds like stories from the land of spirits
If any man obtain that which he merits
Or any merit that which he obtains.' [5]

REPLY TO THE ABOVE

For shame, dear friend, renounce this canting strain!
What would'st thou have a good great man obtain?
Place? titles? salary? a gilded chain?
Or throne of corses which his sword had slain? 10
Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends!
Hath he not always treasures, always friends,
The good great man? three treasures, Love, and Light,
And Calm Thoughts, regular as infant's breath:
And three firm friends, more sure than day and night, 15
Himself, his Maker, and the Angel Death!

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[381:1] First published in the Morning Post (as an 'Epigram', signed ΕΣΤΗΣΕ), September 23, 1802: reprinted in the Poetical Register for 1802 (1803, p. 246): included in The Friend, No. XIX, December 28, 1809, and in Literary Remains, 1836, i. 53. First collected in 1844.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] Epigram M. P.: Epigrams P. R.: Complaint Lit. Rem., 1844, 1852: The Good, &c. 1893.

[[6]]

Reply to the above M. P.: Reply The Friend, 1809: Reproof Lit. Rem., 1844.

INSCRIPTION FOR A FOUNTAIN ON A HEATH [381:2]

This Sycamore, oft musical with bees,—
Such tents the Patriarchs loved! O long unharmed
May all its agéd boughs o'er-canopy
The small round basin, which this jutting stone
Keeps pure from falling leaves! Long may the Spring, [5]
Quietly as a sleeping infant's breath,
Send up cold waters to the traveller
With soft and even pulse! Nor ever cease
Yon tiny cone of sand its soundless dance,[382:1]
Which at the bottom, like a Fairy's Page, [10]
As merry and no taller, dances still,
Nor wrinkles the smooth surface of the Fount.
Here Twilight is and Coolness: here is moss,
A soft seat, and a deep and ample shade.
Thou may'st toil far and find no second tree. [15]
Drink, Pilgrim, here; Here rest! and if thy heart
Be innocent, here too shalt thou refresh
Thy spirit, listening to some gentle sound,
Or passing gale or hum of murmuring bees!

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[381:2] First published in the Morning Post, September 24, 1802: reprinted in the Poetical Register for 1802 (1803, p. 338): included in Sibylline Leaves, 1828, 1829, and 1834.

[382:1] Compare Anima Poetae, 1895, p. 17: 'The spring with the little tiny cone of loose sand ever rising and sinking to the bottom, but its surface without a wrinkle.'

LINENOTES:

[Title]] Inscription on a Jutting Stone, over a Spring M. P., P. R.

[[3]]

agéd] darksome M. P., P. R.

[[5]]

Still may this spring M. P., P. R.

[[7]]

waters] water P. R. to] for M. P., P. R.

[[9]]

soundless] noiseless M. P., P. R.

[[10]]

Which] That M. P., P. R.

[[13]]

Here coolness dwell, and twilight M. P., P. R.

[16] foll.

Here, stranger, drink! Here rest! And if thy heart
Be innocent, here too may'st thou renew
Thy spirits, listening to these gentle sounds,
The passing gale, or ever-murm'ring bees.

M. P., P. R.

AN ODE TO THE RAIN [382:2]

COMPOSED BEFORE DAYLIGHT, ON THE MORNING APPOINTED FOR THE DEPARTURE OF A VERY WORTHY, BUT NOT VERY PLEASANT VISITOR, WHOM IT WAS FEARED THE RAIN MIGHT DETAIN

I know it is dark; and though I have lain,
Awake, as I guess, an hour or twain,
I have not once opened the lids of my eyes,
But I lie in the dark, as a blind man lies.
O Rain! that I lie listening to, 5
You're but a doleful sound at best:
I owe you little thanks, 'tis true,
For breaking thus my needful rest!
Yet if, as soon as it is light,
O Rain! you will but take your flight, 10
I'll neither rail, nor malice keep,
Though sick and sore for want of sleep.
But only now, for this one day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away!

O Rain! with your dull two-fold sound, 15
The clash hard by, and the murmur all round!
You know, if you know aught, that we,
Both night and day, but ill agree:
For days and months, and almost years,
Have limped on through this vale of tears, 20
Since body of mine, and rainy weather,
Have lived on easy terms together.
Yet if, as soon as it is light,
O Rain! you will but take your flight,
Though you should come again to-morrow, 25
And bring with you both pain and sorrow;
Though stomach should sicken and knees should swell—
I'll nothing speak of you but well.
But only now for this one day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away! 30

III

Dear Rain! I ne'er refused to say
You're a good creature in your way;
Nay, I could write a book myself,
Would fit a parson's lower shelf,
Showing how very good you are.— 35
What then? sometimes it must be fair
And if sometimes, why not to-day?
Do go, dear Rain! do go away!

Dear Rain! if I've been cold and shy,
Take no offence! I'll tell you why. 40
A dear old Friend e'en now is here,
And with him came my sister dear;
After long absence now first met,
Long months by pain and grief beset—
We three dear friends! in truth, we groan [45]
Impatiently to be alone.
We three, you mark! and not one more!
The strong wish makes my spirit sore.
We have so much to talk about,
So many sad things to let out; 50
So many tears in our eye-corners,
Sitting like little Jacky Horners—
In short, as soon as it is day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away.

And this I'll swear to you, dear Rain! 55
Whenever you shall come again,
Be you as dull as e'er you could
(And by the bye 'tis understood,
You're not so pleasant as you're good),
Yet, knowing well your worth and place, 60
I'll welcome you with cheerful face;
And though you stayed a week or more,
Were ten times duller than before;
Yet with kind heart, and right good will,
I'll sit and listen to you still; 65
Nor should you go away, dear Rain!
Uninvited to remain.
But only now, for this one day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away.

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[382:2] First published in the Morning Post (?), Oct. 7, 1802: included in Sibylline Leaves, 1817: in Literary Remains, 1836, i. 54-6. First collected in 1844. In Literary Remains the poem is dated 1809, but in a letter to J. Wedgwood, Oct. 20, 1802, Coleridge seems to imply that the Ode to the Rain had appeared recently in the Morning Post. A MS. note of Mrs. H. N. Coleridge, included in other memoranda intended for publication in Essays on His Own Times, gives the date, 'Ode to Rain, October 7'. The issue for October 7 is missing in the volume for 1802 preserved in the British Museum, and it may be presumed that it was in that number the Ode to the Rain first appeared. It is possible that the 'Ode' was written on the morning after the unexpected arrival of Charles and Mary Lamb at Greta Hall in August, 1802.

LINENOTES:

[[45]]

We] With L. R, 1844, 1852. [The text was amended in P. W., 1877-80.]

A DAY-DREAM [385:1]

My eyes make pictures, when they are shut:
I see a fountain, large and fair,
A willow and a ruined hut,
And thee, and me and Mary there.
O Mary! make thy gentle lap our pillow! [5]
Bend o'er us, like a bower, my beautiful green willow!

A wild-rose roofs the ruined shed,
And that and summer well agree:
And lo! where Mary leans her head,
Two dear names carved upon the tree! 10
And Mary's tears, they are not tears of sorrow:
Our sister and our friend will both be here to-morrow.

'Twas day! but now few, large, and bright,
The stars are round the crescent moon!
And now it is a dark warm night, [15]
The balmiest of the month of June!
A glow-worm fall'n, and on the marge remounting
Shines, and its shadow shines, fit stars for our sweet fountain.

O ever—ever be thou blest!
For dearly, Asra! love I thee! [20]
This brooding warmth across my breast,
This depth of tranquil bliss—ah, me!
Fount, tree and shed are gone, I know not whither,
But in one quiet room we three are still together.

The shadows dance upon the wall, [25]
By the still dancing fire-flames made;
And now they slumber, moveless all!
And now they melt to one deep shade!
But not from me shall this mild darkness steal thee:
I dream thee with mine eyes, and at my heart I feel thee! 30

Thine eyelash on my cheek doth play—
'Tis Mary's hand upon my brow!
But let me check this tender lay
Which none may hear but she and thou!
Like the still hive at quiet midnight humming. 35
Murmur it to yourselves, ye two beloved women!

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[385:1] First published in the Bijou for 1828: included in 1828, 1829, and 1834. Asra is Miss Sarah Hutchinson; 'Our Sister and our Friend,' William and Dorothy Wordsworth. There can be little doubt that these lines were written in 1801 or 1802.

LINENOTES:

[[8]]

well] will Bijou, 1828.

[[17]]

on] in Bijou, 1828.

[[20]]

For Asra, dearly Bijou, 1828.

[[28]]

one] me Bijou, 1828.

ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION [386:1]

Do you ask what the birds say? The Sparrow, the Dove,
The Linnet and Thrush say, 'I love and I love!'
In the winter they're silent—the wind is so strong;
What it says, I don't know, but it sings a loud song.
But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm weather, [5]
And singing, and loving—all come back together.
But the Lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
The green fields below him, the blue sky above,
That he sings, and he sings; and for ever sings he—
'I love my Love, and my Love loves me!' [10]

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[386:1] First published in the Morning Post, October 16, 1802: included in Sibylline Leaves, in 1828, 1829, and 1834.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] The Language of Birds: Lines spoken extempore, to a little child, in early spring M. P.

Between [6-7]

'I love, and I love,' almost all the birds say
From sunrise to star-rise, so gladsome are they.

M. P.

After [10]

'Tis no wonder that he's full of joy to the brim,
When He loves his Love, and his Love loves him.

M. P.

Line 10 is adapted from the refrain of Prior's Song ('One morning very early, one morning in the spring'):—'I love my love, because I know my love loves me.'

THE DAY-DREAM [386:2]

FROM AN EMIGRANT TO HIS ABSENT WIFE

If thou wert here, these tears were tears of light!
But from as sweet a vision did I start
As ever made these eyes grow idly bright!
And though I weep, yet still around my heart
A sweet and playful tenderness doth linger, 5
Touching my heart as with an infant's finger.

My mouth half open, like a witless man,
I saw our couch, I saw our quiet room,
Its shadows heaving by the fire-light gloom;
And o'er my lips a subtle feeling ran, 10
All o'er my lips a soft and breeze-like feeling—
I know not what—but had the same been stealing

Upon a sleeping mother's lips, I guess
It would have made the loving mother dream
That she was softly bending down to kiss 15
Her babe, that something more than babe did seem,
A floating presence of its darling father,
And yet its own dear baby self far rather!

Across my chest there lay a weight, so warm!
As if some bird had taken shelter there; 20
And lo! I seemed to see a woman's form—
Thine, Sara, thine? O joy, if thine it were!
I gazed with stifled breath, and feared to stir it,
No deeper trance e'er wrapt a yearning spirit!

And now, when I seemed sure thy face to see, 25
Thy own dear self in our own quiet home;
There came an elfish laugh, and wakened me:
'Twas Frederic, who behind my chair had clomb,
And with his bright eyes at my face was peeping.
I blessed him, tried to laugh, and fell a-weeping! [30]

1801-2.

FOOTNOTES:

[386:2] First published in the Morning Post, October 19, 1802. First collected in Poems, 1852. A note (p. 384), was affixed:—'This little poem first appeared in the Morning Post in 1802, but was doubtless composed in Germany. It seems to have been forgotten by its author, for this was the only occasion on which it saw the light through him. The Editors think that it will plead against parental neglect in the mind of most readers.' Internal evidence seems to point to 1801 or 1802 as the most probable date of composition.

LINENOTES:

Below line [30] ΕΣΤΗΣΕ.

THE HAPPY HUSBAND [388:1]

A FRAGMENT

Oft, oft methinks, the while with thee,
I breathe, as from the heart, thy dear
And dedicated name, I hear
A promise and a mystery,
A pledge of more than passing life, 5
Yea, in that very name of Wife!

A pulse of love, that ne'er can sleep!
A feeling that upbraids the heart
With happiness beyond desert,
That gladness half requests to weep! [10]
Nor bless I not the keener sense
And unalarming turbulence

Of transient joys, that ask no sting
From jealous fears, or coy denying;
But born beneath Love's brooding wing, 15
And into tenderness soon dying,
Wheel out their giddy moment, then
Resign the soul to love again;—

A more precipitated vein
Of notes, that eddy in the flow 20
Of smoothest song, they come, they go,
And leave their sweeter understrain,
Its own sweet self—a love of Thee
That seems, yet cannot greater be!

? 1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[388:1] First published in Sibylline Leaves, 1817: included in 1828, 1829, 1834. There is no evidence as to the date of composition.

LINENOTES:

[[13]]

ask] fear S. L. (for fear no sting read ask no sting Errata, p. [xi]).

THE PAINS OF SLEEP [389:1]

Ere on my bed my limbs I lay,
It hath not been my use to pray
With moving lips or bended knees;
But silently, by slow degrees,
My spirit I to Love compose, [5]
In humble trust mine eye-lids close,
With reverential resignation,
No wish conceived, no thought exprest,
Only a sense of supplication;
A sense o'er all my soul imprest [10]
That I am weak, yet not unblest,
Since in me, round me, every where
Eternal Strength and Wisdom are.

But yester-night I prayed aloud
In anguish and in agony, [15]
Up-starting from the fiendish crowd
Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me:
A lurid light, a trampling throng,
Sense of intolerable wrong,
And whom I scorned, those only strong! [20]
Thirst of revenge, the powerless will
Still baffled, and yet burning still!
Desire with loathing strangely mixed
On wild or hateful objects fixed.
Fantastic passions! maddening brawl! [25]
And shame and terror over all!
Deeds to be hid which were not hid,
Which all confused I could not know
Whether I suffered, or I did:
For all seemed guilt, remorse or woe, [30]
My own or others still the same
Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame.

So two nights passed: the night's dismay
Saddened and stunned the coming day.
Sleep, the wide blessing, seemed to me [35]
Distemper's worst calamity.
The third night, when my own loud scream
Had waked me from the fiendish dream,
O'ercome with sufferings strange and wild,
I wept as I had been a child; [40]
And having thus by tears subdued
My anguish to a milder mood,
Such punishments, I said, were due
To natures deepliest stained with sin,—
For aye entempesting anew [45]
The unfathomable hell within,
The horror of their deeds to view,
To know and loathe, yet wish and do!
Such griefs with such men well agree,
But wherefore, wherefore fall on me? [50]
To be beloved is all I need,
And whom I love, I love indeed.

1803.

FOOTNOTES:

[389:1] First published, together with Christabel, in 1816: included in 1828, 1829, i. 334-6 (but not in Contents), and 1834. A first draft of these lines was sent in a Letter to Southey, Sept. 11, 1803 (Letters of S. T. C., 1895, i. 435-7), An amended version of lines 18-32 was included in an unpublished Letter to Poole, dated Oct. 3, 1803.

LINENOTES:

[[1]]

Ere] When MS. Letter to Southey, Sept. 11, 1803.

[[9]]

sense] sense MS. Letter to Southey, 1816, 1828, 1829.

[[10]]

sense] sense MS. Letter to Southey.

[[12]]

Since round me, in me, everywhere MS. Letter to Southey.

[[13]]

Wisdom] Goodness MS. Letter to Southey.

[[16]]

Up-starting] Awaking MS. Letter to Southey.

Between [18-26]

Desire with loathing strangely mixt,
On wild or hateful objects fixt.
Sense of revenge, the powerless will,
Still baffled and consuming still;
Sense of intolerable wrong,
And men whom I despis'd made strong!
Vain-glorious threats, unmanly vaunting,
Bad men my boasts and fury taunting:
Rage, sensual passion, mad'ning Brawl,

MS. Letter to Southey.

[[18]]

trampling] ghastly MS. Letter to Poole, Oct. 3, 1803.

[[19]]

intolerable] insufferable MS. Letter to Poole.

[[20]]

those] they MS. Letter to Poole.

Between [22-4]

Tempestuous pride, vain-glorious vaunting
Base men my vices justly taunting

MS. Letter to Poole.

[[27]]

which] that MS. Letters to Southey and Poole.

[[28]]

could] might MS. Letters to Southey and Poole.

[[30]]

For all was Horror, Guilt, and Woe MS. Letter to Southey: For all was Guilt, and Shame, and Woe MS. Letter to Poole.

[[33]]

So] Thus MS. Letter to Southey.

[[34]]

coming] boding MS. Letter to Southey.

[[35-6]]

I fear'd to sleep: sleep seem'd to be
Disease's worst malignity

MS. Letter to Southey.

[[38]]

waked] freed MS. Letter to Southey.

[[39]]

O'ercome by sufferings dark and wild MS. Letter to Southey.

[[42]]

anguish] Trouble MS. Letter to Southey.

[[43]]

said] thought MS. Letter to Southey.

[[45-6]]

Still to be stirring up anew
The self-created Hell within

MS. Letter to Southey.

[[47]]

their deeds] the crimes MS. Letter to Southey.

[[48]]

and] to MS. Letter to Southey.

Between [48-51]

With such let fiends make mockery—
But I—Oh, wherefore this on me?
Frail is my soul, yea, strengthless wholly,
Unequal, restless, melancholy.
But free from Hate and sensual Folly.

MS. Letter to Southey.

[[51]]

be] live MS. Letter to Southey.

After [52] And etc., etc., etc., etc. MS. Letter to Southey.

THE EXCHANGE [391:1]

We pledged our hearts, my love and I,—
I in my arms the maiden clasping;
I could not guess the reason why,
But, oh! I trembled like an aspen.

Her father's love she bade me gain; [5]
I went, but shook like any reed!
I strove to act the man—in vain!
We had exchanged our hearts indeed.

1804.

FOOTNOTES:

[391:1] First published in the Courier, April 16, 1804: included in the Poetical Register for 1804 (1805); reprinted in Literary Souvenir for 1826, p. 408, and in Literary Remains, 1836, i. 59. First collected in 1844.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] The Exchange of Hearts Courier, 1804.

[[2]]

Me in her arms Courier, 1804.

[[3]]

guess] tell Lit. Souvenir, Lit. Rem., 1844.

[[5]]

Her father's leave Courier, 1804, P. R. 1804, 1893.

[[6]]

but] and Lit. Souvenir, Lit. Rem., 1844.

AD VILMUM AXIOLOGUM [391:2]

[TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH]

This be the meed, that thy song creates a thousand-fold echo!
Sweet as the warble of woods, that awakes at the gale of the morning!
List! the Hearts of the Pure, like caves in the ancient mountains
Deep, deep in the Bosom, and from the Bosom resound it,
Each with a different tone, complete or in musical fragments— 5
All have welcomed thy Voice, and receive and retain and prolong it!

This is the word of the Lord! it is spoken, and Beings Eternal
Live and are borne as an Infant; the Eternal begets the Immortal:
Love is the Spirit of Life, and Music the Life of the Spirit!

? 1805.

FOOTNOTES:

[391:2] First published in P. W., 1893. These lines were found in one of Coleridge's Notebooks (No. 24). The first draft immediately follows the transcription of a series of Dante's Canzoni begun at Malta in 1805. If the Hexameters were composed at the same time, it is possible that they were inspired by a perusal or re-perusal of a MS. copy of Wordsworth's unpublished poems which had been made for his use whilst he was abroad. As Mr. Campbell points out (P. W., p. 614), Wordsworth himself was responsible for the Latinization of his name. A Sonnet on seeing Miss Helen Maria Williams weeping at a tale of distress, which was published in the European Magazine for March, 1787, is signed 'Axiologus'.

LINENOTES:

[1] foll.

What is the meed of thy song? 'Tis the ceaseless the thousandfold echo,
Which from the welcoming Hearts of the Pure repeats and prolongs it—
Each with a different Tone, compleat or in musical fragments.

This be the meed, that thy Song awakes to a thousandfold echo
Welcoming Hearts; is it their voice or is it thy own?
Lost! the Hearts of the Pure, like caves in the ancient mountains
Deep, deep in the bosom, and from the bosom resound it,
Each with a different tone, compleat or in musical fragments.
Meet the song they receive, and retain and resound and prolong it!
Welcoming Souls! is it their voice, sweet Poet, or is it thy own voice?

Drafts in Notebook.

AN EXILE [392:1]

Friend, Lover, Husband, Sister, Brother!
Dear names close in upon each other!
Alas! poor Fancy's bitter-sweet—
Our names, and but our names can meet.

1805.

FOOTNOTES:

[392:1] First published, with title 'An Exile', in 1893. These lines, without title or heading, are inserted in one of Coleridge's Malta Notebooks.

SONNET [392:2]

[TRANSLATED FROM MARINI]

Lady, to Death we're doom'd, our crime the same!
Thou, that in me thou kindled'st such fierce heat;
I, that my heart did of a Sun so sweet
The rays concentre to so hot a flame.
I, fascinated by an Adder's eye— 5
Deaf as an Adder thou to all my pain;
Thou obstinate in Scorn, in Passion I—
I lov'd too much, too much didst thou disdain.
Hear then our doom in Hell as just as stern,
Our sentence equal as our crimes conspire— 10
Who living bask'd at Beauty's earthly fire,
In living flames eternal these must burn—
Hell for us both fit places too supplies—
In my heart thou wilt burn, I roast before thine eyes.

? 1805.

FOOTNOTES:

[392:2] First published in 1893. For the Italian original, 'Alia Sua Amico,' Sonetto, vide Appendices of this Edition.

PHANTOM [393:1]

All look and likeness caught from earth,
All accident of kin and birth,
Had pass'd away. There was no trace
Of aught on that illumined face,
Uprais'd beneath the rifted stone 5
But of one spirit all her own;—
She, she herself, and only she,
Shone through her body visibly.

1805.

FOOTNOTES:

[393:1] These lines, without title or heading, are quoted ('vide . . . my lines') in an entry in one of Coleridge's Malta Notebooks, dated Feb. 8, 1805, to illustrate the idea that the love-sense can be abstracted from the accidents of form or person (see Anima Poetae, 1895, p. 120). It follows that they were written before that date. Phantom was first published in 1834, immediately following (ii. 71) Phantom or Fact. A dialogue in Verse, which was first published in 1828, and was probably written about that time. Both poems are 'fragments from the life of dreams'; but it was the reality which lay behind both 'phantom' and 'fact' of which the poet dreamt, having his eyes open. With lines 4, 5 compare the following stanza of one of the MS. versions of the Dark Ladié:—

Against a grey stone rudely carv'd
The statue of an armed knight,
She lean'd in melancholy mood
To watch ['d] the lingering Light.

A SUNSET [393:2]

Upon the mountain's edge with light touch resting,
There a brief while the globe of splendour sits
And seems a creature of the earth; but soon
More changeful than the Moon,
To wane fantastic his great orb submits, [5]
Or cone or mow of fire: till sinking slowly
Even to a star at length he lessens wholly.

Abrupt, as Spirits vanish, he is sunk!
A soul-like breeze possesses all the wood.
The boughs, the sprays have stood [10]
As motionless as stands the ancient trunk!
But every leaf through all the forest flutters,
And deep the cavern of the fountain mutters.

1805.

FOOTNOTES:

[393:2] First published in 1893. The title 'A Sunset' was prefixed by the Editor. These lines are inscribed in one of Coleridge's Malta Notebooks. The following note or comment is attached:—'These lines I wrote as nonsense verses merely to try a metre; but they are by no means contemptible; at least in reading them I am surprised at finding them so good. 16 Aug., 1805, Malta.

'Now will it be a more English music if the first and fourth are double rhymes and the 5th and 6th single? or all single, or the 2nd and 3rd double? Try.' They were afterwards sent to William Worship, Esq., Yarmouth, in a letter dated April 22, 1819, as an unpublished autograph.

LINENOTES:

[[1]]

with light touch] all lightly MS.

[[4]]

the] this MS.

[[6]]

A distant Hiss of fire MS. alternative reading.

[[7]]

lessens] lessened MS.

[[12]]

flutters] fluttered MS.

[[13]]

mutters] muttered MS.

WHAT IS LIFE?[394:1]

Resembles life what once was deem'd of light,
Too ample in itself for human sight?
An absolute self—an element ungrounded—
All that we see, all colours of all shade
By encroach of darkness made?— [5]
Is very life by consciousness unbounded?
And all the thoughts, pains, joys of mortal breath,
A war-embrace of wrestling life and death?

1805.

FOOTNOTES:

[394:1] First published in Literary Souvenir, 1829: included in Literary Remains, 1836, i. 60. First collected in 1844. These lines, 'written in the same manner, and for the same purpose, but of course with more conscious effort than the two stanzas on the preceding leaf,' are dated '16 August, 1805, the day of the Valetta Horse-racing—bells jangling, and stupefying music playing all day'. Afterwards, in 1819, Coleridge maintained that they were written 'between the age of 15 and 16'.

LINENOTES:

[[1]]

deem'd] held Lit. Souvenir, 1829.

[[2]]

ample] simple MS.

[[6]]

~~per se~~ (in its own Nature)
Is Life itself MS.

THE BLOSSOMING OF THE SOLITARY DATE-TREE [395:1]

A LAMENT

I seem to have an indistinct recollection of having read either in one
of the ponderous tomes of George of Venice, or in some other compilation
from the uninspired Hebrew writers, an apologue or Rabbinical tradition
to the following purpose:

While our first parents stood before their offended Maker, and the last [5]
words of the sentence were yet sounding in Adam's ear, the guileful false
serpent, a counterfeit and a usurper from the beginning, presumptuously
took on himself the character of advocate or mediator, and pretending to
intercede for Adam, exclaimed: 'Nay, Lord, in thy justice, not so! for
the man was the least in fault. Rather let the Woman return at once to [10]
the dust, and let Adam remain in this thy Paradise.' And the word of
the Most High answered Satan: 'The tender mercies of the wicked are cruel.
Treacherous Fiend! if with guilt like thine, it had been possible for thee
to have the heart of a Man, and to feel the yearning of a human soul for
its counterpart, the sentence, which thou now counsellest, should have 15
been inflicted on thyself.'

