Samuel Coleridge - The Complete Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The Watchfire, like a sullen star 40

Twinkles to many a dozing Tar

Rude cradled on the mast.

Even there — beneath that lighthouse tower —

In the tumultuous evil hour

Ere Peace with Sara came, 45

Time was, I should have thought it sweet

To count the echoings of my feet,

And watch the storm-vex’d flame.

And there in black soul-jaundic’d fit

A sad gloom-pamper’d Man to sit, 50

And listen to the roar:

When mountain surges bellowing deep

With an uncouth monster-leap

Plung’d foaming on the shore.

Then by the lightning’s blaze to mark 55

Some toiling tempest-shatter’d bark;

Her vain distress-guns hear;

And when a second sheet of light

Flash’d o’er the blackness of the night —

To see no vessel there! 60

But Fancy now more gaily sings;

Or if awhile she droop her wings,

As skylarks ‘mid the corn,

On summer fields she grounds her breast:

The oblivious poppy o’er her nest 65

Nods, till returning morn.

O mark those smiling tears, that swell

The open’d rose! From heaven they fell,

And with the sunbeam blend.

Blest visitations from above, 70

Such are the tender woes of Love

Fostering the heart they bend!

When stormy Midnight howling round

Beats on our roof with clattering sound,

To me your arms you’ll stretch: 75

Great God! you’ll say — To us so kind,

O shelter from this loud bleak wind

The houseless, friendless wretch!

The tears that tremble down your cheek,

Shall bathe my kisses chaste and meek 80

In Pity’s dew divine;

And from your heart the sighs that steal

Shall make your rising bosom feel

The answering swell of mine!

How oft, my Love! with shapings sweet 85

I paint the moment, we shall meet!

With eager speed I dart —

I seize you in the vacant air,

And fancy, with a husband’s care

I press you to my heart! 90

‘Tis said, in Summer’s evening hour

Flashes the golden-colour’d flower

A fair electric flame:

And so shall flash my love-charg’d eye

When all the heart’s big ecstasy 95

Shoots rapid through the frame!

THE EOLIAN HARP

COMPOSED AT CLEVEDON, SOMERSETSHIRE

My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined

Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is

To sit beside our Cot, our Cot o’ergrown

With white-flower’d Jasmin, and the broad-leav’d Myrtle,

(Meet emblems they of Innocence and Love!) 5

And watch the clouds, that late were rich with light.

Slow saddening round, and mark the star of eve

Serenely brilliant (such should Wisdom be)

Shine opposite! How exquisite the scents

Snatch’d from yon beanfield! and the world so hush’d! 10

The stilly murmur of the distant Sea

Tells us of silence.

And that simplest Lute,

Placed lengthways in the clasping casement, hark!

How by the desultory breeze caress’d,

Like some coy maid half yielding to her lover, 15

It pours such sweet upbraiding, as must needs

Tempt to repeat the wrong! And now, its strings

Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes

Over delicious surges sink and rise,

Such a soft floating witchery of sound 20

As twilight Elfins make, when they at eve

Voyage on gentle gales from Fairy-Land,

Where Melodies round honey-dropping flowers,

Footless and wild, like birds of Paradise,

Nor pause, nor perch, hovering on untam’d wing! 25

O! the one Life within us and abroad,

Which meets all motion and becomes its soul,

A light in sound, a sound-like power in light,

Rhythm in all thought, and joyance every where —

Methinks, it should have been impossible 30

Not to love all things in a world so fill’d;

Where the breeze warbles, and the mute still air

Is Music slumbering on her instrument.

And thus, my Love! as on the midway slope

Of yonder hill I stretch my limbs at noon, 35

Whilst through my half-closed eyelids I behold

The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the main,

And tranquil muse upon tranquillity;

Full many a thought uncall’d and undetain’d,

And many idle flitting phantasies, 40

Traverse my indolent and passive brain,

As wild and various as the random gales

That swell and flutter on this subject Lute!

And what if all of animated nature

Be but organic Harps diversely fram’d, 45

That tremble into thought, as o’er them sweeps

Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze,

At once the Soul of each, and God of all?

But thy more serious eye a mild reproof

Darts, O belovéd Woman! nor such thoughts 50

Dim and unhallow’d dost thou not reject,

And biddest me walk humbly with my God.

Meek Daughter in the family of Christ!

Well hast thou said and holily disprais’d

These shapings of the unregenerate mind; 55

Bubbles that glitter as they rise and break

On vain Philosophy’s aye-babbling spring.

For never guiltless may I speak of him,

The Incomprehensible! save when with awe

I praise him, and with Faith that inly feels; 60

Who with his saving mercies healéd me,

A sinful and most miserable man,

Wilder’d and dark, and gave me to possess

Peace, and this Cot, and thee, heart-honour’d Maid!

TO THE AUTHOR OF POEMS

JOSEPH COTTLE PUBLISHED ANONYMOUSLY AT BRISTOL IN SEPTEMBER 1795

Unboastful Bard! whose verse concise yet clear

Tunes to smooth melody unconquer’d sense,

May your fame fadeless live, as ‘never-sere’

The Ivy wreathes yon Oak, whose broad defence

Embowers me from Noon’s sultry influence! 5

For, like that nameless Rivulet stealing by,

Your modest verse to musing Quiet dear

Is rich with tints heaven-borrow’d: the charm’d eye

Shall gaze undazzled there, and love the soften’d sky.

Circling the base of the Poetic mount 10

A stream there is, which rolls in lazy flow

Its coal-black waters from Oblivion’s fount:

The vapour-poison’d Birds, that fly too low,

Fall with dead swoop, and to the bottom go.

Escaped that heavy stream on pinion fleet 15

Beneath the Mountain’s lofty-frowning brow,

Ere aught of perilous ascent you meet,

A mead of mildest charm delays th’ unlabouring feet.

Not there the cloud-climb’d rock, sublime and vast,

That like some giant king, o’er-glooms the hill; 20

Nor there the Pine-grove to the midnight blast

Makes solemn music! But th’ unceasing rill

To the soft Wren or Lark’s descending trill

Murmurs sweet undersong ‘mid jasmin bowers.

In this same pleasant meadow, at your will 25

I ween, you wander’d — there collecting flowers

Of sober tint, and herbs of med’cinable powers!

There for the monarch-murder’d Soldier’s tomb

You wove th’ unfinish’d wreath of saddest hues;

And to that holier chaplet added bloom 30

Besprinkling it with Jordan’s cleansing dews.

But lo your Henderson awakes the Muse ——

His Spirit beckon’d from the mountain’s height!

You left the plain and soar’d mid richer views!

So Nature mourn’d when sunk the First Day’s light, 35

With stars, unseen before, spangling her robe of night!

Still soar, my Friend, those richer views among,

Strong, rapid, fervent, flashing Fancy’s beam!

Virtue and Truth shall love your gentler song;

But Poesy demands th’ impassion’d theme: 40

Waked by Heaven’s silent dews at Eve’s mild gleam

What balmy sweets Pomona breathes around!

But if the vext air rush a stormy stream