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

Listening to the Sabbath bells!

Still around her steps are seen

Spotless Honour’s meeker mien, 10

Love, the sire of pleasing fears,

Sorrow smiling through her tears,

And conscious of the past employ

Memory, bosom-spring of joy.

ON A DISCOVERY MADE TOO LATE

Thou bleedest, my poor Heart! and thy distress

Reasoning I ponder with a scornful smile

And probe thy sore wound sternly, though the while

Swoln be mine eye and dim with heaviness.

Why didst thou listen to Hope’s whisper bland? 5

Or, listening, why forget the healing tale,

When Jealousy with feverous fancies pale

Jarr’d thy fine fibres with a maniac’s hand?

Faint was that Hope, and rayless! — Yet ‘twas fair

And sooth’d with many a dream the hour of rest: 10

Thou should’st have lov’d it most, when most opprest,

And nurs’d it with an agony of care,

Even as a mother her sweet infant heir

That wan and sickly droops upon her breast!

TO THE AUTHOR OF ‘THE ROBBERS’

Schiller! that hour I would have wish’d to die,

If thro’ the shuddering midnight I had sent

From the dark dungeon of the Tower timerent

That fearful voice, a famish’d Father’s cry —

Lest in some after moment aught more mean 5

Might stamp me mortal! A triumphant shout

Black Horror scream’d, and all her goblin rout

Diminish’d shrunk from the more withering scene!

Ah! Bard tremendous in sublimity!

Could I behold thee in thy loftier mood 10

Wandering at eve with finely-frenzied eye

Beneath some vast old tempest-swinging wood!

Awhile with mute awe gazing I would brood:

Then weep aloud in a wild ecstasy!

MELANCHOLY

A FRAGMENT

Stretch’d on a moulder’d Abbey’s broadest wall,

Where ruining ivies propp’d the ruins steep —

Her folded arms wrapping her tatter’d pall, The fern was press’d beneath her hair,

The dark green Adder’s Tongue was there;

And still as pass’d the flagging sea-gale weak,

The long lank leaf bow’d fluttering o’er her cheek.

That pallid cheek was flush’d: her eager look

Beam’d eloquent in slumber! Inly wrought, 10

Imperfect sounds her moving lips forsook,

And her bent forehead work’d with troubled thought.

Strange was the dream ——

TO A YOUNG ASS: ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT

Poor little Foal of an oppresséd race!

I love the languid patience of thy face:

And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread,

And clap thy ragged coat, and pat thy head.

But what thy dulled spirits hath dismay’d, 5

That never thou dost sport along the glade?

And (most unlike the nature of things young)

That earthward still thy moveless head is hung?

Do thy prophetic fears anticipate,

Meek Child of Misery! thy future fate? 10

The starving meal, and all the thousand aches

‘Which patient Merit of the Unworthy takes’?

Or is thy sad heart thrill’d with filial pain

To see thy wretched mother’s shorten’d chain?

And truly, very piteous is her lot — 15

Chain’d to a log within a narrow spot,

Where the close-eaten grass is scarcely seen,

While sweet around her waves the tempting green!

Poor Ass! thy master should have learnt to show

Pity — best taught by fellowship of Woe! 20

For much I fear me that He lives like thee,

Half famish’d in a land of Luxury!

How askingly its footsteps hither bend?

It seems to say, ‘And have I then one friend?’

Innocent foal! thou poor despis’d forlorn! 25

I hail thee Brother — spite of the fool’s scorn!

And fain would take thee with me, in the Dell

Of Peace and mild Equality to dwell,

Where Toil shall call the charmer Health his bride,

And Laughter tickle Plenty’s ribless side! 30

How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play,

And frisk about, as lamb or kitten gay!

Yea! and more musically sweet to me

Thy dissonant harsh bray of joy would be,

Than warbled melodies that soothe to rest 35

The aching of pale Fashion’s vacant breast!

LINES ON A FRIEND WHO DIED OF A FRENZY FEVER INDUCED BY CALUMNIOUS REPORTS

Edmund! thy grave with aching eye I scan,

And inly groan for Heaven’s poor outcast — Man!

‘Tis tempest all or gloom: in early youth

If gifted with th’ Ithuriel lance of Truth

We force to start amid her feign’d caress 5

Vice, siren-hag! in native ugliness;

A Brother’s fate will haply rouse the tear,

And on we go in heaviness and fear!

But if our fond hearts call to Pleasure’s bower

Some pigmy Folly in a careless hour, 10

The faithless guest shall stamp the enchanted ground,

And mingled forms of Misery rise around:

Heart-fretting Fear, with pallid look aghast,

That courts the future woe to hide the past;

Remorse, the poison’d arrow in his side, 15

And loud lewd Mirth, to Anguish close allied:

Till Frenzy, fierce-eyed child of moping Pain,

Darts her hot lightning-flash athwart the brain.

Rest, injur’d shade! Shall Slander squatting near

Spit her cold venom in a dead man’s ear? 20

‘Twas thine to feel the sympathetic glow

In Merit’s joy, and Poverty’s meek woe;

Thine all, that cheer the moment as it flies,

The zoneless Cares, and smiling Courtesies.

Nurs’d in thy heart the firmer Virtues grew, 25

And in thy heart they wither’d! Such chill dew

Wan Indolence on each young blossom shed;

And Vanity her filmy network spread,

With eye that roll’d around in asking gaze,

And tongue that traffick’d in the trade of praise. 30

Thy follies such! the hard world mark’d them well!

Were they more wise, the Proud who never fell?

Rest, injur’d shade! the poor man’s grateful prayer

On heavenward wing thy wounded soul shall bear.

As oft at twilight gloom thy grave I pass, 35

And sit me down upon its recent grass,

With introverted eye I contemplate

Similitude of soul, perhaps of — Fate!

To me hath Heaven with bounteous hand assign’d

Energic Reason and a shaping mind, 40

The daring ken of Truth, the Patriot’s part,

And Pity’s sigh, that breathes the gentle heart —

Sloth-jaundic’d all! and from my graspless hand

Drop Friendship’s precious pearls, like hour-glass sand.

I weep, yet stoop not! the faint anguish flows, 45

A dreamy pang in Morning’s feverous doze.

Is this piled earth our Being’s passless mound?

Tell me, cold grave! is Death with poppies crown’d?

Tired Sentinel! mid fitful starts I nod,

And fain would sleep, though pillowed on a clod! 50

TO A FRIEND

CHARLES LAMB TOGETHER WITH AN UNFINISHED POEM

Thus far my scanty brain hath built the rhyme

Elaborate and swelling: yet the heart

Not owns it. From thy spirit-breathing powers

I ask not now, my friend! the aiding verse,

Tedious to thee, and from thy anxious thought 5

Of dissonant mood. In fancy (well I know)

From business wandering far and local cares,

Thou creepest round a dear-lov’d Sister’s bed

With noiseless step, and watchest the faint look,

Soothing each pang with fond solicitude, 10

And tenderest tones medicinal of love.

I too a Sister had, an only Sister —

She lov’d me dearly, and I doted on her!

To her I pour’d forth all my puny sorrows

(As a sick Patient in a Nurse’s arms) 15

And of the heart those hidden maladies

That e’en from Friendship’s eye will shrink asham’d.

O! I HAVE WAK’D AT MIDNIGHT, AND HAVE WEPT