The title of the following poem was suggested by a fact mentioned by
Linnaeus, of a date-tree in a nobleman's garden which year after year
had put forth a full show of blossoms, but never produced fruit, till a
branch from another date-tree had been conveyed from a distance of [20]
some hundred leagues. The first leaf of the MS. from which the poem
has been transcribed, and which contained the two or three introductory
stanzas, is wanting: and the author has in vain taxed his memory to
repair the loss. But a rude draught of the poem contains the substance
of the stanzas, and the reader is requested to receive it as the substitute. 25
It is not impossible, that some congenial spirit, whose years do not
exceed those of the Author at the time the poem was written, may find
a pleasure in restoring the Lament to its original integrity by a reduction
of the thoughts to the requisite metre.S. T. C.

Beneath the blaze of a tropical sun the mountain peaks are 30
the Thrones of Frost, through the absence of objects to reflect
the rays. 'What no one with us shares, seems scarce our own.'
The presence of a one,

The best belov'd, who loveth me the best,

is for the heart, what the supporting air from within is for the 35
hollow globe with its suspended car. Deprive it of this, and
all without, that would have buoyed it aloft even to the seat
of the gods, becomes a burthen and crushes it into flatness.

The finer the sense for the beautiful and the lovely, and the
fairer and lovelier the object presented to the sense; the more 40
exquisite the individual's capacity of joy, and the more ample
his means and opportunities of enjoyment, the more heavily
will he feel the ache of solitariness, the more unsubstantial
becomes the feast spread around him. What matters it,
whether in fact the viands and the ministering graces are [45]
shadowy or real, to him who has not hand to grasp nor arms
to embrace them?

Imagination; honourable aims;
Free commune with the choir that cannot die;
Science and song; delight in little things, [50]
The buoyant child surviving in the man;
Fields, forests, ancient mountains, ocean, sky,
With all their voices—O dare I accuse
My earthly lot as guilty of my spleen,
Or call my destiny niggard! O no! no! [55]
It is her largeness, and her overflow,
Which being incomplete, disquieteth me so!

For never touch of gladness stirs my heart,
But tim'rously beginning to rejoice
Like a blind Arab, that from sleep doth start [60]
In lonesome tent, I listen for thy voice.
Belovéd! 'tis not thine; thou art not there!
Then melts the bubble into idle air,
And wishing without hope I restlessly despair.

The mother with anticipated glee 65
Smiles o'er the child, that, standing by her chair
And flatt'ning its round cheek upon her knee,
Looks up, and doth its rosy lips prepare
To mock the coming sounds. At that sweet sight
She hears her own voice with a new delight; 70
And if the babe perchance should lisp the notes aright,

Then is she tenfold gladder than before!
But should disease or chance the darling take,
What then avail those songs, which sweet of yore
Were only sweet for their sweet echo's sake? [75]
Dear maid! no prattler at a mother's knee
Was e'er so dearly prized as I prize thee:
Why was I made for Love and Love denied to me?

1805.

FOOTNOTES:

[395:1] First published in 1828: included in 1829 and 1834.

LINENOTES:

[[5]]

stood] were yet standing 1828.

[[8]]

mediator] moderator 1828.

[[9]]

The words 'not so' are omitted in 1828.

[[11]]

remain here all the days of his now mortal life, and enjoy the respite thou mayest grant him, in this thy Paradise which thou gavest to him, and hast planted with every tree pleasant to the sight of man and of delicious fruitage. 1828.

[13] foll. Treacherous Fiend! guilt deep as thine could not be, yet the love of kind not extinguished. But if having done what thou hast done, thou hadst yet the heart of man within thee, and the yearning of the soul for its answering image and completing counterpart, O spirit, desperately wicked! the sentence thou counsellest had been thy own! 1828.

[[20]]

from a Date tree 1828, 1839.

[[48]]

Hope, Imagination, &c. 1828.

[[53]]

With all their voices mute—O dare I accuse 1838.

[[55]]

Or call my niggard destiny! No! No! 1838.

[[61]]

thy] thy 1828, 1829.

[[77]]

thee] thee 1828, 1829.

SEPARATION [397:1]

A sworded man whose trade is blood,
In grief, in anger, and in fear,
Thro' jungle, swamp, and torrent flood,
I seek the wealth you hold so dear!

The dazzling charm of outward form, 5
The power of gold, the pride of birth,
Have taken Woman's heart by storm—
Usurp'd the place of inward worth.

Is not true Love of higher price
Than outward Form, though fair to see, 10
Wealth's glittering fairy-dome of ice,
Or echo of proud ancestry?—

O! Asra, Asra! couldst thou see
Into the bottom of my heart,
There's such a mine of Love for thee, 15
As almost might supply desert!

(This separation is, alas!
Too great a punishment to bear;
O! take my life, or let me pass
That life, that happy life, with her!) 20

The perils, erst with steadfast eye
Encounter'd, now I shrink to see—
Oh! I have heart enough to die—
Not half enough to part from Thee!

? 1805.

FOOTNOTES:

[397:1] First published in 1834. In Pickering's one-volume edition of the issue of 1848 the following note is printed on p. 372:—

'The fourth and last stanzas are adapted from the twelfth and last of Cotton's Chlorinda [Ode]:—

'O my Chlorinda! could'st thou see
Into the bottom of my heart,
There's such a Mine of Love for thee,
The Treasure would supply desert.

Meanwhile my Exit now draws nigh,
When, sweet Chlorinda, thou shalt see
That I have heart enough to die,
Not half enough to part with thee.

'The fifth stanza is the eleventh of Cotton's poem.'

In 1852 (p. 385) the note reads: 'The fourth and last stanzas are from Cotton's Chlorinda, with very slight alteration.'

A first draft of this adaptation is contained in one of Coleridge's Malta Notebooks:—

[I]

Made worthy by excess of Love
A wretch thro' power of Happiness,
And poor from wealth I dare not use.

[II]

This separation etc.

[III]

~~The Pomp of Wealth~~
~~Stores of Gold, the pomp of Wealth~~
~~Nor less the Pride of Noble Birth~~
The dazzling charm etc.
(l. 4) Supplied the place etc.

[IV]

Is not true Love etc.

[V]

O ΑΣΡΑ! ΑΣΡΑ could'st thou see
Into the bottom of my Heart!
There's such a Mine of Love for Thee—
The Treasure would supply desert.

[VI]

Death erst contemn'd—O ΑΣΡΑ! why
Now terror-stricken do I see—
Oh! I have etc.

THE RASH CONJURER [399:1]

Strong spirit-bidding sounds!
With deep and hollow voice,
'Twixt Hope and Dread,
Seven Times I said
Iohva Mitzoveh 5
Vohoeen![399:2]
And up came an imp in the shape of a
Pea-hen!
I saw, I doubted,
And seven times spouted 10
Johva Mitzoveh
Yahóevohāen!
When Anti-Christ starting up, butting
and bāing,
In the shape of a mischievous curly 15
black Lamb—
With a vast flock of Devils behind
and beside,
And before 'em their Shepherdess
Lucifer's Dam, 20
Riding astride
On an old black Ram,
With Tartary stirrups, knees up to her chin.
And a sleek chrysom imp to her Dugs muzzled in,—
'Gee-up, my old Belzy! (she cried, 25
As she sung to her suckling cub)
Trit-a-trot, trot! we'll go far and wide
Trot, Ram-Devil! Trot! Belzebub!'
Her petticoat fine was of scarlet Brocade,
And soft in her lap her Baby she lay'd 30
With his pretty Nubs of Horns a-
sprouting,
And his pretty little Tail all curly-twirly—
St. Dunstan! and this comes of spouting—
Of Devils what a Hurly-Burly! 35
'Behold we are up! what want'st thou then?'
'Sirs! only that'—'Say when and what'—
You'd be so good'—'Say what and when'
'This moment to get down again!'
'We do it! we do it! we all get down! 40
But we take you with us to swim
or drown!
Down a down to the grim Engulpher!'
'O me! I am floundering in Fire and Sulphur!
That the Dragon had scrounched you, squeal 45
and squall—
Cabbalists! Conjurers! great and small,
Johva Mitzoveh Evohāen and all!
Had I never uttered your jaw-breaking words,
I might now have been sloshing down Junket and Curds, 50
Like a Devonshire Christian:
But now a Philistine!

Ye Earthmen! be warned by a judgement so tragic,
And wipe yourselves cleanly with all books of magic—
Hark! hark! it is Dives! 'Hold your Bother, you Booby! 55
I am burnt ashy white, and you yet are but ruby.'

Epilogue.

We ask and urge (here ends the story)
All Christian Papishes to pray
That this unhappy Conjurer may
Instead of Hell, be but in Purgatory— 60
For then there's Hope,—
Long live the Pope!

Catholicus.

? 1805, ? 1814.

FOOTNOTES:

[399:1] Now first printed from one of Coleridge's Notebooks. The last stanza—the Epilogue—was first published by H. N. Coleridge as part of an 'Uncomposed Poem', in Literary Remains, 1836, i. 52: first collected in Appendix to P. and D. W., 1877-80, ii. 366. There is no conclusive evidence as to the date of composition. The handwriting, and the contents of the Notebook might suggest a date between 1813 and 1816. The verses are almost immediately preceded by a detached note printed at the close of an essay entitled 'Self-love in Religion' which is included among the 'Omniana of 1809', Literary Remains, 1834, i. 354-6: 'O magical, sympathetic, anima! [Archeus, MS.] principium hylarchichum! rationes spermaticæ! λόγοι ποιητικοί! O formidable words! And O Man! thou marvellous beast-angel! thou ambitious beggar! How pompously dost thou trick out thy very ignorance with such glorious disguises, that thou mayest seem to hide in order to worship it.'

With this piece as a whole compare Southey's 'Ballad of a Young Man that would read unlawful Books, and how he was punished'.

[399:2] A cabbalistic invocation of Jehovah, obscure in the original Hebrew. I am informed that the second word Mitzoveh may stand for 'from Sabaoth'.

A CHILD'S EVENING PRAYER [401:1]

Ere on my bed my limbs I lay,
God grant me grace my prayers to say:
O God! preserve my mother dear
In strength and health for many a year;
And, O! preserve my father too, [5]
And may I pay him reverence due;
And may I my best thoughts employ
To be my parents' hope and joy;
And O! preserve my brothers both
From evil doings and from sloth, [10]
And may we always love each other
Our friends, our father, and our mother:
And still, O Lord, to me impart
An innocent and grateful heart,
That after my great sleep I may [15]
Awake to thy eternal day! Amen.

1806.

FOOTNOTES:

[401:1] First published in 1852. A transcript in the handwriting of Mrs. S. T. Coleridge is in the possession of the Editor.

LINENOTES:

[[3]]

mother] father MS.

[[5]]

father] mother MS.

[[6]]

him] her MS.

[[7-8]]

And may I still my thoughts employ
To be her comfort and her joy

MS.

[[9]]

O likewise keep MS.

[[13]]

But chiefly, Lord MS.

[[15]]

great] last P. W. 1877-80, 1893.

After [16] Our father, &c. MS.

METRICAL FEET [401:2]

LESSON FOR A BOY

Trōchĕe trīps frŏm lōng tŏ shōrt;
From long to long in solemn sort
Slōw Spōndēe stālks; strōng fo͞ot! yet ill able
Ēvĕr tŏ cōme ŭp wĭth Dācty̆l trĭsȳllăblĕ.
Ĭāmbĭcs mārch frŏm shōrt tŏ lōng;— 5
Wĭth ă le͞ap ănd ă bo͞und thĕ swĭft Ānăpæ̆sts thrōng;
One syllable long, with one short at each side,
Ămphībrăchy̆s hāstes wĭth ă stātely̆ stride;—
Fīrst ănd lāst bēĭng lōng, mīddlĕ shōrt, Am̄phĭmācer
Strīkes hĭs thūndērīng ho͞ofs līke ă pro͞ud hīgh-brĕd Rācer. 10
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 15
Of his father on earth and his Father above.
My dear, dear child!
Could you stand upon Skiddaw, you would not from its whole ridge
See a man who so loves you as your fond S. T. Coleridge.

1806.

FOOTNOTES:

[401:2] First published in 1834. The metrical lesson was begun for Hartley Coleridge in 1806 and, afterwards, finished or adapted for the use of his brother Derwent. The Editor possesses the autograph of a metrical rendering of the Greek alphabet, entitled 'A Greek Song set to Music, and sung by Hartley Coleridge, Esq., Graecologian, philometrist and philomelist'.

LINENOTES:

[Title]]: The chief and most usual Metrical Feet expressed in metre and addressed to Hartley Coleridge MS. of Lines 1-7.

FAREWELL TO LOVE [402:1]

Farewell, sweet Love! yet blame you not my truth;
More fondly ne'er did mother eye her child
Than I your form: yours were my hopes of youth,
And as you shaped my thoughts I sighed or smiled.

While most were wooing wealth, or gaily swerving [5]
To pleasure's secret haunts, and some apart
Stood strong in pride, self-conscious of deserving,
To you I gave my whole weak wishing heart.

And when I met the maid that realised
Your fair creations, and had won her kindness, [10]
Say, but for her if aught on earth I prized!
Your dreams alone I dreamt, and caught your blindness.

O grief!—but farewell, Love! I will go play me
With thoughts that please me less, and less betray me.

1806.

FOOTNOTES:

[402:1] First published in the Courier, September 27, 1806, and reprinted in the Morning Herald, October 11, 1806, and in the Gentleman's Magazine for November, 1815, vol. lxxxv, p. 448: included in Literary Remains, 1836, i. 280, and in Letters, Conversations, &c., [by T. Allsop], 1836, i. 143. First collected, appendix, 1863. This sonnet is modelled upon and in part borrowed from Lord Brooke's (Fulke Greville) Sonnet LXXIV of Coelica: and was inscribed on the margin of Charles Lamb's copy of Certain Learned and Elegant Works of the Right Honourable Fulke Lord Brooke . . . 1633, p. 284.

'Cælica'. Sonnet lxxiv.

Farewell sweet Boy, complaine not of my truth;
Thy Mother lov'd thee not with more devotion;
For to thy Boyes play I gave all my youth
Yong Master, I did hope for your promotion.

While some sought Honours, Princes thoughts observing,
Many woo'd Fame, the child of paine and anguish,
Others judg'd inward good a chiefe deserving,
I in thy wanton Visions joy'd to languish.

I bow'd not to thy image for succession,
Nor bound thy bow to shoot reformed kindnesse,
The playes of hope and feare were my confession
The spectacles to my life was thy blindnesse:

But Cupid now farewell, I will goe play me,
With thoughts that please me lesse, and lesse betray me.

For an adaptation of Sonnet XCIV, entitled 'Lines on a King-and-Emperor-Making King—altered from the 93rd Sonnet of Fulke Greville', vide Appendices of this edition.

LINENOTES:

[[1-2]]

Farewell my Love! yet blame ye not my Truth;
More fondly never mother ey'd her child

MS. 1806.

Sweet power of Love, farewell! nor blame my truth,
More fondly never Mother ey'd her Child

Courier, M. H.

[[4]]

And as you wove the dream I sigh'd or smil'd MS. 1806: And as you wove my thoughts, I sigh'd or smil'd Courier, M. H.

[[5-7]]

While some sought Wealth; others to Pleasure swerving,
Many woo'd Fame: and some stood firm apart
In joy of pride, self-conscious of deserving

MS. 1806, Courier, M. H.

[[6]]

haunts] haunt L. R., Letters, &c., 1836, 1863.

[[8]]

weak wishing] weak-wishing Courier, M. H.

[[9]]

that] who Courier, M. H.

[[13]]

will] must Courier, M. H.

TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH [403:1]

COMPOSED ON THE NIGHT AFTER HIS RECITATION OF A POEM ON
THE GROWTH OF AN INDIVIDUAL MIND

Friend of the wise! and Teacher of the Good!
Into my heart have I received that Lay
More than historic, that prophetic Lay
Wherein (high theme by thee first sung aright)
Of the foundations and the building up [5]
Of a Human Spirit thou hast dared to tell
What may be told, to the understanding mind
Revealable; and what within the mind
By vital breathings secret as the soul
Of vernal growth, oft quickens in the heart 10
Thoughts all too deep for words!—
Theme hard as high!
Of smiles spontaneous, and mysterious fears
(The first-born they of Reason and twin-birth),
Of tides obedient to external force,
And currents self-determined, as might seem, [15]
Or by some inner Power; of moments awful,
Now in thy inner life, and now abroad,
When power streamed from thee, and thy soul received
The light reflected, as a light bestowed—
Of fancies fair, and milder hours of youth, 20
Hyblean murmurs of poetic thought
Industrious in its joy, in vales and glens
Native or outland, lakes and famous hills!
Or on the lonely high-road, when the stars
Were rising; or by secret mountain-streams, [25]
The guides and the companions of thy way!

Of more than Fancy, of the Social Sense
Distending wide, and man beloved as man,
Where France in all her towns lay vibrating
Like some becalméd bark beneath the burst [30]
Of Heaven's immediate thunder, when no cloud
Is visible, or shadow on the main.
For thou wert there, thine own brows garlanded,
Amid the tremor of a realm aglow,
Amid a mighty nation jubilant, [35]
When from the general heart of human kind
Hope sprang forth like a full-born Deity!
——Of that dear Hope afflicted and struck down,
So summoned homeward, thenceforth calm and sure
From the dread watch-tower of man's absolute self, [40]
With light unwaning on her eyes, to look
Far on—herself a glory to behold,
The Angel of the vision! Then (last strain)
Of Duty, chosen Laws controlling choice,
Action and joy!—An Orphic song indeed, [45]
A song divine of high and passionate thoughts
To their own music chaunted!

O great Bard!
Ere yet that last strain dying awed the air,
With stedfast eye I viewed thee in the choir
Of ever-enduring men. The truly great [50]
Have all one age, and from one visible space
Shed influence! They, both in power and act,
Are permanent, and Time is not with them,
Save as it worketh for them, they in it.
Nor less a sacred Roll, than those of old, [55]
And to be placed, as they, with gradual fame
Among the archives of mankind, thy work
Makes audible a linkéd lay of Truth,
Of Truth profound a sweet continuous lay,
Not learnt, but native, her own natural notes! [60]
Ah! as I listened with a heart forlorn,
The pulses of my being beat anew:
And even as Life returns upon the drowned,
Life's joy rekindling roused a throng of pains—
Keen pangs of Love, awakening as a babe 65
Turbulent, with an outcry in the heart;
And fears self-willed, that shunned the eye of Hope;
And Hope that scarce would know itself from Fear;
Sense of past Youth, and Manhood come in vain,
And Genius given, and Knowledge won in vain; [70]
And all which I had culled in wood-walks wild,
And all which patient toil had reared, and all,
Commune with thee had opened out—but flowers
Strewed on my corse, and borne upon my bier,
In the same coffin, for the self-same grave! 75

That way no more! and ill beseems it me,
Who came a welcomer in herald's guise,
Singing of Glory, and Futurity,
To wander back on such unhealthful road,
Plucking the poisons of self-harm! And ill [80]
Such intertwine beseems triumphal wreaths
Strew'd before thy advancing!

Nor do thou,
Sage Bard! impair the memory of that hour
Of thy communion with my nobler mind
By pity or grief, already felt too long! 85
Nor let my words import more blame than needs.
The tumult rose and ceased: for Peace is nigh
Where Wisdom's voice has found a listening heart.
Amid the howl of more than wintry storms,
The Halcyon hears the voice of vernal hours [90]
Already on the wing.

Eve following eve,
Dear tranquil time, when the sweet sense of Home
Is sweetest! moments for their own sake hailed
And more desired, more precious, for thy song,
In silence listening, like a devout child, [95]
My soul lay passive, by thy various strain
Driven as in surges now beneath the stars,
With momentary stars of my own birth,
Fair constellated foam,[408:1] still darting off
Into the darkness; now a tranquil sea, [100]
Outspread and bright, yet swelling to the moon.

And when—O Friend! my comforter and guide!
Strong in thyself, and powerful to give strength!—
Thy long sustainéd Song finally closed,
And thy deep voice had ceased—yet thou thyself [105]
Wert still before my eyes, and round us both
That happy vision of belovéd faces—
Scarce conscious, and yet conscious of its close
I sate, my being blended in one thought
(Thought was it? or aspiration? or resolve?) 110
Absorbed, yet hanging still upon the sound—
And when I rose, I found myself in prayer.

January, 1807.

FOOTNOTES:

[403:1] First published in Sibylline Leaves, 1817: included in 1828, 1829, 1834. The poem was sent in a Letter to Sir G. Beaumont dated January, 1807, and in this shape was first printed by Professor Knight in Coleorton Letters, 1887, i. 213-18; and as Appendix H, pp. 525-6, of P. W., 1893 (MS. B.). An earlier version of about the same date was given to Wordsworth, and is now in the possession of his grandson, Mr. Gordon Wordsworth (MS. W.). The text of Sibylline Leaves differs widely from that of the original MSS. Lines 11-47 are quoted in a Letter to Wordsworth, dated May 30, 1815 (Letters of S. T. C., 1895, i. 646-7), and lines 65-75 at the end of Chapter X of the Biographia Literaria, 1817, i. 220.

[408:1] 'A beautiful white cloud of Foam at momentary intervals coursed by the side of the Vessel with a Roar, and little stars of flame danced and sparkled and went out in it: and every now and then light detachments of this white cloud-like foam dashed off from the vessel's side, each with its own small constellation, over the Sea, and scoured out of sight like a Tartar Troop over a wilderness.' The Friend, p. 220. [From Satyrane's First Letter, published in The Friend, No. 14, Nov. 23, 1809.]

LINENOTES:

[Title]] To W. Wordsworth. Lines Composed, for the greater part on the Night, on which he finished the recitation of his Poem (in thirteen Books) concerning the growth and history of his own Mind, Jan. 7, 1807, Cole-orton, near Ashby de la Zouch MS. W.: To William Wordsworth. Composed for the greater part on the same night after the finishing of his recitation of the Poem in thirteen Books, on the Growth of his own Mind MS. B.: To a Gentleman, &c. S. L. 1828, 1829.

[[1]]

O Friend! O Teacher! God's great gift to me! MSS. W., B.

Between [5-13]

Of thy own Spirit, thou hast lov'd to tell
What may be told, to th' understanding mind
Revealable; and what within the mind
May rise enkindled. Theme as hard as high!
Of Smiles spontaneous and mysterious Fear.

MS. W.

Of thy own spirit thou hast loved to tell
What may be told, by words revealable;
With heavenly breathings, like the secret soul
Of vernal growth, oft quickening in the heart,
Thoughts that obey no mastery of words,
Pure self-beholdings! theme as hard as high,
Of smiles spontaneous and mysterious fear.

MS. B.

[[9]]

By vital breathings like the secret soul S. L. 1828.

[[16]]

Or by interior power MS. W: Or by some central breath MS. Letter, 1815.

[[17]]

inner] hidden MSS. W., B.

Between [17-41]

Mid festive crowds, thy Brows too garlanded,
A Brother of the Feast: of Fancies fair,
Hyblaean murmurs of poetic Thought,
Industrious in its Joy, by lilied Streams
Native or outland, Lakes and famous Hills!
Of more than Fancy, of the Hope of Man
Amid the tremor of a Realm aglow—
Where France in all her Towns lay vibrating
Ev'n as a Bark becalm'd on sultry seas
Beneath the voice from Heav'n, the bursting crash
Of Heaven's immediate thunder! when no cloud
Is visible, or Shadow on the Main!
Ah! soon night roll'd on night, and every Cloud
Open'd its eye of Fire: and Hope aloft
Now flutter'd, and now toss'd upon the storm
Floating! Of Hope afflicted and struck down
Thence summoned homeward—homeward to thy Heart,
Oft from the Watch-tower of Man's absolute self,
With light, &c.

MS. W.

[[27]]

social sense MS. B.

[[28]]

Distending, and of man MS. B.

[[29-30]]

Even as a bark becalm'd on sultry seas
Quivers beneath the voice from Heaven, the burst

MS. B.

[[30]]

Ev'n as a bark becalm'd beneath the burst

MS. Letter, 1815, S. L. 1828.

[[33]]

thine] thy MS. B., MS. Letter, 1815.

[[37]]

a full-born] an arméd MS. B.

[[38]]

Of that dear hope afflicted and amazed MS. Letter, 1815.

[[39]]

So homeward summoned MS. Letter, 1815.

[[40]]

As from the watch-tower MS. B.

[[44]]

controlling] ? impelling, ? directing MS. W.

[[45-6]]

Virtue and Love—an Orphic Tale indeed
A Tale divine

MS. W.

[[45]]

song] tale MS. B.

[[46]]

song] tale MS. B. thoughts] truths MS. Letter, 1815.

[[47-9]]

Ah! great Bard
Ere yet that last swell dying aw'd the air
With stedfast ken I viewed thee in the choir

MS. W.

[[48]]

that] the MS. B.

[[49]]

With steadfast eyes I saw thee MS. B.

[[52]]

for they, both power and act MS. B.

[[53]]

them] them S. L. 1828, 1829.

[[54]]

for them, they in it S. L. 1828, 1829.

[[58]]

lay] song MSS. W., B.

[[59]]

lay] song MSS. W., B.

[61] foll.

