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Transcriber's Notes: Words surrounded by _underscores_ are in italics in
the original. Characters superscripted in the original are enclosed in
{braces}.
In this text, the following symbols are used:
¯ indicates a macron
˘ indicates a breve
Some words and phrases have a line drawn through them in the original.
These struck out words are enclosed in brackets with asterisks like
this:
[*these words are struck through*]
Characters printed in a Gothic font are enclosed in brackets with equal
signs like this:
[=these words are in a Gothic font=]
Other Transcriber's Notes follow the text.
THE
COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS
OF
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE
INCLUDING
POEMS AND VERSIONS OF POEMS NOW
PUBLISHED FOR THE FIRST TIME
EDITED
WITH TEXTUAL AND BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTES
BY
ERNEST HARTLEY COLERIDGE
M.A., HON. F.R.S.L.
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. I: POEMS
[Illustration]
OXFORD
AT THE CLARENDON PRESS
1912
PREFACE
The aim and purport of this edition of the _Poetical Works_ of Samuel
Taylor Coleridge is to provide the general reader with an authoritative
list of the poems and dramas hitherto published, and at the same time to
furnish the student with an exhaustive summary of various readings
derived from published and unpublished sources, viz. (1) the successive
editions issued by the author, (2) holograph MSS., or (3) contemporary
transcriptions. Occasion has been taken to include in the Text and
Appendices a considerable number of poems, fragments, metrical
experiments and first drafts of poems now published for the first time
from MSS. in the British Museum, from Coleridge's Notebooks, and from
MSS. in the possession of private collectors.
The text of the poems and dramas follows that of the last edition of the
_Poetical Works_ published in the author's lifetime--the three-volume
edition issued by Pickering in the spring and summer of 1834.
I have adopted the text of 1834 in preference to that of 1829, which was
selected by James Dykes Campbell for his monumental edition of 1893. I
should have deferred to his authority but for the existence of
conclusive proof that, here and there, Coleridge altered and emended the
text of 1829, with a view to the forthcoming edition of 1834. In the
Preface to the 'new edition' of 1852, the editors maintain that the
three-volume edition of 1828 (a mistake for 1829) was the last upon
which Coleridge was 'able to bestow personal care and attention', while
that of 1834 was 'arranged mainly if not entirely at the discretion of
his latest editor, H. N. Coleridge'. This, no doubt, was perfectly true
with regard to the choice and arrangement of the poems, and the labour
of seeing the three volumes through the press; but the fact remains that
the text of 1829 differs from that of 1834, and that Coleridge himself,
and not his 'latest editor', was responsible for that difference.
I have in my possession the proof of the first page of the 'Destiny of
Nations' as it appeared in 1828 and 1829. Line 5 ran thus: 'The Will,
the Word, the Breath, the Living God.' This line is erased and line 5
of 1834 substituted: 'To the Will Absolute, the One, the Good' and line
6, 'The I AM, the Word, the Life, the Living God,' is added, and, in
1834, appeared for the first time. Moreover, in the 'Songs of the
Pixies', lines 9, 11, 12, 15, 16, as printed in 1834, differ from the
readings of 1829 and all previous editions. Again, in 'Christabel' lines
6, 7 as printed in 1834 differ from the versions of 1828, 1829, and
revert to the original reading of the MSS. and the First Edition. It is
inconceivable that in Coleridge's lifetime and while his pen was still
busy, his nephew should have meddled with, or remodelled, the master's
handiwork.
The poems have been printed, as far as possible, in chronological order,
but when no MS. is extant, or when the MS. authority is a first draft
embodied in a notebook, the exact date can only be arrived at by a
balance of probabilities. The present edition includes all poems and
fragments published for the first time in 1893. Many of these were
excerpts from the Notebooks, collected, transcribed, and dated by
myself. Some of the fragments (_vide post_, p. 996, n. 1) I have since
discovered are not original compositions, but were selected passages
from elder poets--amongst them Cartwright's lines, entitled 'The Second
Birth', which are printed on p. 362 of the text; but for their insertion
in the edition of 1893, for a few misreadings of the MSS., and for their
approximate date, I was mainly responsible.
In preparing the textual and bibliographical notes which are now printed
as footnotes to the poems I was constantly indebted for information and
suggestions to the Notes to the Poems (pp. 561-654) in the edition of
1893. I have taken nothing for granted, but I have followed, for the
most part, where Dykes Campbell led, and if I differ from his
conclusions or have been able to supply fresh information, it is because
fresh information based on fresh material was at my disposal.
No apology is needed for publishing a collation of the text of
Coleridge's Poems with that of earlier editions or with the MSS. of
first drafts and alternative versions. The first to attempt anything of
the kind was Richard Herne Shepherd, the learned and accurate editor of
the _Poetical Works_ in four volumes, issued by Basil Montagu Pickering
in 1877. Important variants are recorded by Mr. Campbell in his Notes to
the edition of 1893; and in a posthumous volume, edited by Mr. Hale
White in 1899 (_Coleridge's Poems_, &c.), the corrected parts of
'Religious Musings', the MSS. of 'Lewti', the 'Introduction to the Dark
Ladié', and other poems are reproduced in facsimile. Few poets have
altered the text of their poems so often, and so often for the better,
as Coleridge. He has been blamed for 'writing so little', for deserting
poetry for metaphysics and theology; he has been upbraided for winning
only to lose the 'prize of his high calling'. Sir Walter Scott, one of
his kindlier censors, rebukes him for 'the caprice and indolence with
which he has thrown from him, as if in mere wantonness, those unfinished
scraps of poetry, which like the Torso of antiquity defy the skill of
his poetical brethren to complete them'. But whatever may be said for or
against Coleridge as an 'inventor of harmonies', neither the fineness of
his self-criticism nor the laborious diligence which he expended on
perfecting his inventions can be gainsaid. His erasures and emendations
are not only a lesson in the art of poetry, not only a record of
poetical growth and development, but they discover and reveal the hidden
springs, the thoughts and passions of the artificer.
But if this be true of a stanza, a line, a word here or there, inserted
as an afterthought, is there use or sense in printing a number of
trifling or, apparently, accidental variants? Might not a choice have
been made, and the jots and tittles ignored or suppressed?
My plea is that it is difficult if not impossible to draw a line above
which a variant is important and below which it is negligible; that, to
use a word of the poet's own coining, his emendations are rarely if ever
'lightheartednesses'; and that if a collation of the printed text with
MSS. is worth studying at all the one must be as decipherable as the
other. Facsimiles are rare and costly productions, and an exhaustive
table of variants is the nearest approach to a substitute. Many, I know,
are the shortcomings, too many, I fear, are the errors in the footnotes
to this volume, but now, for the first time, the MSS. of Coleridge's
poems which are known to be extant are in a manner reproduced and made
available for study and research.
Six poems of some length are now printed and included in the text of the
poems for the first time.
The first, 'Easter Holidays' (p. 1), is unquestionably a 'School-boy
Poem', and was written some months before the author had completed his
fifteenth year. It tends to throw doubt on the alleged date of 'Time,
Real and Imaginary'.
The second,'An Inscription for a Seat,' &c. (p. 349), was first
published in the _Morning Post_, on October 21, 1800, Coleridge's
twenty-eighth birthday. It remains an open question whether it was
written by Coleridge or by Wordsworth. Both were contributors to the
_Morning Post_. Both wrote 'Inscriptions'. Both had a hand in making the
'seat'. Neither claimed or republished the poem. It favours or, rather,
parodies the style and sentiments now of one and now of the other.
The third, 'The Rash Conjurer' (p. 399), must have been read by H. N.
Coleridge, who included the last seven lines, the 'Epilogue', in the
first volume of _Literary Remains_, published in 1836. I presume that,
even as a fantasia, the subject was regarded as too extravagant, and, it
may be, too coarsely worded for publication. It was no doubt in the
first instance a 'metrical experiment', but it is to be interpreted
allegorically. The 'Rash Conjurer', the _âme damnée_, is the adept in
the black magic of metaphysics. But for that he might have been like his
brothers, a 'Devonshire Christian'.
The fourth, 'The Madman and the Lethargist' (p. 414), is an expansion of
an epigram in the Greek Anthology. It is possible that it was written in
Germany in 1799, and is contemporary with the epigrams published in the
_Morning Post_ in 1802, for the Greek original is quoted by Lessing in a
critical excursus on the nature of an epigram.
The fifth, 'Faith, Hope, and Charity' (p. 427), was translated from the
Italian of Guarini at Calne, in 1815.
Of the sixth, 'The Delinquent Travellers' (p. 443), I know nothing save
that the MS., a first copy, is in Coleridge's handwriting. It was
probably written for and may have been published in a newspaper or
periodical. It was certainly written at Highgate.
Of the epigrams and _jeux d'esprit_ eight are now published for the
first time, and of the fragments from various sources twenty-seven have
been added to those published in 1893.
Of the first drafts and alternative versions of well-known poems
thirteen are now printed for the first time. Two versions of 'The Eolian
Harp', preserved in the Library of Rugby School, and the dramatic
fragment entitled 'The Triumph of Loyalty', are of especial interest and
importance.
An exact reproduction of the text of the 'Ancyent Marinere' as printed
in an early copy of the _Lyrical Ballads_ of 1798 which belonged to S.
T. Coleridge, and a collation of the text of the 'Introduction to the
Tale of the Dark Ladié', as published in the _Morning Post_, Dec. 21,
1799, with two MSS. preserved in the British Museum, are included in
Appendix No. I.
The text of the 'Allegoric Vision' has been collated with the original
MS. and with the texts of 1817 and 1829.
A section has been devoted to 'Metrical Experiments'; eleven out of
thirteen are now published for the first time. A few critical notes by
Professor Saintsbury are, with his kind permission, appended to the
text.
Numerous poems and fragments of poems first saw the light in 1893; and
now again, in 1912, a second batch of newly-discovered, forgotten, or
purposely omitted MSS. has been collected for publication. It may
reasonably be asked if the tale is told, or if any MSS. have been
retained for publication at a future date. I cannot answer for fresh
discoveries of poems already published in newspapers and periodicals, or
of MSS. in private collections, but I can vouch for a final issue of all
poems and fragments of poems included in the collection of Notebooks and
unassorted MSS. which belonged to Coleridge at his death and were
bequeathed by him to his literary executor, Joseph Henry Green. Nothing
remains which if published in days to come could leave the present issue
incomplete.
A bibliography of the successive editions of poems and dramas published
by Coleridge himself and of the principal collected and selected
editions which have been published since 1834 follows the Appendices to
this volume. The actual record is long and intricate, but the history of
the gradual accretions may be summed up in a few sentences. 'The Fall of
Robespierre' was published in 1795. A first edition, entitled 'Poems on
Various Subjects', was published in 1796. Second and third editions,
with additions and subtractions, followed in 1797 and 1803. Two poems,
'The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere' and 'The Nightingale, a Conversation
Poem', and two extracts from an unpublished drama ('Osorio') were
included in the _Lyrical Ballads_ of 1798. A quarto pamphlet containing
three poems, 'Fears in Solitude,' 'France: An Ode,' 'Frost at Midnight,'
was issued in the same year. 'Love' was first published in the second
edition of the _Lyrical Ballads_, 1800. 'The Three Graves,' 'A Hymn
before Sunrise, &c.,' and 'Idoloclastes Satyrane', were included in the
_Friend_ (Sept.-Nov., 1809). 'Christabel,' 'Kubla Khan,' and 'The Pains
of Sleep' were published by themselves in 1816. _Sibylline Leaves_,
which appeared in 1817 and was described as 'A Collection of Poems',
included the contents of the editions of 1797 and 1803, the poems
published in the _Lyrical Ballads_ of 1798, 1800, and the quarto
pamphlet of 1798, but excluded the contents of the first edition (except
the 'Eolian Harp'), 'Christabel', 'Kubla Khan', and 'The Pains of
Sleep'. The first collected edition of the _Poetical Works_ (which
included a selection of the poems published in the three first editions,
a reissue of _Sibylline Leaves_, the 'Wanderings of Cain', a few poems
recently contributed to periodicals, and the following dramas--the
translation of Schiller's 'Piccolomini', published in 1800, 'Remorse'--a
revised version of 'Osorio'--published in 1813, and 'Zapolya', published
in 1817) was issued in three volumes in 1828. A second collected edition
in three volumes, a reissue of 1828, with an amended text and the
addition of 'The Improvisatore' and 'The Garden of Boccaccio', followed
in 1829.
Finally, in 1834, there was a reissue in three volumes of the contents
of 1829 with numerous additional poems then published or collected for
the first time. The first volume contained twenty-six juvenilia printed
from letters and MS. copybooks which had been preserved by the poet's
family, and the second volume some forty 'Miscellaneous Poems',
extracted from the Notebooks or reprinted from newspapers. The most
important additions were 'Alice du Clos', then first published from MS.,
'The Knight's Tomb' and the 'Epitaph'. 'Love, Hope, and Patience in
Education', which had appeared in the _Keepsake_ of 1830, was printed on
the last page of the third volume.
After Coleridge's death the first attempt to gather up the fragments of
his poetry was made by his 'latest editor' H. N. Coleridge in 1836. The
first volume of _Literary Remains_ contains the first reprint of 'The
Fall of Robespierre', some thirty-six poems collected from the
_Watchman_, the _Morning Post_, &c., and a selection of fragments then
first printed from a MS. Notebook, now known as 'the Gutch Memorandum
Book'.
H. N. Coleridge died in 1843, and in 1844 his widow prepared a
one-volume edition of the Poems, which was published by Pickering.
Eleven juvenilia which had first appeared in 1834 were omitted and the
poems first collected in _Literary Remains_ were for the first time
included in the text. In 1850 Mrs. H. N. Coleridge included in the third
volume of the _Essays on His Own Times_ six poems and numerous epigrams
and _jeux d'esprit_ which had appeared in the _Morning Post_ and
_Courier_. This was the first reprint of the Epigrams as a whole. A 'new
edition' of the Poems which she had prepared in the last year of her
life was published immediately after her death (May, 1852) by Edward
Moxon. It was based on the one-volume edition of 1844, with unimportant
omissions and additions; only one poem, 'The Hymn', was published for
the first time from MS.
In the same year (1852) the Dramatic Works (not including 'The Fall of
Robespierre'), edited by Derwent Coleridge, were published in a separate
volume.
In 1863 and 1870 the 'new edition' of 1852 was reissued by Derwent
Coleridge with an appendix containing thirteen poems collected for the
first time in 1863. The reissue of 1870 contained a reprint of the first
edition of the 'Ancient Mariner'.
The first edition of the _Poetical Works_, based on all previous
editions, and including the contents of _Literary Remains_ (vol. i) and
of _Essays on His Own Times_ (vol. iii), was issued by Basil Montagu
Pickering in four volumes in 1877. Many poems (including 'Remorse') were
collated for the first time with the text of previous editions and
newspaper versions by the editor, Richard Herne Shepherd. The four
volumes (with a Supplement to vol. ii) were reissued by Messrs.
Macmillan in 1880.
Finally, in the one-volume edition of the _Poetical Works_ issued by
Messrs. Macmillan in 1893, J. D. Campbell included in the text some
twenty poems and in the Appendix a large number of poetical fragments
and first drafts then printed for the first time from MS.
* * * * *
The frontispiece of this edition is a photogravure by Mr. Emery Walker,
from a pencil sketch (_circ._ 1818) by C. R. Leslie, R.A., in the
possession of the Editor. An engraving of the sketch, by Henry Meyer, is
dated April, 1819.
The vignette on the title-page is taken from the impression of a seal,
stamped on the fly-leaf of one of Coleridge's Notebooks.
I desire to express my thanks to my kinsman Lord Coleridge for
opportunity kindly afforded me of collating the text of the fragments
first published in 1893 with the original MSS. in his possession, and of
making further extracts; to Mr. Gordon Wordsworth for permitting me to
print a first draft of the poem addressed to his ancestor on the 'Growth
of an Individual Mind'; and to Miss Arnold of Fox How for a copy of the
first draft of the lines 'On Revisiting the Sea-shore'.
I have also to acknowledge the kindness and courtesy of the Authorities
of Rugby School, who permitted me to inspect and to make use of an
annotated copy of Coleridge's translation of Schiller's 'Piccolomini',
and to publish first drafts of 'The Eolian Harp' and other poems which
had formerly belonged to Joseph Cottle and were presented by Mr.
Shadworth Hodgson to the School Library.
I am indebted to my friend Mr. Thomas Hutchinson for valuable
information with regard to the authorship of some of the fragments, and
for advice and assistance in settling the text of the 'Metrical
Experiments' and other points of difficulty.
I have acknowledged in a prefatory note to the epigrams my obligation to
Dr. Hermann Georg Fiedler, Taylorian Professor of the German Language
and Literature at Oxford, in respect of his verifications of the German
originals of many of the epigrams published by Coleridge in the _Morning
Post_ and elsewhere.
Lastly, I wish to thank Mr. H. S. Milford for the invaluable assistance
which he afforded me in revising my collation of the 'Songs of the
Pixies' and the 'Introduction to the Tale of the Dark Ladié', and some
of the earlier poems, and the Reader of the Oxford University Press for
numerous hints and suggestions, and for the infinite care which he has
bestowed on the correction of slips of my own or errors of the press.
ERNEST HARTLEY COLERIDGE.
CONTENTS OF THE TWO VOLUMES
VOLUME I
PAGE
PREFACE iii
1787
Easter Holidays. [MS. _Letter_, May 12, 1787.] 1
Dura Navis. [B. M. Add. MSS. 34,225] 2
Nil Pejus est Caelibe Vitâ. [Boyer's _Liber Aureus_.] 4
1788
Sonnet: To the Autumnal Moon 5
1789
Anthem for the Children of Christ's Hospital. [MS. O.] 5
Julia. [Boyer's _Liber Aureus_.] 6
Quae Nocent Docent. [Boyer's _Liber Aureus_.] 7
The Nose. [MS. O.] 8
To the Muse. [MS. O.] 9
Destruction of the Bastile. [MS. O.] 10
Life. [MS. O.] 11
1790
Progress of Vice. [MS. O.: Boyer's _Liber Aureus_.] 12
Monody on the Death of Chatterton. (First version.) [MS. O.:
Boyer's _Liber Aureus_.] 13
An Invocation. [J. D. C.] 16
Anna and Harland. [MS. J. D. C.] 16
To the Evening Star. [MS. O.] 16
Pain. [MS. O.] 17
On a Lady Weeping. [MS. O. (c).] 17
Monody on a Tea-kettle. [MSS. O., S. T. C.] 18
Genevieve. [MSS. O., E.] 19
1791
On receiving an Account that his Only Sister's Death was
Inevitable. [MS. O.] 20
On seeing a Youth Affectionately Welcomed by a Sister 21
A Mathematical Problem. [MS. _Letter_, March 31, 1791:
MS. O. (c).] 21
Honour. [MS. O.] 24
On Imitation. [MS. O.] 26
Inside the Coach. [MS. O.] 26
Devonshire Roads. [MS. O.] 27
Music. [MS. O.] 28
Sonnet: On quitting School for College. [MS. O.] 29
Absence. A Farewell Ode on quitting School for Jesus College,
Cambridge. [MS. E.] 29
Happiness. [MS. _Letter_, June 22, 1791: MS. O. (c).] 30
1792
A Wish. Written in Jesus Wood, Feb. 10, 1792. [MS. _Letter_,
Feb. 13, [1792].] 33
An Ode in the Manner of Anacreon. [MS. _Letter_, Feb. 13, [1792].] 33
To Disappointment. [MS. _Letter_, Feb. 13, [1792].] 34
A Fragment found in a Lecture-room. [MS. _Letter_, April [1792],
MS. E.] 35
Ode. ('Ye Gales,' &c.) [MS. E.] 35
A Lover's Complaint to his Mistress. [MS. _Letter_, Feb. 13,
[1792].] 36
With Fielding's 'Amelia.' [MS. O.] 37
Written after a Walk before Supper. [MS. _Letter_, Aug. 9,
[1792].] 37
1793
Imitated from Ossian. [MS. E.] 38
The Complaint of Ninathóma. [MS. _Letter_, Feb. 7, 1793.] 39
Songs of the Pixies. [MS. 4{o}: MS. E.] 40
The Rose. [MS. _Letter_, July 28, 1793: MS. (_pencil_) in
Langhorne's _Collins_: MS. E.] 45
Kisses. [MS. _Letter_, Aug. 5, 1793: MS. (_pencil_) in Langhorne's
_Collins_: MS. E.] 46
The Gentle Look. [MS. _Letter_, Dec. 11. 1794: MS. E.] 47
Sonnet: To the River Otter 48
An Effusion at Evening. Written in August 1792. (First Draft.)
[MS. E.] 49
Lines: On an Autumnal Evening 51
To Fortune 54
1794
Perspiration. A Travelling Eclogue. [MS. _Letter_, July 6, 1794.] 56
[Ave, atque Vale!] ('Vivit sed mihi,' &c.) [MS. _Letter_, July 13,
[1794].] 56
On Bala Hill. [Morrison MSS.] 56
Lines: Written at the King's Arms, Ross, formerly the House of the
'Man of Ross'. [MS. _Letter_, July 13, 1794: MS. E: Morrison
MSS: MS. 4{o}.] 57
Imitated from the Welsh. [MS. _Letter_, Dec. 11, 1794: MS. E.] 58
Lines: To a Beautiful Spring in a Village. [MS. E.] 58
Imitations: Ad Lyram. (Casimir, Book II, Ode 3.) [MS. E.] 59
To Lesbia. [Add. MSS. 27,702] 60
The Death of the Starling. [_ibid._] 61
Moriens Superstiti. [_ibid._] 61
Morienti Superstes. [_ibid._] 62
The Sigh. [MS. _Letter_, Nov. 1794: Morrison MSS: MS. E.] 62
The Kiss. [MS. 4{o}: MS. E.] 63
To a Young Lady with a Poem on the French Revolution. [MS.
_Letter_, Oct. 21, 1794: MS. 4{o}: MS. E.] 64
Translation of Wrangham's 'Hendecasyllabi ad Bruntonam e Granta
Exituram' [Kal. Oct. MDCCXC] 66
To Miss Brunton with the preceding Translation 67
Epitaph on an Infant. ('Ere Sin could blight.') [MS. E.] 68
Pantisocracy. [MSS. _Letters_, Sept. 18, Oct. 19, 1794: MS. E.] 68
On the Prospect of establishing a Pantisocracy in America 69
Elegy: Imitated from one of Akenside's Blank-verse Inscriptions.
[(No.) III.] 69
The Faded Flower 70
The Outcast 71
Domestic Peace. (From 'The Fall of Robespierre,' Act I, l. 210.) 71
On a Discovery made too late. [MS. _Letter_, Oct. 21, 1794.] 72
To the Author of 'The Robbers' 72
Melancholy. A Fragment. [MS. _Letter_, Aug. 26,1802.] 73
To a Young Ass: Its Mother being tethered near it. [MS. Oct. 24,
1794: MS. _Letter_, Dec. 17, 1794.] 74
Lines on a Friend who Died of a Frenzy Fever induced by Calumnious
Reports. [MS. _Letter_, Nov. 6, 1794: MS. 4{o}: MS. E.] 76
To a Friend [Charles Lamb] together with an Unfinished Poem. [MS.
_Letter_, Dec. 1794] 78
Sonnets on Eminent Characters: Contributed to the _Morning
Chronicle_, in Dec. 1794 and Jan. 1795:--
I. To the Honourable Mr. Erskine 79
II. Burke. [MS. _Letter_, Dec. 11, 1794.] 80
III. Priestley. [MS. _Letter_, Dec. 17, 1794.] 81
IV. La Fayette 82
V. Koskiusko. [MS. _Letter_, Dec. 17, 1794.] 82
VI. Pitt 83
VII. To the Rev. W. L. Bowles. (First Version, printed in
_Morning Chronicle_, Dec. 26, 1794.) [MS. _Letter_,
Dec. 11, 1794.] 84
(Second Version.) 85
VIII. Mrs. Siddons 85
1795.
IX. To William Godwin, Author of 'Political Justice.' [Lines
9-14, MS. _Letter_, Dec. 17, 1794.] 86
X. To Robert Southey of Baliol College, Oxford, Author of the
'Retrospect' and other Poems. [MS. _Letter_, Dec. 17,
1794.] 87
XI. To Richard Brinsley Sheridan, Esq. [MS. _Letter_, Dec. 9,
1794: MS. E.] 87
XII. To Lord Stanhope on reading his Late Protest in the House
of Lords. [_Morning Chronicle_, Jan. 31, 1795.] 89
To Earl Stanhope 89
Lines: To a Friend in Answer to a Melancholy Letter 90
To an Infant. [MS. E.] 91
To the Rev. W. J. Hort while teaching a Young Lady some Song-tunes
on his Flute 92
Pity. [MS. E.] 93
To the Nightingale 93
Lines: Composed while climbing the Left Ascent of Brockley Coomb,
Somersetshire, May 1795 94
Lines in the Manner of Spenser 94
The Hour when we shall meet again. (_Composed during Illness and
in Absence._) 96
Lines written at Shurton Bars, near Bridgewater, September 1795,
in Answer to a Letter from Bristol 96
The Eolian Harp. Composed at Clevedon, Somersetshire. [MS. R.] 100
To the Author of Poems [Joseph Cottle] published anonymously at
Bristol in September 1795 102
The Silver Thimble. The Production of a Young Lady, addressed to
the Author of the Poems alluded to in the preceding Epistle.
[MS. R.] 104
Reflections on having left a Place of Retirement 106
Religious Musings. [1794-1796.] 108
Monody on the Death of Chatterton. [1790-1834.] 125
1796
The Destiny of Nations. A Vision 131
Ver Perpetuum. Fragment from an Unpublished Poem 148
On observing a Blossom on the First of February 1796 148
To a Primrose. The First seen in the Season 149
Verses: Addressed to J. Horne Tooke and the Company who met on
June 28, 1796, to celebrate his Poll at the Westminster
Election 150
On a Late Connubial Rupture in High Life [Prince and Princess of
Wales]. [MS _Letter_, July 4, 1796] 152
Sonnet: On receiving a Letter informing me of the Birth of a Son.
[MS. _Letter_, Nov. 1, 1796.] 152
Sonnet: Composed on a Journey Homeward; the Author having
received Intelligence of the Birth of a Son, Sept. 20, 1796.
[MS. _Letter_, Nov. 1, 1796.] 153
Sonnet: To a Friend who asked how I felt when the Nurse first
presented my Infant to me. [MS. _Letter_, Nov. 1, 1796] 154
Sonnet: [To Charles Lloyd] 155
To a Young Friend on his proposing to domesticate with the
Author. _Composed in_ 1796 155
Addressed to a Young Man of Fortune [C. Lloyd] 157
To a Friend [Charles Lamb] who had declared his intention of
writing no more Poetry 158
Ode to the Departing Year 160
1797
The Raven. [MS. S. T. C.] 169
To an Unfortunate Woman at the Theatre 171
To an Unfortunate Woman whom the Author had known in the days of
her Innocence 172
To the Rev. George Coleridge 173
On the Christening of a Friend's Child 176
Translation of a Latin Inscription by the Rev. W. L. Bowles in
Nether-Stowey Church 177
This Lime-tree Bower my Prison 178
The Foster-mother's Tale 182
The Dungeon 185
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner 186
Sonnets attempted in the Manner of Contemporary Writers 209
Parliamentary Oscillators 211
Christabel. [For MSS. _vide_ p. 214] 213
Lines to W. L. while he sang a Song to Purcell's Music 236
1798
Fire, Famine, and Slaughter 237
Frost at Midnight 240
France: An Ode. 243
The Old Man of the Alps 248
To a Young Lady on her Recovery from a Fever 252
Lewti, or the Circassian Love-chaunt. [For MSS. _vide_ pp.
1049-62] 253
Fears in Solitude. [MS. W.] 256
The Nightingale. A Conversation Poem 264
The Three Graves. [Parts I, II. MS. S. T. C.] 267
The Wanderings of Cain. [MS. S. T. C.] 285
To ---- 292
The Ballad of the Dark Ladié 293
Kubla Khan 295
Recantation: Illustrated in the Story of the Mad Ox 299
1799
Hexameters. ('William my teacher,' &c.) 304
Translation of a Passage in Ottfried's Metrical Paraphrase of the
Gospel 306
Catullian Hendecasyllables 307
The Homeric Hexameter described and exemplified 307
The Ovidian Elegiac Metre described and exemplified 308
On a Cataract. [MS. S. T. C.] 308
Tell's Birth-Place 309
The Visit of the Gods 310
From the German. ('Know'st thou the land,' &c.) 311
Water Ballad. [From the French.] 311
On an Infant which died before Baptism. ('Be rather,' &c.) [MS.
_Letter_, Apr. 8, 1799] 312
Something Childish, but very Natural. Written in Germany. [MS.
_Letter_, April 23, 1799.] 313
Home-Sick. Written in Germany. [MS. _Letter_, May 6, 1799.] 314
Lines written in the Album at Elbingerode in the Hartz Forest.
[MS. _Letter_, May 17, 1799.] 315
The British Stripling's War-Song. [Add. MSS. 27,902] 317
Names. [From Lessing.] 318
The Devil's Thoughts. [MS. copy by Derwent Coleridge.] 319
Lines composed in a Concert-room 324
Westphalian Song 326
Hexameters. Paraphrase of Psalm xlvi. [MS. _Letter_, Sept. 29,
1799.] 326
Hymn to the Earth. [Imitated from Stolberg's _Hymne an die
Erde_.] Hexameters 327
Mahomet 329
Love. [British Museum Add. MSS. No. 27,902: Wordsworth and
Coleridge MSS.] 330
Ode to Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, on the Twenty-fourth
Stanza in her 'Passage over Mount Gothard' 335
A Christmas Carol 338
1800
Talleyrand to Lord Grenville. A Metrical Epistle 340
Apologia pro Vita sua. ('The poet in his lone,' &c.) [MS.
Notebook.] 345
The Keepsake 345
A Thought suggested by a View of Saddleback in Cumberland. [MS.
Notebook.] 347
The Mad Monk 347
Inscription for a Seat by the Road Side half-way up a Steep Hill
facing South 349
A Stranger Minstrel 350
Alcaeus to Sappho. [MS. _Letter_, Oct. 7, 1800.] 353
The Two Round Spaces on the Tombstone. [MS. _Letter_, Oct. 9,
1800: Add. MSS. 28,322] 353
The Snow-drop. [MS. S. T. C.] 356
1801
On Revisiting the Sea-shore. [MS. _Letter_, Aug. 15, 1801:
MS. A.] 359
Ode to Tranquillity 360
To Asra. [MS. (of _Christabel_) S. T. C. (c).] 361
The Second Birth. [MS. Notebook.] 362
Love's Sanctuary. [MS. Notebook.] 362
1802
Dejection: An Ode. [Written April 4, 1802.] [MS. _Letter_,
July 19, 1802: Coleorton MSS.] 362
The Picture, or the Lover's Resolution 369
To Matilda Betham from a Stranger 374
Hymn before Sun-rise, in the Vale of Chamouni. [MS. A. (1803):
MS. B. (1809): MS. C. (1815).] 376
The Good, Great Man 381
Inscription for a Fountain on a Heath 381
An Ode to the Rain 382
A Day-dream. ('My eyes make pictures,' &c.) 385
Answer to a Child's Question 386
The Day-dream. From an Emigrant to his Absent Wife 386
The Happy Husband. A Fragment 388
1803
The Pains of Sleep. [MS. _Letters_, Sept. 11, Oct 3, 1803.] 389
1804
The Exchange 391
1805
Ad Vilmum Axiologum. [To William Wordsworth.] [MS. Notebook.] 391
An Exile. [MS. Notebook.] 392
Sonnet. [Translated from Marini.] [MS. Notebook.] 392
Phantom. [MS. Notebook.] 393
A Sunset. [MS. Notebook.] 393
What is Life? [MS. Notebook.] 394
The Blossoming of the Solitary Date-tree 395
Separation. [MS. Notebook.] 397
The Rash Conjurer. [MS. Notebook.] 399
1806
A Child's Evening Prayer. [MS. Mrs. S. T. C.] 401
Metrical Feet. Lesson for a Boy. [Lines 1-7, MS. Notebook.] 401
Farewell to Love 402
To William Wordsworth. [Coleorton MS: MS. W.] 403
An Angel Visitant. [? 1801.] [MS. Notebook.] 409
1807
Recollections of Love. [MS. Notebook.] 409
To Two Sisters. [Mary Morgan and Charlotte Brent] 410
1808
Psyche. [MS. S. T. C.] 412
1809
A Tombless Epitaph 413
For a Market-clock. (Impromptu.) [MS. _Letter_, Oct. 9, 1809: MS.
Notebook.] 414
The Madman and the Lethargist. [MS. Notebook.] 414
1810
The Visionary Hope 416
1811
Epitaph on an Infant. ('Its balmy lips,' &c.) 417
The Virgin's Cradle-hymn 417
To a Lady offended by a Sportive Observation that Women have no
Souls 418
Reason for Love's Blindness 418
The Suicide's Argument. [MS. Notebook.] 419
1812
Time, Real and Imaginary 419
An Invocation. From _Remorse_ [Act III, Scene I, ll. 69-82] 420
1813
The Night-scene. [Add. MSS. 34,225] 421
1814
A Hymn 423
To a Lady, with Falconer's _Shipwreck_ 424
1815
Human Life. On the Denial of Immortality 425
Song. From _Zapolya_ (Act II, Sc. i, ll. 65-80.) 426
Hunting Song. From _Zapolya_ (Act IV, Sc. ii, ll. 56-71) 427
Faith, Hope, and Charity. From the Italian of Guarini 427
To Nature [? 1820] 429
1817
Limbo. [MS. Notebook: MS. S. T. C.] 429
_Ne Plus Ultra_ [? 1826]. [MS. Notebook.] 431
The Knight's Tomb 432
On Donne's Poetry [? 1818] 433
Israel's Lament 433
Fancy in Nubibus, or the Poet in the Clouds. [MS. S. T. C.] 435
1820
The Tears of a Grateful People 436
1823
Youth and Age. [MS. S. T. C.: MSS. (1, 2) Notebook.] 439
The Reproof and Reply 441
1824
First Advent of Love. [MS. Notebook.] 443
The Delinquent Travellers 443
1825
Work without Hope. Lines composed 21st February, 1825 447
_Sancti Dominici Pallium._ A Dialogue between Poet and Friend.
[MS. S. T. C.] 448
Song. ('Though veiled,' &c.) [MS. Notebook.] 450
A Character. [Add. MSS. 34,225] 451
The Two Founts. [MS. S. T. C.] 454
Constancy to an Ideal Object 455
The Pang more Sharp than All. An Allegory 457
1826
Duty surviving Self-love. The only sure Friend of declining Life. 459
Homeless 460
Lines suggested by the last Words of Berengarius; ob. Anno Dom.
1088 460
Epitaphium Testamentarium 462
Ἔρως ἀεὶ λάληθρος ἑταῖρος 462
1827
The Improvisatore; or, 'John Anderson, My Jo, John' 462
To Mary Pridham [afterwards Mrs. Derwent Coleridge]. [MS.
S. T. C.] 468
1828
Alice du Clos; or, The Forked Tongue. A Ballad. [MS. S. T. C.] 469
Love's Burial-place 475
Lines: To a Comic Author, on an Abusive Review [? 1825]. [Add.
MSS. 34,225] 476
Cologne 477
On my Joyful Departure from the same City 477
The Garden of Boccaccio 478
1829
Love, Hope, and Patience in Education. [MS. _Letter_, July 1,
1829: MS. S. T. C.] 481
To Miss A. T. 482
Lines written in Commonplace Book of Miss Barbour, Daughter of
the Minister of the U. S. A. to England 483
1830
Song, _ex improviso_, on hearing a Song in praise of a Lady's
Beauty 483
Love and Friendship Opposite 484
Not at Home 484
Phantom or Fact. A Dialogue in Verse 484
Desire. [MS. S. T. C.] 485
Charity in Thought 486
Humility the Mother of Charity 486
[Coeli Enarrant.] [MS. S. T. C.] 486
Reason 487
1832
Self-knowledge 487
Forbearance 488
1833
Love's Apparition and Evanishment 488
To the Young Artist Kayser of Kaserwerth 490
My Baptismal Birth-day 490
Epitaph. [For six MS. versions vide Note, p. 491]. 491
END OF THE POEMS
VOLUME II
DRAMATIC WORKS
1794
THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE. An Historic Drama 495
1797
OSORIO. A Tragedy 518
1800
THE PICCOLOMINI; or, THE FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. A Drama
translated from the German of Schiller.
Preface to the First Edition 598
The Piccolomini 600
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. A Tragedy in Five Acts.
Preface of the Translator to the First Edition 724
The Death of Wallenstein 726
1812
REMORSE.
Preface 812
Prologue 816
Epilogue 817
Remorse. A Tragedy in Five Acts 819
1815
ZAPOLYA. A Christmas Tale in Two Parts.
Advertisement 883
Part I. The Prelude, entitled 'The Usurper's Fortune' 884
Part II. The Sequel, entitled 'The Usurper's Fate' 901
EPIGRAMS
An Apology for Spencers 951
On a Late Marriage between an Old Maid and French Petit Maître 952
On an Amorous Doctor 952
'Of smart pretty Fellows,' &c. 952
On Deputy ---- 953
'To be ruled like a Frenchman,' &c. 953
On Mr. Ross, usually Cognominated _Nosy_ 953
'Bob now resolves,' &c. 953
'Say what you will, Ingenious Youth' 954
'If the guilt of all lying,' &c. 954
On an Insignificant 954
'There comes from old Avaro's grave' 954
On a Slanderer 955
Lines in a German Student's Album 955
[Hippona] 955
On a Reader of His Own Verses 955
On a Report of a Minister's Death 956
[Dear Brother Jem] 956
Job's Luck 957
On the Sickness of a Great Minister 957
[To a Virtuous Oeconomist] 958
[L'Enfant Prodigue] 958
On Sir Rubicund Naso 958
To Mr. Pye 959
[Ninety-Eight] 959
Occasioned by the Former 959
[A Liar by Profession] 960
To a Proud Parent 960
Rufa 960
On a Volunteer Singer 960
Occasioned by the Last 961
Epitaph on Major Dieman 961
On the Above 961
Epitaph on a Bad Man (Three Versions) 961
To a Certain Modern Narcissus 962
To a Critic 962
Always Audible 963
Pondere non Numero 963
The Compliment Qualified 963
'What is an Epigram,' &c. 963
'Charles, grave or merry,' &c. 964
'An evil spirit's on thee, friend,' &c. 964
'Here lies the Devil,' &c. 964
To One Who Published in Print, &c. 964
'Scarce any scandal,' &c. 965
'Old Harpy,' &c. 965
To a Vain Young Lady 965
A Hint to Premiers and First Consuls 966
'From me, Aurelia,' &c. 966
For a House-Dog's Collar 966
'In vain I praise thee, Zoilus' 966
Epitaph on a Mercenary Miser 967
A Dialogue between an Author and his Friend 967
Μωροσοφία, or Wisdom in Folly 967
'Each Bond-street buck,' &c. 968
From an Old German Poet 968
On the Curious Circumstance, That in the German, &c. 968
Spots in the Sun 969
'When Surface talks,' &c. 969
To my Candle 969
Epitaph on Himself 970
The Taste of the Times 970
On Pitt and Fox 970
'An excellent adage,' &c. 971
Comparative Brevity of Greek and English 971
On the Secrecy of a Certain Lady 971
Motto for a Transparency, &c. (Two Versions) 972
'Money, I've heard,' &c. 972
Modern Critics 972
Written in an Album 972
To a Lady who requested me to Write a Poem upon Nothing 973
Sentimental 973
'So Mr. Baker,' &c. 973
Authors and Publishers 973
The Alternative 974
'In Spain, that land,' &c. 974
Inscription for a Time-piece 974
On the Most Veracious Anecdotist, &c. 974
'Nothing speaks our mind,' &c. 975
Epitaph of the Present Year on the Monument of Thomas Fuller 975
JEUX D'ESPRIT 976
My Godmother's Beard 976
Lines to Thomas Poole 976
To a Well-known Musical Critic, &c. 977
To T. Poole: An Invitation 978
Song, To be Sung by the Lovers of all the noble liquors, &c. 978
Drinking _versus_ Thinking 979
The Wills of the Wisp 979
To Captain Findlay 980
On Donne's Poem 'To a Flea' 980
[Ex Libris S. T. C.] 981
ΕΓΩΕΝΚΑΙΠΑΝ 981
The Bridge Street Committee 982
Nonsense Sapphics 983
To Susan Steele, &c. 984
Association of Ideas 984
Verses Trivocular 985
Cholera Cured Before-hand 985
To Baby Bates 987
To a Child 987
FRAGMENTS FROM A NOTEBOOK. (_circa_ 1796-1798) 988
FRAGMENTS. (_For unnamed Fragments see_ Index of First Lines.) 996
Over my Cottage 997
[The Night-Mare Death in Life] 998
A Beck in Winter 998
[Not a Critic--But a Judge] 1000
[De Profundis Clamavi] 1001
Fragment of an Ode on Napoleon 1003
Epigram on Kepler 1004
[Ars Poetica] 1006
Translation of the First Strophe of Pindar's Second Olympic 1006
Translation of a Fragment of Heraclitus 1007
Imitated from Aristophanes 1008
To Edward Irving 1008
[Luther--De Dæmonibus] 1009
The Netherlands 1009
Elisa: Translated from Claudian 1009
Profuse Kindness 1010
Napoleon 1010
The Three Sorts of Friends 1012
Bo-Peep and I Spy-- 1012
A Simile 1013
Baron Guelph of Adelstan. A Fragment 1013
METRICAL EXPERIMENTS 1014
An Experiment for a Metre ('I heard a Voice,' &c.) 1014
Trochaics 1015
The Proper Unmodified Dochmius 1015
Iambics 1015
Nonsense ('Sing, impassionate Soul,' &c.) 1015
A Plaintive Movement 1016
An Experiment for a Metre ('When thy Beauty appears') 1016
Nonsense Verses ('Ye fowls of ill presage') 1017
Nonsense ('I wish on earth to sing') 1017
'There in some darksome shade' 1018
'Once again, sweet Willow, wave thee' 1018
'Songs of Shepherds, and rustical Roundelays' 1018
A Metrical Accident 1019
Notes by Professor Saintsbury 1019
APPENDIX I
FIRST DRAFTS, EARLY VERSIONS, ETC.
A. Effusion 35, August 20th, 1795. (First Draft.) [MS. R.] 1021
Effusion, p. 96 [1797]. (Second Draft.) [MS. R.] 1021
B. Recollection 1023
C. The Destiny of Nations. (Draft I.) [Add. MSS. 34,225] 1024
" " " (Draft II.) [_ibid._] 1026
" " " (Draft III.) [_ibid._] 1027
D. Passages in Southey's _Joan of Arc_ (First Edition, 1796)
contributed by S. T. Coleridge 1027
E. The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere [1798] 1030
F. The Raven. [_M. P._ March 10, 1798.] 1048
G. Lewti; or, The Circassian's Love-Chant. (1.) [B. M. Add. MSS.
27,902.] 1049
The Circassian's Love-Chaunt. (2.) [Add. MSS. 35,343.] 1050
Lewti; or, The Circassian's Love-Chant. (3.) [Add. MSS.
35,343.] 1051
H. Introduction to the Tale of the Dark Ladie. [_M. P._ Dec. 21,
1799.] 1052
I. The Triumph of Loyalty. An Historic Drama. [Add. MSS.
34,225.] 1060
J. Chamouny; The Hour before Sunrise. A Hymn. [_M. P._ Sept. 11,
1802.] 1074
K. Dejection: An Ode. [_M. P._ Oct. 4, 1802.] 1076
L. To W. Wordsworth. January 1807 1081
M. Youth and Age. (MS. I, Sept. 10, 1823.) 1084
" " (MS. II. 1.) 1085
" " (MS. II. 2.) 1086
N. Love's Apparition and Evanishment. (First Draft.) 1087
O. Two Versions of the Epitaph. ('Stop, Christian,' &c.) 1088
P. [Habent sua Fata--Poetae.] ('The Fox, and Statesman,' &c.) 1089
Q. To John Thelwall 1090
R. [Lines to T. Poole.] [1807.] 1090
APPENDIX II
ALLEGORIC VISION 1091
APPENDIX III
APOLOGETIC PREFACE TO 'FIRE, FAMINE, AND SLAUGHTER' 1097
APPENDIX IV
PROSE VERSIONS OF POEMS, ETC.
A. Questions and Answers in the Court of Love 1109
B. Prose Version of Glycine's Song in _Zapolya_ 1109
C. Work without Hope. (First Draft.) 1110
D. Note to Line 34 of the _Joan of Arc_ Book II. [4{o} 1796.] 1112
E. Dedication. Ode on the Departing Year. [4{o} 1796.] 1113
F. Preface to the MS. of _Osorio_ 1114
APPENDIX V
ADAPTATIONS
From Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke:
God and the World _we_ worship still together 1115
The _Augurs_ we of all the world admir'd 1116
Of Humane Learning 1116
From Sir John Davies: On the Immortality of the Soul 1116
From Donne: Eclogue. 'On Unworthy Wisdom' 1117
Letter to Sir Henry Goodyere. 1117
From Ben Jonson: A Nymph's Passion (Mutual Passion) 1118
Underwoods, No. VI. The Hour-glass 1119
The Poetaster, Act I, Scene i. 1120
From Samuel Daniel: Epistle to Sir Thomas Egerton, Knight 1120
Musophilus, Stanza CXLVII 1121
Musophilus, Stanzas XXVII, XXIX, XXX 1122
From Christopher Harvey: The Synagogue (The Nativity, or
Christmas Day.) 1122
From Mark Akenside: Blank Verse Inscriptions 1123
From W. L. Bowles:--'I yet remain' 1124
From an old Play: Napoleon 1124
APPENDIX VI
ORIGINALS OF TRANSLATIONS
F. von Matthison: Ein milesisches Mährchen, Adonide 1125
Schiller: Schwindelnd trägt er dich fort auf rastlos strömenden
Wogen 1125
Im Hexameter steigt des Springquells flüssige Säule 1125
Stolberg: Unsterblicher Jüngling! 1126
Seht diese heilige Kapell! 1126
Schiller: Nimmer, das glaubt mir 1127
Goethe: Kennst du das Land, wo die Citronen blühn 1128
François-Antoine-Eugène de Planard: 'Batelier, dit Lisette' 1128
German Folk Song: Wenn ich ein Vöglein wär 1129
Stolberg: Mein Arm wird stark und gross mein Muth 1129
Lessing: Ich fragte meine Schöne 1130
Stolberg: Erde, du Mutter zahlloser Kinder, Mutter und Amme! 1130
Friederike Brun: Aus tiefem Schatten des schweigenden
Tannenhains 1131
Giambattista Marino: Donna, siam rei di morte. Errasti, errai 1131
MS. Notebook: In diesem Wald, in diesen Gründen 1132
Anthologia Graeca: Κοινῇ πὰρ κλισίῃ ληθαργικὸς ἠδὲ φρενοπλὴξ 1132
Battista Guarini: Canti terreni amori 1132
Stolberg: Der blinde Sänger stand am Meer 1134
BIBLIOGRAPHY OF THE POETICAL WORKS OF SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 1135
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL APPENDIX
No. I. Poems first published in Newspapers or Periodicals 1178
No. II. Epigrams and Jeux d'Esprit first published in Newspapers
and Periodicals 1182
No. III. Poems included in Anthologies and other Works 1183
No. IV. Poems first printed or reprinted in _Literary Remains_,
1836, &c. 1187
Poems first printed or reprinted in _Essays on His Own Times_,
1850 1188
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 1189
ABBREVIATIONS
MS. B. M. = MS. preserved in the British Museum.
MS. O. = MS. Ottery: i. e. a collection of juvenile poems in the
handwriting of S. T. Coleridge (_circ._ 1793).
MS. O. (c.) = MS. Ottery, No. 3: a transcript (_circ._ 1823) of a
collection of juvenile poems by S. T. Coleridge.
MS. S. T. C. = A single MS. poem in the handwriting of S. T.
Coleridge.
MS. E. = MS. Estlin: i. e. a collection of juvenile poems in the
handwriting of S. T. Coleridge presented to Mrs. Estlin
of Bristol _circ._ 1795.
MS. 4{o} = A collection of early poems in the handwriting of S. T.
Coleridge (_circ._ 1796).
MS. W. = An MS. in the handwriting of S. T. Coleridge, now in the
possession of Mr. Gordon Wordsworth.
MS. R. = MS. Rugby: i. e. in the possession of the Governors of
Rugby School.
_An. Anth._ = _Annual Anthology_ of 1800.
_B. L._ = _Biographia Literaria_.
_C. I._ = _Cambridge Intelligencer_.
_E. M._ = _English Minstrelsy_.
_F. F._ = _Felix Farley's Bristol Journal_, 1818.
_F. O._ = _Friendship's Offering_, 1834.
_L. A._ = _Liber Aureus_.
_L. B._ = _Lyrical Ballads_.
_L. R._ = _Literary Remains_.
_M. C._ = _Morning Chronicle_.
_M. M._ = _Monthly Magazine_.
_M. P._ = _Morning Post_.
_P. R._ = _Poetical Register_, 1802.
_P. & D. W._ = _Poetical and Dramatic Works_.
_P. W._ = _Poetical Works_.
_S. L._ = _Sibylline Leaves_ (1817).
_S. S._ = _Selection of Sonnets_.
ERRATA
On p. 16, _n._ 2, line 1, _for_ Oct. 15, _read_ Oct. 25.
On p. 68, line 6, _for_ 1795 _read_ 1794, and _n._ 1, line 1, _for_
September 24, _read_ September 23.
On p. 69, lines 11 and 28, _for_ 1795 _read_ 1794.
On p. 96, _n._ 1, line 1, _for_ March 9, _read_ March 17.
On p. 148, _n._ 1, line 2, _for_ March 28, _read_ March 25.
On p. 314, line 17, _for_ May 26 _read_ May 6.
On p. 1179, line 7, _for_ Sept. 27, _read_ Sept. 23.
On p. 1181, line 33, _for_ Oct. 9 _read_ Oct. 29.
POETICAL WORKS
POEMS
EASTER HOLIDAYS[1:1]
VERSE 1ST
Hail! festal Easter that dost bring
Approach of sweetly-smiling spring,
When Nature's clad in green:
When feather'd songsters through the grove
With beasts confess the power of love 5
And brighten all the scene.
VERSE 2ND
Now youths the breaking stages load
That swiftly rattling o'er the road
To Greenwich haste away:
While some with sounding oars divide 10
Of smoothly-flowing Thames the tide
All sing the festive lay.
VERSE 3RD
With mirthful dance they beat the ground,
Their shouts of joy the hills resound
And catch the jocund noise: 15
Without a tear, without a sigh
Their moments all in transports fly
Till evening ends their joys.
VERSE 4TH
But little think their joyous hearts
Of dire Misfortune's varied smarts 20
Which youthful years conceal:
Thoughtless of bitter-smiling Woe
Which all mankind are born to know
And they themselves must feel.
VERSE 5TH
Yet he who Wisdom's paths shall keep 25
And Virtue firm that scorns to weep
At ills in Fortune's power,
Through this life's variegated scene
In raging storms or calm serene
Shall cheerful spend the hour. 30
VERSE 6TH
While steady Virtue guides his mind
Heav'n-born Content he still shall find
That never sheds a tear:
Without respect to any tide
His hours away in bliss shall glide 35
Like Easter all the year.
1787.
FOOTNOTES:
[1:1] From a hitherto unpublished MS. The lines were sent in a letter to
Luke Coleridge, dated May 12, 1787.
DURA NAVIS[2:1]
To tempt the dangerous deep, too venturous youth,
Why does thy breast with fondest wishes glow?
No tender parent there thy cares shall sooth,
No much-lov'd Friend shall share thy every woe.
Why does thy mind with hopes delusive burn? 5
Vain are thy Schemes by heated Fancy plann'd:
Thy promis'd joy thou'lt see to Sorrow turn
Exil'd from Bliss, and from thy native land.
Hast thou foreseen the Storm's impending rage,
When to the Clouds the Waves ambitious rise, 10
And seem with Heaven a doubtful war to wage,
Whilst total darkness overspreads the skies;
Save when the lightnings darting wingéd Fate
Quick bursting from the pitchy clouds between
In forkéd Terror, and destructive state[2:2] 15
Shall shew with double gloom the horrid scene?
Shalt thou be at this hour from danger free?
Perhaps with fearful force some falling Wave
Shall wash thee in the wild tempestuous Sea,
And in some monster's belly fix thy grave; 20
Or (woful hap!) against some wave-worn rock
Which long a Terror to each Bark had stood
Shall dash thy mangled limbs with furious shock
And stain its craggy sides with human blood.
Yet not the Tempest, or the Whirlwind's roar 25
Equal the horrors of a Naval Fight,
When thundering Cannons spread a sea of Gore
And varied deaths now fire and now affright:
The impatient shout, that longs for closer war,
Reaches from either side the distant shores; 30
Whilst frighten'd at His streams ensanguin'd far
Loud on his troubled bed huge Ocean roars.[3:1]
What dreadful scenes appear before my eyes!
Ah! see how each with frequent slaughter red,
Regardless of his dying fellows' cries 35
O'er their fresh wounds with impious order tread!
From the dread place does soft Compassion fly!
The Furies fell each alter'd breast command;
Whilst Vengeance drunk with human blood stands by
And smiling fires each heart and arms each hand. 40
Should'st thou escape the fury of that day
A fate more cruel still, unhappy, view.
Opposing winds may stop thy luckless way,
And spread fell famine through the suffering crew,
Canst thou endure th' extreme of raging Thirst 45
Which soon may scorch thy throat, ah! thoughtless Youth!
Or ravening hunger canst thou bear which erst
On its own flesh hath fix'd the deadly tooth?
Dubious and fluttering 'twixt hope and fear
With trembling hands the lot I see thee draw, 50
Which shall, or sentence thee a victim drear,
To that ghaunt Plague which savage knows no law:
Or, deep thy dagger in the friendly heart,
Whilst each strong passion agitates thy breast,
Though oft with Horror back I see thee start, 55
Lo! Hunger _drives_ thee to th' inhuman feast.
These are the ills, that may the course attend--
Then with the joys of home contented rest--
Here, meek-eyed Peace with humble Plenty lend
Their aid united still, to make thee blest. 60
To ease each pain, and to increase each joy--
Here mutual Love shall fix thy tender wife,
Whose offspring shall thy youthful care employ
And gild with brightest rays the evening of thy Life.
1787.
FOOTNOTES:
[2:1] First published in 1893. The autograph MS. is in the British
Museum.
[2:2] _State_, Grandeur [1792]. This school exercise, written in the
15th year of my age, does not contain a line that any clever schoolboy
might not have written, and like most school poetry is a _Putting of
Thought into Verse_; for such Verses as _strivings_ of mind and
struggles after the Intense and Vivid are a fair Promise of better
things.--S. T. C. _aetat. suae_ 51. [1823.]
[3:1] I well remember old Jemmy Bowyer, the plagose Orbilius of Christ's
Hospital, but an admirable educer no less than Educator of the
Intellect, bade me leave out as many epithets as would turn the whole
into eight-syllable lines, and then ask myself if the exercise would not
be greatly improved. How often have I thought of the proposal since
then, and how many thousand bloated and puffing lines have I read, that,
by this process, would have tripped over the tongue excellently.
Likewise, I remember that he told me on the same occasion--'Coleridge!
the connections of a Declamation are not the transitions of Poetry--bad,
however, as they are, they are better than "Apostrophes" and "O thou's",
for at the worst they are something like common sense. The others are
the grimaces of Lunacy.'--S. T. COLERIDGE.
NIL PEJUS EST CAELIBE VITÂ[4:1]
[IN CHRIST'S HOSPITAL BOOK]
I
What pleasures shall he ever find?
What joys shall ever glad his heart?
Or who shall heal his wounded mind,
If tortur'd by Misfortune's smart?
Who Hymeneal bliss will never prove, 5
That more than friendship, friendship mix'd with love.
II
Then without child or tender wife,
To drive away each care, each sigh,
Lonely he treads the paths of life
A stranger to Affection's tye: 10
And when from Death he meets his final doom
No mourning wife with tears of love shall wet his tomb.
III
Tho' Fortune, Riches, Honours, Pow'r,
Had giv'n with every other toy,
Those gilded trifles of the hour, 15
Those painted nothings sure to cloy:
He dies forgot, his name no son shall bear
To shew the man so blest once breath'd the vital air.
1787.
FOOTNOTES:
[4:1] First published in 1893.
SONNET[5:1]
TO THE AUTUMNAL MOON
Mild Splendour of the various-vested Night!
Mother of wildly-working visions! hail!
I watch thy gliding, while with watery light
Thy weak eye glimmers through a fleecy veil;
And when thou lovest thy pale orb to shroud 5
Behind the gather'd blackness lost on high;
And when thou dartest from the wind-rent cloud
Thy placid lightning o'er the awaken'd sky.
Ah such is Hope! as changeful and as fair!
Now dimly peering on the wistful sight; 10
Now hid behind the dragon-wing'd Despair:
But soon emerging in her radiant might
She o'er the sorrow-clouded breast of Care
Sails, like a meteor kindling in its flight.
1788.
FOOTNOTES:
[5:1] First published in 1796: included in 1803, 1829, 1834. No changes
were made in the text.
LINENOTES:
Title] Effusion xviii, To the, &c.: Sonnet xviii, To the, &c., 1803.
ANTHEM[5:2]
FOR THE CHILDREN OF CHRIST'S HOSPITAL
Seraphs! around th' Eternal's seat who throng
With tuneful ecstasies of praise:
O! teach our feeble tongues like yours the song
Of fervent gratitude to raise--
Like you, inspired with holy flame 5
To dwell on that Almighty name
Who bade the child of Woe no longer sigh,
And Joy in tears o'erspread the widow's eye.
Th' all-gracious Parent hears the wretch's prayer;
The meek tear strongly pleads on high; 10
Wan Resignation struggling with despair
The Lord beholds with pitying eye;
Sees cheerless Want unpitied pine,
Disease on earth its head recline,
And bids Compassion seek the realms of woe 15
To heal the wounded, and to raise the low.
She comes! she comes! the meek-eyed Power I see
With liberal hand that loves to bless;
The clouds of Sorrow at her presence flee;
Rejoice! rejoice! ye Children of Distress! 20
The beams that play around her head
Thro' Want's dark vale their radiance spread:
The young uncultur'd mind imbibes the ray,
And Vice reluctant quits th' expected prey.
Cease, thou lorn mother! cease thy wailings drear; 25
Ye babes! the unconscious sob forego;
Or let full Gratitude now prompt the tear
Which erst did Sorrow force to flow.
Unkindly cold and tempest shrill
In Life's morn oft the traveller chill, 30
But soon his path the sun of Love shall warm;
And each glad scene look brighter for the storm!
1789.
FOOTNOTES:
[5:2] First published in 1834.
LINENOTES:
_Anthem._ For the Children, &c.] This Anthem was written as if intended
to have been sung by the Children of Christ's Hospital. MS. O.
[3] yours] you MS. O.
[14] its head on earth MS. O.
JULIA[6:1]
[IN CHRIST'S HOSPITAL BOOK]
Medio de fonte leporum
Surgit amari aliquid.
Julia was blest with beauty, wit, and grace:
Small poets lov'd to sing her blooming face.
Before her altars, lo! a numerous train
Preferr'd their vows; yet all preferr'd in vain,
Till charming Florio, born to conquer, came 5
And touch'd the fair one with an equal flame.
The flame she felt, and ill could she conceal
What every look and action would reveal.
With boldness then, which seldom fails to move,
He pleads the cause of Marriage and of Love: 10
The course of Hymeneal joys he rounds,
The fair one's eyes danc'd pleasure at the sounds.
Nought now remain'd but 'Noes'--how little meant!
And the sweet coyness that endears consent.
The youth upon his knees enraptur'd fell: 15
The strange misfortune, oh! what words can tell?
Tell! ye neglected sylphs! who lap-dogs guard,
Why snatch'd ye not away your precious ward?
Why suffer'd ye the lover's weight to fall
On the ill-fated neck of much-lov'd Ball? 20
The favourite on his mistress casts his eyes,
Gives a short melancholy howl, and--dies.
Sacred his ashes lie, and long his rest!
Anger and grief divide poor Julia's breast.
Her eyes she fixt on guilty Florio first: 25
On him the storm of angry grief must burst.
That storm he fled: he wooes a kinder fair,
Whose fond affections no dear puppies share.
'Twere vain to tell, how Julia pin'd away:
Unhappy Fair! that in one luckless day-- 30
From future Almanacks the day be crost!--
At once her Lover and her Lap-dog lost.
1789.
FOOTNOTES:
[6:1] First published in the _History of . . . Christ's Hospital_. By
the Rev. W. Trollope, 1834, p. 192. Included in _Literary Remains_,
1836, i. 33, 34. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877-80.
LINENOTES:
_Julia_, Medio, &c.] De medio fonte leporum. _Trollope._
[12] danc'd] dance (T. Lit. Rem.)
QUAE NOCENT DOCENT[7:1]
[IN CHRIST'S HOSPITAL BOOK]
O! mihi praeteritos referat si Jupiter annos!
Oh! might my ill-past hours return again!
No more, as then, should Sloth around me throw
Her soul-enslaving, leaden chain!
No more the precious time would I employ
In giddy revels, or in thoughtless joy, 5
A present joy producing future woe.
But o'er the midnight Lamp I'd love to pore,
I'd seek with care fair Learning's depths to sound,
And gather scientific Lore:
Or to mature the embryo thoughts inclin'd, 10
That half-conceiv'd lay struggling in my mind,
The cloisters' solitary gloom I'd round.
'Tis vain to wish, for Time has ta'en his flight--
For follies past be ceas'd the fruitless tears:
Let follies past to future care incite. 15
Averse maturer judgements to obey
Youth owns, with pleasure owns, the Passions' sway,
But sage Experience only comes with years.
1789.
FOOTNOTES:
[7:1] First published in 1893.
THE NOSE[8:1]
Ye souls unus'd to lofty verse
Who sweep the earth with lowly wing,
Like sand before the blast disperse--
A Nose! a mighty Nose I sing!
As erst Prometheus stole from heaven the fire 5
To animate the wonder of his hand;
Thus with unhallow'd hands, O Muse, aspire,
And from my subject snatch a burning brand!
So like the Nose I sing--my verse shall glow--
Like Phlegethon my verse in waves of fire shall flow! 10
Light of this once all darksome spot
Where now their glad course mortals run,
First-born of Sirius begot
Upon the focus of the Sun--
I'll call thee ----! for such thy earthly name-- 15
What name so high, but what too low must be?
Comets, when most they drink the solar flame
Are but faint types and images of thee!
Burn madly, Fire! o'er earth in ravage run,
Then blush for shame more red by fiercer ---- outdone! 20
I saw when from the turtle feast
The thick dark smoke in volumes rose!
I saw the darkness of the mist
Encircle thee, O Nose!
Shorn of thy rays thou shott'st a fearful gleam 25
(The turtle quiver'd with prophetic fright)
Gloomy and sullen thro' the night of steam:--
So Satan's Nose when Dunstan urg'd to flight,
Glowing from gripe of red-hot pincers dread
Athwart the smokes of Hell disastrous twilight shed! 30
The Furies to madness my brain devote--
In robes of ice my body wrap!
On billowy flames of fire I float,
Hear ye my entrails how they snap?
Some power unseen forbids my lungs to breathe! 35
What fire-clad meteors round me whizzing fly!
I vitrify thy torrid zone beneath,
Proboscis fierce! I am calcined! I die!
Thus, like great Pliny, in Vesuvius' fire,
I perish in the blaze while I the blaze admire. 40
1789.
FOOTNOTES:
[8:1] First published in 1834. The third stanza was published in the
_Morning Post_, Jan. 2, 1798, entitled 'To the Lord Mayor's Nose'.
William Gill (see ll. 15, 20) was Lord Mayor in 1788.
LINENOTES:
Title] Rhapsody MS. O: The Nose.--An Odaic Rhapsody MS. O (c).
[5] As erst from Heaven Prometheus stole the fire MS. O (c).
[7] hands] hand MS. O (c).
[10] waves of fire] fiery waves MS. O (c).
[15] I'll call thee Gill MS. O. G--ll MS. O (c).
[16] high] great MS. O (c).
[20] by fiercer Gill outdone MS. O.: more red for shame by fiercer G--ll
MS. O (c).
[22] dark] dank MS. O, MS. O (c).
[25] rays] beams MS. O (c).
[30] MS. O (c) ends with the third stanza.
TO THE MUSE[9:1]
Tho' no bold flights to thee belong;
And tho' thy lays with conscious fear,
Shrink from Judgement's eye severe,
Yet much I thank thee, Spirit of my song!
For, lovely Muse! thy sweet employ 5
Exalts my soul, refines my breast,
Gives each pure pleasure keener zest,
And softens sorrow into pensive Joy.
From thee I learn'd the wish to bless,
From thee to commune with my heart; 10
From thee, dear Muse! the gayer part,
To laugh with pity at the crowds that press
Where Fashion flaunts her robes by Folly spun,
Whose hues gay-varying wanton in the sun.
1789.
FOOTNOTES:
[9:1] First published in 1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] Sonnet I. To my Muse MS. O.
DESTRUCTION OF THE BASTILE[10:1]
I
Heard'st thou yon universal cry,
And dost thou linger still on Gallia's shore?
Go, Tyranny! beneath some barbarous sky
Thy terrors lost and ruin'd power deplore!
What tho' through many a groaning age 5
Was felt thy keen suspicious rage,
Yet Freedom rous'd by fierce Disdain
Has wildly broke thy triple chain,
And like the storm which Earth's deep entrails hide,
At length has burst its way and spread the ruins wide. 10
* * * * *
IV
In sighs their sickly breath was spent; each gleam
Of Hope had ceas'd the long long day to cheer;
Or if delusive, in some flitting dream,
It gave them to their friends and children dear--
Awaked by lordly Insult's sound 15
To all the doubled horrors round,
Oft shrunk they from Oppression's band
While Anguish rais'd the desperate hand
For silent death; or lost the mind's controll,
Thro' every burning vein would tides of Frenzy roll. 20
V
But cease, ye pitying bosoms, cease to bleed!
Such scenes no more demand the tear humane;
I see, I see! glad Liberty succeed
With every patriot virtue in her train!
And mark yon peasant's raptur'd eyes; 25
Secure he views his harvests rise;
No fetter vile the mind shall know,
And Eloquence shall fearless glow.
Yes! Liberty the soul of Life shall reign,
Shall throb in every pulse, shall flow thro' every vein! 30
VI
Shall France alone a Despot spurn?
Shall she alone, O Freedom, boast thy care?
Lo, round thy standard Belgia's heroes burn,
Tho' Power's blood-stain'd streamers fire the air,
And wider yet thy influence spread, 35
Nor e'er recline thy weary head,
Till every land from pole to pole
Shall boast one independent soul!
And still, as erst, let favour'd Britain be
First ever of the first and freest of the free! 40
? 1789.
FOOTNOTES:
[10:1] First published in 1834. _Note._ The Bastile was destroyed July
14, 1789.
LINENOTES:
Title] An ode on the Destruction of the Bastile MS. O.
[11] In MS. O stanza iv follows stanza i, part of the leaf being torn
out. In another MS. copy in place of the asterisks the following note is
inserted: 'Stanzas second and third are lost. We may gather from the
context that they alluded to the Bastile and its inhabitants.'
[12] long long] live-long MS. O.
[32] Shall She, O Freedom, all thy blessings share MS. O erased.
LIFE[11:1]
As late I journey'd o'er the extensive plain
Where native Otter sports his scanty stream,
Musing in torpid woe a Sister's pain,
The glorious prospect woke me from the dream.
At every step it widen'd to my sight-- 5
Wood, Meadow, verdant Hill, and dreary Steep,
Following in quick succession of delight,--
Till all--at once--did my eye ravish'd sweep!
May this (I cried) my course through Life portray!
New scenes of Wisdom may each step display, 10
And Knowledge open as my days advance!
Till what time Death shall pour the undarken'd ray,
My eye shall dart thro' infinite expanse,
And thought suspended lie in Rapture's blissful trance.
1789.
FOOTNOTES:
[11:1] First published in 1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] Sonnet II. Written September, 1789 MS. O: Sonnet written just
after the writer left the Country in Sept. 1789, _aetat._ 15 MS. O (c).
[6] dreary] barren MS. O, MS. O (c).
[8] my ravish'd eye did sweep. MS. O, MS. O (c).
[12] Till when death pours at length MS. O (c).
[14] While thought suspended lies MS. O: While thought suspended lies in
Transport's blissful trance MS. O (c).
PROGRESS OF VICE[12:1]
[Nemo repente turpissimus]
Deep in the gulph of Vice and Woe
Leaps Man at once with headlong throw?
Him inborn Truth and Virtue guide,
Whose guards are Shame and conscious Pride.
In some gay hour Vice steals into the breast; 5
Perchance she wears some softer Virtue's vest.
By unperceiv'd degrees she tempts to stray,
Till far from Virtue's path she leads the feet away.
Then swift the soul to disenthrall
Will Memory the past recall, 10
And Fear before the Victim's eyes
Bid future ills and dangers rise.
But hark! the Voice, the Lyre, their charms combine--
Gay sparkles in the cup the generous Wine--
Th' inebriate dance, the fair frail Nymph inspires, 15
And Virtue vanquish'd--scorn'd--with hasty flight retires.
But soon to tempt the Pleasures cease;
Yet Shame forbids return to peace,
And stern Necessity will force
Still to urge on the desperate course. 20
The drear black paths of Vice the wretch must try,
Where Conscience flashes horror on each eye,
Where Hate--where Murder scowl--where starts Affright!
Ah! close the scene--ah! close--for dreadful is the sight.
1790.
FOOTNOTES:
[12:1] First published in 1834, from _MS. O_.
LINENOTES:
Title] Progress of Vice. An Ode MS. O. The motto first appears in
Boyer's _Liber Aureus_.
[1] Vice] Guilt L. A.
[3] inborn] innate L. A.
[9] Yet still the heart to disenthrall L. A.
[12] Bid] Bids MS. O. ills] woes L. A.
[13] But hark! their charms the voice L. A.
[15] The mazy dance and frail young Beauty fires L. A.
[20] Still on to urge MS. O.
[24] Ah! close the scene, for dreadful MS. O.
MONODY ON THE DEATH OF CHATTERTON[13:1]
[FIRST VERSION, IN CHRIST'S HOSPITAL BOOK--1790]
Cold penury repress'd his noble rage,
And froze the genial current of his soul.
Now prompts the Muse poetic lays,
And high my bosom beats with love of Praise!
But, Chatterton! methinks I hear thy name,
For cold my Fancy grows, and dead each Hope of Fame.
When Want and cold Neglect had chill'd thy soul, 5
Athirst for Death I see thee drench the bowl!
Thy corpse of many a livid hue
On the bare ground I view,
Whilst various passions all my mind engage;
Now is my breast distended with a sigh, 10
And now a flash of Rage
Darts through the tear, that glistens in my eye.
Is this the land of liberal Hearts!
Is this the land, where Genius ne'er in vain
Pour'd forth her soul-enchanting strain? 15
Ah me! yet Butler 'gainst the bigot foe
Well-skill'd to aim keen Humour's dart,
Yet Butler felt Want's poignant sting;
And Otway, Master of the Tragic art,
Whom Pity's self had taught to sing, 20
Sank beneath a load of Woe;
This ever can the generous Briton hear,
And starts not in his eye th' indignant Tear?
Elate of Heart and confident of Fame,
From vales where Avon sports, the Minstrel came, 25
Gay as the Poet hastes along
He meditates the future song,
How Ælla battled with his country's foes,
And whilst Fancy in the air
Paints him many a vision fair 30
His eyes dance rapture and his bosom glows.
With generous joy he views th' ideal gold:
He listens to many a Widow's prayers,
And many an Orphan's thanks he hears;
He soothes to peace the care-worn breast, 35
He bids the Debtor's eyes know rest,
And Liberty and Bliss behold:
And now he punishes the heart of steel,
And her own iron rod he makes Oppression feel.
Fated to heave sad Disappointment's sigh, 40
To feel the Hope now rais'd, and now deprest,
To feel the burnings of an injur'd breast,
From all thy Fate's deep sorrow keen
In vain, O Youth, I turn th' affrighted eye;
For powerful Fancy evernigh 45
The hateful picture forces on my sight.
There, Death of every dear delight,
Frowns Poverty of Giant mien!
In vain I seek the charms of youthful grace,
Thy sunken eye, thy haggard cheeks it shews, 50
The quick emotions struggling in the Face
Faint index of thy mental Throes,
When each strong Passion spurn'd controll,
And not a Friend was nigh to calm thy stormy soul.
Such was the sad and gloomy hour 55
When anguish'd Care of sullen brow
Prepared the Poison's death-cold power.
Already to thy lips was rais'd the bowl,
When filial Pity stood thee by,
Thy fixéd eyes she bade thee roll 60
On scenes that well might melt thy soul--
Thy native cot she held to view,
Thy native cot, where Peace ere long
Had listen'd to thy evening song;
Thy sister's shrieks she bade thee hear, 65
And mark thy mother's thrilling tear,
She made thee feel her deep-drawn sigh,
And all her silent agony of Woe.
And from _thy_ Fate shall such distress ensue?
Ah! dash the poison'd chalice from thy hand! 70
And thou had'st dash'd it at her soft command;
But that Despair and Indignation rose,
And told again the story of thy Woes,
Told the keen insult of th' unfeeling Heart,
The dread dependence on the low-born mind, 75
Told every Woe, for which thy breast might smart,
Neglect and grinning scorn and Want combin'd--
Recoiling back, thou sent'st the friend of Pain
To roll a tide of Death thro' every freezing vein.
O Spirit blest! 80
Whether th' eternal Throne around,
Amidst the blaze of Cherubim,
Thou pourest forth the grateful hymn,
Or, soaring through the blest Domain,
Enraptur'st Angels with thy strain,-- 85
Grant me, like thee, the lyre to sound,
Like thee, with fire divine to glow--
But ah! when rage the Waves of Woe,
Grant me with firmer breast t'oppose their hate,
And soar beyond the storms with upright eye elate![15:1] 90
1790
FOOTNOTES:
[13:1] First published in 1898. The version in the Ottery Copy-book _MS.
O_ was first published in _P. and D. W._, 1880, ii. 355*-8*. Three MSS.
of the _Monody_, &c. are extant: (1) the Ottery Copy-book [_MS. O_]; (2)
Boyer's _Liber Aureus_ = the text as printed; (3) the transcription of
S. T. C.'s early poems made in 1823 [_MS. O (c)_]. Variants in 1 and 3
are given below.
[15:1] [Note to ll. 88-90.] 'Altho' this latter reflection savours of
suicide, it will easily meet with the indulgence of the considerate
reader when he reflects that the Author's imagination was at that time
inflam'd with the idea of his beloved Poet, and perhaps uttered a
sentiment which in his cooler moments he would have abhor'd the thought
of.' [Signed] J. M. _MS. O (c)_.
LINENOTES:
Title] A Monody on Chatterton, who poisoned himself at the age of
eighteen--written by the author at the age of sixteen. MS. O (c).
Motto] The motto does not appear in MS. O, but a note is prefixed: 'This
poem has since appeared in print, much altered, whether for the better I
doubt. This was, I believe, written before the Author went to College'
(J. T. C.).
[6] drench] drain MS. O, MS. O (c).
[7] corpse] corse MS. O, MS. O (c).
[13] Hearts] Heart MS. O, MS. O (c).
[20] taught] bade MS. O, MS. O (c).
[21] Sank] Sunk MS. O, MS. O (c).
[22] This ever] Which can the . . . ever hear MS. O, MS. O (c).
[29] whilst] while MS. O.
[32] ideal] rising MS. O.
[36] eyes] too MS. O (c).
[42] To feel] With all MS. O.
[43] Lo! from thy dark Fate's sorrow keen MS. O.
[45] powerful] busy MS. O.
[50] cheeks it] cheek she MS. O: looks she MS. O (c).
[51] the] thy MS. O.
[60] eyes] eye MS. O.
[61] On scenes which MS. O. On] To MS. O (c).
[64] evening] Evening's MS. O (c).
[66] thrilling] frequent MS. O (c).
[67] made] bade MS. O, MS. O (c).
[78] sent'st] badest MS. O.
[79] To] Quick. freezing] icening MS. O, MS. O (c).
[81] eternal] Eternal's MS. O: endless MS. O (c).
[82] Cherubim] Seraphim MS. O.
[88] But ah!] Like thee MS. O, MS. O (c).
[89]
To leave behind Contempt, and Want, and State, MS. O.
To leave behind Contempt and Want and Hate MS. O (c).
And seek in other worlds an happier Fate MS. O, MS. O (c).
AN INVOCATION[16:1]
Sweet Muse! companion of my every hour!
Voice of my Joy! Sure soother of the sigh!
Now plume thy pinions, now exert each power,
And fly to him who owns the candid eye.
And if a smile of Praise thy labour hail 5
(Well shall thy labours then my mind employ)
Fly fleetly back, sweet Muse! and with the tale
O'erspread my Features with a flush of Joy!
1790.
FOOTNOTES:
[16:1] First published in 1893, from an autograph MS.
ANNA AND HARLAND[16:2]
Within these wilds was Anna wont to rove
While Harland told his love in many a sigh,
But stern on Harland roll'd her brother's eye,
They fought, they fell--her brother and her love!
To Death's dark house did grief-worn Anna haste, 5
Yet here her pensive ghost delights to stay;
Oft pouring on the winds the broken lay--
And hark, I hear her--'twas the passing blast.
I love to sit upon her tomb's dark grass,
Then Memory backward rolls Time's shadowy tide; 10
The tales of other days before me glide:
With eager thought I seize them as they pass;
For fair, tho' faint, the forms of Memory gleam,
Like Heaven's bright beauteous bow reflected in the stream.
? 1790.
FOOTNOTES:
[16:2] First printed in the _Cambridge Intelligencer_, Oct. 25, 1794.
First collected _P. and D. W._, 1880, _Supplement_, ii. 359. The text is
that of 1880 and 1893, which follow a MS. version.
LINENOTES:
Title] Anna and Henry C. I.
[1] Along this glade C. I.
[2] Henry C. I.
[3] stern] dark C. I. Harland] Henry C. I.
[5] To her cold grave did woe-worn C. I.
[6] stay] stray C. I.
[7] the] a C. I.
[9] dark] dank C. I.
[10] Then] There C. I.
[11] tales] forms C. I.
[14] Like Heaven's bright bow reflected on the stream. C. I.
