Samuel Coleridge - The Complete Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge

ENVY sate guiding — ENVY, hag-abhorr’d!

Like JUSTICE mask’d, and doom’d to aid the fight 410

Victorious ‘gainst oppression. Hush’d awhile

Shriek’d AMBITION’S ghastly throng

And with them those the locust Fiends that crawl’d

— if Locusts how could they shriek? I must have

caught the contagion of unthinkingness. S. T. C. 4{o}.

VER PERPETUUM

FRAGMENT FROM AN UNPUBLISHED POEM.

The early Year’s fast-flying vapours stray

In shadowing trains across the orb of day:

And we, poor Insects of a few short hours,

Deem it a world of Gloom.

Were it not better hope a nobler doom, 5

Proud to believe that with more active powers

On rapid many-coloured wing

We thro’ one bright perpetual Spring

Shall hover round the fruits and flowers,

Screen’d by those clouds and cherish’d by those showers! 10

ON OBSERVING A BLOSSOM ON THE FIRST OF FEBRUARY 1796

Sweet flower! that peeping from thy russet stem

Unfoldest timidly, (for in strange sort

This dark, frieze-coated, hoarse, teeth-chattering month

Hath borrow’d Zephyr’s voice, and gazed upon thee

With blue voluptuous eye) alas, poor Flower! 5

These are but flatteries of the faithless year.

Perchance, escaped its unknown polar cave,

Even now the keen North-East is on its way.

Flower that must perish! shall I liken thee

To some sweet girl of too too rapid growth 10

Nipp’d by consumption mid untimely charms?

Or to Bristowa’s bard, the wondrous boy!

An amaranth, which earth scarce seem’d to own,

Till disappointment came, and pelting wrong

Beat it to earth? or with indignant grief 15

Shall I compare thee to poor Poland’s hope,

Bright flower of hope killed in the opening bud?

Farewell, sweet blossom! better fate be thine

And mock my boding! Dim similitudes

Weaving in moral strains, I’ve stolen one hour 20

From anxious Self, Life’s cruel taskmaster!

And the warm wooings of this sunny day

Tremble along my frame and harmonize

The attempered organ, that even saddest thoughts

Mix with some sweet sensations, like harsh tunes 25

Played deftly on a soft-toned instrument.

TO A PRIMROSE

THE FIRST SEEN IN THE SEASON

Nitens et roboris expers

Turget et insolida est: et spe delectat.

OVID, Metam. [xv. 203].

Thy smiles I note, sweet early Flower,

That peeping from thy rustic bower

The festive news to earth dost bring,

A fragrant messenger of Spring.

But, tender blossom, why so pale? 5

Dost hear stern Winter in the gale?

And didst thou tempt the ungentle sky

To catch one vernal glance and die?

Such the wan lustre Sickness wears

When Health’s first feeble beam appears; 10

So languid are the smiles that seek

To settle on the care-worn cheek,

When timorous Hope the head uprears,

Still drooping and still moist with tears,

If, through dispersing grief, be seen 15

Of Bliss the heavenly spark serene.

And sweeter far the early blow,

Fast following after storms of Woe,

Than (Comfort’s riper season come)

Are full-blown joys and Pleasure’s gaudy bloom. 20

VERSES: ADDRESSED TO J. HORNE TOOKE AND THE COMPANY WHO MET ON JUNE 28TH, 1796,

TO CELEBRATE HIS POLL AT THE WESTMINSTER ELECTION

Britons! when last ye met, with distant streak

So faintly promis’d the pale Dawn to break:

So dim it stain’d the precincts of the Sky

E’en Expectation gaz’d with doubtful Eye.

But now such fair Varieties of Light 5

O’ertake the heavy sailing Clouds of Night;

Th’ Horizon kindles with so rich a red,

That tho’ the Sun still hides his glorious head

Th’ impatient Matin-bird, assur’d of Day,

Leaves his low nest to meet its earliest ray; 10

Loud the sweet song of Gratulation sings,

And high in air claps his rejoicing wings!