Dear shall it be to every human heart,
To me how more than dearest! me, on whom
Comfort from thee, and utterance of thy love,
Came with such heights and depths of harmony,
Such sense of wings uplifting, that the storm 5
Scatter'd and whirl'd me, till my thoughts became
A bodily tumult; and thy faithful hopes,
Thy hopes of me, dear Friend! by me unfelt!
Were troublous to me, almost as a voice,
Familiar once, and more than musical; 10
To one cast forth, whose hope had seem'd to die
A wanderer with a worn-out heart
Mid strangers pining with untended wounds.
O Friend, too well thou know'st, of what sad years
The long suppression had benumb'd my soul, 15
That even as life returns upon the drown'd,
The unusual joy awoke a throng of pains—
Keen pangs, &c.

MSS. B, W with the following variants:—

ll. 5-6

Such sense of wings uplifting, that its might
Scatter'd and quell'd me—

MS. B.

ll. 11, 12

As a dear woman's voice to one cast forth
A wanderer with a worn-out heart forlorn.

[[73]]

thee] thee S. L. 1828, 1829.

[[74]]

Strewed] Strewn MS. B., 1828, 1829.

[[82]]

thy] thy S. L. 1828, 1829.

[[82-3]]

Thou too, Friend!
O injure not the memory of that hour

MS. W.

Thou too, Friend!
Impair thou not the memory of that Hour

MS. B.

[[93]]

Becomes most sweet! hours for their own sake hail'd MS. W.

[[96]]

thy] the MS. B.

[[98]]

my] her MS. B.

[[102]]

and] my MSS. W., B.

[[104]]

Song] lay MS. W.

[[106]]

my] mine MSS. W., B.

Between [107-8]

(All whom I deepliest love—in one room all!)

MSS. W., B.

AN ANGEL VISITANT [409:1]

Within these circling hollies woodbine-clad—
Beneath this small blue roof of vernal sky—
How warm, how still! Tho' tears should dim mine eye,
Yet will my heart for days continue glad,
For here, my love, thou art, and here am I!

? 1801.

FOOTNOTES:

[409:1] First published in Literary Remains, 1836, i. 280. First collected in P. and D. W., 1877-80. The title was prefixed to the Poems of Coleridge (illustrated edition), 1907. This 'exquisite fragment . . . was probably composed as the opening of Recollections of Love, and abandoned on account of a change of metre.'—Editor's Note, 1893 (p. 635). It is in no way a translation, but the thought or idea was suggested by one of the German stanzas which Coleridge selected and copied into one of his Notebooks as models or specimens of various metres. For the original, vide Appendices of this edition.

RECOLLECTIONS OF LOVE [409:2]

How warm this woodland wild Recess!
Love surely hath been breathing here;
And this sweet bed of heath, my dear!
Swells up, then sinks with faint caress,
As if to have you yet more near. 5

Eight springs have flown, since last I lay
On sea-ward Quantock's heathy hills,
Where quiet sounds from hidden rills
Float here and there, like things astray,
And high o'er head the sky-lark shrills. 10

III

No voice as yet had made the air
Be music with your name; yet why
That asking look? that yearning sigh?
That sense of promise every where?
Beloved! flew your spirit by? 15

As when a mother doth explore
The rose-mark on her long-lost child,
I met, I loved you, maiden mild!
As whom I long had loved before—
So deeply had I been beguiled. 20

You stood before me like a thought,
A dream remembered in a dream.
But when those meek eyes first did seem
To tell me, Love within you wrought—
O Greta, dear domestic stream! 25

Has not, since then, Love's prompture deep,
Has not Love's whisper evermore
Been ceaseless, as thy gentle roar?
Sole voice, when other voices sleep,
Dear under-song in clamor's hour. 30

1807.

FOOTNOTES:

[409:2] First published in Sibylline Leaves, 1817: included in 1828, 1829, and 1834. It is impossible to fix the date of composition, though internal evidence points to July, 1807, when Coleridge revisited Stowey after a long absence. The first stanza, a variant of the preceding fragment, is introduced into a prose fancy, entitled 'Questions and Answers in the Court of Love', of uncertain date, but perhaps written at Malta in 1805 (vide Appendices of this edition). A first draft of stanzas 1-4 (vide supra) is included in the collection of metrical experiments and metrical schemes, modelled on German and Italian originals, which seems to have been begun in 1801, with a view to a projected 'Essay on Metre'. Stanzas 5, 6 are not contemporary with stanzas 1-4, and, perhaps, date from 1814, 1815, when Sibylline Leaves were being prepared for the press.

TO TWO SISTERS [410:1]

[Mary Morgan and Charlotte Brent]

A WANDERER'S FAREWELL

To know, to esteem, to love,—and then to part—
Makes up life's tale to many a feeling heart;
Alas for some abiding-place of love,
O'er which my spirit, like the mother dove,
Might brood with warming wings!
O fair! O kind! 5
Sisters in blood, yet each with each intwined
More close by sisterhood of heart and mind!
Me disinherited in form and face
By nature, and mishap of outward grace;
Who, soul and body, through one guiltless fault 10
Waste daily with the poison of sad thought,
Me did you soothe, when solace hoped I none!
And as on unthaw'd ice the winter sun,
Though stern the frost, though brief the genial day,
You bless my heart with many a cheerful ray; 15
For gratitude suspends the heart's despair,
Reflecting bright though cold your image there.
Nay more! its music by some sweeter strain
Makes us live o'er our happiest hours again,
Hope re-appearing dim in memory's guise— 20
Even thus did you call up before mine eyes
Two dear, dear Sisters, prized all price above,
Sisters, like you, with more than sisters' love;
So like you they, and so in you were seen
Their relative statures, tempers, looks, and mien, 25
That oft, dear ladies! you have been to me
At once a vision and reality.
Sight seem'd a sort of memory, and amaze
Mingled a trouble with affection's gaze.

Oft to my eager soul I whisper blame, 30
A Stranger bid it feel the Stranger's shame—
My eager soul, impatient of the name,
No strangeness owns, no Stranger's form descries:
The chidden heart spreads trembling on the eyes.
First-seen I gazed, as I would look you thro'! 35
My best-beloved regain'd their youth in you,—
And still I ask, though now familiar grown,
Are you for their sakes dear, or for your own?
O doubly dear! may Quiet with you dwell!

In Grief I love you, yet I love you well! 40
Hope long is dead to me! an orphan's tear
Love wept despairing o'er his nurse's bier.
Yet still she flutters o'er her grave's green slope:
For Love's despair is but the ghost of Hope!

Sweet Sisters! were you placed around one hearth 45
With those, your other selves in shape and worth,
Far rather would I sit in solitude,
Fond recollections all my fond heart's food,
And dream of you, sweet Sisters! (ah! not mine!)
And only dream of you (ah! dream and pine!) 50
Than boast the presence and partake the pride,
And shine in the eye, of all the world beside.

1807.

FOOTNOTES:

[410:1] First published in The Courier, December 10, 1807, with the signature SIESTI. First collected in P. and D. W., 1877-80. The following abbreviated and altered version was included in P. W., 1834, 1844, and 1852, with the heading 'On taking Leave of —— 1817':—

To know, to esteem, to love—and then to part,
Makes up life's tale to many a feeling heart!
O for some dear abiding-place of Love,
O'er which my spirit, like the mother dove
Might brood with warming wings!—O fair as kind,
Were but one sisterhood with you combined,
(Your very image they in shape and mind)
Far rather would I sit in solitude,
The forms of memory all my mental food,
And dream of you, sweet sisters, (ah, not mine!)
And only dream of you (ah dream and pine!)
Than have the presence, and partake the pride,
And shine in the eye of all the world beside!

PSYCHE [412:1]

The butterfly the ancient Grecians made
The soul's fair emblem, and its only name—[412:2]
But of the soul, escaped the slavish trade
Of mortal life!—For in this earthly frame
Ours is the reptile's lot, much toil, much blame, 5
Manifold motions making little speed,
And to deform and kill the things whereon we feed.

1808.

FOOTNOTES:

[412:1] First published with a prefatory note:—'The fact that in Greek Psyche is the common name for the soul, and the butterfly, is thus alluded to in the following stanzas from an unpublished poem of the Author', in the Biographia Literaria, 1817, i. 82, n.: included (as No. II of 'Three Scraps') in Amulet, 1833: Lit. Rem., 1836, i. 53. First collected in 1844. In Lit. Rem. and 1844 the poem is dated 1808.

[412:2] Psyche means both Butterfly and Soul. Amulet, 1833.

In some instances the Symbolic and Onomastic are united as in Psyche = Anima et papilio. MS. S. T. C. (Hence the word 'name' was italicised in the MS.)

LINENOTES:

[Title]] The Butterfly Amulet, 1833, 1877-81, 1893.

[[4]]

Of earthly life. For in this fleshly frame MS. S. T. C.: Of earthly life! For, in this mortal frame Amulet, 1833, 1893.

A TOMBLESS EPITAPH [413:1]

'Tis true, Idoloclastes Satyrane!
(So call him, for so mingling blame with praise,
And smiles with anxious looks, his earliest friends,
Masking his birth-name, wont to character
His wild-wood fancy and impetuous zeal,) 5
'Tis true that, passionate for ancient truths,
And honouring with religious love the Great
Of elder times, he hated to excess,
With an unquiet and intolerant scorn,
The hollow Puppets of a hollow Age, [10]
Ever idolatrous, and changing ever
Its worthless Idols! Learning, Power, and Time,
(Too much of all) thus wasting in vain war
Of fervid colloquy. Sickness, 'tis true,
Whole years of weary days, besieged him close, [15]
Even to the gates and inlets of his life!
But it is true, no less, that strenuous, firm,
And with a natural gladness, he maintained
The citadel unconquered, and in joy
Was strong to follow the delightful Muse. 20
For not a hidden path, that to the shades
Of the beloved Parnassian forest leads,
Lurked undiscovered by him; not a rill
There issues from the fount of Hippocrene,
But he had traced it upward to its source, 25
Through open glade, dark glen, and secret dell,
Knew the gay wild flowers on its banks, and culled
Its med'cinable herbs. Yea, oft alone,
Piercing the long-neglected holy cave,
The haunt obscure of old Philosophy, 30
He bade with lifted torch its starry walls
Sparkle, as erst they sparkled to the flame
Of odorous lamps tended by Saint and Sage.
O framed for calmer times and nobler hearts!
O studious Poet, eloquent for truth! [35]
Philosopher! contemning wealth and death,
Yet docile, childlike, full of Life and Love!
Here, rather than on monumental stone,
This record of thy worth thy Friend inscribes,
Thoughtful, with quiet tears upon his cheek. 40

? 1809.

FOOTNOTES:

[413:1] First published in The Friend, No. XIV, November 23, 1809. There is no title or heading to the poem, which occupies the first page of the number, but a footnote is appended:—'Imitated, though in the movements rather than the thoughts, from the vii^th, of Gli Epitafi of Chiabrera:

Fu ver, che Ambrosio Salinero a torto
Si pose in pena d'odiose liti,' &c.

Included in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, 1828, 1829, 1834. Sir Satyrane, 'A Satyres son yborne in forrest wylde' (Spenser's Faery Queene, Bk. I, C. vi, l. 21) rescues Una from the violence of Sarazin. Coleridge may have regarded Satyrane as the anonymn of Luther. Idoloclast, as he explains in the preface to 'Satyrane's Letters', is a 'breaker of idols'.

LINENOTES:

[[10]]

a] an Friend, 1809, S. L. 1828, 1829.

[[16]]

inlets] outlets Friend, 1809.

[[37]]

Life] light The Friend, 1809.

FOR A MARKET-CLOCK [414:1]

(IMPROMPTU)

What now, O Man! thou dost or mean'st to do
Will help to give thee peace, or make thee rue,
When hovering o'er the Dot this hand shall tell
The moment that secures thee Heaven or Hell!

1809.

FOOTNOTES:

[414:1] Sent in a letter to T. Poole, October 9, 1809, and transferred to one of Coleridge's Notebooks with the heading 'Inscription proposed on a Clock in a market place': included in 'Omniana' of 1809-16 (Literary Remains, 1836, i. 347) with the erroneous title 'Inscription on a Clock in Cheapside'. First collected in 1893.

What now thou do'st, or art about to do,
Will help to give thee peace, or make thee rue;
When hov'ring o'er the line this hand will tell
The last dread moment—'twill be heaven or hell.

Read for the last two lines:—

When wav'ring o'er the dot this hand shall tell
The moment that secures thee Heaven or Hell.

MS. Lit. Rem.

THE MADMAN AND THE LETHARGIST [414:2]

AN EXAMPLE

Quoth Dick to me, as once at College
We argued on the use of knowledge;—
'In old King Olim's reign, I've read,
There lay two patients in one bed.
The one in fat lethargic trance, 5
Lay wan and motionless as lead:
The other, (like the Folks in France),
Possess'd a different disposition—
In short, the plain truth to confess,
The man was madder than Mad Bess! 10
But both diseases, none disputed,
Were unmedicinably rooted;
Yet, so it chanc'd, by Heaven's permission,
Each prov'd the other's true physician.

'Fighting with a ghostly stare 15
Troops of Despots in the air,
Obstreperously Jacobinical,
The madman froth'd, and foam'd, and roar'd:
The other, snoring octaves cynical,
Like good John Bull, in posture clinical, 20
Seem'd living only when he snor'd.
The Citizen enraged to see
This fat Insensibility,
Or, tir'd with solitary labour,
Determin'd to convert his neighbour; 25
So up he sprang and to 't he fell,
Like devil piping hot from hell,
With indefatigable fist
Belabr'ing the poor Lethargist;
Till his own limbs were stiff and sore, 30
And sweat-drops roll'd from every pore:—
Yet, still, with flying fingers fleet,
Duly accompanied by feet,
With some short intervals of biting,
He executes the self-same strain, 35
Till the Slumberer woke for pain,
And half-prepared himself for fighting—
That moment that his mad Colleague
Sunk down and slept thro' pure fatigue.
So both were cur'd—and this example 40
Gives demonstration full and ample—
That Chance may bring a thing to bear,
Where Art sits down in blank despair.'

'That's true enough, Dick,' answer'd I,
'But as for the Example, 'tis a lie.' 45

? 1809

FOOTNOTES:

[414:2] Now published for the first time from one of Coleridge's Notebooks. The use of the party catchword 'Citizen' and the allusion to 'Folks in France' would suggest 1796-7 as a probable date, but the point or interpretation of the 'Example' was certainly in Coleridge's mind when he put together the first number of The Friend, published June 1, 1809:—'Though all men are in error, they are not all in the same error, nor at the same time . . . each therefore may possibly heal the other . . . even as two or more physicians, all diseased in their general health, yet under the immediate action of the disease on different days, may remove or alleviate the complaints of each other.'

THE VISIONARY HOPE [416:1]

Sad lot, to have no Hope! Though lowly kneeling
He fain would frame a prayer within his breast,
Would fain entreat for some sweet breath of healing,
That his sick body might have ease and rest;
He strove in vain! the dull sighs from his chest 5
Against his will the stifling load revealing,
Though Nature forced; though like some captive guest,
Some royal prisoner at his conqueror's feast,
An alien's restless mood but half concealing,
The sternness on his gentle brow confessed, 10
Sickness within and miserable feeling:
Though obscure pangs made curses of his dreams,
And dreaded sleep, each night repelled in vain,
Each night was scattered by its own loud screams:
Yet never could his heart command, though fain, 15
One deep full wish to be no more in pain.

That Hope, which was his inward bliss and boast,
Which waned and died, yet ever near him stood,
Though changed in nature, wander where he would—
For Love's Despair is but Hope's pining Ghost! [20]
For this one hope he makes his hourly moan,
He wishes and can wish for this alone!
Pierced, as with light from Heaven, before its gleams
(So the love-stricken visionary deems)
Disease would vanish, like a summer shower, 25
Whose dews fling sunshine from the noon-tide bower!
Or let it stay! yet this one Hope should give
Such strength that he would bless his pains and live.

? 1810.

FOOTNOTES:

[416:1] First published in Sibylline Leaves, 1817: included in 1828, 1829, and 1834.

LINENOTES:

[[22]]

can] can S. L. 1828, 1829.

EPITAPH ON AN INFANT [417:1]

Its balmy lips the infant blest
Relaxing from its Mother's breast,
How sweet it heaves the happy sigh
Of innocent satiety!

And such my Infant's latest sigh! [5]
Oh tell, rude stone! the passer by,
That here the pretty babe doth lie,
Death sang to sleep with Lullaby.

1811.

FOOTNOTES:

[417:1] First published, with the signature 'Aphilos,' in the Courier, Wednesday, March 20, 1811: included in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, and in 1828, 1829, and 1834.

LINENOTES:

[[1]]

balmy] milky Courier, 1811.

[[5]]

Infant's] darling's Courier, 1811.

[[6]]

Tell simple stone Courier, 1811.

[[7]]

the] a Courier, 1811.

THE VIRGIN'S CRADLE-HYMN [417:2]

COPIED FROM A PRINT OF THE VIRGIN IN A ROMAN CATHOLIC
VILLAGE IN GERMANY

Dormi, Jesu! Mater ridet
Quae tam dulcem somnum videt,
Dormi, Jesu! blandule!
Si non dormis, Mater plorat,
Inter fila cantans orat, 5
Blande, veni, somnule.

ENGLISH [417:3]

Sleep, sweet babe! my cares beguiling:
Mother sits beside thee smiling;
Sleep, my darling, tenderly!
If thou sleep not, mother mourneth, 10
Singing as her wheel she turneth:
Come, soft slumber, balmily!

1811.

FOOTNOTES:

[417:2] First published as from 'A Correspondent in Germany' in the Morning Post, December 26, 1801.

[417:3] First published with the Latin in the Courier, August 30, 1811, with the following introduction:—'About thirteen years ago or more, travelling through the middle parts of Germany I saw a little print of the Virgin and Child in the small public house of a Catholic Village, with the following beautiful Latin lines under it, which I transcribed. They may be easily adapted to the air of the famous Sicilian Hymn, Adeste fideles, laeti triumphantes, by the omission of a few notes.' First collected in Sibylline Leaves, 1817: included in 1828, 1829, and 1834.

LINENOTES:

[Title]—In a Roman Catholic] In a Catholic S. L., 1828, 1829.

TO A LADY [418:1]

OFFENDED BY A SPORTIVE OBSERVATION
THAT WOMEN HAVE NO SOULS

Nay, dearest Anna! why so grave?
I said, you had no soul, 'tis true!
For what you are, you cannot have:
'Tis I, that have one since I first had you!

? 1811.

FOOTNOTES:

[418:1] First published in Omniana (1812), i. 238; 'as a playful illustration of the distinction between To have and to be.' First collected in 1828: included in 1829 and 1834.

LINENOTES:

In line 3 'are', 'have', and in line 4 'have', 'you', are italicized in all editions except 1834.

REASON FOR LOVE'S BLINDNESS [418:2]

I have heard of reasons manifold
Why Love must needs be blind,
But this the best of all I hold—
His eyes are in his mind.

What outward form and feature are 5
He guesseth but in part;
But that within is good and fair
He seeth with the heart.

? 1811.

FOOTNOTES:

[418:2] First published in 1828: included in 1829 and 1834.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] In 1828, 1829, 1834 these stanzas are printed without a title, but are divided by a space from Lines to a Lady. The title appears first in 1893.

THE SUICIDE'S ARGUMENT [419:1]

Ere the birth of my life, if I wished it or no,
No question was asked me—it could not be so!
If the life was the question, a thing sent to try,
And to live on be Yes; what can No be? to die.

NATURE'S ANSWER

Is't returned, as 'twas sent? Is't no worse for the wear? [5]
Think first, what you are! Call to mind what you were!
I gave you innocence, I gave you hope,
Gave health, and genius, and an ample scope.
Return you me guilt, lethargy, despair?
Make out the invent'ry; inspect, compare! 10
Then die—if die you dare!

1811.

FOOTNOTES:

[419:1] First published in 1828: included in 1829 and 1884. In a Notebook of (?) 1811 these lines are preceded by the following couplet:—

Complained of, complaining, there shov'd and here shoving,
Every one blaming me, ne'er a one loving.

LINENOTES:

[[4]]

Yes] Yes 1828, 1829.

[[6]]

are] are 1828, 1829. were] were 1828, 1829.

TIME, REAL AND IMAGINARY [419:2]

AN ALLEGORY

On the wide level of a mountain's head,
(I knew not where, but 'twas some faery place)
Their pinions, ostrich-like, for sails out-spread,
Two lovely children run an endless race,
A sister and a brother! 5
This far outstripp'd the other;
Yet ever runs she with reverted face.
And looks and listens for the boy behind:
For he, alas! is blind!
O'er rough and smooth with even step he passed, 10
And knows not whether he be first or last.

? 1812.

FOOTNOTES:

[419:2] First published in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, in the preliminary matter, p. v: included in 1828, 1829, and 1834. In the 'Preface' to Sibylline Leaves, p. iii, an apology is offered for its insertion on the plea that it was a 'school boy poem' added 'at the request of the friends of my youth'. The title is explained as follows:—'By imaginary Time, I meant the state of a school boy's mind when on his return to school he projects his being in his day dreams, and lives in his next holidays, six months hence; and this I contrasted with real Time.' In a Notebook of (?) 1811 there is an attempt to analyse and illustrate the 'sense of Time', which appears to have been written before the lines as published in Sibylline Leaves took shape: 'How marked the contrast between troubled manhood and joyously-active youth in the sense of time! To the former, time like the sun in an empty sky is never seen to move, but only to have moved. There, there it was, and now 'tis here, now distant! yet all a blank between. To the latter it is as the full moon in a fine breezy October night, driving on amid clouds of all shapes and hues, and kindling shifting colours, like an ostrich in its speed, and yet seems not to have moved at all. This I feel to be a just image of time real and time as felt, in two different states of being. The title of the poem therefore (for poem it ought to be) should be time real and time felt (in the sense of time) in active youth, or activity with hope and fullness of aim in any period, and in despondent, objectless manhood—time objective and subjective.' Anima Poetae, 1895, pp. 241-2.

AN INVOCATION [420:1]

From remorse

[Act iii, Scene i. ll. 69-82.]

Hear, sweet Spirit, hear the spell,
Lest a blacker charm compel!
So shall the midnight breezes swell
With thy deep long-lingering knell.

And at evening evermore, [5]
In a chapel on the shore,
Shall the chaunter, sad and saintly,
Yellow tapers burning faintly,
Doleful masses chaunt for thee,
Miserere Domine! [10]

Hush! the cadence dies away
On the quiet moonlight sea:
The boatmen rest their oars and say,
Miserere Domine!

1812.

FOOTNOTES:

[420:1] First published in Remorse, 1813. First collected, 1844.

LINENOTES:

[[7]]

chaunter] chaunters 1813, 1828, 1839, 1893.

[[12]]

quiet] yellow 1813, 1828, 1829.

THE NIGHT-SCENE [421:1]

A DRAMATIC FRAGMENT

Sandoval. You loved the daughter of Don Manrique?

Earl Henry. Loved?

Sand. Did you not say you wooed her?

Earl H. Once I loved
Her whom I dared not woo!

Sand. And wooed, perchance,
One whom you loved not!

Earl H. Oh! I were most base,
Not loving Oropeza. True, I wooed her, 5
Hoping to heal a deeper wound; but she
Met my advances with impassioned pride,
That kindled love with love. And when her sire,
Who in his dream of hope already grasped
The golden circlet in his hand, rejected [10]
My suit with insult, and in memory
Of ancient feuds poured curses on my head,
Her blessings overtook and baffled them!
But thou art stern, and with unkindly countenance
Art inly reasoning whilst thou listenest to me. 15

Sand. Anxiously, Henry! reasoning anxiously.
But Oropeza—

Earl H. Blessings gather round her!
Within this wood there winds a secret passage,
Beneath the walls, which opens out at length
Into the gloomiest covert of the garden.— [20]
The night ere my departure to the army,
She, nothing trembling, led me through that gloom,
And to that covert by a silent stream,
Which, with one star reflected near its marge,
Was the sole object visible around me. 25
No leaflet stirred; the air was almost sultry;
So deep, so dark, so close, the umbrage o'er us!
No leaflet stirred;—yet pleasure hung upon
The gloom and stillness of the balmy night-air.
A little further on an arbour stood, 30
Fragrant with flowering trees—I well remember
What an uncertain glimmer in the darkness
Their snow-white blossoms made—thither she led me,
To that sweet bower! Then Oropeza trembled—
I heard her heart beat—if 'twere not my own. 35

Sand. A rude and soaring note, my friend!

Earl H. Oh! no!
I have small memory of aught but pleasure.
The inquietudes of fear, like lesser streams
Still flowing, still were lost in those of love:
So love grew mightier from the fear, and Nature, 40
Fleeing from Pain, sheltered herself in Joy.
The stars above our heads were dim and steady,
Like eyes suffused with rapture. Life was in us:
We were all life, each atom of our frames
A living soul—I vowed to die for her: 45
With the faint voice of one who, having spoken,
Relapses into blessedness, I vowed it:
That solemn vow, a whisper scarcely heard,
A murmur breathed against a lady's ear.
Oh! there is joy above the name of pleasure. 50
Deep self-possession, an intense repose.

Sand. (with a sarcastic smile). No other than as eastern sages paint,
The God, who floats upon a Lotos leaf,
Dreams for a thousand ages; then awaking,
Creates a world, and smiling at the bubble, 55
Relapses into bliss.

