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

That hang from thy white beard and numb thy breast.

My Sara too shall tend thee, like a child:

And thou shalt talk, in our fireside’s recess, 10

Of purple Pride, that scowls on Wretchedness —

He did not so, the Galilaean mild,

Who met the Lazars turn’d from rich men’s doors

And call’d them Friends, and heal’d their noisome sores!

TO THE NIGHTINGALE

Sister of love-lorn Poets, Philomel!

How many Bards in city garret pent,

While at their window they with downward eye

Mark the faint lamp-beam on the kennell’d mud,

And listen to the drowsy cry of Watchmen 5

(Those hoarse unfeather’d Nightingales of Time!),

How many wretched Bards address thy name,

And hers, the full-orb’d Queen that shines above.

But I do hear thee, and the high bough mark,

Within whose mild moon-mellow’d foliage hid 10

Thou warblest sad thy pity-pleading strains.

O! I have listened, till my working soul,

Waked by those strains to thousand phantasies,

Absorb’d hath ceas’d to listen! Therefore oft,

I hymn thy name: and with a proud delight 15

Oft will I tell thee, Minstrel of the Moon!

‘Most musical, most melancholy’ Bird!

That all thy soft diversities of tone,

Tho’ sweeter far than the delicious airs

That vibrate from a white-arm’d Lady’s harp, 20

What time the languishment of lonely love

Melts in her eye, and heaves her breast of snow,

Are not so sweet as is the voice of her,

My Sara — best beloved of human kind!

When breathing the pure soul of tenderness, 25

She thrills me with the Husband’s promis’d name!

LINES

COMPOSED WHILE CLIMBING THE LEFT ASCENT OF BROCKLEY COOMB,

SOMERSETSHIRE, MAY 1795

With many a pause and oft reverted eye

I climb the Coomb’s ascent: sweet songsters near

Warble in shade their wild-wood melody:

Far off the unvarying Cuckoo soothes my ear.

Up scour the startling stragglers of the flock 5

That on green plots o’er precipices browze:

From the deep fissures of the naked rock

The Yew-tree bursts! Beneath its dark green boughs

(Mid which the Maythorn blends its blossoms white)

Where broad smooth stones jut out in mossy seats, 10

I rest: — and now have gain’d the topmost site.

Ah! what a luxury of landscape meets

My gaze! Proud towers, and Cots more dear to me,

Elm-shadow’d Fields, and prospect-bounding Sea!

Deep sighs my lonely heart: I drop the tear: 15

Enchanting spot! O were my Sara here!

LINES IN THE MANNER OF SPENSER

O Peace, that on a lilied bank dost love

To rest thine head beneath an Olive-Tree,

I would that from the pinions of thy Dove

One quill withouten pain ypluck’d might be!

For O! I wish my Sara’s frowns to flee, 5

And fain to her some soothing song would write,

Lest she resent my rude discourtesy,

Who vow’d to meet her ere the morning light,

But broke my plighted word — ah! false and recreant wight!

Last night as I my weary head did pillow 10

With thoughts of my dissever’d Fair engross’d,

Chill Fancy droop’d wreathing herself with willow,

As though my breast entomb’d a pining ghost.

‘From some blest couch, young Rapture’s bridal boast,

Rejected Slumber! hither wing thy way; 15

But leave me with the matin hour, at most!

As night-clos’d floweret to the orient ray,

My sad heart will expand, when I the Maid survey.’

But Love, who heard the silence of my thought,

Contriv’d a too successful wile, I ween: 20

And whisper’d to himself, with malice fraught —

‘Too long our Slave the Damsel’s smiles hath seen:

Tomorrow shall he ken her alter’d mien!’

He spake, and ambush’d lay, till on my bed

The morning shot her dewy glances keen, 25

When as I ‘gan to lift my drowsy head —

‘Now, Bard! I’ll work thee woe!’ the laughing Elfin said.

Sleep, softly-breathing God! his downy wing

Was fluttering now, as quickly to depart;

When twang’d an arrow from Love’s mystic string, 30

With pathless wound it pierc’d him to the heart.

Was there some magic in the Elfin’s dart?

Or did he strike my couch with wizard lance?

For straight so fair a Form did upwards start

(No fairer deck’d the bowers of old Romance) 35

That Sleep enamour’d grew, nor mov’d from his sweet trance!

My Sara came, with gentlest look divine;

Bright shone her eye, yet tender was its beam:

I felt the pressure of her lip to mine!

Whispering we went, and Love was all our theme — 40

Love pure and spotless, as at first, I deem,

He sprang from Heaven! Such joys with Sleep did ‘bide,

That I the living Image of my Dream

Fondly forgot. Too late I woke, and sigh’d —

‘O! how shall I behold my Love at eventide!’ 45

THE HOUR WHEN WE SHALL MEET AGAIN

(Composed during Illness, and in Absence.)

Dim Hour! that sleep’st on pillowing clouds afar,

O rise and yoke the Turtles to thy car!

Bend o’er the traces, blame each lingering Dove,

And give me to the bosom of my Love!

My gentle Love, caressing and carest, 5

With heaving heart shall cradle me to rest!

Shed the warm tear-drop from her smiling eyes,

Lull with fond woe, and medicine me with sighs!

While finely-flushing float her kisses meek,

Like melted rubies, o’er my pallid cheek. 10

Chill’d by the night, the drooping Rose of May

Mourns the long absence of the lovely Day;

Young Day returning at her promis’d hour

Weeps o’er the sorrows of her favourite Flower;

Weeps the soft dew, the balmy gale she sighs, 15

And darts a trembling lustre from her eyes.

New life and joy th’ expanding flow’ret feels:

His pitying Mistress mourns, and mourning heals!

LINES: WRITTEN AT SHURTON BARS, NEAR BRIDGEWATER, SEPTEMBER 1795, IN ANSWER TO A LETTER FROM BRISTOL

Good verse most good, and bad verse then seems better

Receiv’d from absent friend by way of Letter.

For what so sweet can labour’d lays impart

As one rude rhyme warm from a friendly heart? — ANON.

Nor travels my meandering eye

The starry wilderness on high;

Nor now with curious sight

I mark the glowworm, as I pass,

Move with ‘green radiance’ through the grass, 5

An emerald of light.

O ever present to my view!

My wafted spirit is with you,

And soothes your boding fears:

I see you all oppressed with gloom 10

Sit lonely in that cheerless room —

Ah me! You are in tears!

Belovéd Woman! did you fly

Chill’d Friendship’s dark disliking eye,

Or Mirth’s untimely din? 15

With cruel weight these trifles press

A temper sore with tenderness,

When aches the void within.

But why with sable wand unblessed

Should Fancy rouse within my breast 20

Dim-visag’d shapes of Dread?

Untenanting its beauteous clay

My Sara’s soul has wing’d its way,

And hovers round my head!

I felt it prompt the tender Dream, 25

When slowly sank the day’s last gleam;

You rous’d each gentler sense,

As sighing o’er the Blossom’s bloom

Meek Evening wakes its soft perfume

With viewless influence. 30

And hark, my Love! The sea-breeze moans

Through yon reft house! O’er rolling stones

In bold ambitious sweep

The onward-surging tides supply

The silence of the cloudless sky 35

With mimic thunders deep.

Dark reddening from the channell’d Isle

(Where stands one solitary pile

Unslated by the blast)