TO THE EVENING STAR[16:3]
O meek attendant of Sol's setting blaze,
I hail, sweet star, thy chaste effulgent glow;
On thee full oft with fixéd eye I gaze
Till I, methinks, all spirit seem to grow.
O first and fairest of the starry choir, 5
O loveliest 'mid the daughters of the night,
Must not the maid I love like thee inspire
_Pure_ joy and _calm_ Delight?
Must she not be, as is thy placid sphere
Serenely brilliant? Whilst to gaze a while 10
Be all my wish 'mid Fancy's high career
E'en till she quit this scene of earthly toil;
Then Hope perchance might fondly sigh to join
Her spirit in thy kindred orb, O Star benign!
? 1790.
FOOTNOTES:
[16:3] First published in _P. and D. W._, 1880, _Supplement_, ii. 359,
from _MS. O_.
PAIN[17:1]
Once could the Morn's first beams, the healthful breeze,
All Nature charm, and gay was every hour:--
But ah! not Music's self, nor fragrant bower
Can glad the trembling sense of wan Disease.
Now that the frequent pangs my frame assail, 5
Now that my sleepless eyes are sunk and dim,
And seas of Pain seem waving through each limb--
Ah what can all Life's gilded scenes avail?
I view the crowd, whom Youth and Health inspire,
Hear the loud laugh, and catch the sportive lay, 10
Then sigh and think--I too could laugh and play
And gaily sport it on the Muse's lyre,
Ere Tyrant Pain had chas'd away delight,
Ere the wild pulse throbb'd anguish thro' the night!
? 1790.
FOOTNOTES:
[17:1] First published in 1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] Pain, a Sonnet MS. O: Sonnet Composed in Sickness MS.
[3] But ah! nor splendid feasts MS. O (c).
[12] Muse's] festive MS. O, MS. O (c).
ON A LADY WEEPING[17:2]
IMITATION FROM THE LATIN OF NICOLAUS ARCHIUS
Lovely gems of radiance meek
Trembling down my Laura's cheek,
As the streamlets silent glide
Thro' the Mead's enamell'd pride,
Pledges sweet of pious woe, 5
Tears which Friendship taught to flow,
Sparkling in yon humid light
Love embathes his pinions bright:
There amid the glitt'ring show'r
Smiling sits th' insidious Power; 10
As some wingéd Warbler oft
When Spring-clouds shed their treasures soft
Joyous tricks his plumes anew,
And flutters in the fost'ring dew.
? 1790.
FOOTNOTES:
[17:2] First published in 1893. From _MS. O (c)_.
MONODY ON A TEA-KETTLE[18:1]
O Muse who sangest late another's pain,
To griefs domestic turn thy coal-black steed!
With slowest steps thy funeral steed must go,
Nodding his head in all the pomp of woe:
Wide scatter round each dark and deadly weed, 5
And let the melancholy dirge complain,
(Whilst Bats shall shriek and Dogs shall howling run)
The tea-kettle is spoilt and Coleridge is undone!
Your cheerful songs, ye unseen crickets, cease!
Let songs of grief your alter'd minds engage! 10
For he who sang responsive to your lay,
What time the joyous bubbles 'gan to play,
The _sooty swain_ has felt the fire's fierce rage;--
Yes, he is gone, and all my woes increase;
I heard the water issuing from the wound-- 15
No more the Tea shall pour its fragrant steams around!
O Goddess best belov'd! Delightful Tea!
With thee compar'd what yields the madd'ning Vine?
Sweet power! who know'st to spread the calm delight,
And the pure joy prolong to midmost night! 20
Ah! must I all thy varied sweets resign?
Enfolded close in grief thy form I see;
No more wilt thou extend thy willing arms,
Receive the _fervent Jove_, and yield him all thy charms!
How sink the mighty low by Fate opprest!-- 25
Perhaps, O Kettle! thou by scornful toe
Rude urg'd t' ignoble place with plaintive din.
May'st rust obscure midst heaps of vulgar tin;--
As if no joy had ever seiz'd my breast
When from thy spout the streams did arching fly,-- 30
As if, infus'd, thou ne'er hadst known t' inspire
All the warm raptures of poetic fire!
But hark! or do I fancy the glad voice--
'What tho' the swain did wondrous charms disclose--
(Not such did Memnon's sister sable drest) 35
Take these bright arms with royal face imprest,
A better Kettle shall thy soul rejoice,
And with Oblivion's wings o'erspread thy woes!'
Thus Fairy Hope can soothe distress and toil;
On empty Trivets she bids fancied Kettles boil! 40
1790.
FOOTNOTES:
[18:1] First published in 1834, from _MS. O_. The text of 1893 follows
an autograph MS. in the Editor's possession.
LINENOTES:
_Monody_] 1 Muse that late sang another's poignant pain MS. S. T. C.
[3] In slowest steps the funeral steeds shall go MS.S. T. C.
[4] Nodding their heads MS. S. T. C.
[5] each deadly weed MS. S. T. C.
[8] The] His MS. S. T. C.
[9] songs] song MS. S. T. C.
[15] issuing] hissing MS. S. T. C.
[16] pour] throw MS. S. T. C. steams] steam MS. S. T. C.
[18] thee] whom MS. S. T. C. Vine] Wine MS. S. T. C.
[19] who] that MS. S. T. C.
[21] various charms MS. S. T. C.
[23] extend] expand MS. S. T. C.
[25] How low the mighty sink MS. S. T. C.
[29] seiz'd] chear'd MS. S. T. C.
[30-1]
When from thy spout the stream did arching flow
As if, inspir'd
MS. S. T. C.
[33] the glad] _Georgian_ MS. S. T. C.
[34] the swain] its form MS. S. T. C.
[35] _Note._ A parenthetical reflection of the Author's. MS. O.
[38] wings] wing MS. S. T. C.
GENEVIEVE[19:1]
Maid of my Love, sweet Genevieve!
In Beauty's light you glide along:
Your eye is like the Star of Eve,
And sweet your voice, as Seraph's song
Yet not your heavenly beauty gives 5
This heart with Passion soft to glow:
Within your soul a voice there lives!
It bids you hear the tale of Woe.
When sinking low the sufferer wan
Beholds no hand outstretch'd to save, 10
Fair, as the bosom of the Swan
That rises graceful o'er the wave,
I've seen your breast with pity heave,
And _therefore_ love I you, sweet Genevieve!
1789-90.
FOOTNOTES:
[19:1] First published in the _Cambridge Intelligencer_ for Nov. 1,
1794: included in the editions of 1796, 1803, 1828, 1829, and 1834.
Three MSS. are extant; (1) an autograph in a copy-book made for the
family [_MS. O_]; (2) an autograph in a copy-book presented to Mrs.
Estlin [_MS. E_]; and (3) a transcript included in a copy-book presented
to Sara Coleridge in 1823 [_MS. O (c)_]. In an unpublished letter dated
Dec. 18, 1807, Coleridge invokes the aid of Richard ['Conservation']
Sharp on behalf of a 'Mrs. Brewman, who was elected a nurse to one of
the wards of Christ's Hospital at the time that I was a boy there'. He
says elsewhere that he spent full half the time from seventeen to
eighteen in the sick ward of Christ's Hospital. It is doubtless to this
period, 1789-90, that _Pain_ and _Genevieve_, which, according to a
Christ's Hospital tradition, were inspired by his 'Nurse's Daughter',
must be assigned.
'This little poem was written when the Author was a boy'--_Note 1796,
1803_.
LINENOTES:
Title] Sonnet iii. MS. O: Ode MS. E: A Sonnet MS. O (c): Effusion xvii.
1796. The heading, _Genevieve_, first appears in 1803.
[2] Thou glid'st along [so, too, in ll. 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 13, 14] MS. O,
MS. E, MS. O (c), C. I.
[4] Thy voice is lovely as the MS. E: Thy voice is soft, &c. MS. O (c),
C. I.
[8] It bids thee hear the tearful plaint of woe MS. E.
[10] no . . . save] no friendly hand that saves MS. E. outstretch'd]
stretcht out MS. O, MS. O (c), C. I.
[12] the wave] quick-rolling waves MS. E.
ON RECEIVING AN ACCOUNT THAT HIS ONLY SISTER'S DEATH WAS
INEVITABLE[20:1]
The tear which mourn'd a brother's fate scarce dry--
Pain after pain, and woe succeeding woe--
Is my heart destin'd for another blow?
O my sweet sister! and must thou too die?
Ah! how has Disappointment pour'd the tear 5
O'er infant Hope destroy'd by early frost!
How are ye gone, whom most my soul held dear!
Scarce had I lov'd you ere I mourn'd you lost;
Say, is this hollow eye, this heartless pain,
Fated to rove thro' Life's wide cheerless plain-- 10
Nor father, brother, sister meet its ken--
My woes, my joys unshared! Ah! long ere then
On me thy icy dart, stern Death, be prov'd;--
Better to die, than live and not be lov'd!
1791.
FOOTNOTES:
[20:1] First published in 1834. The 'brother' (line 1) was Luke Herman
Coleridge who died at Thorverton in 1790. Anne Coleridge, the poet's
sister (the only daughter of his father's second marriage), died in
March 1791.
LINENOTES:
Title] Sonnet v. MS. O.
[1] tear] tears MS. O.
[4] O my sweet sister must _thou_ die MS. O.
[7] gone] flown MS. O.
[10] Fated] Destin'd MS. O.
[11] father] Mother MS. O.
ON SEEING A YOUTH AFFECTIONATELY WELCOMED BY A SISTER[21:1]
I too a sister had! too cruel Death!
How sad Remembrance bids my bosom heave!
Tranquil her soul, as sleeping Infant's breath;
Meek were her manners as a vernal Eve.
Knowledge, that frequent lifts the bloated mind, 5
Gave her the treasure of a lowly breast,
And Wit to venom'd Malice oft assign'd,
Dwelt in her bosom in a Turtle's nest.
Cease, busy Memory! cease to urge the dart;
Nor on my soul her love to me impress! 10
For oh I mourn in anguish--and my heart
Feels the keen pang, th' unutterable distress.
Yet wherefore grieve I that her sorrows cease,
For Life was misery, and the Grave is Peace!
1791.
FOOTNOTES:
[21:1] First published in 1834.
A MATHEMATICAL PROBLEM[21:2]
If Pegasus will let _thee_ only ride him,
Spurning my clumsy efforts to o'erstride him,
Some fresh expedient the Muse will try,
And walk on stilts, although she cannot fly.
TO THE REV. GEORGE COLERIDGE
DEAR BROTHER,
I have often been surprised that Mathematics, the quintessence
of Truth, should have found admirers so few and so languid.
Frequent consideration and minute scrutiny have at length
unravelled the cause; viz. that though Reason is feasted,
Imagination is starved; whilst Reason is luxuriating in its
proper Paradise, Imagination is wearily travelling on a dreary
desert. To assist Reason by the stimulus of Imagination is the
design of the following production. In the execution of it
much may be objectionable. The verse (particularly in the
introduction of the ode) may be accused of unwarrantable
liberties, but they are liberties equally homogeneal with the
exactness of Mathematical disquisition, and the boldness of
Pindaric daring. I have three strong champions to defend me
against the attacks of Criticism: the Novelty, the Difficulty,
and the Utility of the work. I may justly plume myself that I
first have drawn the nymph Mathesis from the visionary caves
of abstracted idea, and caused her to unite with Harmony. The
first-born of this Union I now present to you; with interested
motives indeed--as I expect to receive in return the more
valuable offspring of your Muse.
Thine ever,
S. T. C.
[CHRIST'S HOSPITAL], _March 31, 1791_.
This is now--this was erst,
Proposition the first--and Problem the first.
I
On a given finite line
Which must no way incline;
To describe an equi--
--lateral Tri--
--A, N, G, L, E.[22:1] 5
Now let A. B.
Be the given line
Which must no way incline;
The great Mathematician
Makes this Requisition, 10
That we describe an Equi--
--lateral Tri--
--angle on it:
Aid us, Reason--aid us, Wit!
II
From the centre A. at the distance A. B. 15
Describe the circle B. C. D.
At the distance B. A. from B. the centre
The round A. C. E. to describe boldly venture.[22:2]
(Third postulate see.)
And from the point C. 20
In which the circles make a pother
Cutting and slashing one another,
Bid the straight lines a journeying go.
C. A. C. B. those lines will show.
To the points, which by A. B. are reckon'd, 25
And postulate the second
For Authority ye know.
A. B. C.
Triumphant shall be
An Equilateral Triangle, 30
Not Peter Pindar carp, nor Zoilus can wrangle.
III
Because the point A. is the centre
Of the circular B. C. D.
And because the point B. is the centre
Of the circular A. C. E. 35
A. C. to A. B. and B. C. to B. A.
Harmoniously equal for ever must stay;
Then C. A. and B. C.
Both extend the kind hand
To the basis, A. B. 40
Unambitiously join'd in Equality's Band.
But to the same powers, when two powers are equal,
My mind forbodes the sequel;
My mind does some celestial impulse teach,
And equalises each to each. 45
Thus C. A. with B. C. strikes the same sure alliance,
That C. A. and B. C. had with A. B. before;
And in mutual affiance
None attempting to soar
Above another, 50
The unanimous three
C. A. and B. C. and A. B.
All are equal, each to his brother,
Preserving the balance of power so true:
Ah! the like would the proud Autocratrix[23:1] do! 55
At taxes impending not Britain would tremble,
Nor Prussia struggle her fear to dissemble;
Nor the Mah'met-sprung Wight
The great Mussulman
Would stain his Divan 60
With Urine the soft-flowing daughter of Fright.
IV
But rein your stallion in, too daring Nine!
Should Empires bloat the scientific line?
Or with dishevell'd hair all madly do ye run
For transport that your task is done? 65
For done it is--the cause is tried!
And Proposition, gentle Maid,
Who soothly ask'd stern Demonstration's aid,
Has proved her right, and A. B. C.
Of Angles three 70
Is shown to be of equal side;
And now our weary steed to rest in fine,
'Tis rais'd upon A. B. the straight, the given line.
1791.
FOOTNOTES:
[21:2] First published in 1834 without a title, but tabulated as
'Mathematical Problem' in 'Contents' 1 [p. xi].
[22:1] _Poetice_ for Angle. _Letter, 1791._
[22:2] Delendus 'fere'. _Letter, 1791._
[23:1] Empress of Russia.
LINENOTES:
Title] Prospectus and Specimen of a Translation of Euclid in a series of
Pindaric Odes, communicated in a letter of the author to his Brother
Rev. G. Coleridge [March 17, 1791]. MS. O (c).
[5] A E N G E E E L E. Letter, 1791.
[36] A C to C B and C B to C A. Letter, 1791, MS. O (c).
[48] affiance] alliance Letter, 1791.
[55] Autocratrix] Autocratorix MS. O (c).
HONOUR[24:1]
O, curas hominum! O, quantum est in rebus inane!
The fervid Sun had more than halv'd the day,
When gloomy on his couch Philedon lay;
His feeble frame consumptive as his purse,
His aching head did wine and women curse;
His fortune ruin'd and his wealth decay'd, 5
Clamorous his duns, his gaming debts unpaid,
The youth indignant seiz'd his tailor's bill,
And on its back thus wrote with moral quill:
'Various as colours in the rainbow shown,
Or similar in emptiness alone, 10
How false, how vain are Man's pursuits below!
Wealth, Honour, Pleasure--what can ye bestow?
Yet see, how high and low, and young and old
Pursue the all-delusive power of Gold.
Fond man! should all Peru thy empire own, 15
For thee tho' all Golconda's jewels shone,
What greater bliss could all this wealth supply?
What, but to eat and drink and sleep and die?
Go, tempt the stormy sea, the burning soil--
Go, waste the night in thought, the day in toil, 20
Dark frowns the rock, and fierce the tempests rave--
Thy ingots go the unconscious deep to pave!
Or thunder at thy door the midnight train,
Or Death shall knock that never knocks in vain.
Next Honour's sons come bustling on amain; 25
I laugh with pity at the idle train.
Infirm of soul! who think'st to lift thy name
Upon the waxen wings of human fame,--
Who for a sound, articulated breath--
Gazest undaunted in the face of death! 30
What art thou but a Meteor's glaring light--
Blazing a moment and then sunk in night?
Caprice which rais'd thee high shall hurl thee low,
Or Envy blast the laurels on thy brow.
To such poor joys could ancient Honour lead 35
When empty fame was toiling Merit's meed;
To Modern Honour other lays belong;
Profuse of joy and Lord of right and wrong,
Honour can game, drink, riot in the stew,
Cut a friend's throat;--what cannot Honour do? 40
Ah me!--the storm within can Honour still
For Julio's death, whom Honour made me kill?
Or will this lordly Honour tell the way
To pay those debts, which Honour makes me pay?
Or if with pistol and terrific threats 45
I make some traveller pay my Honour's debts,
A medicine for this wound can Honour give?
Ah, no! my Honour dies to make my Honour live.
But see! young Pleasure, and her train advance,
And joy and laughter wake the inebriate dance; 50
Around my neck she throws her fair white arms,
I meet her loves, and madden at her charms.
For the gay grape can joys celestial move,
And what so sweet below as Woman's love?
With such high transport every moment flies, 55
I curse Experience that he makes me wise;
For at his frown the dear deliriums flew,
And the changed scene now wears a gloomy hue.
A hideous hag th' Enchantress Pleasure seems,
And all her joys appear but feverous dreams. 60
The vain resolve still broken and still made,
Disease and loathing and remorse invade;
The charm is vanish'd and the bubble's broke,--
A slave to pleasure is a slave to smoke!'
Such lays repentant did the Muse supply; 65
When as the Sun was hastening down the sky,
In glittering state twice fifty guineas come,--
His Mother's plate antique had rais'd the sum.
Forth leap'd Philedon of new life possest:-- 69
'Twas Brookes's all till two,--'twas Hackett's all the rest!
1791.
FOOTNOTES:
[24:1] First published in 1834: included in _P. and D. W._, 1877-80, and
in 1893.
LINENOTES:
_Honour_] No title, but motto as above MS. O.: Philedon, Eds. 1877,
1893.
[34] Or] And MS. O.
[43-4]
Or will my Honour kindly tell the way
To pay the debts
MS. O.
[60] feverous] feverish MS. O.
[70] Brookes's, a famous gaming-house in Fleet Street. Hackett's, a
brothel under the Covent Garden Piazza. Note MS. O.
ON IMITATION[26:1]
All are not born to soar--and ah! how few
In tracks where Wisdom leads their paths pursue!
Contagious when to wit or wealth allied,
Folly and Vice diffuse their venom wide.
On Folly every fool his talent tries; 5
It asks some toil to imitate the wise;
Tho' few like Fox can speak--like Pitt can think--
Yet all like Fox can game--like Pitt can drink.
? 1791
FOOTNOTES:
[26:1] First published in 1834. In _MS. O_ lines 3, 4 follow lines 7, 8
of the text.
INSIDE THE COACH[26:2]
'Tis hard on Bagshot Heath to try
Unclos'd to keep the weary eye;
But ah! Oblivion's nod to get
In rattling coach is harder yet.
Slumbrous God of half-shut eye! 5
Who lovest with limbs supine to lie;
Soother sweet of toil and care
Listen, listen to my prayer;
And to thy votary dispense
Thy soporific influence! 10
What tho' around thy drowsy head
The seven-fold cap of night be spread,
Yet lift that drowsy head awhile
And yawn propitiously a smile;
In drizzly rains poppean dews 15
O'er the tired inmates of the Coach diffuse;
And when thou'st charm'd our eyes to rest,
Pillowing the chin upon the breast,
Bid many a dream from thy dominions
Wave its various-painted pinions, 20
Till ere the splendid visions close
We snore quartettes in ecstasy of nose.
While thus we urge our airy course,
O may no jolt's electric force
Our fancies from their steeds unhorse, 25
And call us from thy fairy reign
To dreary Bagshot Heath again!
1791.
FOOTNOTES:
[26:2] First published in 1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] Ode to sleep. Travelling in the Exeter Coach with three other
passengers over Bagshot Heath, after some vain endeavours to compose
myself I composed this Ode--August 17, 1791. MS. O.
[12] Vulgo yclept night-cap MS. O.
[13] that] thy MS. O.
DEVONSHIRE ROADS[27:1]
The indignant Bard composed this furious ode,
As tired he dragg'd his way thro' Plimtree road![27:2]
Crusted with filth and stuck in mire
Dull sounds the Bard's bemudded lyre;
Nathless Revenge and Ire the Poet goad 5
To pour his imprecations on the road.
Curst road! whose execrable way
Was darkly shadow'd out in Milton's lay,
When the sad fiends thro' Hell's sulphureous roads
Took the first survey of their new abodes; 10
Or when the fall'n Archangel fierce
Dar'd through the realms of Night to pierce,
What time the Bloodhound lur'd by Human scent
Thro' all Confusion's quagmires floundering went.
Nor cheering pipe, nor Bird's shrill note 15
Around thy dreary paths shall float;
Their boding songs shall scritch-owls pour
To fright the guilty shepherds sore,
Led by the wandering fires astray
Thro' the dank horrors of thy way! 20
While they their mud-lost sandals hunt
May all the curses, which they grunt
In raging moan like goaded hog,
Alight upon thee, damnéd Bog!
1791.
FOOTNOTES:
[27:1] First published in 1834.
[27:2] Plymtree Road, August 18, 1791. _Note, MS. O._ [Plimtree is about
8 miles N. of Ottery St. Mary. S. T. C. must have left the mail coach at
Cullompton to make his way home on foot.]
LINENOTES:
_Devonshire Roads_] No title MS. O.
MUSIC[28:1]
Hence, soul-dissolving Harmony
That lead'st th' oblivious soul astray--
Though thou sphere-descended be--
Hence away!--
Thou mightier Goddess, thou demand'st my lay, 5
Born when earth was seiz'd with cholic;
Or as more sapient sages say,
What time the Legion diabolic
Compell'd their beings to enshrine
In bodies vile of herded swine, 10
Precipitate adown the steep
With hideous rout were plunging in the deep,
And hog and devil mingling grunt and yell
Seiz'd on the ear with horrible obtrusion;--
Then if aright old legendaries tell, 15
Wert thou begot by Discord on Confusion!
What though no name's sonorous power
Was given thee at thy natal hour!--
Yet oft I feel thy sacred might,
While concords wing their distant flight. 20
Such Power inspires thy holy son
Sable clerk of Tiverton!
And oft where Otter sports his stream,
I hear thy banded offspring scream.
Thou Goddess! thou inspir'st each throat; 25
'Tis thou who pour'st the scritch-owl note!
Transported hear'st thy children all
Scrape and blow and squeak and squall;
And while old Otter's steeple rings,
Clappest hoarse thy raven wings! 30
1791.
FOOTNOTES:
[28:1] First published in 1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] Ode on the Ottery and Tiverton Church Music MS. O.
SONNET[29:1]
ON QUITTING SCHOOL FOR COLLEGE
Farewell parental scenes! a sad farewell!
To you my grateful heart still fondly clings,
Tho' fluttering round on Fancy's burnish'd wings
Her tales of future Joy Hope loves to tell.
Adieu, adieu! ye much-lov'd cloisters pale! 5
Ah! would those happy days return again,
When 'neath your arches, free from every stain,
I heard of guilt and wonder'd at the tale!
Dear haunts! where oft my simple lays I sang,
Listening meanwhile the echoings of my feet, 10
Lingering I quit you, with as great a pang,
As when erewhile, my weeping childhood, torn
By early sorrow from my native seat,
Mingled its tears with hers--my widow'd Parent lorn.
1791.
FOOTNOTES:
[29:1] First published in 1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] Sonnet on the Same (i. e. 'Absence, A Farewell Ode,' &c.) 1834.
ABSENCE[29:2]
A FAREWELL ODE ON QUITTING SCHOOL FOR JESUS COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE
Where graced with many a classic spoil
CAM rolls his reverend stream along,
I haste to urge the learnéd toil
That sternly chides my love-lorn song:
Ah me! too mindful of the days 5
Illumed by Passion's orient rays,
When Peace, and Cheerfulness and Health
Enriched me with the best of wealth.
Ah fair Delights! that o'er my soul
On Memory's wing, like shadows fly! 10
Ah Flowers! which Joy from Eden stole
While Innocence stood smiling by!--
But cease, fond Heart! this bootless moan:
Those Hours on rapid Pinions flown
Shall yet return, by Absence crown'd, 15
And scatter livelier roses round.
The Sun who ne'er remits his fires
On heedless eyes may pour the day:
The Moon, that oft from Heaven retires,
Endears her renovated ray. 20
What though she leave the sky unblest
To mourn awhile in murky vest?
When she relumes her lovely light,
We bless the Wanderer of the Night.
1791.
FOOTNOTES:
[29:2] First published in _Cambridge Intelligencer_, October 11, 1794:
included in 1796, 1803, 1828, 1829, and 1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] Sonnet on Quitting Christ's Hospital MS. O. Absence, A Farewell
Ode 1796, 1803.
HAPPINESS[30:1]
On wide or narrow scale shall Man
Most happily describe Life's plan?
Say shall he bloom and wither there,
Where first his infant buds appear;
Or upwards dart with soaring force, 5
And tempt some more ambitious course?
Obedient now to Hope's command,
I bid each humble wish expand,
And fair and bright Life's prospects seem.
While Hope displays her cheering beam, 10
And Fancy's vivid colourings stream,
While Emulation stands me nigh
The Goddess of the eager eye.
With foot advanc'd and anxious heart
Now for the fancied goal I start:-- 15
Ah! why will Reason intervene
Me and my promis'd joys between!
She stops my course, she chains my speed,
While thus her forceful words proceed:--
Ah! listen, Youth, ere yet too late, 20
What evils on thy course may wait!
To bow the head, to bend the knee,
A minion of Servility,
At low Pride's frequent frowns to sigh,
And watch the glance in Folly's eye; 25
To toil intense, yet toil in vain,
And feel with what a hollow pain
Pale Disappointment hangs her head
O'er darling Expectation dead!
'The scene is changed and Fortune's gale 30
Shall belly out each prosperous sail.
Yet sudden wealth full well I know
Did never happiness bestow.
That wealth to which we were not born
Dooms us to sorrow or to scorn. 35
Behold yon flock which long had trod
O'er the short grass of Devon's sod,
To Lincoln's rank rich meads transferr'd,
And in their fate thy own be fear'd;
Through every limb contagions fly, 40
Deform'd and choked they burst and die.
'When Luxury opens wide her arms,
And smiling wooes thee to those charms,
Whose fascination thousands own,
Shall thy brows wear the stoic frown? 45
And when her goblet she extends
Which maddening myriads press around,
What power divine thy soul befriends
That thou should'st dash it to the ground?--
No, thou shalt drink, and thou shalt know 50
Her transient bliss, her lasting woe,
Her maniac joys, that know no measure,
And Riot rude and painted Pleasure;--
Till (sad reverse!) the Enchantress vile
To frowns converts her magic smile; 55
Her train impatient to destroy,
Observe her frown with gloomy joy;
On thee with harpy fangs they seize
The hideous offspring of Disease,
Swoln Dropsy ignorant of Rest, 60
And Fever garb'd in scarlet vest,
Consumption driving the quick hearse,
And Gout that howls the frequent curse,
With Apoplex of heavy head
That surely aims his dart of lead. 65
'But say Life's joys unmix'd were given
To thee some favourite of Heaven:
Within, without, tho' all were health--
Yet what e'en thus are Fame, Power, Wealth,
But sounds that variously express, 70
What's thine already--Happiness!
'Tis thine the converse deep to hold
With all the famous sons of old;
And thine the happy waking dream
While Hope pursues some favourite theme, 75
As oft when Night o'er Heaven is spread,
Round this maternal seat you tread,
Where far from splendour, far from riot,
In silence wrapt sleeps careless Quiet.
'Tis thine with Fancy oft to talk, 80
And thine the peaceful evening walk;
And what to thee the sweetest are--
The setting sun, the Evening Star--
The tints, which live along the sky,
And Moon that meets thy raptur'd eye, 85
Where oft the tear shall grateful start,
Dear silent pleasures of the Heart!
Ah! Being blest, for Heaven shall lend
To share thy simple joys a friend!
Ah! doubly blest, if Love supply 90
His influence to complete thy joy,
If chance some lovely maid thou find
To read thy visage in thy mind.
'One blessing more demands thy care:--
Once more to Heaven address the prayer: 95
For humble independence pray
The guardian genius of thy way;
Whom (sages say) in days of yore
Meek Competence to Wisdom bore,
So shall thy little vessel glide 100
With a fair breeze adown the tide,
And Hope, if e'er thou 'ginst to sorrow,
Remind thee of some fair to-morrow,
Till Death shall close thy tranquil eye
While Faith proclaims "Thou shalt not die!"' 105
1791.
FOOTNOTES:
[30:1] First published in 1834. The poem was sent to George Coleridge in
a letter dated June 22, 1791. An adapted version of ll. 80-105 was sent
to Southey, July 13, 1794.
LINENOTES:
Title] Upon the Author's leaving school and entering into Life. MS. O
(c).
[6] tempt] dare MS. O, MS. O (c).
[10] While] When MS. O, MS. O (c).
[Between 11-13]
How pants my breast before my eyes
While Honour WAVES her radiant prize.
And Emulation, &c.
MS. O, MS. O (c).
[22] To bend the head, to bow MS. O (c).
[24] frowns] frown MS. O, MS. O (c).
[25] in] of MS. O (c).
[41] Deformed, choaked MS. O, MS. O (c).
[45] brows] brow MS. O, MS. O (c).
[55] magic] wonted MS. O, MS. O (c).
[57] her frown] the fiend MS. O, MS. O (c).
[68] Without, within MS. O, MS. O (c).
[76] is] has MS O, MS. O (c).
[77] _Note_--Christ's Hospital MS. O: Ottery S. Mary in Devonshire MS. O
(c).
[80-1]
'Tis thine with faery forms to talk
And thine the philosophic walk.
Letter to Southey, 1794.
[84] which] that MS. O, MS. O (c), Letter, 1794.
[85] And] The Letter, 1794.
[86] Where grateful oft the big drops start. Letter, 1794. shall] does
MS. O (c).
[90-3]
Ah! doubly blest, if Love supply
Lustre to this now heavy eye,
And with unwonted Spirit grace
That fat[32:A] vacuity of face.
Or if e'en Love, the mighty Love
Shall find this change his power above;
Some lovely maid perchance thou'lt find
To read thy visage in thy mind.
MS. O, MS. O (c).
[32:A] The Author was at this time, _aetat._ 17, remarkable
for a plump face. MS. O (c).
[96-7]
But if thou pour one votive lay
For humble, &c.
Letter, 1794.
[96] Not in Letter.
[101] adown Life's tide MS. O, MS. O (c).
[102-3] Not in Letter, 1794.
A WISH[33:1]
WRITTEN IN JESUS WOOD, FEB. 10, 1792
Lo! through the dusky silence of the groves,
Thro' vales irriguous, and thro' green retreats,
With languid murmur creeps the placid stream
And works its secret way.
Awhile meand'ring round its native fields 5
It rolls the playful wave and winds its flight:
Then downward flowing with awaken'd speed
Embosoms in the Deep!
Thus thro' its silent tenor may my Life
Smooth its meek stream by sordid wealth unclogg'd, 10
Alike unconscious of forensic storms,
And Glory's blood-stain'd palm!
And when dark Age shall close Life's little day,
Satiate of sport, and weary of its toils,
E'en thus may slumbrous Death my decent limbs 15
Compose with icy hand!
1792.
FOOTNOTES:
[33:1] First published in 1893, from _MS. Letter to Mary Evans_, Feb. 13
[1792].
AN ODE IN THE MANNER OF ANACREON[33:2]
As late, in wreaths, gay flowers I bound,
Beneath some roses Love I found;
And by his little frolic pinion
As quick as thought I seiz'd the minion,
Then in my cup the prisoner threw, 5
And drank him in its sparkling dew:
And sure I feel my angry guest
Fluttering _his wings_ within my breast!
1792.
FOOTNOTES:
[33:2] First published in 1893, from _MS. Letter_, Feb. 13 [1792].
TO DISAPPOINTMENT[34:1]
Hence! thou fiend of gloomy sway,
That lov'st on withering blast to ride
O'er fond Illusion's air-built pride.
Sullen Spirit! Hence! Away!
Where Avarice lurks in sordid cell, 5
Or mad Ambition builds the dream,
Or Pleasure plots th' unholy scheme
There with Guilt and Folly dwell!
But oh! when Hope on Wisdom's wing
Prophetic whispers pure delight, 10
Be distant far thy cank'rous blight,
Demon of envenom'd sting.
Then haste thee, Nymph of balmy gales!
Thy poet's prayer, sweet May! attend!
Oh! place my parent and my friend 15
'Mid her lovely native vales.
Peace, that lists the woodlark's strains,
Health, that breathes divinest treasures,
Laughing Hours, and Social Pleasures
Wait my friend in Cambria's plains. 20
Affection there with mingled ray
Shall pour at once the raptures high
Of filial and maternal Joy;
Haste thee then, delightful May!
And oh! may Spring's fair flowerets fade, 25
May Summer cease her limbs to lave
In cooling stream, may Autumn grave
Yellow o'er the corn-cloath'd glade;
Ere, from sweet retirement torn,
She seek again the crowded mart: 30
Nor thou, my selfish, selfish heart
Dare her slow return to mourn!
1792.
FOOTNOTES:
[34:1] First published in _Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge_, 1895, i.
28, 29. The lines were included in a letter to Mrs. Evans, dated
February 13, 1792.
A FRAGMENT FOUND IN A LECTURE-ROOM[35:1]
Where deep in mud Cam rolls his slumbrous stream,
And bog and desolation reign supreme;
Where all Boeotia clouds the misty brain,
The owl Mathesis pipes her loathsome strain.
Far, far aloof the frighted Muses fly, 5
Indignant Genius scowls and passes by:
The frolic Pleasures start amid their dance,
And Wit congeal'd stands fix'd in wintry trance.
But to the sounds with duteous haste repair
Cold Industry, and wary-footed Care; 10
And Dulness, dosing on a couch of lead,
Pleas'd with the song uplifts her heavy head,
The sympathetic numbers lists awhile,
Then yawns propitiously a frosty smile. . . .
[Caetera desunt.]
1792.
FOOTNOTES:
[35:1] First published in _Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge_, 1895, i.
44. The lines were sent in a letter to the Rev. G. Coleridge, dated
April [1792].
LINENOTES:
[1] slumbrous] reverend MS. E.
[5] frighted] affrighted MS. E.
[9] to] at MS. E.
[12] Sooth'd with the song uprears MS. E.
[13] The] Its MS. E.
ODE[35:2]
Ye Gales, that of the Lark's repose
The impatient Silence break,
To yon poor Pilgrim's wearying Woes
Your gentle Comfort speak!
He heard the midnight whirlwind die, 5
He saw the sun-awaken'd Sky
Resume its slowly-purpling Blue:
And ah! he sigh'd--that I might find
The cloudless Azure of the Mind
And Fortune's brightning Hue! 10
Where'er in waving Foliage hid
The Bird's gay Charm ascends,
Or by the fretful current chid
Some giant Rock impends--
There let the lonely Cares respire 15
As small airs thrill the mourning Lyre
And teach the Soul her native Calm;
While Passion with a languid Eye
Hangs o'er the fall of Harmony
And drinks the sacred Balm. 20
Slow as the fragrant whisper creeps
Along the lilied Vale,
The alter'd Eye of Conquest weeps,
And ruthless War grows pale
Relenting that his Heart forsook 25
Soft Concord of auspicious Look,
And Love, and social Poverty;
The Family of tender Fears,
The Sigh, that saddens and endears,
And Cares, that sweeten Joy. 30
Then cease, thy frantic Tumults cease,
Ambition, Sire of War!
Nor o'er the mangled Corse of Peace
Urge on thy scythéd Car.
And oh! that Reason's voice might swell 35
With whisper'd Airs and holy Spell
To rouse thy gentler Sense,
As bending o'er the chilly bloom
The Morning wakes its soft Perfume
With breezy Influence. 40
1792.
FOOTNOTES:
[35:2] These lines, first published in the _Watchman_ (No. IV, March 25,
1796, _signed_ G. A. U. N. T.), were included in the volume of MS. Poems
presented to Mrs. Estlin in April, 1795. They were never claimed by
Coleridge or assigned to him, and are now collected for the first time.
LINENOTES:
Title] A Morning Effusion Watchman.
[4] Comfort] solace W.
[13] fretful] fretting MS. E.
[16] mourning] lonely W.
[17] her] its W.
[18] languid] waning W.
[19] Hangs] Bends W.
[21-2]
As slow the whisper'd measure creeps
Along the steaming Vale.
W.
[24] grows] turns W.
[31] Tumults] outrage W.
[32] Thou scepter'd Demon, WAR W.
[35] oh] ah W.
[38] chilly] flowrets' W.
A LOVER'S COMPLAINT TO HIS MISTRESS[36:1]
WHO DESERTED HIM IN QUEST OF A MORE WEALTHY HUSBAND IN THE EAST INDIES
The dubious light sad glimmers o'er the sky:
'Tis silence all. By lonely anguish torn,
With wandering feet to gloomy groves I fly,
And wakeful Love still tracks my course forlorn.
And will you, cruel Julia! will you go? 5
And trust you to the Ocean's dark dismay?
Shall the wide wat'ry world between us flow?
And winds unpitying snatch my Hopes away?
Thus could you sport with my too easy heart?
Yet tremble, lest not unaveng'd I grieve! 10
The winds may learn your own delusive art,
And faithless Ocean smile--but to deceive!
1792.
FOOTNOTES:
[36:1] First published in 1893, from _MS. Letter_, Feb. 13 [1792].
WITH FIELDING'S 'AMELIA'[37:1]
Virtues and Woes alike too great for man
In the soft tale oft claim the useless sigh;
For vain the attempt to realise the plan,
On Folly's wings must Imitation fly.
With other aim has Fielding here display'd 5
Each social duty and each social care;
With just yet vivid colouring portray'd
What every wife should be, what many are.
And sure the Parent[37:2] of a race so sweet
With double pleasure on the page shall dwell, 10
Each scene with sympathizing breast shall meet,
While Reason still with smiles delights to tell
Maternal hope, that her loved progeny
In all but sorrows shall Amelias be!
? 1792.
FOOTNOTES:
[37:1] First published in 1834.
[37:2] It is probable that the recipient of the _Amelia_ was the mother
of Coleridge's first love, Mary Evans.
LINENOTES:
Title] Sent to Mrs. ---- with an _Amelia_. MS. O.
[10] double] doubled MS. O.
WRITTEN AFTER A WALK BEFORE SUPPER[37:3]
Tho' much averse, dear Jack, to flicker,
To find a likeness for friend V--ker,
I've made thro' Earth, and Air, and Sea,
A Voyage of Discovery!
And let me add (to ward off strife) 5
For V--ker and for V--ker's Wife--
She large and round beyond belief,
A superfluity of beef!
Her mind and body of a piece,
And both composed of kitchen-grease. 10
In short, Dame Truth might safely dub her
Vulgarity enshrin'd in blubber!
He, meagre bit of littleness,
All snuff, and musk, and politesse;
So thin, that strip him of his clothing, 15
He'd totter on the edge of Nothing!
In case of foe, he well might hide
Snug in the collops of her side.
Ah then, what simile will suit?
Spindle-leg in great jack-boot? 20
Pismire crawling in a rut?
Or a spigot in a butt?
Thus I humm'd and ha'd awhile,
When Madam Memory with a smile
Thus twitch'd my ear--'Why sure, I ween, 25
In London streets thou oft hast seen
The very image of this pair:
A little Ape with huge She-Bear
Link'd by hapless chain together:
An unlick'd mass the one--the other 30
An antic small with nimble crupper----'
But stop, my Muse! for here comes supper.
1792.
FOOTNOTES:
[37:3] First published in 1796, and secondly in _P. and D. W._, 1877-80.
These lines, described as 'A Simile', were sent in a letter to the Rev.
George Coleridge, dated August 9 [1792]. The Rev. Fulwood Smerdon, the
'Vicar' of the original MS., succeeded the Rev. John Coleridge as vicar
of Ottery St. Mary in 1781. He was the 'Edmund' of 'Lines to a Friend',
&c., _vide post_, pp. 74, 75.
LINENOTES:
Title] Epistle iii. Written, &c., 1796.
[1] dear Jack] at folk Letter, 1792.
[2] A simile for Vicar Letter, 1792.
[6] For Vicar and for Vicar's wife Letter, 1792.
[7] large] gross Letter, 1792.
[12] enshrin'd] enclos'd
[19] will] can Letter, 1792.
[23] I ha'd and hem'd Letter, 1792.
[24] Madam] Mrs. Letter, 1792.
[28] huge] large Letter, 1792.
[29] Link'd] Tied Letter, 1792.
[31] small] lean Letter, 1792: huge 1796, 1877, 1888, 1893. For Antic
huge read _antic small_ 'Errata', 1796 p. [189].
IMITATED FROM OSSIAN[38:1]
The stream with languid murmur creeps,
In Lumin's _flowery_ vale:
Beneath the dew the Lily weeps
Slow-waving to the gale.
'Cease, restless gale!' it seems to say, 5
'Nor wake me with thy sighing!
The honours of my vernal day
On rapid wing are flying.
'To-morrow shall the Traveller come
Who late beheld me blooming: 10
His searching eye shall vainly roam
The _dreary_ vale of Lumin.'
With eager gaze and wetted cheek
My wonted haunts along,
Thus, faithful Maiden! _thou_ shalt seek 15
The Youth of simplest song.
But I along the breeze shall roll
The voice of feeble power;
And dwell, the Moon-beam of thy soul,
In Slumber's nightly hour. 20
1793.
FOOTNOTES:
[38:1] First published in 1796: included in 1803, 1828, 1829, and 1834.
The following note was attached in 1796 and 1803:--The flower hangs its
[heavy] head waving at times to the gale. 'Why dost thou awake me, O
Gale?' it seems to say, 'I am covered with the drops of Heaven. The time
of my fading is near, the blast that shall scatter my leaves. Tomorrow
shall the traveller come; he that saw me in my beauty shall come. His
eyes will search the field, [but] they will not find me. So shall they
search in vain for the voice of Cona, after it has failed in the
field.'--Berrathon, see Ossian's _Poems_, vol. ii. [ed. 1819, p. 481].
LINENOTES:
Title] Ode MS. E.
[10] That erst, &c. MS. E.
[15] faithful] lovely MS. E.
[16] simplest] gentle MS. E.
THE COMPLAINT OF NINATHÓMA[39:1]
FROM THE SAME
How long will ye round me be swelling,
O ye blue-tumbling waves of the sea?
Not always in caves was my dwelling,
Nor beneath the cold blast of the tree.
Through the high-sounding halls of Cathlóma 5
In the steps of my beauty I strayed;
The warriors beheld Ninathóma,
And they blesséd the white-bosom'd Maid!
A Ghost! by my cavern it darted!
In moon-beams the Spirit was drest-- 10
For lovely appear the Departed
When they visit the dreams of my rest!
But disturb'd by the tempest's commotion
Fleet the shadowy forms of delight--
Ah cease, thou shrill blast of the Ocean! 15
To howl through my cavern by night.
1793.
FOOTNOTES:
[39:1] First published in 1796: included in 1803, 1828, 1829, and 1834.
These lines were included in a letter from Coleridge to Mary Evans,
dated Feb. 7, 1793. In 1796 and 1803 the following note was
attached:--'How long will ye roll around me, blue-tumbling waters of
Ocean. My dwelling is not always in caves; nor beneath the whistling
tree. My [The] feast is spread in Torthoma's Hall. [My father delighted
in my voice.] The youths beheld me in [the steps of] my loveliness. They
blessed the dark-haired Nina-thomà.'--Berrathon [Ossian's _Poems_, 1819,
ii. 484].
LINENOTES:
Title] Effusion xxx. The Complaint, &c., 1796.
[5] halls] Hall Letter, 1793.
[8] white-bosom'd] dark-tressed Letter, 1793.
[Between 8-9]
By my friends, by my Lovers discarded,
Like the flower of the Rock now I waste,
That lifts her fair head unregarded,
And scatters its leaves on the blast.
Letter, 1793.
[13] disturb'd] dispers'd Letter, 1793.
SONGS OF THE PIXIES[40:1]
The Pixies, in the superstition of Devonshire, are a race of beings
invisibly small, and harmless or friendly to man. At a small distance
from a village in that county, half-way up a wood-covered hill, is an
excavation called the Pixies' Parlour. The roots of old trees form its
ceiling; and on its sides are innumerable cyphers, among which the
author discovered his own cypher and those of his brothers, cut by the
hand of their childhood. At the foot of the hill flows the river Otter.
To this place the Author, during the summer months of the year 1793,
conducted a party of young ladies; one of whom, of stature elegantly
small, and of complexion colourless yet clear, was proclaimed the Faery
Queen. On which occasion the following Irregular Ode was written.
I
Whom the untaught Shepherds call
Pixies in their madrigal,
Fancy's children, here we dwell:
Welcome, Ladies! to our cell.
Here the wren of softest note 5
Builds its nest and warbles well;
Here the blackbird strains his throat;
Welcome, Ladies! to our cell.
II
When fades the moon to shadowy-pale,
And scuds the cloud before the gale, 10
Ere the Morn all gem-bedight
Hath streak'd the East with rosy light,
We sip the furze-flower's fragrant dews
Clad in robes of rainbow hues;
Or sport amid the shooting gleams 15
To the tune of distant-tinkling teams,
While lusty Labour scouting sorrow
Bids the Dame a glad good-morrow,
Who jogs the accustom'd road along,
And paces cheery to her cheering song. 20
III
But not our filmy pinion
We scorch amid the blaze of day,
When Noontide's fiery-tresséd minion
Flashes the fervid ray.
Aye from the sultry heat 25
We to the cave retreat
O'ercanopied by huge roots intertwin'd
With wildest texture, blacken'd o'er with age:
Round them their mantle green the ivies bind,
Beneath whose foliage pale 30
Fann'd by the unfrequent gale
We shield us from the Tyrant's mid-day rage.
IV
Thither, while the murmuring throng
Of wild-bees hum their drowsy song,
By Indolence and Fancy brought, 35
A youthful Bard, 'unknown to Fame,'
Wooes the Queen of Solemn Thought,
And heaves the gentle misery of a sigh
Gazing with tearful eye,
As round our sandy grot appear 40
Many a rudely-sculptur'd name
To pensive Memory dear!
Weaving gay dreams of sunny-tinctur'd hue,
We glance before his view:
O'er his hush'd soul our soothing witcheries shed 45
And twine the future garland round his head.
V
When Evening's dusky car
Crown'd with her dewy star
Steals o'er the fading sky in shadowy flight;
On leaves of aspen trees 50
We tremble to the breeze
Veil'd from the grosser ken of mortal sight.
Or, haply, at the visionary hour,
Along our wildly-bower'd sequester'd walk,
We listen to the enamour'd rustic's talk; 55
Heave with the heavings of the maiden's breast,
Where young-eyed Loves have hid their turtle nest;
Or guide of soul-subduing power
The glance that from the half-confessing eye
Darts the fond question or the soft reply. 60
VI
Or through the mystic ringlets of the vale
We flash our faery feet in gamesome prank;
Or, silent-sandal'd, pay our defter court,
Circling the Spirit of the Western Gale,
Where wearied with his flower-caressing sport, 65
Supine he slumbers on a violet bank;
Then with quaint music hymn the parting gleam
By lonely Otter's sleep-persuading stream;
Or where his wave with loud unquiet song
Dash'd o'er the rocky channel froths along; 70
Or where, his silver waters smooth'd to rest,
The tall tree's shadow sleeps upon his breast.
VII
Hence thou lingerer, Light!
Eve saddens into Night.
Mother of wildly-working dreams! we view 75
The sombre hours, that round thee stand
With down-cast eyes (a duteous band!)
Their dark robes dripping with the heavy dew.
Sorceress of the ebon throne!
Thy power the Pixies own, 80
When round thy raven brow
Heaven's lucent roses glow,
And clouds in watery colours drest
Float in light drapery o'er thy sable vest:
What time the pale moon sheds a softer day 85
Mellowing the woods beneath its pensive beam:
For mid the quivering light 'tis ours to play,
Aye dancing to the cadence of the stream.
VIII
Welcome, Ladies! to the cell
Where the blameless Pixies dwell: 90
But thou, Sweet Nymph! proclaim'd our Faery Queen,
With what obeisance meet
Thy presence shall we greet?
For lo! attendant on thy steps are seen
Graceful Ease in artless stole, 95
And white-robed Purity of soul,
With Honour's softer mien;
Mirth of the loosely-flowing hair,
And meek-eyed Pity eloquently fair,
Whose tearful cheeks are lovely to the view, 100
As snow-drop wet with dew.
IX
Unboastful Maid! though now the Lily pale
Transparent grace thy beauties meek;
Yet ere again along the impurpling vale,
The purpling vale and elfin-haunted grove, 105
Young Zephyr his fresh flowers profusely throws,
We'll tinge with livelier hues thy cheek;
And, haply, from the nectar-breathing Rose
Extract a Blush for Love!
1793.
FOOTNOTES:
[40:1] First published in 1796: included in 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829, and
1834. _The Songs of the Pixies_ forms part of the volume of MS. Poems
presented to Mrs. Estlin, and of a quarto MS. volume which the poet
retained for his own use.
LINENOTES:
This preface appears in all editions. Previous to 1834 the second
paragraph read:--To this place the Author conducted a party of young
Ladies, during the Summer months of the year 1793, &c.
The Songs of the Pixies, an irregular Ode. The lower orders of the
people in Devonshire have a superstition concerning the existence of
'Pixies', a race of beings supposed to be invisibly small, and harmless
or friendly to man. At a small village in the county, half-way up a
Hill, is a large excavation called the 'Pixies'' Parlour. The roots of
the trees growing above it form the ceiling--and on its sides are
engraved innumerable cyphers, among which the author descried his own
and those of his Brothers, cut by the rude hand of their childhood. At
the foot of the Hill flows the River Otter. To this place the Author had
the Honour of conducting a party of Young Ladies during the Summer
months, on which occasion the following Poem was written. MS. E.
_Note._ The emendations in ll. 9, 11, 12, 15, 16 are peculiar to the
edition of 1834, and are, certainly, Coleridge's own handiwork.
[9] to] all MS. 4{o}, MS. E, 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829.
[11] Ere Morn with living gems bedight MS. 4{o}E, 1796, 1797, 1803,
1828, 1829.
[12] Hath streak'd] Purples MS. 4{o}, MS. E, 1796, 1828, 1829: Streaks
1797, 1803. rosy] streaky MS. E, 1796, 1828, 1829: purple 1797, 1803.
After l. 14 the following lines appear in MS. 4{o}, MS. E, 1796, 1797,
1803, 1828:
Richer than the deepen'd bloom
That glows on Summer's lily-scented (scented 1797, 1803) plume.
[15] shooting] rosy MS. 4{o}, MS. E, 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829.
[15-16] gleam . . . team MS. 4{o}, MS. E, 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829.
[16] To the tune of] Sooth'd by the MS. 4{o}, MS. E, 1796, 1797, 1803,
1828, 1829.
[20] Timing to Dobbin's foot her cheery song. MS. E, MS. 4{o} erased.
[21] our] the MS. E.
[35] By rapture-beaming Fancy brought MS. E, MS. 4{o} erased.
[37] Oft wooes MS. E: our faery garlands MS. 4{o}, MS. E, 1796, 1797,
1803, 1828, 1829.
[53-5]
Or at the silent visionary hour
Along our rude sequester'd walk
We list th' enamour'd Shepherd's talk.
MS. E.
Or at the silent
MS. 4{o} erased.
[54] wildly-bower'd] wild 1797, 1803.
[57] hid] built MS. 4{o}, MS. E, 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829.
[58] of] with MS. E.
[59]
The Electric Flash that from the melting eye,
MS. 4{o}, MS. E, 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829.
[60] or] and MS. E, 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829.
[61-5]
Or haply in the flower-embroider'd vale
We ply our faery feet in gamesome prank;
Or pay our wonted court
Circling the Spirits of the Western Gale,
Where tir'd with vernal sport
MS. E.
[63]
Or in deft homage pay our silent court
MS. 4{o} erased.
[68-70]
By lonely Otter's 'peace-persuading' stream
Or where his frothing wave with merry song
'Dash'd o'er the rough rock lightly leaps along'
MS. E.
[68] peace-persuading stream MS. 4{o} erased.
[69-70]
Or where his waves with loud unquiet song
Dash'd o'er the rocky channel froth along
MS. 4{o}, 1796 ('froths' _in text_, 'froth' _errata_).
[70] froths] froth 1828, 1829.
[75-7]
Mother of wild'ring dreams thy course pursue.
With downcast eyes around thee stand
The sombre Hours, a duteous band.
MS. E.
[92] obedience MS. 4{o}, 1796: Correction made in Errata.
[94] For lo! around thy MS. E.
[97] softer] gentler MS. E.
[99] meek-eyed] meekest MS. E.
[100] cheeks are] cheek is MS. E.
[104-5]
Yet ere again the impurpled vale
And elfin-haunted grove
MS. 4{o}.
[104-6]
Yet ere again the purpling vale
And elfin-haunted Grove
Young Zephyr with fresh flowrets strews.
MS. 4{o}, MS. E.
[108] nectar-breathing] nectar-dropping MS. E.
[109] for] of MS. E.
THE ROSE[45:1]
As late each flower that sweetest blows
I pluck'd, the Garden's pride!
Within the petals of a Rose
A sleeping Love I spied.
Around his brows a beamy wreath 5
Of many a lucent hue;
All purple glow'd his cheek, beneath,
Inebriate with dew.
I softly seiz'd the unguarded Power,
Nor scared his balmy rest: 10
And placed him, caged within the flower,
On spotless Sara's breast.
But when unweeting of the guile
Awoke the prisoner sweet,
He struggled to escape awhile 15
And stamp'd his faery feet.
Ah! soon the soul-entrancing sight
Subdued the impatient boy!
He gazed! he thrill'd with deep delight!
Then clapp'd his wings for joy. 20
'And O!' he cried--'Of magic kind
What charms this Throne endear!
Some other Love let Venus find--
I'll fix _my_ empire _here_.'[46:1]
1793.
FOOTNOTES:
[45:1] First published in 1796, included in 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829, and
1834. A copy of this poem is written in pencil on the blank page of
Langhorne's _Collins_; a note adds, 'This "Effusion" and "Kisses" were
addressed to a Miss F. Nesbitt at Plymouth, whither the author
accompanied his eldest brother, to whom he was paying a visit, when he
was twenty-one years of age.' In a letter to his brother George, dated
July 28, 1793, Coleridge writes, 'presented a moss rose to a lady. Dick
Hart [George Coleridge's brother-in-law] asked if she was not afraid to
put it in her bosom, as, perhaps, there might be love in it. I
immediately wrote the following little ode or song or what you please to
call it. [The Rose.] It is of the namby-pamby genus.' _Letters of S. T.
C._, 1895, i. 54.
[46:1] _Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i. p. 55.
LINENOTES:
Title] On presenting a moss rose to Miss F. Nesbitt. MS. (pencil).
Effusion xxvi. 1796.
[5] beamy] lucent MS. E: lucid Letter, 1793.
[6] lucent] changing MS. E: mingled Letter, 1793.
[12]
On lovely Nesbitt's breast. MS. (pencil).
On Angelina's breast. Letter, 1793.
On spotless Anna's breast. MS. E.
[Probably Anna Buclé, afterwards Mrs. Cruikshank.]
[13] But when all reckless Letter, 1793.
[14] prisoner] slumberer Letter, 1793.
[16] faery] angry Letter, 1793.
[21-2]
'And, O', he cried, 'What charms refined
This magic throne endear
Letter, 1793, MS. E.
[23] Another Love may Letter, 1793.
KISSES[46:2]
Cupid, if storying Legends tell aright,
Once fram'd a rich Elixir of Delight.
A Chalice o'er love-kindled flames he fix'd,
And in it Nectar and Ambrosia mix'd:
With these the magic dews which Evening brings, 5
Brush'd from the Idalian star by faery wings:
Each tender pledge of sacred Faith he join'd,
Each gentler Pleasure of th' unspotted mind--
Day-dreams, whose tints with sportive brightness glow,
And Hope, the blameless parasite of Woe. 10
The eyeless Chemist heard the process rise,
The steamy Chalice bubbled up in sighs;
Sweet sounds transpired, as when the enamour'd Dove
Pours the soft murmuring of responsive Love.
The finish'd work might Envy vainly blame, 15
And 'Kisses' was the precious Compound's name.
With half the God his Cyprian Mother blest,
And breath'd on Sara's lovelier lips the rest.
1793.
FOOTNOTES:
[46:2] First published in 1796: included in 1797 (_Supplement_), 1803,
and 1844. Three MSS. are extant, (1) as included in a letter to George
Coleridge, Aug. 5, 1793; (2) as written in pencil in a copy of
Langhorne's _Collins_ in 1793; (3) _MS. E._ _Poems_, 1796 (Note 7, p.
181), and footnotes in 1797 and 1803, supply the original Latin:
Effinxit quondam blandum meditata laborem
Basia lascivâ Cypria Diva manu.
Ambrosiae succos occultâ temperat arte,
Fragransque infuso nectare tingit opus.
Sufficit et partem mellis, quod subdolus olim
Non impune favis surripuisset Amor.
Decussos violae foliis admiscet odores
Et spolia aestivis plurima rapta rosis.
Addit et illecebras et mille et mille lepores,
Et quot Acidalius gaudia Cestus habet.
Ex his composuit Dea basia; et omnia libens
Invenias nitidae sparsa per ora Cloës.
Carm[ina] Quad[ragesimalia], vol. ii.
LINENOTES:
Title] Cupid turn'd Chymist Letter, 1793, Pencil. The Compound MS. E:
Effusion xxvi. 1796: The Composition of a Kiss 1797: Kisses 1803, 1844,
1852.
[1] storying] ancient Pencil.
[3] Chalice] cauldron Letter, 1793.
[8] gentler] gentle Pencil.
[9]
Gay Dreams whose tints with beamy brightness glow.
Letter, 1793, MS. E.
[9-10]
{ Hopes the blameless parasites of Woe
And { Fond Bristol MS.
And Dreams whose tints with beamy brightness glow.
Pencil, Bristol MS.
[11-12]
With joy he view'd his chymic process rise,
The steaming cauldron bubbled up in sighs.
Letter, 1793.
[11-12]
the chymic process rise,
The steaming chalice
Pencil, MS. E.
[11-12]
the chymic process rise,
The charming cauldron
Bristol MS.
[14] Murmuring] murmurs Letter, 1793.
Cooes the soft murmurs Pencil.
[15]
not Envy's self could blame Letter, 1793, Pencil.
might blame. MS. E.
[17] With part Letter, 1793, MS. E.
[18]
on Nesbitt's lovely lips the rest. Letter, 1793, Pencil.
on Mary's lovelier lips the rest. MS. E.
on lovely Nesbitt's lovely lips the rest. Bristol MS.
THE GENTLE LOOK[47:1]
Thou gentle Look, that didst my soul beguile,
Why hast thou left me? Still in some fond dream
Revisit my sad heart, auspicious Smile!
As falls on closing flowers the lunar beam:
What time, in sickly mood, at parting day 5
I lay me down and think of happier years;
Of joys, that glimmer'd in Hope's twilight ray,
Then left me darkling in a vale of tears.
O pleasant days of Hope--for ever gone!
Could I recall you!--But that thought is vain. 10
Availeth not Persuasion's sweetest tone
To lure the fleet-wing'd Travellers back again:
Yet fair, though faint, their images shall gleam
Like the bright Rainbow on a willowy stream.[48:1]
? 1793.
FOOTNOTES:
[47:1] First published in 1796: included in 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829, and
1834. The 'four _last_ lines' of the Sonnet as sent to Southey, on Dec.
11, 1794, were written by Lamb. _Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i. 111,
112.
[48:1] Compare ll. 13, 14 with ll. 13, 14 of _Anna and Harland_ and ll.
17, 18 of _Recollection_. _Vide_ Appendix.
LINENOTES:
Title] Irregular Sonnet MS. E: Effusion xiv. 1796: Sonnet III. 1797,
1803: Sonnet viii. 1828, 1829, 1834: The Smile P. W. 1885: The Gentle
Look P. W. 1893.
[1] Thou] O Letter, 1794.
[9] gone] flown MS. E.
[10] you] one Letter, 1794.
[13-14]
Anon they haste to everlasting Night,
Nor can a Giant's arm arrest them in their flight
Letter, 1794.
On on, &c.,
MS. E.
SONNET[48:2]
TO THE RIVER OTTER
Dear native Brook! wild Streamlet of the West!
How many various-fated years have past,
What happy and what mournful hours, since last
I skimm'd the smooth thin stone along thy breast,
Numbering its light leaps! yet so deep imprest 5
Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes
I never shut amid the sunny ray,
But straight with all their tints thy waters rise,
Thy crossing plank, thy marge with willows grey,
And bedded sand that vein'd with various dyes 10
Gleam'd through thy bright transparence! On my way,
Visions of Childhood! oft have ye beguil'd
Lone manhood's cares, yet waking fondest sighs:
Ah! that once more I were a careless Child!
? 1793.
FOOTNOTES:
[48:2] Lines 2-11 were first published in the _Watchman_, No. V, April
2, 1796, as lines 17-26 of _Recollection_. First published, as a whole,
in _Selection of Sonnets_, 1796, included in 1797, 1803, _Sibylline
Leaves_, 1828, 1829, and 1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] Sonnet No. IV. To the, &c., 1797, 1803.
[3] What blissful and what anguish'd hours Watchman, S. S., 1797, 1803.
[7] ray] blaze Watchman, S. S., 1797, 1803.
[8] thy] their S. L. _Corrected in Errata_, p. [xii].
[9]
The crossing plank, and margin's willowy maze Watchman.
Thy crossing plank, thy margin's willowy maze S. S., 1797, 1803.
[11] On my way] to the gaze Watchman, S. S., 1797, 1803.
[14] Ah! that I were once more, &c. S. L. _Corrected in Errata_, p.
[xii].
FIRST DRAFT
AN EFFUSION AT EVENING
WRITTEN IN AUGUST, 1792
Imagination, Mistress of my Love!
Where shall mine Eye thy elfin haunt explore?
Dost thou on yon rich Cloud thy pinions bright
Embathe in amber-glowing Floods of Light?
Or, wild of speed, pursue the track of Day 5
In other worlds to hail the morning Ray?
'Tis time to bid the faded shadowy Pleasures move
On shadowy Memory's wings across the Soul of Love;
And thine o'er _Winter's_ icy plains to fling
Each flower, that binds the breathing Locks of _Spring_, 10
When blushing, like a bride, from primrose Bower
She starts, awaken'd by the pattering Shower!
Now sheds the setting Sun a purple gleam,
Aid, lovely Sorc'ress! aid the Poet's dream.
With faery wand O bid my Love arise, 15
The dewy brilliance dancing in her Eyes;
As erst she woke with soul-entrancing Mien
The thrill of Joy extatic yet serene,
When link'd with Peace I bounded o'er the Plain
And Hope itself was all I knew of Pain! 20
Propitious Fancy hears the votive sigh--
The absent Maiden flashes on mine Eye!
When first the matin Bird with startling Song
Salutes the Sun his veiling Clouds among,
{ accustom'd
I trace her footsteps on the { steaming Lawn, 25
I view her glancing in the gleams of Dawn!
When the bent Flower beneath the night-dew weeps
And on the Lake the silver Lustre sleeps,
Amid the paly Radiance soft and sad
She meets my lonely path in moonbeams clad. 30
With _her_ along the streamlet's brink I rove;
With _her_ I list the warblings of the Grove;
And seems in each low wind _her_ voice to float,
Lone-whispering Pity in each soothing Note!
As oft in climes beyond the western Main 35
Where boundless spreads the wildly-silent Plain,
The savage Hunter, who his drowsy frame
Had bask'd beneath the Sun's unclouded Flame,
Awakes amid the tempest-troubled air,
The Thunder's Peal and Lightning's lurid glare-- 40
Aghast he hears the rushing Whirlwind's Sweep,
And sad recalls the sunny hour of Sleep!
So lost by storms along Life's wild'ring Way
Mine Eye reverted views that cloudless Day,
When, ----! on thy banks I joy'd to rove 45
While Hope with kisses nurs'd the infant Love!
Sweet ----! where Pleasure's streamlet glides
Fann'd by soft winds to curl in mimic tides;
Where Mirth and Peace beguile the blameless Day;
And where Friendship's fixt star beams a mellow'd Ray; 50
Where Love a crown of thornless Roses wears;
Where soften'd Sorrow smiles within her tears;
And Memory, with a Vestal's meek employ,
Unceasing feeds the lambent flame of Joy!
No more thy Sky Larks less'ning from my sight 55
Shall thrill th' attunéd Heartstring with delight;
No more shall deck thy pensive Pleasures sweet
With wreaths of sober hue my evening seat!
Yet dear to [My] Fancy's Eye thy varied scene
Of Wood, Hill, Dale and sparkling Brook between: 60
Yet sweet to [My] Fancy's Ear the warbled song,
That soars on Morning's wing thy fields among!
Scenes of my Hope! the aching Eye ye leave,
Like those rich Hues that paint the clouds of Eve!
Tearful and saddening with the sadden'd Blaze 65
Mine Eye the gleam pursues with wistful Gaze--
Sees Shades on Shades with deeper tint impend,
Till chill and damp the moonless Night descend!
1792.
LINES[51:1]
ON AN AUTUMNAL EVENING
O thou wild Fancy, check thy wing! No more
Those thin white flakes, those purple clouds explore!
Nor there with happy spirits speed thy flight
Bath'd in rich amber-glowing floods of light;
Nor in yon gleam, where slow descends the day, 5
With western peasants hail the morning ray!
Ah! rather bid the perish'd pleasures move,
A shadowy train, across the soul of Love!
O'er Disappointment's wintry desert fling
Each flower that wreath'd the dewy locks of Spring, 10
When blushing, like a bride, from Hope's trim bower
She leapt, awaken'd by the pattering shower.
Now sheds the sinking Sun a deeper gleam,
Aid, lovely Sorceress! aid thy Poet's dream!
With faery wand O bid the Maid arise, 15
Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright-blue eyes;
As erst when from the Muses' calm abode
I came, with Learning's meed not unbestowed;
When as she twin'd a laurel round my brow,
And met my kiss, and half return'd my vow, 20
O'er all my frame shot rapid my thrill'd heart,
And every nerve confess'd the electric dart.
O dear Deceit! I see the Maiden rise,
Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright-blue eyes!
When first the lark high-soaring swells his throat, 25
Mocks the tir'd eye, and scatters the loud note,
I trace her footsteps on the accustom'd lawn,
I mark her glancing mid the gleam of dawn.
When the bent flower beneath the night-dew weeps
And on the lake the silver lustre sleeps, 30
Amid the paly radiance soft and sad,
She meets my lonely path in moon-beams clad.
With her along the streamlet's brink I rove;
With her I list the warblings of the grove;
And seems in each low wind her voice to float 35
Lone-whispering Pity in each soothing note!
Spirits of Love! ye heard her name! Obey
The powerful spell, and to my haunt repair.
Whether on clust'ring pinions ye are there,
Where rich snows blossom on the Myrtle-trees, 40
Or with fond languishment around my fair
Sigh in the loose luxuriance of her hair;
O heed the spell, and hither wing your way,
Like far-off music, voyaging the breeze!
Spirits! to you the infant Maid was given 45
Form'd by the wond'rous Alchemy of Heaven!
No fairer Maid does Love's wide empire know,
No fairer Maid e'er heav'd the bosom's snow.
A thousand Loves around her forehead fly;
A thousand Loves sit melting in her eye; 50
Love lights her smile--in Joy's red nectar dips
His myrtle flower, and plants it on her lips.
She speaks! and hark that passion-warbled song--
Still, Fancy! still that voice, those notes prolong.
As sweet as when that voice with rapturous falls 55
Shall wake the soften'd echoes of Heaven's Halls!
[52:1]O (have I sigh'd) were mine the wizard's rod,
Or mine the power of Proteus, changeful God!
A flower-entangled Arbour I would seem
To shield my Love from Noontide's sultry beam: 60
Or bloom a Myrtle, from whose od'rous boughs
My Love might weave gay garlands for her brows.
When Twilight stole across the fading vale,
To fan my Love I'd be the Evening Gale;
Mourn in the soft folds of her swelling vest, 65
And flutter my faint pinions on her breast!
On Seraph wing I'd float a Dream by night,
To soothe my Love with shadows of delight:--
Or soar aloft to be the Spangled Skies,
And gaze upon her with a thousand eyes! 70
As when the Savage, who his drowsy frame
Had bask'd beneath the Sun's unclouded flame,
Awakes amid the troubles of the air,
The skiey deluge, and white lightning's glare--
Aghast he scours before the tempest's sweep, 75
And sad recalls the sunny hour of sleep:--
So tossed by storms along Life's wild'ring way,
Mine eye reverted views that cloudless day,
When by my native brook I wont to rove,
While Hope with kisses nurs'd the Infant Love. 80
Dear native brook! like Peace, so placidly
Smoothing through fertile fields thy current meek!
Dear native brook! where first young Poesy
Stared wildly-eager in her noontide dream!
Where blameless pleasures dimple Quiet's cheek, 85
As water-lilies ripple thy slow stream!
Dear native haunts! where Virtue still is gay,
Where Friendship's fix'd star sheds a mellow'd ray,
Where Love a crown of thornless Roses wears,
Where soften'd Sorrow smiles within her tears; 90
And Memory, with a Vestal's chaste employ,
Unceasing feeds the lambent flame of joy!
No more your sky-larks melting from the sight
Shall thrill the attunéd heart-string with delight--
No more shall deck your pensive Pleasures sweet 95
With wreaths of sober hue my evening seat.
Yet dear to Fancy's eye your varied scene
Of wood, hill, dale, and sparkling brook between!
Yet sweet to Fancy's ear the warbled song,
That soars on Morning's wing your vales among. 100
Scenes of my Hope! the aching eye ye leave
Like yon bright hues that paint the clouds of eve!
Tearful and saddening with the sadden'd blaze
Mine eye the gleam pursues with wistful gaze:
Sees shades on shades with deeper tint impend, 105
Till chill and damp the moonless night descend
1793.
FOOTNOTES:
[51:1] First published in 1796: included in 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829 and
1834. In _Social Life at the English Universities_, by Christopher
Wordsworth, M.A., 1874, it is recorded that this poem was read by
Coleridge to a party of college friends on November 7, 1793.
[52:1] Note to line 57. Poems, 1796, pp. 183-5:--I entreat the Public's
pardon for having carelessly suffered to be printed such intolerable
stuff as this and the thirteen following lines. They have not the merit
even of originality: as every thought is to be found in the Greek
Epigrams. The lines in this poem from the 27th to the 36th, I have been
told are a palpable imitation of the passage from the 355th to the 370th
line of the Pleasures of Memory Part 3. I do not perceive so striking a
similarity between the two passages; at all events I had written the
Effusion several years before I had seen M{r} Rogers' Poem.--It may be
proper to remark that the tale of Florio in the 'Pleasures of Memory' is
to be found in Lochleven, a poem of great merit by Michael Bruce.--In
M{r} Rogers' Poem[52:A] the names are Florio and Julia; in the Lochleven
Lomond and Levina--and this is all the difference. We seize the
opportunity of transcribing from the Lochleven of Bruce the following
exquisite passage, expressing the effects of a fine day on the human
heart.
Fat on the plain, and mountain's sunny side
Large droves of oxen and the fleecy flocks
Feed undisturb'd; and fill the echoing air
With Music grateful to their [the] Master's ear.
The Traveller stops and gazes round and round
O'er all the plains [scenes] that animate his heart
With mirth and music. Even the mendicant
Bow-bent with age, that on the old gray stone
Sole-sitting suns him in the public way,
Feels his heart leap, and to himself he sings.
[_Poems_ by Michael Bruce, 1796, p. 94.]
[52:A] For Coleridge's retractation of the charge of
plagiarism and apology to Rogers see 'Advertisement to
Supplement of 1797', pp. 244, 245.
LINENOTES:
Title] Effusion xxxvi. Written in Early Youth, The Time, An Autumnal
Evening 1796: Written in etc. 1803: An Effusion on an Autumnal Evening.
Written in Early Youth 1797 (Supplement).
A first draft, headed 'An Effusion at Evening, Written in August, 1792'
is included in the MS. volume presented to Mrs. Estlin in April, 1795
(_vide ante_, pp. 49, 50).
[28] gleam] gleams 1796, 1797, 1803, 1893.
[51-3]
in Joy's bright nectar dips
The flamy rose, and plants it on her lips!
Tender, serene, and all devoid of guile,
Soft is her soul, as sleeping infants' smile.
She speaks, &c.
1796, 1803.
[54] still those mazy notes 1796, 1803.
[55-6]
Sweet as th' angelic harps, whose rapturous falls
Awake the soften'd echoes of Heaven's Halls.
1796, 1803.
[86] thy] a 1796, 1803.
TO FORTUNE[54:1]
TO THE EDITOR OF THE 'MORNING CHRONICLE'
SIR,--The following poem you may perhaps deem admissible into
your journal--if not, you will commit it εἰς ἱερὸν μένος
Ἡφαίστοιο.--I am, with more respect and gratitude than I
ordinarily feel for Editors of Papers, your obliged, &c.,
CANTAB.--S. T. C.
TO FORTUNE
_On buying a Ticket in the Irish Lottery_
Composed during a walk to and from the Queen's Head, Gray's
Inn Lane, Holborn, and Hornsby's and Co., Cornhill.
Promptress of unnumber'd sighs,
O snatch that circling bandage from thine eyes!
O look, and smile! No common prayer
Solicits, Fortune! thy propitious care!
For, not a silken son of dress, 5
I clink the gilded chains of _politesse_,
Nor ask thy boon what time I scheme
Unholy Pleasure's frail and feverish dream;
Nor yet my view life's _dazzle_ blinds--
Pomp!--Grandeur! Power!--I give you to the winds! 10
Let the little bosom cold
Melt only at the sunbeam ray of gold--
My pale cheeks glow--the big drops start--
The rebel _Feeling_ riots at my heart!
And if in lonely durance pent, 15
Thy poor mite mourn a brief imprisonment--
That mite at Sorrow's faintest sound
Leaps from its scrip with an elastic bound!
But oh! if ever song thine ear
Might soothe, O haste with fost'ring hand to rear 20
One Flower of Hope! At Love's behest,
Trembling, I plac'd it in my secret breast:
And thrice I've view'd the vernal gleam,
Since oft mine eye, with Joy's electric beam,
Illum'd it--and its sadder hue 25
Oft moisten'd with the Tear's ambrosial dew!
Poor wither'd floweret! on its head
Has dark Despair his sickly mildew shed!
But thou, O Fortune! canst relume
Its deaden'd tints--and thou with hardier bloom 30
May'st haply tinge its beauties pale,
And yield the unsunn'd stranger to the western gale!
1793.
FOOTNOTES:
[54:1] First published, _Morning Chronicle_, Nov. 7, 1793. First
collected 1893.
PERSPIRATION. A TRAVELLING ECLOGUE[56:1]
The dust flies smothering, as on clatt'ring wheel
Loath'd Aristocracy careers along;
The distant track quick vibrates to the eye,
And white and dazzling undulates with heat,
Where scorching to the unwary traveller's touch, 5
The stone fence flings its narrow slip of shade;
Or, where the worn sides of the chalky road
Yield their scant excavations (sultry grots!),
Emblem of languid patience, we behold
The fleecy files faint-ruminating lie. 10
1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[56:1] First published, _Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge_, 1895, i.
73, 74. The lines were sent in a letter to Southey, dated July 6, 1794.
[AVE, ATQUE VALE!][56:2]
Vivit sed mihi non vivit--nova forte marita,
Ah dolor! alterius carâ a cervice pependit.
Vos, malefida valete accensae insomnia mentis,
Littora amata valete! Vale, ah! formosa Maria!
1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[56:2] First published, _Biog. Lit._ 1847, Biog. Supplement, ii. 340.
This Latin quatrain was sent in a letter to Southey, dated July 13,
1794.
ON BALA HILL[56:3]
With many a weary step at length I gain
Thy summit, Bala! and the cool breeze plays
Cheerily round my brow--as hence the gaze
Returns to dwell upon the journey'd plain.
'Twas a long way and tedious!--to the eye 5
Tho' fair th' extended Vale, and fair to view
The falling leaves of many a faded hue
That eddy in the wild gust moaning by!
Ev'n so it far'd with Life! in discontent
Restless thro' Fortune's mingled scenes I went, 10
Yet wept to think they would return no more!
O cease fond heart! in such sad thoughts to roam,
For surely thou ere long shalt reach thy home,
And pleasant is the way that lies before.
1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[56:3] First published (as Coleridge's) in 1893, from an unsigned
autograph MS. found among the Evans Papers. The lines are all but
identical with Southey's Sonnet to Lansdown Hill (Sonnet viii), dated
1794, and first published in 1797, and were, probably, his composition.
See _Athenaeum_, January 11, 1896.
LINENOTES:
[2] Bala] Lansdown Poems, 1797.
[3] Cheerily] Gratefully Poems, 1797.
[12] O] But Poems, 1797.
LINES[57:1]
WRITTEN AT THE KING'S ARMS, ROSS, FORMERLY THE HOUSE OF THE 'MAN OF
ROSS'
Richer than Miser o'er his countless hoards,
Nobler than Kings, or king-polluted Lords,
Here dwelt the MAN OF ROSS! O Traveller, hear!
Departed Merit claims a reverent tear.
Friend to the friendless, to the sick man health, 5
With generous joy he view'd his modest wealth;
He heard the widow's heaven-breath'd prayer of praise,
He mark'd the shelter'd orphan's tearful gaze,
Or where the sorrow-shrivell'd captive lay,
Pour'd the bright blaze of Freedom's noon-tide ray. 10
Beneath this roof if thy cheer'd moments pass,
Fill to the good man's name one grateful glass:
To higher zest shall Memory wake thy soul,
And Virtue mingle in the ennobled bowl.
But if, like me, through Life's distressful scene 15
Lonely and sad thy pilgrimage hath been;
And if thy breast with heart-sick anguish fraught,
Thou journeyest onward tempest-tossed in thought;
Here cheat thy cares! in generous visions melt,
And _dream_ of Goodness, thou hast never felt! 20
1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[57:1] First published in the _Cambridge Intelligencer_, September 27,
1794: included in _A Pedestrian Tour through North Wales_. By J. Hucks,
1795, p. 15: 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829, and 1834.
In a letter to Southey dated July 13, 1794, Coleridge writes:--'At Ross
. . . we took up our quarters at the King's Arms, once the house of
Kyrle, the Man of Ross. I gave the window-shutter the following
effusion--"Richer than Misers" etc.' J. Hucks, in his _Tour_, 1795, p.