Earl H. Ah! was that bliss
Feared as an alien, and too vast for man?
For suddenly, impatient of its silence,
Did Oropeza, starting, grasp my forehead.
I caught her arms; the veins were swelling on them. 60
Through the dark bower she sent a hollow voice;—
'Oh! what if all betray me? what if thou?'
I swore, and with an inward thought that seemed
The purpose and the substance of my being,
I swore to her, that were she red with guilt, 65
I would exchange my unblenched state with hers.—
Friend! by that winding passage, to that bower
I now will go—all objects there will teach me
Unwavering love, and singleness of heart.
Go, Sandoval! I am prepared to meet her— 70
Say nothing of me—I myself will seek her—
Nay, leave me, friend! I cannot bear the torment
And keen inquiry of that scanning eye.—

[Earl Henry retires into the wood.

Sand. (alone). O Henry! always striv'st thou to be great
By thine own act—yet art thou never great 75
But by the inspiration of great passion.
The whirl-blast comes, the desert-sands rise up
And shape themselves; from Earth to Heaven they stand,
As though they were the pillars of a temple,
Built by Omnipotence in its own honour! 80
But the blast pauses, and their shaping spirit
Is fled: the mighty columns were but sand,
And lazy snakes trail o'er the level ruins!

1813.

FOOTNOTES:

[421:1] First published in its present state in Sibylline Leaves, 1817: included in 1828, 1829, and 1834. For an earlier draft, forming part of an 'Historic Drama in Five Acts' (unfinished) entitled The Triumph of Loyalty, 1801, vide Appendices of this edition. A prose sketch without title or heading is contained in one of Coleridge's earliest notebooks.

LINENOTES:

[[14]]

unkindly] unkindling 1893.

[[23]]

And to the covert by that silent stream S. L., corrected in Errata, p. [xi].

[[24]]

near] o'er S. L., corrected in Errata, p. [xi].

A HYMN [423:1]

My Maker! of thy power the trace
In every creature's form and face
The wond'ring soul surveys:
Thy wisdom, infinite above
Seraphic thought, a Father's love 5
As infinite displays!

From all that meets or eye or ear,
There falls a genial holy fear
Which, like the heavy dew of morn,
Refreshes while it bows the heart forlorn! 10

Great God! thy works how wondrous fair!
Yet sinful man didst thou declare
The whole Earth's voice and mind!
Lord, ev'n as Thou all-present art,
O may we still with heedful heart 15
Thy presence know and find!
Then, come what will, of weal or woe,
Joy's bosom-spring shall steady flow;
For though 'tis Heaven Thyself to see,
Where but thy Shadow falls, Grief cannot be!— 20

1814.

FOOTNOTES:

[423:1] First published in Poems, 1852. The MS. was placed in the hands of the Editors by J. W. Wilkins, Esq., of Trinity Hall, Cambridge. 'The accompanying autograph,' writes Mr. Wilkins, 'dated 1814, and addressed to Mrs. Hood of Brunswick Square, was given not later than the year 1817 to a relative of my own who was then residing at Clifton (and was, at the time at which it passed into his hands, an attendant on Mr. Coleridge's lectures, which were in course of delivery at that place), either by the lady to whom it is addressed, or by some other friend of Mr. Coleridge.' 1852, Notes, p. 385.

TO A LADY [424:1]

WITH FALCONER'S SHIPWRECK

Ah! not by Cam or Isis, famous streams,
In archéd groves, the youthful poet's choice;
Nor while half-listening, 'mid delicious dreams,
To harp and song from lady's hand and voice;

Not yet while gazing in sublimer mood [5]
On cliff, or cataract, in Alpine dell;
Nor in dim cave with bladdery sea-weed strewed.
Framing wild fancies to the ocean's swell;

Our sea-bard sang this song! which still he sings,
And sings for thee, sweet friend! Hark, Pity, hark! [10]
Now mounts, now totters on the tempest's wings,
Now groans, and shivers, the replunging bark!

'Cling to the shrouds!' In vain! The breakers roar—
Death shrieks! With two alone of all his clan
Forlorn the poet paced the Grecian shore, [15]
No classic roamer, but a shipwrecked man!

Say then, what muse inspired these genial strains,
And lit his spirit to so bright a flame?
The elevating thought of suffered pains,
Which gentle hearts shall mourn; but chief, the name [20]

Of gratitude! remembrances of friend,
Or absent or no more! shades of the Past,
Which Love makes substance! Hence to thee I send,
O dear as long as life and memory last!

I send with deep regards of heart and head, [25]
Sweet maid, for friendship formed! this work to thee:
And thou, the while thou canst not choose but shed
A tear for Falconer, wilt remember me.

? 1814.

FOOTNOTES:

[424:1] First published in Sibylline Leaves, 1817: included in 1828, 1829, and 1834. A different or emended version headed 'Written in a Blank Leaf of Faulkner's Shipwreck, presented by a friend to Miss K', was published in Felix Farley's Bristol Journal of February 21, 1818. [See Note by G. E. Weare, Weston-super-Mare, January, 1905.]

LINENOTES:

[Title]] To a Lady With Falkner's 'Shipwreck' S. L.

[[2]]

archéd] cloyst'ring F. F.

[[3]]

'mid] midst F. F.

[[4]]

lady's] woman's F. F.

[[5]]

sublimer] diviner F. F.

[[6]]

On torrent falls, on woody mountain dell F. F.

[[7]]

sea-weed] sea-weeds F. F.

[[8]]

Attuning wild tales to the ocean's swell F. F.

[[9]]

this] this F. F.

[[10]]

thee] thee F. F.

[[11]]

It mounts, it totters F. F.

[[12]]

It groans, it quivers F. F.

[[14]]

of] and F. F.

[[15]]

Forlorn the] The toil-worn F. F.

[[17-20]]

Say then what power evoked such genial strains
And beckon'd godlike to the trembling Muse?
The thought not pleasureless of suffer'd pains
But chiefly friendship's voice, her holy dues.

F. F.

[[21]]

Demanding dear remembrances of friend F. F.

[[22]]

Which love makes real! Thence F. F.

[[24]]

life] love F. F.

[[26]]

Sweet Maid for friendship framed this song to thee F. F.

[[28]]

Falconer] Falkner S. L.: Faulkner F. F. me] me S. L., 1828, 1829.

HUMAN LIFE [425:1]

—ON THE DENIAL OF IMMORTALITY

If dead, we cease to be; if total gloom
Swallow up life's brief flash for aye, we fare
As summer-gusts, of sudden birth and doom,
Whose sound and motion not alone declare,
But are their whole of being! If the breath [425:2] [5]
Be Life itself, and not its task and tent,
If even a soul like Milton's can know death;
O Man! thou vessel purposeless, unmeant,
Yet drone-hive strange of phantom purposes!
Surplus of Nature's dread activity, 10
Which, as she gazed on some nigh-finished vase,
Retreating slow, with meditative pause,
She formed with restless hands unconsciously.
Blank accident! nothing's anomaly!
If rootless thus, thus substanceless thy state, [15]
Go, weigh thy dreams, and be thy hopes, thy fears,
The counter-weights!—Thy laughter and thy tears
Mean but themselves, each fittest to create
And to repay the other! Why rejoices
Thy heart with hollow joy for hollow good? 20
Why cowl thy face beneath the mourner's hood?
Why waste thy sighs, and thy lamenting voices,
Image of Image, Ghost of Ghostly Elf,
That such a thing as thou feel'st warm or cold?
Yet what and whence thy gain, if thou withhold 25
These costless shadows of thy shadowy self?
Be sad! be glad! be neither! seek, or shun!
Thou hast no reason why! Thou canst have none;
Thy being's being is contradiction.

? 1815.

FOOTNOTES:

[425:1] First published in Sibylline Leaves, 1817: included in 1828, 1829, and 1834.

[425:2] Halitus = anima animae tabernaculum MS. Note (? S. T. C.)

LINENOTES:

[[5]]

are] are S. L., 1828, 1829. whole] whole S. L., 1828, 1829.

[[19]]

the] each 1887-80, 1893.

SONG [426:1]

FROM ZAPOLYA

A Sunny shaft did I behold,
From sky to earth it slanted:
And poised therein a bird so bold—
Sweet bird, thou wert enchanted!

He sank, he rose, he twinkled, he trolled [5]
Within that shaft of sunny mist;
His eyes of fire, his beak of gold,
All else of amethyst!

And thus he sang: 'Adieu! adieu!
Love's dreams prove seldom true. [10]
The blossoms they make no delay:
The sparkling dew-drops will not stay.
Sweet month of May,
We must away;
Far, far away! 15
To-day! to-day!'

1815.

FOOTNOTES:

[426:1] First published in Zapolya, 1817 (Act ii, Scene i, ll. 65-80). First collected in 1844. Two MSS. are extant, one in the possession of Mr. John Murray (MS. M.), and a second in the possession of the Editor (MS. S. T. C.). For a prose version of Glycine's Song, probably a translation from the German, vide Appendices of this edition.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] Sung by Glycine in Zapolya 1893: Glycine's Song MS. M.

[[1]]

A pillar grey did I behold MS. S. T. C.

[[4]]

A faery Bird that chanted MS. S. T. C.

[[6]]

sunny] shiny MS. S. T. C.

[[11, 12]]

om. MS S. T. C., MS. M.

HUNTING SONG [427:1]

FROM ZAPOLYA

Up, up! ye dames, and lasses gay!
To the meadows trip away.
'Tis you must tend the flocks this morn,
And scare the small birds from the corn.
Not a soul at home may stay: 5
For the shepherds must go
With lance and bow
To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.

Leave the hearth and leave the house
To the cricket and the mouse: 10
Find grannam out a sunny seat.
With babe and lambkin at her feet.
Not a soul at home may stay:
For the shepherds must go
With lance and bow 15
To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.

1815.

FOOTNOTES:

[427:1] First published in Zapolya (Act iv, Scene ii, ll. 56-71). First collected, 1844.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] Choral Song 1893.

FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY [427:2]

FROM THE ITALIAN OF GUARINI

FAITH

Let those whose low delights to Earth are given
Chaunt forth their earthly Loves! but we
Must make an holier minstrelsy,
And, heavenly-born, will sing the Things of Heaven.

CHARITY

But who for us the listening Heart shall gain? 5
Inaudible as of the sphere
Our music dies upon the ear,
Enchanted with the mortal Syren's strain.

HOPE

Yet let our choral songs abound!
Th' inspiring Power, its living Source, 10
May flow with them and give them force,
If, elsewhere all unheard, in Heaven they sound.

ALL

Aid thou our voice, Great Spirit! thou whose flame
Kindled the Songster sweet of Israel,
Who made so high to swell 15
Beyond a mortal strain thy glorious Name.

CHARITY AND FAITH

Though rapt to Heaven, our mission and our care
Is still to sojourn on the Earth,
To shape, to soothe, Man's second Birth,
And re-ascend to Heaven, Heaven's prodigal Heir! 20

CHARITY

What is Man's soul of Love deprived?

HOPE. FAITH

It like a Harp untunéd is,
That sounds, indeed, but sounds amiss.

CHARITY. HOPE

From holy Love all good gifts are derived.

FAITH

But 'tis time that every nation 25
Should hear how loftily we sing.

FAITH. HOPE. CHARITY

See, O World, see thy salvation!
Let the Heavens with praises ring.
Who would have a Throne above,
Let him hope, believe and love; 30
And whoso loves no earthly song,
But does for heavenly music long,
Faith, Hope, and Charity for him,
Shall sing like wingéd Cherubim.

1815.

FOOTNOTES:

[427:2] From a hitherto unpublished MS. For the original Dialogo: Fide, Speranza, Fide, included in the 'Madrigali . . .' del Signor Cavalier Battista Guarini, 1663, vide Appendices of this edition. The translation in Coleridge's handwriting is preceded by another version transcribed and, possibly, composed by Hartley Coleridge.

TO NATURE [429:1]

It may indeed be phantasy, when I
Essay to draw from all created things
Deep, heartfelt, inward joy that closely clings;
And trace in leaves and flowers that round me lie
Lessons of love and earnest piety. 5
So let it be; and if the wide world rings
In mock of this belief, it brings
Nor fear, nor grief, nor vain perplexity.
So will I build my altar in the fields,
And the blue sky my fretted dome shall be, 10
And the sweet fragrance that the wild flower yields
Shall be the incense I will yield to Thee,
Thee only God! and thou shalt not despise
Even me, the priest of this poor sacrifice.

? 1820.

FOOTNOTES:

[429:1] First published in Letters, Conversations and Recollections by S. T. Coleridge, 1836, i. 144. First collected in Poems, 1863, Appendix, p. 391.

LIMBO [429:2]

* * * * *

The sole true Something—This! In Limbo's Den
It frightens Ghosts, as here Ghosts frighten men.
Thence cross'd unseiz'd—and shall some fated hour
Be pulveris'd by Demogorgon's power,
And given as poison to annihilate souls— [5]
Even now it shrinks them—they shrink in as Moles
(Nature's mute monks, live mandrakes of the ground)
Creep back from Light—then listen for its sound;—
See but to dread, and dread they know not why—
The natural alien of their negative eye. [10]

'Tis a strange place, this Limbo!—not a Place,
Yet name it so;—where Time and weary Space
Fettered from flight, with night-mare sense of fleeing,
Strive for their last crepuscular half-being;—
Lank Space, and scytheless Time with branny hands [15]
Barren and soundless as the measuring sands,
Not mark'd by flit of Shades,—unmeaning they
As moonlight on the dial of the day!
But that is lovely—looks like Human Time,—
An Old Man with a steady look sublime, 20
That stops his earthly task to watch the skies;
But he is blind—a Statue hath such eyes;—
Yet having moonward turn'd his face by chance,
Gazes the orb with moon-like countenance,
With scant white hairs, with foretop bald and high, 25
He gazes still,—his eyeless face all eye;—
As 'twere an organ full of silent sight,
His whole face seemeth to rejoice in light!
Lip touching lip, all moveless, bust and limb—
He seems to gaze at that which seems to gaze on him! [30]
No such sweet sights doth Limbo den immure,
Wall'd round, and made a spirit-jail secure,
By the mere horror of blank Naught-at-all,
Whose circumambience doth these ghosts enthral.
A lurid thought is growthless, dull Privation, 35
Yet that is but a Purgatory curse;
Hell knows a fear far worse,
A fear—a future state;—'tis positive Negation!

1817.

FOOTNOTES:

[429:2] First published, in its present shape, from an original MS. in 1893 (inscribed in a notebook). Lines 6-10 ('they shrink . . . negative eye') were first printed in The Friend (1818, iii. 215), and included as a separate fragment with the title 'Moles' in P. W., 1834, i. 259. Lines 11-38 were first printed with the title 'Limbo' in P. W., 1834, i. 272-3. The lines as quoted in The Friend were directed against 'the partisans of a crass and sensual materialism, the advocates of the Nihil nisi ab extra'. The following variants, now first printed, are from a second MS. (MS. S. T. C.) in the possession of Miss Edith Coleridge. In the notebook Limbo is followed by the lines entitled [Ne Plus Ultra], vide post, p. 431.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] Another Fragment, but in a very different style, from a Dream of Purgatory, alias Limbus MS. S. T. C. [Note.—In this MS. Phantom, 'All Look and Likeness,' &c. precedes Limbo.]

Between [2-3]:

For skimming in the wake it mock'd the care
Of the old Boat-God for his farthing fare;
Tho' Irus' Ghost itself he ne'er frown'd blacker on
The skin and skin-pent Druggist cross'd the Acheron,
Styx, and with Periphlegeton Cocytus,—
(The very names, methinks, might frighten us)
Unchang'd it cross'd—and shall some fated hour

MS. Notebook.

[Coleridge marks these lines as 'a specimen of the Sublime dashed to pieces by cutting too close with the fiery Four-in-Hand round the corner of Nonsense.']

[[6]]

They, like moles Friend, 1818.

[[8]]

Shrink from the light, then listen for a sound Friend, 1818.

[[12]]

so] such MS. S. T. C.

[[16]]

the] his MS. S. T. C.

[[17]]

Mark'd but by Flit MS. S. T. C.

[[30]]

at] on MS. S. T. C.

[31] foll.

In one sole Outlet yawns the Phantom Wall,
And through this grim road to [a] worser thrall
Oft homeward scouring from a sick Child's dream
Old Mother Brownrigg shoots upon a scream;
And turning back her Face with hideous Leer,
Leaves Sentry there Intolerable Fear!
A horrid thought is growthless dull Negation:
Yet that is but a Purgatory Curse,
She knows a fear far worse
Flee, lest thou hear its Name! Flee, rash Imagination!

* * * * *

S. T. Coleridge, 1st Oct. 1827, Grove, Highgate.

NE PLUS ULTRA[431:1]

Sole Positive of Night!
Antipathist of Light!
Fate's only essence! primal scorpion rod—
The one permitted opposite of God!—
Condenséd blackness and abysmal storm 5
Compacted to one sceptre
Arms the Grasp enorm—
The Intercepter—
The Substance that still casts the shadow Death!—
The Dragon foul and fell— 10
The unrevealable,
And hidden one, whose breath
Gives wind and fuel to the fires of Hell!
Ah! sole despair
Of both th' eternities in Heaven! 15
Sole interdict of all-bedewing prayer,
The all-compassionate!
Save to the Lampads Seven
Reveal'd to none of all th' Angelic State,
Save to the Lampads Seven, 20
That watch the throne of Heaven!

? 1826.

FOOTNOTES:

[431:1] First published in 1834. The MS., which is inscribed in a notebook, is immediately preceded by that of the first draft of [Limbo] (ante, p. 429). The so-called 'Ne Plus Ultra' may have been intended to illustrate a similar paradox—the 'positivity of negation'. No date can be assigned to either of these metaphysical conceits, but there can be little doubt that they were 'written in later life'.

THE KNIGHT'S TOMB [432:1]

Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn?
Where may the grave of that good man be?—
By the side of a spring, on the breast of Helvellyn,
Under the twigs of a young birch tree!
The oak that in summer was sweet to hear, 5
And rustled its leaves in the fall of the year,
And whistled and roared in the winter alone,
Is gone,—and the birch in its stead is grown.—
The Knight's bones are dust,
And his good sword rust;— 10
His soul is with the saints, I trust.

? 1817.

FOOTNOTES:

[432:1] First published in P. W., 1834. Gillman (Life, p. 276) says that the lines were composed 'as an experiment for a metre', and repeated by the author to 'a mutual friend', who 'spoke of his visit to Highgate' and repeated them to Scott on the following day. The last three lines, 'somewhat altered', are quoted in Ivanhoe, chapter viii, and again in Castle Dangerous, chapter ix. They run thus:—

The knights are dust,
And their good swords are rust;—
Their souls are with the saints, we trust.

Gillman says that the Ivanhoe quotation convinced Coleridge that Scott was the author of the Waverley Novels. In the Appendix to the 'Notes' to Castle Dangerous (1834), which was edited and partly drawn up by Lockhart, the poem is quoted in full, with a prefatory note ('The author has somewhat altered part of a beautiful unpublished fragment of Coleridge').

Where is the grave of Sir Arthur Orellan,—
Where may the grave of that good knight be?
By the marge of a brook, on the slope of Helvellyn,
Under the boughs of a young birch-tree.
The Oak that in summer was pleasant to hear,
That rustled in autumn all wither'd and sear,
That whistled and groan'd thro' the winter alone,
He hath gone, and a birch in his place is grown.
The knight's bones are dust,
His good sword is rust;
His spirit is with the saints, we trust.

This version must have been transcribed from a MS. in Lockhart's possession, and represents a first draft of the lines as published in 1834. These lines are, no doubt, an 'experiment for a metre'. The upward movement (ll. 1-7) is dactylic: the fall (ll. 8-11) is almost, if not altogether, spondaic. The whole forms a complete stanza, or metrical scheme, which may be compared with ll. 264-78 of the First Part of Christabel. Mrs. H. N. Coleridge, who must have been familiar with Gillman's story, dates the Knight's Tomb 1802.

ON DONNE'S POETRY [433:1]

With Donne, whose muse on dromedary trots,
Wreathe iron pokers into true-love knots;
Rhyme's sturdy cripple, fancy's maze and clue,
Wit's forge and fire-blast, meaning's press and screw.

? 1818

FOOTNOTES:

[433:1] First published in Literary Remains, 1836, i. 148, from 'notes written by Mr. Coleridge in a volume of "Chalmers's Poets"'. Line 2 finds a place in Hartley Coleridge's couplets on Donne which are written on the fly-leaves and covers of his copy of Anderson's British Poets. In the original MS. it is enclosed in quotation marks. First collected in P. W., 1885, ii. 409.

ISRAEL'S LAMENT [433:2]

'A Hebrew Dirge, chaunted in the Great Synagogue, St. James's Place, Aldgate, on the day of the Funeral of her Royal Highness the Princess Charlotte. By Hyman Hurwitz, Master of the Hebrew Academy, Highgate: with a Translation in English Verse, by S. T. Coleridge, Esq., 1817.'

Mourn, Israel! Sons of Israel, mourn!
Give utterance to the inward throe!
As wails, of her first love forlorn,
The Virgin clad in robes of woe.

Mourn the young Mother, snatch'd away 5
From Light and Life's ascending Sun!
Mourn for the Babe, Death's voiceless prey,
Earn'd by long pangs and lost ere won.

Mourn the bright Rose that bloom'd and went,
Ere half disclosed its vernal hue! 10
Mourn the green Bud, so rudely rent,
It brake the stem on which it grew.

Mourn for the universal woe
With solemn dirge and fault'ring tongue:
For England's Lady is laid low, [15]
So dear, so lovely, and so young!

The blossoms on her Tree of Life
Shone with the dews of recent bliss:
Transplanted in that deadly strife,
She plucks its fruits in Paradise. [20]

Mourn for the widow'd Lord in chief,
Who wails and will not solaced be!
Mourn for the childless Father's grief,
The wedded Lover's agony!

Mourn for the Prince, who rose at morn [25]
To seek and bless the firstling bud
Of his own Rose, and found the thorn,
Its point bedew'd with tears of blood.

O press again that murmuring string!
Again bewail that princely Sire! 30
A destined Queen, a future King,
He mourns on one funereal pyre.

Mourn for Britannia's hopes decay'd,
Her daughters wail their dear defence;
Their fair example, prostrate laid, 35
Chaste Love and fervid Innocence.

While Grief in song shall seek repose,
We will take up a Mourning yearly:
To wail the blow that crush'd the Rose,
So dearly priz'd and lov'd so dearly. 40

Long as the fount of Song o'erflows
Will I the yearly dirge renew:
Mourn for the firstling of the Rose,
That snapt the stem on which it grew.

The proud shall pass, forgot; the chill, [45]
Damp, trickling Vault their only mourner!
Not so the regal Rose, that still
Clung to the breast which first had worn her!

O thou, who mark'st the Mourner's path
To sad Jeshurun's Sons attend! 50
Amid the Light'nings of thy Wrath
The showers of Consolation send!

Jehovah frowns! the Islands bow!
And Prince and People kiss the Rod!—
Their dread chastising Judge wert thou! 55
Be thou their Comforter, O God!

1817.

FOOTNOTES:

[433:2] First published, together with the Hebrew, as an octavo pamphlet (pp. 13) in 1817. An abbreviated version was included in Literary Remains, 1836, i. 57-8 and in the Appendix to Poems, 1863. The Lament as a whole was first collected in P. and D. W., 1877-80, ii. 282-5.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] Israel's Lament on the death of the Princess Charlotte of Wales. From the Hebrew of Hyman Hurwitz L. R.

[[19]]

Transplanted] Translated L. R., 1863.

[[21-4]]

om. L. R, 1863.

[[29-32]]

om. L. R., 1863.

[[49-56]]

om. L. R., 1863.

[[49]]

Mourner's] Mourners' L. R., 1863.

FANCY IN NUBIBUS [435:1]

OR THE POET IN THE CLOUDS

O! it is pleasant, with a heart at ease,
Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies,
To make the shifting clouds be what you please,
Or let the easily persuaded eyes
Own each quaint likeness issuing from the mould [5]
Of a friend's fancy; or with head bent low
And cheek aslant see rivers flow of gold
'Twixt crimson banks; and then, a traveller, go
From mount to mount through Cloudland, gorgeous land!
Or list'ning to the tide, with closéd sight, 10
Be that blind bard, who on the Chian strand
By those deep sounds possessed with inward light,
Beheld the Iliad and the Odyssee
Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea.

1817.

FOOTNOTES:

[435:1] First published in Felix Farley's Bristol Journal for February 7, 1818: and afterwards in Blackwood's Magazine for November, 1819. First collected in 1828: included in 1829 and 1834. A MS. in the possession of Major Butterworth of Carlisle is signed 'S. T. Coleridge, Little Hampton, Oct. 1818'. In a letter to Coleridge dated Jan. 10, 1820, Lamb asks, 'Who put your marine sonnet [i. e. A Sonnet written on the Sea Coast, vide Title] . . . in Blackwood?' F. Freiligrath in his Introduction to the Tauchnitz edition says that the last five lines are borrowed from Stolberg's An das Meer; vide Appendices of this edition.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] Fancy, &c. A Sonnet Composed by the Seaside, October 1817. F. F.: Fancy in Nubibus. A Sonnet, composed on the Sea Coast 1819.

[[4]]

let] bid 1819.

[[5]]

Own] Owe F. F. 1818. quaint] strange 1819.

[[6]]

head] heart MS.: head bow'd low 1819.

[[9]]

through] o'er 1819.

THE TEARS OF A GRATEFUL PEOPLE [436:1]

A Hebrew Dirge and Hymn, chaunted in the Great Synagogue. St. James' pl. Aldgate, on the Day of the Funeral of King George III. of blessed memory. By Hyman Hurwitz of Highgate, Translated by a Friend.

