STONEHENGE.
Was it a spirit on yon shapeless pile?
It wore, methought, a holy Druid's form,
Musing on ancient days! The dying storm
Moan'd in his lifted locks. Thou, night! the while
Dost listen to his sad harp's wild complaint,
Mother of shadows! as to thee he pours
The broken strain, and plaintively deplores
The fall of Druid fame! Hark! murmurs faint
Breathe on the wavy air! and now more loud
Swells the deep dirge; accustomed to complain
Of holy rites unpaid, and of the crowd
Whose ceaseless steps the sacred haunts profane.
O'er the wild plain the hurrying tempest flies,
And, mid the storm unheard, the song of sorrow dies.
[3] I had an opportunity of introducing Mr. Southey at this time, to the eldest Mrs. More, who invited him down to spend some whole day with her sister Hannah, at their then residence, Cowslip Green. On this occasion, as requested, I accompanied him. The day was full of converse. On my meeting one of the ladies soon after, I was gratified to learn that Mr. S. equally pleased all five of the sisters. She said he was "brim full of literature, and one of the most elegant, and intellectual young men they had seen."
[4] It might he intimated, that, for the establishment of these lectures, there was, in Mr. Coleridge's mind, an interior spring of action. He wanted to "build up" a provision for his speedy marriage with Miss Sarah Fricker: and with these grand combined objects before him, no effort appeared too vast to be accomplished by his invigorated faculties.
[5] Copied from his MS. as delivered, not from his "Conciones ad Populum" as printed, where it will be found in a contracted state.
[6] Muir, Palmer, and Margarot.
[7] An eminent medical man in Bristol, who greatly admired Mr. Coleridge's conversation and genius, on one occasion, invited Mr. C. to dine with him, on a given day. The invitation was accepted, and this gentleman, willing to gratify his friends with an introduction to Mr. C. invited a large assemblage, for the express purpose of meeting him, and made a splendid entertainment, anticipating the delight which would be universally felt from Mr. C. a far-famed eloquence. It unfortunately happened that Mr. Coleridge had forgotten all about it! and the gentleman, [with his guests, after waiting till the hot became cold] under his mortification consoled himself by the resolve, never again to subject himself to a like disaster. No explanation or apology on my part could soothe the choler of this disciple of Glen. A dozen subscribers to his lectures fell off from this slip of his memory.
"Sloth jaundiced all! and from my graspless hand
Drop friendship's precious perls, like hour-glass sand.
I weep, yet stoop not! the faint anguish flows,
A dreamy pang in morning's feverish doze,"
[8] This honest upholsterer, (a Mr. W. a good little weak man) attended the preaching of the late eloquent Robert Hall. At one time an odd fancy entered his mind, such as would have occurred to none other; namely, that he possessed ministerial gifts; and with this notion uppermost in his head, he was sorely perplexed, to determine whether he ought not to forsake the shop, and ascend the pulpit.
In this uncertainty, he thought his discreetest plan would be to consult his Minister; in conformity with which, one morning he called on Mr. Hall, and thus began. "I call on you this morning, Sir, on a very important business!" "Well Sir." "Why you must know, Sir—I can hardly tell how to begin." "Let me hear, Sir." "Well Sir, if I must tell you, for these two months past I have had a strong persuasion on my mind, that I possess ministerial talents."—Mr. Hall (whose ideas were high of ministerial requisites) saw his delusion, and determined at once to check it. The Upholsterer continued: "Though a paper-hanger by trade, yet, sir, I am now satisfied that I am called to give up my business, and attend to something better; for you know, Mr. Hall, I should not bury my talents in a napkin." "O Sir," said Mr. H. "you need not use a napkin, a pocket-handkerchief will do."