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

And O! if Eyes whose holy glances roll,

Swift messengers, and eloquent of soul;

If Smiles more winning, and a gentler Mien

Than the love-wilder’d Maniac’s brain hath seen

Shaping celestial forms in vacant air, 35

If these demand the empassion’d Poet’s care —

If Mirth and soften’d Sense and Wit refined,

The blameless features of a lovely mind;

Then haply shall my trembling hand assign

No fading wreath to Beauty’s saintly shrine. 40

Nor, Sara! thou these early flowers refuse —

Ne’er lurk’d the snake beneath their simple hues;

No purple bloom the Child of Nature brings

From Flattery’s nightshade: as he feels he sings.

TRANSLATION OF WRANGHAM’S ‘HENDECASYLLABI AD BRUNTONAM

E GRANTA EXITURAM’ [KAL. OCT.MDCCXC]

Maid of unboastful charms! whom white-robed Truth

Right onward guiding through the maze of youth,

Forbade the Circe Praise to witch thy soul,

And dash’d to earth th’ intoxicating bowl:

Thee meek-eyed Pity, eloquently fair, 5

Clasp’d to her bosom with a mother’s care;

And, as she lov’d thy kindred form to trace,

The slow smile wander’d o’er her pallid face.

For never yet did mortal voice impart

Tones more congenial to the sadden’d heart: 10

Whether, to rouse the sympathetic glow,

Thou pourest lone Monimia’s tale of woe;

Or haply clothest with funereal vest

The bridal loves that wept in Juliet’s breast.

O’er our chill limbs the thrilling Terrors creep, 15

Th’ entrancéd Passions their still vigil keep;

While the deep sighs, responsive to the song,

Sound through the silence of the trembling throng.

But purer raptures lighten’d from thy face,

And spread o’er all thy form an holier grace, 20

When from the daughter’s breasts the father drew

The life he gave, and mix’d the big tear’s dew.

Nor was it thine th’ heroic strain to roll

With mimic feelings foreign from the soul:

Bright in thy parent’s eye we mark’d the tear; 25

Methought he said, ‘Thou art no Actress here!

A semblance of thyself the Grecian dame,

And Brunton and Euphrasia still the same!’

O soon to seek the city’s busier scene,

Pause thee awhile, thou chaste-eyed maid serene, 30

Till Granta’s sons from all her sacred bowers

With grateful hand shall weave Pierian flowers

To twine a fragrant chaplet round thy brow,

Enchanting ministress of virtuous woe!

TO MISS BRUNTON

WITH THE PRECEDING TRANSLATION

That darling of the Tragic Muse,

When Wrangham sung her praise,

Thalia lost her rosy hues,

And sicken’d at her lays:

But transient was th’ unwonted sigh; 5

For soon the Goddess spied

A sister-form of mirthful eye,

And danc’d for joy and cried:

‘Meek Pity’s sweetest child, proud dame,

The fates have given to you! 10

Still bid your Poet boast her name;

I have my Brunton too.’

EPITAPH ON AN INFANT

Ere Sin could blight or Sorrow fade,

Death came with friendly care:

The opening Bud to Heaven convey’d,

And bade it blossom there.

PANTISOCRACY

No more my visionary soul shall dwell

On joys that were; no more endure to weigh

The shame and anguish of the evil day,

Wisely forgetful! O’er the ocean swell

Sublime of Hope, I seek the cottag’d dell 5

Where Virtue calm with careless step may stray,

And dancing to the moonlight roundelay,

The wizard Passions weave an holy spell.

Eyes that have ach’d with Sorrow! Ye shall weep

Tears of doubt-mingled joy, like theirs who start 10

From Precipices of distemper’d sleep,

On which the fierce-eyed Fiends their revels keep,

And see the rising Sun, and feel it dart

New rays of pleasance trembling to the heart.

ON THE PROSPECT OF ESTABLISHING A PANTISOCRACY IN AMERICA

Whilst pale Anxiety, corrosive Care,

The tear of Woe, the gloom of sad Despair,

And deepen’d Anguish generous bosoms rend; —

Whilst patriot souls their country’s fate lament;

Whilst mad with rage demoniac, foul intent, 5

Embattled legions Despots vainly send

To arrest the immortal mind’s expanding ray

Of everlasting Truth; — I other climes

Where dawns, with hope serene, a brighter day

Than e’er saw Albion in her happiest times, 10

With mental eye exulting now explore,

And soon with kindred minds shall haste to enjoy

(Free from the ills which here our peace destroy)

Content and Bliss on Transatlantic shore.

ELEGY IMITATED FROM ONE OF AKENSIDE’S BLANK-VERSE INSCRIPTIONS

Near the lone pile with ivy overspread,

Fast by the rivulet’s sleep-persuading sound,

Where ‘sleeps the moonlight’ on yon verdant bed —

O humbly press that consecrated ground!

For there does Edmund rest, the learnéd swain! 5

And there his spirit most delights to rove:

Young Edmund! fam’d for each harmonious strain,

And the sore wounds of ill-requited Love.

Like some tall tree that spreads its branches wide,

And loads the West-wind with its soft perfume, 10

His manhood blossom’d; till the faithless pride

Of fair Matilda sank him to the tomb.

But soon did righteous Heaven her Guilt pursue!

Where’er with wilder’d step she wander’d pale,

Still Edmund’s image rose to blast her view, 15

Still Edmund’s voice accus’d her in each gale.

With keen regret, and conscious Guilt’s alarms,

Amid the pomp of Affluence she pined;

Nor all that lur’d her faith from Edmund’s arms

Could lull the wakeful horror of her mind. 20

Go, Traveller! tell the tale with sorrow fraught:

Some tearful Maid perchance, or blooming Youth,

May hold it in remembrance; and be taught

That Riches cannot pay for Love or Truth.

THE FADED FLOWER

Ungrateful he, who pluck’d thee from thy stalk,

Poor faded flow’ret! on his careless way;

Inhal’d awhile thy odours on his walk,

Then onward pass’d and left thee to decay.

Ah! melancholy emblem! had I seen 5

Thy modest beauties dew’d with Evening’s gem,

I had not rudely cropp’d thy parent stem,

But left thee, blushing, ‘mid the enliven’d green

And now I bend me o’er thy wither’d bloom,

And drop the tear — as Fancy, at my side, 10

Deep-sighing, points the fair frail Abra’s tomb —

‘Like thine, sad Flower, was that poor wanderer’s pride!

Oh! lost to Love and Truth, whose selfish joy

Tasted her vernal sweets, but tasted to destroy!’

THE OUTCAST

Pale Roamer through the night! thou poor Forlorn!

Remorse that man on his deathbed possess,

Who in the credulous hour of tenderness

Betrayed, then cast thee forth to Want and Scorn!

The world is pitiless: the chaste one’s pride 5

Mimic of Virtue scowls on thy distress:

Thy Loves and they that envied thee deride:

And Vice alone will shelter Wretchedness!

O! I could weep to think that there should be

Cold-bosom’d lewd ones, who endure to place 10

Foul offerings on the shrine of Misery,

And force from Famine the caress of Love;

May He shed healing on the sore disgrace,

He, the great Comforter that rules above!

DOMESTIC PEACE

FROM ‘THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE’, ACT I, L. 210

Tell me, on what holy ground

May Domestic Peace be found?

Halcyon daughter of the skies,

Far on fearful wings she flies,

From the pomp of Sceptered State, 5

From the Rebel’s noisy hate.

In a cottag’d vale She dwells,