15, writes to the same effect. There are but slight variations in the
text as printed in the _Cambridge Intelligencer_ and in Hucks' _Tour_.
In 1796 lines 5-10 of the text, which were included in _A Monody on the
Death of Chatterton_ (1796), are omitted, and the poem numbered only
fourteen lines. In 1797 lines 5-10 were restored to the _Man of Ross_
and omitted from the _Monody_. The poem numbered twenty lines. In 1803
lines 5-10 were again omitted from the _Man of Ross_, but not included
in the _Monody_. The poem numbered fourteen lines. The text of 1828,
1829 is almost identical with that of 1834.
Four MS. versions are extant, (1) the Letter to Southey, July 13, 1794;
(2) the Estlin Copy-book; (3) the Morrison MSS.; (4) the MS. 4{o}
Copy-book.
LINENOTES:
Title] Written . . . Mr. Kyrle, 'the Man of Ross'. MS. E.
[1] Misers o'er their Letter, 1794, J. H., MS. E, 1808.
[4] the glistening tear Letter, 1794: a] the J. H., MS. E. Lines 5-10
are not in MS. 4{o}, 1796, 1803: in 1797 they follow l. 14 of the text.
[5] to the poor man wealth, Morrison MSS.
[7] heard] hears 1797, 1828, 1829.
[8] mark'd] marks 1797, 1828.
[9] And o'er the dowried maiden's glowing cheek, Letter, 1794, Morrison
MSS.: virgin's snowy cheek, J. H., MS. E.
[10] Bade bridal love suffuse its blushes meek. Letter, 1794, MS. E,
Morrison MSS. Pour'd] Pours 1797, 1828, 1829.
[11] If 'neath this roof thy wine cheer'd moments pass Letter, J. H.,
MS. E, MS. 4{o}, 1803.
[14] ennobled] sparkling Letter, 1794.
[15] me] mine 1803.
IMITATED FROM THE WELSH[58:1]
If while my passion I impart,
You deem my words untrue,
O place your hand upon my heart--
Feel how it throbs for _you_!
Ah no! reject the thoughtless claim 5
In pity to your Lover!
That thrilling touch would aid the flame
It wishes to discover.
? 1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[58:1] First published in 1796: included in 1803, 1828, 1829, and 1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] Song MS. E: Effusion xxxi. Imitated &c., 1796.
LINES[58:2]
TO A BEAUTIFUL SPRING IN A VILLAGE
Once more! sweet Stream! with slow foot wandering near,
I bless thy milky waters cold and clear.
Escap'd the flashing of the noontide hours,
With one fresh garland of Pierian flowers
(Ere from thy zephyr-haunted brink I turn) 5
My languid hand shall wreath thy mossy urn.
For not through pathless grove with murmur rude
Thou soothest the sad wood-nymph, Solitude;
Nor thine unseen in cavern depths to well,
The Hermit-fountain of some dripping cell! 10
Pride of the Vale! thy useful streams supply
The scatter'd cots and peaceful hamlet nigh.
The elfin tribe around thy friendly banks
With infant uproar and soul-soothing pranks,
Releas'd from school, their little hearts at rest, 15
Launch paper navies on thy waveless breast.
The rustic here at eve with pensive look
Whistling lorn ditties leans upon his crook,
Or, starting, pauses with hope-mingled dread
To list the much-lov'd maid's accustom'd tread: 20
She, vainly mindful of her dame's command,
Loiters, the long-fill'd pitcher in her hand.
Unboastful Stream! thy fount with pebbled falls
The faded form of past delight recalls,
What time the morning sun of Hope arose, 25
And all was joy; save when another's woes
A transient gloom upon my soul imprest,
Like passing clouds impictur'd on thy breast.
Life's current then ran sparkling to the noon,
Or silvery stole beneath the pensive Moon: 30
Ah! now it works rude brakes and thorns among,
Or o'er the rough rock bursts and foams along!
1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[58:2] First published in 1796: included in _Annual Register_, 1796:
1797, 1803, 1828, 1829, and 1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] Lines addressed to a Spring in Village of Kirkhampton near Bath
MS. E.
[7] groves in murmurs MS. E.
[21-2]
And now essays his simple Faith to prove
By all the soft solicitudes of Love.
MS. E.
[30] Or silver'd its smooth course beneath the Moon. MS. 4{o}.
[31] rude] the thorny MS. 4{o} erased.
For ll. 29-32
But ah! too brief in Youths' enchanting reign,
Ere Manhood wakes th' unweeting heart to pain,
Silent and soft thy silver waters glide:
So glided Life, a smooth and equal Tide.
Sad Change! for now by choking Cares withstood
It hardly bursts its way, a turbid, boist'rous Flood!
MS. E.
IMITATIONS
AD LYRAM[59:1]
(CASIMIR, BOOK II. ODE 3)
The solemn-breathing air is ended--
Cease, O Lyre! thy kindred lay!
From the poplar-branch suspended
Glitter to the eye of Day!
On thy wires hov'ring, dying, 5
Softly sighs the summer wind:
I will slumber, careless lying,
By yon waterfall reclin'd.
In the forest hollow-roaring
Hark! I hear a deep'ning sound-- 10
Clouds rise thick with heavy low'ring!
See! th' horizon blackens round!
Parent of the soothing measure,
Let me seize thy wetted string!
Swiftly flies the flatterer, Pleasure, 15
Headlong, ever on the wing.[60:1]
1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[59:1] First published in the _Watchman_, No. II, March 9, 1796:
included in _Literary Remains_, 1836, I. 41-3. First collected in 1844.
[60:1] If we except Lucretius and Statius, I know not of any Latin poet,
ancient or modern, who has equalled Casimir in boldness of conception,
opulence of fancy, or beauty of versification. The Odes of this
illustrious Jesuit were translated into English about 150 years ago, by
a Thomas Hill, I think, [--by G. H. [G. Hils.] London, 1646. 12mo. _Ed.
L. R._ 1836. I never saw the translation. A few of the Odes have been
translated in a very animated manner by Watts. I have subjoined the
third ode of the second book, which, with the exception of the first
line, is an effusion of exquisite elegance. In the imitation attempted,
I am sensible that I have destroyed the _effect of suddenness_, by
translating into two stanzas what is one in the original.
AD LYRAM.
Sonori buxi Filia sutilis,
Pendebis alta, Barbite, populo,
Dum ridet aer, et supinas
Solicitat levis aura frondes:
Te sibilantis lenior halitus
Perflabit Euri: me iuvet interim
Collum reclinasse, et virenti
Sic temere iacuisse ripa.
Eheu! serenum quae nebulae tegunt
Repente caelum! quis sonus imbrium!
Surgamus--heu semper fugaci
Gaudia praeteritura passu!
'Advertisement' to _Ad Lyram_,
in _Watchman_, II, March 9, 1796.
LINENOTES:
Title] Song. [_Note._ Imitated from Casimir.] MS. E.
TO LESBIA[60:2]
Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus.
CATULLUS.
My Lesbia, let us love and live,
And to the winds, my Lesbia, give
Each cold restraint, each boding fear
Of age and all her saws severe.
Yon sun now posting to the main 5
Will set,--but 'tis to rise again;--
But we, when once our mortal light
Is set, must sleep in endless night.
Then come, with whom alone I'll live,
A thousand kisses take and give! 10
Another thousand!--to the store
Add hundreds--then a thousand more!
And when they to a million mount,
Let confusion take the account,--
That you, the number never knowing, 15
May continue still bestowing--
That I for joys may never pine,
Which never can again be mine!
? 1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[60:2] First published in the _Morning Post_, April 11, 1798: included
in _Literary Remains_, 1836, i. 274. First collected in _P. W._, 1893.
LINENOTES:
Title] Lines imitated from Catullus. M. P.
[4] her] its L. R.
[7] mortal] little L. R.
[18] _signed_ Mortimer M. P.
THE DEATH OF THE STARLING[61:1]
Lugete, O Veneres, Cupidinesque.--CATULLUS.
Pity! mourn in plaintive tone
The lovely starling dead and gone!
Pity mourns in plaintive tone
The lovely starling dead and gone.
Weep, ye Loves! and Venus! weep 5
The lovely starling fall'n asleep!
Venus sees with tearful eyes--
In her lap the starling lies!
While the Loves all in a ring
Softly stroke the stiffen'd wing. 10
? 1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[61:1] First published, _Literary Remains_, 1836, i. 274. First
collected, _P. W._, 1893. The titles 'Lesbia' and 'The Death of the
Starling' first appear in 1893.
LINENOTES:
[7] sees] see L. R.
MORIENS SUPERSTITI[61:2]
The hour-bell sounds, and I must go;
Death waits--again I hear him calling;--
No cowardly desires have I,
Nor will I shun his face appalling.
I die in faith and honour rich-- 5
But ah! I leave behind my treasure
In widowhood and lonely pain;--
To live were surely then a pleasure!
My lifeless eyes upon thy face
Shall never open more to-morrow; 10
To-morrow shall thy beauteous eyes
Be closed to Love, and drown'd in Sorrow;
To-morrow Death shall freeze this hand,
And on thy breast, my wedded treasure,
I never, never more shall live;-- 15
Alas! I quit a life of pleasure.
FOOTNOTES:
[61:2] First published in the _Morning Post_, May 10, 1798, with a
prefatory note:--'The two following verses from the French, never before
published, were written by a French Prisoner as he was preparing to go
to the Guillotine': included in _Literary Remains_, 1836, i. 275. First
collected _P. W._, 1893.
MORIENTI SUPERSTES
Yet art thou happier far than she
Who feels the widow's love for thee!
For while her days are days of weeping,
Thou, in peace, in silence sleeping,
In some still world, unknown, remote, 5
The mighty parent's care hast found,
Without whose tender guardian thought
No sparrow falleth to the ground.
? 1794.
THE SIGH[62:1]
When Youth his faery reign began
Ere Sorrow had proclaim'd me man;
While Peace the present hour beguil'd,
And all the lovely Prospect smil'd;
Then Mary! 'mid my lightsome glee 5
I heav'd the painless Sigh for thee.
And when, along the waves of woe,
My harass'd Heart was doom'd to know
The frantic burst of Outrage keen,
And the slow Pang that gnaws unseen; 10
Then shipwreck'd on Life's stormy sea
I heaved an anguish'd Sigh for thee!
But soon Reflection's power imprest
A stiller sadness on my breast;
And sickly Hope with waning eye 15
Was well content to droop and die:
I yielded to the stern decree,
Yet heav'd a languid Sigh for thee!
And though in distant climes to roam,
A wanderer from my native home, 20
I fain would soothe the sense of Care,
And lull to sleep the Joys that were!
Thy Image may not banish'd be--
Still, Mary! still I sigh for thee.
1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[62:1] First published in 1796: included in 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829.
Coleridge dated the poem, June 1794, but the verses as sent to Southey,
in a letter dated November, 1794 (_Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i. 100,
101), could not have taken shape before the August of that year, after
the inception of Pantisocracy and his engagement to Sarah Fricker.
LINENOTES:
Title] Ode MS. E: Song Letter, Nov. 1794, Morrison MSS.: Effusion xxxii:
The Sigh 1796.
[7] along th'] as tossed on 1803. waves] wilds Letter, 1794, MS. E.
[9] of] the 1803.
[13] power] hand Letter, Nov. 1794, MS. E.
[18] a] the Letter, 1794.
[21-2]
I fain would woo a gentle Fair
To soothe the aching sense of Care
Letter, Nov. 1794.
[21] sense of] aching MS. E.
[Below l. 24] June 1794 Poems, 1796.
THE KISS[63:1]
One kiss, dear Maid! I said and sigh'd--
Your scorn the little boon denied.
Ah why refuse the blameless bliss?
Can danger lurk within a kiss?
Yon viewless wanderer of the vale, 5
The Spirit of the Western Gale,
At Morning's break, at Evening's close
Inhales the sweetness of the Rose,
And hovers o'er the uninjur'd bloom
Sighing back the soft perfume. 10
Vigour to the Zephyr's wing
Her nectar-breathing kisses fling;
And He the glitter of the Dew
Scatters on the Rose's hue.
Bashful lo! she bends her head, 15
And darts a blush of deeper Red!
Too well those lovely lips disclose
The triumphs of the opening Rose;
O fair! O graceful! bid them prove
As passive to the breath of Love. 20
In tender accents, faint and low,
Well-pleas'd I hear the whisper'd 'No!'
The whispered 'No'--how little meant!
Sweet Falsehood that endears Consent!
For on those lovely lips the while 25
Dawns the soft relenting smile,
And tempts with feign'd dissuasion coy
The gentle violence of Joy.
? 1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[63:1] First published in 1796: included in 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829, and
1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] Ode MS. E: Effusion xxviii 1796: The Kiss 1797, 1828, 1829, 1834:
To Sara 1803. _MSS. of_ The Kiss _are included in the Estlin volume and
in S. T. C.'s quarto copy-book_.
[11-15]
Vigor to his languid wing
The Rose's fragrant kisses bring,
And He o'er all her brighten'd hue
Flings the glitter of the dew.
See she bends her bashful head.
MS. E.
[13-14]
And He o'er all her brighten'd hue
Sheds the glitter of the dew.
MS. 4{o} erased.
[18] The fragrant triumphs of the Rose. MS. E.
[26] Dawns] Dawn'd MS. E.
[27] And] That MS. E.
TO A YOUNG LADY[64:1]
WITH A POEM ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
Much on my early youth I love to dwell,
Ere yet I bade that friendly dome farewell,
Where first, beneath the echoing cloisters pale,
I heard of guilt and wonder'd at the tale!
Yet though the hours flew by on careless wing, 5
Full heavily of Sorrow would I sing.
Aye as the Star of Evening flung its beam
In broken radiance on the wavy stream,
My soul amid the pensive twilight gloom
Mourn'd with the breeze, O Lee Boo![64:2] o'er thy tomb. 10
Where'er I wander'd, Pity still was near,
Breath'd from the heart and glisten'd in the tear:
No knell that toll'd but fill'd my anxious eye,
And suffering Nature wept that _one_ should die![65:1]
Thus to sad sympathies I sooth'd my breast, 15
Calm, as the rainbow in the weeping West:
When slumbering Freedom roused by high Disdain
With giant Fury burst her triple chain!
Fierce on her front the blasting Dog-star glow'd;
Her banners, like a midnight meteor, flow'd; 20
Amid the yelling of the storm-rent skies!
She came, and scatter'd battles from her eyes!
Then Exultation waked the patriot fire
And swept with wild hand the Tyrtaean lyre:
Red from the Tyrant's wound I shook the lance, 25
And strode in joy the reeking plains of France!
Fallen is the Oppressor, friendless, ghastly, low,
And my heart aches, though Mercy struck the blow.
With wearied thought once more I seek the shade,
Where peaceful Virtue weaves the Myrtle braid. 30
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 night-shade: as he feels he sings.
_September_ 1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[64:1] First published in _The Watchman_, No. I, March 1, 1796: included
in 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829, and 1834. Three MSS. are extant: (1)
the poem as sent to Southey in a letter dated Oct. 21, 1794 (see
_Letters of S. T. C._, 1855, i. 94, 95); (2) the Estlin volume; (3) the
MS. 4{o} copy-book.
[64:2] Lee Boo, the son of Abba Thule, Prince of the Pelew Islands, came
over to England with Captain Wilson, died of the small-pox, and is
buried in Greenwich churchyard. See Keate's _Account of the Pelew
Islands_. 1788.
[65:1] And suffering Nature, &c. Southey's _Retrospect_.
'When eager patriots fly the news to spread
Of glorious conquest, and of thousands dead;
All feel the mighty glow of victor joy--
* * * * *
But if extended on the gory plain,
And, snatch'd in conquest, some lov'd friend be slain,
Affection's tears will dim the sorrowing eye,
And suffering Nature grieve that one should die.'
From the _Retrospect_ by Robert Southey, published by Dilly [1795, pp.
9, 10]. _MS. 4{o}._
LINENOTES:
Title] Verses addressed to a Lady with a poem relative to a recent event
in the French Revolution MS. E.
[2] friendly] guardian MS. Letter, 1794, MS. E.
[3] cloisters] cloister MS. E.
[5] careless] rosy MS. E.
[9] My pensive soul amid the twilight gloom MS. Letter,
1794.
[10] Boo] Bo MS. E.
[12] glisten'd] glitter'd MS. Letter, 1794.
[13] anxious] anguish'd MS. Letter, 1794.
[16] Calm] Bright MS. E.
[17] by] with 1829.
[23] waked] woke MS. Letter, 1794, MS. E.
[24] with wilder hand th' empassion'd lyre MS. Letter, 1794: with wilder
hand th' Alcaean lyre MS. 4{o}, MS. E, Watchman, 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828,
1829.
[25] wound] wounds MS. Letter, 1794.
[27] In ghastly horror lie th' Oppressors low MS. Letter, 1794, MS. E,
MS. 4{o}, 1796, Watchman.
[29] With sad and wearied thought I seek the shade MS. E: With wearied
thought I seek the amaranth shade MS. Letter, 1794.
[30] the] her MS. Letter, 1794, MS. E.
[32] The eloquent messengers of the pure soul MS. Letter, 1794, MS. E,
MS. 4{o}, Watchman, 1796.
[33] winning] cunning MS. Letter, 1794.
[36] empassion'd] wond'ring MS. Letter, 1794.
[40] wreath] flowers MS. Letter, 1794, MS. E.
[41-4]
Nor, Brunton! thou the blushing-wreath refuse,
Though harsh her notes, yet guileless is my Muse.
Unwont at Flattery's Voice to plume her wings,
A Child of Nature, as she feels she sings.
MS. Letter, 1794.
Nor ----! thou the blushing wreath refuse
Tho' harsh her song, yet guileless is the Muse.
Unwont &c.
MS. E.
[42-4]
No Serpent lurks beneath their simple hues.
No purple blooms from Flattery's nightshade brings,
The Child of Nature--as he feels he sings.
MS. 4{o} erased.
[43-4]
Nature's pure Child from Flatt'ry's night-shade brings
No blooms rich-purpling: as he feels he sings.
MS. 4{o}.
[Below l. 44] September, 1794 1797, 1803: September 1792 1828, 1829,
1834.
TRANSLATION[66:1]
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!
1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[66:1] First published in _Poems_, by Francis Wrangham, London, 1795,
pp. 79-83. First collected in _P. and D. W._, 1880, ii. 360*
(_Supplement_).
TO MISS BRUNTON[67:1]
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.'
1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[67:1] First published in _Poems_, by Francis Wrangham, 1795, p. 83.
First collected in _P. and D. W._, 1880, ii. 362* (_Supplement_).
EPITAPH ON AN INFANT[68:1]
Ere Sin could blight or Sorrow fade,
Death came with friendly care:
The opening Bud to Heaven convey'd,
And bade it blossom _there_.
1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[68:1] First published in the _Morning Chronicle_, September 23, 1794:
included in _The Watchman_, No. IX, May 5, 1796, _Poems_ 1796, 1797,
1803, 1828, 1829, and 1834. These well-known lines, which vexed the soul
of Charles Lamb, were probably adapted from 'An Epitaph on an Infant' in
the churchyard of Birchington, Kent (_A Collection of Epitaphs_, 1806,
i. 219):--
Ah! why so soon, just as the bloom appears,
Drops the fair blossom in the vale of tears?
Death view'd the treasure in the desart given
And claim'd the right of planting it in Heav'n.
In _MS. E_ a Greek version (possibly a rejected prize epigram) is
prefixed with the accompanying footnote.
Ηλυες εἰς αιδην, καὶ δή τυ ποθεῦσι τοκηες:
Ηλυες αδυ βρεφος! τοι βραχυ δυνε φαος.
Ομμα μεν εις σεο σῆμα Πατηρ πικρον ποτιβαλλει
Ευσεβεης δε Θεῳ δωρα διδωσιν ἑα![68:A]
[68:A] Translation of the Greek Epitaph. 'Thou art gone down
into the Grave, and heavily do thy Parents feel the Loss. Thou
art gone down into the Grave, sweet Baby! Thy short Light is
set! Thy Father casts an Eye of Anguish towards thy Tomb--yet
with uncomplaining Piety resigns to God his own Gift!'
Equal or Greater simplicity marks all the writings of the
Greek Poets.--The above [i. e. the Greek] Epitaph was written
in Imitation of them. [S. T. C.]
PANTISOCRACY[68:2]
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.
1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[68:2] First published in the _Life and Correspondence of R. Southey_,
1849, i. 224. First collected 1852 (Notes). Southey includes the sonnet
in a letter to his brother Thomas dated Oct. 19, 1794, and attributes
the authorship to Coleridge's friend S. Favell, with whom he had been in
correspondence. He had already received the sonnet in a letter from
Coleridge (dated Sept. 18, 1794), who claims it for his own and
apologizes for the badness of the poetry. The octave was included (ll.
129-36) in the second version of the _Monody on the Death of
Chatterton_, first printed in Lancelot Sharpe's edition of the _Poems_
of Chatterton published at Cambridge in 1794. Mrs. H. N. Coleridge
(_Poems_, 1852, p. 382) prints the sonnet and apologizes for the alleged
plagiarism. It is difficult to believe that either the first eight or
last six lines of the sonnet were not written by Coleridge. It is
included in the MS. volume of Poems which Coleridge presented to Mrs.
Estlin in 1795. The text is that of _Letter Sept. 18, 1794_.
LINENOTES:
Title] Sonnet MS. E.
[1] my] the MS. E.
[8] Passions weave] Passion wears Letter, Oct. 19 1794, 1852.
[9] Sorrow] anguish Letter, Oct. 19 1794, 1852.
[10] like theirs] as those Letter, Oct. 19 1794, 1852: as they, MS. E.
[13] feel] find Letter, Oct. 19 1794, 1852.
[14] pleasance] pleasure Letter, Oct. 19 1794, 1852.
ON THE PROSPECT OF ESTABLISHING A PANTISOCRACY IN AMERICA[69:1]
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.
1795.
FOOTNOTES:
[69:1] First published in the _Co-operative Magazine and Monthly
Herald_, March 6, 1826, and reprinted in the _Athenæum_, Nov. 5, 1904.
First collected in 1907. It has been conjectured, but proof is wanting,
that the sonnet was written by Coleridge.
ELEGY[69:2]
IMITATED FROM ONE OF AKENSIDE'S BLANK-VERSE INSCRIPTIONS [(No.) III.]
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.
? 1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[69:2] First published in the _Morning Chronicle_, September 23, 1794:
included in _The Watchman_, No. III, March 17, 1794: in _Sibylline
Leaves_, 1817: 1828, 1829, and 1834, but omitted in 1852 as of doubtful
origin. The elegy as printed in the _Morning Chronicle_ is unsigned. In
_The Watchman_ it is signed T.
LINENOTES:
Title] An Elegy Morning Chronicle, Watchman.
[1] the] yon M. C.
[6] And there his pale-eyed phantom loves to rove M. C.
[10] West-wind] Zephyr M. C.
[11] till] ere M. C.
[12] Lucinda sunk M. C.
[13] Guilt] crime M. C.
[14] step] steps M. C.
[17] remorse and tortur'd Guilt's M. C.
[20] Could soothe the conscious horrors of her mind M. C. horror]
horrors The Watchman.
[22] tearful] lovely M. C.
THE FADED FLOWER[70:1]
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!'
1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[70:1] First published in the _Monthly Magazine_, August, 1836. First
collected in _P. W._, 1893.
THE OUTCAST[71:1]
Pale Roamer through the night! thou poor Forlorn!
Remorse that man on his death-bed 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!
? 1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[71:1] First published in 1796: included in 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829, and
1834. 'The first half of Effusion xv was written by the Author of "Joan
of Arc", an Epic Poem.' Preface to _Poems_, 1796, p. xi.
LINENOTES:
Title] Effusion xv. 1796: Sonnet vii. 1797: Sonnet vi. 1803: Sonnet ix.
1828, 1829, and 1834: An Unfortunate 1893.
[7] Thy kindred, when they see thee, turn aside 1803.
[9] O I am sad 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829.
[10] Men, born of woman 1803.
[13-14]
Man has no feeling for thy sore Disgrace:
Keen blows the Blast upon the moulting Dove.
1803.
[13] the] thy 1796, 1797, 1828.
DOMESTIC PEACE[71:2]
[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,
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.
1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[71:2] First published in the _Fall of Robespierre_, 1795: included (as
'Song', p. 13) in 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829, and 1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] Effusion xxv. 1796.
ON A DISCOVERY MADE TOO LATE[72:1]
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!
1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[72:1] First published in 1796: _Selection of Sonnets_, _Poems_ 1796: in
1797, 1803, 1828, 1829, and 1834. It was sent in a letter to Southey,
dated October 21, 1794. (_Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i. 92.)
LINENOTES:
Title] Effusion xix. 1796 (in 'Contents' _To my Heart_): Sonnet II. On a
Discovery made too late 1797, 1803, and again in P. and D. W., 1877-80:
Sonnet xi. 1828, 1829, 1834.
[2-4]
Doth Reason ponder with an anguish'd smile
Probing thy sore wound sternly, tho' the while
Her eye be swollen and dim with heaviness.
Letter, 1794.
[6] the] its Letter, 1794.
[7] feverous] feverish 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829.
[14] wan] pale Letter, 1794.
TO THE AUTHOR OF 'THE ROBBERS'[72:2]
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 time-rent
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!
? 1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[72:2] First published in 1796: included in _Selection of Sonnets_,
1796: in 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829, and 1834. The following 'Note' (Note 6,
pp. 180, 181) was printed in 1796, and appears again in 1797 as a
footnote, p. 83:--'One night in Winter, on leaving a College-friend's
room, with whom I had supped, I carelessly took away with me "The
Robbers", a drama, the very name of which I had never before heard
of:--A Winter midnight--the wind high--and "The Robbers" for the first
time!--The readers of Schiller will conceive what I felt. Schiller
introduces no supernatural beings; yet his human beings agitate and
astonish more than all the _goblin_ rout--even of Shakespeare.' See for
another account of the midnight reading of 'The Robbers', Letter to
Southey, November [6], 1794, _Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i. 96, 97.
In the _Selection of Sonnets_, 1796, this note was reduced to one
sentence. 'Schiller introduces no Supernatural Beings.' In 1803 the note
is omitted, but a footnote to line 4 is appended: 'The Father of Moor in
the Play of the Robbers.'
LINENOTES:
Title] Effusion xx. To the Author, &c. [To 'Schiller', _Contents_] 1796:
Sonnet viii. To the Author of 'The Robbers' 1797: Sonnet xv. 1803:
Sonnet xii. To the Author of the Robbers 1828, 1829, 1834.
_Lines 1-4_ are printed in the reverse order (_4_, _3_, _2_, _1_).
Selections.
[5-6]
That in no after moment aught, less vast
Might stamp me human!
Selections.
That in no after moment aught less vast
Might stamp me mortal!
1797, 1803.
[8] From the more with'ring scene diminish'd past. Selections, 1797,
1803.
MELANCHOLY[73:1]
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,
[73:2]Had Melancholy mus'd herself to sleep.
The fern was press'd beneath her hair,
The dark green Adder's Tongue[74:1] 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----
? 1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[73:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, December 12, 1797 (not, as
Coleridge says, the _Morning Chronicle_); included in _Sibylline
Leaves_, 1817 (with an addition), and, again, in _P. and D. W._,
1877-80, and (in its first shape) in 1828, 1829, 1834, 1852, and 1893.
Sent in Letter to Sotheby, Aug. 26, 1802.
[73:2] Bowles borrowed these lines unconsciously, I doubt not. I had
repeated the poem on my first visit [Sept. 1797]. _MS. Note, S. T. C._
See, too, _Letter_, Aug. 26, 1802. [Here Melancholy on the pale crags
laid, Might muse herself to sleep--_Coomb Ellen_, written September,
1798.]
[74:1] A Plant found on old walls and in wells and mois[t] [h]edges.--It
is often called the Hart's Tongue. _M. C._ _Asplenium Scolopendrium_,
more commonly called Hart's Tongue. _Letter_, 1802. A botanical mistake.
The plant I meant is called the Hart's Tongue, but this would unluckily
spoil the poetical effect. _Cedat ergo Botanice._ _Sibylline Leaves_,
1817. A botanical mistake. The plant which the poet here describes is
called the Hart's Tongue, _1828_, _1829_, _1852_.
LINENOTES:
[1] Upon a mouldering Letter, Aug. 26, 1802.
[2] Where ruining] Whose running M. C. propp'd] prop Letter, Aug. 26,
1802.
[7] pass'd] came Letter, 1802. sea-gale] sea-gales M. C., Letter, 1802.
[8] The] Her Letter, 1802.
[9] That] Her Letter, 1802.
[13] Not in Letter 1802.
[13]
Strange was the dream that fill'd her soul,
Nor did not whisp'ring spirits roll
A mystic tumult, and a fateful rhyme,
Mix'd with wild shapings of the unborn time!
M. C., Sibylline Leaves, 1817.
TO A YOUNG ASS[74:2]
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!
1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[74:2] First published in the _Morning Chronicle_, December 30, 1794:
included in 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829, and 1834. A MS. version, dated
October 24, 1794 (see _P. W._, 1893, pp. 477, 488), was presented by
Coleridge to Professor William Smyth, Professor of Modern History at
Cambridge, 1807-49; a second version was included in a letter to
Southey, dated December 17, 1794 (_Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i. 119,
120).
LINENOTES:
Title] Monologue to a Young Jack Ass in Jesus Piece. Its mother near it
chained to a log MS. Oct. 24, 1794: Address to a Young Jack-Ass and its
Tether'd mother MS. Dec. 17, 1794: Address, &c. In familiar verse
Morning Chronicle, Dec. 30, 1794: Effusion xxxiii. To a Young Ass, &c.
1796.
[3] gentle] friendly MS. Dec. 1794, M. C.
[4] pat] scratch MS. Oct. 1794, M. C.
[5] spirits] spirit MSS. Oct. Dec. 1794, M. C.
[6] along] upon MS. Dec. 1794, M. C.
[8] That still to earth thy moping head is hung MSS. Oct. Dec. 1794, M.
C.
[9] Doth thy prophetic soul MS. Oct. 1794.
[12] Which] That MSS. Oct. Dec. 1794.
[14] shorten'd] lengthen'd MS. Dec. 1794, M. C.
[16] within] upon MSS. Oct. Dec. 1794, M. C.
[19] thy] her 1796.
[21] For much I fear, that He lives e'en as she, 1796.
[23] footsteps hither bend] steps toward me tend MS. Oct. 1794: steps
towards me bend MS. Dec. 1794, M. C.: footsteps t'ward me bend 1796.
[25] despised and forlorn MS. Oct. 1794.
[27] would] I'd MSS. Oct. Dec. 1794. in] to MS. Oct. 1794.
[28] Of high-soul'd Pantisocracy to dwell MS. Dec. 1794, M. C.
[28 foll.]
Where high-soul'd Pantisocracy shall dwell!
Where Mirth shall tickle Plenty's ribless side,[75:A]
And smiles from Beauty's Lip on sunbeams glide,
Where Toil shall wed young Health that charming Lass!
And use his sleek cows for a looking-glass--
Where Rats shall mess with Terriers hand-in-glove
And Mice with Pussy's Whiskers sport in Love
MS. Oct. 1794.
[75:A] This is a truly poetical line of which the author has
assured us that he did not _mean_ it to have any _meaning_.
Note by Ed. of MS. Oct. 1794.
[35-6]
Than Handel's softest airs that soothe to rest
The tumult of a scoundrel Monarch's Breast.
MS. Oct. 1794.
Than _Banti's_ warbled airs that sooth to rest
The tumult &c.
MS. Dec. 1794.
[36] The tumult of some SCOUNDREL Monarch's breast. M. C. 1796.
LINES ON A FRIEND[76:1]
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 net-work 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 heaven-ward 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
1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[76:1] First published in 1796: included in 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829, and
1834. Four MS. versions are extant, (1) in Letter to Southey, Nov. [6],
1794 (_Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i. 98, 99): (2) in letter to George
Coleridge, Nov. 6, 1794: (3) in the Estlin copy-book: (4) in the MS.
4{o}. The Friend was the Rev. Fulwood Smerdon, vicar of Ottery St. Mary,
who died in August 1794.
LINENOTES:
Title] On the Death of a Friend who died of a Frenzy Fever brought on by
anxiety MS. E.
[1] ----! thy grave MS. Letter to R. S.: Smerdon! thy grave MS. Letter
to G. C.
[3] early] earliest MS. Letters to R. S. and G. C., MS. E.
[5] We] He MS. Letters to R. S. and G. C., MS. E, MS. 4{o}, 1796.
[7] will] shall MS. Letters to R. S. and G. C., MS. E.
[8] And on he goes MS. Letters to R. S. and G. C., MS. E, 1796: Onward
we move 1803.
[9] his fond heart MS. Letters to R. S. and G. C., MS. E, 1796.
[11] quick stamps MS. Letters to R. S. and G. C., MS. E, MS. 4{o}.
[12] threaten round MS. Letters to R. S. and G. C.
[17] fierce-eyed] frantic MS. Letters to R. S. and G. C., MS. E erased
[See Lamb's Letter to Coleridge, June 10, 1796].
[19] squatting] couching MS Letter to G. C., MS. E [See Lamb's Letter,
June 10, 1796].
[23] cheer] cheers MS. E.
[25] firmer] generous MS. Letters to R. S. and G. C.: manly MS. E.
[29] roll'd] prowl'd MS. Letters to R. S. and G. C., MS. E.
[33-4]
the poor man's prayer of praise
On heavenward wing thy wounded soul shall raise.
1796.
[35] As oft in Fancy's thought MS. Letters to R. S. and G. C.
[39] bounteous] liberal MS. Letters to R. S. and G. C., MS. E.
[41] ken] soul MS. Letter to R. S.
[46] feverous] feverish all MSS. and Eds. 1796-1829.
[47] this] that MS. Letters to R. S. and G. C., MS. E. passless] hapless
Letter to G. C.
[49] Sentinel] Centinel all MSS. and Eds. 1796-1829. mid] with Letters
to R. S. and G. C.
Below l. 50 the date (November 1794) is affixed in 1796, 1797, and 1803.
TO A FRIEND[78:1]
[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,
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_[79:1] 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!
1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[78:1] First published in 1796: included in 1797, 1803, and, again, in
1844. Lines 12-19 ('I too a sister . . . Because she was not') are
published in 1834 (i. 35) under the heading 'The Same', i. e. the same
as the preceding poem, 'On seeing a Youth affectionately welcomed by a
Sister.' The date, December 1794, affixed in 1797 and 1803, is correct.
The poem was sent in a letter from Coleridge to Southey, dated December
1794. (_Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i. 128.) The 'Unfinished Poem' was,
certainly, _Religious Musings_, begun on Christmas Eve, 1794. The text
is that of 1844.
[79:1] I utterly recant the sentiment contained in the lines--
'Of whose omniscient and all-spreading Love
Aught to _implore_ were impotence of mind,'
it being written in Scripture, '_Ask_, and it shall be given you,' and
my human reason being moreover convinced of the propriety of offering
_petitions_ as well as thanksgivings to Deity. [Note of S. T. C., in
_Poems_, 1797 and 1803.]
LINENOTES:
Title] To C. Lamb MS. Letter, Dec. 1794: Effusion xxii. To a Friend, &c.
1796: To Charles Lamb with an unfinished Poem 1844.
[1-3]
Thus far my sterile brain hath fram'd the song
Elaborate and swelling: but the heart
Not owns it. From thy spirit-breathing power
MS. Letter, Dec. 1794.
[7] Not in MS. Letter, Dec. 1794.
[Between 13 and 14]
On her soft bosom I reposed my cares
And gain'd for every wound a healing tear.
MS. Letter, 1794.
[15] a] his MS. Letter, 1794, 1796, 1797, 1803.
[17] That shrink asham'd from even Friendship's eye. MS. Letter, 1794,
1796, 1797.
[18] wak'd] woke MS. Letter, 1794, 1796, 1797, 1803.
[21] warm] high: high] warm MS. Letter, 1794. presages] presagings 1803.
[25] sainted] holy MS. Letter, 1794.
[26] that] who MS. Letter, 1794.
[31] To pour forth thanksgiving MS. Letter, 1794, 1796, 1797, 1803.
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[79:2]
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 heaven-ward 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.[80:A]
_December_ 1, 1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[79:2] First published in the _Morning Chronicle_, Dec. 1, 1794:
included in 1796, 1803, 1828, 1829, and 1834.
[80:A] 'Our elegant correspondent will highly gratify every reader of
taste by the continuance of his exquisitely beautiful productions. No.
II. shall appear on an early day.'
LINENOTES:
Title] Effusion v. 1796: Sonnet x. 1803: Sonnet iv. 1828, 1829, 1834.
[4] for dreadless] where fearless M. C. Dec. 1, 1794.
[6] A] An M. C., 1796-1803, 1828, 1829. the insulted] her injur'd M. C.
[7] pour] pour'dst M. C., 1796, 1803.
[8] unmatch'd] matchless M. C.
[10] With heav'n-breath'd blessings; and, when late the doom M. C.
[11] die] rise 1803.
[13-14]
Though the great Sun not meets our wistful gaze
Still glows wide Heaven
M. C.
[Below l. 14] Jesus College Cambridge M. C.
II[80:1]
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![80:2]
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.
FOOTNOTES:
[80:1] First published in the _Morning Chronicle_, Dec. 9, 1794:
included in 1796, 1803, 1828, 1829, and 1834. This Sonnet was sent in a
letter to Southey, dated December 11, 1794. _Letters of S. T. C._, 1895,
i. 118.
[80:2]
_Yet never_, BURKE! thou dran'kst Corruption's bowl!
When I composed this line, I had not read the following paragraph in the
_Cambridge Intelligencer_ (of Saturday, November 21, 1795):--
'_When Mr. Burke first crossed over the House of Commons from the
Opposition to the Ministry, he received a pension of £1200 a year
charged on the Kings Privy Purse._ When he had completed his labours, it
was then a question what recompense his service deserved. Mr. Burke
wanting a present supply of money, it was thought that a pension of
£2000 _per annum_ for _forty years certain_, would sell for eighteen
years' purchase, and bring him of course £36,000. But this pension must,
by the very unfortunate act, of which Mr. Burke was himself the author,
have come before Parliament. Instead of this Mr. Pitt suggested the idea
of a pension of £2000 a year for _three lives_, to be charged on the
King's Revenue of the West India 4-1/2 per cents. This was tried at the
market, but it was found that it would not produce the £36,000 which
were wanted. In consequence of this a pension of £2500 per annum, _for
three lives_ on the 4-1/2 West India Fund, the lives to be nominated by
Mr. Burke, that he may accommodate the purchasers is _finally_ granted
to this disinterested patriot. He has thus retir'd from the trade of
politics, with pensions to the amount of £3700 a year.' 1796, Note, pp.
177-9.
LINENOTES:
Title] Effusion ii. 1796: Sonnet vii. 1803: Sonnet ii. 1828, 1829, 1834.
[1] As late I roam'd through Fancy's shadowy vale MS. Letter, Dec. 11,
1794.
[4] She] He MS. Letter, 1794.
[12] Urg'd on with wild'ring fires MS. Letter, Dec. 17, 1794, M. C.
[Below l. 14] Jesus College M. C.
III[81:1]
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.
FOOTNOTES:
[81:1] First published in the _Morning Chronicle_, December 11, 1794:
included in 1796, 1803, 1828, 1829, and 1834. In all editions prior to
1852, 'Priestley' is spelled 'Priestly'. The Sonnet was sent to Southey
in a letter dated December 17, 1794.
LINENOTES:
Title] Effusion iv. 1796: Sonnet ix. 1803: Sonnet iii. 1828, 1829, 1834.
[1-2]
Tho' king-bred rage with lawless uproar rude
Hath driv'n
M. C.
Tho' king-bred rage with lawless tumult rude
Have driv'n
MS. Letter, Dec. 17, 1794.
[7] Disdainful rouses from the Papal spell, M. C., MS. Letter, 1794.
[11] That ground th' ensnared soul of patient Folly. M. C., MS. Letter,
1794.
IV[82:1]
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![82:2]
_December_ 15, 1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[82:1] First published in the _Morning Chronicle_, December 15, 1794:
included in 1796, 1803, 1828, 1829, and 1834.
[82:2] The above beautiful sonnet was written antecedently to the joyful
account of the Patriot's escape from the Tyrant's Dungeon. [Note in _M.
C._]
LINENOTES:
Title] Effusion ix. 1796: Sonnet xiii. 1803: Sonnet vii. 1828, 1829,
1834.
V[82:3]
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.
FOOTNOTES:
[82:3] First published in the _Morning Chronicle_, December 16, 1794:
included in 1796, 1828, 1829, 1834. The Sonnet was sent to Southey in a
letter dated December 17, 1794. _Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i. 117.
LINENOTES:
Title] Effusion viii. 1796: Sonnet vi. 1828, 1829, 1834.
[3-4]
Great _Kosciusko_ 'neath an hireling's sword
The warriors view'd! Hark! through the list'ning air
MS. Letter, Dec. 17, 1794.
Great KOSCIUSKO 'neath an Hireling's sword
His country view'd. Hark through the list'ning air
M. C.
Ah me! they view'd beneath an hireling's sword
Fall'n Kosciusko! Thro' the burthened air
1796, 1828, 1829.
[5] As] When M. C., MS. Letter, Dec. 17, 1794.
[8] The 'dirge of Murder'd Hope' MS. Letter, Dec. 17, 1794.
[12] That ever furrow'd a sad Patriot's cheek MS. Letter, 1794, M. C.,
1796.
[13-14]
And she had drench'd the sorrows of the bowl
E'en till she reel'd intoxicate of soul
MS. Letter, 1794, M. C.
And she had drain'd the sorrows of the bowl
E'en till she reel'd, &c.
1796.
VI[83:1]
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!)[83:2]
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 eye-lids of thy stern-brow'd Sister[83:3] press,
Seize, Mercy! thou more terrible the brand, 13
And hurl her thunderbolts with fiercer hand!
_December_ 23, 1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[83:1] First published in the _Morning Chronicle_, December 23, 1794,
and, secondly, in _The Watchman_, No. V, April 2, 1796; included in
1796, 1803, and in 1852, with the following note:--'This Sonnet, and the
ninth, to Stanhope, were among the pieces withdrawn from the second
edition of 1797. They reappeared in the edition of 1803, and were again
withdrawn in 1828, solely, it may be presumed, on account of their
political vehemence. They will excite no angry feelings, and lead to no
misapprehensions now, and as they are fully equal to their companions in
poetical merit, the Editors have not scrupled to reproduce them. These
Sonnets were originally entitled "Effusions".'
[83:2] Earl of Chatham.
[83:3] Justice.
LINENOTES:
Title] Effusion iii. 1796: To Mercy Watchman: Sonnet viii. 1803: Sonnet
iii. 1852.
[8] Staining most foul a Godlike Father's name M. C., Watchman.
[13] Seize thou more terrible th' avenging brand M. C.
VII[84:1]
TO THE REV. W. L. BOWLES[84:2]
[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!
FOOTNOTES:
[84:1] First published in the _Morning Chronicle_, December 26, 1794.
First collected, _P. and D. W._, 1877, i. 138. The sonnet was sent in a
letter to Southey, dated December 11, 1794. _Letters of S. T. C._, 1895,
i. 111.
[84:2] Author of _Sonnets and other Poems_, published by Dilly. To Mr.
Bowles's poetry I have always thought the following remarks from Maximus
Tyrius peculiarly applicable:--'I am not now treating of that poetry
which is estimated by the pleasure it affords to the ear--the ear having
been corrupted, and the judgment-seat of the perceptions; but of that
which proceeds from the intellectual Helicon, that which is _dignified_,
and appertaining to _human_ feelings, and entering into the soul.'--The
13th Sonnet for exquisite delicacy of painting; the 19th for tender
simplicity; and the 25th for manly pathos, are compositions of, perhaps,
unrivalled merit. Yet while I am selecting these, I almost accuse myself
of causeless partiality; for surely never was a writer so equal in
excellence!--S. T. C. [In this note as it first appeared in the _Morning
Chronicle_ a Greek sentence preceded the supposed English translation.
It is not to be found in the _Dissertations_ of Maximus Tyrius, but the
following passage which, for verbal similitudes, may be compared with
others (e. g. 20, 8, p. 243: 21, 3, p. 247; 28, 3, p. 336) is to be
found in Davies and Markland's edition (Lips. 1725), vol. ii, p.
203:--Οὔ τί τοι λέγω τὴν δἰ' αὐλῶν καὶ ᾠδῶν καὶ χορῶν καὶ ψαλμάτων, ἄνευ λόγου ἐπὶ τῇ
ψυχῇ ἰοῦσαν, τῷ τερπνῷ τῆς ἀκοῆς τιμηθεῖσαν . . . τὴν ἀληθῆ καὶ ἐκ τοῦ Ἑλικῶνος
μοῦσαν. . . .]
LINENOTES:
[3] Wak'd] Woke MS. Letter, Dec. 11, 1794.
[SECOND VERSION][85:1]
My heart has thank'd thee, BOWLES! for those soft strains
Whose sadness soothes me, like the murmuring
Of wild-bees in the sunny showers of spring!
For hence not callous to the mourner's pains
Through Youth's gay prime and thornless paths I went: 5
And when the mightier Throes of mind began,
And drove me forth, a thought-bewilder'd man,
Their mild and manliest melancholy lent
A mingled charm, such as the pang consign'd
To slumber, though the big tear it renew'd; 10
Bidding a strange mysterious PLEASURE brood
Over the wavy and tumultuous mind,
As the great SPIRIT erst with plastic sweep
Mov'd on the darkness of the unform'd deep.
FOOTNOTES:
[85:1] First published in 1796: included in 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829, and
1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] Effusion i. 1796: Sonnet i. 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829, 1834.
[6-7]
And when the darker day of life began
And I did roam, &c.
1796, 1797, 1803.
[9] such as] which oft 1797, 1803.
[11] a] such 1797, 1803.
[13-14]
As made the soul enamour'd of her woe:
No common praise, dear Bard! to thee I owe.
1797, 1803.
VIII[85:2]
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.
FOOTNOTES:
[85:2] First published in the _Morning Chronicle_, December 29, 1794,
under the signature, S. T. C.: included in 1796 (as C. L.'s) and in 1797
as Charles Lamb's, but reassigned to Coleridge in 1803. First collected,
_P. and D. W._, 1877, i. 140, 141. This sonnet may have been altered by
Coleridge, but was no doubt written by Lamb and given by him to
Coleridge to make up his tale of sonnets for the _Morning Chronicle_. In
1796 and 1797 Coleridge acknowledged the sonnet to be Lamb's; but in
1803, Lamb, who was seeing that volume through the press, once more
handed it over to Coleridge.
LINENOTES:
Title] Effusion vii. 1796: Sonnet viii. 1797, p. 224: Sonnet xii. 1803.
[4] dark tales of fearful strange decrees M. C.
[6] Of Warlock Hags that M. C.
IX
TO WILLIAM GODWIN[86:1]
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[86:2]
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--
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.
FOOTNOTES:
[86:1] First published in the _Morning Chronicle_, January 10, 1795.
First collected, _P. and D. W._, 1877, i. 143. The last six lines were
sent in a letter to Southey, dated December 17, 1794. _Letters of S. T.
C._, 1895, i. 117.
[86:2] Aurora Borealis.
X[87:1]
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.
FOOTNOTES:
[87:1] First published in the _Morning Chronicle_, January 14, 1795.
First collected, _P. and D. W._, 1877, i. 142. This sonnet was sent in a
letter to Southey, dated December 17, 1794. _Letters of S. T. C._, 1895,
i. 120.
XI[87:2]
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[88:1] 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.
FOOTNOTES:
[87:2] First published in the _Morning Chronicle_, January 29, 1795:
included in 1796, 1803, 1828, 1829, and 1834. Two MS. versions are
extant; one in a letter to Southey, dated December 9, 1794 (_Letters of
S. T. C._, 1895, i. 118), and a second in the Estlin copy-book. In 1796
a note to line 4 was included in Notes, p. 179, and in 1797 and 1803
affixed as a footnote, p. 95:--'Hymettian Flowrets. Hymettus, a mountain
near Athens, celebrated for its honey. This alludes to Mr. Sheridan's
classical attainments, and the following four lines to the exquisite
sweetness and almost _Italian_ delicacy of his poetry. In Shakespeare's
_Lover's Complaint_ there is a fine stanza almost prophetically
characteristic of Mr. Sheridan.
So on the tip of his subduing tongue
All kind of argument and question deep,
All replication prompt and reason strong
For his advantage still did wake and sleep,
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep:
He had the dialect and different skill
Catching all passions in his craft of will;
That he did in the general bosom reign
Of young and old.'
[88:1] Hymettus, a mountain of Attica famous for honey. _M. C._
LINENOTES:
Title] To Sheridan MS. E: Effusion vi. 1796: Sonnet xi. 1803: Sonnet v.
1828, 1829, 1834.
[1-5]
Some winged Genius, Sheridan! imbreath'd
His _various_ influence on thy natal hour:
My fancy bodies forth the Guardian power,
His temples with Hymettian flowrets wreath'd
And sweet his voice
MS. Letter, Dec. 9, 1794.
[1-2]
Was it some Spirit, SHERIDAN! that breath'd
His _various_ &c.
M. C.
[1-3]
Some winged Genius, Sheridan! imbreath'd
O'er thy young Soul a wildly-various power!
My Fancy meets thee in her shaping hour
MS. E.
[8] wafts] bears MS. Letter, 1794, M. C., MS. E.
[9] Rage] Zeal MS. Letter, 1794, MS. E, M. C.
[10] thine] his Letter, 1794, M. C.
[12]
While inly writhes from the Soul-probing glance
M. C.
[12-14]
Th' Apostate by the brainless rout ador'd
Writhes inly from the bosom-probing glance
As erst that nobler Fiend
MS. Letter, 1794, MS. E.
[14] elder] other M. C.
TO LORD STANHOPE[89:1]
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.
1795.
FOOTNOTES:
[89:1] First collected in 1893. Mr. Campbell assigned the authorship of
the Sonnet to Coleridge, taking it to be 'the original of the one to
Stanhope printed in the _Poems_ of 1796 and 1803'. For 'Corruption's
bowl' (l. 6) see _Sonnet to Burke_, line 9 (_ante_, p. 80).
TO EARL STANHOPE[89:2]
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_[90:1] 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!
1795.
FOOTNOTES:
[89:2] First published in 1796: included in 1803, in Cottle's _Early
Rec._ i. 203, and in _Rem._ 1848, p. 111. First collected in 1852.
[90:1] Gallic Liberty.
LINENOTES:
Title] Effusion x. 1796 (To Earl Stanhope _Contents_): Sonnet xvi. 1803:
Sonnet ix. 1852.
LINES[90:2]
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:
To-morrow 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.
? 1795.
FOOTNOTES:
[90:2] First published in 1796: included in 1803, 1828, 1829, and 1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] Epistle II. To a Friend, &c. 1796: To a Friend, &c. 1803.
TO AN INFANT[91:1]
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!
1795.
FOOTNOTES:
[91:1] First published in 1796: included in 1797 (_Supplement_), 1803,
1828, 1829, and 1834. A MS. version numbering 16 lines is included in
the Estlin volume.
LINENOTES:
Title] Effusion xxxiv. To an Infant 1796.
[1-10]
How yon sweet Child my Bosom's grief beguiles
With soul-subduing Eloquence of smiles!
Ah lovely Babe! in thee myself I scan--
Thou weepest! sure those Tears proclaim thee Man!
And now some glitt'ring Toy arrests thine eye,
And to quick laughter turns the peevish cry.
Poor Stumbler on the rocky coast of Woe,
Tutor'd by Pain the source of Pain to know!
Alike the foodful Fruit and scorching Fire
Awake thy eager grasp and young desire;
Alike the Good, the Ill thy aching sight
Scare with the keen Emotions of Affright!
MS. E.
[8-11]
Or rouse thy screams, or wake thy young desire:
Yet art thou wise, for mid thy brief alarms
1797.
[9-10] om. 1797.
[14] Whose kindly Heavings lull thy cares to Rest MS. E.
[19] tetchy] fretful 1797.
TO THE REV. W. J. HORT[92:1]
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 sky-lark 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.
1795.
FOOTNOTES:
[92:1] First published in 1796, and again in 1863.
LINENOTES:
Title] To the Rev. W. J. H. while Teaching, &c. 1796, 1863.
[24] her] his 1863.
PITY[93:1]
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
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!
? 1795.
FOOTNOTES:
[93:1] First published in 1796: included in _Selection of Sonnets_,
_Poems_ 1796, in 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829, and 1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] Effusion xvi. 1796 (_Contents_--To an Old Man): Sonnet vi. 1797:
Sonnet v. 1803: Sonnet x. 1828, 1829, 1834: Charity 1893.
[7] arm] arms 1796, 1828.
[12-14]
He did not scowl, the Galilaean mild,
Who met the Lazar turn'd from rich man's doors,
And call'd him Friend, and wept upon his sores.
1797, 1803.
[13] men's] man's 1796, Selection of Sonnets, 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829.
TO THE NIGHTINGALE[93:2]
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!
1795.
FOOTNOTES:
[93:2] First published in 1796: included in 1803 and in _Lit. Rem._, i.
38. First collected in 1844.
LINENOTES:
Title] Effusion xxiii. To the, &c. 1796.
[12] O have I 1796.
LINES[94:1]
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 May-thorn 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!
FOOTNOTES:
[94:1] First published in 1796: included in 1797 (_Supplement_), 1803,
1828, 1829, and 1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] Effusion xxi. Composed while climbing the Left Ascent of Brockley
Coomb, in the County of Somerset, May 1795 1796: Sonnet v. Composed, &c.
1797: Sonnet xiv. Composed, &c. 1803.
[7] deep] forc'd 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829.
LINES IN THE MANNER OF SPENSER[94:2]
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:
To-morrow 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
1795.
FOOTNOTES:
[94:2] First published in 1796: included in 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829, and
1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] Effusion xxiv. In the, &c. 1796: In the, &c. 1797.
[17] Like snowdrop opening to the solar ray, 1796.
[19] 'heard the silence of my thought' 1797, 1803.
[26] to lift] uplift 1797, 1803.
[Below l. 45] July 1795 1797, 1803.
THE HOUR WHEN WE SHALL MEET AGAIN[96:1]
(_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!
? 1795.
FOOTNOTES:
[96:1] First published in _The Watchman_, No. III, March 17, 1796
(_signed_ C.): included in 1797, 1803, 1844, and 1852. It was first
reprinted, after 1803, in _Literary Remains_, 1836, i. 43, under 'the
sportive title "Darwiniana", on the supposition that it was written' in
half-mockery of Darwin's style with its _dulcia vitia_. (See 1852,
_Notes_, p. 885.)
LINENOTES:
Title] Darwiniana. The Hour, &c. L. R., 1844: Composed during illness
and absence 1852.
[9-10] om. 1803.
[14] her] the Lit. Rem., 1844, 1852.
[17] New] Now Watchman.
LINES[96:2]
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 glow-worm, as I pass,
Move with 'green radiance'[97:1] 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[98:1]
(Where stands one solitary pile
Unslated by the blast)
The Watchfire, like a sullen star 40
Twinkles to many a dozing Tar
Rude cradled on the mast.
Even there--beneath that light-house tower--
In the tumultuous evil hour
Ere Peace with Sara came, 45
Time was, I should have thought it sweet
To count the echoings of my feet,
And watch the storm-vex'd flame.
And there in black soul-jaundic'd fit
A sad gloom-pamper'd Man to sit, 50
And listen to the roar:
When mountain surges bellowing deep
With an uncouth monster-leap
Plung'd foaming on the shore.
Then by the lightning's blaze to mark 55
Some toiling tempest-shatter'd bark;
Her vain distress-guns hear;
And when a second sheet of light
Flash'd o'er the blackness of the night--
To see _no_ vessel there! 60
But Fancy now more gaily sings;
Or if awhile she droop her wings,
As skylarks 'mid the corn,
On summer fields she grounds her breast:
The oblivious poppy o'er her nest 65
Nods, till returning morn.
O mark those smiling tears, that swell
The open'd rose! From heaven they fell,
And with the sun-beam blend.
Blest visitations from above, 70
Such are the tender woes of Love
Fostering the heart they bend!
When stormy Midnight howling round
Beats on our roof with clattering sound,
To me your arms you'll stretch: 75
Great God! you'll say--To us so kind,
O shelter from this loud bleak wind
The houseless, friendless wretch!
The tears that tremble down your cheek,
Shall bathe my kisses chaste and meek 80
In Pity's dew divine;
And from your heart the sighs that steal
Shall make your rising bosom feel
The answering swell of mine!
How oft, my Love! with shapings sweet 85
I paint the moment, we shall meet!
With eager speed I dart--
I seize you in the vacant air,
And fancy, with a husband's care
I press you to my heart! 90
'Tis said, in Summer's evening hour
Flashes the golden-colour'd flower
A fair electric flame:[99:1]
And so shall flash my love-charg'd eye
When all the heart's big ecstasy 95
Shoots rapid through the frame!
1795.
FOOTNOTES:
[96:1] First published in _The Watchman_, No. III, March 9, 1796
(_signed_ C.): included in 1797, 1803, 1844, and 1852. It was first
reprinted, after 1803, in _Literary Remains_, 1836, i. 43, under 'the
sportive title "Darwiniana", on the supposition that it was written' in
half-mockery of Darwin's style with its _dulcia vitia_. (See 1852,
_Notes_, p. 885.)
[96:2] First published in 1796: included in 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829, and
1834.
[97:1] The expression 'green radiance' is borrowed from Mr. Wordsworth,
a Poet whose versification is occasionally harsh and his diction too
frequently obscure; but whom I deem unrivalled among the writers of the
present day in manly sentiment, novel imagery, and vivid colouring.
Note, 1796, p. 185: Footnote, 1797, p. 88.
[The phrase 'green radiance' occurs in _An Evening Walk_, ll. 264-8,
first published in 1793, and reprinted in 1820. In 1836 the lines were
omitted.
Oft has she taught them on her lap to play
Delighted with the glow-worm's harmless ray,
Toss'd light from hand to hand; while on the ground
Small circles of green radiance gleam around.]
[98:1] The Holmes, in the Bristol Channel.
[99:1] LIGHT _from plants_. In Sweden a very curious phenomenon has been
observed on certain flowers, by M. Haggern, lecturer in natural history.
One evening he perceived a faint flash of light repeatedly dart from a
marigold. Surprised at such an uncommon appearance, he resolved to
examine it with attention; and, to be assured it was no deception of the
eye, he placed a man near him, with orders to make a signal at the
moment when he observed the light. They both saw it constantly at the
same moment.
The light was most brilliant on marigolds of an orange or flame colour;
but scarcely visible on pale ones. The flash was frequently seen on the
same flower two or three times in quick succession; but more commonly at
intervals of several minutes; and when several flowers in the same place
emitted their light together, it could be observed at a considerable
distance.
This phenomenon was remarked in the months of July and August at
sun-set, and for half an hour when the atmosphere was clear; but after a
rainy day, or when the air was loaded with vapours nothing of it was
seen.
The following flowers emitted flashes, more or less vivid, in this
order:--
1. The marigold, _galendula [sic] officinalis_.
2. Monk's-hood, _tropaelum [sic] majus_.
3. The orange-lily, _lilium bulbiferum_.
4. The Indian pink, _tagetes patula et erecta_.
From the rapidity of the flash, and other circumstances, it may be
conjectured that there is something of electricity in this phenomenon.
Notes to _Poems_, 1796. Note 13, pp. 186, 188.
In 1797 the above was printed as a footnote on pp. 93, 94. In 1803 the
last stanza, lines 91-96, was omitted, and, of course, the note
disappeared. In 1828, 1829, and 1834 the last stanza was replaced but
the note was not reprinted.
LINENOTES:
Title] Epistle I. Lines written, &c. The motto is printed on the reverse
of the half-title 'Poetical Epistles' [pp. 109, 110]. 1796: Ode to Sara,
written at Shurton Bars, &c. 1797, 1803. The motto is omitted in 1797,
1803: The motto is prefixed to the poem in 1828, 1829, and 1834. In 1797
and 1803 a note is appended to the title:--Note. _The first stanza
alludes to a Passage in the Letter._ [The allusions to a 'Passage in the
Letter' must surely be contained not in the first but in the second and
third stanzas. The reference is, no doubt, to the alienation from
Southey, which must have led to a difference of feeling between the two
sisters Sarah and Edith Fricker.]
[26] sank] sunk 1796-1829.
[33] With broad impetuous 1797, 1803.
[34] fast-encroaching 1797, 1803.
[48] storm-vex'd] troubled 1797, 1803.
[49] black and jaundic'd fit 1797.
THE EOLIAN HARP[100:1]
COMPOSED AT CLEVEDON, SOMERSETSHIRE
My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined
Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is
To sit beside our Cot, our Cot o'ergrown
With white-flower'd Jasmin, and the broad-leav'd Myrtle,
(Meet emblems they of Innocence and Love!) 5
And watch the clouds, that late were rich with light,
Slow saddening round, and mark the star of eve
Serenely brilliant (such should Wisdom be)
Shine opposite! How exquisite the scents
Snatch'd from yon bean-field! and the world _so_ hush'd! 10
The stilly murmur of the distant Sea
Tells us of silence.
And that simplest Lute,
Placed length-ways in the clasping casement, hark!
How by the desultory breeze caress'd,
Like some coy maid half yielding to her lover, 15
It pours such sweet upbraiding, as must needs
Tempt to repeat the wrong! And now, its strings
Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes
Over delicious surges sink and rise,
Such a soft floating witchery of sound 20
As twilight Elfins make, when they at eve
Voyage on gentle gales from Fairy-Land,
Where Melodies round honey-dropping flowers,
Footless and wild, like birds of Paradise,
Nor pause, nor perch, hovering on untam'd wing! 25
O! the one Life within us and abroad,
Which meets all motion and becomes its soul,
A light in sound, a sound-like power in light,
Rhythm in all thought, and joyance every where--
Methinks, it should have been impossible 30
Not to love all things in a world so fill'd;
Where the breeze warbles, and the mute still air
Is Music slumbering on her instrument.
And thus, my Love! as on the midway slope
Of yonder hill I stretch my limbs at noon, 35
Whilst through my half-closed eye-lids I behold
The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the main,
And tranquil muse upon tranquillity;
Full many a thought uncall'd and undetain'd,
And many idle flitting phantasies, 40
Traverse my indolent and passive brain,
As wild and various as the random gales
That swell and flutter on this subject Lute!
And what if all of animated nature
Be but organic Harps diversely fram'd, 45
That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweeps
Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze,
At once the Soul of each, and God of all?
But thy more serious eye a mild reproof
Darts, O belovéd Woman! nor such thoughts 50
Dim and unhallow'd dost thou not reject,
And biddest me walk humbly with my God.
Meek Daughter in the family of Christ!
Well hast thou said and holily disprais'd
These shapings of the unregenerate mind; 55
Bubbles that glitter as they rise and break
On vain Philosophy's aye-babbling spring.
For never guiltless may I speak of him,
The Incomprehensible! save when with awe
I praise him, and with Faith that inly _feels_;[102:1] 60
Who with his saving mercies healéd me,
A sinful and most miserable man,
Wilder'd and dark, and gave me to possess
Peace, and this Cot, and thee, heart-honour'd Maid!
1795.
FOOTNOTES:
[100:1] First published in 1796: included in 1797, 1803, _Sibylline
Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834.
[102:1] L'athée n'est point à mes yeux un faux esprit; je puis vivre
avec lui aussi bien et mieux qu'avec le dévot, car il raisonne
davantage, mais il lui manque un sens, et mon ame ne se fond point
entièrement avec la sienne: il est froid au spectacle le plus ravissant,
et il cherche un syllogisme lorsque je rends une [un _1797_, _1803_]
action de grace. 'Appel a l'impartiale postérité', par la Citoyenne
Roland, troisième partie, p. 67. Notes to _Poems_. Note 10, 1796, p.
183. The above was printed as a footnote to p. 99, 1797, and to p. 132,
1803.
LINENOTES:
Title] Effusion xxxv. Composed August 20th, 1795, At Clevedon,
Somersetshire 1796. Composed at Clevedon Somersetshire 1797, 1803: The
Eolian Harp. Composed, &c. S. L. 1817, 1828, 1829, 1834.
[5] om. 1803.
[8] om. 1803.
[11] Hark! the still murmur 1803.
[12] And th' Eolian Lute, 1803.
[13] om. 1803.
[16] upbraiding] upbraidings 1796, 1797, 1803, Sibylline
Leaves, 1817.
Lines 21-33 are om. in 1803, and the text reads:
_Such a soft floating witchery of sound_--
Methinks, it should have been impossible
Not to love all things in a World like this,
Where e'en the Breezes of the simple Air
Possess the power and Spirit of Melody!
_And thus, my Love_, &c.
26-33 are not in 1796, 1797. In Sibylline Leaves, for
lines 26-33 of the text, four lines are inserted:
Methinks it should have been impossible
Not to love all things in a world like this,
Where even the breezes, and the common air,
Contain the power and spirit of Harmony.
Lines 26-33 were first included in the text in 1828, and
reappeared in 1829 and 1834. They are supplied in the _Errata_, pp.
[xi, xii], of Sibylline Leaves, with a single variant (l. 33): Is
Music slumbering on _its_ instrument.
[44] And] Or 1796, 1797, 1803.
[64] dear honoured Maid 1893.
TO THE AUTHOR OF POEMS[102:2]
[JOSEPH COTTLE]
PUBLISHED ANONYMOUSLY AT BRISTOL IN SEPTEMBER 1795
Unboastful Bard! whose verse concise yet clear
Tunes to smooth melody unconquer'd sense,
May your fame fadeless live, as 'never-sere'
The Ivy wreathes yon Oak, whose broad defence
Embowers me from Noon's sultry influence! 5
For, like that nameless Rivulet stealing by,
Your modest verse to musing Quiet dear
Is rich with tints heaven-borrow'd: the charm'd eye
Shall gaze undazzled there, and love the soften'd sky.
Circling the base of the Poetic mount 10
A stream there is, which rolls in lazy flow
Its coal-black waters from Oblivion's fount:
The vapour-poison'd Birds, that fly too low,
Fall with dead swoop, and to the bottom go.
Escaped that heavy stream on pinion fleet 15
Beneath the Mountain's lofty-frowning brow,
Ere aught of perilous ascent you meet,
A mead of mildest charm delays th' unlabouring feet.
Not there the cloud-climb'd rock, sublime and vast,
That like some giant king, o'er-glooms the hill; 20
Nor there the Pine-grove to the midnight blast
Makes solemn music! But th' unceasing rill
To the soft Wren or Lark's descending trill
Murmurs sweet undersong 'mid jasmin bowers.
In this same pleasant meadow, at your will 25
I ween, you wander'd--there collecting flowers
Of sober tint, and herbs of med'cinable powers!
There for the monarch-murder'd Soldier's tomb
You wove th' unfinish'd[103:1] wreath of saddest hues;
And to that holier[103:2] chaplet added bloom 30
Besprinkling it with Jordan's cleansing dews.
But lo your Henderson[103:3] awakes the Muse----
His Spirit beckon'd from the mountain's height!
You left the plain and soar'd mid richer views!
So Nature mourn'd when sunk the First Day's light, 35
With stars, unseen before, spangling her robe of night!
Still soar, my Friend, those richer views among,
Strong, rapid, fervent, flashing Fancy's beam!
Virtue and Truth shall love your gentler song;
But Poesy demands th' impassion'd theme: 40
Waked by Heaven's silent dews at Eve's mild gleam
What balmy sweets Pomona breathes around!
But if the vext air rush a stormy stream
Or Autumn's shrill gust moan in plaintive sound,
With fruits and flowers she loads the tempest-honor'd ground.
1795.
FOOTNOTES:
[102:2] First published in 1796: included in 1797 (_Supplement_), 1803,
and 1852.
'The first in order of the verses which I have thus endeavoured to
reprieve from immediate oblivion was originally addressed "To the Author
of Poems published anonymously at Bristol". A second edition of these
poems has lately appeared with the Author's name prefixed: and I could
not refuse myself the gratification of seeing the name of that man among
my poems without whose kindness they would probably have remained
unpublished; and to whom I know myself greatly and variously obliged, as
a Poet, a man, and a Christian.' 'Advertisement' to _Supplement_, 1797,
pp. 243, 244.
[103:1] 'War,' a Fragment.
[103:2] 'John Baptist,' a poem.
[103:3] 'Monody on John Henderson.'
LINENOTES:
Title] Epistle iv. To the Author, &c. 1796: Lines to Joseph Cottle 1797:
To the Author, &c., _with footnote_, 'Mr. Joseph Cottle' 1803.
[1] Unboastful Bard] My honor'd friend 1797.
[35] sunk] sank 1797.
THE SILVER THIMBLE[104:1]
THE PRODUCTION OF A YOUNG LADY, ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR OF THE POEMS
ALLUDED TO IN THE PRECEDING EPISTLE
_She had lost her Silver Thimble, and her complaint being
accidentally overheard by him, her Friend, he immediately sent
her four others to take her choice of._
As oft mine eye with careless glance
Has gallop'd thro' some old romance,
Of speaking Birds and Steeds with wings,
Giants and Dwarfs, and Fiends and Kings;
Beyond the rest with more attentive care 5
I've lov'd to read of elfin-favour'd Fair----
How if she long'd for aught beneath the sky
And suffer'd to escape one votive sigh,
Wafted along on viewless pinions aery
It laid itself obsequious at her feet: 10
Such things, I thought, one might not hope to meet
Save in the dear delicious land of Faery!
But now (by proof I know it well)
There's still some peril in free wishing----
_Politeness_ is a licensed _spell_, 15
And _you_, dear Sir! the Arch-magician.
You much perplex'd me by the various set:
They were indeed an elegant quartette!
My mind went to and fro, and waver'd long;
At length I've chosen (Samuel thinks me wrong) 20
_That_, around whose azure rim
Silver figures seem to swim,
Like fleece-white clouds, that on the skiey Blue,
Waked by no breeze, the self-same shapes retain;
Or ocean-Nymphs with limbs of snowy hue 25
Slow-floating o'er the calm cerulean plain.
Just such a one, _mon cher ami_,
(The finger shield of industry)
Th' inventive Gods, I deem, to Pallas gave
What time the vain Arachne, madly brave, 30
Challeng'd the blue-eyed Virgin of the sky
A duel in embroider'd work to try.
And hence the thimbled Finger of grave Pallas
To th' erring Needle's point was more than callous.
But ah the poor Arachne! She unarm'd 35
Blundering thro' hasty eagerness, alarm'd
With all a _Rival's_ hopes, a _Mortal's_ fears,
Still miss'd the stitch, and stain'd the web with tears.
Unnumber'd punctures small yet sore
Full fretfully the maiden bore, 40
Till she her lily finger found
Crimson'd with many a tiny wound;
And to her eyes, suffus'd with watery woe,
Her flower-embroider'd web danc'd dim, I wist,
Like blossom'd shrubs in a quick-moving mist: 45
Till vanquish'd the despairing Maid sunk low.
O Bard! whom sure no common Muse inspires,
I heard your Verse that glows with vestal fires!
And I from unwatch'd needle's erring point
Had surely suffer'd on each finger-joint 50
Those wounds, which erst did poor Arachne meet;
While he, the much-lov'd Object of my choice
(My bosom thrilling with enthusiast heat),
Pour'd on mine ear with deep impressive voice,
How the great Prophet of the Desart stood 55
And preach'd of Penitence by Jordan's Flood;
On War; or else the legendary lays
In simplest measures hymn'd to Alla's praise;
Or what the Bard from his heart's inmost stores
O'er his _Friend's_ grave in loftier numbers pours: 60
Yes, Bard polite! you but obey'd the laws
Of Justice, when the thimble you had sent;
What wounds your thought-bewildering Muse might cause
'Tis well your finger-shielding gifts prevent.
SARA.
1795.
FOOTNOTES:
[104:1] First published in 1796: included for the first time in Appendix
to 1863. Mrs. Coleridge told her daughter (_Biog. Lit._, 1847, ii. 411)
that she wrote but little of these verses.
LINENOTES:
Title] Epistle v. The Production of a Young Lady, &c. 1796: From a Young
Lady Appendix, 1863.
REFLECTIONS ON HAVING LEFT A PLACE OF RETIREMENT[106:1]
Sermoni propriora.--HOR.
Low was our pretty Cot: our tallest Rose
Peep'd at the chamber-window. We could hear
At silent noon, and eve, and early morn,
The Sea's faint murmur. In the open air
Our Myrtles blossom'd; and across the porch 5
Thick Jasmins twined: the little landscape round
Was green and woody, and refresh'd the eye.
It was a spot which you might aptly call
The Valley of Seclusion! Once I saw
(Hallowing his Sabbath-day by quietness) 10
A wealthy son of Commerce saunter by,
Bristowa's citizen: methought, it calm'd
His thirst of idle gold, and made him muse
With wiser feelings: for he paus'd, and look'd
With a pleas'd sadness, and gaz'd all around, 15
Then eyed our Cottage, and gaz'd round again,
And sigh'd, and said, it was a Blesséd Place.
And we _were_ bless'd. Oft with patient ear
Long-listening to the viewless sky-lark's note
(Viewless, or haply for a moment seen 20
Gleaming on sunny wings) in whisper'd tones
I've said to my Belovéd, 'Such, sweet Girl!
The inobtrusive song of Happiness,
Unearthly minstrelsy! then only heard
When the Soul seeks to hear; when all is hush'd, 25
And the Heart listens!'
But the time, when first
From that low Dell, steep up the stony Mount
I climb'd with perilous toil and reach'd the top,
Oh! what a goodly scene! _Here_ the bleak mount,
The bare bleak mountain speckled thin with sheep; 30
Grey clouds, that shadowing spot the sunny fields;
And river, now with bushy rocks o'er-brow'd,
Now winding bright and full, with naked banks;
And seats, and lawns, the Abbey and the wood,
And cots, and hamlets, and faint city-spire; 35
The Channel _there_, the Islands and white sails,
Dim coasts, and cloud-like hills, and shoreless Ocean--
It seem'd like Omnipresence! God, methought,
Had built him there a Temple: the whole World
Seem'd _imag'd_ in its vast circumference: 40
No _wish_ profan'd my overwhelméd heart.
Blest hour! It was a luxury,--to be!
Ah! quiet Dell! dear Cot, and Mount sublime!
I was constrain'd to quit you. Was it right,
While my unnumber'd brethren toil'd and bled, 45
That I should dream away the entrusted hours
On rose-leaf beds, pampering the coward heart
With feelings all too delicate for use?
Sweet is the tear that from some Howard's eye
Drops on the cheek of one he lifts from earth: 50
And he that works me good with unmov'd face,
Does it but half: he chills me while he aids,
My benefactor, not my brother man!
Yet even this, this cold beneficence
Praise, praise it, O my Soul! oft as thou scann'st 55
The sluggard Pity's vision-weaving tribe!
Who sigh for Wretchedness, yet shun the Wretched,
Nursing in some delicious solitude
Their slothful loves and dainty sympathies!
I therefore go, and join head, heart, and hand, 60
Active and firm, to fight the bloodless fight
Of Science, Freedom, and the Truth in Christ.
Yet oft when after honourable toil
Bests the tir'd mind, and waking loves to dream,
My spirit shall revisit thee, dear Cot! 65
Thy Jasmin and thy window-peeping Rose,
And Myrtles fearless of the mild sea-air.
And I shall sigh fond wishes--sweet Abode!
Ah!--had none greater! And that all had such!
It might be so--but the time is not yet. 70
Speed it, O Father! Let thy Kingdom come!
1795.
FOOTNOTES:
[106:1] First published in the _Monthly Magazine_, October, 1796, vol.
ii, p. 712: included in 1797, 1803, _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828,
1829, and 1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] Reflections on entering into active life. A Poem which affects
not to be Poetry M. Mag. _The motto was prefixed in 1797._
[12-17]
Bristowa's citizen--he paus'd and look'd
With a pleased sadness and gaz'd all around,
Then eye'd our cottage and gaz'd round again,
And said it was a _blessed little place_.
Monthly Magazine.
[17]
And sigh'd, and said, _it was a blessed place_.
1797, 1803.
[21] wings] wing M. M., 1797, 1803, S. L.
[21-3]
Gleaming on sunny wing,) 'And such,' I said,
'The inobtrusive song
1803.
[40] Was imag'd M. M.
[46] entrusted] trusted M. M., 1797.
[55] Seizes my Praise, when I reflect on those 1797, 1803, Sibylline
Leaves, 1817 (line as in text supplied in _Errata_).
[69] none] _none_ M. M. all] _all_ M. M.
[70-1] om. 1803.
RELIGIOUS MUSINGS[108:1]
A DESULTORY POEM, WRITTEN ON THE CHRISTMAS EVE OF 1794
This is the time, when most divine to hear,
The voice of Adoration rouses me,
As with a Cherub's trump: and high upborne,
Yea, mingling with the Choir, I seem to view
The vision of the heavenly multitude, 5
Who hymned the song of Peace o'er Bethlehem's fields!
Yet thou more bright than all the Angel-blaze,
That harbingered thy birth, Thou Man of Woes!
Despiséd Galilaean! For the Great
Invisible (by symbols only seen) 10
With a peculiar and surpassing light
Shines from the visage of the oppressed good man,
When heedless of himself the scourgéd saint
Mourns for the oppressor. Fair the vernal mead,
Fair the high grove, the sea, the sun, the stars; 15
True impress each of their creating Sire!
Yet nor high grove, nor many-colour'd mead,
Nor the green ocean with his thousand isles,
Nor the starred azure, nor the sovran sun,
E'er with such majesty of portraiture 20
Imaged the supreme beauty uncreate,
As thou, meek Saviour! at the fearful hour
When thy insulted anguish winged the prayer
Harped by Archangels, when they sing of mercy!
Which when the Almighty heard from forth his throne 25
Diviner light filled Heaven with ecstasy!
Heaven's hymnings paused: and Hell her yawning mouth
Closed a brief moment.
Lovely was the death
Of Him whose life was Love! Holy with power
He on the thought-benighted Sceptic beamed 30
Manifest Godhead, melting into day
What floating mists of dark idolatry
Broke and misshaped the omnipresent Sire:[110:1]
And first by Fear uncharmed the drowséd Soul.
Till of its nobler nature it 'gan feel 35
Dim recollections; and thence soared to Hope,
Strong to believe whate'er of mystic good
The Eternal dooms for His immortal sons.
From Hope and firmer Faith to perfect Love
Attracted and absorbed: and centered there 40
God only to behold, and know, and feel,
Till by exclusive consciousness of God
All self-annihilated it shall make[110:2]
God its Identity: God all in all!
