Samuel Coleridge - The Complete Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge (Illustrated Edition)

And because the point B. is the centre

Of the circular A. C. E. 35

A. C. to A. B. and B. C. to B. A.

Harmoniously equal for ever must stay;

Then C. A. and B. C.

Both extend the kind hand

To the basis, A. B. 40

Unambitiously join’d in Equality’s Band.

But to the same powers, when two powers are equal,

My mind forbodes the sequel;

My mind does some celestial impulse teach,

And equalises each to each. 45

Thus C. A. with B. C. strikes the same sure alliance,

That C. A. and B. C. had with A. B. before;

And in mutual affiance

None attempting to soar

Above another, 50

The unanimous three

C. A. and B. C. and A. B.

All are equal, each to his brother,

Preserving the balance of power so true:

Ah! the like would the proud Autocratrix do! 55

At taxes impending not Britain would tremble,

Nor Prussia struggle her fear to dissemble;

Nor the Mah’met-sprung Wight

The great Mussulman

Would stain his Divan 60

With Urine the soft-flowing daughter of Fright.

IV

But rein your stallion in, too daring Nine!

Should Empires bloat the scientific line?

Or with dishevell’d hair all madly do ye run

For transport that your task is done? 65

For done it is — the cause is tried!

And Proposition, gentle Maid,

Who soothly ask’d stern Demonstration’s aid,

Has proved her right, and A. B. C.

Of Angles three 70

Is shown to be of equal side;

And now our weary steed to rest in fine,

‘Tis rais’d upon A. B. the straight, the given line.

HONOUR

O, curas hominum! O, quantum est in rebus inane!

The fervid Sun had more than halv’d the day,

When gloomy on his couch Philedon lay;

His feeble frame consumptive as his purse,

His aching head did wine and women curse;

His fortune ruin’d and his wealth decay’d, 5

Clamorous his duns, his gaming debts unpaid,

The youth indignant seiz’d his tailor’s bill,

And on its back thus wrote with moral quill:

‘Various as colours in the rainbow shown,

Or similar in emptiness alone, 10

How false, how vain are Man’s pursuits below!

Wealth, Honour, Pleasure — what can ye bestow?

Yet see, how high and low, and young and old

Pursue the all-delusive power of Gold.

Fond man! should all Peru thy empire own, 15

For thee tho’ all Golconda’s jewels shone,

What greater bliss could all this wealth supply?

What, but to eat and drink and sleep and die?

Go, tempt the stormy sea, the burning soil —

Go, waste the night in thought, the day in toil, 20

Dark frowns the rock, and fierce the tempests rave —

Thy ingots go the unconscious deep to pave!

Or thunder at thy door the midnight train,

Or Death shall knock that never knocks in vain.

Next Honour’s sons come bustling on amain; 25

I laugh with pity at the idle train.

Infirm of soul! who think’st to lift thy name

Upon the waxen wings of human fame, —

Who for a sound, articulated breath —

Gazest undaunted in the face of death! 30

What art thou but a Meteor’s glaring light —

Blazing a moment and then sunk in night?

Caprice which rais’d thee high shall hurl thee low,

Or Envy blast the laurels on thy brow.

To such poor joys could ancient Honour lead 35

When empty fame was toiling Merit’s meed;

To Modern Honour other lays belong;

Profuse of joy and Lord of right and wrong,

Honour can game, drink, riot in the stew,

Cut a friend’s throat; — what cannot Honour do? 40

Ah me! — the storm within can Honour still

For Julio’s death, whom Honour made me kill?

Or will this lordly Honour tell the way

To pay those debts, which Honour makes me pay?

Or if with pistol and terrific threats 45

I make some traveller pay my Honour’s debts,

A medicine for this wound can Honour give?

Ah, no! my Honour dies to make my Honour live.

But see! young Pleasure, and her train advance,

And joy and laughter wake the inebriate dance; 50

Around my neck she throws her fair white arms,

I meet her loves, and madden at her charms.

For the gay grape can joys celestial move,

And what so sweet below as Woman’s love?

With such high transport every moment flies, 55

I curse Experience that he makes me wise;

For at his frown the dear deliriums flew,

And the changed scene now wears a gloomy hue.

A hideous hag th’ Enchantress Pleasure seems,

And all her joys appear but feverous dreams. 60

The vain resolve still broken and still made,

Disease and loathing and remorse invade;

The charm is vanish’d and the bubble’s broke, —

A slave to pleasure is a slave to smoke!’

Such lays repentant did the Muse supply; 65

When as the Sun was hastening down the sky,

In glittering state twice fifty guineas come, —

His Mother’s plate antique had rais’d the sum.

Forth leap’d Philedon of new life possest: — 69

‘Twas Brookes’s all till two,—’twas Hackett’s all the rest!

ON IMITATION

All are not born to soar — and ah! how few

In tracks where Wisdom leads their paths pursue!

Contagious when to wit or wealth allied,

Folly and Vice diffuse their venom wide.

On Folly every fool his talent tries; 5

It asks some toil to imitate the wise;

Tho’ few like Fox can speak — like Pitt can think —

Yet all like Fox can game — like Pitt can drink.

INSIDE THE COACH

‘Tis hard on Bagshot Heath to try

Unclos’d to keep the weary eye;

But ah! Oblivion’s nod to get

In rattling coach is harder yet.

Slumbrous God of half-shut eye! 5

Who lovest with limbs supine to lie;

Soother sweet of toil and care

Listen, listen to my prayer;

And to thy votary dispense

Thy soporific influence! 10

What tho’ around thy drowsy head

The sevenfold cap of night be spread,

Yet lift that drowsy head awhile

And yawn propitiously a smile;

In drizzly rains poppean dews 15

O’er the tired inmates of the Coach diffuse;

And when thou’st charm’d our eyes to rest,

Pillowing the chin upon the breast,

Bid many a dream from thy dominions

Wave its various-painted pinions, 20

Till ere the splendid visions close

We snore quartettes in ecstasy of nose.

While thus we urge our airy course,

O may no jolt’s electric force

Our fancies from their steeds unhorse, 25

And call us from thy fairy reign

To dreary Bagshot Heath again!

DEVONSHIRE ROADS

The indignant Bard composed this furious ode,

As tired he dragg’d his way thro’ Plimtree road!

Crusted with filth and stuck in mire

Dull sounds the Bard’s bemudded lyre;

Nathless Revenge and Ire the Poet goad 5

To pour his imprecations on the road.

Curst road! whose execrable way

Was darkly shadow’d out in Milton’s lay,

When the sad fiends thro’ Hell’s sulphureous roads

Took the first survey of their new abodes; 10

Or when the fall’n Archangel fierce

Dar’d through the realms of Night to pierce,

What time the Bloodhound lur’d by Human scent

Thro’ all Confusion’s quagmires floundering went.

Nor cheering pipe, nor Bird’s shrill note 15

Around thy dreary paths shall float;

Their boding songs shall scritch-owls pour

To fright the guilty shepherds sore,

Led by the wandering fires astray

Thro’ the dank horrors of thy way! 20

While they their mud-lost sandals hunt

May all the curses, which they grunt