Dirge

Oppress'd, confused, with grief and pain,
And inly shrinking from the blow,
In vain I seek the dirgeful strain,
The wonted words refuse to flow.

A fear in every face I find, 5
Each voice is that of one who grieves;
And all my Soul, to grief resigned,
Reflects the sorrow it receives.

The Day-Star of our glory sets!
Our King has breathed his latest breath! 10
Each heart its wonted pulse forgets,
As if it own'd the pow'r of death.

Our Crown, our heart's Desire is fled!
Britannia's glory moults its wing!
Let us with ashes on our head, 15
Raise up a mourning for our King.

Lo! of his beams the Day-Star shorn,[436:2]
Sad gleams the Moon through cloudy veil!
The Stars are dim! Our Nobles mourn;
The Matrons weep, their Children wail. 20

No age records a King so just,
His virtues numerous as his days;
The Lord Jehovah was his trust,
And truth with mercy ruled his ways.

His Love was bounded by no Clime; 25
Each diverse Race, each distant Clan
He govern'd by this truth sublime,
'God only knows the heart—not man.'

His word appall'd the sons of pride,
Iniquity far wing'd her way; 30
Deceit and fraud were scatter'd wide,
And truth resum'd her sacred sway.

He sooth'd the wretched, and the prey
From impious tyranny he tore;
He stay'd th' Usurper's iron sway, 35
And bade the Spoiler waste no more.

Thou too, Jeshurun's Daughter! thou,
Th' oppress'd of nations and the scorn!
Didst hail on his benignant brow
A safety dawning like the morn. 40

The scoff of each unfeeling mind,
Thy doom was hard, and keen thy grief;
Beneath his throne, peace thou didst find,
And blest the hand that gave relief.

E'en when a fatal cloud o'erspread 45
The moonlight splendour of his sway,
Yet still the light remain'd, and shed
Mild radiance on the traveller's way.

But he is gone—the Just! the Good!
Nor could a Nation's pray'r delay 50
The heavenly meed, that long had stood
His portion in the realms of day.

Beyond the mighty Isle's extent
The mightier Nation mourns her Chief:
Him Judah's Daughter shall lament, 55
In tears of fervour, love and grief.

Britannia mourns in silent grief;
Her heart a prey to inward woe.
In vain she strives to find relief,
Her pang so great, so great the blow. 60

Britannia! Sister! woe is me!
Full fain would I console thy woe.
But, ah! how shall I comfort thee,
Who need the balm I would bestow?

United then let us repair, 65
As round our common Parent's grave;
And pouring out our heart in prayer,
Our heav'nly Father's mercy crave.

Until Jehovah from his throne
Shall heed his suffering people's fears; 70
Shall turn to song the Mourner's groan,
To smiles of joy the Nation's tears.

Praise to the Lord! Loud praises sing!
And bless Jehovah's righteous hand!
Again he bids a George, our King, 75
Dispense his blessings to the Land.

Hymn

O thron'd in Heav'n! Sole King of kings,
Jehovah! hear thy Children's prayers and sighs!
Thou Binder of the broken heart! with wings
Of healing on thy people rise! 80
Thy mercies, Lord, are sweet;
And Peace and Mercy meet,
Before thy Judgment seat:
Lord, hear us! we entreat!

When angry clouds thy throne surround, 85
E'en from the cloud thou bid'st thy mercy shine:
And ere thy righteous vengeance strikes the wound,
Thy grace prepares the balm divine!
Thy mercies, Lord, are sweet;
etc.

The Parent tree thy hand did spare— 90
It fell not till the ripen'd fruit was won:
Beneath its shade the Scion flourish'd fair,
And for the Sire thou gav'st the Son.
etc.

This thy own Vine, which thou didst rear,
And train up for us from the royal root, 95
Protect, O Lord! and to the Nations near
Long let it shelter yield, and fruit,
etc.

Lord, comfort thou the royal line:
Let Peace and Joy watch round us hand and hand.
Our Nobles visit with thy grace divine, 100
And banish sorrow from the land!
Thy mercies, Lord, are sweet;
And Peace and Mercy meet
Before thy Judgment seat;
Lord, hear us! we entreat! 105

1820.

FOOTNOTES:

[436:1] First published with the Hebrew in pamphlet form in 1820. First collected in 1893.

[436:2] The author, in the spirit of Hebrew Poetry, here represents the Crown, the Peerage, and the Commonalty, by the figurative expression of the Sun, Moon, and Stars.

YOUTH AND AGE [439:1]

Verse, a breeze mid blossoms straying,
Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee—
Both were mine! Life went a-maying
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
When I was young! [5]

When I was young?—Ah, woful When!
Ah! for the change 'twixt Now and Then!
This breathing house not built with hands,
This body that does me grievous wrong,
O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands, [10]
How lightly then it flashed along:—
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,
That fear no spite of wind or tide! 15
Nought cared this body for wind or weather
When Youth and I lived in't together.

Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;
O! the joys, that came down shower-like. [20]
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty,
Ere I was old!

Ere I was old? Ah woful Ere,
Which tells me, Youth's no longer here!
O Youth! for years so many and sweet, [25]
'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! [30]
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 altered size:
But Spring-tide blossoms on thy lips. 35
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!
Life is but thought: so think I will
That Youth and I are house-mates still.

Dew-drops are the gems of morning,
But the tears of mournful eve! [40]
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, [45]
Like some poor nigh-related guest,
That may not rudely be dismist;
Yet hath outstay'd his welcome while,
And tells the jest without the smile.

1823-1832.

FOOTNOTES:

[439:1] First published in its present shape in 1834. Lines 1-38, with the heading 'Youth and Age', were first published in the Literary Souvenir, 1828, and also in the Bijou, 1828: included in 1828, 1829. Lines 39-49 were first published in Blackwood's Magazine for June 1832, entitled 'An Old Man's Sigh: a Sonnet', as 'an out-slough or hypertrophic stanza of a certain poem called "Youth and Age".' Of lines 1-43 three MSS. are extant. (1) A fair copy (MS. 1) presented to Derwent Coleridge, and now in the Editor's possession. In MS. 1 the poem is divided into three stanzas: (i) lines 1-17; (ii) lines 18-38; (iii) lines 39-43. The watermark of this MS. on a quarto sheet of Bath Post letter-paper is 1822. (2) A rough draft, in a notebook dated Sept. 10, 1823; and (3) a corrected draft of forty-three lines (vide for MSS. 2, 3 Appendices of this edition). A MS. version of An Old Man's Sigh, dated 'Grove, Highgate, April 1832', was contributed to Miss Rotha Quillinan's Album; and another version numbering only eight lines was inscribed in an album in 1828 when Coleridge was on his Rhine tour with Wordsworth. After line 42 this version continues:—

As we creep feebly down life's slope,
Yet courteous dame, accept this truth,
Hope leaves us not, but we leave hope,
And quench the inward light of youth.

T. Colley Grattan's Beaten Paths, 1862, ii. 139.

There can be little doubt that lines 1-43 were composed in 1823, and that the last six lines of the text which form part of An Old Man's Sigh were composed, as an afterthought, in 1832.

LINENOTES:

[[1]]

Verse, a] Verse is a with the alternative? Vērse ă breeze MS. 1.

[[2]]

clung] clings MS. 1, Bijou.

[[6]]

When I] When I 1828, 1829.

[[8]]

This house of clay MS. 1, Bijou.

[[10]]

O'er hill and dale and sounding sands MS. 1, Bijou.

[[11]]

then] then 1828, 1829.

[[12]]

skiffs] boats MS. 1, Bijou.

[[20]]

came] come Bijou.

[[21]]

Of Beauty, Truth, and Liberty MS. 1, Bijou.

[[23]]

Ere I] Ere I 1828, 1829. woful] mournful Literary Souvenir.

[[25]]

many] merry Bijou.

[[27]]

fond] false MS. 1, Bijou.

[[32]]

make believe] make believe 1828, 1829.

[[34]]

drooping] dragging MS. 1, Bijou.

[[42-4]]

That only serves to make me grieve
Now I am old!
Now I am old,—ah woful Now

MS. 1.

[[44-5]]

In our old age
Whose bruised wings quarrel with the bars of the still narrowing cage.

Inserted in 1832.

[[49]]

Two lines were added in 1832:—

O might Life cease! and Selfless Mind,
Whose total Being is Act, alone remain behind.

THE REPROOF AND REPLY [441:1]

Or, The Flower-Thief's Apology, for a robbery committed in Mr. and Mrs. ——'s garden, on Sunday morning, 25th of May, 1823, between the hours of eleven and twelve.

"Fie, Mr. Coleridge!—and can this be you?
Break two commandments? and in church-time too!
Have you not heard, or have you heard in vain,
The birth-and-parentage-recording strain?—
Confessions shrill, that out-shrill'd mack'rel drown 5
Fresh from the drop—the youth not yet cut down—
Letter to sweet-heart—the last dying speech—
And didn't all this begin in Sabbath-breach?
You, that knew better! In broad open day,
Steal in, steal out, and steal our flowers away? 10
What could possess you? Ah! sweet youth. I fear
The chap with horns and tail was at your ear!"

Such sounds of late, accusing fancy brought
From fair Chisholm to the Poet's thought.
Now hear the meek Parnassian youth's reply:— 15
A bow—a pleading look—a downcast eye,—
And then:

"Fair dame! a visionary wight,
Hard by your hill-side mansion sparkling white,
His thoughts all hovering round the Muses' home,
Long hath it been your Poet's wont to roam, 20
And many a morn, on his becharméd sense
So rich a stream of music issued thence,
He deem'd himself, as it flowed warbling on,
Beside the vocal fount of Helicon!
But when, as if to settle the concern, 25
A Nymph too he beheld, in many a turn,
Guiding the sweet rill from its fontal urn,—
Say, can you blame?—No! none that saw and heard
Could blame a bard, that he thus inly stirr'd;
A muse beholding in each fervent trait, [30]
Took Mary H—— for Polly Hymnia!
Or haply as there stood beside the maid
One loftier form in sable stole array'd,
If with regretful thought he hail'd in thee
Chisholm, his long-lost friend, Mol Pomene! [35]
But most of you, soft warblings, I complain!
'Twas ye that from the bee-hive of my brain
Did lure the fancies forth, a freakish rout,
And witch'd the air with dreams turn'd inside out.

"Thus all conspir'd—each power of eye and ear, 40
And this gay month, th' enchantress of the year,
To cheat poor me (no conjuror, God wot!)
And Chisholm's self accomplice in the plot.
Can you then wonder if I went astray?
Not bards alone, nor lovers mad as they;— 45
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,[442:1]
To pluck both flower and floweret at my will; 50
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! 55
But yet from Chisholm 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 Chisholm speaks, 'Poor youth! he's but a waif! 60
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!'"[443:1]

1823.

FOOTNOTES:

[441:1] First published in Friendship's Offering for 1834, as the first of four 'Lightheartednesses in Rhyme'. A motto was prefixed:—'I expect no sense, worth listening to, from the man who never does talk nonsense,'—Anon. In F. O., 1834, Chisholm was printed C—— in line 14, C——m in lines 35, 56, and 60, C——m's in line 43. In 1834, 1844 the name was omitted altogether. The text of the present edition follows the MS. First collected in P. W., 1834. A MS. version is in the possession of Miss Edith Coleridge. These lines were included in 1844, but omitted from 1852, 1863, and 1870.

[442:1] The English Parnassus is remarkable for its two summits of unequal height, the lower denominated Hampstead, the higher Highgate.

[443:1] Compare 'The Eighth Commandment was not made for Love', l. 16 of Elegy I of The Love Elegies of Abel Shufflebottom, by R. Southey.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] The Reproof and Reply (the alternative title is omitted) 1834.

[[31]]

Mary H——] Mary —— 1834, 1844.

[[38]]

Did lure the] Lured the wild F. O. 1834.

FIRST ADVENT OF LOVE [443:2]

O fair is Love's first hope to gentle mind!
As Eve's first star thro' fleecy cloudlet peeping;
And sweeter than the gentle south-west wind.
O'er willowy meads, and shadow'd waters creeping,
And Ceres' golden fields;—the sultry hind 5
Meets it with brow uplift, and stays his reaping.

? 1824.

FOOTNOTES:

[443:2] First published in 1834. In a MS. note, dated September 1827, it is included in 'Relics of my School-boy Muse: i. e. fragments of poems composed before my fifteenth year', P. W., 1852, Notes, p. 379; but in an entry in a notebook dated 1824, Coleridge writes: 'A pretty unintended couplet in the prose of Sidney's Arcadia:—

'And, sweeter than a gentle south-west wind
O'er flowery fields and shadowed waters creeping
In summer's extreme heat.'

The passage which Coleridge versified is to be found in the Arcadia:—

'Her breath is more sweet than a gentle south-west wind, which comes creeping over flowing fields and shadowed waters in the heat of summer.'

LINENOTES:

[Title]] Love's First Hope 1893.

THE DELINQUENT TRAVELLERS [443:3]

Some are home-sick—some two or three,
Their third year on the Arctic Sea—
Brave Captain Lyon tells us so [444:1]—
Spite of those charming Esquimaux.
But O, what scores are sick of Home, 5
Agog for Paris or for Rome!
Nay! tho' contented to abide,
You should prefer your own fireside;
Yet since grim War has ceas'd its madding,
And Peace has set John Bull agadding, 10
'Twould such a vulgar taste betray,
For very shame you must away!
'What? not yet seen the coast of France!
The folks will swear, for lack of bail,
You've spent your last five years in jail!' 15

Keep moving! Steam, or Gas, or Stage,
Hold, cabin, steerage, hencoop's cage—
Tour, Journey, Voyage, Lounge, Ride, Walk,
Skim, Sketch, Excursion, Travel-talk—
For move you must! 'Tis now the rage, 20
The law and fashion of the Age.
If you but perch, where Dover tallies,
So strangely with the coast of Calais,
With a good glass and knowing look,
You'll soon get matter for a book! 25
Or else, in Gas-car, take your chance
Like that adventurous king of France,
Who, once, with twenty thousand men
Went up—and then came down again;
At least, he moved if nothing more: 30
And if there's nought left to explore,
Yet while your well-greased wheels keep spinning,
The traveller's honoured name you're winning,
And, snug as Jonas in the Whale,
You may loll back and dream a tale. 35
Move, or be moved—there's no protection,
Our Mother Earth has ta'en the infection—
(That rogue Copernicus, 'tis said
First put the whirring in her head,)
A planet She, and can't endure 40
T'exist without her annual Tour:
The name were else a mere misnomer,
Since Planet is but Greek for Roamer.
The atmosphere, too, can do no less
Than ventilate her emptiness, 45
Bilks turn-pike gates, for no one cares,
And gives herself a thousand airs—
While streams and shopkeepers, we see,
Will have their run toward the sea—
And if, meantime, like old King Log, 50
Or ass with tether and a clog,
Must graze at home! to yawn and bray
'I guess we shall have rain to-day!'
Nor clog nor tether can be worse
Than the dead palsy of the purse. 55
Money, I've heard a wise man say,
Makes herself wings and flys away:
Ah! would She take it in her head
To make a pair for me instead!
At all events, the Fancy's free, 60
No traveller so bold as she.
From Fear and Poverty released
I'll saddle Pegasus, at least,
And when she's seated to her mind,
I within I can mount behind: 65
And since this outward I, you know,
Must stay because he cannot go,
My fellow-travellers shall be they
Who go because they cannot stay—
Rogues, rascals, sharpers, blanks and prizes, 70
Delinquents of all sorts and sizes,
Fraudulent bankrupts, Knights burglarious,
And demireps of means precarious—
All whom Law thwarted, Arms or Arts,
Compel to visit foreign parts, 75
All hail! No compliments, I pray,
I'll follow where you lead the way!
But ere we cross the main once more,
Methinks, along my native shore,
Dismounting from my steed I'll stray 80
Beneath the cliffs of Dumpton Bay.[446:1]
Where, Ramsgate and Broadstairs between,
Rude caves and grated doors are seen:
And here I'll watch till break of day,
(For Fancy in her magic might 85
Can turn broad noon to starless night!)
When lo! methinks a sudden band
Of smock-clad smugglers round me stand.
Denials, oaths, in vain I try,
At once they gag me for a spy, 90
And stow me in the boat hard by.
Suppose us fairly now afloat,
Till Boulogne mouth receives our Boat.
But, bless us! what a numerous band
Of cockneys anglicise the strand! 95
Delinquent bankrupts, leg-bail'd debtors,
Some for the news, and some for letters—
With hungry look and tarnished dress,
French shrugs and British surliness.
Sick of the country for their sake 100
Of them and France French leave I take—
And lo! a transport comes in view
I hear the merry motley crew,
Well skill'd in pocket to make entry,
Of Dieman's Land the elected Gentry, 105
And founders of Australian Races.—
The Rogues! I see it in their faces!
Receive me, Lads! I'll go with you,
Hunt the black swan and kangaroo,
And that New Holland we'll presume 110
Old England with some elbow-room.
Across the mountains we will roam,
And each man make himself a home:
Or, if old habits ne'er forsaking,
Like clock-work of the Devil's making, 115
Ourselves inveterate rogues should be,
We'll have a virtuous progeny;
And on the dunghill of our vices
Raise human pine-apples and spices.
Of all the children of John Bull 120
With empty heads and bellies full,
Who ramble East, West, North and South,
With leaky purse and open mouth,
In search of varieties exotic
The usefullest and most patriotic, 125
And merriest, too, believe me, Sirs!
Are your Delinquent Travellers!

1824.

FOOTNOTES:

[443:3] From an hitherto unpublished MS., formerly in the possession of Coleridge's friend and amanuensis Joseph Henry Green.

[444:1] The Private Journal of Captain G. F. Lyon of the Mt. Hecla, during the recent voyage of discovery under Captain Parry, was published by John Murray in 1824. In a letter dated May, 1823, Lucy Caroline Lamb writes to Murray:—'If there is yet time, do tell Captain Lyon, that I, and others far bettor than I am, are enchanted with his book.' Memoirs . . . of John Murray, 1891, i. 145.

[446:1] A coast village near Ramsgate. Coleridge passed some weeks at Ramsgate in the late autumn of 1824.

WORK WITHOUT HOPE [447:1]

LINES COMPOSED 21ST FEBRUARY 1825

All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair—
The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing—[447:2]
And Winter slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I the while, the sole unbusy thing, 5
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.

Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,
Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away! [10]
With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll:
And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?
Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve,
And Hope without an object cannot live.

1825.

FOOTNOTES:

[447:1] First printed in the Bijou for 1828: included in 1828, 1829, and 1834. These lines, as published in the Bijou for 1828, were an excerpt from an entry in a notebook, dated Feb. 21, 1825. They were preceded by a prose introduction, now for the first time printed, and followed by a metrical interpretation or afterthought which was first published in the Notes to the Edition of 1893. For an exact reproduction of the prose and verse as they appear in the notebook, vide Appendices of this edition.

[447:2] Compare the last stanza of George Herbert's Praise:—

O raise me thus! Poor Bees that work all day,
Sting my delay,
Who have a work as well as they,
And much, much more.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] Lines composed on a day in February. By S. T. Coleridge, Esq. Bijou: Lines composed on the 21st of February, 1827 1828, 1829, 1834.

[[1]]

Slugs] Snails erased MS. S. T. C.: Stags 1828, 1829, 1885.

[[11]]

With unmoist lip and wreathless brow I stroll
With lips unmoisten'd wreathless brow I stroll

MS. S. T. C.

SANCTI DOMINICI PALLIUM[448:1]

A DIALOGUE BETWEEN POET AND FRIEND

FOUND WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF AT THE BEGINNING OF BUTLER'S
'BOOK OF THE CHURCH' (1825)

POET

I note the moods and feelings men betray,
And heed them more than aught they do or say;
The lingering ghosts of many a secret deed
Still-born or haply strangled in its birth;
These best reveal the smooth man's inward creed! [5]
These mark the spot where lies the treasure—Worth!

Milner, made up of impudence and trick,[448:2]
With cloven tongue prepared to hiss and lick,
Rome's Brazen Serpent—boldly dares discuss
The roasting of thy heart, O brave John Huss! 10
And with grim triumph and a truculent glee [448:3]
Absolves anew the Pope-wrought perfidy,
That made an empire's plighted faith a lie,
And fix'd a broad stare on the Devil's eye—
(Pleas'd with the guilt, yet envy-stung at heart [15]
To stand outmaster'd in his own black art!)
Yet Milner—

FRIEND

Enough of Milner! we're agreed,
Who now defends would then have done the deed.
But who not feels persuasion's gentle sway,
Who but must meet the proffered hand half way 20
When courteous Butler—

POET (aside)

(Rome's smooth go-between!)

FRIEND

Laments the advice that soured a milky queen—
(For 'bloody' all enlightened men confess
An antiquated error of the press:)
Who rapt by zeal beyond her sex's bounds, [25]
With actual cautery staunched the Church's wounds!
And tho' he deems, that with too broad a blur
We damn the French and Irish massacre,
Yet blames them both—and thinks the Pope might err!
What think you now? Boots it with spear and shield [30]
Against such gentle foes to take the field
Whose beckoning hands the mild Caduceus wield?

POET

What think I now? Even what I thought before;—
What Milner boasts though Butler may deplore,
Still I repeat, words lead me not astray [35]
When the shown feeling points a different way.
Smooth Butler can say grace at slander's feast,[449:1]
And bless each haut-gout cook'd by monk or priest;
Leaves the full lie on Milner's gong to swell,
Content with half-truths that do just as well; [40]
But duly decks his mitred comrade's flanks,[450:1]
And with him shares the Irish nation's thanks!

So much for you, my friend! who own a Church,
And would not leave your mother in the lurch!
But when a Liberal asks me what I think— [45]
Scared by the blood and soot of Cobbett's ink,
And Jeffrey's glairy phlegm and Connor's foam,
In search of some safe parable I roam—
An emblem sometimes may comprise a tome!

Disclaimant of his uncaught grandsire's mood, 50
I see a tiger lapping kitten's food:
And who shall blame him that he purs applause,
When brother Brindle pleads the good old cause;
And frisks his pretty tail, and half unsheathes his claws!
Yet not the less, for modern lights unapt, [55]
I trust the bolts and cross-bars of the laws
More than the Protestant milk all newly lapt,
Impearling a tame wild-cat's whisker'd jaws!

1825, or 1826.

FOOTNOTES:

[448:1] First published in the Evening Standard, May 21, 1827. 'The poem signed ΕΣΤΗΣΕ appeared likewise in the St. James's Chronicle.' See Letter of S. T. C. to J. Blanco White, dated Nov. 28, 1827. Life, 1845, i. 439, 440. First collected in 1834. I have amended the text of 1834 in lines 7, 17, 34, 39 in accordance with a MS. in the possession of the poet's granddaughter, Miss Edith Coleridge. The poem as published in 1834 and every subsequent edition (except 1907) is meaningless. Southey's Book of the Church, 1825, was answered by Charles Butler's Book of the Roman Catholic Church, 1825, and in an anonymous pamphlet by the Vicar Apostolic, Dr. John Milner, entitled Merlin's Strictures. Southey retaliated in his Vindiciae Ecclesiae Anglicanae, 1826. In the latter work he addresses Butler as 'an honourable and courteous opponent'—and contrasts his 'habitual urbanity' with the malignant and scurrilous attacks of that 'ill-mannered man', Dr. Milner. In the 'Dialogue' the poet reminds his 'Friend' Southey that Rome is Rome, a 'brazen serpent', charm she never so wisely. In the Vindiciae Southey devotes pp. 470-506 to an excursus on 'The Rosary'—the invention of St. Dominic. Hence the title—'Sancti Dominici Pallium'.

[448:2] These lines were written before this Prelate's decease. Standard, 1827.

[448:3] Trŭcŭlĕnt: a tribrach as the isochronous substitute for the Trochee ¯ ˘. N. B. If our accent, a quality of sound were actually equivalent to the Quantity in the Greek ¯ ˘ ¯, or dactyl ¯ ˘ ˘ at least. But it is not so, accent shortens syllables: thus Spīrĭt, sprite; Hŏnĕy, mŏnĕy, nŏbŏdy, &c. MS. S. T. C.

[449:1] 'Smooth Butler.' See the Rev. Blanco White's Letter to C. Butler, Esq. MS. S. T. C., Sd. 1827.

[450:1] 'Your coadjutor the Titular Bishop Milner'—Bishop of Castabala I had called him, till I learnt from the present pamphlet that he had been translated to the see of Billingsgate.' Vind. Ecl. Angl. 1826, p. 228, note.

LINENOTES:

[Title]]—A dialogue written on a Blank Page of Butler's Book of the Roman Catholic Church. Sd. 1827.

[[7]]

Milner] —— 1834, 1852: Butler 1893.

[[17]]

Milner—Milner] ——, —— 1834, 1852: Butler—Butler 1893. Yet Milner] Yet Miln—Sd. 1827.

[[25]]

Who with a zeal that passed Sd. 1827.

[[30]]

spear] helm Sd. 1827.

[[32]]

beckoning] proffered Sd. 1827.

[[34]]

Milner] —— 1834, 1852: Butler 1893. boasts] lauds Sd. 1827.

[[35]]

repeat] reply Sd. 1827.

[[38]]

or] and Sd. 1827.

[[39]]

Milner's] ——'s 1834, 1852: Butler's 1893.

[[42]]

Irish] the O'Gorman MS. S. T. C., Sd. 1827.