We and our Father one!
And blest are they, 45
Who in this fleshly World, the elect of Heaven,
Their strong eye darting through the deeds of men,
Adore with steadfast unpresuming gaze
Him Nature's essence, mind, and energy!
And gazing, trembling, patiently ascend 50
Treading beneath their feet all visible things
As steps, that upward to their Father's throne
Lead gradual--else nor glorified nor loved.
They nor contempt embosom nor revenge:
For they dare know of what may seem deform 55
The Supreme Fair sole operant: in whose sight
All things are pure, his strong controlling love
Alike from all educing perfect good.
Their's too celestial courage, inly armed--
Dwarfing Earth's giant brood, what time they muse 60
On their great Father, great beyond compare!
And marching onwards view high o'er their heads
His waving banners of Omnipotence.
Who the Creator love, created Might
Dread not: within their tents no Terrors walk. 65
For they are holy things before the Lord
Aye unprofaned, though Earth should league with Hell;
God's altar grasping with an eager hand
Fear, the wild-visag'd, pale, eye-starting wretch,
Sure-refug'd hears his hot pursuing fiends 70
Yell at vain distance. Soon refresh'd from Heaven
He calms the throb and tempest of his heart.
His countenance settles; a soft solemn bliss
Swims in his eye--his swimming eye uprais'd:
And Faith's whole armour glitters on his limbs! 75
And thus transfigured with a dreadless awe,
A solemn hush of soul, meek he beholds
All things of terrible seeming: yea, unmoved
Views e'en the immitigable ministers
That shower down vengeance on these latter days. 80
For kindling with intenser Deity
From the celestial Mercy-seat they come,
And at the renovating wells of Love
Have fill'd their vials with salutary wrath,[112:1]
To sickly Nature more medicinal 85
Than what soft balm the weeping good man pours
Into the lone despoiléd traveller's wounds!
Thus from the Elect, regenerate through faith,
Pass the dark Passions and what thirsty cares[112:2]
Drink up the spirit, and the dim regards 90
Self-centre. Lo they vanish! or acquire
New names, new features--by supernal grace
Enrobed with Light, and naturalised in Heaven.
As when a shepherd on a vernal morn
Through some thick fog creeps timorous with slow foot, 95
Darkling he fixes on the immediate road
His downward eye: all else of fairest kind
Hid or deformed. But lo! the bursting Sun!
Touched by the enchantment of that sudden beam
Straight the black vapour melteth, and in globes 100
Of dewy glitter gems each plant and tree;
On every leaf, on every blade it hangs!
Dance glad the new-born intermingling rays,
And wide around the landscape streams with glory!
There is one Mind, one omnipresent Mind, 105
Omnific. His most holy name is Love.
Truth of subliming import! with the which
Who feeds and saturates his constant soul,
He from his small particular orbit flies
With blest outstarting! From himself he flies, 110
Stands in the sun, and with no partial gaze
Views all creation; and he loves it all,
And blesses it, and calls it very good!
This is indeed to dwell with the Most High!
Cherubs and rapture-trembling Seraphim 115
Can press no nearer to the Almighty's throne.
But that we roam unconscious, or with hearts
Unfeeling of our universal Sire,
And that in His vast family no Cain
Injures uninjured (in her best-aimed blow 120
Victorious Murder a blind Suicide)
Haply for this some younger Angel now
Looks down on Human Nature: and, behold!
A sea of blood bestrewed with wrecks, where mad
Embattling Interests on each other rush 125
With unhelmed rage!
'Tis the sublime of man,
Our noontide Majesty, to know ourselves
Parts and proportions of one wondrous whole!
This fraternises man, this constitutes
Our charities and bearings. But 'tis God 130
Diffused through all, that doth make all one whole;
This the worst superstition, him except
Aught to desire, Supreme Reality![114:1]
The plenitude and permanence of bliss!
O Fiends of Superstition! not that oft 135
The erring Priest hath stained with brother's blood
Your grisly idols, not for this may wrath
Thunder against you from the Holy One!
But o'er some plain that steameth to the sun,
Peopled with Death; or where more hideous Trade 140
Loud-laughing packs his bales of human anguish;
I will raise up a mourning, O ye Fiends!
And curse your spells, that film the eye of Faith,
Hiding the present God; whose presence lost,
The moral world's cohesion, we become 145
An Anarchy of Spirits! Toy-bewitched,
Made blind by lusts, disherited of soul,
No common centre Man, no common sire
Knoweth! A sordid solitary thing,
Mid countless brethren with a lonely heart 150
Through courts and cities the smooth savage roams
Feeling himself, his own low self the whole;
When he by sacred sympathy might make
The whole one Self! Self, that no alien knows!
Self, far diffused as Fancy's wing can travel! 155
Self, spreading still! Oblivious of its own,
Yet all of all possessing! This is Faith!
This the Messiah's destined victory!
But first offences needs must come! Even now[115:1]
(Black Hell laughs horrible--to hear the scoff!) 160
Thee to defend, meek Galilaean! Thee
And thy mild laws of Love unutterable,
Mistrust and Enmity have burst the bands
Of social peace: and listening Treachery lurks
With pious fraud to snare a brother's life; 165
And childless widows o'er the groaning land
Wail numberless; and orphans weep for bread!
Thee to defend, dear Saviour of Mankind!
Thee, Lamb of God! Thee, blameless Prince of Peace!
From all sides rush the thirsty brood of War!-- 170
Austria, and that foul Woman of the North,
The lustful murderess of her wedded lord!
And he, connatural Mind![115:2] whom (in their songs
So bards of elder time had haply feigned)
Some Fury fondled in her hate to man, 175
Bidding her serpent hair in mazy surge
Lick his young face, and at his mouth imbreathe
Horrible sympathy! And leagued with these
Each petty German princeling, nursed in gore!
Soul-hardened barterers of human blood![116:1] 180
Death's prime slave-merchants! Scorpion-whips of Fate!
Nor least in savagery of holy zeal,
Apt for the yoke, the race degenerate,
Whom Britain erst had blushed to call her sons!
Thee to defend the Moloch Priest prefers 185
The prayer of hate, and bellows to the herd,
That Deity, Accomplice Deity
In the fierce jealousy of wakened wrath
Will go forth with our armies and our fleets
To scatter the red ruin on their foes! 190
O blasphemy! to mingle fiendish deeds
With blessedness!
Lord of unsleeping Love,[116:2]
From everlasting Thou! We shall not die.
These, even these, in mercy didst thou form,
Teachers of Good through Evil, by brief wrong 195
Making Truth lovely, and her future might
Magnetic o'er the fixed untrembling heart.
In the primeval age a dateless while
The vacant Shepherd wander'd with his flock,
Pitching his tent where'er the green grass waved. 200
But soon Imagination conjured up
An host of new desires: with busy aim,
Each for himself, Earth's eager children toiled.
So Property began, twy-streaming fount,
Whence Vice and Virtue flow, honey and gall. 205
Hence the soft couch, and many-coloured robe,
The timbrel, and arched dome and costly feast,
With all the inventive arts, that nursed the soul
To forms of beauty, and by sensual wants
Unsensualised the mind, which in the means 210
Learnt to forget the grossness of the end,
Best pleasured with its own activity.
And hence Disease that withers manhood's arm,
The daggered Envy, spirit-quenching Want,
Warriors, and Lords, and Priests--all the sore ills[117:1] 215
That vex and desolate our mortal life.
Wide-wasting ills! yet each the immediate source
Of mightier good. Their keen necessities
To ceaseless action goading human thought
Have made Earth's reasoning animal her Lord; 220
And the pale-featured Sage's trembling hand
Strong as an host of arméd Deities,
Such as the blind Ionian fabled erst.
From Avarice thus, from Luxury and War
Sprang heavenly Science; and from Science Freedom. 225
O'er waken'd realms Philosophers and Bards
Spread in concentric circles: they whose souls,
Conscious of their high dignities from God,
Brook not Wealth's rivalry! and they, who long
Enamoured with the charms of order, hate 230
The unseemly disproportion: and whoe'er
Turn with mild sorrow from the Victor's car
And the low puppetry of thrones, to muse
On that blest triumph, when the Patriot Sage[118:1]
Called the red lightnings from the o'er-rushing cloud 235
And dashed the beauteous terrors on the earth
Smiling majestic. Such a phalanx ne'er
Measured firm paces to the calming sound
Of Spartan flute! These on the fated day,
When, stung to rage by Pity, eloquent men 240
Have roused with pealing voice the unnumbered tribes
That toil and groan and bleed, hungry and blind--
These, hush'd awhile with patient eye serene,
Shall watch the mad careering of the storm;
Then o'er the wild and wavy chaos rush 245
And tame the outrageous mass, with plastic might
Moulding Confusion to such perfect forms,
As erst were wont,--bright visions of the day!--
To float before them, when, the summer noon,
Beneath some arched romantic rock reclined 250
They felt the sea-breeze lift their youthful locks;
Or in the month of blossoms, at mild eve,
Wandering with desultory feet inhaled
The wafted perfumes, and the flocks and woods
And many-tinted streams and setting sun 255
With all his gorgeous company of clouds
Ecstatic gazed! then homeward as they strayed
Cast the sad eye to earth, and inly mused
Why there was misery in a world so fair.
Ah! far removed from all that glads the sense, 260
From all that softens or ennobles Man,
The wretched Many! Bent beneath their loads
They gape at pageant Power, nor recognise
Their cots' transmuted plunder! From the tree
Of Knowledge, ere the vernal sap had risen 265
Rudely disbranchéd! Blessed Society!
Fitliest depictured by some sun-scorched waste,
Where oft majestic through the tainted noon
The Simoom sails, before whose purple pomp[119:1]
Who falls not prostrate dies! And where by night, 270
Fast by each precious fountain on green herbs
The lion couches: or hyaena dips
Deep in the lucid stream his bloody jaws;
Or serpent plants his vast moon-glittering bulk,
Caught in whose monstrous twine Behemoth[119:2] yells, 275
His bones loud-crashing!
O ye numberless,
Whom foul Oppression's ruffian gluttony
Drives from Life's plenteous feast! O thou poor Wretch
Who nursed in darkness and made wild by want,
Roamest for prey, yea thy unnatural hand 280
Dost lift to deeds of blood! O pale-eyed form,
The victim of seduction, doomed to know
Polluted nights and days of blasphemy;
Who in loathed orgies with lewd wassailers
Must gaily laugh, while thy remembered Home 285
Gnaws like a viper at thy secret heart!
O agéd Women! ye who weekly catch
The morsel tossed by law-forced charity,
And die so slowly, that none call it murder!
O loathly suppliants! ye, that unreceived 290
Totter heart-broken from the closing gates
Of the full Lazar-house; or, gazing, stand,
Sick with despair! O ye to Glory's field
Forced or ensnared, who, as ye gasp in death,
Bleed with new wounds beneath the vulture's beak! 295
O thou poor widow, who in dreams dost view
Thy husband's mangled corse, and from short doze
Start'st with a shriek; or in thy half-thatched cot
Waked by the wintry night-storm, wet and cold
Cow'rst o'er thy screaming baby! Rest awhile 300
Children of Wretchedness! More groans must rise,
More blood must stream, or ere your wrongs be full.
Yet is the day of Retribution nigh:
The Lamb of God hath opened the fifth seal:[120:1]
And upward rush on swiftest wing of fire 305
The innumerable multitude of wrongs
By man on man inflicted! Rest awhile,
Children of Wretchedness! The hour is nigh
And lo! the Great, the Rich, the Mighty Men,
The Kings and the Chief Captains of the World, 310
With all that fixed on high like stars of Heaven
Shot baleful influence, shall be cast to earth,
Vile and down-trodden, as the untimely fruit
Shook from the fig-tree by a sudden storm.
Even now the storm begins:[121:1] each gentle name, 315
Faith and meek Piety, with fearful joy
Tremble far-off--for lo! the Giant Frenzy
Uprooting empires with his whirlwind arm
Mocketh high Heaven; burst hideous from the cell
Where the old Hag, unconquerable, huge, 320
Creation's eyeless drudge, black Ruin, sits
Nursing the impatient earthquake.
O return!
Pure Faith! meek Piety! The abhorréd Form[121:2]
Whose scarlet robe was stiff with earthly pomp,
Who drank iniquity in cups of gold, 325
Whose names were many and all blasphemous,
Hath met the horrible judgment! Whence that cry?
The mighty army of foul Spirits shrieked
Disherited of earth! For she hath fallen
On whose black front was written Mystery; 330
She that reeled heavily, whose wine was blood;
She that worked whoredom with the Daemon Power,
And from the dark embrace all evil things
Brought forth and nurtured: mitred Atheism!
And patient Folly who on bended knee 335
Gives back the steel that stabbed him; and pale Fear
Haunted by ghastlier shapings than surround
Moon-blasted Madness when he yells at midnight!
Return pure Faith! return meek Piety!
The kingdoms of the world are your's: each heart 340
Self-governed, the vast family of Love
Raised from the common earth by common toil
Enjoy the equal produce. Such delights
As float to earth, permitted visitants!
When in some hour of solemn jubilee 345
The massy gates of Paradise are thrown
Wide open, and forth come in fragments wild
Sweet echoes of unearthly melodies,
And odours snatched from beds of Amaranth,
And they, that from the crystal river of life 350
Spring up on freshened wing, ambrosial gales!
The favoured good man in his lonely walk
Perceives them, and his silent spirit drinks
Strange bliss which he shall recognise in heaven.
And such delights, such strange beatitudes 355
Seize on my young anticipating heart
When that blest future rushes on my view!
For in his own and in his Father's might
The Saviour comes! While as the Thousand Years[122:1]
Lead up their mystic dance, the Desert shouts! 360
Old Ocean claps his hands! The mighty Dead
Rise to new life, whoe'er from earliest time
With conscious zeal had urged Love's wondrous plan,
Coadjutors of God. To Milton's trump
The high groves of the renovated Earth 365
Unbosom their glad echoes: inly hushed,
Adoring Newton his serener eye
Raises to heaven: and he of mortal kind
Wisest, he[123:1] first who marked the ideal tribes
Up the fine fibres through the sentient brain. 370
Lo! Priestley there, patriot, and saint, and sage,
Him, full of years, from his loved native land
Statesmen blood-stained and priests idolatrous
By dark lies maddening the blind multitude
Drove with vain hate. Calm, pitying he retired, 375
And mused expectant on these promised years.
O Years! the blest pre-eminence of Saints!
Ye sweep athwart my gaze, so heavenly bright,
The wings that veil the adoring Seraphs' eyes,
What time they bend before the Jasper Throne[123:2] 380
Reflect no lovelier hues! Yet ye depart,
And all beyond is darkness! Heights most strange,
Whence Fancy falls, fluttering her idle wing.
For who of woman born may paint the hour,
When seized in his mid course, the Sun shall wane 385
Making noon ghastly! Who of woman born
May image in the workings of his thought,
How the black-visaged, red-eyed Fiend outstretched[124:1]
Beneath the unsteady feet of Nature groans,
In feverous slumbers--destined then to wake, 390
When fiery whirlwinds thunder his dread name
And Angels shout, Destruction! How his arm
The last great Spirit lifting high in air
Shall swear by Him, the ever-living One,
Time is no more!
Believe thou, O my soul,[124:2] 395
Life is a vision shadowy of Truth;
And vice, and anguish, and the wormy grave,
Shapes of a dream! The veiling clouds retire,
And lo! the Throne of the redeeming God
Forth flashing unimaginable day 400
Wraps in one blaze earth, heaven, and deepest hell.
Contemplant Spirits! ye that hover o'er
With untired gaze the immeasurable fount
Ebullient with creative Deity!
And ye of plastic power, that interfused 405
Roll through the grosser and material mass
In organizing surge! Holies of God!
(And what if Monads of the infinite mind?)
I haply journeying my immortal course
Shall sometime join your mystic choir! Till then 410
I discipline my young and novice thought
In ministeries of heart-stirring song,
And aye on Meditation's heaven-ward wing
Soaring aloft I breathe the empyreal air
Of Love, omnific, omnipresent Love, 415
Whose day-spring rises glorious in my soul
As the great Sun, when he his influence
Sheds on the frost-bound waters--The glad stream
Flows to the ray and warbles as it flows.
1794-1796.
FOOTNOTES:
[108:1] First published in 1796: included in 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829, and
1834. Lines 260-357 were published in _The Watchman_, No. II, March 9,
1796, entitled 'The Present State of Society'. In the editions of 1796,
1797, and 1803 the following lines, an adaptation of a passage in the
First Book of Akenside's _Pleasures of the Imagination_, were prefixed
as a motto:--
What tho' first,
In years unseason'd, I attun'd the lay
To idle Passion and unreal Woe?
Yet serious Truth her empire o'er my song
Hath now asserted; Falsehood's evil brood,
Vice and deceitful Pleasure, she at once
Excluded, and my Fancy's careless toil
Drew to the better cause!
An 'Argument' followed on a separate page:--
Introduction. Person of Christ. His prayer on the Cross. The process of
his Doctrines on the mind of the Individual. Character of the Elect.
Superstition. Digression to the present War. Origin and Uses of
Government and Property. The present State of Society. The French
Revolution. Millenium. Universal Redemption. Conclusion.
[110:1] Τὸ Νοητὸν διῃρήκασιν εἰς πολλῶν Θεῶν ἰδιότητας. DAMAS. DE MYST. AEGYPT.
_Footnote_ to line 34, _1797_, _1803_, _1828_, _1829_. [This note, which
should be attached to l. 33, is a comment on the original line 'Split
and mishap'd' &c., of 1796. The quotation as translated reads
thus:--'Men have split up the Intelligible One into the peculiar
attributes of Gods many'.]
[110:2] See this _demonstrated_ by Hartley, vol. 1, p. 114, and vol. 2,
p. 329. See it likewise proved, and freed from the charge of Mysticism,
by Pistorius in his Notes and Additions to part second of Hartley on
Man, Addition the 18th, the 653rd page of the third volume of Hartley,
Octavo Edition. _Note_ to line 44, _1797_. [David Hartley's
_Observations on Man_ were published in 1749. His son republished them
in 1791, with Notes, &c., from the German of H. A. Pistorius, Pastor and
Provost of the Synod at Poseritz in the Island of Rügen.]
[112:1] And I heard a great voice out of the Temple saying to the seven
Angels, pour out the vials of the wrath of God upon the earth.
Revelation, xvi. 1. _Note_ to line 91, _Notes_, 1796, p. 90.
[112:2] Our evil Passions, under the influence of Religion, become
innocent, and may be made to animate our virtue--in the same manner as
the thick mist melted by the Sun, increases the light which it had
before excluded. In the preceding paragraph, agreeably to this truth, we
had allegorically narrated the transfiguration of Fear into holy Awe.
_Footnote_ to line 91, _1797_: to line 101, _1803_.
[114:1] If to make aught but the Supreme Reality the object of final
pursuit, be Superstition; if the attributing of sublime properties to
things or persons, which those things or persons neither do or can
possess, be Superstition; then Avarice and Ambition are Superstitions:
and he who wishes to estimate the evils of Superstition, should
transport himself, not to the temple of the Mexican Deities, but to the
plains of Flanders, or the coast of Africa.--Such is the sentiment
convey'd in this and the subsequent lines. _Footnote_ to line 135,
_1797_: to line 143, _1803_.
[115:1] January 21st, 1794, in the debate on the Address to his Majesty,
on the speech from the Throne, the Earl of Guildford (_sic_) moved an
Amendment to the following effect:--'That the House hoped his Majesty
would seize the earliest opportunity to conclude a peace with France,'
&c. This motion was opposed by the Duke of Portland, who 'considered the
war to be merely grounded on one principle--the preservation of the
CHRISTIAN RELIGION'. May 30th, 1794, the Duke of Bedford moved a number
of Resolutions, with a view to the Establishment of a Peace with France.
He was opposed (among others) by Lord Abingdon in these remarkable
words: 'The best road to Peace, my Lords, is WAR! and WAR carried on in
the same manner in which we are taught to worship our CREATOR, namely,
with all our souls, and with all our minds, and with all our hearts, and
with all our strength.' [_Footnote_ to line 159, _1797_, _1803_, _1828_,
_1829_, and _1834_.]
[115:2] That Despot who received the wages of an hireling that he might
act the part of a swindler, and who skulked from his impotent attacks on
the liberties of France to perpetrate more successful iniquity in the
plains of _Poland_. _Note_ to line 193. _Notes_, 1796, p. 170.
[116:1] The Father of the present Prince of Hesse Cassell supported
himself and his strumpets at Paris by the vast sums which he received
from the British Government during the American War for the flesh of his
subjects. _Notes_, 1796, p. 176.
[116:2] Art thou not from everlasting, O Lord, mine Holy One? We shall
not die. O Lord! thou hast ordained them for judgment, &c. Habakkuk i.
12. _Note_ to line 212. _Notes_, 1796, p. 171. _Footnote, 1828, 1829,
1834._
Art thou not, &c. In this paragraph the Author recalls himself from his
indignation against the instruments of Evil, to contemplate the _uses_
of these Evils in the great process of divine Benevolence. In the first
age, Men were innocent from ignorance of Vice; they fell, that by the
knowledge of consequences they might attain intellectual security, i. e.
Virtue, which is a wise and strong-nerv'd Innocence. _Footnote_ to line
196, _1797_: to line 204, _1803_.
[117:1] I deem that the teaching of the gospel for hire is wrong;
because it gives the teacher an improper bias in favour of particular
opinions on a subject where it is of the last importance that the mind
should be perfectly unbiassed. Such is my private opinion; but I mean
not to censure all hired teachers, many among whom I know, and venerate
as the best and wisest of men--God forbid that I should think of these,
when I use the word PRIEST, a name, after which any other term of
abhorrence would appear an anti-climax. By a Priest I mean a man who
holding the scourge of power in his right hand and a bible (translated
by authority) in his left, doth necessarily cause the bible and the
scourge to be associated ideas, and so produces that temper of mind
which leads to Infidelity--Infidelity which judging of Revelation by the
doctrines and practices of established Churches honors God by rejecting
Christ. See 'Address to the People', p. 57, sold by Parsons, Paternoster
Row. _Note_ to line 235. _Notes_, 1796, pp. 171, 172.
[118:1] Dr. Franklin. _Note_ to line 253. _Notes_, 1796, p. 172.
[119:1] At eleven o'clock, while we contemplated with great pleasure the
rugged top of Chiggre, to which we were fast approaching, and where we
were to solace ourselves with plenty of good water, IDRIS cried out with
a loud voice, 'Fall upon your faces, for here is the Simoom'. I saw from
the S.E. an haze come on, in colour like the purple part of the rainbow,
but not so compressed or thick. It did not occupy twenty yards in
breadth, and was about twelve feet high from the ground.--We all lay
flat on the ground, as if dead, till IDRIS told us it was blown over.
The meteor, or purple haze, which I saw, was indeed passed; but the
light air that still blew was of heat to threaten suffocation. Bruce's
_Travels_, vol. 4, p. 557. _Note_ to line 288. _Notes_, 1796, pp. 172,
173.
[119:2] Behemoth, in Hebrew, signifies wild beasts in general. Some
believe it is the Elephant, some the Hippopotamus; some affirm it is the
Wild Bull. Poetically, it designates any large Quadruped. [Footnote to
l. 279, _1797_: to l. 286, _1803_. Reprinted in _1828_, _1829_, and
_1834_. The note to l. 294 in _1796_, p. 173 ran thus: Used poetically
for a very large quadruped, but in general it designates the elephant.]
[120:1] See the sixth chapter of the Revelation of St. John the
Divine.--And I looked and beheld a pale horse; and his name that sat on
him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them
over the FOURTH part of the Earth to kill with sword, and with hunger,
and with pestilence, and with the beasts of the Earth.--And when he had
opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar the souls of them that were
slain for the word of God, and for the testimony which they held; and
white robes were given unto every one of them; and it was said unto
them, that they should rest yet for a little season, until their fellow
servants also, and their brethren that should be killed as they were
should be fulfilled. And I beheld when he had opened the sixth seal, the
stars of Heaven fell unto the Earth, even as a fig-tree casteth her
untimely figs when she is shaken of a mighty wind] And the kings of the
earth, and the great men, and the rich men, and the chief captains, &c.
_Note_ to line 324. _Notes_, 1796, pp. 174, 175.
[121:1] Alluding to the French Revolution _1834_: The French Revolution
_1796_: This passage alludes to the French Revolution: and the
subsequent paragraph to the downfall of Religious Establishments. I am
convinced that the Babylon of the Apocalypse does not apply to Rome
exclusively; but to the union of Religion with Power and Wealth,
wherever it is found. _Footnote_ to line 320, _1797_, to line 322,
_1803_.
[121:2] And there came one of the seven Angels which had the seven
vials, and talked with me, saying unto me, come hither! I will show unto
thee the judgment of the great Whore, that sitteth upon many waters:
with whom the kings of the earth have committed fornication, &c.
Revelation of St. John the Divine, chapter the seventeenth. _Note_ to l.
343. _Notes_, 1796, p. 175.
[122:1] The Millenium:--in which I suppose, that Man will continue to
enjoy the highest glory, of which his human nature is capable.--That all
who in past ages have endeavoured to ameliorate the state of man will
rise and enjoy the fruits and flowers, the imperceptible seeds of which
they had sown in their former Life: and that the wicked will during the
same period, be suffering the remedies adapted to their several bad
habits. I suppose that this period will be followed by the passing away
of this Earth and by our entering the state of pure intellect; when all
Creation shall rest from its labours. _Footnote_ to line 365, _1797_, to
line 367, _1803_.
[123:1] David Hartley. [_Footnote_ to line 392, _1796_, to line 375,
_1797_, to line 380, _1803_: reprinted in _1828_, _1829_, and _1834_.]
[123:2] Rev. chap. iv. v. 2 and 3.--And immediately I was in the Spirit:
and behold, a Throne was set in Heaven and one sat on the Throne. And he
that sat was to look upon like a jasper and a sardine stone, &c.
[_Footnote_ to line 386, _1797_, to line 389, _1803_: reprinted in
_1828_, _1829_, and _1834_.]
[124:1] The final Destruction impersonated. [_Footnote_ to line 394,
_1797_, to line 396, _1803_: reprinted in _1828_, _1829_, and _1834_.]
[124:2] This paragraph is intelligible to those, who, like the Author,
believe and feel the sublime system of Berkley (_sic_); and the doctrine
of the final Happiness of all men. _Footnote_ to line 402, _1797_, to
line 405, _1803_.
LINENOTES:
Title] ---- on Christmas Eve. In the year of Our Lord, 1794.
[1-23]
This is the time, when most divine to hear,
As with a Cherub's 'loud uplifted' trump
The voice of Adoration my thrill'd heart
Rouses! And with the rushing noise of wings
Transports my spirit to the favor'd fields 5
Of Bethlehem, there in shepherd's guise to sit
Sublime of extacy, and mark entranc'd
The glory-streaming VISION throng the night.[109:A]
Ah not more radiant, nor loud harmonies
Hymning more unimaginably sweet 10
With choral songs around th' ETERNAL MIND,
The constellated company of WORLDS
Danc'd jubilant: what time the startling East
Saw from her dark womb leap her flamy child!
Glory to God in the Highest! PEACE on Earth! 15
Yet thou more bright than all that Angel Blaze,
Despiséd GALILAEAN! Man of Woes!
For chiefly in the oppressed Good Man's face
The Great Invisible (by symbols seen)
Shines with peculiar and concentred light, 20
When all of Self regardless the scourg'd Saint
Mourns for th' oppressor. O thou meekest Man! 25
Meek Man and lowliest of the Sons of Men!
Who thee beheld thy imag'd Father saw.[109:B]
His Power and Wisdom from thy awful eye
Blended their beams, and loftier Love sat there
Musing on human weal, and that dread hour 30
_When thy insulted_, &c.
1796.
[109:A] And suddenly there was with the Angel a multitude of
the heavenly Host, praising God and saying glory to God in the
highest and on earth peace. Luke ii. 13 _1796_.
[109:B] Philip saith unto him, Lord! shew us the Father and it
sufficeth us. Jesus saith unto him, Have I been so long time
with you, and yet hast thou not known me, Philip? He that hath
seen me hath seen the Father. John xiv. 9 _1796_.
[7] Angel-blaze] Angel-Host 1803.
[26] Diviner light flash'd extacy o'er Heaven! 1796.
[32-4]
What mists dim-floating of Idolatry
Split and mishap'd the Omnipresent Sire:
And first by Terror, Mercy's startling prelude,
Uncharm'd the Spirit spell-bound with earthy lusts.
1796.
[39] From Hope and stronger Faith to perfect Love 1796.
[54] embosom] imbosom 1796, 1797, 1803.
[64-71]
They cannot dread created might, who love
God the Creator! fair and lofty thought!
It lifts and swells my heart! and as I muse,
Behold a VISION gathers in my soul,
Voices and shadowy shapes! In human guise
I seem to see the phantom, FEAR, pass by,
Hotly-pursued, and pale! From rock to rock
He bounds with bleeding feet, and thro' the swamp,
The quicksand and the groaning wilderness,
Struggles with feebler and yet feebler flight.
But lo! an altar in the wilderness,
And eagerly yet feebly lo! he grasps
The altar of the living God! and there
With wan reverted face the trembling wretch
All wildly list'ning to his Hunter-fiends
Stands, till the last faint echo of their yell
Dies in the distance. _Soon refresh'd from Heaven_ &c.
1803.
[74-7]
Swims in his eyes: his swimming eyes uprais'd:
And Faith's whole armour girds his limbs! And thus
Transfigur'd, with a meek and dreadless awe,
A solemn hush of spirit _he beholds_
1803.
[78-84]
Yea, and there,
Unshudder'd unaghasted, he shall view
E'en the SEVEN SPIRITS, who in the latter day
Will shower hot pestilence on the sons of men,
For he shall know, his heart shall understand,
That kindling with intenser Deity
They from the MERCY-SEAT like rosy flames,
From God's celestial MERCY-SEAT will flash,
And at the wells of renovating LOVE
Fill their Seven Vials _with salutary wrath_.
1796.
[81-3]
For even these on wings of healing come,
Yea, kindling with intenser Deity
From the Celestial MERCY SEAT they speed,
_And at the renovating_ &c.
1803.
[86] soft] sweet 1803.
[96-7]
Darkling with earnest eyes he traces out
Th' immediate road, all else of fairest kind
1803.
[98] the burning Sun 1803.
[115] The Cherubs and the trembling Seraphim 1803.
[119-21] om. 1803.
[135-41]
O Fiends of SUPERSTITION! not that oft
Your pitiless rites have floated with man's blood
The skull-pil'd Temple, not for this shall wrath
Thunder against you from the Holy One!
But (whether ye th' unclimbing Bigot mock
With secondary Gods, or if more pleas'd
Ye petrify th' imbrothell'd Atheist's heart,
The Atheist your worst slave) I o'er some plain
Peopled with Death, and to the silent Sun
Steaming with tyrant-murder'd multitudes;
Or where mid groans and shrieks loud-laughing TRADE
More hideous packs his bales of living anguish
1796.
[165] pious] _pious_ 1796-1829.
[176] mazy surge] tortuous-folds 1796.
[177] imbreathe] inbreathe 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829.
[202] An] A 1834.
[222] an] a 1834.
[223] om. 1796, 1803.
[254-5]
The wafted perfumes, gazing on the woods
The many tinted streams
1803.
[257] In extacy! 1803.
[266] Blessed] O _Blest_ 1796, Watchman: evil 1803: _Blessed_ 1797,
1828, 1829.
[270] by] at Watchman.
[273] bloody] gore-stained 1803.
[274] plants] rolls 1796.
[277-8]
Ye whom Oppression's ruffian gluttony
Drives from the feast of life
1803.
[280-1]
Dost roam for prey--yea thy unnatural hand
Liftest to deeds of blood
1796.
[281] Dost] Dar'st Watchman.
[283-4]
Nights of pollution, days of blasphemy,
Who in thy orgies with loath'd wassailers
1803.
[290] O loathly-visag'd Suppliants! ye that oft 1796: O loathly-visag'd
supplicants! that oft Watchman.
[291-2]
Rack'd with disease, from the unopen'd gate
Of the full Lazar-house, heart-broken crawl!
1796, Watchman.
[293-6]
O ye to scepter'd Glory's gore-drench'd field
Forc'd or ensnar'd, who swept by Slaughter's scythe
Stern nurse of Vultures! steam in putrid heaps
1796.
O ye that steaming to the silent Noon,
People with Death red-eyed Ambition's plains!
O Wretched _Widow_
Watchman.
[300] Cow'rest 1796.
[302] stream] steam 1796, Watchman, 1797, 1803.
[305] And upward spring on swiftest plume of fire Watchman.
[337] Hunted by ghastlier terrors 1796, Watchman. Haunted] Hunted 1797,
1803, 1828, 1829.
[345-8]
When on some solemn Jubilee of Saints
The sapphire-blazing gates of Paradise
Are thrown wide open, and thence voyage forth
Detachments wild of seraph-warbled airs
1796, Watchman.
[355] beatitudes] beatitude 1796, Watchman, 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829.
[356] Seize on] Have seiz'd Watchman.
[359-61]
The SAVIOUR comes! While as to solemn strains,
The THOUSAND YEARS lead up their mystic dance
Old OCEAN claps his hands! the DESERT shouts!
And soft gales wafted from the haunts of spring
Melt the primaeval North!
_The Mighty Dead_ 1796.
[365] The odorous groves of Earth reparadis'd 1796.
[370-2]
Down the fine fibres from the sentient brain
Roll subtly-surging. Pressing on his steps
Lo! PRIESTLEY there, Patriot, and Saint, and Sage,
Whom that my fleshly eye hath never seen
A childish pang of impotent regret
Hath thrill'd my heart. Him from his _native land_
1796.
Up the fine fibres thro' the sentient brain
Pass in fine surges. Pressing on his steps
_Lo! Priestley there_
1803.
[378-80]
Sweeping before the rapt prophetic Gaze
Bright as what glories of the jasper throne
Stream from the gorgeous and face-veiling plumes
Of Spirits adoring! Ye blest years! must end
1796.
[380] they bend] he bends 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829.
[387] May image in his wildly-working thought 1796: May image, how the
red-eyed Fiend outstretcht 1803.
[390] feverous] feverish 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829.
[Between 391, 392] DESTRUCTION! when the Sons of Morning shout, The
Angels shout, DESTRUCTION 1803.
[393] The Mighty Spirit 1796.
[400] om. 1803.
[401] blaze] Light 1803.
[411] and novice] noviciate 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829.
MONODY ON THE DEATH OF CHATTERTON[125:1]
O what a wonder seems the fear of death,
Seeing how gladly we all sink to sleep,
Babes, Children, Youths, and Men,
Night following night for threescore years and ten!
But doubly strange, where life is but a breath 5
To sigh and pant with, up Want's rugged steep.
Away, Grim Phantom! Scorpion King, away!
Reserve thy terrors and thy stings display
For coward Wealth and Guilt in robes of State!
Lo! by the grave I stand of one, for whom 10
A prodigal Nature and a niggard Doom
(_That_ all bestowing, _this_ withholding all)
Made each chance knell from distant spire or dome
Sound like a seeking Mother's anxious call,
Return, poor Child! Home, weary Truant, home! 15
Thee, Chatterton! these unblest stones protect
From want, and the bleak freezings of neglect.
Too long before the vexing Storm-blast driven
Here hast thou found repose! beneath this sod!
Thou! O vain word! _thou_ dwell'st not with the clod! 20
Amid the shining Host of the Forgiven
Thou at the throne of mercy and thy God
The triumph of redeeming Love dost hymn
(Believe it, O my Soul!) to harps of Seraphim.
Yet oft, perforce ('tis suffering Nature's call), 25
I weep that heaven-born Genius _so_ should fall;
And oft, in Fancy's saddest hour, my soul
Averted shudders at the poison'd bowl.
Now groans my sickening heart, as still I view
Thy corse of livid hue; 30
Now Indignation checks the feeble sigh,
Or flashes through the tear that glistens in mine eye!
Is this the land of song-ennobled line?
Is this the land, where Genius ne'er in vain
Pour'd forth his lofty strain? 35
Ah me! yet Spenser, gentlest bard divine,
Beneath chill Disappointment's shade,
His weary limbs in lonely anguish lay'd.
And o'er her darling dead
Pity hopeless hung her head, 40
While 'mid the pelting of that merciless storm,'
Sunk to the cold earth Otway's famish'd form!
Sublime of thought, and confident of fame,
From vales where Avon[127:1] winds the Minstrel came.
Light-hearted youth! aye, as he hastes along, 45
He meditates the future song,
How dauntless Ælla fray'd the Dacyan foe;
And while the numbers flowing strong
In eddies whirl, in surges throng,
Exulting in the spirits' genial throe 50
In tides of power his life-blood seems to flow.
And now his cheeks with deeper ardors flame,
His eyes have glorious meanings, that declare
More than the light of outward day shines there,
A holier triumph and a sterner aim! 55
Wings grow within him; and he soars above
Or Bard's or Minstrel's lay of war or love.
Friend to the friendless, to the sufferer health,
He hears the widow's prayer, the good man's praise;
To scenes of bliss transmutes his fancied wealth, 60
And young and old shall now see happy days.
On many a waste he bids trim gardens rise,
Gives the blue sky to many a prisoner's eyes;
And now in wrath he grasps the patriot steel,
And her own iron rod he makes Oppression feel. 65
Sweet Flower of Hope! free Nature's genial child!
That didst so fair disclose thy early bloom,
Filling the wide air with a rich perfume!
For thee in vain all heavenly aspects smil'd;
From the hard world brief respite could they win-- 70
The frost nipp'd sharp without, the canker prey'd within!
Ah! where are fled the charms of vernal Grace,
And Joy's wild gleams that lighten'd o'er thy face?
Youth of tumultuous soul, and haggard eye!
Thy wasted form, thy hurried steps I view, 75
On thy wan forehead starts the lethal dew,
And oh! the anguish of that shuddering sigh!
Such were the struggles of the gloomy hour,
When Care, of wither'd brow,
Prepar'd the poison's death-cold power: 80
Already to thy lips was rais'd the bowl,
When near thee stood Affection meek
(Her bosom bare, and wildly pale her cheek)
Thy sullen gaze she bade thee roll
On scenes that well might melt thy soul; 85
Thy native cot she flash'd upon thy view,
Thy native cot, where still, at close of day,
Peace smiling sate, and listen'd to thy lay;
Thy Sister's shrieks she bade thee hear,
And mark thy Mother's thrilling tear; 90
See, see her breast's convulsive throe,
Her silent agony of woe!
Ah! dash the poison'd chalice from thy hand!
And thou hadst dashed it, at her soft command,
But that Despair and Indignation rose, 95
And told again the story of thy woes;
Told the keen insult of the unfeeling heart,
The dread dependence on the low-born mind;
Told every pang, with which thy soul must smart,
Neglect, and grinning Scorn, and Want combined! 100
Recoiling quick, thou badest the friend of pain
Roll the black tide of Death through every freezing vein!
O spirit blest!
Whether the Eternal's throne around,
Amidst the blaze of Seraphim, 105
Thou pourest forth the grateful hymn,
Or soaring thro' the blest domain
Enrapturest Angels with thy strain,--
Grant me, like thee, the lyre to sound,
Like thee with fire divine to glow;-- 110
But ah! when rage the waves of woe,
Grant me with firmer breast to meet their hate,
And soar beyond the storm with upright eye elate!
Ye woods! that wave o'er Avon's rocky steep,
To Fancy's ear sweet is your murmuring deep! 115
For here she loves the cypress wreath to weave;
Watching with wistful eye, the saddening tints of eve.
Here, far from men, amid this pathless grove,
In solemn thought the Minstrel wont to rove,
Like star-beam on the slow sequester'd tide 120
Lone-glittering, through the high tree branching wide.
And here, in Inspiration's eager hour,
When most the big soul feels the mastering power,
These wilds, these caverns roaming o'er,
Round which the screaming sea-gulls soar, 125
With wild unequal steps he pass'd along,
Oft pouring on the winds a broken song:
Anon, upon some rough rock's fearful brow
Would pause abrupt--and gaze upon the waves below.
Poor Chatterton! _he_ sorrows for thy fate 130
Who would have prais'd and lov'd thee, ere too late.
Poor Chatterton! farewell! of darkest hues
This chaplet cast I on thy unshaped tomb;
But dare no longer on the sad theme muse,
Lest kindred woes persuade a kindred doom: 135
For oh! big gall-drops, shook from Folly's wing,
Have blacken'd the fair promise of my spring;
And the stern Fate transpierc'd with viewless dart
The last pale Hope that shiver'd at my heart!
Hence, gloomy thoughts! no more my soul shall dwell 140
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
Where Virtue calm with careless step may stray; 145
And, dancing to the moon-light roundelay,
The wizard Passions weave an holy spell!
O Chatterton! that thou wert yet alive!
Sure thou would'st spread the canvass to the gale,
And love with us the tinkling team to drive 150
O'er peaceful Freedom's undivided dale;
And we, at sober eve, would round thee throng,
Would hang, enraptur'd, on thy stately song,
And greet with smiles the young-eyed Poesy
All deftly mask'd as hoar Antiquity. 155
Alas, vain Phantasies! the fleeting brood
Of Woe self-solac'd in her dreamy mood!
Yet will I love to follow the sweet dream,
Where Susquehannah pours his untamed stream;
And on some hill, whose forest-frowning side 160
Waves o'er the murmurs of his calmer tide,
Will raise a solemn Cenotaph to thee,
Sweet Harper of time-shrouded Minstrelsy!
And there, sooth'd sadly by the dirgeful wind,
Muse on the sore ills I had left behind. 165
1790-1834.
FOOTNOTES:
[125:1] The 'Monody', &c., dated in eds. 1796, 1797, 1803, 'October,
1794,' was first published at Cambridge in 1794, in _Poems_, By Thomas
Rowley [i. e. Chatterton] and others edited by Lancelot Sharpe (pp.
xxv-xxviii). An _Introductory Note_ was prefixed:--'The Editor thinks
himself happy in the permission of an ingenious friend to insert the
following Monody.' The variants marked 1794 are derived from that work.
The 'Monody' was not included in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817. For MS.
variants _vide ante_, 'Monody', &c., Christ's Hospital Version.
Coleridge told Cottle, May 27, 1814 that lines 1-4 were written when he
was 'a mere boy' (_Reminiscences_, 1847, p. 348); and, again, April 22,
1819, he told William Worship that they were written 'in his thirteenth
year as a school exercise'. The Monody numbered 107 lines in 1794, 143
in 1796, 135 in 1797, 119 in 1803, 143 in 1828, 154 in 1829, and 165
lines in 1834.
[127:1] Avon, a river near Bristol, the birth-place of Chatterton.
LINENOTES:
[1-15]
When faint and sad o'er Sorrow's desart wild
Slow journeys onward, poor Misfortune's child;
When fades each lovely form by Fancy drest,
And inly pines the self-consuming breast;
(No scourge of scorpions in thy right arm dread,
No helméd terrors nodding o'er thy head,)
Assume, O DEATH! the cherub wings of PEACE,
And bid the heartsick Wanderer's Anguish cease.
1794, 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828.
[Lines 1-15 of the text were first printed in 1829.]
[16] these] yon 1794, 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828.
[18-24]
Escap'd the sore wounds of Affliction's rod
Meek at the throne of Mercy and of God,
Perchance, thou raisest high th' enraptur'd hymn
Amid the blaze of Seraphim!
1794, 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828.
[25] Yet oft ('tis Nature's bosom-startling call) 1794, 1796, 1828: Yet
oft ('tis Nature's call) 1797, 1803.
[26] should] shall 1829.
[30] Thy] The 1794.
[31-32]
And now a flash of Indignation high
Darts through the tear that glistens in mine eye.
1794, 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828.
[35] his] her 1794.
[37] Disappointment's deadly shade 1794.
[41] merciless] pitiless 1794.
[45] aye, as] om. 1797, 1803.
[46] He] And 1797, 1803.
[47-56]
How dauntless Ælla fray'd the Dacyan foes;
And, as floating high in air,
Glitter the sunny Visions fair,
His eyes dance rapture, and his bosom glows!
1794, 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828.
[1794 reads 'Danish foes'; 1797, 1803 read 'See, as floating', &c.
Lines 48-56 were added in 1829.]
[58-71]
Friend to the friendless, to the sick man Health,
With generous Joy he views th' _ideal_ wealth;
He hears the Widow's heaven-breath'd prayer of Praise;
He marks the shelter'd Orphan's tearful gaze;
Or where the sorrow-shrivell'd Captive lay, 5
Pours the bright Blaze of Freedom's noon-tide Ray:
And now, indignant 'grasps the patriot steel'
And her own iron rod he makes Oppression feel.
Clad in Nature's rich array,
And bright in all her tender hues, 10
Sweet Tree of Hope! thou loveliest child of Spring!
How fair didst thou disclose thine early bloom,
Loading the west winds with its soft perfume!
And Fancy, elfin form of gorgeous wing,
[And Fancy hovering round on shadowy wing, 1794.]
On every blossom hung her fostering dews, 15
That, changeful, wanton'd to the orient Day!
But soon upon thy poor unshelter'd Head
[Ah! soon, &c. 1794.]
Did Penury her sickly mildew shed:
And soon the scathing Lightning bade thee stand
In frowning horror o'er the blighted Land
1794, 1796, 1828.
[Lines 1-8 of the preceding variant were omitted in 1797. Line 9 reads
'Yes! Clad,' &c., and line 12 reads 'Most fair,' &c. The entire variant,
'Friend . . . Land,' was omitted in 1803, but reappears in 1828. The
quotation marks 'grasps the patriot steel' which appear in 1796, but not
in 1794, were inserted in 1828, but omitted in 1829, 1834. Lines 1-6
were included in 'Lines written at the King's Arms, Ross', as first
published in the Cambridge Intelligencer, Sept. 27, 1794, and in the
editions of 1797, 1828, 1829, and 1834.]
[72] Ah! where] Whither 1794, 1797.
[73] that lighten'd] light-flashing 1797, 1803.
[76] wan] cold 1794, 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828. lethal] anguish'd 1794,
1796, 1797, 1828.
[77] And dreadful was that bosom-rending sigh 1794, 1796, 1797, 1803,
1828.
[78] the gloomy] that gloomy 1803.
[80] Prepar'd the poison's power 1797, 1803.
[90] And mark thy mother's tear 1797, 1803.
[98] low-born] low-bred 1794.
[99] with] at 1794. must] might 1794.
[102] black] dark 1794.
[103-13] These lines, which form the conclusion (ll. 80-90) of the
Christ's Hospital Version, were printed for the first time in 1834, with
the following variants: l. 104 the Eternal's] th' Eternal; l. 105
Seraphim] Cherubim; l. 112 to meet] t'oppose; l. 113 storm] storms.
[120] slow] rude 1794.
[121] Lone glittering thro' the Forest's murksome pride 1794.
[123] mastering] mad'ning 1794, 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828.
[129] Here the Monody ends 1794.
[130-65] First printed in 1796.
[133] unshaped] shapeless 1803.
[136-39] om. 1803.
[147] an] a 1834.
[153] Would hang] Hanging 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829.
THE DESTINY OF NATIONS[131:1]
A VISION
Auspicious Reverence! Hush all meaner song,
Ere we the deep preluding strain have poured
To the Great Father, only Rightful King,
Eternal Father! King Omnipotent!
To the Will Absolute, the One, the Good! 5
The I AM, the Word, the Life, the Living God!
Such symphony requires best instrument.
Seize, then, my soul! from Freedom's trophied dome
The Harp which hangeth high between the Shields
Of Brutus and Leonidas! With that 10
Strong music, that soliciting spell, force back
Man's free and stirring spirit that lies entranced.
For what is Freedom, but the unfettered use
Of all the powers which God for use had given?
But chiefly this, him First, him Last to view 15
Through meaner powers and secondary things
Effulgent, as through clouds that veil his blaze.
For all that meets the bodily sense I deem
Symbolical, one mighty alphabet
For infant minds; and we in this low world 20
Placed with our backs to bright Reality,
That we may learn with young unwounded ken
The substance from its shadow. Infinite Love,
Whose latence is the plenitude of All,
Thou with retracted beams, and self-eclipse 25
Veiling, revealest thine eternal Sun.
But some there are who deem themselves most free
When they within this gross and visible sphere
Chain down the wingéd thought, scoffing ascent,
Proud in their meanness: and themselves they cheat 30
With noisy emptiness of learned phrase,
Their subtle fluids, impacts, essences,
Self-working tools, uncaused effects, and all
Those blind Omniscients, those Almighty Slaves,
Untenanting creation of its God. 35
But Properties are God: the naked mass
(If mass there be, fantastic guess or ghost)
Acts only by its inactivity.
Here we pause humbly. Others boldlier think
That as one body seems the aggregate 40
Of atoms numberless, each organized;
So by a strange and dim similitude
Infinite myriads of self-conscious minds
Are one all-conscious Spirit, which informs
With absolute ubiquity of thought 45
(His one eternal self-affirming act!)
All his involvéd Monads, that yet seem
With various province and apt agency
Each to pursue its own self-centering end.
Some nurse the infant diamond in the mine; 50
Some roll the genial juices through the oak;
Some drive the mutinous clouds to clash in air,
And rushing on the storm with whirlwind speed,
Yoke the red lightnings to their volleying car.
Thus these pursue their never-varying course, 55
No eddy in their stream. Others, more wild,
With complex interests weaving human fates,
Duteous or proud, alike obedient all,
Evolve the process of eternal good.
And what if some rebellious, o'er dark realms 60
Arrogate power? yet these train up to God,
And on the rude eye, unconfirmed for day,
Flash meteor-lights better than total gloom.
As ere from Lieule-Oaive's vapoury head
The Laplander beholds the far-off Sun 65
Dart his slant beam on unobeying snows,
While yet the stern and solitary Night
Brooks no alternate sway, the Boreal Morn
With mimic lustre substitutes its gleam.
Guiding his course or by Niemi lake 70
Or Balda Zhiok,[133:1] or the mossy stone
Of Solfar-kapper,[133:2] while the snowy blast
Drifts arrowy by, or eddies round his sledge,
Making the poor babe at its mother's back[134:1]
Scream in its scanty cradle: he the while 75
Wins gentle solace as with upward eye
He marks the streamy banners of the North,
Thinking himself those happy spirits shall join
Who there in floating robes of rosy light
Dance sportively. For Fancy is the power 80
That first unsensualises the dark mind,
Giving it new delights; and bids it swell
With wild activity; and peopling air,
By obscure fears of Beings invisible,
Emancipates it from the grosser thrall 85
Of the present impulse, teaching Self-control,
Till Superstition with unconscious hand
Seat Reason on her throne. Wherefore not vain,
Nor yet without permitted power impressed,
I deem those legends terrible, with which 90
The polar ancient thrills his uncouth throng:
Whether of pitying Spirits that make their moan
O'er slaughter'd infants, or that Giant Bird
Vuokho, of whose rushing wings the noise
Is Tempest, when the unutterable Shape 95
Speeds from the mother of Death, and utters once[134:2]
That shriek, which never murderer heard, and lived.
Or if the Greenland Wizard in strange trance
Pierces the untravelled realms of Ocean's bed
Over the abysm, even to that uttermost cave 100
By mis-shaped prodigies beleaguered, such
As Earth ne'er bred, nor Air, nor the upper Sea:
Where dwells the Fury Form, whose unheard name
With eager eye, pale cheek, suspended breath,
And lips half-opening with the dread of sound, 105
Unsleeping Silence guards, worn out with fear
Lest haply 'scaping on some treacherous blast
The fateful word let slip the Elements
And frenzy Nature. Yet the wizard her,
Arm'd with Torngarsuck's power, the Spirit of Good,[135:1] 110
Forces to unchain the foodful progeny
Of the Ocean stream;--thence thro' the realm of Souls,
Where live the Innocent, as far from cares
As from the storms and overwhelming waves
That tumble on the surface of the Deep, 115
Returns with far-heard pant, hotly pursued
By the fierce Warders of the Sea, once more,
Ere by the frost foreclosed, to repossess
His fleshly mansion, that had staid the while
In the dark tent within a cow'ring group 120
Untenanted.--Wild phantasies! yet wise,
On the victorious goodness of high God
Teaching reliance, and medicinal hope,
Till from Bethabra northward, heavenly Truth
With gradual steps, winning her difficult way, 125
Transfer their rude Faith perfected and pure.
If there be Beings of higher class than Man,
I deem no nobler province they possess,
Than by disposal of apt circumstance
To rear up kingdoms: and the deeds they prompt, 130
Distinguishing from mortal agency,
They choose their human ministers from such states
As still the Epic song half fears to name,
Repelled from all the minstrelsies that strike
The palace-roof and soothe the monarch's pride. 135
And such, perhaps, the Spirit, who (if words
Witnessed by answering deeds may claim our faith)
Held commune with that warrior-maid of France
Who scourged the Invader. From her infant days,
With Wisdom, mother of retired thoughts, 140
Her soul had dwelt; and she was quick to mark
The good and evil thing, in human lore
Undisciplined. For lowly was her birth,
And Heaven had doomed her early years to toil
That pure from Tyranny's least deed, herself 145
Unfeared by Fellow-natures, she might wait
On the poor labouring man with kindly looks,
And minister refreshment to the tired
Way-wanderer, when along the rough-hewn bench
The sweltry man had stretched him, and aloft 150
Vacantly watched the rudely-pictured board
Which on the Mulberry-bough with welcome creak
Swung to the pleasant breeze. Here, too, the Maid
Learnt more than Schools could teach: Man's shifting mind,
His vices and his sorrows! And full oft 155
At tales of cruel wrong and strange distress
Had wept and shivered. To the tottering Eld
Still as a daughter would she run: she placed
His cold limbs at the sunny door, and loved
To hear him story, in his garrulous sort, 160
Of his eventful years, all come and gone.
So twenty seasons past. The Virgin's form,
Active and tall, nor Sloth nor Luxury
Had shrunk or paled. Her front sublime and broad,
Her flexile eye-brows wildly haired and low, 165
And her full eye, now bright, now unillumed,
Spake more than Woman's thought; and all her face
Was moulded to such features as declared
That Pity there had oft and strongly worked,
And sometimes Indignation. Bold her mien, 170
And like an haughty huntress of the woods
She moved: yet sure she was a gentle maid!
And in each motion her most innocent soul
Beamed forth so brightly, that who saw would say
Guilt was a thing impossible in her! 175
Nor idly would have said--for she had lived
In this bad World, as in a place of Tombs,
And touched not the pollutions of the Dead.
'Twas the cold season when the Rustic's eye
From the drear desolate whiteness of his fields 180
Rolls for relief to watch the skiey tints
And clouds slow-varying their huge imagery;
When now, as she was wont, the healthful Maid
Had left her pallet ere one beam of day
Slanted the fog-smoke. She went forth alone 185
Urged by the indwelling angel-guide, that oft,
With dim inexplicable sympathies
Disquieting the heart, shapes out Man's course
To the predoomed adventure. Now the ascent
She climbs of that steep upland, on whose top 190
The Pilgrim-man, who long since eve had watched
The alien shine of unconcerning stars,
Shouts to himself, there first the Abbey-lights
Seen in Neufchâtel's vale; now slopes adown
The winding sheep-track vale-ward: when, behold 195
In the first entrance of the level road
An unattended team! The foremost horse
Lay with stretched limbs; the others, yet alive
But stiff and cold, stood motionless, their manes
Hoar with the frozen night-dews. Dismally 200
The dark-red dawn now glimmered; but its gleams
Disclosed no face of man. The maiden paused,
Then hailed who might be near. No voice replied.
From the thwart wain at length there reached her ear
A sound so feeble that it almost seemed 205
Distant: and feebly, with slow effort pushed,
A miserable man crept forth: his limbs
The silent frost had eat, scathing like fire.
Faint on the shafts he rested. She, meantime,
Saw crowded close beneath the coverture 210
A mother and her children--lifeless all,
Yet lovely! not a lineament was marred--
Death had put on so slumber-like a form!
It was a piteous sight; and one, a babe.
The crisp milk frozen on its innocent lips, 215
Lay on the woman's arm, its little hand
Stretched on her bosom.
Mutely questioning,
The Maid gazed wildly at the living wretch.
He, his head feebly turning, on the group
Looked with a vacant stare, and his eye spoke 220
The drowsy calm that steals on worn-out anguish.
She shuddered; but, each vainer pang subdued,
Quick disentangling from the foremost horse
The rustic bands, with difficulty and toil
The stiff cramped team forced homeward. There arrived, 225
Anxiously tends him she with healing herbs,
And weeps and prays--but the numb power of Death
Spreads o'er his limbs; and ere the noon-tide hour,
The hovering spirits of his Wife and Babes
Hail him immortal! Yet amid his pangs, 230
With interruptions long from ghastly throes,
His voice had faltered out this simple tale.
The Village, where he dwelt an husbandman,
By sudden inroad had been seized and fired
Late on the yester-evening. With his wife 235
And little ones he hurried his escape.
They saw the neighbouring hamlets flame, they heard
Uproar and shrieks! and terror-struck drove on
Through unfrequented roads, a weary way!
But saw nor house nor cottage. All had quenched 240
Their evening hearth-fire: for the alarm had spread.
The air clipt keen, the night was fanged with frost,
And they provisionless! The weeping wife
Ill hushed her children's moans; and still they moaned,
Till Fright and Cold and Hunger drank their life. 245
They closed their eyes in sleep, nor knew 'twas Death.
He only, lashing his o'er-wearied team,
Gained a sad respite, till beside the base
Of the high hill his foremost horse dropped dead.
Then hopeless, strengthless, sick for lack of food, 250
He crept beneath the coverture, entranced,
Till wakened by the maiden.--Such his tale.
Ah! suffering to the height of what was suffered,
Stung with too keen a sympathy, the Maid
Brooded with moving lips, mute, startful, dark! 255
And now her flushed tumultuous features shot
Such strange vivacity, as fires the eye
Of Misery fancy-crazed! and now once more
Naked, and void, and fixed, and all within
The unquiet silence of confuséd thought 260
And shapeless feelings. For a mighty hand
Was strong upon her, till in the heat of soul
To the high hill-top tracing back her steps,
Aside the beacon, up whose smouldered stones
The tender ivy-trails crept thinly, there, 265
Unconscious of the driving element,
Yea, swallowed up in the ominous dream, she sate
Ghastly as broad-eyed Slumber! a dim anguish
Breathed from her look! and still with pant and sob,
Inly she toiled to flee, and still subdued, 270
Felt an inevitable Presence near.
Thus as she toiled in troublous ecstasy,
A horror of great darkness wrapt her round,
And a voice uttered forth unearthly tones,
Calming her soul,--'O Thou of the Most High 275
Chosen, whom all the perfected in Heaven
Behold expectant--'
[The following fragments were intended to form part of the poem when
finished.]
[140:1]'Maid beloved of Heaven!
(To her the tutelary Power exclaimed)
Of Chaos the adventurous progeny 280
Thou seest; foul missionaries of foul sire.
Fierce to regain the losses of that hour
When Love rose glittering, and his gorgeous wings
Over the abyss fluttered with such glad noise,
As what time after long and pestful calms, 285
With slimy shapes and miscreated life
Poisoning the vast Pacific, the fresh breeze
Wakens the merchant-sail uprising. Night
An heavy unimaginable moan
Sent forth, when she the Protoplast beheld 290
Stand beauteous on Confusion's charméd wave.
Moaning she fled, and entered the Profound
That leads with downward windings to the Cave
Of Darkness palpable, Desert of Death
Sunk deep beneath Gehenna's massy roots. 295
There many a dateless age the Beldame lurked
And trembled; till engendered by fierce Hate,
Fierce Hate and gloomy Hope, a Dream arose,
Shaped like a black cloud marked with streaks of fire.
It roused the Hell-Hag: she the dew-damp wiped 300
From off her brow, and through the uncouth maze
Retraced her steps; but ere she reached the mouth
Of that drear labyrinth, shuddering she paused,
Nor dared re-enter the diminished Gulph.
As through the dark vaults of some mouldered Tower 305
(Which, fearful to approach, the evening hind
Circles at distance in his homeward way)
The winds breathe hollow, deemed the plaining groan
Of prisoned spirits; with such fearful voice
Night murmured, and the sound through Chaos went. 310
Leaped at her call her hideous-fronted brood!
A dark behest they heard, and rushed on earth;
Since that sad hour, in Camps and Courts adored,
Rebels from God, and Tyrants o'er Mankind!'
* * * * *
From his obscure haunt 315
Shrieked Fear, of Cruelty the ghastly Dam,
Feverous yet freezing, eager-paced yet slow,
As she that creeps from forth her swampy reeds.
Ague, the biform Hag! when early Spring
Beams on the marsh-bred vapours. 320
'Even so (the exulting Maiden said)
The sainted Heralds of Good Tidings fell,
And thus they witnessed God! But now the clouds
Treading, and storms beneath their feet, they soar
Higher, and higher soar, and soaring sing 325
Loud songs of triumph! O ye Spirits of God,
Hover around my mortal agonies!'
She spake, and instantly faint melody
Melts on her ear, soothing and sad, and slow,
Such measures, as at calmest midnight heard 330
By agéd Hermit in his holy dream,
Foretell and solace death; and now they rise
Louder, as when with harp and mingled voice
The white-robed multitude of slaughtered saints
At Heaven's wide-open'd portals gratulant 335
Receive some martyred patriot. The harmony[142:1]
Entranced the Maid, till each suspended sense
Brief slumber seized, and confused ecstasy.
At length awakening slow, she gazed around:
And through a mist, the relict of that trance 340
Still thinning as she gazed, an Isle appeared,
Its high, o'er-hanging, white, broad-breasted cliffs,
Glassed on the subject ocean. A vast plain
Stretched opposite, where ever and anon
The plough-man following sad his meagre team 345
Turned up fresh sculls unstartled, and the bones
Of fierce hate-breathing combatants, who there
All mingled lay beneath the common earth,
Death's gloomy reconcilement! O'er the fields
Stept a fair Form, repairing all she might, 350
Her temples olive-wreathed; and where she trod,
Fresh flowerets rose, and many a foodful herb.
But wan her cheek, her footsteps insecure,
And anxious pleasure beamed in her faint eye,
As she had newly left a couch of pain, 355
Pale Convalescent! (Yet some time to rule
With power exclusive o'er the willing world,
That blessed prophetic mandate then fulfilled--
Peace be on Earth!) An happy while, but brief,
She seemed to wander with assiduous feet, 360
And healed the recent harm of chill and blight,
And nursed each plant that fair and virtuous grew.
But soon a deep precursive sound moaned hollow:
Black rose the clouds, and now, (as in a dream)
Their reddening shapes, transformed to Warrior-hosts, 365
Coursed o'er the sky, and battled in mid-air.
Nor did not the large blood-drops fall from Heaven
Portentous! while aloft were seen to float,
Like hideous features looming on the mist,
Wan stains of ominous light! Resigned, yet sad, 370
The fair Form bowed her olive-crownéd brow,
Then o'er the plain with oft-reverted eye
Fled till a place of Tombs she reached, and there
Within a ruined Sepulchre obscure
Found hiding-place.
The delegated Maid 375
Gazed through her tears, then in sad tones exclaimed;--
Thou mild-eyed Form! wherefore, ah! wherefore fled?
The Power of Justice like a name all light,
Shone from thy brow; but all they, who unblamed
Dwelt in thy dwellings, call thee Happiness. 380
Ah! why, uninjured and unprofited,
Should multitudes against their brethren rush?
Why sow they guilt, still reaping misery?
Lenient of care, thy songs, O Peace! are sweet,[144:1]
As after showers the perfumed gale of eve, 385
That flings the cool drops on a feverous cheek;
And gay thy grassy altar piled with fruits.
But boasts the shrine of Dæmon War one charm,[144:2]
Save that with many an orgie strange and foul,[144:3]
Dancing around with interwoven arms, 390
The Maniac Suicide and Giant Murder
Exult in their fierce union! I am sad,
And know not why the simple peasants crowd
Beneath the Chieftains' standard!' Thus the Maid.
To her the tutelary Spirit said: 395
'When Luxury and Lust's exhausted stores
No more can rouse the appetites of kings;
When the low flattery of their reptile lords
Falls flat and heavy on the accustomed ear;
When eunuchs sing, and fools buffoonery make, 400
And dancers writhe their harlot-limbs in vain;
Then War and all its dread vicissitudes
Pleasingly agitate their stagnant hearts;
Its hopes, its fears, its victories, its defeats,
Insipid Royalty's keen condiment! 405
_Therefore_, uninjured and unprofited
(Victims at once and executioners),
The congregated Husbandmen lay waste
The vineyard and the harvest. As along
The Bothnic coast, or southward of the Line, 410
Though hushed the winds and cloudless the high noon,
Yet if Leviathan, weary of ease,
In sports unwieldy toss his island-bulk,
Ocean behind him billows, and before
A storm of waves breaks foamy on the strand. 415
And hence, for times and seasons bloody and dark,
Short Peace shall skin the wounds of causeless War,
And War, his strainéd sinews knit anew,
Still violate the unfinished works of Peace.
But yonder look! for more demands thy view!' 420
He said: and straightway from the opposite Isle
A vapour sailed, as when a cloud, exhaled
From Egypt's fields that steam hot pestilence,
Travels the sky for many a trackless league,
Till o'er some death-doomed land, distant in vain, 425
It broods incumbent. Forthwith from the plain,
Facing the Isle, a brighter cloud arose,
And steered its course which way the vapour went.
The Maiden paused, musing what this might mean.
But long time passed not, ere that brighter cloud 430
Returned more bright; along the plain it swept;
And soon from forth its bursting sides emerged
A dazzling form, broad-bosomed, bold of eye,
And wild her hair, save where with laurels bound.
Not more majestic stood the healing God,[146:1] 435
When from his bow the arrow sped that slew
Huge Python. Shriek'd Ambition's giant throng,
And with them hissed the locust-fiends that crawled
And glittered in Corruption's slimy track.
Great was their wrath, for short they knew their reign; 440
And such commotion made they, and uproar,
As when the mad Tornado bellows through
The guilty islands of the western main,
What time departing from their native shores,[146:2]
Eboe, or Koromantyn's plain of palms, 445
The infuriate spirits of the murdered make
Fierce merriment, and vengeance ask of Heaven.
Warmed with new influence, the unwholesome plain
Sent up its foulest fogs to meet the morn:
The Sun that rose on Freedom, rose in Blood! 450
'Maiden beloved, and Delegate of Heaven!
(To her the tutelary Spirit said)
Soon shall the Morning struggle into Day,
The stormy Morning into cloudless Noon.
Much hast thou seen, nor all canst understand-- 455
But this be thy best omen--Save thy Country!'
Thus saying, from the answering Maid he passed,
And with him disappeared the heavenly Vision.
'Glory to Thee, Father of Earth and Heaven!
All-conscious Presence of the Universe! 460
Nature's vast ever-acting Energy![147:1]
In will, in deed, Impulse of All to All!
Whether thy Love with unrefracted ray
Beam on the Prophet's purgéd eye, or if
Diseasing realms the Enthusiast, wild of thought, 465
Scatter new frenzies on the infected throng,
Thou both inspiring and predooming both,
Fit instruments and best, of perfect end:
Glory to Thee, Father of Earth and Heaven!'
* * * * *
And first a landscape rose 470
More wild and waste and desolate than where
The white bear, drifting on a field of ice,
Howls to her sundered cubs with piteous rage
And savage agony.
1796.
FOOTNOTES:
[131:1] First published, in its entirety, in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817:
included in 1828, 1829, and 1834. Two hundred and fifty-five lines were
included in Book II of _Joan of Arc, An Epic Poem_, by Robert Southey,
Bristol and London, 1796, 4{o}. The greater part of the remaining 212
lines were written in 1796, and formed part of an unpublished poem
entitled _The Progress of Liberty_ or _The Vision of the Maid of
Orleans_, or _Visions of the Maid of Orleans_, or _Visions of the Maid
of Arc_, or _The Vision of the Patriot Maiden_. (See letter to Poole,
Dec. 13, and letter to J. Thelwall, Dec. 17, 1796, _Letters of S. T.
C._, 1895, i. 192, 206. See, too, Cottle's _Early Recollections_, 1837,
i. 230; and, for Lamb's criticism of a first draft of the poem, his
letters to Coleridge, dated Jan. 5 and Feb. 12, 1797.) For a reprint of
_Joan of Arc_, Book the Second (Preternatural Agency), see Cottle's
_Early Recollections_, 1837, ii. 241-62.
The texts of 1828, 1829 (almost but not quite identical) vary slightly
from that of the _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, and, again, the text of 1834
varies from that of 1828 and 1829. These variants (on a proof-sheet of
the edition of 1828) are in Coleridge's own handwriting, and afford
convincing evidence that he did take some part in the preparation of the
text of his poems for the last edition issued in his own lifetime.
[133:1] Balda-Zhiok, i. e. mons altitudinis, the highest mountain in
Lapland.
[133:2] Solfar-kapper: capitium Solfar, hic locus omnium, quotquot
veterum Lapponum superstitio sacrificiisque religiosoque cultui
dedicavit, celebratissimus erat, in parte sinus australis situs,
semimilliaris spatio a mari distans. Ipse locus, quem curiositatis
gratia aliquando me invisisse memini, duabus praealtis lapidibus, sibi
invicem oppositis, quorum alter musco circumdatus erat, constabat.
[134:1] The Lapland women carry their infants at their backs in a piece
of excavated wood which serves them for a cradle: opposite to the
infant's mouth there is a hole for it to breathe through.
Mirandum prorsus est et vix credibile nisi cui vidisse contigit.
Lappones hyeme iter facientes per vastos montes, perque horrida et invia
tesqua, eo praesertim tempore quo omnia perpetuis nivibus obtecta sunt
et nives ventis agitantur et in gyros aguntur, viam ad destinata loca
absque errore invenire posse, lactantem autem infantem, si quem habeat,
ipsa mater in dorso baiulat, in excavato ligno (Gieed'k ipsi vocant)
quod pro cunis utuntur, in hoc infans pannis et pellibus convolutus
colligatus iacet.--LEEMIUS DE LAPPONIBUS.
[134:2] Jaibme Aibmo.
[135:1] They call the Good Spirit, Torngarsuck. The other great but
malignant spirit a nameless female; she dwells under the sea in a great
house where she can detain in captivity all the animals of the ocean by
her magic power. When a dearth befalls the Greenlanders, an Angekok or
magician must undertake a journey thither: he passes through the kingdom
of souls, over an horrible abyss into the palace of this phantom, and by
his enchantments causes the captive creatures to ascend directly to the
surface of the ocean. See Crantz, _History of Greenland_, vol. i. 206.
[140:1] These are very fine Lines, tho' I say it, that should not: but,
hang me, if I know or ever did know the meaning of them, tho' my own
composition. _MS. Note by S. T. C._
[142:1] Rev. vi. 9, 11: And when he had opened the fifth seal, I saw
under the altar the souls of them that were slain for the word of God
and for the Testimony which they held. And white robes were given unto
every one of them; and it was said unto them, that they should rest yet
for a little Season, until their fellow-servants also, and their
brethren that should be killed, as they were, should be fulfilled.
[144:1] A grievous defect here in the rhyme recalling assonance of
Pe͞ace, swe͞et ēve, che͞ek. Better thus:--
Sweet are thy Songs, O Peace! lenient of care.
_S. T. C._, _1828_.
[144:2] 388-93 Southeyan. To be omitted. _S. T. C._, _1828_.
[144:3] A vile line [_foul_ is underlined]. _S. T. C._, _1828_.
[146:1] The Apollo Belvedere.
[146:2] The Slaves in the West-India Islands consider Death as a
passport to their native country. The Sentiment is thus expressed in the
Introduction to a Greek Prize Ode on the Slave-Trade, of which the Ideas
are better than the Language or Metre, in which they are conveyed:--
Ὠ σκότου πύλας, Θάνατε, προλείπων
Ἐς γένος σπεύδοις ὑποζευχθὲν Ἄτᾳ[146:A];
Οὐ ξενισθήσῃ γενύων σπαραγμοῖς
Οὐδ' ὀλολυγμῷ,
Ἀλλὰ καὶ κύκλοισι χοροιτύποισι
Κἀσμάτων χαρᾷ; φοβερὸς μὲν ἐσσί,
Ἀλλ' ὁμῶς Ἐλευθερίᾳ συνοικεῖς,
Στυγνὲ Τύραννε!
Δασκίοις ἐπὶ πτερύγεσσι σῇσι
Ἆ! θαλάσσιον καθορῶντες οἶδμα
Αἰθεροπλάγκτοις ὑπὸ πόσσ' ἀνεῖσι
Πατρίδ' ἐπ' αἶαν,
Ἔνθα μὰν Ἐρασταὶ Ἐρωμένῃσιν
Ἀμφὶ πηγῇσιν κιτρίνων ὑπ' ἀλσῶν,
Ὅσσ' ὑπὸ βροτοῖς ἔπαθον βροτοί, τὰ
Δεινὰ λέγοντι.
LITERAL TRANSLATION.
Leaving the gates of Darkness, O Death! hasten thou to a Race yoked to
Misery! Thou wilt not be received with lacerations of Cheeks, nor with
funereal ululation, but with circling Dances and the joy of Songs. Thou
art terrible indeed, yet thou dwellest with LIBERTY, stern GENIUS! Borne
on thy dark pinions over the swelling of Ocean they return to their
native country. There by the side of fountains beneath Citron groves,
the Lovers tell to their Beloved, what horrors, being Men, they had
endured from Men.
[146:A] ο before ζ ought to have been made long; δοῑς ὑπōζ is
an Amphimacer not (as the metre here requires) a Dactyl. _S.
T. C._
[147:1] Tho' these Lines may bear a sane sense, yet they are easily, and
more naturally interpreted with a very false and dangerous one. But I
was at that time one of the _Mongrels_, the Josephidites [Josephides =
the Son of Joseph], a proper name of distinction from those who believe
_in_, as well as believe Christ the only begotten Son of the Living God
before all Time. _MS. Note by S. T. C._
LINENOTES:
[1] No more of Usurpation's doom'd defeat 4{o}.
[5-6]
Beneath whose shadowy banners wide unfurl'd
Justice leads forth her tyrant-quelling hosts.
4{o}, Sibylline Leaves.
[5] THE WILL, THE WORD, THE BREATH, THE LIVING GOD 1828, 1829.
[6] _Added in_ 1834.
[9-12]
The Harp which hanging high between the shields
Of Brutus and Leonidas oft gives
A fitful music to the breezy touch
Of patriot spirits that demand their fame.
4{o}.
[12] Man's] Earth's Sibylline Leaves, 1828, 1829.
[15]
But chiefly this with holiest habitude
Of constant Faith, him First, him Last to view
4{o}.
[23-6]
Things from their shadows. Know thyself my Soul!
Confirm'd thy strength, thy pinions fledged for flight
Bursting this shell and leaving next thy nest
Soon upward soaring shalt thou fix intense
Thine eaglet eye on Heaven's Eternal Sun!
4{o}.
The substance from its shadow--Earth's broad shade
Revealing by Eclipse, the Eternal Sun.
Sibylline Leaves.
[The text of lines 23-6 is given in the Errata p. [lxii].]
[37] om. 4{o}.
[40] seems] is 4{o}.
[44] Form one all-conscious Spirit, who directs 4{o}.
[46] om. 4{o}.
[47] involvéd] component 4{o}.
[54] lightnings] lightning 4{o}.
[70] Niemi] Niemi's 4{o}.
[90] deem] deemed 1829.
[96-7]
Speeds from the mother of Death his destin'd way
To snatch the murderer from his secret cell.
4{o}.
[Between lines 99-100]
(Where live the innocent as far from cares
As from the storms and overwhelming waves
Dark tumbling on the surface of the deep).
4{o}, Sibylline Leaves, 1828, 1829.
These lines form part of an addition (lines 111-21) which dates from
1834.
[103] Where] There 4{o}, Sibylline Leaves, 1828, 1829.
[105] om. 4{o}.
[107] 'scaping] escaping 4{o}, Sibylline Leaves, 1828, 1829.
[108] fateful word] fatal sound 4{o}.
[112-21] thence thro' . . . Untenanted are not included in 4{o},
Sibylline Leaves, 1828, or 1829. For lines 113-15 vide _ante_, variant
of line 99 of the text.
[112] Ocean] Ocean's 1828, 1829.
[130 foll.]
To rear some realm with patient discipline,
Aye bidding PAIN, dark ERROR'S uncouth child,
Blameless Parenticide! his snakey scourge 125
Lift fierce against his Mother! Thus they make
Of transient Evil ever-during Good
Themselves probationary, and denied
Confess'd to view by preternatural deed
To o'erwhelm the will, save on some fated day 130
Headstrong, or with petition'd might from God.
And such perhaps the guardian Power whose ken
Still dwelt on France. He from the invisible World
Burst on the MAIDEN'S eye, impregning Air
With Voices and strange Shapes, illusions apt 135
Shadowy of Truth. [And first a landscape rose
More wild and waste and desolate, than where
The white bear drifting on a field of ice
Howls to her sunder'd cubs with piteous rage
And savage agony.] Mid the drear scene 140
A craggy mass uprear'd its misty brow,
Untouch'd by breath of Spring, unwont to know
Red Summer's influence, or the chearful face
Of Autumn; yet its fragments many and huge
Astounded ocean with the dreadful dance 145
Of whirlpools numberless, absorbing oft
The blameless fisher at his perilous toil.
4{o}.
_Note_--Lines 148-223 of the Second Book of _Joan of Arc_ are by
Southey. Coleridge's unpublished poem of 1796 (_The Visions of the Maid
of Orleans_) begins at line 127 of the text, ending at line 277. The
remaining portion of the _Destiny of Nations_ is taken from lines
contributed to the Second Book. Lines 136-40 of variant 130 foll. form
the concluding fragment of the _Destiny of Nations_. Lines 141-3 of the
variant are by Southey. (See his Preface to _Joan of Arc_, 1796, p. vi.)
The remaining lines of the variant were never reprinted.
[132] human] mortal Sibylline Leaves (correction made in Errata, p.
[xii]).
[171] an] a 1834.
[201] now] new Sibylline Leaves, 1828.
[289] An] A 1834.
[300] dew-damp] dew-damps 4{o}.
[314] Tyrants] Monarchs 4{o}, Sibylline Leaves, 1828, 1829.
Between lines 314 and 315 of the text, the text of the original version
(after line 259 of _Joan of Arc_, Book II) continues:--
'These are the fiends that o'er thy native land 260
Spread Guilt and Horror. Maid belov'd of Heaven!
Dar'st thou inspir'd by the holy flame of Love
Encounter such fell shapes, nor fear to meet
Their wrath, their wiles? O Maiden dar'st thou die?'
