Samuel Coleridge - The Complete Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge

And the acorn was grown to a tall oak tree.

They built them a nest in the topmost bough,

And young ones they had, and were happy enow.

But soon came a Woodman in leathern guise,

His brow, like a pent-house, hung over his eyes. 25

He’d an axe in his hand, not a word he spoke,

But with many a hem! and a sturdy stroke,

At length he brought down the poor Raven’s own oak.

His young ones were killed; for they could not depart,

And their mother did die of a broken heart. 30

The boughs from the trunk the Woodman did sever;

And they floated it down on the course of the river.

They sawed it in planks, and its bark they did strip,

And with this tree and others they made a good ship.

The ship, it was launched; but in sight of the land 35

Such a storm there did rise as no ship could withstand.

It bulged on a rock, and the waves rush’d in fast:

Round and round flew the raven, and cawed to the blast.

He heard the last shriek of the perishing souls —

See! see! o’er the topmast the mad water rolls! 40

Right glad was the Raven, and off he went fleet,

And Death riding home on a cloud he did meet,

And he thank’d him again and again for this treat:

They had taken his all, and REVENGE IT WAS SWEET!

TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN AT THE THEATRE

Maiden, that with sullen brow

Sitt’st behind those virgins gay,

Like a scorch’d and mildew’d bough,

Leafless ‘mid the blooms of May!

Him who lur’d thee and forsook, 5

Oft I watch’d with angry gaze,

Fearful saw his pleading look,

Anxious heard his fervid phrase.

Soft the glances of the Youth,

Soft his speech, and soft his sigh; 10

But no sound like simple Truth,

But no true love in his eye.

Loathing thy polluted lot,

Hie thee, Maiden, hie thee hence!

Seek thy weeping Mother’s cot, 15

With a wiser innocence.

Thou hast known deceit and folly,

Thou hast felt that Vice is woe:

With a musing melancholy

Inly arm’d, go, Maiden! go. 20

Mother sage of Self-dominion,

Firm thy steps, O Melancholy!

The strongest plume in Wisdom’s pinion

Is the memory of past folly.

Mute the skylark and forlorn, 25

While she moults the firstling plumes,

That had skimm’d the tender corn,

Or the beanfield’s odorous blooms.

Soon with renovated wing

Shall she dare a loftier flight, 30

Upward to the Day-Star spring,

And embathe in heavenly light.

TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN WHOM THE AUTHOR HAD KNOWN IN THE DAYS OF HER INNOCENCE

Myrtle-leaf that, ill besped,

Pinest in the gladsome ray,

Soil’d beneath the common tread

Far from thy protecting spray!

When the Partridge o’er the sheaf 5

Whirr’d along the yellow vale,

Sad I saw thee, heedless leaf!

Love the dalliance of the gale.

Lightly didst thou, foolish thing!

Heave and flutter to his sighs, 10

While the flatterer, on his wing,

Woo’d and whisper’d thee to rise.

Gaily from thy mother-stalk

Wert thou danc’d and wafted high —

Soon on this unshelter’d walk 15

Flung to fade, to rot and die.

TO THE REV. GEORGE COLERIDGE OF OTTERY ST. MARY, DEVON

With some Poems

Notus in fratres animi paterni.

HOR. Carm. lib. II. 2.

A blesséd lot hath he, who having passed

His youth and early manhood in the stir

And turmoil of the world, retreats at length,

With cares that move, not agitate the heart,

To the same dwelling where his father dwelt; 5

And haply views his tottering little ones

Embrace those agéd knees and climb that lap,

On which first kneeling his own infancy

Lisp’d its brief prayer. Such, O my earliest Friend!

Thy lot, and such thy brothers too enjoy. 10

At distance did ye climb Life’s upland road,

Yet cheer’d and cheering: now fraternal love

Hath drawn you to one centre. Be your days

Holy, and blest and blessing may ye live!

To me the Eternal Wisdom hath dispens’d 15

A different fortune and more different mind —

Me from the spot where first I sprang to light

Too soon transplanted, ere my soul had fix’d

Its first domestic loves; and hence through life

Chasing chance-started friendships. A brief while 20

Some have preserv’d me from life’s pelting ills;

But, like a tree with leaves of feeble stem,

If the clouds lasted, and a sudden breeze

Ruffled the boughs, they on my head at once

Dropped the collected shower; and some most false, 25

False and fair-foliag’d as the Manchineel,

Have tempted me to slumber in their shade

E’en mid the storm; then breathing subtlest damps,

Mix’d their own venom with the rain from Heaven,

That I woke poison’d! But, all praise to Him 30

Who gives us all things, more have yielded me

Permanent shelter; and beside one Friend,

Beneath the impervious covert of one oak,

I’ve rais’d a lowly shed, and know the names

Of Husband and of Father; not unhearing 35

Of that divine and nightly-whispering Voice,

Which from my childhood to maturer years

Spake to me of predestinated wreaths,

Bright with no fading colours!

Yet at times

My soul is sad, that I have roam’d through life 40

Still most a stranger, most with naked heart

At mine own home and birthplace: chiefly then,

When I remember thee, my earliest Friend!

Thee, who didst watch my boyhood and my youth;

Didst trace my wanderings with a father’s eye; 45

And boding evil yet still hoping good,

Rebuk’d each fault, and over all my woes

Sorrow’d in silence! He who counts alone

The beatings of the solitary heart,

That Being knows, how I have lov’d thee ever, 50

Lov’d as a brother, as a son rever’d thee!

Oh! ‘tis to me an ever new delight,

To talk of thee and thine: or when the blast

Of the shrill winter, rattling our rude sash,

Endears the cleanly hearth and social bowl; 55

Or when, as now, on some delicious eve,

We in our sweet sequester’d orchard-plot

Sit on the tree crook’d earthward; whose old boughs,

That hang above us in an arborous roof,

Stirr’d by the faint gale of departing May, 60

Send their loose blossoms slanting o’er our heads!

Nor dost not thou sometimes recall those hours,

When with the joy of hope thou gavest thine ear

To my wild firstling-lays. Since then my song

Hath sounded deeper notes, such as beseem 65

Or that sad wisdom folly leaves behind,

Or such as, tuned to these tumultuous times,

Cope with the tempest’s swell!

Those various strains,

Which I have fram’d in many a various mood,

Accept, my Brother! and (for some perchance 70

Will strike discordant on thy milder mind)

If aught of error or intemperate truth

Should meet thine ear, think thou that riper Age

Will calm it down, and let thy love forgive it!

NETHER-STOWEY, SOMERSET, May 26, 1797.

ON THE CHRISTENING OF A FRIEND’S CHILD

This day among the faithful plac’d

And fed with fontal manna,

O with maternal title grac’d,

Dear Anna’s dearest Anna!

While others wish thee wise and fair, 5

A maid of spotless fame,

I’ll breathe this more compendious prayer —

May’st thou deserve thy name!

Thy mother’s name, a potent spell,

That bids the Virtues hie 10

From mystic grove and living cell,

Confess’d to Fancy’s eye;

Meek Quietness without offence;

Content in homespun kirtle;

True Love; and True Love’s Innocence, 15