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

And bade th’ All-lovely ‘scenes at distance hail’.

Nor will I not thy holy guidance bless,

And hymn thee, GODWIN! with an ardent lay; 10

For that thy voice, in Passion’s stormy day,

When wild I roam’d the bleak Heath of Distress,

Bade the bright form of Justice meet my way —

And told me that her name was HAPPINESS.

January 10, 1795.

TO ROBERT SOUTHEY

OF BALIOL COLLEGE, OXFORD, AUTHOR OF THE ‘RETROSPECT’, AND OTHER POEMS

SOUTHEY! thy melodies steal o’er mine ear

Like far-off joyance, or the murmuring

Of wild bees in the sunny showers of Spring —

Sounds of such mingled import as may cheer

The lonely breast, yet rouse a mindful tear: 5

Wak’d by the Song doth Hope-born FANCY fling

Rich showers of dewy fragrance from her wing,

Till sickly PASSION’S drooping Myrtles sear

Blossom anew! But O! more thrill’d, I prize

Thy sadder strains, that bid in MEMORY’S Dream 10

The faded forms of past Delight arise;

Then soft, on Love’s pale cheek, the tearful gleam

Of Pleasure smiles — as faint yet beauteous lies

The imag’d Rainbow on a willowy stream.

January 14, 1795.

TO RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN, ESQ.

It was some Spirit, SHERIDAN! that breath’d

O’er thy young mind such wildly-various power!

My soul hath mark’d thee in her shaping hour,

Thy temples with Hymettian flow’rets wreath’d:

And sweet thy voice, as when o’er LAURA’S bier 5

Sad Music trembled thro’ Vauclusa’s glade;

Sweet, as at dawn the love-lorn Serenade

That wafts soft dreams to SLUMBER’S listening ear.

Now patriot Rage and Indignation high

Swell the full tones! And now thine eye-beams dance 10

Meanings of Scorn and Wit’s quaint revelry!

Writhes inly from the bosom-probing glance

The Apostate by the brainless rout ador’d,

As erst that elder Fiend beneath great Michael’s sword.

January 29, 1795.

TO LORD STANHOPE

ON READING HIS LATE PROTEST IN THE HOUSE OF LORDS

‘MORNING CHRONICLE,’ JAN. 31, 1795

STANHOPE! I hail, with ardent Hymn, thy name!

Thou shalt be bless’d and lov’d, when in the dust

Thy corse shall moulder — Patriot pure and just!

And o’er thy tomb the grateful hand of FAME

Shall grave:—’Here sleeps the Friend of Humankind!’ 5

For thou, untainted by CORRUPTION’S bowl,

Or foul AMBITION, with undaunted soul

Hast spoke the language of a Free-born mind

Pleading the cause of Nature! Still pursue

Thy path of Honour! — To thy Country true, 10

Still watch th’ expiring flame of Liberty!

O Patriot! still pursue thy virtuous way,

As holds his course the splendid Orb of Day,

Or thro’ the stormy or the tranquil sky!

ONE OF THE PEOPLE.

TO EARL STANHOPE

Not, STANHOPE! with the Patriot’s doubtful name

I mock thy worth — Friend of the Human Race!

Since scorning Faction’s low and partial aim

Aloof thou wendest in thy stately pace,

Thyself redeeming from that leprous stain, 5

Nobility: and aye unterrify’d

Pourest thine Abdiel warnings on the train

That sit complotting with rebellious pride

‘Gainst Her who from the Almighty’s bosom leapt

With whirlwind arm, fierce Minister of Love! 10

Wherefore, ere Virtue o’er thy tomb hath wept,

Angels shall lead thee to the Throne above:

And thou from forth its clouds shalt hear the voice,

Champion of Freedom and her God! rejoice!

LINES TO A FRIEND IN ANSWER TO A MELANCHOLY LETTER

Away, those cloudy looks, that labouring sigh,

The peevish offspring of a sickly hour!