'Father of Heaven: I will not fear.' she said, 265
'My arm is weak, but mighty is thy sword.'
She spake and as she spake the trump was heard
That echoed ominous o'er the streets of Rome,
When the first Caesar totter'd o'er the grave
By Freedom delv'd: the Trump, whose chilling blast 270
On Marathon and on Plataea's plain
Scatter'd the Persian.--From his obscure haunt, &c.
[Lines 267-72, She spake . . . the Persian, are claimed by Southey.]
[316] Shriek'd Fear the ghastliest of Ambition's throng 4{o}.
[317] Feverous] Fev'rish 4{o}, Sibylline Leaves, 1817, 1828, 1829.
Between lines 320 and 321 of the text, the text of _Joan of Arc_, Book
II, continues:--
'Lo she goes!
To Orleans lo! she goes--the mission'd Maid!
The Victor Hosts wither beneath her arm!
And what are Crecy, Poictiers, Azincour 280
But noisy echoes in the ear of Pride?'
Ambition heard and startled on his throne;
But strait a smile of savage joy illum'd
His grisly features, like the sheety Burst
Of Lightning o'er the awaken'd midnight clouds 285
Wide flash'd. [For lo! a flaming pile reflects
Its red light fierce and gloomy on the face
Of SUPERSTITION and her goblin Son
Loud-laughing CRUELTY, who to the stake
A female fix'd, of bold and beauteous mien, 290
Her snow-white Limbs by iron fetters bruis'd
Her breast expos'd.] JOAN saw, she saw and knew
Her perfect image. Nature thro' her frame
One pang shot shiv'ring; but, that frail pang soon
Dismiss'd, 'Even so, &c.
4{o}.
[The passage included in brackets was claimed by Southey.]
[330] calmest] calmy 4{o}.
[339-40]
But lo! no more was seen the ice-pil'd mount
And meteor-lighted dome.--An Isle appear'd
4{o}.
[342] white] rough 4{o}.
[361] and] or 4{o}.
[366-7]
The Sea meantime his Billows darkest roll'd,
And each stain'd wave dash'd on the shore a corse.
4{o}.
[369-72]
His hideous features blended with the mist,
The long black locks of SLAUGHTER. PEACE beheld
And o'er the plain
4{o}.
[369] Like hideous features blended with the clouds Sibylline Leaves,
1817. (_Errata_: for '_blended_', &c., read '_looming on the mist_'. S.
L., p. [xii].)
[378-9]
The name of JUSTICE written on thy brow
Resplendent shone
4{o}, S. L. 1817.
(The reading of the text is given as an emendation in the _Errata_,
Sibylline Leaves, 1817, p. [xii].)
[386] That plays around the sick man's throbbing temples 4{o}.
[394] Chieftains'] Chieftain's 4{o}.
[395] said] replied 4{o}, S. L., 1828.
Between lines 421 and 423 of the text, the text of _Joan of Arc_, Book
II, inserts:--
A Vapor rose, pierc'd by the MAIDEN'S eye.
Guiding its course OPPRESSION sate within,[145:A]
With terror pale and rage, yet laugh'd at times
Musing on Vengeance: trembled in his hand
A Sceptre fiercely-grasp'd. O'er Ocean westward
The Vapor sail'd
4{o}.
[145:A] These images imageless, these _Small-Capitals_
constituting themselves Personifications, I despised even at
that time; but was forced to introduce them, to preserve the
connection with the machinery of the Poem, previously adopted
by Southey. _S. T. C._
After 429 of the text, the text of _Joan of Arc_ inserts:--
ENVY sate guiding--ENVY, hag-abhorr'd!
Like JUSTICE mask'd, and doom'd to aid the fight 410
Victorious 'gainst oppression. Hush'd awhile
4{o}.
[These lines were assigned by Coleridge to Southey.]
[434] with] by 4{o}.
[437-8]
Shriek'd AMBITION'S ghastly throng
And with them those the locust Fiends that crawl'd[146:A]
4{o}.
[146:A] --if Locusts how could they _shriek_? I must have
caught the contagion of _unthinkingness_. _S. T. C._ _4{o}_.
[458] heavenly] goodly 4{o}.
[463] Love] Law 4{o}.
For lines 470-74 vide _ante_ var. of lines 130 foll.
VER PERPETUUM[148:1]
FRAGMENT
From an unpublished poem.
The early Year's fast-flying vapours stray
In shadowing trains across the orb of day:
And we, poor Insects of a few short hours,
Deem it a world of Gloom.
Were it not better hope a nobler doom, 5
Proud to believe that with more active powers
On rapid many-coloured wing
We thro' one bright perpetual Spring
Shall hover round the fruits and flowers,
Screen'd by those clouds and cherish'd by those showers! 10
1796.
FOOTNOTES:
[148:1] First published without title ('_From an unpublished poem_') in
_The Watchman_, No. iv, March 25, 1796, and reprinted in _Literary
Remains_, 1836, i. 44, with an extract from the Essay in the _Watchman_
in which it was included:--'In my calmer moments I have the firmest
faith that all things work together for good. But alas! it seems a long
and dark process.' First collected with extract only in Appendix to
1863. First entitled 'Fragment from an Unpublished Poem' in 1893, and
'Ver Perpetuum' in 1907.
ON OBSERVING A BLOSSOM ON THE FIRST OF FEBRUARY 1796[148:2]
Sweet flower! that peeping from thy russet stem
Unfoldest timidly, (for in strange sort
This dark, frieze-coated, hoarse, teeth-chattering month
Hath borrow'd Zephyr's voice, and gazed upon thee
With blue voluptuous eye) alas, poor Flower! 5
These are but flatteries of the faithless year.
Perchance, escaped its unknown polar cave,
Even now the keen North-East is on its way.
Flower that must perish! shall I liken thee
To some sweet girl of too too rapid growth 10
Nipp'd by consumption mid untimely charms?
Or to Bristowa's bard,[149:1] the wondrous boy!
An amaranth, which earth scarce seem'd to own,
Till disappointment came, and pelting wrong
Beat it to earth? or with indignant grief 15
Shall I compare thee to poor Poland's hope,
Bright flower of hope killed in the opening bud?
Farewell, sweet blossom! better fate be thine
And mock my boding! Dim similitudes
Weaving in moral strains, I've stolen one hour 20
From anxious Self, Life's cruel taskmaster!
And the warm wooings of this sunny day
Tremble along my frame and harmonize
The attempered organ, that even saddest thoughts
Mix with some sweet sensations, like harsh tunes 25
Played deftly on a soft-toned instrument.
1796.
FOOTNOTES:
[148:2] First published in _The Watchman_, No. vi, April 11, 1796:
included in 1797, 1803, _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834.
[149:1] Chatterton.
LINENOTES:
Title] Lines on observing, &c., Written near Sheffield, Watchman, 1797,
1803.
[5] With 'blue voluptuous eye' 1803.
[Between 13 and 14] Blooming mid Poverty's drear wintry waste Watchman,
1797, 1803, S. L., 1817, 1828.
[16] hope] hopes, Watchman.
[21]
From black anxiety that gnaws my heart.
For her who droops far off on a sick bed.
Watchman, 1797, 1803.
[24] Th' attempered brain, that ev'n the saddest thoughts Watchman,
1797, 1803.
TO A PRIMROSE[149:2]
THE FIRST SEEN IN THE SEASON
Nitens et roboris expers
Turget et insolida est: et spe delectat.
OVID, _Metam._ [xv. 203].
Thy smiles I note, sweet early Flower,
That peeping from thy rustic bower
The festive news to earth dost bring,
A fragrant messenger of Spring.
But, tender blossom, why so pale? 5
Dost hear stern Winter in the gale?
And didst thou tempt the ungentle sky
To catch one vernal glance and die?
Such the wan lustre Sickness wears
When Health's first feeble beam appears; 10
So languid are the smiles that seek
To settle on the care-worn cheek,
When timorous Hope the head uprears,
Still drooping and still moist with tears,
If, through dispersing grief, be seen 15
Of Bliss the heavenly spark serene.
And sweeter far the early blow,
Fast following after storms of Woe,
Than (Comfort's riper season come)
Are full-blown joys and Pleasure's gaudy bloom. 20
1796.
FOOTNOTES:
[149:2] First published in _The Watchman_, No. viii, April 27, 1796:
reprinted in _Literary Remains_, 1836, i. 47. First collected in
Appendix to 1863.
LINENOTES:
_To a Primrose._--Motto: et] at L. R., App. 1863.
[17-20] om. L. R., App. 1863
VERSES[150:1]
ADDRESSED TO J. HORNE TOOKE AND THE COMPANY WHO MET ON JUNE 28TH, 1796,
TO CELEBRATE HIS POLL AT THE WESTMINSTER ELECTION
Britons! when last ye met, with distant streak
So faintly promis'd the pale Dawn to break:
So dim it stain'd the precincts of the Sky
E'en _Expectation_ gaz'd with doubtful Eye.
But now such fair Varieties of Light 5
O'ertake the heavy sailing Clouds of Night;
Th' Horizon kindles with so rich a red,
That tho' the _Sun still hides_ his glorious head
Th' impatient Matin-bird, _assur'd of Day_,
Leaves his low nest to meet its earliest ray; 10
Loud the sweet song of Gratulation sings,
And high in air claps his rejoicing wings!
Patriot and Sage! whose breeze-like Spirit first
The lazy mists of Pedantry dispers'd
(Mists in which Superstition's _pigmy_ band 15
Seem'd Giant Forms, the Genii of the Land!),
Thy struggles soon shall wak'ning Britain bless,
And Truth and Freedom hail thy wish'd success.
Yes _Tooke!_ tho' foul Corruption's wolfish throng
Outmalice Calumny's imposthum'd Tongue, 20
Thy Country's noblest and _determin'd_ Choice,
Soon shalt thou thrill the Senate with thy voice;
With gradual Dawn bid Error's phantoms flit,
Or wither with the lightning's flash of Wit;
Or with sublimer mien and tones more deep, 25
Charm sworded Justice from mysterious Sleep,
'By violated Freedom's loud Lament,
Her Lamps extinguish'd and her Temple rent;
By the forc'd tears her captive Martyrs shed;
By each pale Orphan's feeble cry for bread; 30
By ravag'd Belgium's corse-impeded Flood,
And Vendee steaming still with brothers' blood!'
And if amid the strong impassion'd Tale,
Thy Tongue should falter and thy Lips turn pale;
If transient Darkness film thy aweful Eye, 35
And thy tir'd Bosom struggle with a sigh:
Science and Freedom shall demand to hear
Who practis'd on a Life so doubly dear;
Infus'd the unwholesome anguish drop by drop,
Pois'ning the sacred stream they could not stop! 40
Shall bid thee with recover'd strength relate
How dark and deadly is a Coward's Hate:
What seeds of death by wan Confinement sown,
When Prison-echoes mock'd Disease's groan!
Shall bid th' indignant Father flash dismay, 45
And drag the unnatural Villain into Day
Who[151:1] to the sports of his flesh'd Ruffians left
Two lovely Mourners of their Sire bereft!
'Twas wrong, like this, which Rome's _first Consul_ bore,
So by th' insulted Female's name _he_ swore 50
Ruin (and rais'd her reeking dagger high)
Not to the _Tyrants_ but the Tyranny!
1796.
FOOTNOTES:
[150:1] First printed in the _Transactions_ of the Philobiblon Society.
First published in _P. W._, 1893. The verses (without the title) were
sent by Coleridge in a letter to the Rev. J. P. Estlin, dated July 4,
[1796].
[151:1] 'Dundas left thief-takers in Horne Tooke's House for three days,
with his two Daughters _alone_: for Horne Tooke keeps no servant.' _S.
T. C. to Estlin._
LINENOTES:
[31, 32] These lines are borrowed from the first edition (4{o}) of the
_Ode to the Departing Year_.]
ON A LATE CONNUBIAL RUPTURE IN HIGH LIFE[152:1]
[PRINCE AND PRINCESS OF WALES]
I sigh, fair injur'd stranger! for thy fate;
But what shall sighs avail thee? thy poor heart,
'Mid all the 'pomp and circumstance' of state,
Shivers in nakedness. Unbidden, start
Sad recollections of Hope's garish dream, 5
That shaped a seraph form, and named it Love,
Its hues gay-varying, as the orient beam
Varies the neck of Cytherea's dove.
To one soft accent of domestic joy
Poor are the shouts that shake the high-arch'd dome; 10
Those plaudits that thy _public_ path annoy,
Alas! they tell thee--Thou'rt a wretch _at home_!
O then retire, and weep! _Their very woes
Solace the guiltless._ Drop the pearly flood
On thy sweet infant, as the full-blown rose, 15
Surcharg'd with dew, bends o'er its neighbouring bud.
And ah! that Truth some holy spell might lend
To lure thy Wanderer from the Syren's power;
Then bid your souls inseparably blend
Like two bright dew-drops meeting in a flower. 20
1796.
FOOTNOTES:
[152:1] First published in the _Monthly Magazine_, September 1796, vol.
ii, pp. 64-7, reprinted in _Felix Farley's Bristol Journal_, Saturday,
Oct. 8, 1796, and in the _Poetical Register_, 1806-7 [1811, vol. vi, p.
365]. First collected in _P. and D. W._, 1877, i. 187. The lines were
sent in a letter to Estlin, dated July 4, 1796.
LINENOTES:
Title] To an Unfortunate Princess MS. Letter, July 4, 1796.
[17] might] could MS. Letter, 1796.
[18] thy] the Felix Farley's, &c.
[20] meeting] bosomed MS. Letter, 1796.
SONNET[152:2]
ON RECEIVING A LETTER INFORMING ME OF THE BIRTH OF A SON
When they did greet me father, sudden awe
Weigh'd down my spirit: I retired and knelt
Seeking the throne of grace, but inly felt
No heavenly visitation upwards draw
My feeble mind, nor cheering ray impart. 5
Ah me! before the Eternal Sire I brought
Th' unquiet silence of confuséd thought
And shapeless feelings: my o'erwhelméd heart
Trembled, and vacant tears stream'd down my face.
And now once more, O Lord! to thee I bend, 10
Lover of souls! and groan for future grace,
That ere my babe youth's perilous maze have trod,
Thy overshadowing Spirit may descend,
And he be born again, a child of God.
_Sept._ 20, 1796.
FOOTNOTES:
[152:2] First published in the 'Biographical Supplement' to the
_Biographia Literaria_, 1847, ii. 379. First collected in _P. and D.
W._, 1877-80. This and the two succeeding sonnets were enclosed in a
letter to Poole, dated November 1, 1796. A note was affixed to the
sonnet 'On Receiving', &c.: 'This sonnet puts in no claim to poetry
(indeed as a composition I think so little of them that I neglected to
repeat them to you) but it is a most faithful picture of my feelings on
a very interesting event. When I was with you they were, indeed,
excepting the first, in a rude and undrest shape.'
LINENOTES:
Title] Sonnet written on receiving letter informing me of the birth of a
son, I being at Birmingham MS. Letter, Nov. 1, 1796.
[8] shapeless] hopeless B. L.
SONNET[153:1]
COMPOSED ON A JOURNEY HOMEWARD; THE AUTHOR HAVING RECEIVED INTELLIGENCE
OF THE BIRTH OF A SON, SEPT. 20, 1796
Oft o'er my brain does that strange fancy roll
Which makes the present (while the flash doth last)
Seem a mere semblance of some unknown past,
Mixed with such feelings, as perplex the soul
Self-questioned in her sleep; and some have said[153:2] 5
We liv'd, ere yet this robe of flesh we wore.[154:1]
O my sweet baby! when I reach my door,
If heavy looks should tell me thou art dead,
(As sometimes, through excess of hope, I fear)
I think that I should struggle to believe 10
Thou wert a spirit, to this nether sphere
Sentenc'd for some more venial crime to grieve;
Did'st scream, then spring to meet Heaven's quick reprieve,
While we wept idly o'er thy little bier!
1796.
FOOTNOTES:
[153:1] First published in 1797: included in 1803, _Sibylline Leaves_,
1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834.
[153:2] Ἦν που ἡμῶν ἡ ψυχὴ πρὶν ἐν τῷδε τῷ ἀνθρωπίνῳ εἴδει γενέσθαι. Plat.
_Phaedon_. Cap. xviii. 72 e.
[154:1] Almost all the followers of Fénelon believe that men are
degraded Intelligences who had all once existed together in a
paradisiacal or perhaps heavenly state. The first four lines express a
feeling which I have often had--the present has appeared like a vivid
dream or exact similitude of some past circumstances. _MS. Letter to
Poole_, Nov. 1, 1796.
LINENOTES:
Title] Sonnet composed on my journey home from Birmingham MS. Letter,
1796: Sonnet ix. To a Friend, &c. 1797: Sonnet xvii. To a Friend, &c.
1803.
[1-11]
Oft of some unknown Past such Fancies roll
Swift o'er my brain as make the Present seem
For a brief moment like a most strange dream
When not unconscious that she dreamt, the soul
Questions herself in sleep! and some have said
We lived ere yet this fleshly robe we wore.
MS. Letter, 1796.
[6] robe of flesh] fleshy robe 1797, 1803.
[8] art] wert MS. Letter, 1796, 1797, 1803.
SONNET[154:2]
TO A FRIEND WHO ASKED, HOW I FELT WHEN THE NURSE FIRST PRESENTED MY
INFANT TO ME
Charles! my slow heart was only sad, when first
I scann'd that face of feeble infancy:
For dimly on my thoughtful spirit burst
All I had been, and all my child might be!
But when I saw it on its mother's arm, 5
And hanging at her bosom (she the while
Bent o'er its features with a tearful smile)
Then I was thrill'd and melted, and most warm
Impress'd a father's kiss: and all beguil'd
Of dark remembrance and presageful fear, 10
I seem'd to see an angel-form appear--
'Twas even thine, belovéd woman mild!
So for the mother's sake the child was dear,
And dearer was the mother for the child.
1796.
FOOTNOTES:
[154:2] First published in 1797: included in 1803, _Sibylline Leaves_,
1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. The 'Friend' was, probably, Charles Lloyd.
LINENOTES:
Title] To a Friend who wished to know, &c. MS. Letter, Nov. 1, 1796:
Sonnet x. To a Friend 1797: Sonnet xix. To a Friend, &c. 1803.
[4] child] babe MS. Letter, 1796, 1797, 1803.
[5] saw] watch'd MS. Letter, 1796.
[11] angel-form] Angel's form MS. Letter, 1796, 1797, 1803.
[13] Comforts on his late eve, whose youthful friend. MS. correction by
S. T. C. in copy of _Nugae Canorae_ in the British Museum.
SONNET[155:1]
[TO CHARLES LLOYD]
The piteous sobs that choke the Virgin's breath
For him, the fair betrothéd Youth, who lies
Cold in the narrow dwelling, or the cries
With which a Mother wails her darling's death,
These from our nature's common impulse spring, 5
Unblam'd, unprais'd; but o'er the piléd earth
Which hides the sheeted corse of grey-hair'd Worth,
If droops the soaring Youth with slacken'd wing;
If he recall in saddest minstrelsy
Each tenderness bestow'd, each truth imprest, 10
Such grief is Reason, Virtue, Piety!
And from the Almighty Father shall descend
Comforts on his late evening, whose young breast
Mourns with no transient love the Agéd Friend.
1796.
FOOTNOTES:
[155:1] First published in _Poems on the Death of Priscilla Farmer_. By
her Grandson, 1796, folio. It prefaced the same set of Lloyd's Sonnets
included in the second edition of _Poems_ by S. T. Coleridge, 1797. It
was included in C. Lloyd's _Nugae Canorae_, 1819. First collected in _P.
and D. W._, 1877-80.
TO A YOUNG FRIEND[155:2]
ON HIS PROPOSING TO DOMESTICATE WITH THE AUTHOR
_Composed in_ 1796
A mount, not wearisome and bare and steep,
But a green mountain variously up-piled,
Where o'er the jutting rocks soft mosses creep,
Or colour'd lichens with slow oozing weep;
Where cypress and the darker yew start wild; 5
And, 'mid the summer torrent's gentle dash
Dance brighten'd the red clusters of the ash;
Beneath whose boughs, by those still sounds beguil'd,
Calm Pensiveness might muse herself to sleep;
Till haply startled by some fleecy dam, 10
That rustling on the bushy cliff above
With melancholy bleat of anxious love,
Made meek enquiry for her wandering lamb:
Such a green mountain 'twere most sweet to climb,
E'en while the bosom ach'd with loneliness-- 15
How more than sweet, if some dear friend should bless
The adventurous toil, and up the path sublime
Now lead, now follow: the glad landscape round,
Wide and more wide, increasing without bound!
O then 'twere loveliest sympathy, to mark 20
The berries of the half-uprooted ash
Dripping and bright; and list the torrent's dash,--
Beneath the cypress, or the yew more dark,
Seated at ease, on some smooth mossy rock;
In social silence now, and now to unlock 25
The treasur'd heart; arm linked in friendly arm,
Save if the one, his muse's witching charm
Muttering brow-bent, at unwatch'd distance lag;
Till high o'er head his beckoning friend appears,
And from the forehead of the topmost crag 30
Shouts eagerly: for haply _there_ uprears
That shadowing Pine its old romantic limbs,
Which latest shall detain the enamour'd sight
Seen from below, when eve the valley dims,
Tinged yellow with the rich departing light; 35
And haply, bason'd in some unsunn'd cleft,
A beauteous spring, the rock's collected tears,
Sleeps shelter'd there, scarce wrinkled by the gale!
Together thus, the world's vain turmoil left,
Stretch'd on the crag, and shadow'd by the pine, 40
And bending o'er the clear delicious fount,
Ah! dearest youth! it were a lot divine
To cheat our noons in moralising mood,
While west-winds fann'd our temples toil-bedew'd:
Then downwards slope, oft pausing, from the mount, 45
To some lone mansion, in some woody dale,
Where smiling with blue eye, Domestic Bliss
Gives _this_ the Husband's, _that_ the Brother's kiss!
Thus rudely vers'd in allegoric lore,
The Hill of Knowledge I essayed to trace; 50
That verdurous hill with many a resting-place,
And many a stream, whose warbling waters pour
To glad, and fertilise the subject plains;
That hill with secret springs, and nooks untrod,
And many a fancy-blest and holy sod 55
Where Inspiration, his diviner strains
Low-murmuring, lay; and starting from the rock's
Stiff evergreens, (whose spreading foliage mocks
Want's barren soil, and the bleak frosts of age,
And Bigotry's mad fire-invoking rage!) 60
O meek retiring spirit! we will climb,
Cheering and cheered, this lovely hill sublime;
And from the stirring world up-lifted high
(Whose noises, faintly wafted on the wind,
To quiet musings shall attune the mind, 65
And oft the melancholy _theme_ supply),
There, while the prospect through the gazing eye
Pours all its healthful greenness on the soul,
We'll smile at wealth, and learn to smile at fame,
Our hopes, our knowledge, and our joys the same, 70
As neighbouring fountains image each the whole:
Then when the mind hath drunk its fill of truth
We'll discipline the heart to pure delight,
Rekindling sober joy's domestic flame.
They whom I love shall love thee, honour'd youth! 75
Now may Heaven realise this vision bright!
1796.
FOOTNOTES:
[155:2] First published in 1797: included in 1803, _Sibylline Leaves_,
1817, 1828, and 1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] To C. Lloyd on his proposing to domesticate, &c. 1797: To a
Friend, &c. 1803. 'Composed in 1796' was added in S. L.
[8] those still] stilly 1797: stillest 1803.
[11] cliff] clift S. L., 1828, 1829.
[16] How heavenly sweet 1797, 1803.
[42] youth] Lloyd 1797: Charles 1803.
[46] lone] low 1797, 1803.
[60] And mad oppression's thunder-clasping rage 1797, 1803.
[69] We'll laugh at wealth, and learn to laugh at fame 1797, 1803.
[71] In 1803 the poem ended with line 71. In the Sibylline Leaves, 1829,
the last five lines were replaced.
[72] hath drunk] has drank 1797: hath drank S. L., 1828, 1829.
[75] She whom I love, shall love thee. Honour'd youth 1797, S. L., 1817,
1828, 1829. The change of punctuation dates from 1834.
ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG MAN OF FORTUNE[157:1]
[C. LLOYD]
WHO ABANDONED HIMSELF TO AN INDOLENT AND CAUSELESS MELANCHOLY
Hence that fantastic wantonness of woe,
O Youth to partial Fortune vainly dear!
To plunder'd Want's half-shelter'd hovel go,
Go, and some hunger-bitten infant hear
Moan haply in a dying mother's ear: 5
Or when the cold and dismal fog-damps brood
O'er the rank church-yard with sear elm-leaves strew'd,
Pace round some widow's grave, whose dearer part
Was slaughter'd, where o'er his uncoffin'd limbs
The flocking flesh-birds scream'd! Then, while thy heart 10
Groans, and thine eye a fiercer sorrow dims,
Know (and the truth shall kindle thy young mind)
What Nature makes thee mourn, she bids thee heal!
O abject! if, to sickly dreams resign'd,
All effortless thou leave Life's commonweal 15
A prey to Tyrants, Murderers of Mankind.
1796.
FOOTNOTES:
[157:1] First published in the _Cambridge Intelligencer_, December 17,
1796: included in the Quarto Edition of the _Ode on the Departing Year_,
1796, in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1828, 1829, and 1834. The lines were sent
in a letter to John Thelwall, dated December 17, 1796 (_Letters of S. T.
C._, 1895, i. 207, 208).
LINENOTES:
Title] Lines, &c., C. I.: To a Young Man who abandoned himself to a
causeless and indolent melancholy MS. Letter, 1796.
[6-7] These lines were omitted in the MS. Letter and 4{o} 1796, but were
replaced in Sibylline Leaves, 1817.
[8] Or seek some widow's MS. Letter, Dec. 17, 1796.
[11] eye] eyes MS. Letter, Dec. 9, 1796, C. I.
[15-16]
earth's common weal
A prey to the thron'd Murderess of Mankind.
MS. Letter, 1796.
All effortless thou leave Earth's commonweal
A prey to the thron'd Murderers of Mankind.
C. I., 1796, 4{o}.
TO A FRIEND[158:1]
[CHARLES LAMB]
WHO HAD DECLARED HIS INTENTION OF WRITING NO MORE POETRY
Dear Charles! whilst yet thou wert a babe, I ween
That Genius plung'd thee in that wizard fount
Hight Castalie: and (sureties of thy faith)
That Pity and Simplicity stood by,
And promis'd for thee, that thou shouldst renounce 5
The world's low cares and lying vanities,
Steadfast and rooted in the heavenly Muse,
And wash'd and sanctified to Poesy.
Yes--thou wert plung'd, but with forgetful hand
Held, as by Thetis erst her warrior son: 10
And with those recreant unbaptizéd heels
Thou'rt flying from thy bounden ministeries--
So sore it seems and burthensome a task
To weave unwithering flowers! But take thou heed:
For thou art vulnerable, wild-eyed boy, 15
And I have arrows[159:1] mystically dipped
Such as may stop thy speed. Is thy Burns dead?
And shall he die unwept, and sink to earth
'Without the meed of one melodious tear'?
Thy Burns, and Nature's own beloved bard, 20
Who to the 'Illustrious[159:2] of his native Land
So properly did look for patronage.'
Ghost of Mæcenas! hide thy blushing face!
They snatch'd him from the sickle and the plough--
To gauge ale-firkins.
Oh! for shame return! 25
On a bleak rock, midway the Aonian mount,
There stands a lone and melancholy tree,
Whose agéd branches to the midnight blast
Make solemn music: pluck its darkest bough,
Ere yet the unwholesome night-dew be exhaled, 30
And weeping wreath it round thy Poet's tomb.
Then in the outskirts, where pollutions grow,
Pick the rank henbane and the dusky flowers
Of night-shade, or its red and tempting fruit,
These with stopped nostril and glove-guarded hand 35
Knit in nice intertexture, so to twine,
The illustrious brow of Scotch Nobility!
1796.
FOOTNOTES:
[158:1] First published in a Bristol newspaper in aid of a subscription
for the family of Robert Burns (the cutting is bound up with the copy of
_Selection of Sonnets_ (_S. S._) in the Forster Library in the Victoria
and Albert Museum): reprinted in the _Annual Anthology_, 1800: included
in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834.
[159:1]
[Πολλά μοι ὑπ' ἀγκῶνος ὠκέα βέλη
Ἔνδον ἐντὶ φαρέτρας
Φωνᾶντα συνετοῖσιν.]
Pind. _Olymp._ ii. 149, κ. τ. λ.
[159:2] Verbatim from Burns's Dedication of his Poems to the Nobility
and Gentry of the Caledonian Hunt.
LINENOTES:
[1] whilst] while An. Anth.
[3] of] for S. S., An. Anth.
[25] gauge] guard S. L., 1817 (For 'guard' read 'guage'. _Errata_, p.
[xii]).
[33] stinking hensbane S. S., An. Anth.: hensbane S. L., 1817.
[35] Those with stopped nostrils MS. correction in printed slip of the
newspaper. See P. and D. W., 1877, ii. 379.
[After 37] E S T E E S I 1796, An. Anth.
ODE TO THE DEPARTING YEAR[160:1]
Ἰοὺ ἰού, ὢ ὢ κακά.
Ὑπ' αὖ με δεινὸς ὀρθομαντείας πόνος
Στροβεῖ, ταράσσων φροιμίοις δυσφροιμίοις.
* * * * *
Τὸ μέλλον ἥξει. Καὶ σύ μ' τάχει παρὼν
Ἄγαν ἀληθόμαντιν οἰκτείρας ἐρεῖς.
Aeschyl. _Agam._ 1173-75; 1199-1200.
ARGUMENT
The Ode[160:2] commences with an address to the Divine Providence that
regulates into one vast harmony all the events of time, however
calamitous some of them may appear to mortals. The second Strophe calls
on men to suspend their private joys and sorrows, and devote them for a
while to the cause of human nature in general. The first Epode speaks of
the Empress of Russia, who died of an apoplexy on the 17th of November
1796; having just concluded a subsidiary treaty with the Kings combined
against France. The first and second Antistrophe describe the Image of
the Departing Year, etc., as in a vision. The second Epode prophesies,
in anguish of spirit, the downfall of this country.
I
Spirit who sweepest the wild Harp of Time!
It is most hard, with an untroubled ear
Thy dark inwoven harmonies to hear!
Yet, mine eye fix'd on Heaven's unchanging clime
Long had I listen'd, free from mortal fear, 5
With inward stillness, and a bowéd mind;
When lo! its folds far waving on the wind,
I saw the train of the Departing Year!
Starting from my silent sadness
Then with no unholy madness, 10
Ere yet the enter'd cloud foreclos'd my sight,
I rais'd the impetuous song, and solemnis'd his flight.
II[161:1]
Hither, from the recent tomb,
From the prison's direr gloom,
From Distemper's midnight anguish; 15
And thence, where Poverty doth waste and languish;
Or where, his two bright torches blending,
Love illumines Manhood's maze;
Or where o'er cradled infants bending,
Hope has fix'd her wishful gaze; 20
Hither, in perplexéd dance,
Ye Woes! ye young-eyed Joys! advance!
By Time's wild harp, and by the hand
Whose indefatigable sweep
Raises its fateful strings from sleep, 25
I bid you haste, a mix'd tumultuous band!
From every private bower,
And each domestic hearth,
Haste for one solemn hour;
And with a loud and yet a louder voice, 30
O'er Nature struggling in portentous birth,
Weep and rejoice!
Still echoes the dread Name that o'er the earth[161:2]
Let slip the storm, and woke the brood of Hell:
And now advance in saintly Jubilee 35
Justice and Truth! They too have heard thy spell,
They too obey thy name, divinest Liberty!
III[162:1]
I mark'd Ambition in his war-array!
I heard the mailéd Monarch's troublous cry--
'Ah! wherefore does the Northern Conqueress stay![162:2] 40
Groans not her chariot on its onward way?'
Fly, mailéd Monarch, fly!
Stunn'd by Death's twice mortal mace,
No more on Murder's lurid face
The insatiate Hag shall gloat with drunken eye! 45
Manes of the unnumber'd slain!
Ye that gasp'd on Warsaw's plain!
Ye that erst at Ismail's tower,
When human ruin choked the streams,
Fell in Conquest's glutted hour, 50
Mid women's shrieks and infants' screams!
Spirits of the uncoffin'd slain,
Sudden blasts of triumph swelling,
Oft, at night, in misty train,
Rush around her narrow dwelling! 55
The exterminating Fiend is fled--
(Foul her life, and dark her doom)
Mighty armies of the dead
Dance, like death-fires, round her tomb!
Then with prophetic song relate, 60
Each some Tyrant-Murderer's fate!
IV[164:1]
Departing Year! 'twas on no earthly shore
My soul beheld thy Vision![164:2] Where alone,
Voiceless and stern, before the cloudy throne,
Aye Memory sits: thy robe inscrib'd with gore, 65
With many an unimaginable groan
Thou storied'st thy sad hours! Silence ensued,
Deep silence o'er the ethereal multitude,
Whose locks with wreaths, whose wreaths with glories shone.
Then, his eye wild ardours glancing, 70
From the choiréd gods advancing,
The Spirit of the Earth made reverence meet,
And stood up, beautiful, before the cloudy seat.
V
Throughout the blissful throng,
Hush'd were harp and song: 75
Till wheeling round the throne the Lampads seven,
(The mystic Words of Heaven)
Permissive signal make:
The fervent Spirit bow'd, then spread his wings and spake!
'Thou in stormy blackness throning 80
Love and uncreated Light,
By the Earth's unsolaced groaning,
Seize thy terrors, Arm of might!
By Peace with proffer'd insult scared,
Masked Hate and envying Scorn! 85
By years of Havoc yet unborn!
And Hunger's bosom to the frost-winds bared!
But chief by Afric's wrongs,
Strange, horrible, and foul!
By what deep guilt belongs 90
To the deaf Synod, 'full of gifts and lies!'[165:1]
By Wealth's insensate laugh! by Torture's howl!
Avenger, rise!
For ever shall the thankless Island scowl,
Her quiver full, and with unbroken bow? 95
Speak! from thy storm-black Heaven O speak aloud!
And on the darkling foe
Open thine eye of fire from some uncertain cloud!
O dart the flash! O rise and deal the blow!
The Past to thee, to thee the Future cries! 100
Hark! how wide Nature joins her groans below!
Rise, God of Nature! rise.'
VI[166:1]
The voice had ceas'd, the Vision fled;
Yet still I gasp'd and reel'd with dread.
And ever, when the dream of night 105
Renews the phantom to my sight,
Cold sweat-drops gather on my limbs;
My ears throb hot; my eye-balls start;
My brain with horrid tumult swims;
Wild is the tempest of my heart; 110
And my thick and struggling breath
Imitates the toil of death!
No stranger agony confounds
The Soldier on the war-field spread,
When all foredone with toil and wounds, 115
Death-like he dozes among heaps of dead!
(The strife is o'er, the day-light fled,
And the night-wind clamours hoarse!
See! the starting wretch's head
Lies pillow'd on a brother's corse!) 120
VII
Not yet enslaved, not wholly vile,
O Albion! O my mother Isle!
Thy valleys, fair as Eden's bowers,
Glitter green with sunny showers;
Thy grassy uplands' gentle swells 125
Echo to the bleat of flocks;
(Those grassy hills, those glittering dells
Proudly ramparted with rocks)
And Ocean mid his uproar wild
Speaks safety to his Island-child! 130
Hence for many a fearless age
Has social Quiet lov'd thy shore;
Nor ever proud Invader's rage
Or sack'd thy towers, or stain'd thy fields with gore.
VIII
Abandon'd of Heaven![167:1] mad Avarice thy guide, 135
At cowardly distance, yet kindling with pride--
Mid thy herds and thy corn-fields secure thou hast stood,
And join'd the wild yelling of Famine and Blood!
The nations curse thee! They with eager wondering
Shall hear Destruction, like a vulture, scream! 140
Strange-eyed Destruction! who with many a dream
Of central fires through nether seas up-thundering
Soothes her fierce solitude; yet as she lies
By livid fount, or red volcanic stream,
If ever to her lidless dragon-eyes, 145
O Albion! thy predestin'd ruins rise,
The fiend-hag on her perilous couch doth leap,
Muttering distemper'd triumph in her charméd sleep.
IX
Away, my soul, away!
In vain, in vain the Birds of warning sing-- 150
And hark! I hear the famish'd brood of prey
Flap their lank pennons on the groaning wind!
Away, my soul, away!
I unpartaking of the evil thing,
With daily prayer and daily toil 155
Soliciting for food my scanty soil,
Have wail'd my country with a loud Lament.
Now I recentre my immortal mind
In the deep Sabbath of meek self-content;
Cleans'd from the vaporous passions that bedim 160
God's Image, sister of the Seraphim.[168:1]
1796.
FOOTNOTES:
[160:1] First published in the _Cambridge Intelligencer_, December 31,
1796, and at the same time issued in a quarto pamphlet (the Preface is
dated December 26): included in 1797, 1803, _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817,
1828, 1829, 1829, and 1834. The Argument was first published in 1797. In
1803 the several sentences were printed as notes to the Strophes,
Antistrophes, &c. For the Dedication vide Appendices.
This Ode was written on the 24th, 25th, and 26th days of December, 1796;
and published separately on the last day of the year. _Footnote, 1797,
1808_: This Ode was composed and was first published on the last day of
that year. _Footnote, S. L., 1817, 1828, 1829, 1834._
[160:2] The Ode commences with an address to the great BEING, or Divine
Providence, who regulates into one vast Harmony all the Events of Time,
however Calamitous some of them appear to mortals. _1803_.
[161:1] The second Strophe calls on men to suspend their private Joys
and Sorrows, and to devote their passions for a while to the cause of
human Nature in general. _1803_.
[161:2] The Name of Liberty, which at the commencement of the French
Revolution was both the occasion and the pretext of unnumbered crimes
and horrors. _1803_.
[162:1] The first Epode refers to the late Empress of Russia, who died
of an apoplexy on the 17th of November, 1796, having just concluded a
subsidiary treaty with the kings combined against France. _1803_. The
Empress died just as she had engaged to furnish more effectual aid to
the powers combined against France. _C. I._
[162:2] A subsidiary Treaty had been just concluded; and Russia was to
have furnished more effectual aid than that of pious manifestoes to the
Powers combined against France. I rejoice--not over the deceased Woman
(I never dared figure the Russian Sovereign to my imagination under the
dear and venerable Character of WOMAN--WOMAN, that complex term for
Mother, Sister, Wife!) I rejoice, as at the disenshrining of a Daemon! I
rejoice, as at the extinction of the evil Principle impersonated! This
very day, six years ago, the massacre of Ismail was perpetrated. THIRTY
THOUSAND HUMAN BEINGS, MEN, WOMEN, AND CHILDREN, murdered in cold blood,
for no other crime than that their garrison had defended the place with
perseverance and bravery. Why should I recal the poisoning of her
husband, her iniquities in Poland, or her late unmotived attack on
Persia, the desolating ambition of her public life, or the libidinous
excesses of her private hours! I have no wish to qualify myself for the
office of Historiographer to the King of Hell--! December, 23, 1796.
_4{o}_.
[164:1] The first Antistrophe describes the Image of the Departing Year,
as in a vision; and concludes with introducing the Planetary Angel of
the Earth preparing to address the Supreme Being. _1803_.
[164:2] '_My soul beheld thy vision!_' i. e. Thy Image in a vision.
_4{o}_.
[165:1] Gifts used in Scripture for corruption. _C. I._
[166:1] The poem concludes with prophecying in anguish of Spirit the
Downfall of this Country. _1803_.
[167:1] '_Disclaim'd of Heaven!_'--The Poet from having considered the
peculiar advantages, which this country has enjoyed, passes in rapid
transition to the uses, which we have made of these advantages. We have
been preserved by our insular situation, from suffering the actual
horrors of War ourselves, and we have shewn our gratitude to Providence
for this immunity by our eagerness to spread those horrors over nations
less happily situated. In the midst of plenty and safety we have raised
or joined the yell for famine and blood. Of the one hundred and seven
last years, fifty have been years of War. Such wickedness cannot pass
unpunished. We have been proud and confident in our alliances and our
fleets--but God has prepared the canker-worm, and will smite the
_gourds_ of our pride. 'Art thou better than populous No, that was
situate among the rivers, that had the waters round about it, whose
rampart was the Sea? Ethiopia and Egypt were her strength and it was
infinite: Put and Lubim were her helpers. Yet she was carried away, she
went into captivity: and they cast lots for her honourable men, and all
her great men were bound in chains. Thou also shalt be drunken: all thy
strongholds shall be like fig trees with the first ripe figs; if they be
shaken, they shall even fall into the mouth of the eater. Thou hast
multiplied thy merchants above the stars of heaven. Thy crowned are as
the locusts; and thy captains as the great grasshoppers which camp in
the hedges in the cool-day; but when the Sun ariseth they flee away, and
their place is not known where they are. There is no healing of thy
bruise; thy wound is grievous: all, that hear the report of thee, shall
clap hands over thee: for upon whom hath not thy wickedness passed
continually?' _Nahum_, chap. iii. _4{o}_, _1797_, _1803_.
[168:1] 'Let it not be forgotten during the perusal of this Ode that it
was written many years before the abolition of the Slave Trade by the
British Legislature, likewise before the invasion of Switzerland by the
French Republic, which occasioned the Ode that follows [_France: an
Ode._ First published as _The Recantation: an Ode_], a kind of
Palinodia.' _MS. Note by S. T. C._
LINENOTES:
Title] Ode for the last day of the Year 1796, C. I.: Ode on the
Departing Year 4{o}, 1797, 1803, S. L., 1817, 1828, 1829.
Motto] 3-5 All editions (4{o} to 1834) read ἐφημίοις for δυσφροιμίοις,
and Ἄγαν γ' for Ἄγαν; and all before 1834 μην for μ' ἐν.
I] Strophe I C. I., 4{o}, 1797, 1803.
[1] Spirit] Being 1803.
[4] unchanging] unchanged 4{o}.
[5] free] freed 4{o}.
[6] and a bowéd] and submitted 1803, S. L., 1817, 1828, 1829.
[7]
When lo! far onwards waving on the wind
I saw the skirts of the DEPARTING YEAR.
C. I., 4{o}, 1797, 1803.
[11] Ere yet he pierc'd the cloud and mock'd my sight C. I. foreclos'd]
forebade 4{o}, 1797, 1803.
II] Strophe II C. I., 4{o}, 1797, 1803.
[15-16]
From Poverty's heart-wasting languish
From Distemper's midnight anguish
C. I., 4{o}, 1797, 1803.
[22] Ye Sorrows, and ye Joys advance C. I. ye] and 4{o}, 1797, 1803.
[25] Forbids its fateful strings to sleep C. I., 4{o}, 1797, 1803.
[31] O'er the sore travail of the common Earth C. I., 4{o}.
[33-7]
Seiz'd in sore travail and portentous birth
(Her eyeballs flashing a pernicious glare)
Sick Nature struggles! Hark! her pangs increase!
Her groans are horrible! but O! most fair
The promis'd Twins she bears--Equality and Peace!
C. I., 4{o}.
[36] thy] the 1797, 1803.
III] Epode C. I., 4{o}, 1797, 1803.
[40] Ah! whither C. I., 4{o}.
[41] on] o'er C. I., 4{o}, 1797, 1803.
[43] 'twice mortal' mace C. I., 4{o}, 1797, 1803.
[45] The insatiate] That tyrant C. I.] drunken] frenzied C. I.
[Between 51 and 52]
Whose shrieks, whose screams were vain to stir
Loud-laughing, red-eyed Massacre
C. I., 4{o}, 1797, 1803.
[58] armies] Army C. I., 4{o}, 1797, 1803.
[61] Tyrant-Murderer's] scepter'd Murderer's C. I., 4{o}, 1797, 1803.
[After 61]
When shall sceptred SLAUGHTER cease?
A while he crouch'd, O Victor France!
Beneath the lightning of thy lance;
With treacherous dalliance courting PEACE--[163:A]
But soon upstarting from his coward trance
The boastful bloody Son of Pride betray'd
His ancient hatred of the dove-eyed Maid.
A cloud, O Freedom! cross'd thy orb of Light,
And sure he deem'd that orb was set in night:
For still does MADNESS roam on GUILT'S bleak dizzy height!
C. I.
When shall sceptred, &c.
* * * * *
With treacherous dalliance wooing Peace.
But soon up-springing from his dastard trance
The boastful bloody Son of Pride betray'd
His hatred of the blest and blessing Maid.
One cloud, O Freedom! cross'd thy orb of Light,
And sure he deem'd that orb was quench'd in night:
For still, &c.
4{o}.
[163:A] To juggle this easily-juggled people into better
humour with the supplies (and themselves, perhaps, affrighted
by the successes of the French) our Ministry sent an
Ambassador to Paris to sue for Peace. The supplies are
granted: and in the meantime the Archduke Charles turns the
scale of victory on the Rhine, and Buonaparte is checked
before Mantua. Straightways our courtly messenger is commanded
to _uncurl_ his lips, and propose to the lofty Republic to
_restore_ all _its_ conquests, and to suffer England to
_retain_ all _hers_ (at least all her _important_ ones), as
the only terms of Peace, and the ultimatum of the negotiation!
Θρασύνει γὰρ αἰσχρόμητις
Τάλαινα ΠΑΡΑΚΟΠΑ πρωτοπήμων--AESCHYL., _Ag._ 222-4.
The friends of Freedom in this country are idle. Some are
timid; some are selfish; and many the torpedo torch of
hopelessness has numbed into inactivity. We would fain hope
that (if the above account be accurate--it is only the French
account) this dreadful instance of infatuation in our Ministry
will rouse them to one effort more; and that at one and the
same time in our different great towns the people will be
called on to think solemnly, and declare their thoughts
fearlessly by every method which the _remnant_ of the
Constitution allows. _4{o}_.
IV] Antistrophe I. C. I., 4{o}, 1797, 1803.
[62] no earthly] an awful C. I.
[65] thy . . . gore] there garmented with gore C. I., 4{o},
1797.
[65-7]
Aye Memory sits: thy vest profan'd with gore.
Thou with an unimaginable groan
Gav'st reck'ning of thy Hours!
1803.
[68] ethereal] choired C. I.
[69] Whose purple locks with snow-white glories shone C. I., 4{o}: Whose
wreathed locks with snow-white glories shone 1797, 1803.
[70] wild] strange C. I.
V] Antistrophe II. C. I., 4{o}, 1797, 1803.
[74-9]
On every Harp on every Tongue
While the mute Enchantment hung:
Like Midnight from a thunder-cloud
Spake the sudden Spirit loud.
C. I., 4{o}, 1797, 1803.
The sudden Spirit cried aloud.
C. I.
Like Thunder from a Midnight Cloud
Spake the sudden Spirit loud
1803.
[83] Arm] God C. I.
[Between 83 and 84]
By Belgium's corse-impeded flood,[165:A]
By Vendee steaming [streaming C. I.] Brother's blood.
C. I., 4{o}, 1797, 1803.
[165:A] The Rhine. _C. I._, _1797_, _1803_.
[85] And mask'd Hate C. I.
[87] By Hunger's bosom to the bleak winds bar'd C. I.
[89] Strange] Most C. I.
[90] By] And C. I.
[91] Synod] Senate 1797, 1803.
[94-102]
For ever shall the bloody island scowl?
For ever shall her vast and iron bow
Shoot Famine's evil arrows o'er the world,[165:B]
Hark! how wide Nature joins her groans below;
Rise, God of Mercy, rise! why sleep thy bolts unhurl'd?
C. I.
For ever shall the bloody Island scowl?
For aye, unbroken shall her cruel Bow
Shoot Famine's arrows o'er thy ravaged World?
Hark! how wide Nature joins her groans below--
Rise, God of Nature, rise, why sleep thy Bolts unhurl'd?
4{o}, 1797, 1803.
Rise God of Nature, rise! ah! why those bolts unhurl'd?
1797, 1803.
[165:B] 'In Europe the smoking villages of Flanders and the
putrified fields of La Vendée--from Africa the unnumbered
victims of a detestable Slave-Trade. In Asia the desolated
plains of Indostan, and the millions whom a rice-contracting
Governor caused to perish. In America the recent enormities of
the Scalp-merchants. The four quarters of the globe groan
beneath the intolerable iniquity of the nation.' See
'Addresses to the People', p. 46. _C. I._
[102] Here the Ode ends C. I.
VI] Epode II. 4{o}, 1797, 1803.
[103] Vision] Phantoms 4{o}, 1797, 1803.
[106] phantom] vision 4{o}, 1797, 1803.
[107] sweat-drops] sweat-damps 4{o}, 1797, 1803.
[113] stranger] uglier 4{o}.
[119] starting] startful 4{o}, 1797, 1803.
[121] O doom'd to fall, enslav'd and vile 4{o}, 1797, 1803.
[133] proud Invader's] sworded Foeman's 4{o}, 1797: sworded Warrior's
1803.
[135-9]
Disclaim'd of Heaven! mad Avarice at thy side
4{o}, 1797.
At coward distance, yet with kindling pride--
Safe 'mid thy herds and cornfields thou hast stood,
And join'd the yell of Famine and of Blood.
All nations curse thee: and with eager wond'ring
4{o}, 1797.
[135] O abandon'd 1803.
[137-8]
Mid thy Corn-fields and Herds thou in plenty hast stood
And join'd the loud yellings of Famine and Blood.
1803.
[139] They] and 1797, 1803, S. L. 1817.
[142] fires] flames 4{o}.
[144]
Stretch'd on the marge of some fire-flashing fount
In the black Chamber of a sulphur'd mount.
4{o}.
[144] By livid fount, or roar of blazing stream 1797.
[146] Visions of thy predestin'd ruins rise 1803.
[151] famish'd] famin'd 4{o}.
[156] Soliciting my scant and blameless soil 4{o}.
[159-60]
In the long sabbath of high self-content.
Cleans'd from the fleshly passions that bedim
4{o}.
In the deep sabbath of blest self-content
Cleans'd from the fears and anguish that bedim
1797.
In the blest sabbath of high self-content
Cleans'd from bedimming Fear, and Anguish weak and blind.
1803.
[161] om. 1803.
THE RAVEN[169:1]
A CHRISTMAS TALE, TOLD BY A SCHOOL-BOY TO HIS LITTLE BROTHERS AND
SISTERS
Underneath an old oak tree
There was of swine a huge company,
That grunted as they crunched the mast:
For that was ripe, and fell full fast.
Then they trotted away, for the wind grew high: 5
One acorn they left, and no more might you spy.
Next came a Raven, that liked not such folly:
He belonged, they did say, to the witch Melancholy!
Blacker was he than blackest jet,
Flew low in the rain, and his feathers not wet. 10
He picked up the acorn and buried it straight
By the side of a river both deep and great.
Where then did the Raven go?
He went high and low,
Over hill, over dale, did the black Raven go. 15
Many Autumns, many Springs
Travelled[170:1] he with wandering wings:
Many Summers, many Winters--
I can't tell half his adventures.
At length he came back, and with him a She, 20
And the acorn was grown to a tall oak tree.
They built them a nest in the topmost bough,
And young ones they had, and were happy enow.
But soon came a Woodman in leathern guise,
His brow, like a pent-house, hung over his eyes. 25
He'd an axe in his hand, not a word he spoke,
But with many a hem! and a sturdy stroke,
At length he brought down the poor Raven's own oak.
His young ones were killed; for they could not depart,
And their mother did die of a broken heart. 30
The boughs from the trunk the Woodman did sever;
And they floated it down on the course of the river.
They sawed it in planks, and its bark they did strip,
And with this tree and others they made a good ship.
The ship, it was launched; but in sight of the land 35
Such a storm there did rise as no ship could withstand.
It bulged on a rock, and the waves rush'd in fast:
Round and round flew the raven, and cawed to the blast.
He heard the last shriek of the perishing souls--
See! see! o'er the topmast the mad water rolls! 40
Right glad was the Raven, and off he went fleet,
And Death riding home on a cloud he did meet,
And he thank'd him again and again for this treat:
They had taken his all, and REVENGE IT WAS SWEET!
1797.
FOOTNOTES:
[169:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, March 10, 1798 (with an
introductory letter, _vide infra_): included (with the letter, and
except line 15 the same text) in the _Annual Anthology_, 1800, in
_Sibylline Leaves_, 1817 (pp. vi-viii), 1828, 1829, and 1834.
[To the editor of the _Morning Post_.]
'Sir,--I am not absolutely certain that the following Poem was
written by EDMUND SPENSER, and found by an Angler buried in a
fishing-box:--
'Under the foot of Mole, that mountain hoar,
Mid the green alders, by the Mulla's shore.'
But a learned Antiquarian of my acquaintance has given it as
his opinion that it resembles SPENSER'S minor Poems as nearly
as Vortigern and Rowena the Tragedies of WILLIAM
SHAKESPEARE.--The Poem must be read in _recitative_, in the
same manner as the Aegloga Secunda of the Shepherd's Calendar.
CUDDY.' _M. P._, _An. Anth._
[170:1] Seventeen or eighteen years ago an artist of some celebrity was
so pleased with this doggerel that he amused himself with the thought of
making a Child's Picture Book of it; but he could not hit on a picture
for these four lines. I suggested a _Round-about_ with four seats, and
the four seasons, as Children, with Time for the shew-man. Footnote,
_Sibylline Leaves_, 1817.
LINENOTES:
Title] 'A Christmas Tale,' &c., was first prefixed in S. L. 1817. The
letter introduced the poem in the Morning Post. In the Annual Anthology
the 'Letter' is headed 'The Raven'. Lamb in a letter to Coleridge, dated
Feb. 5, 1797, alludes to this poem as 'Your _Dream_'.
[1-8]
Under the arms of a goodly oak-tree
There was of Swine a large company.
They were making a rude _repast_,
Grunting as they crunch'd the _mast_.
Then they trotted away: for the wind blew high-- 5
One acorn they left, ne more mote you spy,
Next came a Raven, who lik'd not such folly:
He belong'd, I believe, to the witch MELANCHOLY!
M. P., An. Anth., and (with variants given below) MS. S. T. C.
[1] Beneath a goodly old oak tree MS. S. T. C.: an old] a huge S. L.
1817, 1828, 1829.
[6] ne more] and no more MS. S. T. C.
[7] Next] But soon MS. S. T. C.
[8] belonged it was said S. L. 1817.
[10] in the rain; his feathers were wet M. P., An. Anth., MS. S. T. C.
[15] O'er hill, o'er dale M. P.
[17] with] on MS. S. T. C.
[20] came back] return'd M. P., An. Anth., MS. S. T. C.
[21] to a tall] a large M. P., An. Anth., MS. S. T. C.
[22] topmost] uppermost MS. S. T. C.
[23] happy] jolly M. P., An. Anth.
[26] and _he_ nothing spoke M. P., An. Anth., MS. S. T. C.
[28] At length] Wel-a-day MS. S. T. C.: At last M. P., An. Anth.
[30] And his wife she did die M. P., An. Anth., MS. S. T. C.
[31] The branches from off it M. P., An. Anth.: The branches from off
this the MS. S. T. C.
[32] And floated MS. S. T. C.
[33] They saw'd it to planks, and its rind M. P., An. Anth.: They saw'd
it to planks and its bark MS. S. T. C.
[34] they built up a ship M. P., An. Anth.
[36] Such . . . ship] A tempest arose which no ship M. P., An. Anth.,
MS. S. T. C.
[38] The auld raven flew round and round M. P., An. Anth.: The old raven
flew round and round MS. S. T. C., S. L. 1817, 1828, 1829.
[39] He heard the sea-shriek of their perishing souls M. P., An. Anth.,
MS. S. T. C.
[40-4]
They be sunk! O'er the topmast the mad water rolls
The Raven was glad that such fate they did _meet_.
They had taken his all and REVENGE WAS SWEET.
M. P., An. Anth.
[40] See she sinks MS. S. T. C.
[41] Very glad was the Raven, this fate they did meet MS. S. T. C.
[42-3] om. MS. S. T. C.
[44] Revenge was sweet. An. Anth., MS. S. T. C., S. L. 1817, 1828, 1829.
After l. 44, two lines were added in Sibylline Leaves, 1817:--
We must not think so; but forget and forgive,
And what Heaven gives life to, we'll still let it live.[171:A]
[171:A] Added thro' cowardly fear of the Goody! What a Hollow,
where the Heart of Faith ought to be, does it not betray? this
alarm concerning Christian morality, that will not permit even
a Raven to be a Raven, nor a Fox a Fox, but demands
conventicular justice to be inflicted on their unchristian
conduct, or at least an antidote to be annexed. _MS. Note by
S. T. C._
TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN AT THE THEATRE[171:1]
Maiden, that with sullen brow
Sitt'st behind those virgins gay,
Like a scorch'd and mildew'd bough,
Leafless 'mid the blooms of May!
Him who lur'd thee and forsook, 5
Oft I watch'd with angry gaze,
Fearful saw his pleading look,
Anxious heard his fervid phrase.
Soft the glances of the Youth,
Soft his speech, and soft his sigh; 10
But no sound like simple Truth,
But no _true_ love in his eye.
Loathing thy polluted lot,
Hie thee, Maiden, hie thee hence!
Seek thy weeping Mother's cot, 15
With a wiser innocence.
Thou hast known deceit and folly,
Thou hast _felt_ that Vice is woe:
With a musing melancholy
Inly arm'd, go, Maiden! go. 20
Mother sage of Self-dominion,
Firm thy steps, O Melancholy!
The strongest plume in Wisdom's pinion
Is the memory of past folly.
Mute the sky-lark and forlorn, 25
While she moults the firstling plumes,
That had skimm'd the tender corn,
Or the beanfield's odorous blooms.
Soon with renovated wing
Shall she dare a loftier flight, 30
Upward to the Day-Star spring,
And embathe in heavenly light.
1797.
FOOTNOTES:
[171:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, December 7, 1797:
included in the _Annual Anthology_, 1800, in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1828,
1829, and 1834. For MS. sent to Cottle, see _E. R._ 1834, i. 213, 214.
LINENOTES:
Title] To an Unfortunate Woman in the Back Seats of the Boxes at the
Theatre M. P.: To an Unfortunate Young Woman whom I had known in the
days of her Innocence MS. sent to Cottle, E. R. i. 213: To an
Unfortunate Woman whom the Author knew in the days of her Innocence.
Composed at the Theatre An. Anth. 1800.
[1] Maiden] Sufferer An. Anth.
[In place of 5-12]
Inly gnawing, thy distresses
Mock those starts of wanton glee;
And thy inmost soul confesses
Chaste Affection's [affliction's An. Anth.] majesty.
MS. Cottle, An. Anth.
[14] Maiden] Sufferer An. Anth.
[22] Firm are thy steps M. P.
[25] sky-lark] Lavrac MS. Cottle, An. Anth.
[26] the] those MS. Cottle, M. P., An. Anth.
[27] Which late had M. P.
[31] Upwards to the day star sing MS. Cottle, An. Anth.
Stanzas ii, iii, v, vi are not in MS. Cottle nor in the Annual
Anthology.
TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN[172:1]
WHOM THE AUTHOR HAD KNOWN IN THE DAYS OF HER INNOCENCE
Myrtle-leaf that, ill besped,
Pinest in the gladsome ray,
Soil'd beneath the common tread
Far from thy protecting spray!
When the Partridge o'er the sheaf 5
Whirr'd along the yellow vale,
Sad I saw thee, heedless leaf!
Love the dalliance of the gale.
Lightly didst thou, foolish thing!
Heave and flutter to his sighs, 10
While the flatterer, on his wing,
Woo'd and whisper'd thee to rise.
Gaily from thy mother-stalk
Wert thou danc'd and wafted high--
Soon on this unshelter'd walk 15
Flung to fade, to rot and die.
1797.
FOOTNOTES:
[172:1] First published in 1797: included in 1803, _Sibylline Leaves_,
1828, 1829, and 1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] Allegorical Lines on the Same Subject MS. Cottle.
[5]
When the scythes-man o'er his sheaf
Caroll'd in the yellow vale
MS. Cottle.
When the rustic o'er his sheaf
Caroll'd in, &c.
1797.
[_Note._ The text of Stanza ii dates from 1803.]
[9] foolish] poor fond MS. Cottle.
[15] Soon upon this sheltered walk, MS. Cottle, Second Version.
[16] to fade, and rot. MS. Cottle.
TO THE REV. GEORGE COLERIDGE[173:1]
OF OTTERY ST. MARY, DEVON
_With some Poems_
Notus in fratres animi paterni.
HOR. _Carm._ lib. II. 2.
A blesséd lot hath he, who having passed
His youth and early manhood in the stir
And turmoil of the world, retreats at length,
With cares that move, not agitate the heart,
To the same dwelling where his father dwelt; 5
And haply views his tottering little ones
Embrace those agéd knees and climb that lap,
On which first kneeling his own infancy
Lisp'd its brief prayer. Such, O my earliest Friend!
Thy lot, and such thy brothers too enjoy. 10
At distance did ye climb Life's upland road,
Yet cheer'd and cheering: now fraternal love
Hath drawn you to one centre. Be your days
Holy, and blest and blessing may ye live!
To me the Eternal Wisdom hath dispens'd 15
A different fortune and more different mind--
Me from the spot where first I sprang to light
Too soon transplanted, ere my soul had fix'd
Its first domestic loves; and hence through life
Chasing chance-started friendships. A brief while 20
Some have preserv'd me from life's pelting ills;
But, like a tree with leaves of feeble stem,
If the clouds lasted, and a sudden breeze
Ruffled the boughs, they on my head at once
Dropped the collected shower; and some most false, 25
False and fair-foliag'd as the Manchineel,
Have tempted me to slumber in their shade
E'en mid the storm; then breathing subtlest damps,
Mix'd their own venom with the rain from Heaven,
That I woke poison'd! But, all praise to Him 30
Who gives us all things, more have yielded me
Permanent shelter; and beside one Friend,
Beneath the impervious covert of one oak,
I've rais'd a lowly shed, and know the names
Of Husband and of Father; not unhearing 35
Of that divine and nightly-whispering Voice,
Which from my childhood to maturer years
Spake to me of predestinated wreaths,
Bright with no fading colours!
Yet at times
My soul is sad, that I have roam'd through life 40
Still most a stranger, most with naked heart
At mine own home and birth-place: chiefly then,
When I remember thee, my earliest Friend!
Thee, who didst watch my boyhood and my youth;
Didst trace my wanderings with a father's eye; 45
And boding evil yet still hoping good,
Rebuk'd each fault, and over all my woes
Sorrow'd in silence! He who counts alone
The beatings of the solitary heart,
That Being knows, how I have lov'd thee ever, 50
Lov'd as a brother, as a son rever'd thee!
Oh! 'tis to me an ever new delight,
To talk of thee and thine: or when the blast
Of the shrill winter, rattling our rude sash,
Endears the cleanly hearth and social bowl; 55
Or when, as now, on some delicious eve,
We in our sweet sequester'd orchard-plot
Sit on the tree crook'd earth-ward; whose old boughs,
That hang above us in an arborous roof,
Stirr'd by the faint gale of departing May, 60
Send their loose blossoms slanting o'er our heads!
Nor dost not thou sometimes recall those hours,
When with the joy of hope thou gavest thine ear
To my wild firstling-lays. Since then my song
Hath sounded deeper notes, such as beseem 65
Or that sad wisdom folly leaves behind,
Or such as, tuned to these tumultuous times,
Cope with the tempest's swell!
Those various strains,
Which I have fram'd in many a various mood,
Accept, my Brother! and (for some perchance 70
Will strike discordant on thy milder mind)
If aught of error or intemperate truth
Should meet thine ear, think thou that riper Age
Will calm it down, and let thy love forgive it!
NETHER-STOWEY, SOMERSET, _May_ 26, 1797.
FOOTNOTES:
[173:1] First published as the Dedication to the Poems of 1797: included
in 1803, _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. In a copy of
the _Poems_ of 1797, formerly in the possession of the late Mr.
Frederick Locker-Lampson, Coleridge affixed the following note to the
Dedication--'N. B. If this volume should ever be delivered according to
its direction, _i. e._ to Posterity, let it be known that the Reverend
George Coleridge was displeased and thought his character endangered by
the Dedication.'--S. T. Coleridge. _Note_ to _P. and D. W._, 1877-80, i.
163.
LINENOTES:
_To the Rev. George Coleridge_--Motto] lib. I. 2 S. L. 1817, 1828, 1829,
1834.
[10] Thine and thy Brothers' favourable lot. 1803.
[23] and] or 1797, 1803.
[30] That I woke prison'd! But (the praise be His 1803.
[33-4]
I as beneath the covert of an oak
Have rais'd
1803.
[35] not] nor 1797, 1803, S. L. 1817, 1828, 1829.
[47-9]
Rebuk'd each fault, and wept o'er all my woes.
Who counts the beatings of the lonely heart
1797, 1803.
[Between 52-3] My eager eye glist'ning with memry's tear 1797.
[62] thou] _thou_ all editions to 1834.
[Between 66-7] Or the high raptures of prophetic Faith 1797, 1803.
[68] strains] songs 1797, 1803.
ON THE CHRISTENING OF A FRIEND'S CHILD[176:1]
This day among the faithful plac'd
And fed with fontal manna,
O with maternal title grac'd,
Dear Anna's dearest Anna!
While others wish thee wise and fair, 5
A maid of spotless fame,
I'll breathe this more compendious prayer--
May'st thou deserve thy name!
Thy mother's name, a potent spell,
That bids the Virtues hie 10
From mystic grove and living cell,
Confess'd to Fancy's eye;
Meek Quietness without offence;
Content in homespun kirtle;
True Love; and True Love's Innocence, 15
White Blossom of the Myrtle!
Associates of thy name, sweet Child!
These Virtues may'st thou win;
With face as eloquently mild
To say, they lodge within. 20
So, when her tale of days all flown,
Thy mother shall be miss'd here;
When Heaven at length shall claim its own
And Angels snatch their Sister;
Some hoary-headed friend, perchance, 25
May gaze with stifled breath;
And oft, in momentary trance,
Forget the waste of death.
Even thus a lovely rose I've view'd
In summer-swelling pride; 30
Nor mark'd the bud, that green and rude
Peep'd at the rose's side.
It chanc'd I pass'd again that way
In Autumn's latest hour,
And wond'ring saw the selfsame spray 35
Rich with the selfsame flower.
Ah fond deceit! the rude green bud
Alike in shape, place, name,
Had bloom'd where bloom'd its parent stud,
Another and the same! 40
1797.
FOOTNOTES:
[176:1] First published in the Supplement to _Poems_, 1797: reprinted in
_Literary Remains_, 1836, i. 48, 49: included in 1844 and 1852. The
lines were addressed to Anna Cruickshank, the wife of John Cruickshank,
who was a neighbour of Coleridge at Nether-Stowey.
TRANSLATION[177:1]
OF A LATIN INSCRIPTION BY THE REV. W. L. BOWLES IN NETHER-STOWEY CHURCH
Depart in joy from this world's noise and strife
To the deep quiet of celestial life!
Depart!--Affection's self reproves the tear
Which falls, O honour'd Parent! on thy bier;--
Yet Nature will be heard, the heart will swell, 5
And the voice tremble with a last Farewell!
1797.
[_The Tablet is erected to the Memory of Richard Camplin, who died Jan.
20, 1792._
'Lætus abi! mundi strepitu curisque remotus;
Lætus abi! cæli quâ vocat alma Quies.
Ipsa fides loquitur lacrymamque incusat inanem,
Quæ cadit in vestros, care Pater, Cineres.
Heu! tantum liceat meritos hos solvere Ritus, 5
Naturæ et tremulâ dicere Voce, Vale!']
FOOTNOTES:
[177:1] First published in _Literary Remains_, 1836, i. 50. First
collected in _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 365.
LINENOTES:
[6] Et longum tremulâ L. R. 1836.
THIS LIME-TREE BOWER MY PRISON[178:1]
[ADDRESSED TO CHARLES LAMB, OF THE INDIA HOUSE, LONDON]
In the June of 1797 some long-expected friends paid a visit to the
author's cottage; and on the morning of their arrival, he met with an
accident, which disabled him from walking during the whole time of their
stay. One evening, when they had left him for a few hours, he composed
the following lines in the garden-bower.[178:2]
Well, they are gone, and here must I remain,
This lime-tree bower my prison! I have lost
Beauties and feelings, such as would have been
Most sweet to my remembrance even when age
Had dimm'd mine eyes to blindness! They, meanwhile, 5
Friends, whom I never more may meet again,
On springy[179:1] heath, along the hill-top edge,
Wander in gladness, and wind down, perchance,
To that still roaring dell, of which I told;
The roaring dell, o'erwooded, narrow, deep, 10
And only speckled by the mid-day sun;
Where its slim trunk the ash from rock to rock
Flings arching like a bridge;--that branchless ash,
Unsunn'd and damp, whose few poor yellow leaves
Ne'er tremble in the gale, yet tremble still, 15
Fann'd by the water-fall! and there my friends
Behold the dark green file of long lank weeds,[179:2]
That all at once (a most fantastic sight!)
Still nod and drip beneath the dripping edge
Of the blue clay-stone.
Now, my friends emerge 20
Beneath the wide wide Heaven--and view again
The many-steepled tract magnificent
Of hilly fields and meadows, and the sea,
With some fair bark, perhaps, whose sails light up
The slip of smooth clear blue betwixt two Isles 25
Of purple shadow! Yes! they wander on
In gladness all; but thou, methinks, most glad,
My gentle-hearted Charles! for thou hast pined
And hunger'd after Nature, many a year,
In the great City pent, winning thy way 30
With sad yet patient soul, through evil and pain
And strange calamity! Ah! slowly sink
Behind the western ridge, thou glorious Sun!
Shine in the slant beams of the sinking orb,
Ye purple heath-flowers! richlier burn, ye clouds! 35
Live in the yellow light, ye distant groves!
And kindle, thou blue Ocean! So my friend
Struck with deep joy may stand, as I have stood,
Silent with swimming sense; yea, gazing round
On the wide landscape, gaze till all doth seem 40
Less gross than bodily; and of such hues
As veil the Almighty Spirit, when yet he makes
Spirits perceive his presence.
A delight
Comes sudden on my heart, and I am glad
As I myself were there! Nor in this bower, 45
This little lime-tree bower, have I not mark'd
Much that has sooth'd me. Pale beneath the blaze
Hung the transparent foliage; and I watch'd
Some broad and sunny leaf, and lov'd to see
The shadow of the leaf and stem above 50
Dappling its sunshine! And that walnut-tree
Was richly ting'd, and a deep radiance lay
Full on the ancient ivy, which usurps
Those fronting elms, and now, with blackest mass
Makes their dark branches gleam a lighter hue 55
Through the late twilight: and though now the bat
Wheels silent by, and not a swallow twitters,
Yet still the solitary humble-bee
Sings in the bean-flower! Henceforth I shall know
That Nature ne'er deserts the wise and pure; 60
No plot so narrow, be but Nature there,
No waste so vacant, but may well employ
Each faculty of sense, and keep the heart
Awake to Love and Beauty! and sometimes
'Tis well to be bereft of promis'd good, 65
That we may lift the soul, and contemplate
With lively joy the joys we cannot share.
My gentle-hearted Charles! when the last rook
Beat its straight path along the dusky air
Homewards, I blest it! deeming its black wing 70
(Now a dim speck, now vanishing in light)
Had cross'd the mighty Orb's dilated glory,
While thou stood'st gazing; or, when all was still,
Flew creeking o'er thy head, and had a charm[181:1]
For thee, my gentle-hearted Charles, to whom 75
No sound is dissonant which tells of Life.
1797.
FOOTNOTES:
[178:1] First published in the _Annual Anthology_, 1800, reprinted in
Mylius' _Poetical Classbook_, 1810: included in _Sibylline Leaves_,
1817, in 1828, 1829, and 1834. The poem was sent in a letter to Southey,
July 9, 1797, and in a letter to C. Lloyd, [July, 1797]. See _Letters of
S. T. C._, 1895, i. 225-7 and _P. W._, 1893, p. 591.
[178:2] 'Ch. and Mary Lamb--dear to my heart, yea, as it were my
Heart.--S. T. C. Æt. 63; 1834--1797-1834 = 37 years!' (Marginal note
written by S. T. Coleridge over against the introductory note to 'This
Lime-Tree Bower my Prison', in a copy of the _Poetical Works_, 1834.)
[179:1] 'Elastic, I mean.' _MS. Letter to Southey._
[179:2] The _Asplenium Scolopendrium_, called in some countries the
Adder's Tongue, in others the Hart's Tongue, but Withering gives the
Adder's Tongue as the trivial name of the _Ophioglossum_ only.
[181:1] Some months after I had written this line, it gave me pleasure
to find [to observe _An. Anth._, _S. L. 1828_] that Bartram had observed
the same circumstance of the Savanna Crane. 'When these Birds move their
wings in flight, their strokes are slow, moderate and regular; and even
when at a considerable distance or high above us, we plainly hear the
quill-feathers: their shafts and webs upon one another creek as the
joints or working of a vessel in a tempestuous sea.'
LINENOTES:
Title] This Lime-Tree Bower my Prison. A Poem Addressed, &c. An. Anth.:
the words 'Addressed to', &c., are omitted in Sibylline Leaves, 1828,
1829, and 1834.
[1-28]
Well, they are gone, and here must I remain,
Lam'd by the scathe of fire, lonely and faint,
This lime-tree bower my prison! They, meantime,
My Friends, whom I may never meet again,
On springy heath, along the hill-top edge 5
Wander delighted, and look down, perchance,
On that same rifted dell, where many an ash
Twists its wild limbs beside the ferny rock
Whose plumy[178:A] ferns forever nod and drip
Spray'd by the waterfall. But chiefly thou 10
My gentle-hearted _Charles_! thou who had pin'd
MS. Letter to Southey, July 17, 1797.
[178:A] The ferns that grow in moist places grow five or six
together, and form a complete 'Prince of Wales's
Feather'--that is plumy. _Letter to Southey._
[1-28]
Well they are gone, and here I must remain
This lime-tree, . . . hill-top edge
Delighted wander, and look down, perchance,
On that same rifted dell, where the wet ash
Twists its wild limbs above, . . . who hast pin'd
MS. Letter to Lloyd [July, 1797].
[3] Such beauties and such feelings, as had been An. Anth., S. L.
[4] my remembrance] to have remembered An. Anth.
[6] My Friends, whom I may never meet again An. Anth., S. L.
[20] blue] dim An. Anth.
[22] tract] track An. Anth., S. L. 1828.
[24] bark, perhaps, which lightly touches An. Anth.
[28] hast] had'st An. Anth.
[31] patient] bowed MS. Letter to Southey.
[34] beams] heaven MS. Letter to Southey.
[38 foll.]
Struck with joy's deepest calm, and gazing round
On the wide view[180:A] may gaze till all doth seem
Less gross than bodily; a living thing
That acts upon the mind, and with such hues
As clothe th' Almighty Spirit, when he makes.
MS. Letter to Southey.
[180:A] You remember I am a _Berkleyan_. _Note to Letter._
[40] wide] wild S. L.
[40] (for _wild_ r. _wide_; and the two following lines thus:
Less gross than bodily; and of such hues
As veil the Almighty Spirit
_Errata_, S. L., p. [xii].)
As veil the Almighty Spirit, when he makes
1828.
[41 foll.]
Less gross than bodily, a living thing
Which acts upon the mind and with such hues
As cloathe the Almighty Spirit, when he makes
An. Anth., S. L.
[45 foll.]
As I myself were there! Nor in the bower
Want I sweet sounds or pleasing shapes. I watch'd
The sunshine of each broad transparent leaf
Broke by the shadows of the leaf or stem
Which hung above it: and that walnut tree
MS. Letter to Southey.
[55] branches] foliage MS. Letter to Southey.
[56] and though the rapid bat MS. Letter to Southey.
[60-64] om. in MS. Letter to Lloyd.
[61-2] No scene so narrow but may well employ MS. Letter to Southey, An.
Anth.
[68] My Sister and my Friends MS. Letter to Southey: My Sara and my
Friends MS. Letter to Lloyd.
[70] Homewards] Homeward MS. Letter to Lloyd.
[71] om. in MS. Letter to Lloyd. in the light An. Anth., S. L. (omit
_the_ before _light_. _Errata_, S. L., [p. xii]).
[72] Cross'd like a speck the blaze of setting day MS. Letter to
Southey: Had cross'd the mighty orb's dilated blase. MS. Letter to
Lloyd.
[73] While ye [you MS. Letter to Lloyd] stood MS. Letter to Southey.
[74] thy head] your heads MSS. Letters to Southey and Lloyd.
[75] For you my Sister and my Friends MS. Letter to Southey: For you my
Sara and my Friends MS. Letter to Lloyd.
THE FOSTER-MOTHER'S TALE[182:1]
A DRAMATIC FRAGMENT
[From _Osorio_, Act IV. The title and text are here printed
from _Lyrical Ballads_, 1798.]
_Foster-Mother._ I never saw the man whom you describe.
_Maria._ 'Tis strange! he spake of you familiarly
As mine and Albert's common Foster-mother.
_Foster-Mother._ Now blessings on the man, whoe'er he be,
That joined your names with mine! O my sweet lady, 5
As often as I think of those dear times
When you two little ones would stand at eve
On each side of my chair, and make me learn
All you had learnt in the day; and how to talk
In gentle phrase, then bid me sing to you-- 10
'Tis more like heaven to come than what _has_ been!
_Maria._ O my dear Mother! this strange man has left me
Troubled with wilder fancies, than the moon
Breeds in the love-sick maid who gazes at it,
Till lost in inward vision, with wet eye 15
She gazes idly!--But that entrance, Mother!
_Foster-Mother._ Can no one hear? It is a perilous tale!
_Maria._ No one.
_Foster-Mother._ My husband's father told it me,
Poor old Leoni!--Angels rest his soul!
He was a woodman, and could fell and saw 20
With lusty arm. You know that huge round beam
Which props the hanging wall of the old Chapel?
Beneath that tree, while yet it was a tree,
He found a baby wrapt in mosses, lined
With thistle-beards, and such small locks of wool 25
As hang on brambles. Well, he brought him home,
And rear'd him at the then Lord Velez' cost.
And so the babe grew up a pretty boy,
A pretty boy, but most unteachable--
And never learnt a prayer, nor told a bead, 30
But knew the names of birds, and mock'd their notes,
And whistled, as he were a bird himself:
And all the autumn 'twas his only play
To get the seeds of wild flowers, and to plant them
With earth and water, on the stumps of trees. 35
A Friar, who gather'd simples in the wood,
A grey-haired man--he lov'd this little boy,
The boy lov'd him--and, when the Friar taught him,
He soon could write with the pen: and from that time,
Lived chiefly at the Convent or the Castle. 40
So he became a very learnéd youth.