[[46]]

blood and soot] soot and blood Sd. 1827.

[[55]]

lights] sights Sd. 1827.

SONG [450:2]

Though veiled in spires of myrtle-wreath,
Love is a sword which cuts its sheath,
And through the clefts itself has made,
We spy the flashes of the blade!
But through the clefts itself has made [5]
We likewise see Love's flashing blade,
By rust consumed, or snapt in twain;
And only hilt and stump remain.

? 1825.

FOOTNOTES:

[450:2] First published in 1828: included in 1852, 1885, and 1893. A MS. version (undated) is inscribed in a notebook.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] Love, a Sword 1893.

[[1]]

Tho' hid in spiral myrtle wreath MS.

[[2]]

which] that MS.

[[3]]

slits itself hath made MS.

[[4]]

flashes] glitter MS.

[[5]]

clefts] slits MS.

[[6-8]]

We spy no less, too, that the Blade,
Is cut away or snapt atwain
And nought but Hilt or Stump remain.

MS.

A CHARACTER [451:1]

A bird, who for his other sins
Had liv'd amongst the Jacobins;
Though like a kitten amid rats,
Or callow tit in nest of bats,
He much abhorr'd all democrats; [5]
Yet nathless stood in ill report
Of wishing ill to Church and Court,
Tho' he'd nor claw, nor tooth, nor sting,
And learnt to pipe God save the King;
Tho' each day did new feathers bring, [10]
All swore he had a leathern wing;
Nor polish'd wing, nor feather'd tail,
Nor down-clad thigh would aught avail;
And tho'—his tongue devoid of gall—
He civilly assur'd them all:— 15
'A bird am I of Phoebus' breed,
And on the sunflower cling and feed;
My name, good Sirs, is Thomas Tit!'
The bats would hail him Brother Cit,
Or, at the furthest, cousin-german. [20]
At length the matter to determine,
He publicly denounced the vermin;
He spared the mouse, he praised the owl;
But bats were neither flesh nor fowl.
Blood-sucker, vampire, harpy, goul, 25
Came in full clatter from his throat,
Till his old nest-mates chang'd their note
To hireling, traitor, and turncoat,—
A base apostate who had sold
His very teeth and claws for gold;— [30]
And then his feathers!—sharp the jest—
No doubt he feather'd well his nest!
'A Tit indeed! aye, tit for tat—
With place and title, brother Bat,
We soon shall see how well he'll play [35]
Count Goldfinch, or Sir Joseph Jay!'
Alas, poor Bird! and ill-bestarr'd—
Or rather let us say, poor Bard!
And henceforth quit the allegoric,
With metaphor and simile, 40
For simple facts and style historic:—
Alas, poor Bard! no gold had he;
Behind another's team he stept,
And plough'd and sow'd, while others reapt;
The work was his, but theirs the glory, 45
Sic vos non vobis, his whole story.
Besides, whate'er he wrote or said
Came from his heart as well as head;
And though he never left in lurch
His king, his country, or his church, 50
'Twas but to humour his own cynical
Contempt of doctrines Jacobinical;
To his own conscience only hearty,
'Twas but by chance he serv'd the party;—
The self-same things had said and writ, 55
Had Pitt been Fox, and Fox been Pitt;
Content his own applause to win,
Would never dash thro' thick and thin,
And he can make, so say the wise,
No claim who makes no sacrifice;— 60
And bard still less:—what claim had he,
Who swore it vex'd his soul to see
So grand a cause, so proud a realm,
With Goose and Goody at the helm;
Who long ago had fall'n asunder [65]
But for their rivals' baser blunder,
The coward whine and Frenchified
Slaver and slang of the other side?—

Thus, his own whim his only bribe,
Our Bard pursued his old A. B. C. 70
Contented if he could subscribe
In fullest sense his name Ἔστησε;
('Tis Punic Greek for 'he hath stood!')
Whate'er the men, the cause was good;
And therefore with a right good will, 75
Poor fool, he fights their battles still.
Tush! squeak'd the Bats;—a mere bravado
To whitewash that base renegado;
'Tis plain unless you're blind or mad,
His conscience for the bays he barters;— [80]
And true it is—as true as sad—
These circlets of green baize he had—
But then, alas! they were his garters!
Ah! silly Bard, unfed, untended,
His lamp but glimmer'd in its socket; [85]
He lived unhonour'd and unfriended
With scarce a penny in his pocket;—
Nay—tho' he hid it from the many—
With scarce a pocket for his penny!

1825.

FOOTNOTES:

[451:1] First published in 1834. It is probable that the immediate provocation of these lines was the publication of Hazlitt's character-sketch of Coleridge in The Spirit of the Age, 1825, pp. 57-75. Lines 1-7, 49, 50, 84, 89 are quoted by J. Payne Collier (An Old Man's Diary, Oct. 20, 1833, Pt. IV, p. 56) from a MS. presented by Charles Lamb to Martin Burney. A fragmentary MS. with the lines in different order is in the British Museum.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] A Trifle MS. J. P. C.

[[1]]

for] 'mongst MS. B. M.

[[2]]

amongst] among J. P. C.

[[3]]

amid] among J. P. C.

[[5]]

all] the J. P. C.

[[6]]

ill] bad J. P. C.

[[7]]

Of ill to Church as well as Court J. P. C.

[[11]]

had a] had but a MS. B. M.

[[22]]

denounced] disowned MS. B. M.

[[31]]

sharp] smoke MS. B. M.

[[36]]

Joseph] Judas MS. B. M.

[[69-74]]

Yet still pursu'd thro' scoff and gibe
From A. to Z. his old A. B. C.
Content that he could still subscribe
In symbol just his name ΕΣΤΗΣΕ;
(In punic Greek that's He hath stood:)
Whate'er the men, the cause was good.

MS. B. M.

[[84]]

Ah! silly bird and unregarded J. P. C.: Poor witless Bard, unfed, untended MS. B. M.

[[86]]

He liv'd unpraised, and unfriended MS. B. M.: unfriended] discarded J. P. C.

[[87]]

With scarce] Without J. P. C.

THE TWO FOUNTS [454:1]

STANZAS ADDRESSED TO A LADY ON HER RECOVERY WITH
UNBLEMISHED LOOKS, FROM A SEVERE ATTACK OF PAIN

'Twas my last waking thought, how it could be
That thou, sweet friend, such anguish should'st endure;
When straight from Dreamland came a Dwarf, and he
Could tell the cause, forsooth, and knew the cure.

Methought he fronted me with peering look 5
Fix'd on my heart; and read aloud in game
The loves and griefs therein, as from a book:
And uttered praise like one who wished to blame.

In every heart (quoth he) since Adam's sin
Two Founts there are, of Suffering and of Cheer! [10]
That to let forth, and this to keep within!
But she, whose aspect I find imaged here,

Of Pleasure only will to all dispense,
That Fount alone unlock, by no distress
Choked or turned inward, but still issue thence [15]
Unconquered cheer, persistent loveliness.

As on the driving cloud the shiny bow,
That gracious thing made up of tears and light,
Mid the wild rack and rain that slants below
Stands smiling forth, unmoved and freshly bright; 20

As though the spirits of all lovely flowers,
Inweaving each its wreath and dewy crown,
Or ere they sank to earth in vernal showers,
Had built a bridge to tempt the angels down.

Even so, Eliza! on that face of thine, 25
On that benignant face, whose look alone
(The soul's translucence thro' her crystal shrine!)
Has power to soothe all anguish but thine own,

A beauty hovers still, and ne'er takes wing,
But with a silent charm compels the stern [30]
And tort'ring Genius of the bitter spring,
To shrink aback, and cower upon his urn.

Who then needs wonder, if (no outlet found
In passion, spleen, or strife) the Fount of Pain
O'erflowing beats against its lovely mound, 35
And in wild flashes shoots from heart to brain?

Sleep, and the Dwarf with that unsteady gleam
On his raised lip, that aped a critic smile,
Had passed: yet I, my sad thoughts to beguile,
Lay weaving on the tissue of my dream; [40]

Till audibly at length I cried, as though
Thou hadst indeed been present to my eyes,
O sweet, sweet sufferer; if the case be so,
I pray thee, be less good, less sweet, less wise!

In every look a barbéd arrow send, [45]
On those soft lips let scorn and anger live!
Do any thing, rather than thus, sweet friend!
Hoard for thyself the pain, thou wilt not give!

1826.

FOOTNOTES:

[454:1] First published in the Annual Register for 1827: reprinted in the Bijou for 1828: included in 1828, 1829, 1834. 'In Gilchrist's Life of Blake (1863, i. 337) it is stated that this poem was addressed to Mrs. Aders, the daughter of the engraver Raphael Smith.' P. W., 1892, p. 642.

LINENOTES:

[Title]]: Stanzas addressed to a Lady on her Recovery from a Severe attack of Pain Annual Register.

[[11]]

That—this] That—this 1828, 1829.

[[14]]

That] That 1828, 1829.

[[16-17]]

In a MS. dated 1826, the following stanza precedes stanza 5 of the text:—

Was ne'er on earth seen beauty like to this.
A concentrated satisfying sight!
In its deep quiet, ask no further bliss—
At once the form and substance of delight.

[[19-20]]

Looks forth upon the troubled air below
Unmov'd, entire, inviolably bright.

MS. 1826.

[[31]]

tort'ring] fost'ring Annual Register, Bijou.

[[44]]

less—less—less] less—less—less 1828, 1829.

[[47]]

any] any 1828, 1829.

CONSTANCY TO AN IDEAL OBJECT [455:1]

Since all that beat about in Nature's range,
Or veer or vanish; why should'st thou remain
The only constant in a world of change,
O yearning Thought! that liv'st but in the brain?
Call to the Hours, that in the distance play, [5]
The faery people of the future day——
Fond Thought! not one of all that shining swarm
Will breathe on thee with life-enkindling breath,
Till when, like strangers shelt'ring from a storm,[456:1]
Hope and Despair meet in the porch of Death! [10]
Yet still thou haunt'st me; and though well I see,
She is not thou, and only thou art she,
Still, still as though some dear embodied Good,
Some living Love before my eyes there stood
With answering look a ready ear to lend, 15
I mourn to thee and say—'Ah! loveliest friend!
That this the meed of all my toils might be,
To have a home, an English home, and thee!'
Vain repetition! Home and Thou are one.
The peacefull'st cot, the moon shall shine upon, 20
Lulled by the thrush and wakened by the lark,
Without thee were but a becalméd bark,
Whose Helmsman on an ocean waste and wide
Sits mute and pale his mouldering helm beside.

And art thou nothing? Such thou art, as when 25
The woodman winding westward up the glen
At wintry dawn, where o'er the sheep-track's maze
The viewless snow-mist weaves a glist'ning haze,
Sees full before him, gliding without tread,
An image [456:2] with a glory round its head; [30]
The enamoured rustic worships its fair hues,
Nor knows he makes the shadow, he pursues!

? 1826.

FOOTNOTES:

[455:1] There is no evidence as to date of composition. J. D. Campbell (1893, p. 635) believed that it 'was written at Malta'. Line 18 seems to imply that the poem was not written in England. On the other hand a comparison of ll. 9, 10 with a passage in the Allegoric Vision, which was re-written with large additions, and first published in 1817, suggests a much later date. The editors of 1852 include these lines among 'Poems written in Later Life', but the date (? 1826) now assigned is purely conjectural. First published in 1828: included in 1829 and 1834.

[456:1] With lines 9, 10 J. D. Campbell compares, 'After a pause of silence: even thus, said he, like two strangers that have fled to the same shelter from the same storm, not seldom do Despair and Hope meet for the first time in the porch of Death.' Allegoric Vision (1798-1817); vide Appendices of this edition.

[456:2] This phenomenon, which the Author has himself experienced, and of which the reader may find a description in one of the earlier volumes of the Manchester Philosophical Transactions, is applied figuratively to the following passage in the Aids to Reflection:—

'Pindar's fine remark respecting the different effects of Music, on different characters, holds equally true of Genius—as many as are not delighted by it are disturbed, perplexed, irritated. The beholder either recognises it as a projected form of his own Being, that moves before him with a Glory round its head, or recoils from it as a Spectre.'—Aids to Reflection [1825], p. 220.

LINENOTES:

[[8]]

thee] thee 1828, 1829.

[[13]]

embodied] embodied 1828, 1829.

[[14]]

living] living 1828, 1829.

[[32]]

makes] makes 1828, 1829.

THE PANG MORE SHARP THAN ALL [457:1]

AN ALLEGORY

He too has flitted from his secret nest,
Hope's last and dearest child without a name!—
Has flitted from me, like the warmthless flame,
That makes false promise of a place of rest
To the tired Pilgrim's still believing mind;— 5
Or like some Elfin Knight in kingly court,
Who having won all guerdons in his sport,
Glides out of view, and whither none can find!

Yes! he hath flitted from me—with what aim,
Or why, I know not! 'Twas a home of bliss, 10
And he was innocent, as the pretty shame
Of babe, that tempts and shuns the menaced kiss,
From its twy-cluster'd hiding place of snow!
Pure as the babe, I ween, and all aglow
As the dear hopes, that swell the mother's breast— 15
Her eyes down gazing o'er her claspéd charge;—
Yet gay as that twice happy father's kiss,
That well might glance aside, yet never miss,
Where the sweet mark emboss'd so sweet a targe—
Twice wretched he who hath been doubly blest! 20

III

Like a loose blossom on a gusty night
He flitted from me—and has left behind
(As if to them his faith he ne'er did plight)
Of either sex and answerable mind
Two playmates, twin-births of his foster-dame:— 25
The one a steady lad (Esteem he hight)
And Kindness is the gentler sister's name.
Dim likeness now, though fair she be and good,
Of that bright Boy who hath us all forsook;—
But in his full-eyed aspect when she stood, 30
And while her face reflected every look,
And in reflection kindled—she became
So like Him, that almost she seem'd the same!

Ah! he is gone, and yet will not depart!—
Is with me still, yet I from him exiled! 35
For still there lives within my secret heart
The magic image of the magic Child,
Which there he made up-grow by his strong art,
As in that crystal [458:1] orb—wise Merlin's feat,—
The wondrous 'World of Glass,' wherein inisled 40
All long'd-for things their beings did repeat;—
And there he left it, like a Sylph beguiled,
To live and yearn and languish incomplete!

Can wit of man a heavier grief reveal?
Can sharper pang from hate or scorn arise?— 45
Yes! one more sharp there is that deeper lies,
Which fond Esteem but mocks when he would heal.
Yet neither scorn nor hate did it devise,
But sad compassion and atoning zeal!
One pang more blighting-keen than hope betray'd! 50
And this it is my woeful hap to feel,
When, at her Brother's hest, the twin-born Maid
With face averted and unsteady eyes,
Her truant playmate's faded robe puts on;
And inly shrinking from her own disguise 55
Enacts the faery Boy that's lost and gone.
O worse than all! O pang all pangs above
Is Kindness counterfeiting absent Love!

? 1825-6.

FOOTNOTES:

[457:1] First published in 1834. With lines 36-43, and with the poem as a whole, compare the following fragments of uncertain date, which were first published in a note to the edition of 1893. Both the poem as completed and these fragments of earlier drafts seem to belong to the last decade of the poet's life. The water-mark of the scrap of paper on which these drafts are written is 1819, but the tone and workmanship of the verse suggest a much later date, possibly 1826.

'—— into my Heart
The magic Child as in a magic glass
Transfused, and ah! he left within my Heart
A loving Image and a counterpart.'

'—— into my Heart
As 'twere some magic Glass the magic child
Transfused his Image and full counterpart;
And then he left it like a Sylph beguiled
To live and yearn and languish incomplete!
Day following day, more rugged grows my path.
There dwells a cloud before my heavy eyes;
A Blank my Heart, and Hope is dead and buried,
Yet the deep yearning will not die; but Love
Clings on and cloathes the marrowless remains,
Like the fresh moss that grows on dead men's bones,
Quaint mockery! and fills its scarlet cups
With the chill dewdamps of the Charnel House.
O ask not for my Heart! my Heart is but
The darksome vault where Hope lies dead and buried,
And Love with Asbest Lamp bewails the Corse.'

[458:1] Faerie Queene, b. iii. c. 2, s. 19.

DUTY SURVIVING SELF-LOVE [459:1]

THE ONLY SURE FRIEND OF DECLINING LIFE

A SOLILOQUY

Unchanged within, to see all changed without,
Is a blank lot and hard to bear, no doubt.
Yet why at others' wanings should'st thou fret?
Then only might'st thou feel a just regret,
Hadst thou withheld thy love or hid thy light [5]
In selfish forethought of neglect and slight.
O wiselier then, from feeble yearnings freed,
While, and on whom, thou may'st—shine on! nor heed
Whether the object by reflected light
Return thy radiance or absorb it quite: [10]
And though thou notest from thy safe recess
Old Friends burn dim, like lamps in noisome air,
Love them for what they are; nor love them less,
Because to thee they are not what they were.

1826.

FOOTNOTES:

[459:1] First published in 1828: included in 1829 and 1834. The MS. of the first draft, dated Sept. 2, 1826, is preceded by the following introductory note:—

'Question, Answer, and Soliloquy.

And are you (said Alia to Constantius, on whose head sickness and sorrow had antedated Winter, ere yet the time of Vintage had passed), Are you the happier for your Philosophy? And the smile of Constantius was as the light from a purple cluster of the vine, gleaming through snowflakes, as he replied, The Boons of Philosophy are of higher worth, than what you, O Alia, mean by Happiness. But I will not seem to evade the question—Am I the happier for my Philosophy? The calmer at least and the less unhappy, answered Constantius, for it has enabled me to find that selfless Reason is the best Comforter, and only sure friend of declining Life. At this moment the sounds of a carriage followed by the usual bravura executed on the brazen knocker announced a morning visit: and Alia hastened to receive the party. Meantime the grey-haired philosopher, left to his own musings, continued playing with the thoughts that Alia and Alia's question had excited, till he murmured them to himself in half audible words, which at first casually, and then for the amusement of his ear, he punctuated with rhymes, without however conceiting that he had by these means changed them into poetry.'

LINENOTES:

[[4]]

When thy own body first the example set. MS. S. T. C.

[[5-11]]

om. MS. S. T. C.

[[8]]

While—on whom] While—on whom 1828, 1829.

[[9]]

object] Body MS. S. T. C.

[[13]]

are] are 1828, 1829.

[[14]]

thee—were] thee—were 1828, 1829.

HOMELESS [460:1]

'O! Christmas Day, Oh! happy day!
A foretaste from above,
To him who hath a happy home
And love returned from love!'

O! Christmas Day, O gloomy day, 5
The barb in Memory's dart,
To him who walks alone through Life,
The desolate in heart.

1826.

FOOTNOTES:

[460:1] First published in the Literary Magnet, January, 1827, p. 71. First collected in 1893. A transcript, possibly in Mrs. Gillman's handwriting, is inscribed on the fly-leaf of a copy of Bartram's Travels in South Carolina which Coleridge purchased in April 1818. J. D. Campbell prefixed the title 'Homeless', and assigned 1810 as a conjectural date. Attention was first called to publication in the Literary Magnet by Mr. Bertram Dobell in the Athenaeum.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] An Impromptu on Christmas Day L. M. 1827.

[[4]]

from] for L. M. 1827.

LINES [460:2]

SUGGESTED BY THE LAST WORDS OF BERENGARIUS

OB. ANNO DOM. 1088

No more 'twixt conscience staggering and the Pope
Soon shall I now before my God appear,
By him to be acquitted, as I hope;
By him to be condemnéd, as I fear.—

REFLECTION ON THE ABOVE

Lynx amid moles! had I stood by thy bed, 5
Be of good cheer, meek soul! I would have said:
I see a hope spring from that humble fear.
All are not strong alike through storms to steer
Right onward. What? though dread of threatened death
And dungeon torture made thy hand and breath [10]
Inconstant to the truth within thy heart!
That truth, from which, through fear, thou twice didst start,
Fear haply told thee, was a learned strife,
Or not so vital as to claim thy life:
And myriads had reached Heaven, who never knew [15]
Where lay the difference 'twixt the false and true!

Ye, who secure 'mid trophies not your own,
Judge him who won them when he stood alone,
And proudly talk of recreant Berengare—
O first the age, and then the man compare! [20]
That age how dark! congenial minds how rare!
No host of friends with kindred zeal did burn!
No throbbing hearts awaited his return!
Prostrate alike when prince and peasant fell,
He only disenchanted from the spell, 25
Like the weak worm that gems the starless night,
Moved in the scanty circlet of his light:
And was it strange if he withdrew the ray
That did but guide the night-birds to their prey?

The ascending day-star with a bolder eye [30]
Hath lit each dew-drop on our trimmer lawn!
Yet not for this, if wise, shall we decry
The spots and struggles of the timid Dawn;
Lest so we tempt th' approaching Noon to scorn
The mists and painted vapours of our Morn. 35

? 1826.

FOOTNOTES:

[460:2] First published in the Literary Souvenir, 1827. The [Epitaphium Testamentarium] (vide post, p. 462) is printed in a footnote to the word 'Berengarius'. Included in 1828, 1829, and 1834.

LINENOTES:

[[13]]

learned] learned L. S.

[[19]]

recreant] recreant L. S., 1828, 1829.

[[23]]

his] his L. S.

[[32]]

shall] will L. S., 1828, 1829.

[[34]]

th' approaching] the coming L. S.

EPITAPHIUM TESTAMENTARIUM [462:1]

Τὸ τοῦ ἜΣΤΗΣΕ τοῦ ἐπιθανοῦς Epitaphium testamentarium αὐτόγραφον.

Quae linquam, aut nihil, aut nihili, aut vix sunt mea. Sordes
Do Morti: reddo caetera, Christe! tibi.

1826.

Ἔρως ἀεὶ λάληθρος ἑταῖρος [462:2]

In many ways does the full heart reveal
The presence of the love it would conceal;
But in far more th' estrangéd heart lets know
The absence of the love, which yet it fain would shew.

1826.

FOOTNOTES:

[462:1] First published in Literary Souvenir of 1827, as footnote to title of the Lines Suggested by the Last Words of Berengarius: included in Literary Remains, 1836, i. 60: first collected in 1844.

[462:2] This quatrain was prefixed as a motto to 'Prose in Rhyme; and Epigrams, Moralities, and Things without a Name', the concluding section of 'Poems' in the edition of 1828, 1829, vol. ii, pp. 75-117. It was prefixed to 'Miscellaneous Poems' in 1834, vol. ii, pp. 55-152, and to 'Poems written in Later Life', 1852, pp. 319-78.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] ΕΠΙΤΑΦΙΟΝ ΑΥΤΟΓΡΑΠΤΟΝ L. R., 1844: ἐπιθανοῦς] ἐπιδανοὺς L. S.

The emendation ἐπιθανοῦς (i. e. moribund) was suggested by the Reader of Macmillan's edition of 1893. Other alternatives, e. g. ἐπιδευοῦς (the lacking), to the word as misprinted in the Literary Souvenir have been suggested, but there can be no doubt that what Coleridge intended to imply was that he was near his end.

Greek motto: Ἔρως ἀεὶ λάλος MS. S. T. C.

[[1-4]]

In many ways I own do we reveal.
The Presence of the Love we would conceal,
But in how many more do we let know
The absence of the Love we found would show.

MS. S. T. C.

THE IMPROVISATORE [462:3]

OR, 'JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO, JOHN'

Scene—A spacious drawing-room, with music-room adjoining.

Katharine. What are the words?

Eliza. Ask our friend, the Improvisatore; here he comes. Kate has a favour to ask of you, Sir; it is that you will repeat the ballad [463:1] that Mr. —— sang so sweetly.

Friend. It is in Moore's Irish Melodies; but I do not recollect the words distinctly. The moral of them, however, I take to be this:—

Love would remain the same if true,
When we were neither young nor new;
Yea, and in all within the will that came,
By the same proofs would show itself the same.

Eliz. What are the lines you repeated from Beaumont and Fletcher, which my mother admired so much? It begins with something about two vines so close that their tendrils intermingle.

Fri. You mean Charles' speech to Angelina, in The Elder Brother[463:2].

We'll live together, like two neighbour vines,
Circling our souls and loves in one another!
We'll spring together, and we'll bear one fruit;
One joy shall make us smile, and one grief mourn;
One age go with us, and one hour of death
Shall close our eyes, and one grave make us happy.

Kath. A precious boon, that would go far to reconcile one to old age—this love—if true! But is there any such true love?

Fri. I hope so.

Kath. But do you believe it?

Eliz. (eagerly). I am sure he does.

Fri. From a man turned of fifty, Katharine, I imagine, expects a less confident answer.

Kath. A more sincere one, perhaps.

Fri. Even though he should have obtained the nick-name of Improvisatore, by perpetrating charades and extempore verses at Christmas times?

Eliz. Nay, but be serious.

Fri. Serious! Doubtless. A grave personage of my years giving a Love-lecture to two young ladies, cannot well be otherwise. The difficulty, I suspect, would be for them to remain so. It will be asked whether I am not the 'elderly gentleman' who sate 'despairing beside a clear stream', with a willow for his wig-block.

Eliz. Say another word, and we will call it downright affectation.

Kath. No! we will be affronted, drop a courtesy, and ask pardon for our presumption in expecting that Mr. —— would waste his sense on two insignificant girls.

Fri. Well, well, I will be serious. Hem! Now then commences the discourse; Mr. Moore's song being the text. Love, as distinguished from Friendship, on the one hand, and from the passion that too often usurps its name, on the other—

Lucius (Eliza's brother, who had just joined the trio, in a whisper to the Friend). But is not Love the union of both?