Nor meanly thus complain of Fortune’s power,

When the blind Gamester throws a luckless die.

Yon setting Sun flashes a mournful gleam 5

Behind those broken clouds, his stormy train:

Tomorrow shall the many-colour’d main

In brightness roll beneath his orient beam!

Wild, as the autumnal gust, the hand of Time

Flies o’er his mystic lyre: in shadowy dance 10

The alternate groups of Joy and Grief advance

Responsive to his varying strains sublime!

Bears on its wing each hour a load of Fate;

The swain, who, lull’d by Seine’s mild murmurs, led

His weary oxen to their nightly shed, 15

To-day may rule a tempest-troubled State.

Nor shall not Fortune with a vengeful smile

Survey the sanguinary Despot’s might,

And haply hurl the Pageant from his height

Unwept to wander in some savage isle. 20

There shiv’ring sad beneath the tempest’s frown

Round his tir’d limbs to wrap the purple vest;

And mix’d with nails and beads, an equal jest!

Barter for food, the jewels of his crown.

TO AN INFANT

Ah! cease thy tears and sobs, my little Life!

I did but snatch away the unclasp’d knife:

Some safer toy will soon arrest thine eye,

And to quick laughter change this peevish cry!

Poor stumbler on the rocky coast of Woe, 5

Tutor’d by Pain each source of pain to know!

Alike the foodful fruit and scorching fire

Awake thy eager grasp and young desire;

Alike the Good, the Ill offend thy sight,

And rouse the stormy sense of shrill Affright! 10

Untaught, yet wise! mid all thy brief alarms

Thou closely clingest to thy Mother’s arms,

Nestling thy little face in that fond breast

Whose anxious heavings lull thee to thy rest!

Man’s breathing Miniature! thou mak’st me sigh — 15

A Babe art thou — and such a Thing am I!

To anger rapid and as soon appeas’d,

For trifles mourning and by trifles pleas’d,

Break Friendship’s mirror with a tetchy blow,

Yet snatch what coals of fire on Pleasure’s altar glow! 20

O thou that rearest with celestial aim

The future Seraph in my mortal frame,

Thrice holy Faith! whatever thorns I meet

As on I totter with unpractis’d feet,

Still let me stretch my arms and cling to thee, 25

Meek nurse of souls through their long Infancy!

TO THE REV. W. J. HORT: WHILE TEACHING A YOUNG LADY SOME SONG-TUNES ON HIS FLUTE

I

Hush! ye clamorous Cares! be mute!

Again, dear Harmonist! again

Thro’ the hollow of thy flute

Breathe that passion-warbled strain:

Till Memory each form shall bring 5

The loveliest of her shadowy throng;

And Hope, that soars on skylark wing,

Carol wild her gladdest song!

II

O skill’d with magic spell to roll

The thrilling tones, that concentrate the soul! 10

Breathe thro’ thy flute those tender notes again,

While near thee sits the chaste-eyed Maiden mild;

And bid her raise the Poet’s kindred strain

In soft impassion’d voice, correctly wild.

III

In Freedom’s UNDIVIDED dell, 15

Where Toil and Health with mellow’d Love shall dwell,

Far from folly, far from men,

In the rude romantic glen,

Up the cliff, and thro’ the glade,

Wandering with the dear-lov’d maid, 20

I shall listen to the lay,

And ponder on thee far away

Still, as she bids those thrilling notes aspire

(‘Making my fond attuned heart her lyre’),

Thy honour’d form, my Friend! shall reappear, 25

And I will thank thee with a raptur’d tear.

PITY

Sweet Mercy! how my very heart has bled

To see thee, poor Old Man! and thy grey hairs

Hoar with the snowy blast: while no one cares

To clothe thy shrivell’d limbs and palsied head.

My Father! throw away this tatter’d vest 5

That mocks thy shivering! take my garment — use

A young man’s arm! I’ll melt these frozen dews