But Oh! poor wretch!--he read, and read, and read,
Till his brain turn'd--and ere his twentieth year,
He had unlawful thoughts of many things:
And though he prayed, he never lov'd to pray 45
With holy men, nor in a holy place--
But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet,
The late Lord Velez ne'er was wearied with him.
And once, as by the north side of the Chapel
They stood together, chain'd in deep discourse, 50
The earth heav'd under them with such a groan,
That the wall totter'd, and had well-nigh fallen
Right on their heads. My Lord was sorely frighten'd;
A fever seiz'd him, and he made confession
Of all the heretical and lawless talk 55
Which brought this judgment: so the youth was seiz'd
And cast into that hole. My husband's father
Sobb'd like a child--it almost broke his heart:
And once as he was working in the cellar,
He heard a voice distinctly; 'twas the youth's, 60
Who sung a doleful song about green fields,
How sweet it were on lake or wild savannah,
To hunt for food, and be a naked man,
And wander up and down at liberty.
He always doted on the youth, and now 65
His love grew desperate; and defying death,
He made that cunning entrance I describ'd:
And the young man escap'd.
_Maria._ 'Tis a sweet tale:
Such as would lull a listening child to sleep,
His rosy face besoil'd with unwiped tears.-- 70
And what became of him?
_Foster-Mother._ He went on shipboard
With those bold voyagers, who made discovery
Of golden lands. Leoni's younger brother
Went likewise, and when he return'd to Spain,
He told Leoni, that the poor mad youth, 75
Soon after they arriv'd in that new world,
In spite of his dissuasion, seiz'd a boat,
And all alone, set sail by silent moonlight
Up a great river, great as any sea,
And ne'er was heard of more: but 'tis suppos'd, 80
He liv'd and died among the savage men.
1797.
FOOTNOTES:
[182:1] First published in the first edition of the _Lyrical Ballads_,
1798, and reprinted in the editions of 1800, 1803, and 1805. The
'dramatic fragment' was excluded from the acting version of _Remorse_,
but was printed in an Appendix, p. 75, to the Second Edition of the
Play, 1813. It is included in the body of the work in _Sibylline
Leaves_, 1817, and again in 1852, and in the Appendix to _Remorse_ in
the editions of 1828, 1829, and 1834. It is omitted from 1844. 'The
"Foster-Mother's Tale," (From Mr. C.'s own handwriting)' was published
in Cottle's _Early Recollections_, i. 235.
'The following scene as unfit for the stage was taken from the Tragedy
in 1797, and published in the _Lyrical Ballads_. But this work having
been long out of print, and it having been determined, that this with my
other poems in that collection (the _Nightingale_, _Love_, and the
_Ancient Mariner_) should be omitted in any future edition, I have been
advised to reprint it as a Note to the Second Scene of Act the Fourth,
p. 55.' App. to _Remorse_, Ed. 2, 1813. [This note is reprinted in 1828
and 1829, but in 1834 only the first sentence is prefixed to the scene.]
LINENOTES:
Title] Foster-Mother's Tale. (Scene--Spain) Cottle, 1837: The, &c. A
Narration in Dramatic Blank Verse L. B. 1800. In Remorse, App., 1813 and
in 1828, 1829, 1834, the _dramatis personae_ are respectively Teresa and
Selma. The fragment opens thus:--_Enter Teresa and Selma._
_Ter._ 'Tis said, he spake of you familiarly
As mine and Alvar's common foster-mother.
In Cottle's version, the scene begins at line 4.
[1] man] Moor _Osorio_, MS. I.
[12-16] O my dear Mother . . . She gazes idly! om. 1813, 1828, 1829,
1834.
[12] me] us Cottle, 1837.
[13] the] yon _Osorio_, MS. I.
[16] In Lyrical Ballads, 1800, the scene begins with the words: 'But
that entrance'. But that entrance, Selma? 1813.
[19] Leoni] Sesina 1813, 1828, 1829, 1834.
[27] Velez'] Valdez' 1813, 1828, 1829, 1834: Valez' S. L. 1817.
[34] To gather seeds 1813, S. L. 1817, 1828, 1829, 1834.
[36] gather'd] oft culled S. L. 1817.
[41] So he became a rare and learned youth 1813, 1828, 1829, 1834.
[41-2]
So he became a very learned man.
But O poor youth
Cottle, 1837.
[48] Velez] Valdez 1813, 1828, 1829, 1834: Valez S. L. 1817.
[54] made a confession _Osorio_. A fever seiz'd the youth and he made
confession Cottle, 1837.
[57] hole] cell L. B. 1800: den 1813. [And fetter'd in that den. MS. S.
T. C.].
[59] in the cellar] near this dungeon 1813, 1828, 1829, 1834.
[62] wild] wide 1813, 1828, 1829, 1834.
[65] He always] Leoni L. B. 1800.
[68-9] om. L. B. 1800.
[73] Leoni's] Sesina's 1813, 1828, 1829, 1834. younger] youngest S. L.
1817.
[75] Leoni] Sesina 1813, 1828, 1829, 1834.
THE DUNGEON[185:1]
[From _Osorio_, Act V; and _Remorse_, Act V, Scene i. The
title and text are here printed from _Lyrical Ballads_, 1798.]
And this place our forefathers made for man!
This is the process of our love and wisdom,
To each poor brother who offends against us--
Most innocent, perhaps--and what if guilty?
Is this the only cure? Merciful God! 5
Each pore and natural outlet shrivell'd up
By Ignorance and parching Poverty,
His energies roll back upon his heart,
And stagnate and corrupt; till chang'd to poison,
They break out on him, like a loathsome plague-spot; 10
Then we call in our pamper'd mountebanks--
And this is their best cure! uncomforted
And friendless solitude, groaning and tears,
And savage faces, at the clanking hour,
Seen through the steams and vapour of his dungeon, 15
By the lamp's dismal twilight! So he lies
Circled with evil, till his very soul
Unmoulds its essence, hopelessly deform'd
By sights of ever more deformity!
With other ministrations thou, O Nature! 20
Healest thy wandering and distemper'd child:
Thou pourest on him thy soft influences,
Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweets,
Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and waters,
Till he relent, and can no more endure 25
To be a jarring and a dissonant thing,
Amid this general dance and minstrelsy;
But, bursting into tears, wins back his way,
His angry spirit heal'd and harmoniz'd
By the benignant touch of Love and Beauty. 30
1797.
FOOTNOTES:
[185:1] First published in the _Lyrical Ballads_, 1798, and reprinted in
the _Lyrical Ballads_, 1800. First collected (as a separate poem) in
_Poems_, 1893, p. 85.
LINENOTES:
[1] our] my _Osorio_, Act V, i. 107. 1813, 1828, 1829, 1834. man] men
_Osorio_.
[15] steams and vapour] steaming vapours _Osorio_, V, i. 121: steam and
vapours 1813, 1828, 1829, 1834.
THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER[186:1]
IN SEVEN PARTS
Facile credo, plures esse Naturas invisibiles quam visibiles in
rerum universitate. Sed horum omnium familiam quis nobis
enarrabit? et gradus et cognationes et discrimina et
singulorum munera? Quid agunt? quae loca habitant? Harum rerum
notitiam semper ambivit ingenium humanum, nunquam attigit.
Juvat, interea, non diffiteor, quandoque in animo, tanquam in
tabulâ, majoris et melioris mundi imaginem contemplari: ne
mens assuefacta hodiernae vitae minutiis se contrahat nimis,
et tota subsidat in pusillas cogitationes. Sed veritati
interea invigilandum est, modusque servandus, ut certa ab
incertis, diem a nocte, distinguamus.--T. BURNET, _Archaeol.
Phil._ p. 68.[186:2]
ARGUMENT
How a Ship having passed the Line was driven by storms to the cold
Country towards the South Pole; and how from thence she made her course
to the tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific Ocean; and of the strange
things that befell; and in what manner the Ancyent Marinere came back to
his own Country. [_L. B._ 1798.][186:3]
PART I
[Sidenote: An ancient Mariner meeteth three Gallants bidden to a
wedding-feast, and detaineth one.]
It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?
The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, 5
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set:
May'st hear the merry din.'
He holds him with his skinny hand,
'There was a ship,' quoth he. 10
'Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!'
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.
[Sidenote: The Wedding-Guest is spell-bound by the eye of the old
seafaring man, and constrained to hear his tale.]
He holds him with his glittering eye--
The Wedding-Guest stood still,
And listens like a three years' child: 15
The Mariner hath his will.
The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:
He cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner. 20
'The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,
Merrily did we drop
Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the lighthouse top.
[Sidenote: The Mariner tells how the ship sailed southward with a good
wind and fair weather, till it reached the line.]
The Sun came up upon the left, 25
Out of the sea came he!
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.
Higher and higher every day,
Till over the mast at noon--' 30
The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
For he heard the loud bassoon.
[Sidenote: The Wedding-Guest heareth the bridal music; but the Mariner
continueth his tale.]
The bride hath paced into the hall,
Red as a rose is she;
Nodding their heads before her goes 35
The merry minstrelsy.
The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner. 40
[Sidenote: The ship driven by a storm toward the south pole.]
'And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong:
He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
And chased us south along.
With sloping masts and dipping prow, 45
As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe,
And forward bends his head,
The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,
And southward aye we fled. 50
And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold:
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.
[Sidenote: The land of ice, and of fearful sounds where no living thing
was to be seen.]
And through the drifts the snowy clifts 55
Did send a dismal sheen:
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken--
The ice was all between.
The ice was here, the ice was there,
The ice was all around: 60
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
Like noises in a swound!
[Sidenote: Till a great sea-bird, called the Albatross, came through the
snow-fog, and was received with great joy and hospitality.]
At length did cross an Albatross,
Thorough the fog it came;
As if it had been a Christian soul, 65
We hailed it in God's name.
It ate the food it ne'er had eat,
And round and round it flew.
The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
The helmsman steered us through! 70
[Sidenote: And lo! the Albatross proveth a bird of good omen, and
followeth the ship as it returned northward through fog and floating
ice.]
And a good south wind sprung up behind;
The Albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Came to the mariner's hollo!
In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, 75
It perched for vespers nine;
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
Glimmered the white Moon-shine.'
[Sidenote: The ancient Mariner inhospitably killeth the pious bird of
good omen.]
'God save thee, ancient Mariner!
From the fiends, that plague thee thus!-- 80
Why look'st thou so?'--With my cross-bow
I shot the ALBATROSS.
PART II
The Sun now rose upon the right:
Out of the sea came he,
Still hid in mist, and on the left 85
Went down into the sea.
And the good south wind still blew behind,
But no sweet bird did follow,
Nor any day for food or play
Came to the mariners' hollo! 90
[Sidenote: His shipmates cry out against the ancient Mariner, for
killing the bird of good luck.]
And I had done a hellish thing,
And it would work 'em woe:
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow.
Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay, 95
That made the breeze to blow!
[Sidenote: But when the fog cleared off, they justify the same, and thus
make themselves accomplices in the crime.]
Nor dim nor red, like God's own head,
The glorious Sun uprist:
Then all averred, I had killed the bird
That brought the fog and mist. 100
'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,
That bring the fog and mist.
[Sidenote: The fair breeze continues; the ship enters the Pacific Ocean,
and sails northward, even till it reaches the Line.]
The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
The furrow followed free;
We were the first that ever burst 105
Into that silent sea.
[Sidenote: The ship hath been suddenly becalmed.]
Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,
'Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea! 110
All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody Sun at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the Moon.
Day after day, day after day, 115
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.
[Sidenote: And the Albatross begins to be avenged.]
Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink; 120
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.
The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs 125
Upon the slimy sea.
About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch's oils,
Burnt green, and blue and white. 130
[Sidenote: A Spirit had followed them; one of the invisible inhabitants
of this planet, neither departed souls nor angels; concerning whom the
learned Jew, Josephus, and the Platonic Constantinopolitan, Michael
Psellus, may be consulted. They are very numerous, and there is no
climate or element without one or more.]
And some in dreams assuréd were
Of the Spirit that plagued us so;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.
And every tongue, through utter drought, 135
Was withered at the root;
We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot.
[Sidenote: The shipmates, in their sore distress, would fain throw the
whole guilt on the ancient Mariner: in sign whereof they hang the dead
sea-bird round his neck.]
Ah! well a-day! what evil looks
Had I from old and young! 140
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung.
PART III
[Sidenote: The ancient Mariner beholdeth a sign in the element afar
off.]
There passed a weary time. Each throat
Was parched, and glazed each eye.
A weary time! a weary time! 145
How glazed each weary eye,
When looking westward, I beheld
A something in the sky.
At first it seemed a little speck,
And then it seemed a mist; 150
It moved and moved, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.
A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!
And still it neared and neared:
As if it dodged a water-sprite, 155
It plunged and tacked and veered.
[Sidenote: At its nearer approach, it seemeth him to be a ship; and at a
dear ransom he freeth his speech from the bonds of thirst.]
With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
We could nor laugh nor wail;
Through utter drought all dumb we stood!
I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, 160
And cried, A sail! a sail!
With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
Agape they heard me call:
[Sidenote: A flash of joy;]
Gramercy! they for joy did grin,
And all at once their breath drew in, 165
As they were drinking all.
[Sidenote: And horror follows. For can it be a ship that comes onward
without wind or tide?]
See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more!
Hither to work us weal;
Without a breeze, without a tide,
She steadies with upright keel! 170
The western wave was all a-flame.
The day was well nigh done!
Almost upon the western wave
Bested the broad bright Sun;
When that strange shape drove suddenly 175
Betwixt us and the Sun.
[Sidenote: It seemeth him but the skeleton of a ship.]
And straight the Sun was flecked with bars,
(Heaven's Mother send us grace!)
As if through a dungeon-grate he peered
With broad and burning face. 180
[Sidenote: And its ribs are seen as bars on the face of the setting
Sun.]
Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)
How fast she nears and nears!
Are those _her_ sails that glance in the Sun,
Like restless gossameres?
[Sidenote: The Spectre-Woman and her Death-mate, and no other on board
the skeleton ship.]
Are those _her_ ribs through which the Sun 185
Did peer, as through a grate?
And is that Woman all her crew?
Is that a DEATH? and are there two?
Is DEATH that woman's mate?
[Sidenote: Like vessel, like crew!]
[Sidenote: Death and Life-in-Death have diced for the ship's crew, and
she (the latter) winneth the ancient Mariner.]
_Her_ lips were red, _her_ looks were free, 190
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Night-mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she,
Who thicks man's blood with cold.
The naked hulk alongside came, 195
And the twain were casting dice;
'The game is done! I've won! I've won!'
Quoth she, and whistles thrice.
[Sidenote: No twilight within the[195:1] courts of the Sun.]
The Sun's rim dips: the stars rush out:
At one stride comes the dark; 200
With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea,
Off shot the spectre-bark.
[Sidenote: At the rising of the Moon.]
We listened and looked sideways up!
Fear at my heart, as at a cup,
My life-blood seemed to sip! 205
The stars were dim, and thick the night,
The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white;
From the sails the dew did drip--
Till clomb above the eastern bar
The hornéd Moon, with one bright star 210
Within the nether tip.
[Sidenote: One after another,]
One after one, by the star-dogged Moon,
Too quick for groan or sigh,
Each turned his face with a ghastly pang,
And cursed me with his eye. 215
[Sidenote: His shipmates drop down dead.]
Four times fifty living men,
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
They dropped down one by one.
[Sidenote: But Life-in-Death begins her work on the ancient Mariner.]
The souls did from their bodies fly,-- 220
They fled to bliss or woe!
And every soul, it passed me by,
Like the whizz of my cross-bow!
PART IV
[Sidenote: The Wedding-Guest feareth that a Spirit is talking to him;]
'I fear thee, ancient Mariner!
I fear thy skinny hand! 225
And thou art long, and lank, and brown,
As is the ribbed sea-sand.[196:1]
[Sidenote: But the ancient Mariner assureth him of his bodily life, and
proceedeth to relate his horrible penance.]
I fear thee and thy glittering eye,
And thy skinny hand, so brown.'--
Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest! 230
This body dropt not down.
Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony. 235
[Sidenote: He despiseth the creatures of the calm,]
The many men, so beautiful!
And they all dead did lie:
And a thousand thousand slimy things
Lived on; and so did I.
[Sidenote: And envieth that _they_ should live, and so many lie dead.]
I looked upon the rotting sea, 240
And drew my eyes away;
I looked upon the rotting deck,
And there the dead men lay.
I looked to heaven, and tried to pray;
But or ever a prayer had gusht, 245
A wicked whisper came, and made
My heart as dry as dust.
I closed my lids, and kept them close,
And the balls like pulses beat;
For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky 250
Lay like a load on my weary eye,
And the dead were at my feet.
[Sidenote: But the curse liveth for him in the eye of the dead men.]
The cold sweat melted from their limbs,
Nor rot nor reek did they:
The look with which they looked on me 255
Had never passed away.
An orphan's curse would drag to hell
A spirit from on high;
But oh! more horrible than that
Is the curse in a dead man's eye! 260
Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,
And yet I could not die.
[Sidenote: In his loneliness and fixedness he yearneth towards the
journeying Moon, and the stars that still sojourn, yet still move
onward; and every where the blue sky belongs to them, and is their
appointed rest, and their native country and their own natural homes,
which they enter unannounced, as lords that are certainly expected and
yet there is a silent joy at their arrival.]
The moving Moon went up the sky,
And no where did abide:
Softly she was going up, 265
And a star or two beside--
Her beams bemocked the sultry main,
Like April hoar-frost spread;
But where the ship's huge shadow lay,
The charméd water burnt alway 270
A still and awful red.
[Sidenote: By the light of the Moon he beholdeth God's creatures of the
great calm.]
Beyond the shadow of the ship,
I watched the water-snakes:
They moved in tracks of shining white,
And when they reared, the elfish light 275
Fell off in hoary flakes.
Within the shadow of the ship
I watched their rich attire:
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,
They coiled and swam; and every track 280
Was a flash of golden fire.
[Sidenote: Their beauty and their happiness.]
[Sidenote: He blesseth them in his heart.]
O happy living things! no tongue
Their beauty might declare:
A spring of love gushed from my heart,
And I blessed them unaware: 285
Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
And I blessed them unaware.
[Sidenote: The spell begins to break.]
The self-same moment I could pray;
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank 290
Like lead into the sea.
PART V
Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,
Beloved from pole to pole!
To Mary Queen the praise be given!
She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven, 295
That slid into my soul.
[Sidenote: By grace of the holy Mother, the ancient Mariner is refreshed
with rain.]
The silly buckets on the deck,
That had so long remained,
I dreamt that they were filled with dew;
And when I awoke, it rained. 300
My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
My garments all were dank;
Sure I had drunken in my dreams,
And still my body drank.
I moved, and could not feel my limbs: 305
I was so light--almost
I thought that I had died in sleep,
And was a blesséd ghost.
[Sidenote: He heareth sounds and seeth strange sights and commotions in
the sky and the element.]
And soon I heard a roaring wind:
It did not come anear; 310
But with its sound it shook the sails,
That were so thin and sere.
The upper air burst into life!
And a hundred fire-flags sheen,
To and fro they were hurried about! 315
And to and fro, and in and out,
The wan stars danced between.
And the coming wind did roar more loud,
And the sails did sigh like sedge;
And the rain poured down from one black cloud; 320
The Moon was at its edge.
The thick black cloud was cleft, and still
The Moon was at its side:
Like waters shot from some high crag,
The lightning fell with never a jag, 325
A river steep and wide.
[Sidenote: The bodies of the ship's crew are inspired [inspirited, S.
L.] and the ship moves on;]
The loud wind never reached the ship,
Yet now the ship moved on!
Beneath the lightning and the Moon
The dead men gave a groan. 330
They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose,
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;
It had been strange, even in a dream,
To have seen those dead men rise.
The helmsman steered, the ship moved on; 335
Yet never a breeze up-blew;
The mariners all 'gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do;
They raised their limbs like lifeless tools--
We were a ghastly crew. 340
The body of my brother's son
Stood by me, knee to knee:
The body and I pulled at one rope,
But he said nought to me.
[Sidenote: But not by the souls of the men, nor by dæmons of earth or
middle air, but by a blessed troop of angelic spirits, sent down by the
invocation of the guardian saint.]
'I fear thee, ancient Mariner!' 345
Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest!
'Twas not those souls that fled in pain,
Which to their corses came again,
But a troop of spirits blest:
For when it dawned--they dropped their arms,
And clustered round the mast; 351
Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths,
And from their bodies passed.
Around, around, flew each sweet sound,
Then darted to the Sun; 355
Slowly the sounds came back again,
Now mixed, now one by one.
Sometimes a-dropping from the sky
I heard the sky-lark sing;
Sometimes all little birds that are, 360
How they seemed to fill the sea and air
With their sweet jargoning!
And now 'twas like all instruments,
Now like a lonely flute;
And now it is an angel's song, 365
That makes the heavens be mute.
It ceased; yet still the sails made on
A pleasant noise till noon,
A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June, 370
That to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune.
Till noon we quietly sailed on,
Yet never a breeze did breathe:
Slowly and smoothly went the ship, 375
Moved onward from beneath.
[Sidenote: The lonesome Spirit from the south-pole carries on the ship
as far as the Line, in obedience to the angelic troop, but still
requireth vengeance.]
Under the keel nine fathom deep,
From the land of mist and snow,
The spirit slid: and it was he
That made the ship to go. 380
The sails at noon left off their tune,
And the ship stood still also.
The Sun, right up above the mast,
Had fixed her to the ocean:
But in a minute she 'gan stir, 385
With a short uneasy motion--
Backwards and forwards half her length
With a short uneasy motion.
Then like a pawing horse let go,
She made a sudden bound: 390
It flung the blood into my head,
And I fell down in a swound.
[Sidenote: The Polar Spirit's fellow-dæmons, the invisible inhabitants
of the element, take part in his wrong; and two of them relate, one to
the other, that penance long and heavy for the ancient Mariner hath been
accorded to the Polar Spirit, who returneth southward.]
How long in that same fit I lay,
I have not to declare;
But ere my living life returned, 395
I heard and in my soul discerned
Two voices in the air.
'Is it he?' quoth one, 'Is this the man?
By him who died on cross,
With his cruel bow he laid full low 400
The harmless Albatross.
The spirit who bideth by himself
In the land of mist and snow,
He loved the bird that loved the man
Who shot him with his bow.' 405
The other was a softer voice,
As soft as honey-dew:
Quoth he, 'The man hath penance done,
And penance more will do.'
PART VI
FIRST VOICE
'But tell me, tell me! speak again, 410
Thy soft response renewing--
What makes that ship drive on so fast?
What is the ocean doing?'
SECOND VOICE
'Still as a slave before his lord,
The ocean hath no blast; 415
His great bright eye most silently
Up to the Moon is cast--
If he may know which way to go;
For she guides him smooth or grim.
See, brother, see! how graciously 420
She looketh down on him.'
[Sidenote: The Mariner hath been cast into a trance; for the angelic
power causeth the vessel to drive northward faster than human life could
endure.]
FIRST VOICE
'But why drives on that ship so fast,
Without or wave or wind?'
SECOND VOICE
'The air is cut away before,
And closes from behind. 425
Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high!
Or we shall be belated:
For slow and slow that ship will go,
When the Mariner's trance is abated.'
[Sidenote: The supernatural motion is retarded; the Mariner awakes, and
his penance begins anew.]
I woke, and we were sailing on 430
As in a gentle weather:
'Twas night, calm night, the moon was high;
The dead men stood together.
All stood together on the deck,
For a charnel-dungeon fitter: 435
All fixed on me their stony eyes,
That in the Moon did glitter.
The pang, the curse, with which they died,
Had never passed away:
I could not draw my eyes from theirs, 440
Nor turn them up to pray.
[Sidenote: The curse is finally expiated.]
And now this spell was snapt: once more
I viewed the ocean green,
And looked far forth, yet little saw
Of what had else been seen-- 445
Like one, that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows, a frightful fiend 450
Doth close behind him tread.
But soon there breathed a wind on me,
Nor sound nor motion made:
Its path was not upon the sea,
In ripple or in shade. 455
It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek
Like a meadow-gale of spring--
It mingled strangely with my fears,
Yet it felt like a welcoming.
Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, 460
Yet she sailed softly too:
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze--
On me alone it blew.
[Sidenote: And the ancient Mariner beholdeth his native country.]
Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed
The light-house top I see? 465
Is this the hill? is this the kirk?
Is this mine own countree?
We drifted o'er the harbour-bar,
And I with sobs did pray--
O let me be awake, my God! 470
Or let me sleep alway.
The harbour-bay was clear as glass,
So smoothly it was strewn!
And on the bay the moonlight lay,
And the shadow of the Moon. 475
The rock shone bright, the kirk no less,
That stands above the rock:
The moonlight steeped in silentness
The steady weathercock.
[Sidenote: The angelic spirits leave the dead bodies,]
And the bay was white with silent light, 480
Till rising from the same,
Full many shapes, that shadows were,
In crimson colours came.
[Sidenote: And appear in their own forms of light.]
A little distance from the prow
Those crimson shadows were: 485
I turned my eyes upon the deck--
Oh, Christ! what saw I there!
Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,
And, by the holy rood!
A man all light, a seraph-man, 490
On every corse there stood.
This seraph-band, each waved his hand:
It was a heavenly sight!
They stood as signals to the land,
Each one a lovely light; 495
This seraph-band, each waved his hand,
No voice did they impart--
No voice; but oh! the silence sank
Like music on my heart.
But soon I heard the dash of oars, 500
I heard the Pilot's cheer;
My head was turned perforce away,
And I saw a boat appear.
The Pilot and the Pilot's boy,
I heard them coming fast: 505
Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy
The dead men could not blast.
I saw a third--I heard his voice:
It is the Hermit good!
He singeth loud his godly hymns 510
That he makes in the wood.
He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away
The Albatross's blood.
PART VII
[Sidenote: The Hermit of the Wood,]
This Hermit good lives in that wood
Which slopes down to the sea. 515
How loudly his sweet voice he rears!
He loves to talk with marineres
That come from a far countree.
He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve--
He hath a cushion plump: 520
It is the moss that wholly hides
The rotted old oak-stump.
The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk,
'Why, this is strange, I trow!
Where are those lights so many and fair, 525
That signal made but now?'
[Sidenote: Approacheth the ship with wonder.]
'Strange, by my faith!' the Hermit said--
'And they answered not our cheer!
The planks looked warped! and see those sails,
How thin they are and sere! 530
I never saw aught like to them,
Unless perchance it were
Brown skeletons of leaves that lag
My forest-brook along;
When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow, 535
And the owlet whoops to the wolf below,
That eats the she-wolf's young.'
'Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look--
(The Pilot made reply)
I am a-feared'--'Push on, push on!' 540
Said the Hermit cheerily.
The boat came closer to the ship,
But I nor spake nor stirred;
The boat came close beneath the ship,
And straight a sound was heard. 545
[Sidenote: The ship suddenly sinketh.]
Under the water it rumbled on,
Still louder and more dread:
It reached the ship, it split the bay;
The ship went down like lead.
[Sidenote: The ancient Mariner is saved in the Pilot's boat.]
Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, 550
Which sky and ocean smote,
Like one that hath been seven days drowned
My body lay afloat;
But swift as dreams, myself I found
Within the Pilot's boat. 555
Upon the whirl, where sank the ship,
The boat spun round and round;
And all was still, save that the hill
Was telling of the sound.
I moved my lips--the Pilot shrieked 560
And fell down in a fit;
The holy Hermit raised his eyes,
And prayed where he did sit.
I took the oars: the Pilot's boy,
Who now doth crazy go, 565
Laughed loud and long, and all the while
His eyes went to and fro.
'Ha! ha!' quoth he, 'full plain I see.
The Devil knows how to row.'
And now, all in my own countree, 570
I stood on the firm land!
The Hermit stepped forth from the boat,
And scarcely he could stand.
[Sidenote: The ancient Mariner earnestly entreateth the Hermit to
shrieve him; and the penance of life falls on him.]
'O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!'
The Hermit crossed his brow. 575
'Say quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee say--
What manner of man art thou?'
Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched
With a woful agony,
Which forced me to begin my tale; 580
And then it left me free.
[Sidenote: And ever and anon throughout his future life an agony
constraineth him to travel from land to land;]
Since then, at an uncertain hour,
That agony returns:
And till my ghastly tale is told,
This heart within me burns. 585
I pass, like night, from land to land;
I have strange power of speech;
That moment that his face I see,
I know the man that must hear me:
To him my tale I teach. 590
What loud uproar bursts from that door!
The wedding-guests are there:
But in the garden-bower the bride
And bride-maids singing are:
And hark the little vesper bell, 595
Which biddeth me to prayer!
O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been
Alone on a wide wide sea:
So lonely 'twas, that God himself
Scarce seeméd there to be. 600
O sweeter than the marriage-feast,
'Tis sweeter far to me,
To walk together to the kirk
With a goodly company!--
To walk together to the kirk, 605
And all together pray,
While each to his great Father bends,
Old men, and babes, and loving friends
And youths and maidens gay!
[Sidenote: And to teach, by his own example, love and reverence to all
things that God made and loveth.]
Farewell, farewell! but this I tell 610
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.
He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small; 615
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.
The Mariner, whose eye is bright,
Whose beard with age is hoar,
Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest 620
Turned from the bridegroom's door.
He went like one that hath been stunned,
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man,
He rose the morrow morn. 625
1797-1798.
FOOTNOTES:
[186:1] The _Ancient Mariner_ was first published in the _Lyrical
Ballads_, 1798. It was reprinted in the succeeding editions of 1800,
1802, and 1805. It was first published under the Author's name in
_Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, and included in 1828, 1829, and 1834. For the
full text of the poem as published in 1798, vide Appendices. The
marginal glosses were added in 1815-1816, when a collected edition of
Coleridge's poems was being prepared for the press, and were first
published in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, but it is possible that they were
the work of a much earlier period. The text of the _Ancient Mariner_ as
reprinted in _Lyrical Ballads_, 1802, 1805 follows that of 1800.
[186:2] The text of the original passage is as follows: 'Facilè credo,
plures esse naturas invisibiles quam visibiles, in rerum universitate:
pluresque Angelorum ordines in cælo, quam sunt pisces in mari: Sed horum
omnium familiam quis nobis enarrabit? Et gradus, et cognationes, et
discrimina, et singulorum munera? Harum rerum notitiam semper ambivit
ingenium humanum, nunquam attigit . . . Juvat utique non etc.:
_Archaeologiae Philosophicae sive Doctrina Antiqua De Rerum Originibus._
Libri Duo: Londini, MDCXCII, p. 68.'
[186:3] How a Ship, having first sailed to the Equator, was driven by
Storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole; how the Ancient
Mariner cruelly and in contempt of the laws of hospitality killed a
Sea-bird and how he was followed by many and strange Judgements: and in
what manner he came back to his own Country, [_L. B._ 1800.]
[195:1] _Om._ in _Sibylline Leaves, 1817_.
[196:1] For the last two lines of this stanza, I am indebted to Mr.
WORDSWORTH. It was on a delightful walk from Nether Stowey to Dulverton,
with him and his sister, in the Autumn of 1797, that this Poem was
planned, and in part composed. [Note by S. T. C., first printed in
_Sibylline Leaves_.]
LINENOTES:
Title] The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere. In Seven Parts L. B. 1798: The
Ancient Mariner. A Poet's Reverie L. B. 1800, 1802, 1805.
[Note.--The 'Argument' was omitted in L. B. 1802, 1805, Sibylline
Leaves, 1817, and in 1828, 1829, and 1834.]
PART I] I L. B. 1798, 1800. The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. In Seven
Parts. S. L., 1828, 1829.
[1] It is an ancyent Marinere L. B. 1798 [ancient is spelled 'ancyent'
and Mariner 'Marinere' through out L. B. 1798].
[3] thy glittering eye L. B. 1798, 1800.
[4] stopp'st thou] stoppest L. B. 1798, 1800.
[Between 8 and 13]
But still he holds the wedding guest--
There was a Ship, quoth he--
'Nay, if thou'st got a laughsome tale,
Marinere, [Mariner! 1800] come with me.'
He holds him with his skinny hand--
Quoth he, there was a Ship--
Now get thee hence thou greybeard Loon!
Or my Staff shall make thee skip.
L. B. 1798, 1800.
[Between 40 and 55]
Listen, Stranger! Storm and Wind,
A Wind and Tempest strong!
For days and weeks it play'd us freaks--
Like chaff we drove along.
Listen Stranger! Mist and Snow,
And it grew wondrous cauld;
And Ice mast-high came floating by
As green as Emerauld.
L. B. 1798.
[Between 40 and 51]
But now the Northwind came more fierce,
There came a Tempest strong!
And Southward still for days and weeks
Like Chaff we drove along.
L. B. 1800.
Lines 41-50 of the text were added in Sibylline Leaves, 1817. [_Note._
The emendation in the marginal gloss, 'driven' for 'drawn' first appears
in 1893.]
[55] clifts] clift S. L. [probably a misprint. It is not corrected in
the _Errata_.]
[57] Nor . . . nor] Ne . . . ne L. B. 1798.
[62] Like noises of a swound L. B. 1798: A wild and ceaseless sound L.
B. 1800.
[65] And an it were L. B. 1798: As if MS. Corr. S. T. C.
[67] The Mariners gave it biscuit-worms L. B. 1798, 1800.
[77] fog-smoke white] fog smoke-white L. B. 1798 (_corr. in Errata_).
PART II] II L. B. 1798, 1800: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Part the
Second, S. L. 1828, 1829.
[83] The Sun came up L. B. 1798.
[85] And broad as a weft upon the left L. B. 1798.
[89] Nor] Ne L. B. 1798.
[90] mariners'] Marinere's L. B. 1798, 1800, S. L. 1817:
Mariner's L. B. 1800.
[91] a] an all editions to 1834.
[95-6] om. L. B. 1798, 1800: were added in Sibylline Leaves.
[97] Nor . . . nor] ne . . . ne L. B. 1798. like an Angel's head L. B.
1800.
[103] The breezes blew L. B. 1798, 1800.
[104] [190:A]The furrow stream'd off free S. L. 1817.
[190:A] In the former editions the line was,
The furrow follow'd free:
But I had not been long on board a ship, before I perceived
that this was the image as seen by a spectator from the shore,
or from another vessel. From the ship itself, the _Wake_
appears like a brook flowing off from the stern. _Note to S.
L. 1817._
[116] nor . . . nor] ne . . . ne L. B. 1798.
[122] Nor] Ne L. B. 1798.
[123] deep] deeps L. B. 1798, 1800.
[139] well a-day] wel-a-day L. B. 1798, 1800.
[Between 143 and 149]
I saw a something in the sky
No bigger than my fist;
At first it seem'd, &c.
L. B. 1798.
[Between 143 and 147]
So past a weary time, each throat
Was parch'd and glaz'd each eye,
When looking westward, &c.
L. B. 1800.
[Lines 143-8 of the text in their present shape were added in Sibylline
Leaves, 1817.]
PART III] III L. B. 1798, 1800: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Part
the Third, S. L. 1828, 1829.
[154] And still it ner'd and ner'd. L. B. 1798, 1800.
[155] And, an it dodg'd L. B. 1798: And, as if it dodg'd L. B. 1800, S.
L. 1817.
[157-60]
With throat unslack'd with black lips baked
Ne could we laugh, ne wail,
Then while thro' drouth all dumb they stood
I bit my arm, and suck'd the blood
L. B. 1798.
[157] With throat unslack'd, &c. L. B. 1800, 1802, S. L. 1817.
[160] Till I bit my arm and suck'd the blood L. B. 1800.
[162] With throat unslack'd, &c. L. B. 1798, 1800, 1802, S. L. 1817.
[167-70]
She doth not tack from side to side--
Hither to work us weal.
Withouten wind, withouten tide
She steddies with upright keel.
L. B. 1798.
[170] She steddies L. B. 1800, S. L. 1817.
[177] straight] strait L. B. 1798, 1800.
[182] neres and neres L. B. 1798, 1800.
[183] _her_] her 1834, _and also in_ 185 _and_ 190.
[Between 184-90]
Are those her naked ribs, which fleck'd
The sun that did behind them peer?
And are those two all, all the crew,[193:A]
That woman and her fleshless Pheere?
_His_ bones were black with many a crack,
All black and bare I ween;
Jet-black and bare, save where with rust
Of mouldy damps and charnel crust
They're patch'd with purple and green.
L. B. 1798.
Are those _her_ ribs which fleck'd the Sun
Like the bars of a dungeon grate?
And are those two all, all the crew
That woman and her mate?
MS. Correction of S. T. C. in L. B. 1798.
Are those _her_ Ribs, thro' which the Sun
Did peer as thro' a grate?
And are those two all, all her crew,
That Woman, and her Mate?
_His_ bones were black with many a crack
* * * * *
They were patch'd with purple and green.
L. B. 1800.
This Ship it was a plankless thing,
--A bare Anatomy!
A plankless spectre--and it mov'd
Like a Being of the Sea!
The woman and a fleshless man
Therein sate merrily.
His bones were black, &c. (as in 1800).
This stanza was found added in the handwriting of the Poet in the margin
of a copy of the Bristol Edition [1798] of Lyrical Ballads. It is here
printed for the first time. _Note P. and D. W., 1877-80, ii. 36._
[193:A] those] these _Errata, L. B. 1798_.
[190-4]
_Her_ lips are red, _her_ looks are free,
_Her_ locks are yellow as gold:
Her skin is as white as leprosy,
And she is far liker Death than he;
Her flesh makes the still air cold.
L. B. 1798.
_Her_ lips were red, _her_ looks were free,
_Her_ locks were as yellow as gold:
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
And she was far liker Death than he;
Her flesh made the still air cold.
L. B. 1800.
[196] casting] playing L. B. 1798, 1800.
[197] The game is done, I've, I've won S. L. 1817, 1828, 1839, 1834,
1844. The restoration of the text of 1798 and 1800 dates from 1852.
[198] whistles] whistled L. B. 1798, 1800.
[Between 198-218]
A gust of wind sterte up behind
And whistled thro' his bones;
Thro the { holes of his eyes and the hole of his mouth
{ hole L. B. 1802, 1805
Half-whistles and half-groans.
With never a whisper in the Sea
Off darts the Spectre-ship;
While clombe above the Eastern bar
The horned Moon with one bright Star
Almost atween the tips.
[Almost between the tips. L. B. 1800.]
One after one by the horned Moon
(Listen, O Stranger! to me)
Each turn'd his face with a ghastly pang
And curs'd me with his ee.
Four times fifty living men,
With never a sigh or groan,
L. B. 1798, 1800.
[Between 198-9] A gust of wind . . . half groans. S. L. (Page 15 erase
the second stanza. Errata_, S. L., p. [xi].)
[Between 201-12]
With never a whisper on the main
Off shot the spectre ship;
And stifled words and groans of pain
Mix'd on each murmuring} lip.
trembling}
And we look'd round, and we look'd up,
And fear at our hearts, as at a cup,
The Life-blood seem'd to sip--
The sky was dull, and dark the night,
The helmsman's face by his lamp gleam'd bright,
From the sails the dews did drip--
Till clomb above the Eastern Bar,
The horned Moon, with one bright star
Within its nether tip.
Undated MS. correction of S. T. C. (first published 1893).
[208] dew] dews S. L. 1817.
[209] clomb] clombe S. L. 1817, 1828.
PART IV] IV. L. B. 1798, 1800: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Part the
Fourth S. L. 1828, 1829.
[220] The] Their L. B. 1798, 1800.
[224] ancyent Marinere L. B. 1798.
[233-4]
Alone on the wide wide sea;
And Christ would take no pity on
L. B. 1798, 1800.
[238] And a million, million slimy things L. B. 1798, 1800.
[242] rotting] eldritch L. B. 1798: ghastly L. B. 1800.
[249] And] Till L. B. 1798, 1800.
[251] load] cloud S. L. (for _cloud_ read _load_. _Errata_, S. L., p.
[xi]).
[254] Ne rot, ne reek L. B. 1798.
[260] the curse] a curse 1828, 1829.
[268] Like morning frosts yspread L. B. 1798.
PART V] V. L. B. 1798, 1800: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Part the
Fifth S. L. 1828, 1829.
[294] To Mary-queen L. B. 1798, 1800. given] yeven L. B. 1798.
[300] awoke] woke (a pencilled correction in 1828, ? by S. T. C.).
[309] The roaring wind! it roar'd far off L. B. 1798.
[313] burst] bursts L. B. 1798.
[315] were] are L. B. 1798.
[317] The stars dance on between. L. B. 1798.
[317-24]
The coming wind doth roar more loud;
The sails do sigh, like sedge:
The rain pours down from one black cloud
And the Moon is at its edge.
Hark! hark! the thick black cloud is cleft,
And the Moon is at its side
L. B. 1798.
[325] fell] falls L. B. 1798.
[327-8]
The strong wind reach'd the ship: it roar'd
And dropp'd down like a stone!
L. B. 1798.
[332] nor . . . nor] ne . . . ne L. B. 1798.
[Between 344-5]
And I quak'd to think of my own voice
How frightful it would be!
L. B. 1798.
[345-9] om. in L. B. 1798, added in L. B. 1800.
[350] The daylight dawn'd L. B. 1798.
[359] sky-lark] Lavrock L. B. 1798.
[Between 372-3]
Listen, O listen, thou Wedding-guest!
'Marinere! thou hast thy will:
For that, which comes out of thine eye, doth make
My body and soul to be still.'
Never sadder tale was told
To a man of woman born:
Sadder and wiser thou wedding-guest!
Thoul't rise to-morrow morn.
Never sadder tale was heard
By a man of woman born:
The Marineres all return'd to work
As silent as beforne.
The Marineres all 'gan pull the ropes,
But look at me they n'old;
Thought I, I am as thin as air--
They cannot me behold.
L. B. 1798.
[373] quietly] silently L. B. 1798, 1800.
[392] down in] into L. B. 1798, 1800.
PART VI] VI. L. B. 1798, 1800: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. Part the
Sixth S. L. 1828, 1829.
[423] Withouten wave L. B. 1798.
[440-1] een from theirs; Ne turn L. B. 1798.
[442-6]
And in its time the spell was snapt,
And I could move my een:
I look'd far-forth, but little saw
Of what might else be seen.
L. B. 1798.
[446] lonesome] lonely L. B. 1798.
[453] Nor . . . nor] Ne . . . ne L. B. 1798.
[464] O dream L. B. 1798, 1800.
[Between 475-80]
The moonlight bay was white all o'er,
Till rising from the same,
Full many shapes, that shadows were,
Like as of torches came.
A little distance from the prow
Those dark-red shadows were;
But soon I saw that my own flesh
Was red as in a glare.
I turn'd my head in fear and dread,
And by the holy rood,
The bodies had advanc'd, and now
Before the mast they stood.
They lifted up their stiff right arms,
They held them strait and tight;
And each right-arm burnt like a torch,
A torch that's borne upright.
Their stony eye-balls glitter'd on
In the red and smoky light.
I pray'd and turn'd my head away
Forth looking as before.
There was no breeze upon the bay,
No wave against the shore.
L. B. 1798.
[487] Oh, Christ!] O Christ L. B. 1798, 1800.
[498] oh!] O L. B. 1798, 1800.
[500] But soon] Eftsones L. B. 1798.
[Between 503-4]
Then vanish'd all the lovely lights;[205:A]
The bodies rose anew:
With silent pace, each to his place,
Came back the ghastly crew,
The wind, that shade nor motion made,
On me alone it blew.
L. B. 1798.
[205:A]
Then vanish'd all the lovely lights,
The spirits of the air,
No souls of mortal men were they,
But spirits bright and fair.
_MS. Correction by S. T. C. in a copy of L. B. 1798._
[511] makes] maketh (a pencilled correction in 1828, ? by S. T. C.).
PART VII] VII. L. B. 1798, 1800: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Part
the Seventh S. L. 1829: The Ancient Mariner. Part the Seventh 1828.
[517] marineres] mariners L. B. 1800.
[518] That come from a far Contrée. L. B. 1798.
[523] neared] ner'd L. B. 1798, 1800.
[529] looked] look L. B. 1798, 1800, S. L.
[533] Brown] The L. B. 1798, 1800, S. L. [for _The_ read _Brown_.
_Errata_, S. L. 1817, p. (xi)].
[543] nor . . . nor] ne . . . ne L. B. 1798.
[577] What manner man L. B. 1798, 1800.
[582-5]
Since then at an uncertain hour,
Now ofttimes and now fewer,
That anguish comes and makes me tell
My ghastly aventure.
L. B. 1798.
[583] agony] agency [_a misprint_] L. B. 1800.
[588] That] The L. B. 1798, 1800.
[610] Farewell, farewell] _The comma to be omitted._ _Errata_, L. B.
1798.
[618] The Marinere L. B. 1798.
SONNETS ATTEMPTED IN THE MANNER OF CONTEMPORARY WRITERS[209:1]
[SIGNED 'NEHEMIAH HIGGINBOTTOM']
I
Pensive at eve on the _hard_ world I mus'd,
And _my poor_ heart was sad: so at the Moon
I gaz'd--and sigh'd, and sigh'd!--for, ah! how soon
Eve darkens into night. Mine eye perus'd
With tearful vacancy the _dampy_ grass 5
Which wept and glitter'd in the _paly_ ray;
And _I did pause me_ on my lonely way,
And _mused me_ on those _wretched ones_ who pass
_O'er the black heath_ of Sorrow. But, alas!
Most of _Myself_ I thought: when it befell 10
That the _sooth_ Spirit of the breezy wood
Breath'd in mine ear--'All this is very well;
But much of _one_ thing is for _no_ thing good.'
Ah! my _poor heart's_ INEXPLICABLE SWELL!
II
TO SIMPLICITY
O! I do love thee, meek _Simplicity_!
For of thy lays the lulling simpleness
Goes to my heart and soothes each small distress,
Distress though small, yet haply great to me!
'Tis true on Lady Fortune's gentlest pad 5
I amble on; yet, though I know not why,
_So_ sad I am!--but should a friend and I
Grow cool and _miff_, O! I am _very_ sad!
And then with sonnets and with sympathy
My dreamy bosom's mystic woes I pall; 10
Now of my false friend plaining plaintively,
Now raving at mankind in general;
But, whether sad or fierce, 'tis simple all,
All very simple, meek Simplicity!
III
ON A RUINED HOUSE IN A ROMANTIC COUNTRY
And this reft house is that the which he built,
Lamented Jack! And here his malt he pil'd,
Cautious in vain! These rats that squeak so wild,
Squeak, not unconscious of their father's guilt.
Did ye not see her gleaming thro' the glade?
Belike, 'twas she, the maiden all forlorn.
What though she milk no cow with crumpled horn,
Yet _aye_ she haunts the dale where _erst_ she stray'd;
And _aye_ beside her stalks her amorous knight!
Still on his thighs their wonted brogues are worn, 10
And thro' those brogues, still tatter'd and betorn,
His hindward charms gleam an unearthly white;
As when thro' broken clouds at night's high noon
Peeps in fair fragments forth the full-orb'd harvest-moon!
1797.
FOOTNOTES:
[209:1] First published in the _Monthly Magazine_ for November, 1797.
They were reprinted in the _Poetical Register_ for 1803 (1805); by
Coleridge in the _Biographia Literaria_, 1817, i. 26-8[A]; and by Cottle
in _Early Recollections_, i. 290-2; and in _Reminiscences_, p. 160. They
were first collected in _P. and D. W._, 1877-80, i. 211-13.
[A] 'Under the name of Nehemiah Higginbottom I contributed three
sonnets, the first of which had for its object to excite a good-natured
laugh at the spirit of doleful egotism and at the recurrence of
favourite phrases, with the double defect of being at once trite and
licentious. The second was on low creeping language and thoughts under
the pretence of _simplicity_. The third, the phrases of which were
borrowed entirely from my own poems, on the indiscriminate use of
elaborate and swelling language and imagery. . . . So general at the
time and so decided was the opinion concerning the characteristic vices
of my style that a celebrated physician (now alas! no more) speaking of
me in other respects with his usual kindness to a gentleman who was
about to meet me at a dinner-party could not, however, resist giving him
a hint not to mention _The House that Jack Built_ in my presence, for
that I was as sore as a boil about that sonnet, he not knowing that I
was myself the author of it.'
Coleridge's first account of these sonnets in a letter to Cottle
[November, 1797] is much to the same effect:--'I sent to the _Monthly
Magazine_ (1797) three mock Sonnets in ridicule of my own Poems, and
Charles Lloyd's and Lamb's, etc., etc., exposing that affectation of
unaffectedness, of jumping and misplaced accent in common-place
epithets, flat lines forced into poetry by italics (signifying how well
and mouthishly the author would read them), puny pathos, etc., etc. The
instances were almost all taken from myself and Lloyd and Lamb. I signed
them "Nehemiah Higginbottom". I think they may do good to our young
Bards.' [_E. R._, i. 289; _Rem._ 160.]
LINENOTES:
Title] Sonnet I M. M.
[4] darkens] saddens B. L., i. 27.
[6] Which] That B. L., i. 27.
[8] those] the B. L., i. 27. who] that B. L., i. 27.
[9] black] bleak B. L., i. 27.
[14] Ah!] Oh! B. L., i. 27.
II] Sonnet II. To Simplicity M. M.: no title in B. L.
[6] yet, though] and yet B. L., i. 27.
[8] Frown, pout and part then I am _very_ sad B. L., i. 27.
[12] in gener-al Cottle, E. R., i. 288.
III] Sonnet III. To, &c. M. M.
[10] their] his Cottle, E. R., i. 292.
[13] As when] Ah! thus B. L., i. 27.
PARLIAMENTARY OSCILLATORS[211:1]
Almost awake? Why, what is this, and whence,
O ye right loyal men, all undefiléd?
Sure, 'tis not possible that Common-Sense
Has hitch'd her pullies to each heavy eye-lid?
Yet wherefore else that start, which discomposes 5
The drowsy waters lingering in your eye?
And are you _really_ able to descry
That precipice three yards beyond your noses?
Yet flatter you I cannot, that your wit
Is much improved by this long loyal dozing; 10
And I admire, no more than Mr. Pitt,
Your jumps and starts of patriotic prosing--
Now cluttering to the Treasury Cluck, like chicken,
Now with small beaks the ravenous _Bill_ opposing;[212:1]
With serpent-tongue now stinging, and now licking, 15
Now semi-sibilant, now smoothly glozing--
Now having faith implicit that he can't err,
Hoping his hopes, alarm'd with his alarms;
And now believing him a sly inchanter,
Yet still afraid to break his brittle charms, 20
Lest some mad Devil suddenly unhamp'ring,
Slap-dash! the imp should fly off with the steeple,
On revolutionary broom-stick scampering.--
O ye soft-headed and soft-hearted people,
If you can stay so long from slumber free, 25
My muse shall make an effort to salute 'e:
For lo! a very dainty simile
Flash'd sudden through my brain, and 'twill just suit 'e!
You know that water-fowl that cries, Quack! Quack!?
Full often have I seen a waggish crew 30
Fasten the Bird of Wisdom on its back,
The ivy-haunting bird, that cries, Tu-whoo!
Both plung'd together in the deep mill-stream,
(Mill-stream, or farm-yard pond, or mountain-lake,)
Shrill, as a _Church and Constitution_ scream, 35
Tu-whoo! quoth Broad-face, and down dives the Drake!
The green-neck'd Drake once more pops up to view,
Stares round, cries Quack! and makes an angry pother;
Then shriller screams the Bird with eye-lids blue,
The broad-faced Bird! and deeper dives the other. 40
Ye _quacking_ Statesmen! 'tis even so with you--
One Peasecod is not liker to another.
Even so on Loyalty's Decoy-pond, each
Pops up his head, as fir'd with British blood,
Hears once again the Ministerial screech, 45
And once more seeks the bottom's blackest mud!
1798.
(_Signed:_ LABERIUS.)
FOOTNOTES:
[211:1] First published in the _Cambridge Intelligencer_, January 6,
1798: included in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817: _Essays on His own Times_,
1850, iii. 969-70. First collected in _P. and D. W._, 1877-80. In
_Sibylline Leaves_ the poem is incorrectly dated 1794.
[212:1] Pitt's 'treble assessment at seven millions' which formed part
of the budget for 1798. The grant was carried in the House of Commons,
Jan. 4, 1798.
LINENOTES:
Title] To Sir John Sinclair, S. Thornton, Alderman Lushington, and the
whole Troop of Parliamentary Oscillators C. I.
[2] right] tight C. I.
[3] It's hardly possible C. I.
[9] But yet I cannot flatter you, your wit C. I.
[14] the] his C. I.
[24] O ye soft-hearted and soft-headed, &c. C. I.
[26, 28] 'e] ye C. I.
[29] that cries] which cries C. I.
[30] Full often] Ditch-full oft C. I.
[31] Fasten] Fallen C. I.
CHRISTABEL[213:1]
PREFACE
The first part of the following poem was written in the
year 1797, at Stowey, in the county of Somerset. The
second part, after my return from Germany, in the year
1800, at Keswick, Cumberland. It is probable that if the
poem had been finished at either of the former periods, or 5
if even the first and second part had been published in the
year 1800, the impression of its originality would have been
much greater than I dare at present expect. But for this
I have only my own indolence to blame. The dates are
mentioned for the exclusive purpose of precluding charges of 10
plagiarism or servile imitation from myself. For there is
amongst us a set of critics, who seem to hold, that every
possible thought and image is traditional; who have no
notion that there are such things as fountains in the world,
small as well as great; and who would therefore charitably 15
derive every rill they behold flowing, from a perforation
made in some other man's tank. I am confident, however,
that as far as the present poem is concerned, the celebrated
poets[215:1] whose writings I might be suspected of having
imitated, either in particular passages, or in the tone and 20
the spirit of the whole, would be among the first to vindicate
me from the charge, and who, on any striking coincidence,
would permit me to address them in this doggerel version
of two monkish Latin hexameters.[215:2]
'Tis mine and it is likewise yours; 25
But an if this will not do;
Let it be mine, good friend! for I
Am the poorer of the two.
I have only to add that the metre of Christabel is not,
properly speaking, irregular, though it may seem so from its 30
being founded on a new principle: namely, that of counting
in each line the accents, not the syllables. Though the latter
may vary from seven to twelve, yet in each line the accents
will be found to be only four. Nevertheless, this occasional
variation in number of syllables is not introduced wantonly, 35
or for the mere ends of convenience, but in correspondence
with some transition in the nature of the imagery or passion.
PART I
'Tis the middle of night by the castle clock,
And the owls have awakened the crowing cock;
Tu--whit!----Tu--whoo!
And hark, again! the crowing cock,
How drowsily it crew. 5
Sir Leoline, the Baron rich,
Hath a toothless mastiff bitch;
From her kennel beneath the rock
She maketh answer to the clock,
Four for the quarters, and twelve for the hour; 10
Ever and aye, by shine and shower,
Sixteen short howls, not over loud;
Some say, she sees my lady's shroud.
Is the night chilly and dark?
The night is chilly, but not dark. 15
The thin gray cloud is spread on high,
It covers but not hides the sky.
The moon is behind, and at the full;
And yet she looks both small and dull.
The night is chill, the cloud is gray: 20
'Tis a month before the month of May,
And the Spring comes slowly up this way.
The lovely lady, Christabel,
Whom her father loves so well,
What makes her in the wood so late, 25
A furlong from the castle gate?
She had dreams all yesternight
Of her own betrothéd knight;
And she in the midnight wood will pray
For the weal of her lover that's far away. 30
She stole along, she nothing spoke,
The sighs she heaved were soft and low,
And naught was green upon the oak
But moss and rarest misletoe:
She kneels beneath the huge oak tree, 35
And in silence prayeth she.
The lady sprang up suddenly,
The lovely lady, Christabel!
It moaned as near, as near can be,
But what it is she cannot tell.-- 40
On the other side it seems to be,
Of the huge, broad-breasted, old oak tree.
The night is chill; the forest bare;
Is it the wind that moaneth bleak?
There is not wind enough in the air 45
To move away the ringlet curl
From the lovely lady's cheek--
There is not wind enough to twirl
The one red leaf, the last of its clan,
That dances as often as dance it can, 50
Hanging so light, and hanging so high,
On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
Hush, beating heart of Christabel!
Jesu, Maria, shield her well!
She folded her arms beneath her cloak, 55
And stole to the other side of the oak.
What sees she there?
There she sees a damsel bright,
Drest in a silken robe of white,
That shadowy in the moonlight shone: 60
The neck that made that white robe wan,
Her stately neck, and arms were bare;
Her blue-veined feet unsandal'd were,
And wildly glittered here and there
The gems entangled in her hair. 65
I guess, 'twas frightful there to see
A lady so richly clad as she--
Beautiful exceedingly!
Mary mother, save me now!
(Said Christabel,) And who art thou? 70
The lady strange made answer meet,
And her voice was faint and sweet:--
Have pity on my sore distress,
I scarce can speak for weariness:
Stretch forth thy hand, and have no fear! 75
Said Christabel, How camest thou here?
And the lady, whose voice was faint and sweet,
Did thus pursue her answer meet:--
My sire is of a noble line,
And my name is Geraldine: 80
Five warriors seized me yestermorn,
Me, even me, a maid forlorn:
They choked my cries with force and fright,
And tied me on a palfrey white.
The palfrey was as fleet as wind, 85
And they rode furiously behind.
They spurred amain, their steeds were white:
And once we crossed the shade of night.
As sure as Heaven shall rescue me,
I have no thought what men they be; 90
Nor do I know how long it is
(For I have lain entranced I wis)
Since one, the tallest of the five,
Took me from the palfrey's back,
A weary woman, scarce alive. 95
Some muttered words his comrades spoke:
Ha placed me underneath this oak;
He swore they would return with haste;
Whither they went I cannot tell--
I thought I heard, some minutes past, 100
Sounds as of a castle bell.
Stretch forth thy hand (thus ended she),
And help a wretched maid to flee.
Then Christabel stretched forth her hand,
And comforted fair Geraldine: 105
O well, bright dame! may you command
The service of Sir Leoline;
And gladly our stout chivalry
Will he send forth and friends withal
To guide and guard you safe and free 110
Home to your noble father's hall.
She rose: and forth with steps they passed
That strove to be, and were not, fast.
Her gracious stars the lady blest,
And thus spake on sweet Christabel: 115
All our household are at rest,
The hall as silent as the cell;
Sir Leoline is weak in health,
And may not well awakened be,
But we will move as if in stealth, 120
And I beseech your courtesy,
This night, to share your couch with me.
They crossed the moat, and Christabel
Took the key that fitted well;
A little door she opened straight, 125
All in the middle of the gate;
The gate that was ironed within and without,
Where an army in battle array had marched out.
The lady sank, belike through pain,
And Christabel with might and main 130
Lifted her up, a weary weight,
Over the threshold of the gate:
Then the lady rose again,
And moved, as she were not in pain.
So free from danger, free from fear, 135
They crossed the court: right glad they were.
And Christabel devoutly cried
To the lady by her side,
Praise we the Virgin all divine
Who hath rescued thee from thy distress! 140
Alas, alas! said Geraldine,
I cannot speak for weariness.
So free from danger, free from fear,
They crossed the court: right glad they were.
Outside her kennel, the mastiff old 145
Lay fast asleep, in moonshine cold.
The mastiff old did not awake,
Yet she an angry moan did make!
And what can ail the mastiff bitch?
Never till now she uttered yell 150
Beneath the eye of Christabel.
Perhaps it is the owlet's scritch:
For what can ail the mastiff bitch?
They passed the hall, that echoes still,
Pass as lightly as you will! 155
The brands were flat, the brands were dying,
Amid their own white ashes lying;
But when the lady passed, there came
A tongue of light, a fit of flame;
And Christabel saw the lady's eye, 160
And nothing else saw she thereby,
Save the boss of the shield of Sir Leoline tall,
Which hung in a murky old niche in the wall.
O softly tread, said Christabel,
My father seldom sleepeth well. 165
Sweet Christabel her feet doth bare,
And jealous of the listening air
They steal their way from stair to stair,
Now in glimmer, and now in gloom,
And now they pass the Baron's room, 170
As still as death, with stifled breath!
And now have reached her chamber door;
And now doth Geraldine press down
The rushes of the chamber floor.
The moon shines dim in the open air, 175
And not a moonbeam enters here.
But they without its light can see
The chamber carved so curiously,
Carved with figures strange and sweet,
All made out of the carver's brain, 180
For a lady's chamber meet:
The lamp with twofold silver chain
Is fastened to an angel's feet.
The silver lamp burns dead and dim;
But Christabel the lamp will trim. 185
She trimmed the lamp, and made it bright,
And left it swinging to and fro,
While Geraldine, in wretched plight,
Sank down upon the floor below.
O weary lady, Geraldine, 190
I pray you, drink this cordial wine!
It is a wine of virtuous powers;
My mother made it of wild flowers.
And will your mother pity me,
Who am a maiden most forlorn? 195
Christabel answered--Woe is me!
She died the hour that I was born.
I have heard the grey-haired friar tell
How on her death-bed she did say,
That she should hear the castle-bell 200
Strike twelve upon my wedding-day.
O mother dear! that thou wert here!
I would, said Geraldine, she were!
But soon with altered voice, said she--
'Off, wandering mother! Peak and pine! 205
I have power to bid thee flee.'
Alas! what ails poor Geraldine?
Why stares she with unsettled eye?
Can she the bodiless dead espy?
And why with hollow voice cries she, 210
'Off, woman, off! this hour is mine--
Though thou her guardian spirit be,
Off, woman, off! 'tis given to me.'
Then Christabel knelt by the lady's side,
And raised to heaven her eyes so blue-- 215
Alas! said she, this ghastly ride--
Dear lady! it hath wildered you!
The lady wiped her moist cold brow,
And faintly said, ''tis over now!'
Again the wild-flower wine she drank: 220
Her fair large eyes 'gan glitter bright,
And from the floor whereon she sank,
The lofty lady stood upright:
She was most beautiful to see,
Like a lady of a far countrée. 225
And thus the lofty lady spake--
'All they who live in the upper sky,
Do love you, holy Christabel!
And you love them, and for their sake
And for the good which me befel, 230
Even I in my degree will try,
Fair maiden, to requite you well.
But now unrobe yourself; for I
Must pray, ere yet in bed I lie.'
Quoth Christabel, So let it be! 235
And as the lady bade, did she.
Her gentle limbs did she undress,
And lay down in her loveliness.
But through her brain of weal and woe
So many thoughts moved to and fro, 240
That vain it were her lids to close;
So half-way from the bed she rose,
And on her elbow did recline
To look at the lady Geraldine.
Beneath the lamp the lady bowed, 245
And slowly rolled her eyes around;
Then drawing in her breath aloud,
Like one that shuddered, she unbound
The cincture from beneath her breast:
Her silken robe, and inner vest, 250
Dropt to her feet, and full in view,
Behold! her bosom and half her side--
A sight to dream of, not to tell!
O shield her! shield sweet Christabel!
Yet Geraldine nor speaks nor stirs; 255
Ah! what a stricken look was hers!
Deep from within she seems half-way
To lift some weight with sick assay,
And eyes the maid and seeks delay;
Then suddenly, as one defied, 260
Collects herself in scorn and pride,
And lay down by the Maiden's side!--
And in her arms the maid she took,
Ah wel-a-day!
And with low voice and doleful look 265
These words did say:
'In the touch of this bosom there worketh a spell,
Which is lord of thy utterance, Christabel!
Thou knowest to-night, and wilt know to-morrow,
This mark of my shame, this seal of my sorrow; 270
But vainly thou warrest,
For this is alone in
Thy power to declare,
That in the dim forest
Thou heard'st a low moaning, 275
And found'st a bright lady, surpassingly fair;
And didst bring her home with thee in love and in charity,
To shield her and shelter her from the damp air.'
THE CONCLUSION TO PART I
It was a lovely sight to see
The lady Christabel, when she 280
Was praying at the old oak tree.
Amid the jaggéd shadows
Of mossy leafless boughs,
Kneeling in the moonlight,
To make her gentle vows; 285
Her slender palms together prest,
Heaving sometimes on her breast;
Her face resigned to bliss or bale--
Her face, oh call it fair not pale,
And both blue eyes more bright than clear, 290
Each about to have a tear.
With open eyes (ah woe is me!)
Asleep, and dreaming fearfully,
Fearfully dreaming, yet, I wis,
Dreaming that alone, which is-- 295
O sorrow and shame! Can this be she,
The lady, who knelt at the old oak tree?
And lo! the worker of these harms,
That holds the maiden in her arms,
Seems to slumber still and mild, 300
As a mother with her child.
A star hath set, a star hath risen,
O Geraldine! since arms of thine
Have been the lovely lady's prison.
O Geraldine! one hour was thine-- 305
Thou'st had thy will! By tairn and rill,
The night-birds all that hour were still.
But now they are jubilant anew,
From cliff and tower, tu--whoo! tu--whoo!
Tu--whoo! tu--whoo! from wood and fell! 310
And see! the lady Christabel
Gathers herself from out her trance;
Her limbs relax, her countenance
Grows sad and soft; the smooth thin lids
Close o'er her eyes; and tears she sheds-- 315
Large tears that leave the lashes bright!
And oft the while she seems to smile
As infants at a sudden light!
Yea, she doth smile, and she doth weep,
Like a youthful hermitess, 320
Beauteous in a wilderness,
Who, praying always, prays in sleep.
And, if she move unquietly,
Perchance, 'tis but the blood so free
Comes back and tingles in her feet. 325
No doubt, she hath a vision sweet.
What if her guardian spirit 'twere,
What if she knew her mother near?
But this she knows, in joys and woes,
That saints will aid if men will call: 330
For the blue sky bends over all!
1797.
PART II
Each matin bell, the Baron saith,
Knells us back to a world of death.
These words Sir Leoline first said,
When he rose and found his lady dead: 335
These words Sir Leoline will say
Many a morn to his dying day!
And hence the custom and law began
That still at dawn the sacristan,
Who duly pulls the heavy bell, 340
Five and forty beads must tell
Between each stroke--a warning knell,
Which not a soul can choose but hear
From Bratha Head to Wyndermere.
Saith Bracy the bard, So let it knell! 345
And let the drowsy sacristan
Still count as slowly as he can!
There is no lack of such, I ween,
As well fill up the space between.
In Langdale Pike and Witch's Lair, 350
And Dungeon-ghyll so foully rent,
With ropes of rock and bells of air
Three sinful sextons' ghosts are pent,
Who all give back, one after t'other,
The death-note to their living brother; 355
And oft too, by the knell offended,
Just as their one! two! three! is ended,
The devil mocks the doleful tale
With a merry peal from Borodale.
The air is still! through mist and cloud 360
That merry peal comes ringing loud;
And Geraldine shakes off her dread,
And rises lightly from the bed;
Puts on her silken vestments white,
And tricks her hair in lovely plight, 365
And nothing doubting of her spell
Awakens the lady Christabel.
'Sleep you, sweet lady Christabel?
I trust that you have rested well.'
And Christabel awoke and spied 370
The same who lay down by her side--
O rather say, the same whom she
Raised up beneath the old oak tree!
Nay, fairer yet! and yet more fair!
For she belike hath drunken deep 375
Of all the blessedness of sleep!
And while she spake, her looks, her air
Such gentle thankfulness declare,
That (so it seemed) her girded vests
Grew tight beneath her heaving breasts. 380
'Sure I have sinn'd!' said Christabel,
'Now heaven be praised if all be well!'
And in low faltering tones, yet sweet,
Did she the lofty lady greet
With such perplexity of mind 385
As dreams too lively leave behind.
So quickly she rose, and quickly arrayed
Her maiden limbs, and having prayed
That He, who on the cross did groan,
Might wash away her sins unknown, 390
She forthwith led fair Geraldine
To meet her sire, Sir Leoline.
The lovely maid and the lady tall
Are pacing both into the hall,
And pacing on through page and groom, 395
Enter the Baron's presence-room.
The Baron rose, and while he prest
His gentle daughter to his breast,
With cheerful wonder in his eyes
The lady Geraldine espies, 400
And gave such welcome to the same,
As might beseem so bright a dame!
But when he heard the lady's tale,
And when she told her father's name,
Why waxed Sir Leoline so pale, 405
Murmuring o'er the name again,
Lord Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine?
Alas! they had been friends in youth;
But whispering tongues can poison truth;
And constancy lives in realms above; 410
And life is thorny; and youth is vain;
And to be wroth with one we love
Doth work like madness in the brain.
And thus it chanced, as I divine,
With Roland and Sir Leoline. 415
Each spake words of high disdain
And insult to his heart's best brother:
They parted--ne'er to meet again!
But never either found another
To free the hollow heart from paining-- 420
They stood aloof, the scars remaining,
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder;
A dreary sea now flows between;--
But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,
Shall wholly do away, I ween, 425
The marks of that which once hath been.
Sir Leoline, a moment's space,
Stood gazing on the damsel's face:
And the youthful Lord of Tryermaine
Came back upon his heart again. 430
O then the Baron forgot his age,
His noble heart swelled high with rage;
He swore by the wounds in Jesu's side
He would proclaim it far and wide,
With trump and solemn heraldry, 435
That they, who thus had wronged the dame,
Were base as spotted infamy!
'And if they dare deny the same,
My herald shall appoint a week,
And let the recreant traitors seek 440
My tourney court--that there and then
I may dislodge their reptile souls
From the bodies and forms of men!'
He spake: his eye in lightning rolls!
For the lady was ruthlessly seized; and he kenned 445
In the beautiful lady the child of his friend!
And now the tears were on his face,
And fondly in his arms he took
Fair Geraldine, who met the embrace,
Prolonging it with joyous look. 450
Which when she viewed, a vision fell
Upon the soul of Christabel,
The vision of fear, the touch and pain!
She shrunk and shuddered, and saw again--
(Ah, woe is me! Was it for thee, 455
Thou gentle maid! such sights to see?)
Again she saw that bosom old,
Again she felt that bosom cold,
And drew in her breath with a hissing sound:
Whereat the Knight turned wildly round, 460
And nothing saw, but his own sweet maid
With eyes upraised, as one that prayed.
The touch, the sight, had passed away,
And in its stead that vision blest,
Which comforted her after-rest 465
While in the lady's arms she lay,
Had put a rapture in her breast,
And on her lips and o'er her eyes
Spread smiles like light!
With new surprise,
'What ails then my belovéd child?' 470
The Baron said--His daughter mild
Made answer, 'All will yet be well!'
I ween, she had no power to tell
Aught else: so mighty was the spell.
Yet he, who saw this Geraldine, 475
Had deemed her sure a thing divine:
Such sorrow with such grace she blended,
As if she feared she had offended
Sweet Christabel, that gentle maid!
And with such lowly tones she prayed 480
She might be sent without delay
Home to her father's mansion.
'Nay!
Nay, by my soul!' said Leoline.
'Ho! Bracy the bard, the charge be thine!
Go thou, with music sweet and loud, 485
And take two steeds with trappings proud,
And take the youth whom thou lov'st best
To bear thy harp, and learn thy song,
And clothe you both in solemn vest,
And over the mountains haste along, 490
Lest wandering folk, that are abroad,
Detain you on the valley road.
'And when he has crossed the Irthing flood,
My merry bard! he hastes, he hastes
Up Knorren Moor, through Halegarth Wood, 495
And reaches soon that castle good
Which stands and threatens Scotland's wastes.
'Bard Bracy! bard Bracy! your horses are fleet,
Ye must ride up the hall, your music so sweet,
More loud than your horses' echoing feet! 500
And loud and loud to Lord Roland call,
Thy daughter is safe in Langdale hall!
Thy beautiful daughter is safe and free--
Sir Leoline greets thee thus through me!
He bids thee come without delay 505
With all thy numerous array
And take thy lovely daughter home:
And he will meet thee on the way
With all his numerous array
White with their panting palfreys' foam: 510
And, by mine honour! I will say,
That I repent me of the day
When I spake words of fierce disdain
To Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine!--
--For since that evil hour hath flown, 515
Many a summer's sun hath shone;
Yet ne'er found I a friend again
Like Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine.'
The lady fell, and clasped his knees,
Her face upraised, her eyes o'erflowing; 520
And Bracy replied, with faltering voice,
His gracious Hail on all bestowing!--
'Thy words, thou sire of Christabel,
Are sweeter than my harp can tell;
Yet might I gain a boon of thee, 525
This day my journey should not be,
So strange a dream hath come to me,
That I had vowed with music loud
To clear yon wood from thing unblest,
Warned by a vision in my rest! 530
For in my sleep I saw that dove,
That gentle bird, whom thou dost love,
And call'st by thy own daughter's name--
Sir Leoline! I saw the same
Fluttering, and uttering fearful moan, 535
Among the green herbs in the forest alone.
Which when I saw and when I heard,
I wonder'd what might ail the bird;
For nothing near it could I see,
Save the grass and green herbs underneath the old tree.
'And in my dream methought I went 541
To search out what might there be found;
And what the sweet bird's trouble meant,
That thus lay fluttering on the ground.
I went and peered, and could descry 545
No cause for her distressful cry;
But yet for her dear lady's sake
I stooped, methought, the dove to take,
When lo! I saw a bright green snake
Coiled around its wings and neck. 550
Green as the herbs on which it couched,
Close by the dove's its head it crouched;
And with the dove it heaves and stirs,
Swelling its neck as she swelled hers!
I woke; it was the midnight hour, 555
The clock was echoing in the tower;
But though my slumber was gone by,
This dream it would not pass away--
It seems to live upon my eye!
And thence I vowed this self-same day 560
With music strong and saintly song
To wander through the forest bare,
Lest aught unholy loiter there.'
Thus Bracy said: the Baron, the while,
Half-listening heard him with a smile; 565
Then turned to Lady Geraldine,
His eyes made up of wonder and love;
And said in courtly accents fine,
'Sweet maid, Lord Roland's beauteous dove,
With arms more strong than harp or song, 570
Thy sire and I will crush the snake!'
He kissed her forehead as he spake,
And Geraldine in maiden wise
Casting down her large bright eyes,
With blushing cheek and courtesy fine 575
She turned her from Sir Leoline;
Softly gathering up her train,
That o'er her right arm fell again;
And folded her arms across her chest,
And couched her head upon her breast, 580
And looked askance at Christabel--
Jesu, Maria, shield her well!
A snake's small eye blinks dull and shy;
And the lady's eyes they shrunk in her head,
Each shrunk up to a serpent's eye, 585
And with somewhat of malice, and more of dread,
At Christabel she looked askance!--
One moment--and the sight was fled!
But Christabel in dizzy trance
Stumbling on the unsteady ground 590
Shuddered aloud, with a hissing sound;
And Geraldine again turned round,
And like a thing, that sought relief,
Full of wonder and full of grief,
She rolled her large bright eyes divine 595
Wildly on Sir Leoline.
The maid, alas! her thoughts are gone,
She nothing sees--no sight but one!
The maid, devoid of guile and sin,
I know not how, in fearful wise, 600
So deeply had she drunken in
That look, those shrunken serpent eyes,
That all her features were resigned
To this sole image in her mind:
And passively did imitate 605
That look of dull and treacherous hate!
And thus she stood, in dizzy trance,
Still picturing that look askance
With forced unconscious sympathy
Full before her father's view---- 610
As far as such a look could be
In eyes so innocent and blue!
And when the trance was o'er, the maid
Paused awhile, and inly prayed:
Then falling at the Baron's feet, 615
'By my mother's soul do I entreat
That thou this woman send away!'
She said: and more she could not say:
For what she knew she could not tell,
O'er-mastered by the mighty spell. 620
Why is thy cheek so wan and wild,
Sir Leoline? Thy only child
Lies at thy feet, thy joy, thy pride,
So fair, so innocent, so mild;
The same, for whom thy lady died! 625
O by the pangs of her dear mother
Think thou no evil of thy child!
For her, and thee, and for no other,
She prayed the moment ere she died:
Prayed that the babe for whom she died, 630
Might prove her dear lord's joy and pride!
That prayer her deadly pangs beguiled,
Sir Leoline!
And wouldst thou wrong thy only child,
Her child and thine? 635
Within the Baron's heart and brain
If thoughts, like these, had any share,
They only swelled his rage and pain,
And did but work confusion there.
His heart was cleft with pain and rage, 640
His cheeks they quivered, his eyes were wild,
Dishonoured thus in his old age;
Dishonoured by his only child,
And all his hospitality
To the wronged daughter of his friend 645
By more than woman's jealousy
Brought thus to a disgraceful end--
He rolled his eye with stern regard
Upon the gentle minstrel bard,
And said in tones abrupt, austere-- 650
'Why, Bracy! dost thou loiter here?
I bade thee hence!' The bard obeyed;
And turning from his own sweet maid,
The agéd knight, Sir Leoline,
Led forth the lady Geraldine! 655
1800.
THE CONCLUSION TO PART II
A little child, a limber elf,
Singing, dancing to itself,
A fairy thing with red round cheeks,
That always finds, and never seeks,
Makes such a vision to the sight 660
As fills a father's eyes with light;
And pleasures flow in so thick and fast
Upon his heart, that he at last
Must needs express his love's excess
With words of unmeant bitterness. 665
Perhaps 'tis pretty to force together
Thoughts so all unlike each other;
To mutter and mock a broken charm,
To dally with wrong that does no harm.
Perhaps 'tis tender too and pretty 670
At each wild word to feel within
A sweet recoil of love and pity.
And what, if in a world of sin
(O sorrow and shame should this be true!)
Such giddiness of heart and brain 675
Comes seldom save from rage and pain,
So talks as it's most used to do.
1801.
FOOTNOTES:
[213:1] First published, together with _Kubla Khan_ and _The Pains of
Sleep_, 1816: included in 1828, 1829, and 1834. Three MSS. of
_Christabel_ have passed through my hands. The earliest, which belonged
to Wordsworth, is partly in Coleridge's handwriting and partly in that
of Mary Hutchinson (Mrs. Wordsworth). The probable date of this MS., now
in the possession of the poet's grandson, Mr. Gordon Wordsworth, is
April-October, 1800. Later in the same year, or perhaps in 1801,
Coleridge made a copy of the First Part (or Book), the Conclusion to the
First Book, and the Second Book, and presented it to Mrs. Wordsworth's
sister, Sarah Hutchinson. A facsimile of the MS., now in the possession
of Miss Edith Coleridge, was issued in collotype in the edition of
_Christabel_ published in 1907, under the auspices of the Royal Society
of Literature. In 1801, or at some subsequent period (possibly not till
1815), Miss Hutchinson transcribed Coleridge's MS. The water-mark of the
paper is 1801. Her transcript, now in the possession of Mr. A. H. Hallam
Murray, was sent to Lord Byron in October, 1815. It is possible that
this transcription was the 'copy' for the First Edition published in
1816; but, if so, Coleridge altered the text whilst the poem was passing
through the press.