Fri. (aside to Lucius). He never loved who thinks so.

Eliz. Brother, we don't want you. There! Mrs. H. cannot arrange the flower vase without you. Thank you, Mrs. Hartman.

Luc. I'll have my revenge! I know what I will say!

Eliz. Off! Off! Now, dear Sir,—Love, you were saying—

Fri. Hush! Preaching, you mean, Eliza.

Eliz. (impatiently). Pshaw!

Fri. Well then, I was saying that Love, truly such, is itself not the most common thing in the world: and mutual love still less so. But that enduring personal attachment, so beautifully delineated by Erin's sweet melodist, and still more touchingly, perhaps, in the well-known ballad, 'John Anderson, my Jo, John,' in addition to a depth and constancy of character of no every-day occurrence, supposes a peculiar sensibility and tenderness of nature; a constitutional communicativeness and utterancy of heart and soul; a delight in the detail of sympathy, in the outward and visible signs of the sacrament within—to count, as it were, the pulses of the life of love. But above all, it supposes a soul which, even in the pride and summer-tide of life—even in the lustihood of health and strength, had felt oftenest and prized highest that which age cannot take away and which, in all our lovings, is the Love;—

Eliz. There is something here (pointing to her heart) that seems to understand you, but wants the word that would make it understand itself.

Kath. I, too, seem to feel what you mean. Interpret the feeling for us.

Fri. —— I mean that willing sense of the insufficingness of the self for itself, which predisposes a generous nature to see, in the total being of another, the supplement and completion of its own;—that quiet perpetual seeking which the presence of the beloved object modulates, not suspends, where the heart momently finds, and, finding, again seeks on;—lastly, when 'life's changeful orb has pass'd the full', a confirmed faith in the nobleness of humanity, thus brought home and pressed, as it were, to the very bosom of hourly experience; it supposes, I say, a heartfelt reverence for worth, not the less deep because divested of its solemnity by habit, by familiarity, by mutual infirmities, and even by a feeling of modesty which will arise in delicate minds, when they are conscious of possessing the same or the correspondent excellence in their own characters. In short, there must be a mind, which, while it feels the beautiful and the excellent in the beloved as its own, and by right of love appropriates it, can call Goodness its Playfellow; and dares make sport of time and infirmity, while, in the person of a thousand-foldly endeared partner, we feel for aged Virtue the caressing fondness that belongs to the Innocence of childhood, and repeat the same attentions and tender courtesies which had been dictated by the same affection to the same object when attired in feminine loveliness or in manly beauty.

Eliz. What a soothing—what an elevating idea!

Kath. If it be not only an idea.

Fri. At all events, these qualities which I have enumerated, are rarely found united in a single individual. How much more rare must it be, that two such individuals should meet together in this wide world under circumstances that admit of their union as Husband and Wife. A person may be highly estimable on the whole, nay, amiable as neighbour, friend, housemate—in short, in all the concentric circles of attachment save only the last and inmost; and yet from how many causes be estranged from the highest perfection in this! Pride, coldness, or fastidiousness of nature, worldly cares, an anxious or ambitious disposition, a passion for display, a sullen temper,—one or the other—too often proves 'the dead fly in the compost of spices', and any one is enough to unfit it for the precious balm of unction. For some mighty good sort of people, too, there is not seldom a sort of solemn saturnine, or, if you will, ursine vanity, that keeps itself alive by sucking the paws of its own self-importance. And as this high sense, or rather sensation of their own value is, for the most part, grounded on negative qualities, so they have no better means of preserving the same but by negatives—that is, by not doing or saying any thing, that might be put down for fond, silly, or nonsensical;—or (to use their own phrase) by never forgetting themselves, which some of their acquaintance are uncharitable enough to think the most worthless object they could be employed in remembering.

Eliz. (in answer to a whisper from Katharine). To a hair! He must have sate for it himself. Save me from such folks! But they are out of the question.

Fri. True! but the same effect is produced in thousands by the too general insensibility to a very important truth; this, namely, that the Misery of human life is made up of large masses, each separated from the other by certain intervals. One year, the death of a child; years after, a failure in trade; after another longer or shorter interval, a daughter may have married unhappily;—in all but the singularly unfortunate, the integral parts that compose the sum total of the unhappiness of a man's life, are easily counted, and distinctly remembered. The Happiness of life, on the contrary, is made up of minute fractions—the little, soon-forgotten charities of a kiss, a smile, a kind look, a heartfelt compliment in the disguise of playful raillery, and the countless other infinitesimals of pleasurable thought and genial feeling.

Kath. Well, Sir; you have said quite enough to make me despair of finding a 'John Anderson, my Jo, John', with whom to totter down the hill of life.

Fri. Not so! Good men are not, I trust, so much scarcer than good women, but that what another would find in you, you may hope to find in another. But well, however, may that boon be rare, the possession of which would be more than an adequate reward for the rarest virtue.

Eliz. Surely, he, who has described it so well, must have possessed it?

Fri. If he were worthy to have possessed it, and had believingly anticipated and not found it, how bitter the disappointment!

(Then, after a pause of a few minutes).

Answer, ex improviso

Yes, yes! that boon, life's richest treat
He had, or fancied that he had;
Say, 'twas but in his own conceit—
The fancy made him glad!
Crown of his cup, and garnish of his dish! 5
The boon, prefigured in his earliest wish,
The fair fulfilment of his poesy,
When his young heart first yearn'd for sympathy!
But e'en the meteor offspring of the brain
Unnourished wane; 10
Faith asks her daily bread,
And Fancy must be fed!
Now so it chanced—from wet or dry,
It boots not how—I know not why—
She missed her wonted food; and quickly 15
Poor Fancy stagger'd and grew sickly.
Then came a restless state, 'twixt yea and nay,
His faith was fix'd, his heart all ebb and flow;
Or like a bark, in some half-shelter'd bay,
Above its anchor driving to and fro. 20

That boon, which but to have possess'd
In a belief, gave life a zest—
Uncertain both what it had been,
And if by error lost, or luck;
And what it was;—an evergreen 25
Which some insidious blight had struck,
Or annual flower, which, past its blow,
No vernal spell shall e'er revive;
Uncertain, and afraid to know,
Doubts toss'd him to and fro: 30
Hope keeping Love, Love Hope alive,
Like babes bewildered in a snow,
That cling and huddle from the cold
In hollow tree or ruin'd fold.

Those sparkling colours, once his boast 35
Fading, one by one away,
Thin and hueless as a ghost,
Poor Fancy on her sick bed lay;
Ill at distance, worse when near,
Telling her dreams to jealous Fear! 40
Where was it then, the sociable sprite
That crown'd the Poet's cup and deck'd his dish!
Poor shadow cast from an unsteady wish,
Itself a substance by no other right
But that it intercepted Reason's light; 45
It dimm'd his eye, it darken'd on his brow,
A peevish mood, a tedious time, I trow!
Thank Heaven! 'tis not so now.

O bliss of blissful hours!
The boon of Heaven's decreeing, 50
While yet in Eden's bowers
Dwelt the first husband and his sinless mate!
The one sweet plant, which, piteous Heaven agreeing,
They bore with them thro' Eden's closing gate!
Of life's gay summer tide the sovran Rose! 55
Late autumn's Amaranth, that more fragrant blows
When Passion's flowers all fall or fade;
If this were ever his, in outward being,
Or but his own true love's projected shade,
Now that at length by certain proof he knows, 60
That whether real or a magic show,
Whate'er it was, it is no longer so;
Though heart be lonesome, Hope laid low,
Yet, Lady! deem him not unblest:
The certainty that struck Hope dead, 65
Hath left Contentment in her stead:
And that is next to Best!

1827.

FOOTNOTES:

[462:3] First published in the Amulet for 1828 (with a prose introduction entitled 'New Thoughts on Old Subjects; or Conversational Dialogues on Interests and Events of Common Life.' By S. T. Coleridge): included in 1829 and 1834. The text of 1834 is identical with that of the Amulet, 1828, but the italics in the prose dialogue were not reproduced. They have been replaced in the text of the present issue. The title may have been suggested by L. E. L.'s Improvisatrice published in 1824.

[463:1] 'Believe me if all those endearing young charms.'

[463:2] See Beaumont and Fletcher, The Elder Brother, Act III, Scene v. In the original the lines are printed as prose. In line 1 of the quotation Coleridge has substituted 'neighbour' for 'wanton', and in line 6, 'close' for 'shut'.

TO MARY PRIDHAM [468:1]

[AFTERWARDS MRS. DERWENT COLERIDGE]

Dear tho' unseen! tho' I have left behind
Life's gayer views and all that stirs the mind,
Now I revive, Hope making a new start,
Since I have heard with most believing heart,
That all my glad eyes would grow bright to see, [5]
My Derwent hath found realiz'd in thee,
The boon prefigur'd in his earliest wish
Crown of his cup and garnish of his dish!
The fair fulfilment of his poesy,
When his young heart first yearn'd for sympathy! 10
Dear tho' unseen! unseen, yet long portray'd!
A Father's blessing on thee, gentle Maid!

S. T. Coleridge.

16th October 1827.

FOOTNOTES:

[468:1] First published in 1893. Lines 7-10 are borrowed from lines 5-8 of the 'Answer ex improviso', which forms part of the Improvisatore (ll. 7, 8 are transposed). An original MS. is inscribed on the first page of an album presented to Mrs. Derwent Coleridge on her marriage, by her husband's friend, the Reverend John Moultrie. The editor of P. W., 1893, printed from another MS. dated Grove, Highgate, 15th October, 1827.

LINENOTES:

[Title]]: To Mary S. Pridham MS. S. T. C.

[[1-3]]

Dear tho' unseen! tho' hard has been my lot
And rough my path thro' life, I murmur not—
Rather rejoice—

MS. S. T. C.

[[5]]

That all this shaping heart has yearned to see

MS. S. T. C.

[[8]]

his] the MS. S. T. C. his] the MS. S. T. C.

ALICE DU CLOS [469:1]

OR THE FORKED TONGUE

A BALLAD

'One word with two meanings is the traitor's shield and shaft: and a slit tongue be his blazon!'—Caucasian Proverb.

'The Sun is not yet risen,
But the dawn lies red on the dew:
Lord Julian has stolen from the hunters away,
Is seeking, Lady! for you.
Put on your dress of green, 5
Your buskins and your quiver:
Lord Julian is a hasty man,
Long waiting brook'd he never.
I dare not doubt him, that he means
To wed you on a day, 10
Your lord and master for to be,
And you his lady gay.
O Lady! throw your book aside!
I would not that my Lord should chide.'

Thus spake Sir Hugh the vassal knight [15]
To Alice, child of old Du Clos,
As spotless fair, as airy light
As that moon-shiny doe,
The gold star on its brow, her sire's ancestral crest!
For ere the lark had left his nest, 20
She in the garden bower below
Sate loosely wrapt in maiden white,
Her face half drooping from the sight,
A snow-drop on a tuft of snow!

O close your eyes, and strive to see 25
The studious maid, with book on knee,—
Ah! earliest-open'd flower;
While yet with keen unblunted light
The morning star shone opposite
The lattice of her bower— 30
Alone of all the starry host,
As if in prideful scorn
Of flight and fear he stay'd behind,
To brave th' advancing morn.

O! Alice could read passing well, 35
And she was conning then
Dan Ovid's mazy tale of loves,
And gods, and beasts, and men.

The vassal's speech, his taunting vein,
It thrill'd like venom thro' her brain; 40
Yet never from the book
She rais'd her head, nor did she deign
The knight a single look.

'Off, traitor friend! how dar'st thou fix
Thy wanton gaze on me? [45]
And why, against my earnest suit,
Does Julian send by thee?
'Go, tell thy Lord, that slow is sure:
Fair speed his shafts to-day!
I follow here a stronger lure, [50]
And chase a gentler prey.'

She said: and with a baleful smile
The vassal knight reel'd off—
Like a huge billow from a bark
Toil'd in the deep sea-trough, [55]
That shouldering sideways in mid plunge,
Is travers'd by a flash.
And staggering onward, leaves the ear
With dull and distant crash.

And Alice sate with troubled mien [60]
A moment; for the scoff was keen,
And thro' her veins did shiver!
Then rose and donn'd her dress of green,
Her buskins and her quiver.

There stands the flow'ring may-thorn tree! [65]
From thro' the veiling mist you see
The black and shadowy stem;—
Smit by the sun the mist in glee
Dissolves to lightsome jewelry—
Each blossom hath its gem! [70]

With tear-drop glittering to a smile,
The gay maid on the garden-stile
Mimics the hunter's shout.
'Hip! Florian, hip! To horse, to horse!
Go, bring the palfrey out. [75]

'My Julian's out with all his clan.
And, bonny boy, you wis,
Lord Julian is a hasty man,
Who comes late, comes amiss.'

Now Florian was a stripling squire, 80
A gallant boy of Spain,
That toss'd his head in joy and pride,
Behind his Lady fair to ride,
But blush'd to hold her train.

The huntress is in her dress of green,— [85]
And forth they go; she with her bow,
Her buskins and her quiver!—
The squire—no younger e'er was seen—
With restless arm and laughing een,
He makes his javelin quiver. 90

And had not Ellen stay'd the race,
And stopp'd to see, a moment's space,
The whole great globe of light
Give the last parting kiss-like touch
To the eastern ridge, it lack'd not much, 95
They had o'erta'en the knight.

It chanced that up the covert lane,
Where Julian waiting stood,
A neighbour knight prick'd on to join
The huntsmen in the wood. [100]

And with him must Lord Julian go,
Tho' with an anger'd mind:
Betroth'd not wedded to his bride,
In vain he sought, 'twixt shame and pride,
Excuse to stay behind. [105]

He bit his lip, he wrung his glove,
He look'd around, he look'd above,
But pretext none could find or frame.
Alas! alas! and well-a-day!
It grieves me sore to think, to say, [110]
That names so seldom meet with Love,
Yet Love wants courage without a name!

Straight from the forest's skirt the trees
O'er-branching, made an aisle,
Where hermit old might pace and chaunt 115
As in a minster's pile.

From underneath its leafy screen,
And from the twilight shade,
You pass at once into a green,
A green and lightsome glade. [120]

And there Lord Julian sate on steed;
Behind him, in a round,
Stood knight and squire, and menial train;
Against the leash the greyhounds strain;
The horses paw'd the ground. [125]

When up the alley green, Sir Hugh
Spurr'd in upon the sward,
And mute, without a word, did he
Fall in behind his lord.

Lord Julian turn'd his steed half round,— 130
'What! doth not Alice deign
To accept your loving convoy, knight?
Or doth she fear our woodland sleight,
And join us on the plain?'

With stifled tones the knight replied, [135]
And look'd askance on either side,—
'Nay, let the hunt proceed!—
The Lady's message that I bear,
I guess would scantly please your ear,
And less deserves your heed. 140

'You sent betimes. Not yet unbarr'd
I found the middle door;—
Two stirrers only met my eyes,
Fair Alice, and one more.

'I came unlook'd for; and, it seem'd, 145
In an unwelcome hour;
And found the daughter of Du Clos
Within the lattic'd bower.

'But hush! the rest may wait. If lost,
No great loss, I divine; [150]
And idle words will better suit
A fair maid's lips than mine.'

'God's wrath! speak out, man,' Julian cried,
O'ermaster'd by the sudden smart;—
And feigning wrath, sharp, blunt, and rude, [155]
The knight his subtle shift pursued.—
'Scowl not at me; command my skill,
To lure your hawk back, if you will,
But not a woman's heart.

'"Go! (said she) tell him,—slow is sure; 160
Fair speed his shafts to-day!
I follow here a stronger lure,
And chase a gentler prey."

'The game, pardie, was full in sight,
That then did, if I saw aright, [165]
The fair dame's eyes engage;
For turning, as I took my ways,
I saw them fix'd with steadfast gaze
Full on her wanton page.'

The last word of the traitor knight [170]
It had but entered Julian's ear,—
From two o'erarching oaks between,
With glist'ning helm-like cap is seen,
Borne on in giddy cheer,

A youth, that ill his steed can guide; 175
Yet with reverted face doth ride,
As answering to a voice,
That seems at once to laugh and chide—
'Not mine, dear mistress,' still he cried,
''Tis this mad filly's choice.' 180

With sudden bound, beyond the boy,
See! see! that face of hope and joy,
That regal front! those cheeks aglow!
Thou needed'st but the crescent sheen,
A quiver'd Dian to have been, 185
Thou lovely child of old Du Clos!

Dark as a dream Lord Julian stood,
Swift as a dream, from forth the wood,
Sprang on the plighted Maid!
With fatal aim, and frantic force, 190
The shaft was hurl'd!—a lifeless corse,
Fair Alice from her vaulting horse,
Lies bleeding on the glade.

? 1828.

FOOTNOTES:

[469:1] First published in 1834. The date of composition cannot be ascertained. The MS., an early if not a first draft, is certainly of late date. The water-marks of the paper (Bath Post) are 1822 and 1828. There is a second draft (MS. b) of lines 97-112. Line 37, 'Dan Ovid's mazy tale of loves,' may be compared with line 100 of The Garden of Boccaccio, 'Peers Ovid's Holy Book of Love's sweet smart,' and it is probable that Alice Du Clos was written about the same time, 1828-9. In line 91 'Ellen' is no doubt a slip of the pen for 'Alice'.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] Alice Du Clos: or &c. MS.

[[19-25]]

Her sires had chosen for their Crest
A star atwixt its brow,
For she, already up and drest
Sate in the garden bower below.

For she enwrapt in
Enwrapt in robe of

Maiden white

Her

face half drooping
~~visage drooping~~ from the sight

A snow-drop in a tuft of snow
Ere the first lark had left the nest
Sate in the garden bower below.

MS. erased.

[[48]]

Go tell him I am well at home MS. erased.

[[49]]

speed] fly MS. erased.

[[50]]

stronger] sweeter MS. erased.

[[51]]

gentler] lovelier MS. erased.

[[53]]

reel'd] pass'd MS. erased.

[[54-7]]

Like a ~~tall Wave that~~

~~stormy~~
huge and dark

Reels sideway from a toiling Bark
Toil'd in the deep sea-trough

Is traversed by
~~Catches askance~~

the Lightning flash

Like a huge Billow, rude and dark

That

as it falls off from a Bark
~~tumbling mainward from~~

Toil'd in the deep Sea-trough

MS. erased.

[[56]]

shouldering] wheeling MS. erased.

[[61]]

A moment's pause MS. erased.

[[65]]

Yon May-thorn tree dimly—

O fairly flower yon may-thorn tree

MS. erased.

[[69]]

lightsome] glittering MS.

[[71]]

With] The MS.

[[76]]

Lord Julian in the Greenwood stays MS. erased.

[[87]]

With buskins and with quiver MS. erased.

[[100]]

huntsmen] huntsman MS. b.

[[104]]

He sought in vain twixt shame and pride MS. b.

[[107]]

He look'd far round MS. b.

[[110]]

sore] sair MS. b, MS. erased.

[[111]]

Tho' names too seldom MS. b.

[[122]]

With all his gay hunt round MS.

[[126]]

When] And MS.

[[128]]

And dark of Brow, without a word MS.

[[135]]

stifled] muttering MS. erased.

[[136]]

And Look askance MS.: Yet not unheard MS. erased.

[[153-7]]

God's wrath! speak out!

Lord Julian cry'd
What mean'st thou man?

Recoiling with a start
Cried Julian with a start.

With

well-feign'd anger
feign'd resentment blunt and rude

Sir Hugh his deep revenge pursued

Why scowl at me? Command my skill.

MS. erased (first draft).

[[159]]

She bade me tell you MS. erased.

[[167]]

For as she clos'd her scoffing phrase MS. erased.

[[173-4]]

And who from twixt those opening Trees
Pricks on with laughing cheer

MS. erased (first draft).

LOVE'S BURIAL-PLACE [475:1]

Lady. If Love be dead—
Poet. And I aver it!
Lady. Tell me, Bard! where Love lies buried?
Poet. Love lies buried where 'twas born:
Oh, gentle dame! think it no scorn [5]
If, in my fancy, I presume
To call thy bosom poor Love's Tomb.
And on that tomb to read the line:—
'Here lies a Love that once seem'd mine,
But caught a chill, as I divine, [10]
And died at length of a Decline.'

1828.

FOOTNOTES:

[475:1] First published in 1828: included in the Amulet, 1833, as the first of 'Three Scraps', and in 1852. The present text is that of the Amulet, 1833.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] The Alienated Mistress: A Madrigal (From an unfinished Melodrama) 1828, 1852.

[[1-3]]

Lady. If Love be dead (and you aver it!)
Tell me Bard! where Love lies buried.

1828, 1852.

[[5]]

Ah faithless nymph 1828, 1852.

[[7]]

call] name 1828, 1852.

[[9]]

seem'd] was 1828, 1852.

[[10]]

caught] took 1828, 1852.

LINES [476:1]

TO A COMIC AUTHOR, ON AN ABUSIVE REVIEW

What though the chilly wide-mouth'd quacking chorus
From the rank swamps of murk Review-land croak:
So was it, neighbour, in the times before us,
When Momus, throwing on his Attic cloak,
Romp'd with the Graces; and each tickled Muse [5]
(That Turk, Dan Phœbus, whom bards call divine,
Was married to—at least, he kept—all nine)
Fled, but still with reverted faces ran;
Yet, somewhat the broad freedoms to excuse,
They had allured the audacious Greek to use, 10
Swore they mistook him for their own good man.
This Momus—Aristophanes on earth
Men call'd him—maugre all his wit and worth,
Was croak'd and gabbled at. How, then, should you,
Or I, friend, hope to 'scape the skulking crew? 15
No! laugh, and say aloud, in tones of glee,
'I hate the quacking tribe, and they hate me!'

? 1825.

FOOTNOTES:

[476:1] First published in Friendship's Offering, 1834, as No. III of 'Lightheartednesses in Rhyme': included in 1834.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] To a Comic Author on an abusive review of his Aristophanes MS.

[1] foll.

They fled;—
Friend yet unknown! What tho' a brainless rout
Usurp the sacred title of the Bard—
What tho' the chilly wide-mouth'd chorus
From Styx or Lethe's oozy Channel croak:
So was it, Peter, in the times before us
When Momus throwing on his Attic cloak
Romp'd with the Graces and each tickled Muse
The plighted coterie of Phœbus he bespoke
And laughing with reverted faces ran,
And somewhat the broad freedom to excuse
They had allow'd the audacious Greek to use
Swore they mistook him for their own good man!
If the good dulness be the home of worth
Duller than Frogs co-ax'd, or Jeffrey writ
We, too, will Aristoff (sic) and welcome it—

First draft MS. B. M.

[[7]]

kept] kept F. O. 1834.

COLOGNE [477:1]

In Köhln [477:2], a town of monks and bones [477:3],
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! 5
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 [477:4]? 10

1828.

FOOTNOTES:

[477:1] First published in Friendship's Offering, 1834, as No. IV of 'Lightheartednesses in Rhyme'. It follows the lines 'On my joyful Departure', &c., and is headed 'Expectoration the Second'. First collected in 1834.

[477:2] Köhln Coln F. O. The German Name of Cologne. F. O.]

[477:3] Of the eleven thousand virgin Martyrs. F. O.

[477:4] As Necessity is the mother of Invention, and extremes beget each other, the facts above recorded may explain how this ancient town (which, alas! as sometimes happens with venison, has been kept too long), came to be the birthplace of the most fragrant of spirituous fluids, the Eau de Cologne. F. O.

ON MY JOYFUL DEPARTURE [477:5]

FROM THE SAME CITY

As I am a Rhymer [477:6],
And now at least a merry one,
Mr. Mum's Rudesheimer [477:7]
And the church of St. Geryon
Are the two things alone 5
That deserve to be known
In the body-and-soul-stinking town of Cologne.

1828.

FOOTNOTES:

[477:5] First published in Friendship's Offering, 1834, with the heading 'An Expectoration, or Splenetic Extempore, on my joyful departure from the City of Cologne'. First collected in 1834.

[477:6] As I am Rhymer, F. O., P. W., 1834, 1893. The 'a' is inserted by Coleridge on a page of F. O., 1834; the correction was not adopted in P. W., 1834.

[477:7] The apotheosis of Rhenish wine.

THE GARDEN OF BOCCACCIO [478:1]

Or late, in one of those most weary hours,
When life seems emptied of all genial powers,
A dreary mood, which he who ne'er has known
May bless his happy lot, I sate alone;
And, from the numbing spell to win relief, 5
Call'd on the Past for thought of glee or grief.
In vain! bereft alike of grief and glee,
I sate and cow'r'd o'er my own vacancy!
And as I watch'd the dull continuous ache,
Which, all else slumb'ring, seem'd alone to wake; 10
O Friend [478:2]! long wont to notice yet conceal,
And soothe by silence what words cannot heal,
I but half saw that quiet hand of thine
Place on my desk this exquisite design.
Boccaccio's Garden and its faery, 15
The love, the joyaunce, and the gallantry!
An Idyll, with Boccaccio's spirit warm,
Framed in the silent poesy of form.

