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

O! I have wak’d at midnight, and have wept,

Because she was not! — Cheerily, dear Charles!

Thou thy best friend shalt cherish many a year: 20

Such warm presages feel I of high Hope.

For not uninterested the dear Maid

I’ve view’d — her soul affectionate yet wise,

Her polish’d wit as mild as lambent glories

That play around a sainted infant’s head. 25

He knows (the Spirit that in secret sees,

Of whose omniscient and all-spreading Love

Aught to implore were impotence of mind)

That my mute thoughts are sad before his throne,

Prepar’d, when he his healing ray vouchsafes, 30

Thanksgiving to pour forth with lifted heart,

And praise Him Gracious with a Brother’s Joy!

SONNETS ON EMINENT CHARACTERS

CONTRIBUTED TO THE ‘MORNING CHRONICLE’ IN DECEMBER 1794 AND JANUARY 1795

[The Sonnets were introduced by the following letter: —

‘MR. EDITOR — If, Sir, the following Poems will not disgrace

your poetical department, I will transmit you a series of

Sonnets (as it is the fashion to call them) addressed like

these to eminent Contemporaries.

‘JESUS COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.’

S. T. C.]

I

TO THE HONOURABLE MR. ERSKINE

When British Freedom for an happier land

Spread her broad wings, that flutter’d with affright,

ERSKINE! thy voice she heard, and paus’d her flight

Sublime of hope, for dreadless thou didst stand

(Thy censer glowing with the hallow’d flame) 5

A hireless Priest before the insulted shrine,

And at her altar pour the stream divine

Of unmatch’d eloquence. Therefore thy name

Her sons shall venerate, and cheer thy breast

With blessings heavenward breath’d. And when the doom

Of Nature bids thee die, beyond the tomb 11

Thy light shall shine: as sunk beneath the West

Though the great Summer Sun eludes our gaze,

Still burns wide Heaven with his distended blaze.

December 1, 1794.

BURKE

As late I lay in Slumber’s shadowy vale,

With wetted cheek and in a mourner’s guise,

I saw the sainted form of FREEDOM rise:

She spake! not sadder moans the autumnal gale —

‘Great Son of Genius! sweet to me thy name, 5

Ere in an evil hour with alter’d voice

Thou bad’st Oppression’s hireling crew rejoice

Blasting with wizard spell my laurell’d fame.

‘Yet never, BURKE! thou drank’st Corruption’s bowl!

Thee stormy Pity and the cherish’d lure 10

Of Pomp, and proud Precipitance of soul

Wilder’d with meteor fires. Ah Spirit pure!

‘That Error’s mist had left thy purgéd eye:

So might I clasp thee with a Mother’s joy!’

December 9, 1794.

PRIESTLEY

Though rous’d by that dark Vizir Riot rude

Have driven our PRIESTLEY o’er the Ocean swell;

Though Superstition and her wolfish brood

Bay his mild radiance, impotent and fell;

Calm in his halls of brightness he shall dwell! 5

For lo! RELIGION at his strong behest

Starts with mild anger from the Papal spell,

And flings to Earth her tinsel-glittering vest,

Her mitred State and cumbrous Pomp unholy;

And JUSTICE wakes to bid th’ Oppressor wail 10

Insulting aye the wrongs of patient Folly;

And from her dark retreat by Wisdom won

Meek NATURE slowly lifts her matron veil

To smile with fondness on her gazing Son!

December 11, 1794.

LA FAYETTE

As when far off the warbled strains are heard

That soar on Morning’s wing the vales among;

Within his cage the imprison’d Matin Bird

Swells the full chorus with a generous song:

He bathes no pinion in the dewy light, 5

No Father’s joy, no Lover’s bliss he shares,

Yet still the rising radiance cheers his sight —

His fellows’ Freedom soothes the Captive’s cares!

Thou, FAYETTE! who didst wake with startling voice

Life’s better Sun from that long wintry night, 10

Thus in thy Country’s triumphs shalt rejoice

And mock with raptures high the Dungeon’s might:

For lo! the Morning struggles into Day,

And Slavery’s spectres shriek and vanish from the ray!

December 15, 1794.

KOSKIUSKO

O what a loud and fearful shriek was there,

As though a thousand souls one death-groan pour’d!

Ah me! they saw beneath a Hireling’s sword

Their KOSKIUSKO fall! Through the swart air

(As pauses the tir’d Cossac’s barbarous yell 5

Of Triumph) on the chill and midnight gale

Rises with frantic burst or sadder swell

The dirge of murder’d Hope! while Freedom pale

Bends in such anguish o’er her destin’d bier,

As if from eldest time some Spirit meek 10

Had gather’d in a mystic urn each tear

That ever on a Patriot’s furrow’d cheek

Fit channel found; and she had drain’d the bowl

In the mere wilfulness, and sick despair of soul!

December 16, 1794.

PITT

Not always should the Tear’s ambrosial dew

Roll its soft anguish down thy furrow’d cheek!

Not always heaven-breath’d tones of Suppliance meek

Beseem thee, Mercy! Yon dark Scowler view,

Who with proud words of dear-lov’d Freedom came — 5

More blasting than the mildew from the South!

And kiss’d his country with Iscariot mouth

(Ah! foul apostate from his Father’s fame!)

Then fix’d her on the Cross of deep distress,

And at safe distance marks the thirsty Lance 10

Pierce her big side! But O! if some strange trance

The eyelids of thy stern-brow’d Sister press,

Seize, Mercy! thou more terrible the brand, 13

And hurl her thunderbolts with fiercer hand!

December 23, 1794.

TO THE REV. W. L. BOWLES

FIRST VERSION, PRINTED IN ‘MORNING CHRONICLE’, DECEMBER 26, 1794

My heart has thank’d thee, BOWLES! for those soft strains,

That, on the still air floating, tremblingly

Wak’d in me Fancy, Love, and Sympathy!

For hence, not callous to a Brother’s pains

Thro’ Youth’s gay prime and thornless paths I went; 5

And, when the darker day of life began,

And I did roam, a thought-bewilder’d man!

Thy kindred Lays an healing solace lent,

Each lonely pang with dreamy joys combin’d,

And stole from vain REGRET her scorpion stings; 10

While shadowy PLEASURE, with mysterious wings,

Brooded the wavy and tumultuous mind,

Like that great Spirit, who with plastic sweep

Mov’d on the darkness of the formless Deep!

VIII

MRS. SIDDONS

As when a child on some long Winter’s night

Affrighted clinging to its Grandam’s knees

With eager wond’ring and perturb’d delight

Listens strange tales of fearful dark decrees

Muttered to wretch by necromantic spell; 5

Or of those hags, who at the witching time

Of murky Midnight ride the air sublime,

And mingle foul embrace with fiends of Hell:

Cold Horror drinks its blood! Anon the tear

More gentle starts, to hear the Beldame tell 10

Of pretty Babes, that lov’d each other dear.

Murder’d by cruel Uncle’s mandate fell:

Even such the shiv’ring joys thy tones impart,

Even so thou, SIDDONS! meltest my sad heart!

December 29, 1794.

Table of Contents

AUTHOR OF ‘POLITICAL JUSTICE’

O form’d t’ illume a sunless world forlorn,

As o’er the chill and dusky brow of Night,

In Finland’s wintry skies the Mimic Morn

Electric pours a stream of rosy light,

Pleas’d I have mark’d OPPRESSION, terror-pale, 5

Since, thro’ the windings of her dark machine,

Thy steady eye has shot its glances keen —