The existence of two other MSS. rests on the authority of John Payne
Collier (see _Seven Lectures on Shakespeare and Milton_. By S. T.
Coleridge, 1856, pp. xxxix-xliii).
The first, which remained in his possession for many years, was a copy
in the handwriting of Sarah Stoddart (afterwards Mrs. Hazlitt). J. P.
Collier notes certain differences between this MS., which he calls the
'Salisbury Copy', and the text of the First Edition. He goes on to say
that before _Christabel_ was published Coleridge lent him an MS. in his
own handwriting, and he gives two or three readings from the second MS.
which differ from the text of the 'Salisbury Copy' and from the texts of
those MSS. which have been placed in my hands.
The copy of the First Edition of _Christabel_ presented to William
Stewart Rose's valet, David Hinves, on November 11, 1816, which
Coleridge had already corrected, is now in the possession of Mr. John
Murray. The emendations and additions inscribed on the margin of this
volume were included in the collected edition of Coleridge's _Poetical
Works_, published by William Pickering in 1828. The editions of 1829 and
1834 closely followed the edition of 1828, but in 1834 there was in one
particular instance (Part I, lines 6-10) a reversion to the text of the
First Edition. The MS. of the 'Conclusion of Part II' forms part of a
letter to Southey dated May 6, 1801. (_Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i.
355.) The following abbreviations have been employed to note the MSS.
and transcriptions of Christabel:--
1. The Wordsworth MS., partly in Coleridge's (lines 1-295), and partly
in Mary Hutchinson's (lines 295-655) handwriting = _MS. W_.
2. The Salisbury MS., copied by Sarah Stoddart = _S. T. C. (a)_.
3. The MS. lent by Coleridge to Payne Collier = _S. T. C. (b)_.
4. Autograph MS. in possession of Miss Edith Coleridge (reproduced in
facsimile in 1907) = _S. T. C. (c)_.
5. Transcription made by Sarah Hutchinson = _S. H._
6. Corrections made by Coleridge in the Copy of the First Edition
presented to David Hinves = _H. 1816_.
[215:1] Sir Walter Scott and Lord Byron.
[215:2] The 'Latin hexameters', 'in the lame and limping metre of a
barbarous Latin poet', ran thus:
'Est meum et est tuum, amice! at si amborum nequit esse,
Sit meum, amice, precor: quia certe sum magi' pauper.'
It is interesting to note that Coleridge translated these lines in
November, 1801, long before the 'celebrated poets' in question had made,
or seemed to make, it desirable to 'preclude a charge of plagiarism'.
LINENOTES:
PREFACE] Prefixed to the three issues of 1816, and to 1828, 1829, 1834.
_Christabel_--Preface. 2 The year one thousand seven hundred and ninety
seven 1816, 1828, 1829.
[3, 4] The year one thousand eight hundred 1816, 1828, 1829.
[4] _after_ 'Cumberland'] Since the latter date, my poetic powers have
been, till very lately, in a state of suspended animation. But as, in my
very first conception of the tale, I had the whole present to my mind,
with the wholeness, no less than the liveliness of a vision; I trust
that I shall be able to embody in verse the three parts yet to come, in
the course of the present year. _It is probable_, &c. 1816, 1828, 1829:
om. 1834.
[23] doggrel 1816, 1828, 1829.
PART I] Book the First MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.: _Part the First_
1828, 1829.
[3] Tu-u-whoo! Tu-u-whoo! MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[6-7]
Sir Leoline the Baron [*bold*]
Hath a toothless mastiff old
H. 1816.
Sir Leoline, the Baron rich,
Hath a toothless mastiff which
H. 1816, 1828, 1829, 1893.
[9] She makes MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H., First Edition: Maketh H.
1816, 1828, 1829.
[11] moonshine or shower MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H., First Edition: by
shine or shower H. 1816.
[Between 28-9]
Dreams, that made her moan and leap,
As on her bed she lay in sleep.
First Edition: Erased H. 1816: Not in any MS.
[32] The breezes they were whispering low S. T. C. (a): The breezes they
were still also MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H., First Edition.
[34] But the moss and misletoe MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[35] kneels] knelt MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[37] sprang] leaps MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H., First Edition.
[39] can] could H. 1816.
[45-7] om. MS. W.
[52] up] out MS. W., S. H.
[54] Jesu Maria MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[58-66]
A damsel bright
Clad in a silken robe of white,
Her neck, her feet, her arms were bare,
And the jewels were tumbled in her hair.
I guess, &c.
MS. W.
[60] om. MS. S. T. C.
[61-6]
Her neck, her feet, her arms were bare,
And the jewels were tumbled in her hair.
I guess, &c.
S. T. C. (a), S. T. C. (c), S. H.
Her neck, her feet, her arms were bare,
And the jewels disorder'd in her hair.
I guess, &c.
First Edition.
[65]
And the jewels were tangled in her hair.
S. T. C. (b).
[In the Hinves copy (Nov., 1816), ll. 60-5 are inserted in the margin
and the two lines 'Her neck . . . her hair' are erased. This addition
was included in 1828, 1829, 1834, &c.]
[74] scarce can] cannot H. 1816.
[76] Said Christabel] Alas! but say H. 1816.
[81-3]
Five ruffians seized me yestermorn,
Me, even me, a maid forlorn;
They chok'd my cries with wicked might.
MS. W., S. T. C. (a); MS. S. T. C. (c); S. H.
Five warriors, &c. as in the text
S. T. C. (b)
[Lines 82, 83, 84-1/2 are erased in H. 1816. Lines 81-4, 89, 90, which
Scott prefixed as a motto to Chapter XI of _The Black Dwarf_ (1818), run
thus:--
Three ruffians seized me yestermorn,
Alas! a maiden most forlorn;
They choked my cries with wicked might,
And bound me on a palfrey white:
As sure as Heaven shall pity me,
I cannot tell what men they be.
Christabel.
The motto to Chapter XXIV of _The Betrothed_ (1825) is slightly
different:--
Four Ruffians . . . palfrey white.]
[88] once] twice MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[92] For I have lain in fits, I wis MS. W., S. T. C. (a), S. T. C. (c),
S. H., First Edition. [Text, which follows S. T. C. (b), H. 1816, was
first adopted in 1828.]
[96] comrades] comrade MS. W.
[98] He] They MS. W.
[106-11]
Saying that she should command
The service of Sir Leoline;
And straight be convoy'd, free from thrall,
Back to her noble father's hall.
MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H., First Edition.
[Text, which follows H. 1816, was first adopted in 1828.]
[112-22]
So up she rose and forth they pass'd
With hurrying steps yet nothing fast.
Her lucky stars the lady blest,
And Christabel she sweetly said--
All our household are at rest,
Each one sleeping in his bed;
Sir Leoline is weak in health,
And may not awakened be,
So to my room we'll creep in stealth,
And you to-night must sleep with me.
MS. W., S. T. C. (a), S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[So, too, First Edition, with the sole variant, 'And may not well
awakened be'.]
[114-17]
Her smiling stars the lady blest,
And thus bespake sweet Christabel:
All our household is at rest,
The hall as silent as a cell.
S. T. C. (b).
[In H. 1816 ll. 112-22 of the text are inserted in Coleridge's
handwriting. Line 113 reads: 'yet were not fast'. Line 122 reads: 'share
your bed with me'. In 1828, ll. 117-22 were added to the text, and 'Her
gracious stars' (l. 114) was substituted for 'Her lucky stars'.]
[137] And Christabel she sweetly cried MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[139] Praise we] O praise MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[145] Outside] Beside MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[146] Lay fast] Was stretch'd H. 1816. [Not in S. T. C.'s handwriting.]
[160] om. S. T. C. (a).
[161] And nothing else she saw thereby MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[163] niche] nitch all MSS. and First Edition.
[166-9]
Sweet Christabel her feet she bares,
And they are creeping up the stairs,
Now in glimmer, and now in gloom,
MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H., First Edition.
[167] Added in 1828.
[171] With stifled breath, as still as death H. 1816. [Not in S. T. C.'s
handwriting.]
[173-4]
And now they with their feet press down
The rushes of her chamber floor.
MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.
And now with eager feet press down
The rushes of her chamber floor.
First Edition, H. 1816. [Not in S. T. C.'s handwriting.]
[191] cordial] spicy MS. W., S. T. C. (a), S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[Between 193-4]
Nay, drink it up, I pray you do,
Believe me it will comfort you.
MS. W., S. T. C. (a), S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[The omission was made in the First Edition.]
[205-10, 212] om. MS. W.
[219] And faintly said I'm better now MS. W., S. T. C. (a): I am better
now S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[225] far] fair MS. W.
[Between 252-3] Are lean and old and foul of hue. MS. W., S. T. C. (c),
S. H.
[254] And she is to sleep with Christabel. MS. W.: And she is to sleep
by Christabel. S. T. C. (c), S. H., First Edition: And must she sleep by
Christabel. H. 1816 [not in S. T. C.'s handwriting]: And she is alone
with Christabel. H. 1816 erased [not in S. T. C.'s handwriting]: And
must she sleep with Christabel. H. 1816 erased [not in S. T. C.'s
handwriting].
[255-61] om. MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H., First Edition: included in H.
1816. [Not in S. T. C.'s handwriting.] First published in 1828.
[Between 254 and 263]
She took two paces and a stride,
And lay down by the maiden's side,
MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H., First Edition.
She gaz'd upon the maid, [*she sigh'd*]
[*She took two paces and a stride,*]
Then
[*And lay down by the Maiden's side.*]
H. 1816 erased.
[265] low] sad MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[267] this] my MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[270] The mark of my shame, the seal of my sorrow. MS. W.,
S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[277] And didst bring her home with thee, with love and with
charity. MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[278] To shield her, and shelter her, and shelter far from the
damp air. MS. W.
The Conclusion to Part I] The Conclusion of Book the First MS. W.: The
Conclusion to Book the First S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[294] _Here in MS. W. the handwriting changes._ 'Dreaming' _was written
by S. T. C._, 'yet' _by Mary Hutchinson_.
[295] is] _is_ H. 1816.
[297] who] that MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H., H. 1816.
[306] Tairn or Tarn (derived by Lye from the Icelandic _Tiorn_, stagnum,
palus) is rendered in our dictionaries as synonymous with Mere or Lake;
but it is properly a large Pool or Reservoir in the Mountains, commonly
the Feeder of some Mere in the valleys. Tarn Watling and Blellum Tarn,
though on lower ground than other Tarns, are yet not exceptions, for
both are on elevations, and Blellum Tarn feeds the Wynander Mere. Note
to S. T. C. (c).
[324] A query is attached to this line H. 1816.
Part II] Book the Second MS. W.: Christabel Book the Second S. T. C.
(c), S. H.
[344] Wyndermere] Wyn'dermere MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H., First
Edition.
[353] sinful] simple MS. W.
[354] A query is attached to this line H. 1816.
[356] the] their MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[359] Borodale] Borrowdale MS. W., S. H., First Edition, 1828, 1829:
Borrodale S. T. C. (c).
[360] The air is still through many a cloud MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[363] the] her MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[364] silken] simple MS. W.
[414] thus] so MS. Letter to Poole, Feb. 1813.
[418] They] And MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[419] But] And MS. W.
[424-5]
But neither frost nor heat nor thunder
Can wholly, &c.,
MS. Letter to Poole, Feb. 1813.
[441] tourney] Tournay MS. W., S. T. C. (c), First Edition.
[453] The vision foul of fear and pain MS. W., S. T. C. (a), S. T. C.
(c), S. H.: The vision of fear, the touch of pain S. T. C. (b).
[463] The pang, the sight was passed away S. T. C. (a): The pang, the
sight, had passed away MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[490] om. MS. W.
[503] beautiful] beauteous MS. W.
[507] take] fetch MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[516] Many a summer's suns have shone MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[559] seems] seem'd MS. W., S. T. C. (c).
[560] vowed] swore MS. W.
[563] loiter] wander MS. W.
[582] Jesu, Maria] Jesu Maria MS. W.
[591] Shuddered aloud with hissing sound MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.
[596] on] o'er MS. W.
[613] And] But MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H., First Edition.
[615] her Father's Feet MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H., First Edition,
1828.
[620] the] that MS. W.
[639] but] not MS. W.
[645] wronged] insulted MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H., First Edition,
1828, 1829.
The Conclusion to Part II] Not in any of the MSS. or in S. H. For the
first manuscript version see Letter to Southey, May 6, 1801. (Letters of
S. T. C., 1895, i. 355.)
[659] 'finds' and 'seeks' are italicized in the letters.
[660-1]
Doth make a vision to the sight
Which fills a father's eyes with light.
Letter, 1801.
[664] In H. 1816 there is a direction (not in S. T. C.'s handwriting) to
print line 664 as two lines.
[665] In words of wrong and bitterness. Letter, 1801.
LINES TO W. L.[236:1]
WHILE HE SANG A SONG TO PURCELL'S MUSIC
While my young cheek retains its healthful hues,
And I have many friends who hold me dear,
L----[236:2]! methinks, I would not often hear
Such melodies as thine, lest I should lose
All memory of the wrongs and sore distress 5
For which my miserable brethren weep!
But should uncomforted misfortunes steep
My daily bread in tears and bitterness;
And if at Death's dread moment I should lie
With no belovéd face at my bed-side, 10
To fix the last glance of my closing eye,
Methinks such strains, breathed by my angel-guide,
Would make me pass the cup of anguish by,
Mix with the blest, nor know that I had died!
1797.
FOOTNOTES:
[236:1] First published in the _Annual Anthology_ for 1800: included in
_Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. A MS. is extant dated
Sept. 14, 1797.
[236:2] [Transcriber's Note: Footnote 2 is missing from original.]
LINENOTES:
Title] To Mr. William Linley MS. 1797: Sonnet XII, To W. L.----[236:2]!
Esq., while he sung &c. An. Anth.: To W. L. Esq. &c. S. L. 1828, 1829:
Lines to W. Linley, Esq. 1893.
[3] L----[236:2]!] Linley! MS. 1893.
[10] at] by An. Anth.
[12] Methinks] O God! An. Anth.
FIRE, FAMINE, AND SLAUGHTER[237:1]
A WAR ECLOGUE
_The Scene a desolated Tract in La Vendée. FAMINE is discovered lying
on the ground; to her enter FIRE and SLAUGHTER._
_Fam._ Sisters! sisters! who sent you here?
_Slau._ [_to Fire_]. I will whisper it in her ear.
_Fire._ No! no! no!
Spirits hear what spirits tell:
'Twill make a holiday in Hell. 5
No! no! no!
Myself, I named him once below,
And all the souls, that damnéd be.
Leaped up at once in anarchy,
Clapped their hands and danced for glee. 10
They no longer heeded me;
But laughed to hear Hell's burning rafters
Unwillingly re-echo laughters!
No! no! no!
Spirits hear what spirits tell: 15
'Twill make a holiday in Hell!
_Fam._ Whisper it, sister! so and so!
In a dark hint, soft and slow.
_Slau._ Letters four do form his name--
And who sent you?
_Both._ The same! the same! 20
_Slau._ He came by stealth, and unlocked my den,
And I have drunk the blood since then
Of thrice three hundred thousand men.
_Both._ Who bade you do 't?
_Slau._ The same! the same!
Letters four do form his name. 25
He let me loose, and cried Halloo!
To him alone the praise is due.
_Fam._ Thanks, sister, thanks! the men have bled,
Their wives and their children faint for bread.
I stood in a swampy field of battle; 30
With bones and skulls I made a rattle,
To frighten the wolf and carrion-crow
And the homeless dog--but they would not go.
So off I flew: for how could I bear
To see them gorge their dainty fare? 35
I heard a groan and a peevish squall,
And through the chink of a cottage-wall--
Can you guess what I saw there?
_Both._ Whisper it, sister! in our ear.
_Fam._ A baby beat its dying mother: 40
I had starved the one and was starving the other!
_Both._ Who bade you do 't?
_Fam._ The same! the same!
Letters four do form his name.
He let me loose, and cried, Halloo!
To him alone the praise is due. 45
_Fire._ Sisters! I from Ireland came!
Hedge and corn-fields all on flame,
I triumph'd o'er the setting sun!
And all the while the work was done,
On as I strode with my huge strides, 50
I flung back my head and I held my sides,
It was so rare a piece of fun
To see the sweltered cattle run
With uncouth gallop through the night,
Scared by the red and noisy light! 55
By the light of his own blazing cot
Was many a naked Rebel shot:
The house-stream met the flame and hissed,
While crash! fell in the roof, I wist,
On some of those old bed-rid nurses, 60
That deal in discontent and curses.
_Both._ Who bade you do't?
_Fire._ The same! the same!
Letters four do form his name.
He let me loose, and cried Halloo!
To him alone the praise is due. 65
_All._ He let us loose, and cried Halloo!
How shall we yield him honour due?
_Fam._ Wisdom comes with lack of food.
I'll gnaw, I'll gnaw the multitude,
Till the cup of rage o'erbrim: 70
They shall seize him and his brood--
_Slau._ They shall tear him limb from limb!
_Fire._ O thankless beldames and untrue!
And is this all that you can do
For him, who did so much for you? 75
Ninety months he, by my troth!
Hath richly catered for you both;
And in an hour would you repay
An eight years' work?--Away! away!
I alone am faithful! I 80
Cling to him everlastingly.
1798.
FOOTNOTES:
[237:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, January 8, 1798: included
in _Annual Anthology_, 1800, and (with an Apologetic Preface, vide
_Appendices_) in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1828, 1829, and 1834. The poem was
probably written in 1796. See _Watchman_, _passim_.
LINENOTES:
Title] Scene: A depopulated Tract in La Vendée. Famine is discovered
stretched on the ground; to her enter Slaughter and Fire M. P., Jan. 8,
1798.
[2] SLAUGHTER. I will name him in your ear. M. P.
[5] a] an all editions to 1834.
[11] me] _me_ M. P.
[16] a] an all editions to 1834.
[17-18]
FAMINE. Then sound it not, yet let me know;
Darkly hint it--soft and low!
M. P.
In a dark hint, soft and low.
An. Anth.
[19] Four letters form his name. M. P.
[20] _Both_] FAMINE M. P.
[22-3]
And I have spill'd the blood since then
Of thrice ten hundred thousand men.
M. P.
[22] drunk] drank An. Anth., S. L. 1828, 1829.
[24] _Both_] FIRE and FAMINE M. P.
[25] Four letters form his name. M. P.
[29] Their wives and children M. P.
[32] and the carrion crow M. P., An. Anth.
[39] _Both_] SLAUGHTER and FIRE M. P.
[42] _Both_] SLAUGHTER and FIRE M. P.
[43] Four letters form his name. M. P.
[47] Hedge] Huts M. P.
[48] om. An. Anth.
[49] Halloo! Halloo! the work was done An. Anth.
[50] As on I strode with monstrous strides M. P.: And on as I strode
with my great strides An. Anth.
[51] and held M. P., An. Anth.
[54] through] all M. P.
[58] flame] fire M. P.: flames An. Anth.
[59] While crash the roof fell in I wish M. P.
[62] _Both_] SLAUGHTER and FAMINE M. P.
[63] Four letters form his name. M. P.
[65] How shall I give him honour due? M. P.
[67] we] I M. P.
[71] and] of M. P.
[75 foll.]
For him that did so much for you.
[To _Slaughter_.
For _you_ he turn'd the dust to mud
With his fellow creatures' blood!
[To _Famine_.
And hunger scorch'd as many more,
To make _your_ cup of joy run o'er.
[To _Both_.
Full ninety moons, he by my troth!
Hath richly cater'd for you both!
And in an hour would you repay
An eight years' debt? Away! away!
I alone am faithful! I
Cling to him everlastingly.
LABERIUS.
M. P.
[Below 81] 1798] 1796 S. L. 1828, 1829, and 1834.
FROST AT MIDNIGHT[240:1]
The Frost performs its secret ministry,
Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry
Came loud--and hark, again! loud as before.
The inmates of my cottage, all at rest,
Have left me to that solitude, which suits 5
Abstruser musings: save that at my side
My cradled infant slumbers peacefully.
'Tis calm indeed! so calm that it disturbs
And vexes meditation with its strange
And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood, 10
This populous village! Sea, and hill, and wood,
With all the numberless goings-on of life,
Inaudible as dreams! the thin blue flame
Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not;
Only that film,[240:2] which fluttered on the grate, 15
Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing.
Methinks, its motion in this hush of nature
Gives it dim sympathies with me who live,
Making it a companionable form,
Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit 20
By its own moods interprets, every where
Echo or mirror seeking of itself,
And makes a toy of Thought.
But O! how oft,
How oft, at school, with most believing mind,
Presageful, have I gazed upon the bars, 25
To watch that fluttering _stranger_! and as oft
With unclosed lids, already had I dreamt
Of my sweet birth-place, and the old church-tower,
Whose bells, the poor man's only music, rang
From morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day, 30
So sweetly, that they stirred and haunted me
With a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear
Most like articulate sounds of things to come!
So gazed I, till the soothing things, I dreamt,
Lulled me to sleep, and sleep prolonged my dreams! 35
And so I brooded all the following morn,
Awed by the stern preceptor's face, mine eye
Fixed with mock study on my swimming book:
Save if the door half opened, and I snatched
A hasty glance, and still my heart leaped up, 40
For still I hoped to see the _stranger's_ face,
Townsman, or aunt, or sister more beloved,
My play-mate when we both were clothed alike!
Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side,
Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm, 45
Fill up the intersperséd vacancies
And momentary pauses of the thought!
My babe so beautiful! it thrills my heart
With tender gladness, thus to look at thee,
And think that thou shalt learn far other lore, 50
And in far other scenes! For I was reared
In the great city, pent 'mid cloisters dim,
And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars.
But _thou_, my babe! shalt wander like a breeze
By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags 55
Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds,
Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores
And mountain crags: so shalt thou see and hear
The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible
Of that eternal language, which thy God 60
Utters, who from eternity doth teach
Himself in all, and all things in himself.
Great universal Teacher! he shall mould
Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask.
Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee, 65
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch
Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the eave-drops fall 70
Heard only in the trances of the blast,
Or if the secret ministry of frost
Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
Quietly shining to the quiet Moon.
_February_, 1798.[242:1]
FOOTNOTES:
[240:1] First published in a quarto pamphlet 'printed by Johnson in S.
Paul's Churchyard, 1798': included in _Poetical Register_, 1808-9
(1812): in _Fears in Solitude_, &c., printed by Law and Gilbert, (?)
1812: in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834.
[240:2] _Only that film._ In all parts of the kingdom these films are
called _strangers_ and supposed to portend the arrival of some absent
friend. _4{o}_, _P. R._
[242:1] The date is omitted in _1829_ and in _1834_.
LINENOTES:
[Between 19-25]
With which I can hold commune. Idle thought!
But still the living spirit in our frame,
That loves not to behold a lifeless thing,
Transfuses into all its own delights,
Its own volition, sometimes with deep faith
And sometimes with fantastic playfulness.
Ah me! amus'd by no such curious toys
Of the self-watching subtilizing mind,
How often in my early school-boy days
With most believing superstitious wish.
4{o}.
With which I can hold commune: haply hence,
That still the living spirit in our frame,
Which loves not to behold a lifeless thing,
Transfuses into all things its own Will,
And its own pleasures; sometimes with deep faith,
And sometimes with a wilful playfulness
That stealing pardon from our common sense
Smiles, as self-scornful, to disarm the scorn
For these wild reliques of our childish Thought,
That flit about, oft go, and oft return
Not uninvited.
Ah there was a time,
When oft amused by no such subtle toys
Of the self-watching mind, a child at school,
With most believing superstitious wish.
P. R.
[Between 20-4]
To which the living spirit in our frame,
That loves not to behold a lifeless thing,
Transfuses its own pleasures, its own will.
S. L. 1828.
[26] To watch the _stranger_ there! and oft belike 4{o}, P. R.
[27] had] have P. R.
[32] wild] sweet S. L. (for _sweet_ read _wild_. _Errata_, S. L., p.
[xii]).
[45] deep] dead 4{o}, P. R., S. L. (for _dead_ read _deep_. _Errata_, S.
L., p. [xii]).
[46] Fill] Fill'd S. L. (for _Fill'd_ read _Fill_. _Errata_, S. L., p.
[xii]).
[48] thrills] fills 4{o}, P. R., S. L. (for _fills_ read _thrills_.
_Errata_, S. L., p. [xii]).
[67] redbreast] redbreasts 4{o}, P. R.
[69] the nigh] all the 4{o}.
[71] trances] traces S. L. (for _traces_ read _trances_. _Errata_, S.
L., p. [xii]).
[72-end]
Or whether the secret ministery of cold
Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
Quietly shining to the quiet moon,
Like those, my babe! which ere tomorrow's warmth
Have capp'd their sharp keen points with pendulous drops,
Will catch thine eye, and with their novelty
Suspend thy little soul; then make thee shout,
And stretch and flutter from thy mother's arms
As thou wouldst fly for very eagerness.
4{o}.
FRANCE: AN ODE[243:1]
I
Ye Clouds! that far above me float and pause,
Whose pathless march no mortal may controul!
Ye Ocean-Waves! that, wheresoe'er ye roll,
Yield homage only to eternal laws!
Ye Woods! that listen to the night-birds singing, 5
Midway the smooth and perilous slope reclined,
Save when your own imperious branches swinging,
Have made a solemn music of the wind!
Where, like a man beloved of God,
Through glooms, which never woodman trod, 10
How oft, pursuing fancies holy,
My moonlight way o'er flowering weeds I wound,
Inspired, beyond the guess of folly,
By each rude shape and wild unconquerable sound!
O ye loud Waves! and O ye Forests high! 15
And O ye Clouds that far above me soared!
Thou rising Sun! thou blue rejoicing Sky!
Yea, every thing that is and will be free!
Bear witness for me, wheresoe'er ye be,
With what deep worship I have still adored 20
The spirit of divinest Liberty.
II
When France in wrath her giant-limbs upreared,
And with that oath, which smote air, earth, and sea,
Stamped her strong foot and said she would be free,
Bear witness for me, how I hoped and feared! 25
With what a joy my lofty gratulation
Unawed I sang, amid a slavish band:
And when to whelm the disenchanted nation,
Like fiends embattled by a wizard's wand,
The Monarchs marched in evil day, 30
And Britain joined the dire array;
Though dear her shores and circling ocean,
Though many friendships, many youthful loves
Had swoln the patriot emotion
And flung a magic light o'er all her hills and groves; 35
Yet still my voice, unaltered, sang defeat
To all that braved the tyrant-quelling lance,
And shame too long delayed and vain retreat!
For ne'er, O Liberty! with partial aim
I dimmed thy light or damped thy holy flame; 40
But blessed the paeans of delivered France,
And hung my head and wept at Britain's name.
III
'And what,' I said, 'though Blasphemy's loud scream
With that sweet music of deliverance strove!
Though all the fierce and drunken passions wove 45
A dance more wild than e'er was maniac's dream!
Ye storms, that round the dawning East assembled,
The Sun was rising, though ye hid his light!'
And when, to soothe my soul, that hoped and trembled,
The dissonance ceased, and all seemed calm and bright; 50
When France her front deep-scarr'd and gory
Concealed with clustering wreaths of glory;
When, insupportably advancing,
Her arm made mockery of the warrior's ramp;
While timid looks of fury glancing, 55
Domestic treason, crushed beneath her fatal stamp,
Writhed like a wounded dragon in his gore;
Then I reproached my fears that would not flee;
'And soon,' I said, 'shall Wisdom teach her lore
In the low huts of them that toil and groan! 60
And, conquering by her happiness alone,
Shall France compel the nations to be free,
Till Love and Joy look round, and call the Earth their own.'
IV
Forgive me, Freedom! O forgive those dreams!
I hear thy voice, I hear thy loud lament, 65
From bleak Helvetia's icy caverns sent--
I hear thy groans upon her blood-stained streams!
Heroes, that for your peaceful country perished,
And ye that, fleeing, spot your mountain-snows
With bleeding wounds; forgive me, that I cherished 70
One thought that ever blessed your cruel foes!
To scatter rage, and traitorous guilt,
Where Peace her jealous home had built;
A patriot-race to disinherit
Of all that made their stormy wilds so dear; 75
And with inexpiable spirit
To taint the bloodless freedom of the mountaineer--
O France, that mockest Heaven, adulterous, blind,
And patriot only in pernicious toils!
Are these thy boasts, Champion of human kind? 80
To mix with Kings in the low lust of sway,
Yell in the hunt, and share the murderous prey;
To insult the shrine of Liberty with spoils
From freemen torn; to tempt and to betray?
V
The Sensual and the Dark rebel in vain, 85
Slaves by their own compulsion! In mad game
They burst their manacles and wear the name
Of Freedom, graven on a heavier chain!
O Liberty! with profitless endeavour
Have I pursued thee, many a weary hour; 90
But thou nor swell'st the victor's strain, nor ever
Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human power.
Alike from all, howe'er they praise thee,
(Nor prayer, nor boastful name delays thee)
Alike from Priestcraft's harpy minions, 95
And factious Blasphemy's obscener slaves,
Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions,
The guide of homeless winds, and playmate of the waves!
And there I felt thee!--on that sea-cliff's verge,
Whose pines, scarce travelled by the breeze above, 100
Had made one murmur with the distant surge!
Yes, while I stood and gazed, my temples bare,
And shot my being through earth, sea, and air,
Possessing all things with intensest love,
O Liberty! my spirit felt thee there. 105
_February_, 1798.
FOOTNOTES:
[243:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, April 16, 1798: included
in quarto pamphlet published by J. Johnson, 1798: reprinted in _Morning
Post_, Oct. 14, 1802: included in _Poetical Register_ for 1808-9 (1812);
in _Fears in Solitude, &c._, printed by Law and Gilbert, (?) 1812; in
_Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. Lines 85, 98 are quoted
from 'France, _a Palinodia_', in _Biog. Lit._, 1817, i. 195. To the
first _Morning Post_ version (1798) an editorial note was prefixed:--
ORIGINAL POETRY.
The following excellent Ode will be in unison with the feelings of every
friend to Liberty and foe to Oppression; of all who, admiring the French
Revolution, detest and deplore the conduct of France towards
Switzerland. It is very satisfactory to find so zealous and steady an
advocate for Freedom as Mr. COLERIDGE concur with us in condemning the
conduct of France towards the Swiss Cantons. Indeed his concurrence is
not singular; we know of no Friend to Liberty who is not of his opinion.
What we most admire is the _avowal_ of his sentiments, and public
censure of the unprincipled and atrocious conduct of France. The Poem
itself is written with great energy. The second, third, and fourth
stanzas contain some of the most vigorous lines we have ever read. The
lines in the fourth stanza:--
'To scatter rage and trait'rous guilt
Where Peace her jealous home had built,'
to the end of the stanza are particularly expressive and beautiful.
To the second _Morning Post_ version (1802) a note and Argument were
prefixed:--
The following ODE was first published in this paper (in the beginning of
the year 1798) in a less perfect state. The present state of France and
Switzerland give it so peculiar an interest at the present time that we
wished to re-publish it and accordingly have procured from the Author a
corrected copy.
ARGUMENT.
'_First Stanza._ An invocation to those objects in Nature the
contemplation of which had inspired the Poet with a devotional love of
Liberty. _Second Stanza._ The exultation of the Poet at the commencement
of the French Revolution, and his unqualified abhorrence of the Alliance
against the Republic. _Third Stanza._ The blasphemies and horrors during
the domination of the Terrorists regarded by the Poet as a transient
storm, and as the natural consequence of the former despotism and of the
foul superstition of Popery. Reason, indeed, began to suggest many
apprehensions; yet still the Poet struggled to retain the hope that
France would make conquests by no other means than by presenting to the
observation of Europe a people more happy and better instructed than
under other forms of Government. _Fourth Stanza._ Switzerland, and the
Poet's recantation. _Fifth Stanza._ An address to Liberty, in which the
Poet expresses his conviction that those feelings and that grand _ideal_
of Freedom which the mind attains by its contemplation of its individual
nature, and of the sublime surrounding objects (see Stanza the First) do
not belong to men, as a society, nor can possibly be either gratified or
realised, under any form of human government; but belong to the
individual man, so far as he is pure, and inflamed with the love and
adoration of God in Nature.'
LINENOTES:
Title] The Recantation: an Ode. By S. T. Coleridge. 1798.
[1] and] or 1802.
[2] Veering your pathless march without controul 1802.
[5] night-birds] night bird's 1798, 4{o}, 1802: night-birds' S. L.,
1828, 1829.
[6] slope] steep 1798, 4{o}, 1802, P. R.
[12] way] path 1802.
[23] smote air, earth, and sea] smote earth, air, and sea 1798, 4{o}, P.
R.: shook earth, air, and sea 1802.
[24] foot] feet 1798.
[26] lofty] eager 1802.
[27] sang] sung 1798, 4{o}, P. R.
[30] marched] mov'd 1802.
[34] the] that 1802.
[35] flung] spread 1802.
[41] But] I 1802.
[44] that sweet music] those sweet Pæans 1802.
[46] e'er was] ever 1798, 4{o}, P. R.
[51] deep-scarr'd] deep-scar'd 1798, 4{o}, P. R., S. L.
[53] insupportably] irresistibly 1802.
[54] ramp] tramp 1828, 1829, 1834, 1852. [Text of 1834 is here
corrected.]
[58] reproached] rebuk'd 1802.
[59] said] cried 1802.
[62] compel] persuade 1802.
[63] call the Earth] lo! the earth's 1802.
[64] those] these 4{o}, P. R.
[66] caverns] cavern 1834, 1852. [Text of 1834 is here corrected.]
[69] And ye that flying spot the [your 1802] mountain-snows 1798: And ye
that fleeing spot the mountain-snows 4{o}, P. R.
[75] stormy] native 1802.
[77] taint] stain 1802.
[79] patriot] patient 1798, 1802.
[80] Was this thy boast 1802.
[81] Kings in the low lust] monarchs in the lust 1802.
[85-9] The fifth stanza, which alluded to the African Slave Trade as
conducted by this Country, and to the present Ministry and their
supporters, has been omitted, and would have been omitted without remark
if the commencing lines of the sixth stanza had not referred to it.
VI
Shall I with _these_ my patriot zeal combine?
No, Afric, no! they stand before my ken
Loath'd as th' Hyaenas, that in murky den
Whine o'er their prey and mangle while they whine,
Divinest Liberty! with vain endeavour
1798.
[87] burst] break 1802. and] to B. L., _i. 194_. name] name B. L.
[91] strain] pomp B. L.
[92] in] on 1802.
[95] Priestcraft's] priesthood's 4{o}, P. R.: superstition's B. L.
[97] subtle] cherub B. L.
[98]
To live amid the winds and move upon the waves
1798, 4{o}, P. R.
To live among the winds and brood upon the waves
1802.
[99] there] there 1798: then 4{o}, P. R. that] yon 1802.
[100] scarce] just 1802.
[102] Yes, as I stood and gazed my forehead bare 1802.
[104] with] by 1802.
THE OLD MAN OF THE ALPS[248:1]
Stranger! whose eyes a look of pity shew,
Say, will you listen to a tale of woe?
A tale in no unwonted horrors drest;
But sweet is pity to an agéd breast.
This voice did falter with old age before; 5
Sad recollections make it falter more.
Beside the torrent and beneath a wood,
High in these Alps my summer cottage stood;
One daughter still remain'd to cheer my way,
The evening-star of life's declining day: 10
Duly she hied to fill her milking-pail,
Ere shout of herdsmen rang from cliff or vale;
When she return'd, before the summer shiel,
On the fresh grass she spread the dairy meal;
Just as the snowy peaks began to lose 15
In glittering silver lights their rosy hues.
Singing in woods or bounding o'er the lawn,
No blither creature hail'd the early dawn;
And if I spoke of hearts by pain oppress'd.
When every friend is gone to them that rest; 20
Or of old men that leave, when they expire,
Daughters, that should have perish'd with their sire--
Leave them to toil all day through paths unknown,
And house at night behind some sheltering stone;
Impatient of the thought, with lively cheer 25
She broke half-closed the tasteless tale severe.
_She_ play'd with fancies of a gayer hue,
Enamour'd of the scenes her _wishes_ drew;
And oft she prattled with an eager tongue
Of promised joys that would not loiter long, 30
Till with her tearless eyes so bright and fair,
She seem'd to see them realis'd in air!
In fancy oft, within some sunny dell,
Where never wolf should howl or tempest yell,
She built a little home of joy and rest, 35
And fill'd it with the friends whom she lov'd best:
She named the inmates of her fancied cot,
And gave to each his own peculiar lot;
Which with our little herd abroad should roam,
And which should tend the dairy's toil at home, 40
And now the hour approach'd which should restore
Her lover from the wars, to part no more.
Her whole frame fluttered with uneasy joy;
I long'd myself to clasp the valiant boy;
And though I strove to calm _her_ eager mood, 45
It was my own sole thought in solitude.
I told it to the Saints amid my hymns--
For O! you know not, on an old man's limbs
How thrillingly the pleasant sun-beams play,
That shine upon his daughter's wedding-day. 50
I hoped, that those fierce tempests, soon to rave
Unheard, unfelt, around _my_ mountain grave,
Not undelightfully would break _her_ rest,
While she lay pillow'd on her lover's breast;
Or join'd his pious prayer for pilgrims driven 55
Out to the mercy of the winds of heaven.
Yes! now the hour approach'd that should restore
Her lover from the wars to part no more.
Her thoughts were wild, her soul was in her eye,
She wept and laugh'd as if she knew not why; 60
And she had made a song about the wars,
And sang it to the sun and to the stars!
But while she look'd and listen'd, stood and ran,
And saw him plain in every distant man,
By treachery stabbed, on NANSY'S murderous day, 65
A senseless corse th' expected husband lay.
A wounded man, who met us in the wood,
Heavily ask'd her where _my_ cottage stood,
And told us all: she cast her eyes around
As if his words had been but empty sound. 70
Then look'd to Heav'n, like one that would deny
That such a thing _could be_ beneath the sky.
_Again_ he ask'd her if she knew my name,
And instantly an anguish wrench'd her frame,
And left her mind imperfect. No delight 75
Thenceforth she found in any cheerful sight,
Not ev'n in those time-haunted wells and groves,
Scenes of past joy, and birth-place of her loves.
If to her spirit any sound was dear,
'Twas the deep moan that spoke the tempest near; 80
Or sighs which chasms of icy vales outbreathe,
Sent from the dark, imprison'd floods beneath.
She wander'd up the crag and down the slope,
But not, as in her happy days of hope,
To seek the churning-plant of sovereign power, 85
That grew in clefts and bore a scarlet flower!
She roam'd, without a purpose, all alone,
Thro' high grey vales unknowing and unknown.
Kind-hearted stranger! patiently you hear
A tedious tale: I thank you for that tear. 90
May never other tears o'ercloud your eye,
Than those which gentle Pity can supply!
Did you not mark a towering convent hang,
Where the huge rocks with sounds of torrents rang?
Ev'n yet, methinks, its spiry turrets swim 95
Amid yon purple gloom ascending dim!
For thither oft would my poor child repair,
To ease her soul by penitence and prayer.
I knew that peace at good men's prayers returns
Home to the contrite heart of him that mourns, 100
And check'd her not; and often there she found
A timely pallet when the evening frown'd.
And there I trusted that my child would light
On shelter and on food, one dreadful night,
When there was uproar in the element, 105
And she was absent. To my rest I went:
I thought her safe, yet often did I wake
And felt my very heart within me ache.
No daughter near me, at this very door,
Next morn I listen'd to the dying roar. 110
Above, below, the prowling vulture wail'd,
And down the cliffs the heavy vapour sail'd.
Up by the wide-spread waves in fury torn,
Homestalls and pines along the vale were borne.
The Dalesmen in thick crowds appear'd below 115
Clearing the road, o'erwhelm'd with hills of snow.
At times to the proud gust's ascending swell,
A pack of blood-hounds flung their doleful yell:
For after nights of storm, that dismal train
The pious convent sends, with hope humane, 120
To find some out-stretch'd man--perchance to save,
Or give, at least, that last good gift, a grave!
But now a gathering crowd did I survey,
That slowly up the pasture bent their way;
Nor could I doubt but that their care had found 125
Some pilgrim in th' unchannel'd torrent drown'd.
And down the lawn I hasten'd to implore
That they would bring the body to my door;
But soon exclaim'd a boy, who ran before,
'Thrown by the last night's waters from their bed, 130
Your daughter has been found, and she is dead!'
The old man paused--May he who, sternly just,
Lays at his will his creatures in the dust;
Some ere the earliest buds of hope be blown,
And some, when every bloom of joy is flown; 135
May he the parent to his child restore
In that unchanging realm, where Love reigns evermore!
_March_ 8, 1798.
NICIAS ERYTHRAEUS.
FOOTNOTES:
[248:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, March 8, 1798: first
collected _P. and D. W._, 1877-80: not included in _P. W._, 1893.
Coleridge affixed the signature Nicias Erythraeus to these lines and to
_Lewti_, which was published in the _Morning Post_ five weeks later,
April 13, 1798. For a biographical notice of Janus Nicius Erythraeus
(Giovanni Vittorio d'Rossi, 1577-1647) by the late Richard Garnett, see
_Literature_, October 22, 1898.
TO A YOUNG LADY[252:1]
[MISS LAVINIA POOLE]
ON HER RECOVERY FROM A FEVER
Why need I say, Louisa dear!
How glad I am to see you here,
A lovely convalescent;
Risen from the bed of pain and fear,
And feverish heat incessant. 5
The sunny showers, the dappled sky,
The little birds that warble high,
Their vernal loves commencing,
Will better welcome you than I
With their sweet influencing. 10
Believe me, while in bed you lay,
Your danger taught us all to pray:
You made us grow devouter!
Each eye looked up and seemed to say,
How can we do without her? 15
Besides, what vexed us worse, we knew,
They have no need of such as you
In the place where you were going:
This World has angels all too few,
And Heaven is overflowing! 20
_March_ 31, 1798.
FOOTNOTES:
[252:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, Dec. 9, 1799, included in
the _Annual Anthology_, 1800, in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1828, 1829, and
1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] To a Young Lady, on Her First Appearance After A Dangerous
Illness. Written in the Spring of 1799 [1799 must be a slip for 1798].
M. P., An. Anth.
[1] Louisa] Ophelia M. P., An. Anth.
[6-7]
The breezy air, the sun, the sky,
The little birds that sing on high
M. P., An. Anth.
[12] all] how M. P., An. Anth.
[13] grow] all M. P., An. Anth.
[16] what] which M. P., An. Anth.
[17] have] had M. P., An. Anth.
[19] This] The M. P.
[Below 20] Laberius M. P., An. Anth.
LEWTI[253:1]
OR THE CIRCASSIAN LOVE-CHAUNT
At midnight by the stream I roved,
To forget the form I loved.
Image of Lewti! from my mind
Depart; for Lewti is not kind.
The Moon was high, the moonlight gleam 5
And the shadow of a star
Heaved upon Tamaha's stream;
But the rock shone brighter far,
The rock half sheltered from my view
By pendent boughs of tressy yew.-- 10
So shines my Lewti's forehead fair,
Gleaming through her sable hair.
Image of Lewti! from my mind
Depart; for Lewti is not kind.
I saw a cloud of palest hue, 15
Onward to the moon it passed;
Still brighter and more bright it grew,
With floating colours not a few,
Till it reached the moon at last:
Then the cloud was wholly bright, 20
With a rich and amber light!
And so with many a hope I seek,
And with such joy I find my Lewti;
And even so my pale wan cheek
Drinks in as deep a flush of beauty! 25
Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind,
If Lewti never will be kind.
The little cloud--it floats away
Away it goes; away so soon!
Alas! it has no power to stay: 30
Its hues are dim, its hues are grey--
Away it passes from the moon!
How mournfully it seems to fly,
Ever fading more and more,
To joyless regions of the sky-- 35
And now 'tis whiter than before!
As white as my poor cheek will be,
When, Lewti! on my couch I lie,
A dying man for love of thee.
Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind-- 40
And yet, thou didst not look unkind.
I saw a vapour in the sky,
Thin, and white, and very high;
I ne'er beheld so thin a cloud:
Perhaps the breezes that can fly 45
Now below and now above,
Have snatched aloft the lawny shroud[255:1]
Of Lady fair--that died for love.
For maids, as well as youths, have perished
From fruitless love too fondly cherished. 50
Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind--
For Lewti never will be kind.
Hush! my heedless feet from under
Slip the crumbling banks for ever:
Like echoes to a distant thunder, 55
They plunge into the gentle river.
The river-swans have heard my tread.
And startle from their reedy bed.
O beauteous birds! methinks ye measure
Your movements to some heavenly tune! 60
O beauteous birds! 'tis such a pleasure
To see you move beneath the moon,
I would it were your true delight
To sleep by day and wake all night.
I know the place where Lewti lies, 65
When silent night has closed her eyes:
It is a breezy jasmine-bower,
The nightingale sings o'er her head:
Voice of the Night! had I the power
That leafy labyrinth to thread, 70
And creep, like thee, with soundless tread,
I then might view her bosom white
Heaving lovely to my sight,
As these two swans together heave
On the gently-swelling wave. 75
Oh! that she saw me in a dream,
And dreamt that I had died for care;
All pale and wasted I would seem,
Yet fair withal, as spirits are!
I'd die indeed, if I might see 80
Her bosom heave, and heave for me!
Soothe, gentle image! soothe my mind!
To-morrow Lewti may be kind.
1798.
FOOTNOTES:
[253:1] First published in the _Morning Post_ (under the signature
_Nicias Erythraeus_), April 18, 1798: included in the _Annual
Anthology_, 1800; _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. For
MS. versions vide Appendices. '_Lewti_ was to have been included in the
_Lyrical Ballads_ of 1798, but at the last moment the sheets containing
it were cancelled and _The Nightingale_ substituted.' (Note to reprint
of _L. B._ (1898), edited by T. Hutchinson.) A copy which belonged to
Southey, with the new _Table of Contents_ and _The Nightingale_ bound up
with the text as at first printed, is in the British Museum. Another
copy is extant which contains the first _Table of Contents_ only, and
_Lewti_ without the addition of _The Nightingale_. In the _M. P._ the
following note accompanies the poem:--'It is not amongst the least
pleasing of our recollections, that we have been the means of gratifying
the public taste with some exquisite pieces of Original Poetry. For many
of them we have been indebted to the author of the Circassian's Love
Chant. Amidst images of war and woe, amidst scenes of carnage and horror
of devastation and dismay, it may afford the mind a temporary relief to
wander to the magic haunts of the Muses, to bowers and fountains which
the despoiling powers of war have never visited, and where the lover
pours forth his complaint, or receives the recompense of his constancy.
The whole of the subsequent Love Chant is in a warm and impassioned
strain. The fifth and last stanzas are, we think, the best.'
[255:1] This image was borrowed by Miss Bailey (_sic_) in her Basil as
the dates of the poems prove. _MS. Note by S. T. C._
LINENOTES:
Title] Lewti; or the Circassian's Love Chant M. P.
[Between lines 14-15]
I saw the white waves, o'er and o'er,
Break against the distant shore.
All at once upon the sight,
All at once they broke in light;
I heard no murmur of their roar,
Nor ever I beheld them flowing,
Neither coming, neither going;
But only saw them o'er and o'er,
Break against the curved shore:
Now disappearing from the sight,
Now twinkling regular and white,
And LEWTI'S smiling mouth can shew
As white and regular a row.
Nay, treach'rous image from my mind
Depart; for LEWTI is not kind.
M. P.
[52] For] Tho' M. P.
[Between lines 52-3]
This hand should make his life-blood flow,
That ever scorn'd my LEWTI so.
I cannot chuse but fix my sight
On that small vapour, thin and white!
So thin it scarcely, I protest,
Bedims the star that shines behind it!
And pity dwells in LEWTI'S breast
Alas! if I knew how to find it.
And O! how sweet it were, I wist,
To see my LEWTI'S eyes to-morrow
Shine brightly thro' as thin a mist
Of pity and repentant sorrow!
Nay treach'rous image! leave my mind--
Ah, LEWTI! why art thou unkind?
[53] Hush!] Slush! Sibylline Leaves (_Errata_, S. L., p. [xi], for
_Slush_ r. _Hush_).
[69-71]
Had I the enviable power
To creep unseen with noiseless tread
Then should I view
M. P., An. Anth.
O beating heart had I the power.
MS. Corr. An. Anth. by S. T. C.
[73] my] the M. P., An. Anth.
[Below 83] Signed Nicias Erythraeus. M. P.
FEARS IN SOLITUDE[256:1]
WRITTEN IN APRIL 1798, DURING THE ALARM OF AN INVASION
A green and silent spot, amid the hills,
A small and silent dell! O'er stiller place
No singing sky-lark ever poised himself.
The hills are heathy, save that swelling slope,
Which hath a gay and gorgeous covering on, 5
All golden with the never-bloomless furze,
Which now blooms most profusely: but the dell,
Bathed by the mist, is fresh and delicate
As vernal corn-field, or the unripe flax,
When, through its half-transparent stalks, at eve, 10
The level sunshine glimmers with green light.
Oh! 'tis a quiet spirit-healing nook!
Which all, methinks, would love; but chiefly he,
The humble man, who, in his youthful years,
Knew just so much of folly, as had made 15
His early manhood more securely wise!
Here he might lie on fern or withered heath,
While from the singing lark (that sings unseen
The minstrelsy that solitude loves best),
And from the sun, and from the breezy air, 20
Sweet influences trembled o'er his frame;
And he, with many feelings, many thoughts,
Made up a meditative joy, and found
Religious meanings in the forms of Nature!
And so, his senses gradually wrapt 25
In a half sleep, he dreams of better worlds,
And dreaming hears thee still, O singing lark,
That singest like an angel in the clouds!
My God! it is a melancholy thing
For such a man, who would full fain preserve 30
His soul in calmness, yet perforce must feel
For all his human brethren--O my God!
It weighs upon the heart, that he must think
What uproar and what strife may now be stirring
This way or that way o'er these silent hills-- 35
Invasion, and the thunder and the shout,
And all the crash of onset; fear and rage,
And undetermined conflict--even now,
Even now, perchance, and in his native isle:
Carnage and groans beneath this blessed sun! 40
We have offended, Oh! my countrymen!
We have offended very grievously,
And been most tyrannous. From east to west
A groan of accusation pierces Heaven!
The wretched plead against us; multitudes 45
Countless and vehement, the sons of God,
Our brethren! Like a cloud that travels on.
Steamed up from Cairo's swamps of pestilence,
Even so, my countrymen! have we gone forth
And borne to distant tribes slavery and pangs, 50
And, deadlier far, our vices, whose deep taint
With slow perdition murders the whole man,
His body and his soul! Meanwhile, at home,
All individual dignity and power
Engulfed in Courts, Committees, Institutions, 55
Associations and Societies,
A vain, speech-mouthing, speech-reporting Guild,
One Benefit-Club for mutual flattery,
We have drunk up, demure as at a grace,
Pollutions from the brimming cup of wealth; 60
Contemptuous of all honourable rule,
Yet bartering freedom and the poor man's life
For gold, as at a market! The sweet words
Of Christian promise, words that even yet
Might stem destruction, were they wisely preached, 65
Are muttered o'er by men, whose tones proclaim
How flat and wearisome they feel their trade:
Rank scoffers some, but most too indolent
To deem them falsehoods or to know their truth.
Oh! blasphemous! the Book of Life is made 70
A superstitious instrument, on which
We gabble o'er the oaths we mean to break;
For all must swear--all and in every place,
College and wharf, council and justice-court;
All, all must swear, the briber and the bribed, 75
Merchant and lawyer, senator and priest,
The rich, the poor, the old man and the young;
All, all make up one scheme of perjury,
That faith doth reel; the very name of God
Sounds like a juggler's charm; and, bold with joy, 80
Forth from his dark and lonely hiding-place,
(Portentous sight!) the owlet Atheism,
Sailing on obscene wings athwart the noon,
Drops his blue-fringéd lids, and holds them close,
And hooting at the glorious sun in Heaven, 85
Cries out, 'Where is it?'
Thankless too for peace,
(Peace long preserved by fleets and perilous seas)
Secure from actual warfare, we have loved
To swell the war-whoop, passionate for war!
Alas! for ages ignorant of all 90
Its ghastlier workings, (famine or blue plague,
Battle, or siege, or flight through wintry snows,)
We, this whole people, have been clamorous
For war and bloodshed; animating sports,
The which we pay for as a thing to talk of, 95
Spectators and not combatants! No guess
Anticipative of a wrong unfelt,
No speculation on contingency,
However dim and vague, too vague and dim
To yield a justifying cause; and forth, 100
(Stuffed out with big preamble, holy names.
And adjurations of the God in Heaven.)
We send our mandates for the certain death
Of thousands and ten thousands! Boys and girls,
And women, that would groan to see a child 105
Pull off an insect's leg, all read of war,
The best amusement for our morning meal!
The poor wretch, who has learnt his only prayers
From curses, who knows scarcely words enough
To ask a blessing from his Heavenly Father, 110
Becomes a fluent phraseman, absolute
And technical in victories and defeats,
And all our dainty terms for fratricide;
Terms which we trundle smoothly o'er our tongues
Like mere abstractions, empty sounds to which 115
We join no feeling and attach no form!
As if the soldier died without a wound;
As if the fibres of this godlike frame
Were gored without a pang; as if the wretch,
Who fell in battle, doing bloody deeds, 120
Passed off to Heaven, translated and not killed;
As though he had no wife to pine for him,
No God to judge him! Therefore, evil days
Are coming on us, O my countrymen!
And what if all-avenging Providence, 125
Strong and retributive, should make us know
The meaning of our words, force us to feel
The desolation and the agony
Of our fierce doings?
Spare us yet awhile,
Father and God! O! spare us yet awhile! 130
Oh! let not English women drag their flight
Fainting beneath the burthen of their babes,
Of the sweet infants, that but yesterday
Laughed at the breast! Sons, brothers, husbands, all
Who ever gazed with fondness on the forms 135
Which grew up with you round the same fire-side,
And all who ever heard the sabbath-bells
Without the infidel's scorn, make yourselves pure!
Stand forth! be men! repel an impious foe,
Impious and false, a light yet cruel race, 140
Who laugh away all virtue, mingling mirth
With deeds of murder; and still promising
Freedom, themselves too sensual to be free,
Poison life's amities, and cheat the heart
Of faith and quiet hope, and all that soothes, 145
And all that lifts the spirit! Stand we forth;
Render them back upon the insulted ocean,
And let them toss as idly on its waves
As the vile sea-weed, which some mountain-blast
Swept from our shores! And oh! may we return 150
Not with a drunken triumph, but with fear,
Repenting of the wrongs with which we stung
So fierce a foe to frenzy!
I have told,
O Britons! O my brethren! I have told
Most bitter truth, but without bitterness. 155
Nor deem my zeal or factious or mistimed;
For never can true courage dwell with them,
Who, playing tricks with conscience, dare not look
At their own vices. We have been too long
Dupes of a deep delusion! Some, belike, 160
Groaning with restless enmity, expect
All change from change of constituted power;
As if a Government had been a robe,
On which our vice and wretchedness were tagged
Like fancy-points and fringes, with the robe 165
Pulled off at pleasure. Fondly these attach
A radical causation to a few
Poor drudges of chastising Providence,
Who borrow all their hues and qualities
From our own folly and rank wickedness, 170
Which gave them birth and nursed them. Others, meanwhile,
Dote with a mad idolatry; and all
Who will not fall before their images,
And yield them worship, they are enemies
Even of their country!
Such have I been deemed.-- 175
But, O dear Britain! O my Mother Isle!
Needs must thou prove a name most dear and holy
To me, a son, a brother, and a friend,
A husband, and a father! who revere
All bonds of natural love, and find them all 180
Within the limits of thy rocky shores.
O native Britain! O my Mother Isle!
How shouldst thou prove aught else but dear and holy
To me, who from thy lakes and mountain-hills,
Thy clouds, thy quiet dales, thy rocks and seas, 185
Have drunk in all my intellectual life,
All sweet sensations, all ennobling thoughts,
All adoration of the God in nature,
All lovely and all honourable things.
Whatever makes this mortal spirit feel 190
The joy and greatness of its future being?
There lives nor form nor feeling in my soul
Unborrowed from my country! O divine
And beauteous island! thou hast been my sole
And most magnificent temple, in the which 195
I walk with awe, and sing my stately songs,
Loving the God that made me!--
May my fears,
My filial fears, be vain! and may the vaunts
And menace of the vengeful enemy
Pass like the gust, that roared and died away 200
In the distant tree: which heard, and only heard
In this low dell, bowed not the delicate grass.
But now the gentle dew-fall sends abroad
The fruit-like perfume of the golden furze:
The light has left the summit of the hill, 205
Though still a sunny gleam lies beautiful,
Aslant the ivied beacon. Now farewell,
Farewell, awhile, O soft and silent spot!
On the green sheep-track, up the heathy hill,
Homeward I wind my way; and lo! recalled 210
From bodings that have well-nigh wearied me,
I find myself upon the brow, and pause
Startled! And after lonely sojourning
In such a quiet and surrounded nook,
This burst of prospect, here the shadowy main, 215
Dim-tinted, there the mighty majesty
Of that huge amphitheatre of rich
And elmy fields, seems like society--
Conversing with the mind, and giving it
A livelier impulse and a dance of thought! 220
And now, beloved Stowey! I behold
Thy church-tower, and, methinks, the four huge elms
Clustering, which mark the mansion of my friend;
And close behind them, hidden from my view,
Is my own lowly cottage, where my babe 225
And my babe's mother dwell in peace! With light
And quickened footsteps thitherward I tend,
Remembering thee, O green and silent dell!
And grateful, that by nature's quietness
And solitary musings, all my heart 230
Is softened, and made worthy to indulge
Love, and the thoughts that yearn for human kind.
NETHER STOWEY, _April_ 20, 1798.
FOOTNOTES:
[256:1] First published in a quarto pamphlet 'printed by J. Johnson in
S. Paul's Churchyard, 1798': included in _Poetical Register_, 1808-9
(1812), and, with the same text, in an octavo pamphlet printed by Law
and Gilbert in (?) 1812: in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, and
1834. Lines 129-97 were reprinted in the _Morning Post_, Oct. 14, 1802.
They follow the reprint of _France: an Ode_, and are thus
prefaced:--'The following extracts are made from a Poem by the same
author, written in April 1798 during the alarm respecting the threatened
invasion. They were included in _The Friend_, No. II (June 8, 1809), as
_Fears of Solitude_.' An autograph MS. (in the possession of Professor
Dowden), undated but initialled S. T. C., is subscribed as follows:--'N.
B. The above is perhaps not Poetry,--but rather a sort of middle thing
between Poetry and Oratory--sermoni propriora.--Some parts are, I am
conscious, too tame even for animated prose.' An autograph MS. dated (as
below 232) is in the possession of Mr. Gordon Wordsworth.
LINENOTES:
Title] Fears &c. Written, April 1798, during the Alarms of an Invasion
MS. W., 4{o}: Fears &c. Written April 1798, &c. P. R.
[19] that] which 4{o}, P. R.
[33]
It is indeed a melancholy thing
And weighs upon the heart
4{o}, P. R., S. L.
[40] groans] screams 4{o}, P. R.
[43] And have been tyrannous 4{o}, P. R.
[44-60]
The groan of accusation pleads against us.
* * * * *
Desunt aliqua
. . . Meanwhile at home
We have been drinking with a riotous thirst
Pollutions, &c.
MS. D.
[53-9]
Meanwhile at home
We have been drinking with a riotous thirst.
Pollutions from the brimming cup of wealth
A selfish, lewd, effeminated race.
MS. W., 4{o}, P. R.
[Lines 54-8 of the text were added in Sibylline Leaves, 1817.]
[69] know] _know_ MS. W., 4{o}, P. R.
[110] from] of 4{o}, P. R.
[112] defeats] deceit S. L. [_Probably a misprint_].
[121] translated] _translated_ 4{o}, P. R.
[131] drag] speed 1809.
[133] that] who 1802, 1809.
[134] Laugh'd at the bosom! Husbands, fathers, all 1802: Smil'd at the
bosom! Husbands, Brothers, all The Friend, 1809.
[136] Which] That 1802.
[138] pure] strong 1809.
[139] foe] race 1809.
[138-9]
Without the Infidel's scorn, stand forth, be men,
Make yourselves strong, repel an impious foe
1802.
[140] yet] and MS. W.
[141] Who] That 4{o}, P. R., 1802, 1809.
[146] we] ye 1809.
[148] toss] float 1809.
[149] sea-weed] sea-weeds MS. W., 4{o}, 1802. some] the 1809.
[150] Swept] Sweeps 1809.
[151] fear] awe 1802.
[151-3]
Not in a drunken triumph, but with awe
Repentant of the wrongs, with which we stung
So fierce a race to Frenzy.
1809.
[154] O men of England! Brothers! I have told 1809.
[155] truth] truths 1802, 1809.
[156] factious] factitious 1809.
[157] courage] freedom 1802.
[159-61] At their own vices. Fondly some expect [We have been . . .
enmity _om._] 1802.
[161-4]
Restless in enmity have thought all change
Involv'd in change of constituted power.
As if a Government were but a robe
On which our vice and wretchedness were sewn.
1809.
[162] constituted] delegated 1802.
[163] had been] were but 1809.
[163-75]
As if a government were but a robe
To which our crimes and miseries were affix'd,
Like fringe, or epaulet, and with the robe
Pull'd off at pleasure. Others, the meantime,
Doat with a mad idolatry, and all
Who will not bow their heads, and close their eyes,
And worship blindly--these are enemies
Even of their country. Such have they deemed _me_.
1802.
[166-71] Fondly . . . nursed them om. 1809.
[171] nursed] nurse 4{o}, S. L. meanwhile] meantime 1809.
[175] _Such have I been deemed_ 1809.
[177] prove] be 1802, 1809.
[179] father] parent 1809.
[180] All natural bonds of 1802.
[181] limits] circle 1802, 1809.
[183] couldst thou be 1802: shouldst thou be 1809.
[184-5]
To me who from thy brooks and mountain-hills,
Thy quiet fields, thy clouds, thy rocks, thy seas
1802.
To me who from thy seas and rocky shores
Thy quiet fields thy streams and wooded hills
1809.
[207] Aslant the ivied] On the long-ivied MS. W., 4{o}.
[214] nook] scene MS. W., 4{o}, P. R.
THE NIGHTINGALE[264:1]
A CONVERSATION POEM, APRIL, 1798
No cloud, no relique of the sunken day
Distinguishes the West, no long thin slip
Of sullen light, no obscure trembling hues.
Come, we will rest on this old mossy bridge!
You see the glimmer of the stream beneath, 5
But hear no murmuring: it flows silently,
O'er its soft bed of verdure. All is still,
A balmy night! and though the stars be dim,
Yet let us think upon the vernal showers
That gladden the green earth, and we shall find 10
A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.
And hark! the Nightingale begins its song,
'Most musical, most melancholy' bird![264:2]
A melancholy bird? Oh! idle thought!
In Nature there is nothing melancholy. 15
But some night-wandering man whose heart was pierced
With the remembrance of a grievous wrong,
Or slow distemper, or neglected love,
(And so, poor wretch! filled all things with himself,
And made all gentle sounds tell back the tale 20
Of his own sorrow) he, and such as he,
First named these notes a melancholy strain.
And many a poet echoes the conceit;
Poet who hath been building up the rhyme
When he had better far have stretched his limbs 25
Beside a brook in mossy forest-dell,
By sun or moon-light, to the influxes
Of shapes and sounds and shifting elements
Surrendering his whole spirit, of his song
And of his fame forgetful! so his fame 30
Should share in Nature's immortality,
A venerable thing! and so his song
Should make all Nature lovelier, and itself
Be loved like Nature! But 'twill not be so;
And youths and maidens most poetical, 35
Who lose the deepening twilights of the spring
In ball-rooms and hot theatres, they still
Full of meek sympathy must heave their sighs
O'er Philomela's pity-pleading strains.
My Friend, and thou, our Sister! we have learnt 40
A different lore: we may not thus profane
Nature's sweet voices, always full of love
And joyance! 'Tis the merry Nightingale
That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates
With fast thick warble his delicious notes, 45
As he were fearful that an April night
Would be too short for him to utter forth
His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul
Of all its music!
And I know a grove
Of large extent, hard by a castle huge, 50
Which the great lord inhabits not; and so
This grove is wild with tangling underwood,
And the trim walks are broken up, and grass,
Thin grass and king-cups grow within the paths.
But never elsewhere in one place I knew 55
So many nightingales; and far and near,
In wood and thicket, over the wide grove,
They answer and provoke each other's song,
With skirmish and capricious passagings,
And murmurs musical and swift jug jug, 60
And one low piping sound more sweet than all--
Stirring the air with such a harmony,
That should you close your eyes, you might almost
Forget it was not day! On moonlight bushes,
Whose dewy leaflets are but half-disclosed. 65
You may perchance behold them on the twigs,
Their bright, bright eyes, their eyes both bright and full,
Glistening, while many a glow-worm in the shade
Lights up her love-torch.
A most gentle Maid,
Who dwelleth in her hospitable home 70
Hard by the castle, and at latest eve
(Even like a Lady vowed and dedicate
To something more than Nature in the grove)
Glides through the pathways; she knows all their notes,
That gentle Maid! and oft, a moment's space, 75
What time the moon was lost behind a cloud,
Hath heard a pause of silence; till the moon
Emerging, hath awakened earth and sky
With one sensation, and those wakeful birds
Have all burst forth in choral minstrelsy, 80
As if some sudden gale had swept at once
A hundred airy harps! And she hath watched
Many a nightingale perch giddily
On blossomy twig still swinging from the breeze,
And to that motion tune his wanton song 85
Like tipsy Joy that reels with tossing head.
Farewell, O Warbler! till to-morrow eve,
And you, my friends! farewell, a short farewell!
We have been loitering long and pleasantly,
And now for our dear homes.--That strain again! 90
Full fain it would delay me! My dear babe,
Who, capable of no articulate sound,
Mars all things with his imitative lisp,
How he would place his hand beside his ear,
His little hand, the small forefinger up, 95
And bid us listen! And I deem it wise
To make him Nature's play-mate. He knows well
The evening-star; and once, when he awoke
In most distressful mood (some inward pain
Had made up that strange thing, an infant's dream--) 100
I hurried with him to our orchard-plot,
And he beheld the moon, and, hushed at once,
Suspends his sobs, and laughs most silently,
While his fair eyes, that swam with undropped tears,
Did glitter in the yellow moon-beam! Well!-- 105
It is a father's tale: But if that Heaven
Should give me life, his childhood shall grow up
Familiar with these songs, that with the night
He may associate joy.--Once more, farewell,
Sweet Nightingale! once more, my friends! farewell. 110
1798.
FOOTNOTES:
[264:1] First published in _Lyrical Ballads_, 1798, reprinted in
_Lyrical Ballads_, 1800, 1802, and 1805: included in _Sibylline Leaves_,
1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834.
[264:2] '_Most musical, most melancholy._' This passage in Milton
possesses an excellence far superior to that of mere description; it is
spoken in the character of the melancholy Man, and has therefore a
_dramatic_ propriety. The Author makes this remark, to rescue himself
from the charge of having alluded with levity to a line in Milton; a
charge than which none could be more painful to him, except perhaps that
of having ridiculed his Bible. _Footnote_ to l. 13 _L. B._ 1798, _L. B._
1800, _S. L._ 1817, 1828, 1829. In 1834 the footnote ends with the word
'Milton', the last sentence being omitted.
LINENOTES:
_Note._ In the Table of Contents of 1828 and 1829 'The Nightingale' is
omitted.
Title] The Nightingale; a Conversational Poem, written in April, 1798 L.
B. 1798: The Nightingale, written in April, 1798 L. B. 1800: The
Nightingale A Conversation Poem, written in April, 1798 S. L., 1828,
1829.
[21] sorrow] sorrows L. B. 1798, 1800.
[40] My Friend, and my Friend's sister L. B. 1798, 1800.
[58] song] songs L. B. 1798, 1800, S. L.
[61] And one, low piping, sounds more sweet than all--S. L. 1817:
(punctuate thus, reading _Sound_ for _sounds_:--And one low piping Sound
more sweet than all--_Errata_, S. L., p. [xii]).
[62] a] an all editions to 1884.
[64-9] On moonlight . . . her love-torch om. L. B. 1800.
[79] those] these S. L. 1817.
[81] As if one quick and sudden gale had swept L. B. 1798, 1800, S. L.
1817.
[82] A] An all editions to 1834.
[84] blossomy] blosmy L. B. 1798, 1800, S. L. 1817.
[102] beheld] beholds L. B. 1798, 1800.
THE THREE GRAVES[267:1]
A FRAGMENT OF A SEXTON'S TALE
'The Author has published the following humble fragment,
encouraged by the decisive recommendation of more than one of
our most celebrated living Poets. The language was intended to
be dramatic; that is, suited to the narrator; and the metre
corresponds to the homeliness of the diction. It is therefore
presented as the fragment, not of a Poem, but of a common
Ballad-tale.[268:1] Whether this is sufficient to justify the
adoption of such a style, in any metrical composition not
professedly ludicrous, the Author is himself in some doubt. At
all events, it is not presented as poetry, and it is in no way
connected with the Author's judgment concerning poetic
diction. Its merits, if any, are exclusively psychological.
The story which must be supposed to have been narrated in the
first and second parts is as follows:--
'Edward, a young farmer, meets at the house of Ellen her
bosom-friend Mary, and commences an acquaintance, which ends
in a mutual attachment. With her consent, and by the advice of
their common friend Ellen, he announces his hopes and
intentions to Mary's mother, a widow-woman bordering on her
fortieth year, and from constant health, the possession of a
competent property, and from having had no other children but
Mary and another daughter (the father died in their infancy),
retaining for the greater part her personal attractions and
comeliness of appearance; but a woman of low education and
violent temper. The answer which she at once returned to
Edward's application was remarkable--"Well, Edward! you are a
handsome young fellow, and you shall have my daughter." From
this time all their wooing passed under the mother's eye; and,
in fine, she became herself enamoured of her future
son-in-law, and practised every art, both of endearment and of
calumny, to transfer his affections from her daughter to
herself. (The outlines of the Tale are positive facts, and of
no very distant date, though the author has purposely altered
the names and the scene of action, as well as invented the
characters of the parties and the detail of the incidents.)
Edward, however, though perplexed by her strange detractions
from her daughter's good qualities, yet in the innocence of
his own heart still mistook[268:2] her increasing fondness for
motherly affection; she at length, overcome by her miserable
passion, after much abuse of Mary's temper and moral
tendencies, exclaimed with violent emotion--"O Edward! indeed,
indeed, she is not fit for you--she has not a heart to love
you as you deserve. It is I that love you! Marry me, Edward!
and I will this very day settle all my property on you." The
Lover's eyes were now opened; and thus taken by surprise,
whether from the effect of the horror which he felt, acting as
it were hysterically on his nervous system, or that at the
first moment he lost the sense of the guilt of the proposal in
the feeling of its strangeness and absurdity, he flung her
from him and burst into a fit of laughter. Irritated by this
almost to frenzy, the woman fell on her knees, and in a loud
voice that approached to a scream, she prayed for a curse both
on him and on her own child. Mary happened to be in the room
directly above them, heard Edward's laugh, and her mother's
blasphemous prayer, and fainted away. He, hearing the fall,
ran upstairs, and taking her in his arms, carried her off to
Ellen's home; and after some fruitless attempts on her part
toward a reconciliation with her mother, she was married to
him.--And here the third part of the Tale begins.
'I was not led to choose this story from any partiality to
tragic, much less to monstrous events (though at the time that
I composed the verses, somewhat more than twelve years ago, I
was less averse to such subjects than at present), but from
finding in it a striking proof of the possible effect on the
imagination, from an idea violently and suddenly impressed on
it. I had been reading Bryan Edwards's account of the effects
of the _Oby_ witchcraft on the Negroes in the West Indies, and
Hearne's deeply interesting anecdotes of similar workings on
the imagination of the Copper Indians (those of my readers who
have it in their power will be well repaid for the trouble of
referring to those works for the passages alluded to); and I
conceived the design of shewing that instances of this kind
are not peculiar to savage or barbarous tribes, and of
illustrating the mode in which the mind is affected in these
cases, and the progress and symptoms of the morbid action on
the fancy from the beginning.
'The Tale is supposed to be narrated by an old Sexton, in a
country church-yard, to a traveller whose curiosity had been
awakened by the appearance of three graves, close by each
other, to two only of which there were grave-stones. On the
first of these was the name, and dates, as usual: on the
second, no name, but only a date, and the words, "The Mercy of
God is infinite.[269:1]"' _S. L. 1817, 1828, 1829._
[PART I--FROM MS.]
Beneath this thorn when I was young,
This thorn that blooms so sweet,
We loved to stretch our lazy limbs
In summer's noon-tide heat.
And hither too the old man came, 5
The maiden and her feer,
'Then tell me, Sexton, tell me why
The toad has harbour here.
'The Thorn is neither dry nor dead,
But still it blossoms sweet; 10
Then tell me why all round its roots
The dock and nettle meet.
'Why here the hemlock, &c. [_sic in MS._]
'Why these three graves all side by side,
Beneath the flow'ry thorn, 15
Stretch out so green and dark a length,
By any foot unworn.'
There, there a ruthless mother lies
Beneath the flowery thorn;
And there a barren wife is laid, 20
And there a maid forlorn.
The barren wife and maid forlorn
Did love each other dear;
The ruthless mother wrought the woe,
And cost them many a tear. 25
Fair Ellen was of serious mind,
Her temper mild and even,
And Mary, graceful as the fir
That points the spire to heaven.
Young Edward he to Mary said, 30
'I would you were my bride,'
And she was scarlet as he spoke,
And turned her face to hide.
'You know my mother she is rich,
And you have little gear; 35
And go and if she say not Nay,
Then I will be your fere.'
Young Edward to the mother went.
To him the mother said:
'In truth you are a comely man; 40
You shall my daughter wed.'
[271:1][In Mary's joy fair Eleanor
Did bear a sister's part;
For why, though not akin in blood,
They sisters were in heart.] 45
Small need to tell to any man
That ever shed a tear
What passed within the lover's heart
The happy day so near.
The mother, more than mothers use, 50
Rejoiced when they were by;
And all the 'course of wooing' passed[271:2]
Beneath the mother's eye.
And here within the flowering thorn
How deep they drank of joy: 55
The mother fed upon the sight,
Nor . . . [_sic in MS._]
[PART II--FROM MS.][271:3]
And now the wedding day was fix'd,
The wedding-ring was bought;
The wedding-cake with her own hand 60
The ruthless mother brought.
'And when to-morrow's sun shines forth
The maid shall be a bride';
Thus Edward to the mother spake
While she sate by his side. 65
Alone they sate within the bower:
The mother's colour fled,
For Mary's foot was heard above--
She decked the bridal bed.
And when her foot was on the stairs 70
To meet her at the door,
With steady step the mother rose,
And silent left the bower.
She stood, her back against the door,
And when her child drew near-- 75
'Away! away!' the mother cried,
'Ye shall not enter here.
'Would ye come here, ye maiden vile,
And rob me of my mate?'
And on her child the mother scowled 80
A deadly leer of hate.
Fast rooted to the spot, you guess,
The wretched maiden stood,
As pale as any ghost of night
That wanteth flesh and blood. 85
She did not groan, she did not fall,
She did not shed a tear,
Nor did she cry, 'Oh! mother, why
May I not enter here?'
But wildly up the stairs she ran, 90
As if her sense was fled,
And then her trembling limbs she threw
Upon the bridal bed.
The mother she to Edward went
Where he sate in the bower, 95
And said, 'That woman is not fit
To be your paramour.
'She is my child--it makes my heart
With grief and trouble swell;
I rue the hour that gave her birth, 100
For never worse befel.
'For she is fierce and she is proud,
And of an envious mind;
A wily hypocrite she is,
And giddy as the wind. 105
'And if you go to church with her,
You'll rue the bitter smart;
For she will wrong your marriage-bed,
And she will break your heart.
'Oh God, to think that I have shared 110
Her deadly sin so long;
She is my child, and therefore I
As mother held my tongue.
'She is my child, I've risked for her
My living soul's estate: 115
I cannot say my daily prayers,
The burthen is so great.
'And she would scatter gold about
Until her back was bare;
And should you swing for lust of hers 120
In truth she'd little care.'
Then in a softer tone she said,
And took him by the hand:
'Sweet Edward, for one kiss of your's
I'd give my house and land. 125
'And if you'll go to church with me,
And take me for your bride,
I'll make you heir of all I have--
Nothing shall be denied.'
Then Edward started from his seat, 130
And he laughed loud and long--
'In truth, good mother, you are mad,
Or drunk with liquor strong.'
To him no word the mother said,
But on her knees she fell, 135
And fetched her breath while thrice your hand
Might toll the passing-bell.
'Thou daughter now above my head,
Whom in my womb I bore,
May every drop of thy heart's blood 140
Be curst for ever more.
'And curséd be the hour when first
I heard thee wawl and cry;
And in the Church-yard curséd be
The grave where thou shalt lie!' 145
And Mary on the bridal-bed
Her mother's curse had heard;
And while the cruel mother spake
The bed beneath her stirred.
In wrath young Edward left the hall, 150
And turning round he sees
The mother looking up to God
And still upon her knees.
Young Edward he to Mary went
When on the bed she lay: 155
'Sweet love, this is a wicked house--
Sweet love, we must away.'
He raised her from the bridal-bed,
All pale and wan with fear;
'No Dog,' quoth he, 'if he were mine, 160
No Dog would kennel here.'
He led her from the bridal-bed,
He led her from the stairs.
[Had sense been hers she had not dar'd
To venture on her prayers. _MS. erased._]
The mother still was in the bower,
And with a greedy heart 165
She _drank perdition_ on her knees,
Which never may depart.
But when their steps were heard below
On God she did not call;
She did forget the God of Heaven, 170
For they were in the hall.
She started up--the servant maid
Did see her when she rose;
And she has oft declared to me
The blood within her froze. 175
As Edward led his bride away
And hurried to the door,
The ruthless mother springing forth
Stopped midway on the floor.
What did she mean? What did she mean? 180
For with a smile she cried:
'Unblest ye shall not pass my door,
The bride-groom and his bride.
'Be blithe as lambs in April are,
As flies when fruits are red; 185
May God forbid that thought of me
Should haunt your marriage-bed.
'And let the night be given to bliss,
The day be given to glee:
I am a woman weak and old, 190
Why turn a thought on me?
'What can an agéd mother do,
And what have ye to dread?
A curse is wind, it hath no shape
To haunt your marriage-bed.' 195
When they were gone and out of sight
She rent her hoary hair,
And foamed like any Dog of June
When sultry sun-beams glare.
* * * * *
Now ask you why the barren wife, 200
And why the maid forlorn,
And why the ruthless mother lies
Beneath the flowery thorn?