Patriot and Sage! whose breeze-like Spirit first

The lazy mists of Pedantry dispers’d

(Mists in which Superstition’s pigmy band 15

Seem’d Giant Forms, the Genii of the Land!),

Thy struggles soon shall wak’ning Britain bless,

And Truth and Freedom hail thy wish’d success.

Yes Tooke! tho’ foul Corruption’s wolfish throng

Outmalice Calumny’s imposthum’d Tongue, 20

Thy Country’s noblest and determin’d Choice,

Soon shalt thou thrill the Senate with thy voice;

With gradual Dawn bid Error’s phantoms flit,

Or wither with the lightning’s flash of Wit;

Or with sublimer mien and tones more deep, 25

Charm sworded Justice from mysterious Sleep,

‘By violated Freedom’s loud Lament,

Her Lamps extinguish’d and her Temple rent;

By the forc’d tears her captive Martyrs shed;

By each pale Orphan’s feeble cry for bread; 30

By ravag’d Belgium’s corse-impeded Flood,

And Vendee steaming still with brothers’ blood!’

And if amid the strong impassion’d Tale,

Thy Tongue should falter and thy Lips turn pale;

If transient Darkness film thy aweful Eye, 35

And thy tir’d Bosom struggle with a sigh:

Science and Freedom shall demand to hear

Who practis’d on a Life so doubly dear;

Infus’d the unwholesome anguish drop by drop,

Pois’ning the sacred stream they could not stop! 40

Shall bid thee with recover’d strength relate

How dark and deadly is a Coward’s Hate:

What seeds of death by wan Confinement sown,

When Prison-echoes mock’d Disease’s groan!

Shall bid th’ indignant Father flash dismay, 45

And drag the unnatural Villain into Day

Who to the sports of his flesh’d Ruffians left

Two lovely Mourners of their Sire bereft!

‘Twas wrong, like this, which Rome’s first Consul bore,

So by th’ insulted Female’s name he swore 50

Ruin (and rais’d her reeking dagger high)

Not to the Tyrants but the Tyranny!

ON A LATE CONNUBIAL RUPTURE IN HIGH LIFE

[PRINCE AND PRINCESS OF WALES]

I sigh, fair injur’d stranger! for thy fate;

But what shall sighs avail thee? thy poor heart,

‘Mid all the ‘pomp and circumstance’ of state,

Shivers in nakedness. Unbidden, start

Sad recollections of Hope’s garish dream, 5

That shaped a seraph form, and named it Love,

Its hues gay-varying, as the orient beam

Varies the neck of Cytherea’s dove.

To one soft accent of domestic joy

Poor are the shouts that shake the high-arch’d dome; 10

Those plaudits that thy public path annoy,

Alas! they tell thee — Thou’rt a wretch at home!

O then retire, and weep! Their very woes

Solace the guiltless. Drop the pearly flood

On thy sweet infant, as the full-blown rose, 15

Surcharg’d with dew, bends o’er its neighbouring bud.

And ah! that Truth some holy spell might lend

To lure thy Wanderer from the Syren’s power;

Then bid your souls inseparably blend

Like two bright dewdrops meeting in a flower. 20

SONNET: ON RECEIVING A LETTER INFORMING ME OF THE BIRTH OF A SON

When they did greet me father, sudden awe

Weigh’d down my spirit: I retired and knelt

Seeking the throne of grace, but inly felt

No heavenly visitation upwards draw

My feeble mind, nor cheering ray impart. 5

Ah me! before the Eternal Sire I brought

Th’ unquiet silence of confuséd thought

And shapeless feelings: my o’erwhelméd heart

Trembled, and vacant tears stream’d down my face.

And now once more, O Lord! to thee I bend, 10

Lover of souls! and groan for future grace,

That ere my babe youth’s perilous maze have trod,