Like flocks adown a newly-bathed steep
Emerging from a mist: or like a stream 20
Of music soft that not dispels the sleep,
But casts in happier moulds the slumberer's dream,
Grazed by an idle eye with silent might
The picture stole upon my inward sight.
A tremulous warmth crept gradual o'er my chest, 25
As though an infant's finger touch'd my breast.
And one by one (I know not whence) were brought
All spirits of power that most had stirr'd my thought
In selfless boyhood, on a new world tost
Of wonder, and in its own fancies lost; 30
Or charm'd my youth, that, kindled from above,
Loved ere it loved, and sought a form for love;
Or lent a lustre to the earnest scan
Of manhood, musing what and whence is man!
Wild strain of Scalds, that in the sea-worn caves 35
Rehearsed their war-spell to the winds and waves;
Or fateful hymn of those prophetic maids,
That call'd on Hertha in deep forest glades;
Or minstrel lay, that cheer'd the baron's feast;
Or rhyme of city pomp, of monk and priest, 40
Judge, mayor, and many a guild in long array,
To high-church pacing on the great saint's day:
And many a verse which to myself I sang,
That woke the tear, yet stole away the pang
Of hopes, which in lamenting I renew'd: [45]
And last, a matron now, of sober mien,
Yet radiant still and with no earthly sheen,
Whom as a faery child my childhood woo'd
Even in my dawn of thought—Philosophy;
Though then unconscious of herself, pardie, 50
She bore no other name than Poesy;
And, like a gift from heaven, in lifeful glee,
That had but newly left a mother's knee,
Prattled and play'd with bird and flower, and stone,
As if with elfin playfellows well known, [55]
And life reveal'd to innocence alone.

Thanks, gentle artist! now I can descry
Thy fair creation with a mastering eye,
And all awake! And now in fix'd gaze stand,
Now wander through the Eden of thy hand; 60
Praise the green arches, on the fountain clear
See fragment shadows of the crossing deer;
And with that serviceable nymph I stoop,
The crystal, from its restless pool, to scoop.
I see no longer! I myself am there, 65
Sit on the ground-sward, and the banquet share.
'Tis I, that sweep that lute's love-echoing strings,
And gaze upon the maid who gazing sings:
Or pause and listen to the tinkling bells
From the high tower, and think that there she dwells. 70
With old Boccaccio's soul I stand possest,
And breathe an air like life, that swells my chest.
The brightness of the world, O thou once free,
And always fair, rare land of courtesy!
O Florence! with the Tuscan fields and hills 75
And famous Arno, fed with all their rills;
Thou brightest star of star-bright Italy!
Rich, ornate, populous,—all treasures thine,
The golden corn, the olive, and the vine.
Fair cities, gallant mansions, castles old, 80
And forests, where beside his leafy hold
The sullen boar hath heard the distant horn,
And whets his tusks against the gnarled thorn;
Palladian palace with its storied halls;
Fountains, where Love lies listening to their falls; 85
Gardens, where flings the bridge its airy span,
And Nature makes her happy home with man;
Where many a gorgeous flower is duly fed
With its own rill, on its own spangled bed,
And wreathes the marble urn, or leans its head, 90
A mimic mourner, that with veil withdrawn
Weeps liquid gems, the presents of the dawn;—
Thine all delights, and every muse is thine;
And more than all, the embrace and intertwine
Of all with all in gay and twinkling dance! 95
Mid gods of Greece and warriors of romance,
See! Boccace sits, unfolding on his knees
The new-found roll of old Maeonides;[480:1]
But from his mantle's fold, and near the heart,
Peers Ovid's Holy Book of Love's sweet smart![480:2] 100
O all-enjoying and all-blending sage,
Long be it mine to con thy mazy page,
Where, half conceal'd, the eye of fancy views
Fauns, nymphs, and wingéd saints, all gracious to thy muse!

Still in thy garden let me watch their pranks, [105]
And see in Dian's vest between the ranks
Of the trim vines, some maid that half believes
The vestal fires, of which her lover grieves,
With that sly satyr peeping through the leaves!

1828.

FOOTNOTES:

[478:1] First published in The Keepsake for 1829, to accompany a plate by Stothard: included in 1829 and 1834. The variant of lines 49-56, probably a fragment of some earlier unprinted poem, is inserted in one of Coleridge's Notebooks.

[478:2] Mrs. Gillman.

[480:1] Boccaccio claimed for himself the glory of having first introduced the works of Homer to his countrymen.

[480:2] I know few more striking or more interesting proofs of the overwhelming influence which the study of the Greek and Roman classics exercised on the judgments, feelings, and imaginations of the literati of Europe at the commencement of the restoration of literature, than the passage in the Filocopo of Boccaccio, where the sage instructor, Racheo, as soon as the young prince and the beautiful girl Biancofiore had learned their letters, sets them to study the Holy Book, Ovid's Art of Love. 'Incominciò Racheo a mettere il suo [officio] in esecuzione con intera sollecitudine. E loro, in breve tempo, insegnato a conoscer le lettere, fece leggere il santo libro d'Ovvidio, [!! S. T. C.] nel quale il sommo poeta mostra, come i santi fuochi di Venere si debbano ne' freddi cuori con sollecitudine accendere.' ['Deeply interesting—but observe, p. 63, ll. 33-5 [loc. cit.], The holy Book—Ovid's Art of Love!! This is not the result of mere Immorality:—

Multum, Multum
Hic jacet sepultum.'

MS. note on the fly-leaf of S. T. C.'s copy of vol. i of Boccaccio's Opere, 1723.

LINENOTES:

[[49-56]]

And there was young Philosophy
Unconscious of herself, pardie;
And now she hight poesy,
And like a child in playful glee
Prattles and plays with flower and stone,
As youth's fairy playfellows
Revealed to Innocence alone.

MS. S. T. C.

[[59]]

all] all Keepsake, 1829.

[[108]]

vestal] vestal Keepsake, 1829.

LOVE, HOPE, AND PATIENCE IN EDUCATION [481:1]

O'er wayward childhood would'st thou hold firm rule,
And sun thee in the light of happy faces;
Love, Hope, and Patience, these must be thy graces,
And in thine own heart let them first keep school.
For as old Atlas on his broad neck places [5]
Heaven's starry globe, and there sustains it;—so
Do these upbear the little world below
Of Education,—Patience, Love, and Hope.
Methinks, I see them group'd in seemly show,
The straiten'd arms upraised, the palms aslope, 10
And robes that touching as adown they flow,
Distinctly blend, like snow emboss'd in snow.

O part them never! If Hope prostrate lie,
Love too will sink and die.
But Love is subtle, and doth proof derive [15]
From her own life that Hope is yet alive;
And bending o'er, with soul-transfusing eyes,
And the soft murmurs of the mother dove,
Woos back the fleeting spirit, and half supplies;—
Thus Love repays to Hope what Hope first gave to Love. [20]

Yet haply there will come a weary day,
When overtask'd at length
Both Love and Hope beneath the load give way.
Then with a statue's smile, a statue's strength,
Stands the mute sister, Patience, nothing loth, 25
And both supporting does the work of both.

1829.

FOOTNOTES:

[481:1] First published in The Keepsake for 1830: included in P. W., 1834, iii. 381. An MS. version was forwarded to W. Sotheby in an unpublished letter of July 12, 1829. A second MS., dated July 1, 1829, is inscribed in an album now in the Editor's possession, which belonged to Miss Emily Trevenen (the author of Little Derwent's Breakfast, 1839). With regard to the variant of ll. 24-6, vide infra, Coleridge writes (Letter of July 12, 1829):—'They were struck out by the author, not because he thought them bad lines in themselves (quamvis Delia Cruscam fortasse nimis redolere videantur), but because they diverted and retarded the stream of the thought, and injured the organic unity of the composition. Più nel uno is Francesco de Sallez' brief and happy definition of the beautiful, and the shorter the poem the more indispensable is it that the Più should not overlay the Uno, that the unity should be evident. But to sacrifice the gratification, the sting of pleasure, from a fine passage to the satisfaction, the sense of complacency arising from the contemplation of a symmetrical Whole is among the last conquests achieved by men of genial powers.'

LINENOTES:

[Title]] Lines in a Lady's Album in answer to her question respecting the accomplishments most desirable in the Mistress or Governess of a Preparatory School Letter, July 1829: The Poet's Answer, To a Lady's Question respecting the accomplishments most desirable in an instructress of Children Keepsake, 1830.

[[2]]

And] Yet Letter, 1829.

[[3]]

thy] thy Keepsake.

[[4]]

keep school] keep school Keepsake.

[[9-11]]

Methinks I see them now, the triune group,
With straiten'd arms uprais'd, the Palms aslope
Robe touching Robe beneath, and blending as they flow.

Letter, July 1829.

[[15]]

doth] will Keepsake, 1833.

[[24-6]]

Then like a Statue with a Statue's strength,
And with a Smile, the Sister Fay of those
Who at meek Evening's Close
To teach our Grief repose,
Their freshly-gathered store of Moonbeams wreath
On Marble Lips, a Chantrey has made breathe.

Letter, July 1829.

TO MISS A. T.[482:1]

Verse, pictures, music, thoughts both grave and gay,
Remembrances of dear-loved friends away,
On spotless page of virgin white displayed,
Such should thine Album be, for such art thou, sweet maid!

1829.

FOOTNOTES:

[482:1] First published in Essays on His Own Times, 1850, iii, 998 with the title 'To Miss A. T.' First collected in 1893, with the title 'In Miss E. Trevenen's Album'. 'Miss A. T.' may have been a misprint for Miss E. T., but there is no MS. authority for the title prefixed in 1893.

LINES [483:1]

WRITTEN IN COMMONPLACE BOOK OF MISS BARBOUR, DAUGHTER
OF THE MINISTER OF THE U.S.A. TO ENGLAND

Child of my muse! in Barbour's gentle hand
Go cross the main: thou seek'st no foreign land:
'Tis not the clod beneath our feet we name
Our country. Each heaven-sanctioned tie the same,
Laws, manners, language, faith, ancestral blood, 5
Domestic honour, awe of womanhood:—
With kindling pride thou wilt rejoice to see
Britain with elbow-room and doubly free!
Go seek thy countrymen! and if one scar
Still linger of that fratricidal war, 10
Look to the maid who brings thee from afar;
Be thou the olive-leaf and she the dove,
And say, I greet thee with a brother's love!

S. T. Coleridge.

Grove, Highgate, August 1829.

FOOTNOTES:

[483:1] First published in the New York Mirror for Dec. 19, 1829: reprinted in The Athenaeum, May 3, 1884: first collected in 1893.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] lines written . . . daughter of the late Minister to England. Athenaeum 1884.

SONG, ex improviso[483:2]

ON HEARING A SONG IN PRAISE OF A LADY'S BEAUTY

'Tis not the lily-brow I prize,
Nor roseate cheeks, nor sunny eyes,
Enough of lilies and of roses!
A thousand-fold more dear to me
The gentle look that Love discloses,— [5]
The look that Love alone can see!

Keepsake, 1830.

FOOTNOTES:

[483:2] First published in The Keepsake for 1830: included in Essays on His Own Times, 1850, iii. 997. First collected in P. and D. W., 1877-80.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] To a Lady Essays, &c. 1850.

[[5-6]]

The look that gentle Love discloses,—
That look which Love alone can see.

Essays, &c. 1850.

LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP OPPOSITE [484:1]

Her attachment may differ from yours in degree,
Provided they are both of one kind;
But Friendship, how tender so ever it be,
Gives no accord to Love, however refined.
Love, that meets not with Love, its true nature revealing, 5
Grows ashamed of itself, and demurs:
If you cannot lift hers up to your state of feeling,
You must lower down your state to hers.

? 1830.

FOOTNOTES:

[484:1] First published as No. ii of 'Lightheartednesses in Rhyme' in Friendship's Offering for 1834: included in P. W., 1834.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] In Answer To A Friend's Question F. O.

[[1]]

in degree] in degree F. O.

[[2]]

kind] kind F. O.

NOT AT HOME [484:2]

That Jealousy may rule a mind
Where Love could never be
I know; but ne'er expect to find
Love without Jealousy.

She has a strange cast in her ee, 5
A swart sour-visaged maid—
But yet Love's own twin-sister she
His house-mate and his shade.

Ask for her and she'll be denied:—
What then? they only mean 10
Their mistress has lain down to sleep,
And can't just then be seen.

? 1830.

FOOTNOTES:

[484:2] First published in 1834.

PHANTOM OR FACT [484:3]

A DIALOGUE IN VERSE

AUTHOR

A lovely form there sate beside my bed,
And such a feeding calm its presence shed,
A tender love so pure from earthly leaven,
That I unnethe the fancy might control,
'Twas my own spirit newly come from heaven, 5
Wooing its gentle way into my soul!
But ah! the change—It had not stirr'd, and yet—
Alas! that change how fain would I forget!
That shrinking back, like one that had mistook!
That weary, wandering, disavowing look! 10
'Twas all another, feature, look, and frame,
And still, methought, I knew, it was the same!

FRIEND

This riddling tale, to what does it belong?
Is't history? vision? or an idle song?
Or rather say at once, within what space 15
Of time this wild disastrous change took place?

AUTHOR

Call it a moment's work (and such it seems)
This tale's a fragment from the life of dreams;
But say, that years matur'd the silent strife,
And 'tis a record from the dream of life. 20

? 1830.

FOOTNOTES:

[484:3] First published in 1834.

DESIRE [485:1]

Where true Love burns Desire is Love's pure flame;
It is the reflex of our earthly frame,
That takes its meaning from the nobler part,
And but translates the language of the heart.

? 1830.

FOOTNOTES:

[485:1] First published in 1834.

LINENOTES:

[[1-4]]

Desire of pure Love born, itself the same;
A pulse that animates the outer frame,
And takes the impress of the nobler part,
It but repeats the Life, that of the Heart.

MS. S. T. C.

CHARITY IN THOUGHT [486:1]

To praise men as good, and to take them for such,
Is a grace which no soul can mete out to a tittle;—
Of which he who has not a little too much,
Will by Charity's gauge surely have much too little.

? 1830.

FOOTNOTES:

[486:1] First published in 1834.

HUMILITY THE MOTHER OF CHARITY [486:2]

Frail creatures are we all! To be the best,
Is but the fewest faults to have:—
Look thou then to thyself, and leave the rest
To God, thy conscience, and the grave.

? 1830.

FOOTNOTES:

[486:2] First published in 1834.

[COELI ENARRANT][486:3]

The stars that wont to start, as on a chace,
Mid twinkling insult on Heaven's darken'd face,
Like a conven'd conspiracy of spies
Wink at each other with confiding eyes!
Turn from the portent—all is blank on high, 5
No constellations alphabet the sky:
The Heavens one large Black Letter only shew,
And as a child beneath its master's blow
Shrills out at once its task and its affright—[486:4]
The groaning world now learns to read aright, 10
And with its Voice of Voices cries out, O!

? 1830.

FOOTNOTES:

[486:3] Now first published from a MS. of uncertain date. 'I wrote these lines in imitation of Du Bartas as translated by our Sylvester.' S. T. C.

[486:4] Compare Leigh Hunt's story of Boyer's reading-lesson at Christ's Hospital:—'Pupil.—(. . . never remembering the stop at the word "Missionary"). "Missionary Can you see the wind?" (Master gives him a slap on the cheek.) Pupil.—(Raising his voice to a cry, and still forgetting to stop.) "Indian No."' Autobiography of Leigh Hunt, 1860, p. 68.

REASON [487:1]

['Finally, what is Reason? You have often asked me: and this is my answer':—]

Whene'er the mist, that stands 'twixt God and thee,
Defecates to a pure transparency,
That intercepts no light and adds no stain—
There Reason is, and then begins her reign!

But alas! 5
——'tu stesso, ti fai grosso
Col falso immaginar, sì che non vedi
Ciò che vedresti, se l'avessi scosso.'

Dante, Paradiso, Canto i.

1830.

FOOTNOTES:

[487:1] First published as the conclusion of On the Constitution of the Church and State, 1830, p. 227. First collected, P. and D. W., 1877-80, ii. 374.

SELF-KNOWLEDGE [487:2]

—E coelo descendit γνῶθι σεαυτόν.—Juvenal, xi. 27.

Γνῶθι σεαυτόν!—and is this the prime
And heaven-sprung adage of the olden time!—
Say, canst thou make thyself?—Learn first that trade;—
Haply thou mayst know what thyself had made.
What hast thou, Man, that thou dar'st call thine own?— 5
What is there in thee, Man, that can be known?—
Dark fluxion, all unfixable by thought,
A phantom dim of past and future wrought,
Vain sister of the worm,—life, death, soul, clod—
Ignore thyself, and strive to know thy God! 10

1832.

FOOTNOTES:

[487:2] First published in 1834.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] The heading 'Self-knowledge' appears first in 1893.

FORBEARANCE [488:1]

Beareth all things.—1 Cor. xiii. 7.

Gently I took that which ungently came,[488:2]
And without scorn forgave:—Do thou the same.
A wrong done to thee think a cat's-eye spark
Thou wouldst not see, were not thine own heart dark.
Thine own keen sense of wrong that thirsts for sin, 5
Fear that—the spark self-kindled from within,
Which blown upon will blind thee with its glare,
Or smother'd stifle thee with noisome air.
Clap on the extinguisher, pull up the blinds,
And soon the ventilated spirit finds 10
Its natural daylight. If a foe have kenn'd,
Or worse than foe, an alienated friend,
A rib of dry rot in thy ship's stout side,
Think it God's message, and in humble pride
With heart of oak replace it;—thine the gains— 15
Give him the rotten timber for his pains!

? 1832.

FOOTNOTES:

[488:1] First published in 1834.

[488:2] Compare Spenser's Shepherd's Calendar (Februarie):—

'Ne ever was to Fortune foeman,
But gently took that ungently came.'

LINENOTES:

[Title]] The heading 'Forbearance' appears first in 1893.

LOVE'S APPARITION AND EVANISHMENT [488:3]

AN ALLEGORIC ROMANCE

Like a lone Arab, old and blind,
Some caravan had left behind,
Who sits beside a ruin'd well,
Where the shy sand-asps bask and swell;
And now he hangs his agéd head aslant, [5]
And listens for a human sound—in vain!
And now the aid, which Heaven alone can grant,
Upturns his eyeless face from Heaven to gain;—
Even thus, in vacant mood, one sultry hour,
Resting my eye upon a drooping plant, [10]
With brow low-bent, within my garden-bower,
I sate upon the couch of camomile;
And—whether 'twas a transient sleep, perchance,
Flitted across the idle brain, the while
I watch'd the sickly calm with aimless scope, 15
In my own heart; or that, indeed a trance,
Turn'd my eye inward—thee, O genial Hope,
Love's elder sister! thee did I behold,
Drest as a bridesmaid, but all pale and cold,
With roseless cheek, all pale and cold and dim, 20
Lie lifeless at my feet!
And then came Love, a sylph in bridal trim,
And stood beside my seat;
She bent, and kiss'd her sister's lips,
As she was wont to do;— [25]
Alas! 'twas but a chilling breath
Woke just enough of life in death
To make Hope die anew.

L'ENVOY

In vain we supplicate the Powers above;
There is no resurrection for the Love 30
That, nursed in tenderest care, yet fades away
In the chill'd heart by gradual self-decay.

1833.

FOOTNOTES:

[488:3] Lines 1-28 were first published in Friendship's Offering for 1834, signed and dated 'S. T. Coleridge, August 1833': included in P. W., 1834. Lines 29-32 were first added as 'L'Envoy' in 1852. J. D. Campbell in a note to this poem (1893, p. 644) prints an expanded version of these lines, which were composed on April 24, 1824, 'as Coleridge says, "without taking my pen off the paper"'. The same lines were sent in a letter to Allsop, April 27, 1824 (Letters, &c., 1836, ii. 174-5) with a single variant (line 3) 'uneclips'd' for 'unperturb'd'. In the draft of April 24, four lines were added, and of these an alternative version was published in P. W., 1834, with the heading ['Desire'] (vide ante, p. 485). For an earlier draft in S. T. C.'s handwriting vide Appendices of this edition.

LINENOTES:

[[4]]

Where basking Dipsads [489:A] hiss and swell F. O. 1834.

[489:A] The Asps of the sand-desert, anciently named Dipsads.

[[7]]

And now] Anon F. O. 1834.

[[14]]

Flitting across the idle sense the while F. O. 1834.

[[27]]

That woke enough F. O. 1834.

[[29-32]]

Idly we supplicate the Powers above:
There is no resurrection for a Love
That uneclips'd, unshadow'd, wanes away
In the chill'd heart by inward self-decay.
Poor mimic of the Past! the love is o'er
That must resolve to do what did itself of yore.

Letter, April 27, 1824.

TO THE YOUNG ARTIST [490:1]

KAYSER OF KASERWERTH

Kayser! to whom, as to a second self,
Nature, or Nature's next-of-kin, the Elf,
Hight Genius, hath dispensed the happy skill
To cheer or soothe the parting friend's 'Alas!'
Turning the blank scroll to a magic glass, 5
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 10
A more delightful portrait left behind—
Even 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.

FOOTNOTES:

[490:1] First published in 1834. The original of Kayser's portrait of S. T. C., a pencil-sketch, is in the possession of the Editor. In 1852 Kaserwerth is printed Kayserwerth. The modern spelling is Kaiserswerth.

MY BAPTISMAL BIRTH-DAY [490:2]

God's child in Christ adopted,—Christ my all,—
What that earth boasts were not lost cheaply, rather
Than forfeit that blest name, by which I call
The Holy One, the Almighty God, my Father?—
Father! in Christ we live, and Christ in Thee— [5]
Eternal Thou, and everlasting we.
The heir of heaven, henceforth I fear not death:
In Christ I live! in Christ I draw the breath
Of the true life!—Let then earth, sea, and sky
Make war against me! On my heart I show [10]
Their mighty master's seal. In vain they try
To end my life, that can but end its woe.—
Is that a death-bed where a Christian lies?—
Yes! but not his—'tis Death itself there dies.

1833.

FOOTNOTES:

[490:2] First published in Friendship's Offering for 1834: included in P. W., 1834. Emerson heard Coleridge repeat an earlier version of these lines on Aug. 5, 1833.

LINENOTES:

[Title]] Lines composed on a sick-bed, under severe bodily suffering, on my spiritual birthday, October 28th. F. O.

[[1]]

Born unto God in Christ—in Christ, my All! F. O.

[[3]]

I] we F. O.

[[4]]

my] our F. O.

[[7]]

fear] dread F. O.

[[9-10]]

Let Sea, and Earth and Sky
Wage war against me! On my front I show

F. O.

[[11]]

they] they F. O.

[[12]]

that] who F. O.

[[14]]

his . . . there] his . . . there F. O.

EPITAPH [491:1]

Stop, Christian passer-by!—Stop, child of God,
And read with gentle breast. Beneath this sod
A poet lies, or that which once seem'd he.
O, lift one thought in prayer for S. T. C.;
That he who many a year with toil of breath [5]
Found death in life, may here find life in death!
Mercy for praise—to be forgiven for fame [492:1]
He ask'd, and hoped, through Christ. Do thou the same!

9th November, 1833.

FOOTNOTES:

[491:1] First published in 1834. Six MS. versions are extant:—(a) in a letter to Mrs. Aders of 1833 (Letters of S. T. C., 1895, ii. 770); (b) in a letter to J. G. Lockhart; (c) in a letter to J. H. Green of October 29, 1833: (d e) in a copy of Grew's Cosmologia Sacra, annotated by Coleridge in 1833; (f) in a copy of the Todtentanz, which belonged to Thomas Poole.

[492:1] N.B. 'for' in the sense of 'instead of'. ἔστη κεῖται ἀναστήσει—stetit: restat: resurget. ΕΣΤΗΣΕ. Letter to J. G. Lockhart, 1833.

LINENOTES:

[Title] or Heading] (a) 'Epitaph on a Poet little known, yet better known by the Initials of his name than by the Name Itself.' S. T. C. Letter to Mrs. Aders: (b) 'Epitaph on a Writer better known by the Initials of his Name than by the name itself. Suppose an upright tombstone.' S. T. C. Letter to J. G. Lockhart: (c) 'On an author not wholly unknown; but better known by the initials of his name than by the name itself, which he partly Graecized, Hic jacet qui stetit, restat, resurget—on a Tombstone.' Letter to J. H. Green: (d) 'Epitaph in Hornsey Churchyard. Hic jacet S. T. C. Grew (1): (e) 'Etesi's (sic) Epitaph,' (and below (e)) 'Inscription on the Tombstone of one not unknown; yet more commonly known by the Initials of his Name than by the Name itself.' Grew (2): (f) 'Esteese's αυτοεπιταφιον.' Note in Poole's Todtentanz.

From the letter to Mrs. Aders it appears that Coleridge did not contemplate the epitaph being inscribed on his tombstone, but that he intended it to be printed 'in letters of a distinctly visible and legible size' on the outline of a tomb-stone to be engraved as a vignette to be published in a magazine, or to illustrate the last page of his 'Miscellaneous Poems' in the second volume of his Poetical Works. It would seem that the artist, Miss Denman, had included in her sketch of the vignette the figure of a Muse, and to this Coleridge objects:—'A rude old yew-tree, or a mountain ash, with a grave or two, or any other characteristic of a village church-yard,—such a hint of a landscape was all I meant; but if any figure rather that of an elderly man, thoughtful with quiet tears upon his cheek.' Letters of S. T. C., 1895, ii. 770.

For the versions inscribed in Grew's Cosmologia Sacra, and in Poole's copy of the Todtentanz, vide Appendices of this work.

[[2]]

breast] heart MS. Letters to Mrs. Aders, J. G. Lockhart, J. H. Green.

[[3]]

seem'd he] was he MS. Letter to J. H. Green.

[[5]]

toil of] toilsome MS. Letter to Mrs. Aden.

[[7]]

to be forgiven] to be forgiven MS. Letters to Mrs. Aders and J. H. Green.