Three times, three times this spade of mine,
In spite of bolt or bar, 205
Did from beneath the belfry come,
When spirits wandering are.
And when the mother's soul to Hell
By howling fiends was borne,
This spade was seen to mark her grave 210
Beneath the flowery thorn.
And when the death-knock at the door
Called home the maid forlorn,
This spade was seen to mark her grave
Beneath the flowery thorn. 215
And 'tis a fearful, fearful tree;
The ghosts that round it meet,
'Tis they that cut the rind at night,
Yet still it blossoms sweet.
* * * * *
[_End of MS._]
PART III[276:1]
The grapes upon the Vicar's wall 220
Were ripe as ripe could be;
And yellow leaves in sun and wind
Were falling from the tree.
On the hedge-elms in the narrow lane
Still swung the spikes of corn: 225
Dear Lord! it seems but yesterday--
Young Edward's marriage-morn.
Up through that wood behind the church,
There leads from Edward's door
A mossy track, all over boughed, 230
For half a mile or more.
And from their house-door by that track
The bride and bridegroom went;
Sweet Mary, though she was not gay,
Seemed cheerful and content. 235
But when they to the church-yard came,
I've heard poor Mary say,
As soon as she stepped into the sun,
Her heart it died away.
And when the Vicar join'd their hands, 240
Her limbs did creep and freeze:
But when they prayed, she thought she saw
Her mother on her knees.
And o'er the church-path they returned--
I saw poor Mary's back, 245
Just as she stepped beneath the boughs
Into the mossy track.
Her feet upon the mossy track
The married maiden set:
That moment--I have heard her say-- 250
She wished she could forget.
The shade o'er-flushed her limbs with heat--
Then came a chill like death:
And when the merry bells rang out,
They seemed to stop her breath. 255
Beneath the foulest mother's curse
No child could ever thrive:
A mother is a mother still,
The holiest thing alive.
So five months passed: the mother still 260
Would never heal the strife;
But Edward was a loving man
And Mary a fond wife.
'My sister may not visit us,
My mother says her nay: 265
O Edward! you are all to me,
I wish for your sake I could be
More lifesome and more gay.
'I'm dull and sad! indeed, indeed
I know I have no reason! 270
Perhaps I am not well in health,
And 'tis a gloomy season.'
'Twas a drizzly time--no ice, no snow!
And on the few fine days
She stirred not out, lest she might meet 275
Her mother in the ways.
But Ellen, spite of miry ways
And weather dark and dreary,
Trudged every day to Edward's house,
And made them all more cheery. 280
Oh! Ellen was a faithful friend.
More dear than any sister!
As cheerful too as singing lark;
And she ne'er left them till 'twas dark,
And then they always missed her. 285
And now Ash-Wednesday came--that day
But few to church repair:
For on that day you know we read
The Commination prayer.
Our late old Vicar, a kind man, 290
Once, Sir, he said to me,
He wished that service was clean out
Of our good Liturgy.
The mother walked into the church--
To Ellen's seat she went: 295
Though Ellen always kept her church
All church-days during Lent.
And gentle Ellen welcomed her
With courteous looks and mild:
Thought she, 'What if her heart should melt, 300
And all be reconciled!'
The day was scarcely like a day--
The clouds were black outright:
And many a night, with half a moon,
I've seen the church more light. 305
The wind was wild; against the glass
The rain did beat and bicker;
The church-tower swinging over head,
You scarce could hear the Vicar!
And then and there the mother knelt, 310
And audibly she cried--
'Oh! may a clinging curse consume
This woman by my side!
'O hear me, hear me, Lord in Heaven.
Although you take my life-- 315
O curse this woman, at whose house
Young Edward woo'd his wife.
'By night and day, in bed and bower,
O let her curséd be!!!'
So having prayed, steady and slow, 320
She rose up from her knee!
And left the church, nor e'er again
The church-door entered she.
I saw poor Ellen kneeling still,
So pale! I guessed not why: 325
When she stood up, there plainly was
A trouble in her eye.
And when the prayers were done, we all
Came round and asked her why:
Giddy she seemed, and sure, there was 330
A trouble in her eye.
But ere she from the church-door stepped
She smiled and told us why:
'It was a wicked woman's curse,'
Quoth she, 'and what care I?' 335
She smiled, and smiled, and passed it off
Ere from the door she stept--
But all agree it would have been
Much better had she wept.
And if her heart was not at ease, 340
This was her constant cry--
'It was a wicked woman's curse--
God's good, and what care I?'
There was a hurry in her looks,
Her struggles she redoubled: 345
'It was a wicked woman's curse,
And why should I be troubled?'
These tears will come--I dandled her
When 'twas the merest fairy--
Good creature! and she hid it all: 350
She told it not to Mary.
But Mary heard the tale: her arms
Round Ellen's neck she threw;
'O Ellen, Ellen, she cursed me,
And now she hath cursed you!' 355
I saw young Edward by himself
Stalk fast adown the lee,
He snatched a stick from every fence,
A twig from every tree.
He snapped them still with hand or knee, 360
And then away they flew!
As if with his uneasy limbs
He knew not what to do!
You see, good sir! that single hill?
His farm lies underneath: 365
He heard it there, he heard it all,
And only gnashed his teeth.
Now Ellen was a darling love
In all his joys and cares:
And Ellen's name and Mary's name 370
Fast-linked they both together came,
Whene'er he said his prayers.
And in the moment of his prayers
He loved them both alike:
Yea, both sweet names with one sweet joy 375
Upon his heart did strike!
He reach'd his home, and by his looks
They saw his inward strife:
And they clung round him with their arms,
Both Ellen and his wife. 380
And Mary could not check her tears,
So on his breast she bowed;
Then frenzy melted into grief,
And Edward wept aloud.
Dear Ellen did not weep at all, 385
But closelier did she cling,
And turned her face and looked as if
She saw some frightful thing.
PART IV
To see a man tread over graves
I hold it no good mark; 390
'Tis wicked in the sun and moon,
And bad luck in the dark!
You see that grave? The Lord he gives,
The Lord, he takes away:
O Sir! the child of my old age 395
Lies there as cold as clay.
Except that grave, you scarce see one
That was not dug by me;
I'd rather dance upon 'em all
Than tread upon these three! 400
'Aye, Sexton! 'tis a touching tale.'
You, Sir! are but a lad;
This month I'm in my seventieth year,
And still it makes me sad.
And Mary's sister told it me, 405
For three good hours and more;
Though I had heard it, in the main,
From Edward's self, before.
Well! it passed off! the gentle Ellen
Did well nigh dote on Mary; 410
And she went oftener than before,
And Mary loved her more and more:
She managed all the dairy.
To market she on market-days,
To church on Sundays came; 415
All seemed the same: all seemed so, Sir!
But all was not the same!
Had Ellen lost her mirth? Oh! no!
But she was seldom cheerful;
And Edward looked as if he thought 420
That Ellen's mirth was fearful.
When by herself, she to herself
Must sing some merry rhyme;
She could not now be glad for hours,
Yet silent all the time. 425
And when she soothed her friend, through all
Her soothing words 'twas plain
She had a sore grief of her own,
A haunting in her brain.
And oft she said, I'm not grown thin! 430
And then her wrist she spanned;
And once when Mary was down-cast,
She took her by the hand,
And gazed upon her, and at first
She gently pressed her hand; 435
Then harder, till her grasp at length
Did gripe like a convulsion!
'Alas!' said she, 'we ne'er can be
Made happy by compulsion!'
And once her both arms suddenly 440
Round Mary's neck she flung,
And her heart panted, and she felt
The words upon her tongue.
She felt them coming, but no power
Had she the words to smother: 445
And with a kind of shriek she cried,
'Oh Christ! you're like your mother!'
So gentle Ellen now no more
Could make this sad house cheery;
And Mary's melancholy ways 450
Drove Edward wild and weary.
Lingering he raised his latch at eve,
Though tired in heart and limb:
He loved no other place, and yet
Home was no home to him. 455
One evening he took up a book,
And nothing in it read;
Then flung it down, and groaning cried,
'O! Heaven! that I were dead.'
Mary looked up into his face, 460
And nothing to him said;
She tried to smile, and on his arm
Mournfully leaned her head.
And he burst into tears, and fell
Upon his knees in prayer: 465
'Her heart is broke! O God! my grief,
It is too great to bear!'
'Twas such a foggy time as makes
Old sextons, Sir! like me,
Rest on their spades to cough; the spring 470
Was late uncommonly.
And then the hot days, all at once,
They came, we knew not how:
You looked about for shade, when scarce
A leaf was on a bough. 475
It happened then ('twas in the bower,
A furlong up the wood:
Perhaps you know the place, and yet
I scarce know how you should,)
No path leads thither, 'tis not nigh 480
To any pasture-plot;
But clustered near the chattering brook,
Lone hollies marked the spot.
Those hollies of themselves a shape
As of an arbour took, 485
A close, round arbour; and it stands
Not three strides from a brook.
Within this arbour, which was still
With scarlet berries hung,
Were these three friends, one Sunday morn, 490
Just as the first bell rung.
'Tis sweet to hear a brook, 'tis sweet
To hear the Sabbath-bell,
'Tis sweet to hear them both at once,
Deep in a woody dell. 495
His limbs along the moss, his head
Upon a mossy heap,
With shut-up senses, Edward lay:
That brook e'en on a working day
Might chatter one to sleep. 500
And he had passed a restless night.
And was not well in health;
The women sat down by his side,
And talked as 'twere by stealth.
'The Sun peeps through the close thick leaves, 505
See, dearest Ellen! see!
'Tis in the leaves, a little sun,
No bigger than your ee;
'A tiny sun, and it has got
A perfect glory too; 510
Ten thousand threads and hairs of light,
Make up a glory gay and bright
Round that small orb, so blue.'
And then they argued of those rays,
What colour they might be; 515
Says this, 'They're mostly green'; says that,
'They're amber-like to me.'
So they sat chatting, while bad thoughts
Were troubling Edward's rest;
But soon they heard his hard quick pants, 520
And the thumping in his breast.
'A mother too!' these self-same words
Did Edward mutter plain;
His face was drawn back on itself,
With horror and huge pain. 525
Both groaned at once, for both knew well
What thoughts were in his mind;
When he waked up, and stared like one
That hath been just struck blind.
He sat upright; and ere the dream 530
Had had time to depart,
'O God, forgive me!' (he exclaimed)
'I have torn out her heart.'
Then Ellen shrieked, and forthwith burst
Into ungentle laughter; 535
And Mary shivered, where she sat,
And never she smiled after.
1797-1809.
_Carmen reliquum in futurum tempus relegatum._ To-morrow! and To-morrow!
and To-morrow!
FOOTNOTES:
[267:1] Parts III and IV of the _Three Graves_ were first published in
_The Friend_, No. VI, September 21, 1809. They were included in
_Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. Parts I and II, which
were probably written in the spring of 1798, at the same time as Parts
III and IV, were first published, from an autograph MS. copy, in
_Poems_, 1893. [For evidence of date compare ll. 255-8 with Dorothy
Wordsworth's _Alfoxden Journal_ for March 20, 24, and April 6, 8.] The
original MS. of Parts III and IV is not forthcoming. The MS. of the poem
as published in _The Friend_ is in the handwriting of Miss Sarah
Stoddart (afterwards Mrs. Hazlitt), and is preserved with other 'copy'
of _The Friend_ (of which the greater part is in the handwriting of Miss
Sarah Hutchinson) in the Forster Collection which forms part of the
Victoria and Albert Museum, South Kensington. The preface and
emendations are in the handwriting of S. T. C. The poem was reprinted in
the _British Minstrel_, Glasgow, 1821 as 'a modern ballad of the very
first rank'. In a marginal note in Mr. Samuel's copy of _Sibylline
Leaves_ Coleridge writes:--'This very poem was selected, notwithstanding
the preface, as a proof of my judgment and poetic diction, and a fair
specimen of the style of my poems generally (see the _Mirror_): nay! the
very words of the preface were used, omitting the _not_,' &c. See for
this and other critical matter, _Lyrical Ballads_, 1798, edited by
Thomas Hutchinson, 1898. _Notes_, p. 257.
[268:1] in the common ballad metre _MS._
[268:2] mistaking _The Friend_.
[269:1] In the first issue of _The Friend_, No. VI, September 21, 1809,
the poem was thus introduced:--'As I wish to commence the important
Subject of--_The Principles_ of political Justice with a separate number
of THE FRIEND, and shall at the same time comply with the wishes
communicated to me by one of my female Readers, who writes as the
representative of many others, I shall conclude this Number with the
following Fragment, or the third and fourth [second and third _MS. S. T.
C._] parts of a Tale consisting of six. The two last parts may be given
hereafter, if the present should appear to have afforded pleasure, and
to have answered the purpose of a relief and amusement to my Readers.
The story as it is contained in the first and second parts is as
follows: _Edward a young farmer_, etc.'
[271:1] It is uncertain whether this stanza is erased, or merely blotted
in the MS.
[271:2] _Othello_ iii. 3.
[271:3] The words 'Part II' are not in the MS.
[276:1] In the MS. of _The Friend_, Part III is headed:--'The Three
Graves. A Sexton's Tale. A Fragment.' A MS. note _erased_ in the
handwriting of S. T. C. is attached:--'N. B. Written for me by Sarah
Stoddart before her brother was an entire Blank. I have not
_voluntarily_ been guilty of any desecration of holy _Names_.' In _The
Friend_, in _Sibylline Leaves_, in 1828, 1829, and 1834, the poem is
headed 'The Three Graves, &c.' The heading 'Part III' first appeared in
1893.
LINENOTES:
[4] In the silent summer heat MS. alternative reading.
[14]
Why these three graves all in a row
MS. alternative reading.
Stretch out their dark and gloomy length
MS. erased.
[33] turned] strove MS. erased.
[49] happy] wedding MS. variant.
[81] A deadly] The ghastly MS. erased.
Part III] III MS. erased.
[220 foll.] In _The Friend_ the lines were printed continuously. The
division into stanzas (as in the MS.) dates from the republication of
the poem in Sibylline Leaves, 1817.
[221] as ripe] as they MS.
[224] High on the hedge-elms in the lane MS. erased.
[225] spikes] strikes Sibylline Leaves, 1817. [_Note._ It is possible
that 'strikes'--a Somersetshire word--(compare 'strikes of flax') was
deliberately substituted for 'spikes'. It does not appear in the long
list of _Errata_ prefixed to Sibylline Leaves. Wagons passing through
narrow lanes leave on the hedge-rows not single 'spikes', but little
swathes or fillets of corn.]
[230] over boughed] over-bough'd MS.
[242] they] he MS. The Friend, 1809.
[260] So five months passed: this mother foul MS. erased.
[278] dark] dank MS. The Friend, 1809.
[308] swinging] singing MS. The Friend, 1809: swaying S. L.
[309] You could not hear the Vicar. MS. The Friend, 1809.
[315] you] thou The Friend, 1809.
Part IV] The Three Graves, a Sexton's Tale, Part the IVth MS.
[395] O Sir!] Oh! 'tis S. L.
[447] you're] how MS.
[473] we] one MS. The Friend, 1809.
[483] Lone] Some MS. The Friend, 1809.
[487] a] the MS. The Friend, 1809.
[490] friends] dears MS. erased.
[507] in] in MS. The Friend, 1809.
[511] _inserted by S. T. C._ MS.
[530-1]
He sat upright; and with quick voice
While his eyes seem'd to start
MS. erased.
THE WANDERINGS OF CAIN[285:1]
PREFATORY NOTE
A prose composition, one not in metre at least, seems _primâ facie_ to
require explanation or apology. It was written in the year 1798, near
Nether Stowey, in Somersetshire, at which place (_sanctum et amabile
nomen!_ rich by so many associations and recollections) the author had
taken up his residence in order to enjoy the society and close
neighbourhood of a dear and honoured friend, T. Poole, Esq. The work was
to have been written in concert with another [Wordsworth], whose name is
too venerable within the precincts of genius to be unnecessarily brought
into connection with such a trifle, and who was then residing at a small
distance from Nether Stowey. The title and subject were suggested by
myself, who likewise drew out the scheme and the contents for each of
the three books or cantos, of which the work was to consist, and which,
the reader is to be informed, was to have been finished in one night! My
partner undertook the first canto: I the second: and which ever had
_done first_, was to set about the third. Almost thirty years have
passed by; yet at this moment I cannot without something more than a
smile moot the question which of the two things was the more
impracticable, for a mind so eminently original to compose another man's
thoughts and fancies, or for a taste so austerely pure and simple to
imitate the Death of Abel? Methinks I see his grand and noble
countenance as at the moment when having despatched my own portion of
the task at full finger-speed, I hastened to him with my
manuscript--that look of humourous despondency fixed on his almost blank
sheet of paper, and then its silent mock-piteous admission of failure
struggling with the sense of the exceeding ridiculousness of the whole
scheme--which broke up in a laugh: and the Ancient Mariner was written
instead.
Years afterward, however, the draft of the plan and proposed incidents,
and the portion executed, obtained favour in the eyes of more than one
person, whose judgment on a poetic work could not but have weighed with
me, even though no parental partiality had been thrown into the same
scale, as a make-weight: and I determined on commencing anew, and
composing the whole in stanzas, and made some progress in realising this
intention, when adverse gales drove my bark off the 'Fortunate Isles' of
the Muses: and then other and more momentous interests prompted a
different voyage, to firmer anchorage and a securer port. I have in vain
tried to recover the lines from the palimpsest tablet of my memory: and
I can only offer the introductory stanza, which had been committed to
writing for the purpose of procuring a friend's judgment on the metre,
as a specimen:--
Encinctured with a twine of leaves,
That leafy twine his only dress!
A lovely Boy was plucking fruits,
By moonlight, in a wilderness.
(In a moonlight wilderness _Aids to Reflection, 1825_.)
The moon was bright, the air was free,
And fruits and flowers together grew
On many a shrub and many a tree:
And all put on a gentle hue,
Hanging in the shadowy air
Like a picture rich and rare.
It was a climate where, they say,
The night is more belov'd than day.
But who that beauteous Boy beguil'd,
That beauteous Boy to linger here?
Alone, by night, a little child,
In place so silent and so wild--
Has he no friend, no loving mother near?
I have here given the birth, parentage, and premature decease of the
'Wanderings of Cain, a poem',--intreating, however, my Readers, not to
think so meanly of my judgment as to suppose that I either regard or
offer it as any excuse for the publication of the following fragment
(and I may add, of one or two others in its neighbourhood) in its
primitive crudity. But I should find still greater difficulty in
forgiving myself were I to record pro _taedio_ publico a set of petty
mishaps and annoyances which I myself wish to forget. I must be content
therefore with assuring the friendly Reader, that the less he attributes
its appearance to the Author's will, choice, or judgment, the nearer to
the truth he will be.
S. T. COLERIDGE (1828).
THE WANDERINGS OF CAIN
CANTO II
'A little further, O my father, yet a little further, and
we shall come into the open moonlight.' Their road was
through a forest of fir-trees; at its entrance the trees stood
at distances from each other, and the path was broad, and
the moonlight and the moonlight shadows reposed upon it, 5
and appeared quietly to inhabit that solitude. But soon the
path winded and became narrow; the sun at high noon
sometimes speckled, but never illumined it, and now it was
dark as a cavern.
'It is dark, O my father!' said Enos, 'but the path under 10
our feet is smooth and soft, and we shall soon come out into
the open moonlight.'
'Lead on, my child!' said Cain; 'guide me, little child!'
And the innocent little child clasped a finger of the hand
which had murdered the righteous Abel, and he guided his 15
father. 'The fir branches drip upon thee, my son.' 'Yea,
pleasantly, father, for I ran fast and eagerly to bring thee
the pitcher and the cake, and my body is not yet cool. How
happy the squirrels are that feed on these fir-trees! they leap
from bough to bough, and the old squirrels play round their 20
young ones in the nest. I clomb a tree yesterday at noon,
O my father, that I might play with them, but they leaped
away from the branches, even to the slender twigs did they
leap, and in a moment I beheld them on another tree. Why,
O my father, would they not play with me? I would be good 25
to them as thou art good to me: and I groaned to them
even as thou groanest when thou givest me to eat, and when
thou coverest me at evening, and as often as I stand at thy
knee and thine eyes look at me?' Then Cain stopped, and
stifling his groans he sank to the earth, and the child Enos 30
stood in the darkness beside him.
And Cain lifted up his voice and cried bitterly, and said,
'The Mighty One that persecuteth me is on this side and on
that; he pursueth my soul like the wind, like the sand-blast
he passeth through me; he is around me even as the air! 35
O that I might be utterly no more! I desire to die--yea,
the things that never had life, neither move they upon the
earth--behold! they seem precious to mine eyes. O that
a man might live without the breath of his nostrils. So
I might abide in darkness, and blackness, and an empty 40
space! Yea, I would lie down, I would not rise, neither
would I stir my limbs till I became as the rock in the den
of the lion, on which the young lion resteth his head whilst he
sleepeth. For the torrent that roareth far off hath a voice:
and the clouds in heaven look terribly on me; the Mighty One 45
who is against me speaketh in the wind of the cedar grove;
and in silence am I dried up.' Then Enos spake to his father,
'Arise, my father, arise, we are but a little way from the place
where I found the cake and the pitcher.' And Cain said,
'How knowest thou!' and the child answered:--'Behold the 50
bare rocks are a few of thy strides distant from the forest;
and while even now thou wert lifting up thy voice, I heard
the echo.' Then the child took hold of his father, as if he
would raise him: and Cain being faint and feeble rose slowly
on his knees and pressed himself against the trunk of a fir, 55
and stood upright and followed the child.
The path was dark till within three strides' length of its
termination, when it turned suddenly; the thick black trees
formed a low arch, and the moonlight appeared for a moment
like a dazzling portal. Enos ran before and stood in the open 60
air; and when Cain, his father, emerged from the darkness,
the child was affrighted. For the mighty limbs of Cain were
wasted as by fire; his hair was as the matted curls on the
bison's forehead, and so glared his fierce and sullen eye
beneath: and the black abundant locks on either side, a rank 65
and tangled mass, were stained and scorched, as though the
grasp of a burning iron hand had striven to rend them; and his
countenance told in a strange and terrible language of agonies
that had been, and were, and were still to continue to be.
The scene around was desolate; as far as the eye could 70
reach it was desolate: the bare rocks faced each other, and
left a long and wide interval of thin white sand. You might
wander on and look round and round, and peep into the
crevices of the rocks and discover nothing that acknowledged
the influence of the seasons. There was no spring, no summer, 75
no autumn: and the winter's snow, that would have been
lovely, fell not on these hot rocks and scorching sands. Never
morning lark had poised himself over this desert; but the huge
serpent often hissed there beneath the talons of the vulture, and
the vulture screamed, his wings imprisoned within the coils of 80
the serpent. The pointed and shattered summits of the ridges
of the rocks made a rude mimicry of human concerns, and
seemed to prophecy mutely of things that then were not;
steeples, and battlements, and ships with naked masts. As far
from the wood as a boy might sling a pebble of the brook, there 85
was one rock by itself at a small distance from the main ridge.
It had been precipitated there perhaps by the groan which the
Earth uttered when our first father fell. Before you approached,
it appeared to lie flat on the ground, but its base slanted from
its point, and between its point and the sands a tall man might 90
stand upright. It was here that Enos had found the pitcher
and cake, and to this place he led his father. But ere they
had reached the rock they beheld a human shape: his back was
towards them, and they were advancing unperceived, when they
heard him smite his breast and cry aloud, 'Woe is me! woe is 95
me! I must never die again, and yet I am perishing with
thirst and hunger.'
Pallid, as the reflection of the sheeted lightning on the
heavy-sailing night-cloud, became the face of Cain; but the
child Enos took hold of the shaggy skin, his father's robe, and 100
raised his eyes to his father, and listening whispered, 'Ere
yet I could speak, I am sure, O my father, that I heard that
voice. Have not I often said that I remembered a sweet voice?
O my father! this is it': and Cain trembled exceedingly.
The voice was sweet indeed, but it was thin and querulous, 105
like that of a feeble slave in misery, who despairs altogether,
yet can not refrain himself from weeping and lamentation.
And, behold! Enos glided forward, and creeping softly round
the base of the rock, stood before the stranger, and looked up
into his face. And the Shape shrieked, and turned round, 110
and Cain beheld him, that his limbs and his face were those
of his brother Abel whom he had killed! And Cain stood
like one who struggles in his sleep because of the exceeding
terribleness of a dream.
Thus as he stood in silence and darkness of soul, the 115
Shape fell at his feet, and embraced his knees, and cried
out with a bitter outcry, 'Thou eldest born of Adam, whom
Eve, my mother, brought forth, cease to torment me! I was
feeding my flocks in green pastures by the side of quiet rivers,
and thou killedst me; and now I am in misery.' Then Cain 120
closed his eyes, and hid them with his hands; and again he
opened his eyes, and looked around him, and said to Enos,
'What beholdest thou? Didst thou hear a voice, my son?'
'Yes, my father, I beheld a man in unclean garments, and
he uttered a sweet voice, full of lamentation.' Then Cain 125
raised up the Shape that was like Abel, and said:--'The
Creator of our father, who had respect unto thee, and unto
thy offering, wherefore hath he forsaken thee?' Then the
Shape shrieked a second time, and rent his garment, and
his naked skin was like the white sands beneath their feet; 130
and he shrieked yet a third time, and threw himself on his
face upon the sand that was black with the shadow of the
rock, and Cain and Enos sate beside him; the child by his
right hand, and Cain by his left. They were all three under
the rock, and within the shadow. The Shape that was like 135
Abel raised himself up, and spake to the child, 'I know where
the cold waters are, but I may not drink, wherefore didst
thou then take away my pitcher?' But Cain said, 'Didst
thou not find favour in the sight of the Lord thy God?'
The Shape answered, 'The Lord is God of the living only, 140
the dead have another God.' Then the child Enos lifted up
his eyes and prayed; but Cain rejoiced secretly in his heart.
'Wretched shall they be all the days of their mortal life,'
exclaimed the Shape, 'who sacrifice worthy and acceptable
sacrifices to the God of the dead; but after death their toil 145
ceaseth. Woe is me, for I was well beloved by the God of
the living, and cruel wert thou, O my brother, who didst
snatch me away from his power and his dominion.' Having
uttered these words, he rose suddenly, and fled over the sands:
and Cain said in his heart, 'The curse of the Lord is on me; 150
but who is the God of the dead?' and he ran after the Shape,
and the Shape fled shrieking over the sands, and the sands
rose like white mists behind the steps of Cain, but the feet
of him that was like Abel disturbed not the sands. He greatly
outrun Cain, and turning short, he wheeled round, and came 155
again to the rock where they had been sitting, and where Enos
still stood; and the child caught hold of his garment as he
passed by, and he fell upon the ground. And Cain stopped,
and beholding him not, said, 'he has passed into the dark
woods,' and he walked slowly back to the rocks; and when he 160
reached it the child told him that he had caught hold of his
garment as he passed by, and that the man had fallen upon
the ground: and Cain once more sate beside him, and said,
'Abel, my brother, I would lament for thee, but that the spirit
within me is withered, and burnt up with extreme agony. 165
Now, I pray thee, by thy flocks, and by thy pastures, and
by the quiet rivers which thou lovedst, that thou tell me all
that thou knowest. Who is the God of the dead? where doth
he make his dwelling? what sacrifices are acceptable unto him?
for I have offered, but have not been received; I have prayed, 170
and have not been heard; and how can I be afflicted more than
I already am?' The Shape arose and answered, 'O that thou
hadst had pity on me as I will have pity on thee. Follow me,
Son of Adam! and bring thy child with thee!'
And they three passed over the white sands between the 175
rocks, silent as the shadows.
1798.
FOOTNOTES:
[285:1] _The Wanderings of Cain_ in its present shape was first
published in 1828: included in 1829, and (with the omission of that part
of the Prefatory Note which follows the verses) in 1834. The verses
('Encinctured', &c.) were first published in the 'Conclusion' of _Aids
to Reflection_, 1825, p. 383, with the following apologetic note:--'Will
the Reader forgive me if I attempt at once to illustrate and relieve the
subject ["the enthusiastic Mystics"] by annexing the first stanza of the
Poem, composed in the same year in which I wrote the Ancient Mariner and
the first Book of Christabel.' The _prose_ was first published without
the verses or 'Prefatory Note' in the _Bijou_ for 1828. [See _Poems_,
1893, _Notes_, p. 600.]
A rough draft of a continuation or alternative version of the
_Wanderings of Cain_ was found among Coleridge's papers. The greater
portion of these fragmentary sheets was printed by the Editor, in the
_Athenaeum_ of January 27, 1894, p. 114. The introduction of
'alligators' and an 'immense meadow' help to fix the date of _The
Wanderings of Cain_. The imagery is derived from William Bartram's
_Travels in Florida and Carolina_, which Coleridge and Wordsworth
studied in 1798. Mr. Hutchinson, who reprints (_Lyrical Ballads of
1798_, Notes, pp. 259-60) a selected passage from the MS. fragment,
points out 'that Coleridge had for a time thought of shaping the poem as
a narrative addressed by Cain to his wife'.
'He falls down in a trance--when he awakes he sees a luminous body
coming before him. It stands before him an orb of fire. It goes on, he
moves not. It returns to him again, again retires as if wishing him to
follow it. It then goes on and he follows: they are led to near the
bottom of the wild woods, brooks, forests etc. etc. The Fire gradually
shapes itself, retaining its luminous appearance, into the lineaments of
a man. A dialogue between the fiery shape and Cain, in which the being
presses upon him the enormity of his guilt and that he must make some
expiation to the true deity, who is a severe God, and persuades him to
burn out his eyes. Cain opposes this idea, and says that God himself who
had inflicted this punishment upon him, had done it because he neglected
to make a proper use of his senses, etc. The evil spirit answers him
that God is indeed a God of mercy, and that an example must be given to
mankind, that this end will be answered by his terrible appearance, at
the same time he will be gratified with the most delicious sights and
feelings. Cain, over-persuaded, consents to do it, but wishes to go to
the top of the rocks to take a farewell of the earth. His farewell
speech concluding with an abrupt address to the promised redeemer, and
he abandons the idea on which the being had accompanied him, and turning
round to declare this to the being he sees him dancing from rock to rock
in his former shape down those interminable precipices.
'Child affeared by his father's ravings, goes out to pluck the fruits in
the moonlight wildness. Cain's soliloquy. Child returns with a pitcher
of water and a cake. Cain wonders what kind of beings dwell in that
place--whether any created since man or whether this world had any
beings rescued from the Chaos, wandering like shipwrecked beings from
another world etc.
'Midnight on the Euphrates. Cedars, palms, pines. Cain discovered
sitting on the upper part of the ragged rock, where is cavern
overlooking the Euphrates, the moon rising on the horizon. His
soliloquy. The Beasts are out on the ramp--he hears the screams of a
woman and children surrounded by tigers. Cain makes a soliloquy debating
whether he shall save the woman. Cain advances, wishing death, and the
tigers rush off. It proves to be Cain's wife with her two children,
determined to follow her husband. She prevails upon him at last to tell
his story. Cain's wife tells him that her son Enoch was placed suddenly
by her side. Cain addresses all the elements to cease for a while to
persecute him, while he tells his story. He begins with telling her that
he had first after his leaving her found out a dwelling in the desart
under a juniper tree etc., etc., how he meets in the desart a young man
whom upon a nearer approach he perceives to be Abel, on whose
countenance appears marks of the greatest misery . . . of another being
who had power after this life, greater than Jehovah. He is going to
offer sacrifices to this being, and persuades Cain to follow him--he
comes to an immense gulph filled with water, whither they descend
followed by alligators etc. They go till they come to an immense meadow
so surrounded as to be inaccessible, and from its depth so vast that you
could not see it from above. Abel offers sacrifice from the blood of his
arm. A gleam of light illumines the meadow--the countenance of Abel
becomes more beautiful, and his arms glistering--he then persuades Cain
to offer sacrifice, for himself and his son Enoch by cutting his child's
arm and letting the blood fall from it. Cain is about to do it when Abel
himself in his angelic appearance, attended by Michael, is seen in the
heavens, whence they sail slowly down. Abel addresses Cain with terror,
warning him not to offer up his innocent child. The evil spirit throws
off the countenance of Abel, assumes its own shape, flies off pursuing a
flying battle with Michael. Abel carries off the child.'
LINENOTES:
[12] _moonlight_. Ah, why dost thou groan so deeply? MS. Bijou, 1828.
[25] _with me?_ Is it because we are not so happy, as they? Is it
because I groan sometimes even as thou groanest? _Then Cain stopped_,
&c. MS. Bijou, 1828.
[63-8] _by fire_: his hair was black, and matted into loathly curls, and
his countenance was dark and wild, and _told_, &c. MS. Bijou, 1828.
[87] _by the_ terrible groan the Earth gave _when_, &c. MS. Bijou, 1828.
[92-3] _But ere they_ arrived there _they beheld_, MS. Bijou, 1828.
[94] advancing] coming up MS. Bijou, 1828.
[98-101] The face of Cain turned pale, but Enos said, '_Ere yet_, &c.
MS. Bijou, 1828.
[108-9] _Enos_ crept softly round the base of the rock and _stood
before_ MS. Bijou, 1828.
[114-16] _of a dream_; and ere he had recovered himself from the tumult
of his agitation, _the Shape_, &c. MS. Bijou, 1828.
[160] and walked Bijou, 1828. rocks] rock MS.
[170] but] and MS.
[176] the] their MS.
TO ----[292:1]
I mix in life, and labour to seem free,
With common persons pleas'd and common things,
While every thought and action tends to thee,
And every impulse from thy influence springs.
? 1798.
FOOTNOTES:
[292:1] First published without title in _Literary Remains_, 1836, i.
280 (among other short pieces and fragments 'communicated by Mr.
Gutch'). First collected, again without title, in _P. and D. W._,
1877-80.
LINENOTES:
Title] To ---- 1893. The heading _Ubi Thesaurus Ibi Cor_ was prefixed to
the illustrated edition of The Poems of Coleridge, 1907.
THE BALLAD OF THE DARK LADIÉ[293:1]
A FRAGMENT
Beneath yon birch with silver bark,
And boughs so pendulous and fair,
The brook falls scatter'd down the rock:
And all is mossy there!
And there upon the moss she sits, 5
The Dark Ladié in silent pain;
The heavy tear is in her eye,
And drops and swells again.
Three times she sends her little page
Up the castled mountain's breast, 10
If he might find the Knight that wears
The Griffin for his crest.
The sun was sloping down the sky,
And she had linger'd there all day,
Counting moments, dreaming fears-- 15
Oh wherefore can he stay?
She hears a rustling o'er the brook,
She sees far off a swinging bough!
'Tis He! 'Tis my betrothéd Knight!
Lord Falkland, it is Thou!' 20
She springs, she clasps him round the neck,
She sobs a thousand hopes and fears,
Her kisses glowing on his cheeks
She quenches with her tears.
* * * * *
'My friends with rude ungentle words 25
They scoff and bid me fly to thee!
O give me shelter in thy breast!
O shield and shelter me!
'My Henry, I have given thee much,
I gave what I can ne'er recall, 30
I gave my heart, I gave my peace,
O Heaven! I gave thee all.'
The Knight made answer to the Maid,
While to his heart he held her hand,
'Nine castles hath my noble sire, 35
None statelier in the land.
'The fairest one shall be my love's,
The fairest castle of the nine!
Wait only till the stars peep out,
The fairest shall be thine: 40
'Wait only till the hand of eve
Hath wholly closed yon western bars,
And through the dark we two will steal
Beneath the twinkling stars!'--
'The dark? the dark? No! not the dark? 45
The twinkling stars? How, Henry? How?'
O God! 'twas in the eye of noon
He pledged his sacred vow!
And in the eye of noon my love
Shall lead me from my mother's door, 50
Sweet boys and girls all clothed in white
Strewing flowers before:
But first the nodding minstrels go
With music meet for lordly bowers,
The children next in snow-white vests, 55
Strewing buds and flowers!
And then my love and I shall pace.
My jet black hair in pearly braids,
Between our comely bachelors
And blushing bridal maids. 60
* * * * *
1798.
FOOTNOTES:
[293:1] First published in 1834. 'In a manuscript list (undated) of the
poems drawn up by Coleridge appear these items together: _Love_ 96 lines
. . . _The Black Ladié_ 190 lines.' _Note_ to _P. W._, 1893, p. 614. A
MS. of the three last stanzas is extant. In Chapter XIV of the
_Biographia Literaria_, 1817, ii. 3 Coleridge synchronizes the _Dark
Ladié_ (a poem which he was 'preparing' with the _Christabel_). It would
seem probable that it belongs to the spring or early summer of 1798, and
that it was anterior to _Love_, which was first published in the
_Morning Post_, December 21, 1799, under the heading 'Introduction to
the Tale of the Dark Ladié'. If the MS. List of Poems is the record of
poems actually written, two-thirds of the _Dark Ladié_ must have
perished long before 1817, when _Sibylline Leaves_ was passing through
the press, and it was found necessary to swell the Contents with 'two
School-boy Poems' and 'with a song modernized with some additions from
one of our elder poets'.
LINENOTES:
[53-6]
And first the nodding Minstrels go
With music fit for lovely Bowers,
The children then in snowy robes,
Strewing Buds and Flowers.
MS. S. T. C.
[57] pace] go MS. S. T. C.
KUBLA KHAN[295:1]:
OR, A VISION IN A DREAM. A FRAGMENT.
The following fragment is here published at the request
of a poet of great and deserved celebrity [Lord Byron], and,
as far as the Author's own opinions are concerned, rather as
a psychological curiosity, than on the ground of any supposed
_poetic_ merits. 5
In the summer of the year 1797[295:2], the Author, then in ill
health, had retired to a lonely farm-house between Porlock
and Linton, on the Exmoor confines of Somerset and Devonshire.
In consequence of a slight indisposition, an anodyne
had been prescribed, from the effects of which he fell asleep 10
in his chair at the moment that he was reading the following
sentence, or words of the same substance, in 'Purchas's
Pilgrimage': 'Here the Khan Kubla commanded a palace
to be built, and a stately garden thereunto. And thus ten
miles of fertile ground were inclosed with a wall.'[296:1] The
Author continued for about three hours in a profound sleep,
at least of the external senses, during which time he has the
most vivid confidence, that he could not have composed less
than from two to three hundred lines; if that indeed can
be called composition in which all the images rose up before 20
him as _things_, with a parallel production of the correspondent
expressions, without any sensation or consciousness of effort.
On awaking he appeared to himself to have a distinct recollection
of the whole, and taking his pen, ink, and paper, instantly
and eagerly wrote down the lines that are here preserved. At
this moment he was unfortunately called out by a person on
business from Porlock, and detained by him above an hour,
and on his return to his room, found, to his no small surprise
and mortification, that though he still retained some vague
and dim recollection of the general purport of the vision, yet, 30
with the exception of some eight or ten scattered lines and
images, all the rest had passed away like the images on the
surface of a stream into which a stone has been cast, but, alas!
without the after restoration of the latter!
Then all the charm
Is broken--all that phantom-world so fair
Vanishes, and a thousand circlets spread,
And each mis-shape['s] the other. Stay awhile,
Poor youth! who scarcely dar'st lift up thine eyes--
The stream will soon renew its smoothness, soon 40
The visions will return! And lo, he stays,
And soon the fragments dim of lovely forms
Come trembling back, unite, and now once more
The pool becomes a mirror.
[From _The Picture; or, the Lover's Resolution_, II. 91-100.]
Yet from the still surviving recollections in his mind, the
Author has frequently purposed to finish for himself what had
been originally, as it were, given to him. Σαμερον αδιον ασω[297:1]
[Αὔριον ἅδιον ἄσω _1834_]: but the to-morrow is yet to come.
As a contrast to this vision, I have annexed a fragment of a
very different character, describing with equal fidelity the 50
dream of pain and disease.[297:2]
KUBLA KHAN
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea. 5
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills, 10
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted 15
By woman wailing for her demon-lover![297:3]
[297:4]And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst 20
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion 25
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war! 30
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device, 35
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice![298:1]
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played, 40
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with music loud and long, 45
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice![298:2]
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
1798.
FOOTNOTES:
[295:1] First published together with _Christabel_ and _The Pains of
Sleep_, 1816: included in 1828, 1829, and 1834.
[295:2] There can be little doubt that Coleridge should have written
'the summer of 1798'. In an unpublished MS. note dated November 3, 1810,
he connects the retirement between 'Linton and Porlock' and a recourse
to opium with his quarrel with Charles Lloyd, and consequent distress of
mind. That quarrel was at its height in May 1798. He alludes to distress
of mind arising from 'calumny and ingratitude from men who have been
fostered in the bosom of my confidence' in a letter to J. P. Estlin,
dated May 14, 1798; and, in a letter to Charles Lamb, dated [Spring]
1798, he enlarges on his quarrel with Lloyd and quotes from Lloyd's
novel of _Edmund Oliver_ which was published in 1798. See _Letters of
Samuel Taylor Coleridge_, 1895, i. 245, note 1. I discovered and read
for the first time the unpublished note of November 3, 1810, whilst the
edition of 1893 was in the press, and in a footnote to p. xlii of his
_Introduction_ the editor, J. D. Campbell, explains that it is too late
to alter the position and date of _Kubla Khan_, but accepts the later
date (May, 1798) on the evidence of the MS. note.
[296:1] 'In Xamdu did Cublai Can build a stately Palace, encompassing
sixteene miles of plaine ground with a wall, wherein are fertile
Meddowes, pleasant Springs, delightfull Streames, and all sorts of
beasts of chase and game, and in the middest thereof a sumptuous house
of pleasure.'--_Purchas his Pilgrimage_: Lond. fol. 1626, Bk. IV, chap.
xiii, p. 418.
[297:1] The quotation is from Theocritus, i. 145:--ἐς ὕστερον ἅδιον ᾀσῶ.
[297:2] _The Pains of Sleep._
[297:3] And woman wailing for her Demon Lover. Motto to Byron's _Heaven
and Earth_, published in _The Liberal_, No. II, January 1, 1823.
[297:4] With lines 17-24 compare William Bartram's description of the
'Alligator-Hole.' _Travels in North and South Carolina_, 1794, pp.
286-8.
[298:1] Compare Thomas Maurice's _History of Hindostan_, 1795, i. 107.
The reference is supplied by Coleridge in the _Gutch Memorandum Note
Book_ (B. M. Add. MSS., No. 27, 901), p. 47: 'In a cave in the mountains
of Cashmere an Image of Ice,' &c.
[298:2] In her 'Lines to S. T. Coleridge, Esq.,' Mrs. Robinson (Perdita)
writes:--
'I'll mark thy "sunny domes" and view
Thy "caves of ice", and "fields of dew".'
It is possible that she had seen a MS. copy of _Kubla Khan_ containing
these variants from the text.
LINENOTES:
Title of Introduction:--Of the Fragment of Kubla Khan 1816, 1828, 1829.
[1-5] om. 1834.
[8] there] here S. L. 1828, 1829.
[11] Enfolding] And folding 1816. The word 'Enfolding' is a pencil
emendation in David Hinves's copy of Christabel. ? by S. T. C.
[19] In the early copies of 1893 this line was accidentally omitted.
[54] drunk] drank 1816, 1828, 1829.
RECANTATION[299:1]
ILLUSTRATED IN THE STORY OF THE MAD OX
I
An Ox, long fed with musty hay,
And work'd with yoke and chain,
Was turn'd out on an April day,
When fields are in their best array,
And growing grasses sparkle gay 5
At once with Sun and rain.
II
The grass was fine, the Sun was bright--
With truth I may aver it;
The ox was glad, as well, he might,
Thought a green meadow no bad sight, 10
And frisk'd,--to shew his huge delight,
Much like a beast of spirit.
III
'_Stop, neighbours, stop, why these alarms?
The ox is only glad!_'
But still they pour from cots and farms-- 15
'Halloo!' the parish is up in arms,
(A _hoaxing_-hunt has always charms)
'Halloo! the ox is mad.'
IV
The frighted beast scamper'd about--
Plunge! through the hedge he drove: 20
The mob pursue with hideous rout,
A bull-dog fastens on his snout;
'He gores the dog! his tongue hangs out!
He's mad, he's mad, by Jove!'
V
'STOP, NEIGHBOURS, STOP!' aloud did call 25
A sage of sober hue.
But all at once, on him they fall,
And women squeak and children squall,
'What? would you have him toss us all?
And dam'me, who are you?' 30
VI
Oh! hapless sage! his ears they stun,
And curse him o'er and o'er!
'You bloody-minded dog! (cries one,)
To slit your windpipe were good fun,
'Od blast you for an _impious_ son[300:1] 35
Of a Presbyterian wh--re!'
VII
'You'd have him gore the Parish-priest,
And run against the altar!
You fiend!' the sage his warnings ceas'd,
And north and south, and west and east, 40
Halloo! they follow the poor beast,
Mat, Dick, Tom, Bob and Walter.
VIII
Old Lewis ('twas his evil day),
Stood trembling in his shoes;
The ox was his--what cou'd he say?
His legs were stiffen'd with dismay, 45
The ox ran o'er him mid the fray,
And gave him his death's bruise.
IX
The frighted beast ran on--(but here,
No tale, (tho' in print, more true is) 50
My Muse stops short in mid career--
Nay, gentle Reader, do not sneer!
I cannot chuse but drop a tear,
A tear for good old Lewis!)
X
The frighted beast ran through the town, 55
All follow'd, boy and dad,
Bull-dog, parson, shopman, clown:
The publicans rush'd from the Crown,
'Halloo! hamstring him! cut him down!'
THEY DROVE THE POOR OX MAD. 60
XI
Should you a Rat to madness tease
Why ev'n a Rat may plague you:
There's no Philosopher but sees
That Rage and Fear are one disease--
Though that may burn, and this may freeze, 65
They're both alike the Ague.
XII
And so this Ox, in frantic mood,
Fac'd round like any Bull!
The mob turn'd tail, and he pursued,
Till they with heat and fright were stew'd, 70
And not a chick of all this brood
But had his belly full!
XIII
Old Nick's astride the beast, 'tis clear!
Old Nicholas, to a tittle!
But all agree he'd disappear, 75
Would but the Parson venture near,
And through his teeth,[302:1] right o'er the steer,
Squirt out some fasting-spittle.
XIV
Achilles was a warrior fleet,
The Trojans he could worry: 80
Our Parson too was swift of feet,
But shew'd it chiefly in retreat:
The victor Ox scour'd down the street,
The mob fled hurry-scurry.
XV
Through gardens, lanes and fields new-plough'd, 85
Through _his_ hedge, and through _her_ hedge,
He plung'd and toss'd and bellow'd loud--
Till in his madness he grew proud
To see this helter-skelter crowd
That had more wrath than courage! 90
XVI
Alas! to mend the breaches wide
He made for these poor ninnies,
They all must work, whate'er betide,
Both days and months, and pay beside
(Sad news for Av'rice and for Pride), 95
A _sight_ of golden guineas!
XVII
But here once more to view did pop
The man that kept his senses--
And now he cried,--'Stop, neighbours, stop!
The Ox is mad! I would not swop, 100
No! not a school-boy's farthing top
For all the parish-fences.'
XVIII
'The Ox is mad! Ho! Dick, Bob, Mat!
'What means this coward fuss?
Ho! stretch this rope across the plat-- 105
'Twill trip him up--or if not that,
Why, dam'me! we must lay him flat--
See! here's my blunderbuss.'
XIX
'_A lying dog! just now he said
The Ox was only glad-- 110
Let's break his Presbyterian head!_'
'Hush!' quoth the sage, 'you've been misled;
No quarrels now! let's all make head,
YOU DROVE THE POOR OX MAD.'
XX
As thus I sat, in careless chat, 115
With the morning's wet newspaper,
In eager haste, without his hat,
As blind and blund'ring as a bat,
In came that fierce Aristocrat,
Our pursy woollen-draper. 120
XXI
And so my Muse per force drew bit;
And in he rush'd and panted!
'Well, have you heard?' No, not a whit.
'What, _ha'nt_ you heard?' Come, out with it!
'That Tierney votes for Mister PITT, 125
And Sheridan's _recanted_!'
1798.
FOOTNOTES:
[299:1] First published in the _Morning Post_ for July 30, 1798, with
the following title and introduction:--'ORIGINAL POETRY. A TALE. The
following amusing Tale gives a very humourous description of the French
Revolution, which is represented as an Ox': included in _Annual
Anthology_, 1800, and _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817; reprinted in _Essays on
His Own Times_, 1880, iii 963-9. First collected in _P. and D. W._,
1877-80. In a copy of the _Annual Anthology_ of 1800 Coleridge writes
over against the heading of this poem, 'Written when fears were
entertained of an invasion, and Mr. Sheridan and Mr. Tierney were
absurdly represented as having _recanted_ because to [The French
Revolution (?)] in its origin they, [having been favourable, changed
their opinion when the Revolutionists became unfaithful to their
principles (?)].' See _Note to P. W._, 1893.
The text is that of _Sibylline Leaves_ and _Essays on his Own Times_.
[300:1] One of the many fine words which the most uneducated had about
this time a constant opportunity of acquiring, from the sermons in the
pulpit and the proclamations on [in _S. L._] the ---- corners. _An.
Anth._, _S. L._
[302:1] According to the common superstition there are two ways of
fighting with the Devil. You may cut him in half with a straw, or he
will vanish if you spit over his horns with a fasting spittle. _Note by
S. T. C. in M. P._ According to the superstition of the West-Countries,
if you meet the Devil, you may either cut him in half with a straw, or
force him to disappear by spitting over his horns. _An. Anth._, _S. L._
LINENOTES:
[3] turn'd out] loosen'd M. P.
[9] ox] beast M. P.
[19] beast] ox M. P.
[22] fastens] fasten'd M. P.
[27] 'You cruel dog!' at once they bawl. M. P.
[31] Oh] Ah! M. P., An. Anth.
[35-6] om. Essays, &c.
[38] run] drive M. P.
[39] fiend] rogue M. P.
[42] Mat, Tom, Bob, Dick M. P.
[49] The baited ox drove on M. P., An. Anth.
[50] No . . . print] The Gospel scarce M. P., An. Anth.
[53] cannot] could M. P.
[55] The ox drove on, right through the town M. P.
[62] may] might M. P., An. Anth.
[68] any] a mad M. P.
[70] heat and fright] flight and fear M. P., An. Anth.
[71] this] the M. P.
[73] beast] ox M. P.
[75] agree] agreed M. P.
[83] scour'd] drove M. P.
[91] Alas] Alack M. P.
[99] cried] bawl'd M. P.
[103] Tom! Walter! Mat! M. P.
[109] _lying_] _bare-faced_ M. P.
[115] But lo! to interrupt my chat M. P.
[119] In came] In rush'd M. P.
[122] And he rush'd in M. P.
[125-6]
That Tierney's wounded Mister PITT,
And his fine tongue enchanted!
M. P.
HEXAMETERS[304:1]
William, my teacher, my friend! dear William and dear Dorothea!
Smooth out the folds of my letter, and place it on desk or on table;
Place it on table or desk; and your right hands loosely
half-closing,[304:2]
Gently sustain them in air, and extending the digit didactic,
Rest it a moment on each of the forks of the five-forkéd left hand, 5
Twice on the breadth of the thumb, and once on the tip of each
finger;
Read with a nod of the head in a humouring recitativo;
And, as I live, you will see my hexameters hopping before you.
This is a galloping measure; a hop, and a trot, and a gallop!
All my hexameters fly, like stags pursued by the stag-hounds, 10
Breathless and panting, and ready to drop, yet flying still
onwards,[304:3]
I would full fain pull in my hard-mouthed runaway hunter;
But our English Spondeans are clumsy yet impotent curb-reins;
And so to make him go slowly, no way left have I but to lame him.
William, my head and my heart! dear Poet that feelest and
thinkest! 15
Dorothy, eager of soul, my most affectionate sister!
Many a mile, O! many a wearisome mile are ye distant,
Long, long comfortless roads, with no one eye that doth know us.
O! it is all too far to send you mockeries idle:
Yea, and I feel it not right! But O! my friends, my beloved! 20
Feverish and wakeful I lie,--I am weary of feeling and thinking.
Every thought is worn _down_, I am weary yet cannot be vacant.
Five long hours have I tossed, rheumatic heats, dry and flushing,
Gnawing behind in my head, and wandering and throbbing about me,
Busy and tiresome, my friends, as the beat of the boding
night-spider.[305:1] 25
_I forget the beginning of the line:_
. . . my eyes are a burthen,
Now unwillingly closed, now open and aching with darkness.
O! what a life is the eye! what a strange and inscrutable essence!
Him that is utterly blind, nor glimpses the fire that warms him;
Him that never beheld the swelling breast of his mother; 30
Him that smiled in his gladness as a babe that smiles in its
slumber;
Even for him it exists, it moves and stirs in its prison;
Lives with a separate life, and 'Is it a Spirit?' he murmurs:
'Sure it has thoughts of its own, and to see is only a language.'
_There was a great deal more, which I have forgotten. . . . The last
line which I wrote, I remember, and write it for the truth of the
sentiment, scarcely less true in company than in pain and solitude:--_
William, my head and my heart! dear William and dear Dorothea! 35
You have all in each other; but I am lonely, and want you!
1798-9.
FOOTNOTES:
[304:1] First published in _Memoirs of W. Wordsworth_, 1851, i. 139-41:
reprinted in _Life_ by Prof. Knight, 1889, i. 185. First collected as a
whole in _P. W._ [ed. T. Ashe], 1885. lines 30-6, 'O what a life is the
eye', &c., were first published in _Friendship's Offering_, and are
included in _P. W._, 1834. They were reprinted by Cottle in _E. R._,
1837, i. 226. The 'Hexameters' were sent in a letter, written in the
winter of 1798-9 from Ratzeburg to the Wordsworths at Goslar.
[304:2] False metre. _S. T. C._
[304:3] '_Still_ flying onwards' were perhaps better. _S. T. C._
[305:1] False metre. _S. T. C._
LINENOTES:
[28] strange] fine Letter, 1798-9, Cottle, 1837.
[29] Him] He Cottle, 1837.
[30] Him] He Cottle, 1837.
[31] Him that ne'er smiled at the bosom as babe Letter, 1798-9: He that
smiled at the bosom, the babe Cottle, 1837.
[32] Even to him it exists, it stirs and moves Letter, 1798-9: Even to
him it exists, it moves and stirs Cottle, 1837.
[33] a Spirit] the Spirit Letter, 1798-9.
[34] a] its Letter, 1798-9.
TRANSLATION OF A PASSAGE IN OTTFRIED'S METRICAL PARAPHRASE OF THE
GOSPEL
[This paraphrase, written about the time of Charlemagne, is by no means
deficient in occasional passages of considerable poetic merit. There is
a flow and a tender enthusiasm in the following lines which even in the
translation will not, I flatter myself, fail to interest the reader.
Ottfried is describing the circumstances immediately following the birth
of our Lord. Most interesting is it to consider the effect when the
feelings are wrought above the natural pitch by the belief of something
mysterious, while all the images are purely natural. Then it is that
religion and poetry strike deepest. _Biog. Lit._, 1817, i.
203-4.[306:1]]
She gave with joy her virgin breast;
She hid it not, she bared the breast
Which suckled that divinest babe!
Blessed, blessed were the breasts
Which the Saviour infant kiss'd; 5
And blessed, blessed was the mother
Who wrapp'd his limbs in swaddling clothes,
Singing placed him on her lap,
Hung o'er him with her looks of love,
And soothed him with a lulling motion. 10
Blessed! for she shelter'd him
From the damp and chilling air;
Blessed, blessed! for she lay
With such a babe in one blest bed,
Close as babes and mothers lie! 15
Blessed, blessed evermore,
With her virgin lips she kiss'd,
With her arms, and to her breast,
She embraced the babe divine,
Her babe divine the virgin mother! 20
There lives not on this ring of earth
A mortal that can sing her praise.
Mighty mother, virgin pure,
In the darkness and the night
For us she _bore_ the heavenly Lord! 25
? 1799.
FOOTNOTES:
[306:1] First published as a footnote to Chapter X of the _Biographia
Literaria_ (ed. 1817, i. 203-4). First collected in 1863 (Appendix, pp.
401-2). The translation is from _Otfridi Evang._, lib. i, cap. xi, ll.
73-108 (included in Schilter's _Thesaurus Antiquitatum Teutonicarum_,
pp. 50-1, _Biog. Lit._, 1847, i. 213). Otfrid, 'a monk at Weissenburg in
Elsass', composed his _Evangelienbuch_ about 870 A.D. (Note by J.
Shawcross, _Biog. Lit._, 1907, ii. 259). As Coleridge says that 'he read
through Ottfried's metrical paraphrase of the Gospel' when he was at
Göttingen, it may be assumed that the translation was made in 1799.
LINENOTES:
[5] Saviour infant] infant Saviour 1863.
CATULLIAN HENDECASYLLABLES[307:1]
Hear, my belovéd, an old Milesian story!--
High, and embosom'd in congregated laurels,
Glimmer'd a temple upon a breezy headland;
In the dim distance amid the skiey billows
Rose a fair island; the god of flocks had blest it. 5
From the far shores of the bleat-resounding island
Oft by the moonlight a little boat came floating,
Came to the sea-cave beneath the breezy headland,
Where amid myrtles a pathway stole in mazes
Up to the groves of the high embosom'd temple. 10
There in a thicket of dedicated roses,
Oft did a priestess, as lovely as a vision,
Pouring her soul to the son of Cytherea,
Pray him to hover around the slight canoe-boat,
And with invisible pilotage to guide it 15
Over the dusk wave, until the nightly sailor
Shivering with ecstasy sank upon her bosom.
? 1799.
FOOTNOTES:
[307:1] First published in 1834. These lines, which are not
'Hendecasyllables', are a translation of part of Friedrich von
Matthisson's _Milesisches Mährchen_. For the original see Note to
_Poems_, 1852, and Appendices of this edition. There is no evidence as
to the date of composition. The emendations in lines 5 and 6 were first
printed in _P. W._, 1893.
LINENOTES:
[5] blest] plac'd 1834, 1844, 1852.
[6] bleat-resounding] bleak-resounding 1834, 1852.
[16] nightly] mighty 1834, 1844.
THE HOMERIC HEXAMETER[307:2]
DESCRIBED AND EXEMPLIFIED
Strongly it bears us along in swelling and limitless billows,
Nothing before and nothing behind but the sky and the ocean.
? 1799.
FOOTNOTES:
[307:2] First published (together with the 'Ovidian Elegiac Metre', &c.)
in _Friendship's Offering_, 1834: included in _P. W._, 1834. An
acknowledgement that these 'experiments in metre' are translations from
Schiller was first made in a Note to _Poems_, 1844, p. 371. The
originals were given on p. 372. See Appendices of this edition. There is
no evidence as to the date of composition.
THE OVIDIAN ELEGIAC METRE
DESCRIBED AND EXEMPLIFIED
In the hexameter rises the fountain's silvery column;
In the pentameter aye falling in melody back.
? 1799.
ON A CATARACT[308:1]
FROM A CAVERN NEAR THE SUMMIT OF A MOUNTAIN PRECIPICE
STROPHE
Unperishing youth!
Thou leapest from forth
The cell of thy hidden nativity;
Never mortal saw
The cradle of the strong one; 5
Never mortal heard
The gathering of his voices;
The deep-murmured charm of the son of the rock,
That is lisp'd evermore at his slumberless fountain.
There's a cloud at the portal, a spray-woven veil 10
At the shrine of his ceaseless renewing;
It embosoms the roses of dawn,
It entangles the shafts of the noon,
And into the bed of its stillness
The moonshine sinks down as in slumber, 15
That the son of the rock, that the nursling of heaven
May be born in a holy twilight!
ANTISTROPHE
The wild goat in awe
Looks up and beholds
Above thee the cliff inaccessible;-- 20
Thou at once full-born
Madd'nest in thy joyance,
Whirlest, shatter'st, splitt'st,
Life invulnerable.
? 1799.
FOOTNOTES:
[308:1] First published in 1834. For the original (_Unsterblicher
Jüngling_) by Count F. L. Stolberg see Note to _Poems_, 1844, pp. 371-2,
and Appendices of this edition.
LINENOTES:
Title] Improved from Stolberg. On a Cataract, &c. 1844, 1852.
[2-3]
Thou streamest from forth
The cleft of thy ceaseless Nativity
MS. S. T. C.
[Between 7 and 13.]
The murmuring songs of the Son of the Rock,
When he feeds evermore at the slumberless Fountain.
There abideth a Cloud,
At the Portal a Veil,
At the shrine of thy self-renewing;
It embodies the Visions of Dawn,
It entangles, &c.
MS. S. T. C.
[20] Below thee the cliff inaccessible MS. S. T. C.
[22-3]
Flockest in thy Joyance,
Wheelest, shatter'st, start'st.
MS. S. T. C.
TELL'S BIRTH-PLACE[309:1]
IMITATED FROM STOLBERG
I
Mark this holy chapel well!
The birth-place, this, of William Tell.
Here, where stands God's altar dread,
Stood his parents' marriage-bed.
II
Here, first, an infant to her breast, 5
Him his loving mother prest;
And kissed the babe, and blessed the day,
And prayed as mothers use to pray.
III
'Vouchsafe him health, O God! and give
The child thy servant still to live!' 10
But God had destined to do more
Through him, than through an arméd power.
IV
God gave him reverence of laws,
Yet stirring blood in Freedom's cause--
A spirit to his rocks akin, 15
The eye of the hawk, and the fire therein!
V
To Nature and to Holy Writ
Alone did God the boy commit:
Where flashed and roared the torrent, oft
His soul found wings, and soared aloft! 20
VI
The straining oar and chamois chase
Had formed his limbs to strength and grace:
On wave and wind the boy would toss,
Was great, nor knew how great he was!
VII
He knew not that his chosen hand, 25
Made strong by God, his native land
Would rescue from the shameful yoke
Of Slavery----the which he broke!
? 1799.
FOOTNOTES:
[309:1] First published in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817: included in 1828,
1829, and 1834. For the original (_Bei Wilhelm Tells Geburtsstätte im
Kanton Uri_) by Count F. L. Stolberg see Appendices of this edition.
There is no evidence as to the date of composition.
LINENOTES:
[28] Slavery] _Slavery_, all editions to 1834.
THE VISIT OF THE GODS[310:1]
IMITATED FROM SCHILLER
Never, believe me,
Appear the Immortals,
Never alone:
Scarce had I welcomed the Sorrow-beguiler,
Iacchus! but in came Boy Cupid the Smiler; 5
Lo! Phoebus the Glorious descends from his throne!
They advance, they float in, the Olympians all!
With Divinities fills my
Terrestrial hall!
How shall I yield you 10
Due entertainment,
Celestial quire?
Me rather, bright guests! with your wings of upbuoyance
Bear aloft to your homes, to your banquets of joyance,
That the roofs of Olympus may echo my lyre! 15
Hah! we mount! on their pinions they waft up my soul!
O give me the nectar!
O fill me the bowl!
Give him the nectar!
Pour out for the poet, 20
Hebe! pour free!
Quicken his eyes with celestial dew,
That Styx the detested no more he may view,
And like one of us Gods may conceit him to be!
Thanks, Hebe! I quaff it! Io Paean, I cry! 25
The wine of the Immortals
Forbids me to die!
? 1799.
FOOTNOTES:
[310:1] First published in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817: included in 1828,
1829 ('Vision of the Gods', Contents, vol. i, pp. 322-3 of both
editions), and in 1834. For Schiller's original (_Dithyrambe_) see
Appendices of this edition.
FROM THE GERMAN[311:1]
Know'st thou the land where the pale citrons grow,
The golden fruits in darker foliage glow?
Soft blows the wind that breathes from that blue sky!
Still stands the myrtle and the laurel high!
Know'st thou it well, that land, beloved Friend? 5
Thither with thee, O, thither would I wend!
? 1799.
FOOTNOTES:
[311:1] First published in 1834. For the original ('Mignon's Song') in
Goethe's _Wilhelm Meister_ see Appendices of this edition.
WATER BALLAD[311:2]
[FROM THE FRENCH]
'Come hither, gently rowing,
Come, bear me quickly o'er
This stream so brightly flowing
To yonder woodland shore.
But vain were my endeavour 5
To pay thee, courteous guide;
Row on, row on, for ever
I'd have thee by my side.
'Good boatman, prithee haste thee,
I seek my father-land.'-- 10
'Say, when I there have placed thee,
Dare I demand thy hand?'
'A maiden's head can never
So hard a point decide;
Row on, row on, for ever 15
I'd have thee by my side.'
The happy bridal over
The wanderer ceased to roam,
For, seated by her lover,
The boat became her home. 20
And still they sang together
As steering o'er the tide:
'Row on through wind and weather
For ever by my side.'
? 1799.
FOOTNOTES:
[311:2] First published in _The Athenaeum_, October 29, 1831. First
collected in _P. and D. W._, 1877-80. For the original ('Barcarolle de
Marie') of François Antoine Eugène de Planard see Appendices of this
edition.
ON AN INFANT[312:1]
WHICH DIED BEFORE BAPTISM
'Be, rather than be called, a child of God,'
Death whispered! With assenting nod,
Its head upon its mother's breast,
The Baby bowed, without demur--
Of the kingdom of the Blest
Possessor, not Inheritor.
_April_ 8, 1799.
FOOTNOTES:
[312:1] First published in _P. W._, 1834. These lines were sent in a
letter from Coleridge to his wife, dated Göttingen, April 6, 1799:--'Ah,
my poor Berkeley!' [b. May 15, 1798, d. Feb. 10, 1799] he writes, 'A few
weeks ago an Englishman desired me to write an epitaph on an infant who
had died before its Christening. While I wrote it, my heart with a deep
misgiving turned my thoughts homeward. "On an Infant", &c. It refers to
the second question in the Church Catechism.' _Letters of S. T. C._
1895, i. 287.
LINENOTES:
[1] called] _call'd_ MS. Letter, 1799.
[3] its] the MS. letter, 1799.
[4] bow'd and went without demur MS. Letter, 1799.
SOMETHING CHILDISH, BUT VERY NATURAL[313:1]
WRITTEN IN GERMANY
If I had but two little wings
And were a little feathery bird,
To you I'd fly, my dear!
But thoughts like these are idle things,
And I stay here. 5
But in my sleep to you I fly:
I'm always with you in my sleep!
The world is all one's own.
But then one wakes, and where am I?
All, all alone. 10
Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids:
So I love to wake ere break of day:
For though my sleep be gone,
Yet while 'tis dark, one shuts one's lids,
And still dreams on. 15
_April_ 23, 1799.
FOOTNOTES:
[313:1] First published in the Annual Anthology (1800), with the
signature 'Cordomi': included in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, 1828, 1829, and
1834. The lines, without title or heading, were sent in a letter from
Coleridge to his wife, dated Göttingen, April 23, 1799 (Letters of S. T.
C., 1895, i. 294-5). They are an imitation (see F. Freiligrath's
Biographical Memoir to the Tauchnitz edition of 1852) of the German
Folk-song Wenn ich ein Vöglein wär. For the original see Appendices of
this edition. The title 'Something Childish', &c., was prefixed in the
Annual Anthology, 1800.
LINENOTES:
[3] you] _you_ MS. Letter, 1799.
[6] you] _you_ MS. Letter, 1799.
HOME-SICK[314:1]
WRITTEN IN GERMANY
'Tis sweet to him who all the week
Through city-crowds must push his way,
To stroll alone through fields and woods,
And hallow thus the Sabbath-day.
And sweet it is, in summer bower, 5
Sincere, affectionate and gay,
One's own dear children feasting round,
To celebrate one's marriage-day.
But what is all to his delight,
Who having long been doomed to roam, 10
Throws off the bundle from his back,
Before the door of his own home?
Home-sickness is a wasting pang;
This feel I hourly more and more:
There's healing only in thy wings, 15
Thou breeze that play'st on Albion's shore!
_May_ 6, 1799.
FOOTNOTES:
[314:1] First published in the _Annual Anthology_ (1800), with the
signature 'Cordomi': included in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829,
1834. The lines, without title or heading, were sent in a letter from
Coleridge to Poole, dated May 6, 1799 (_Letters of S. T.C._, 1895, i.
298). Dr. Carlyon in his _Early Years_, &c. (1856, i. 66), prints
stanzas 1, 3, and 4. He says that they were written from Coleridge's
dictation, in the Brockenstammbuch at the little inn on the Brocken. The
title 'Home-Sick', &c., was prefixed in the _Annual Anthology_, 1800.
LINENOTES:
[13] a wasting pang] no baby-pang MS. Letter, 1799, An.
Anth.
[15] There's only music in thy wings MS. Letter, 1799.
LINES[315:1]
WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM AT ELBINGERODE, IN THE HARTZ FOREST
I stood on Brocken's[315:2] sovran height, and saw
Woods crowding upon woods, hills over hills,
A surging scene, and only limited
By the blue distance. Heavily my way
Downward I dragged through fir groves evermore, 5
Where bright green moss heaves in sepulchral forms
Speckled with sunshine; and, but seldom heard,
The sweet bird's song became a hollow sound;
And the breeze, murmuring indivisibly,
Preserved its solemn murmur most distinct 10
From many a note of many a waterfall,
And the brook's chatter; 'mid whose islet-stones
The dingy kidling with its tinkling bell
Leaped frolicsome, or old romantic goat
Sat, his white beard slow waving. I moved on 15
In low and languid mood:[315:3] for I had found
That outward forms, the loftiest, still receive
Their finer influence from the Life within;--
Fair cyphers else: fair, but of import vague
Or unconcerning, where the heart not finds 20
History or prophecy of friend, or child,
Or gentle maid, our first and early love,
Or father, or the venerable name
Of our adoréd country! O thou Queen,
Thou delegated Deity of Earth, 25
O dear, dear England! how my longing eye
Turned westward, shaping in the steady clouds
Thy sands and high white cliffs!
My native Land!
Filled with the thought of thee this heart was proud,
Yea, mine eye swam with tears: that all the view 30
From sovran Brocken, woods and woody hills,
Floated away, like a departing dream,
Feeble and dim! Stranger, these impulses
Blame thou not lightly; nor will I profane,
With hasty judgment or injurious doubt, 35
That man's sublimer spirit, who can feel
That God is everywhere! the God who framed
Mankind to be one mighty family,
Himself our Father, and the World our Home.
_May_ 17, 1799.
FOOTNOTES:
[315:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, September 17, 1799:
included in the _Annual Anthology_ (1800) [signed C.], in _Sibylline
Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. The lines were sent in a letter
from Coleridge to his wife, dated May 17, 1799. Part of the letter was
printed in the _Amulet_, 1829, and the whole in the _Monthly Magazine_
for October, 1835. A long extract is given in Gillman's _Life of S. T.
C._, 1838, pp. 125-38.
[315:2] The highest Mountain in the Harz, and indeed in North Germany.
[315:3]
----When I have gaz'd
From some high eminence on goodly vales,
And cots and villages embower'd below,
The thought would rise that all to me was strange
Amid the scenes so fair, nor one small spot
Where my tired mind might rest and call it home.
SOUTHEY'S _Hymn to the Penates_.
LINENOTES:
[3] _surging_] _surging_ M. P.
[4] Heavily] Wearily MS. Letter.
[6] heaves] mov'd MS. Letter.
[8] a] an all editions to 1834.
[9] breeze] gale MS. Letter.
[11] waterfall] waterbreak MS. Letter.
[12] 'mid] on MS. Letter.
[16] With low and languid thought, for I had found MS. Letter.
[17] That grandest scenes have but imperfect charms MS. Letter, M. P.,
An. Anth.
[18]
Where the eye vainly wanders nor beholds
MS. Letter.
Where the sight, &c.
M. P., An. Anth.
[19] One spot with which the heart associates MS. Letter, M. P., An.
Anth.
[19-21]
Fair cyphers of vague import, where the Eye
Traces no spot, in which the Heart may read
History or Prophecy
S. L. 1817, 1828.
[20]
Holy Remembrances of Child or Friend
MS. Letter.
Holy Remembrances of Friend or Child
M. P., An. Anth.
[26] eye] eyes MS. Letter.
[28-30]
Sweet native Isle
This heart was proud, yea mine eyes swam with tears
To think of thee: and all the goodly view
MS. Letter.
[28] O native land M. P., An. Anth.
[34] I] _I_ MS. Letter.
[38] family] brother-hood MS. Letter.
THE BRITISH STRIPLING'S WAR-SONG[317:1]
IMITATED FROM STOLBERG
Yes, noble old Warrior! this heart has beat high,
Since you told of the deeds which our countrymen wrought;
O lend me the sabre that hung by thy thigh,
And I too will fight as my forefathers fought.
Despise not my youth, for my spirit is steel'd, 5
And I know there is strength in the grasp of my hand;
Yea, as firm as thyself would I march to the field,
And as proudly would die for my dear native land.
In the sports of my childhood I mimick'd the fight,
The sound of a trumpet suspended my breath; 10
And my fancy still wander'd by day and by night,
Amid battle and tumult, 'mid conquest and death.
My own shout of onset, when the Armies advance,
How oft it awakes me from visions of glory;
When I meant to have leapt on the Hero of France, 15
And have dash'd him to earth, pale and breathless and gory.
As late thro' the city with banners all streaming
To the music of trumpets the Warriors flew by,
With helmet and scimitars naked and gleaming,
On their proud-trampling, thunder-hoof'd steeds did they fly; 20
I sped to yon heath that is lonely and bare,
For each nerve was unquiet, each pulse in alarm;
And I hurl'd the mock-lance thro' the objectless air,
And in open-eyed dream proved the strength of my arm.
Yes, noble old Warrior! this heart has beat high, 25
Since you told of the deeds that our countrymen wrought;
O lend me the sabre that hung by thy thigh,
And I too will fight as my forefathers fought!
? 1799.
FOOTNOTES:
[317:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, August 24, 1799: included
in the _Annual Anthology_ for 1800: reprinted in _Literary Remains_,
1836, i. 276, in the _Gentleman's Magazine_, 1848. ('Communicated to the
_Bath Herald_ during the Volunteer Frenzy of 1803') (N. S. xxix, p. 60),
and in _Essays on His Own Times_, iii. 988-9. First collected in _P.
W._, 1877-80, ii. 200-1. The MS. is preserved in the British Museum. The
text follows that of the _Annual Anthology_, 1800, pp. 173-4. For the
original by Count F. L. Stolberg (_Lied eines deutschen Knaben_) see
Appendices of this edition.
LINENOTES:
Title] The Stripling's War-Song. Imitated from the German of Stolberg
MS. The Stripling's, &c. Imitated from Stolberg L. R. The British
Stripling's War Song M. P., An. Anth., Essays, &c. The Volunteer
Stripling. A Song G. M.
[1] Yes] My MS., L. R.
[2] Since] When G. M. which] that MS., L. R. our] your M. P., Essays,
&c.
[3] Ah! give me the sabre [[*Falchion*]] that [which L. R.] MS., Essays,
&c.
[5] O despise MS., L. R., Essays, &c.
[7] march] move MS., L. R.
[8] would] could Essays, &c. native land] fatherland L. R.
[9] fight] sight G. M.
[10] sound] shrill [[*sound*]] MS., L. R. a] the M. P., Essays, &c.
[12] Amid tumults [tumult L. R.] and perils MS. 'mid] and Essays, &c.
Mid battle and bloodshed G. M.
[13]
My own eager shout in the heat of my trance
MS., MS. correction in An. Anth., L. R.
My own shout of onset, { in the heat of my trance G. M., 1893.
{ [*when the armies advance*] MS.
[14] visions] dreams full MS., L. R. How oft it has wak'd G. M.
[15] When I dreamt that I rush'd G. M.
[16] breathless] deathless L. R. pale, breathless G. M.
[17] city] town G. M.
[17-18]
{ with bannerets streaming
{ [*with a terrible beauty*]
To [And L. R.] the music
MS.
[19] scimitars] scymetar MS., L.R., Essays, &c., G. M.: scymeter M. P.
[Between 20-1]
And the Host pacing after in gorgeous parade
All mov'd to one measure in front and in rear;
And the Pipe, Drum and Trumpet, such harmony made
As the souls of the Slaughter'd would loiter to hear.
MS. erased.
[21] that] which L. R.
[22] For my soul MS. erased.
[23] I hurl'd my MS., L. R., Essays, &c. objectless] mind-peopled G. M.
[26] Since] When G. M.
[27] Ah! give me the falchion MS., L. R.
NAMES[318:1]
[FROM LESSING]
I ask'd my fair one happy day,
What I should call her in my lay;
By what sweet name from Rome or Greece;
Lalage, Neaera, Chloris,
Sappho, Lesbia, or Doris, 5
Arethusa or Lucrece.
'Ah!' replied my gentle fair,
'Belovéd, what are names but air?
Choose thou whatever suits the line;
Call me Sappho, call me Chloris, 10
Call me Lalage or Doris,
Only, only call me Thine.'
1799.
FOOTNOTES:
[318:1] First published in the _Morning Post_: reprinted in the
_Poetical Register_ for 1803 (1805) with the signature HARLEY.
PHILADELPHIA, in the _Keepsake_ for 1829, in Cottle's _Early
Recollections_ (two versions) 1837, ii. 67, and in _Essays on His Own
Times_, iii. 990, 'As it first appeared' in the _Morning Post_. First
collected in 1834. For the original (_Die Namen_) see Appendices of this
edition.
LINENOTES:
Title] Song from Lessing M. P., Essays, &c.: From the German of Lessing
P. R.: Epigram Keepsake, 1829, Cottle's Early Recollections.
[1] fair] love Cottle, E. R.
[4]
Iphigenia, Clelia, Chloris,
M. P., Cottle, E. R., P. R.
Neaera, Laura, Daphne, Chloris,
Keepsake.
[5]
Laura, Lesbia, or Doris,
MS. 1799, M. P., Cottle, E. R.
Carina, Lalage, or Doris,
Keepsake.
[6] Dorimene, or Lucrece, MS. 1799, M. P., Cottle, E. R., P. R.,
Keepsake.
[8] Belovéd.] Dear one Keepsake.
[9] Choose thou] Take thou M. P., P. R.: Take Cottle, E. R.
[10] Call me Laura, call me Chloris MS. 1799, Keepsake.
[10-11]
Call me Clelia, call me Chloris,
Laura, Lesbia or Doris
M. P., Cottle, E. R.
[10-12]
Clelia, Iphigenia, Chloris,
Laura, Lesbia, Delia, Doris,
But don't forget to call me _thine_.
P. R.
THE DEVIL'S THOUGHTS[319:1]
I
From his brimstone bed at break of day
A walking the Devil is gone,
To visit his snug little farm the earth,
And see how his stock goes on.
II
Over the hill and over the dale, 5
And he went over the plain,
And backward and forward he switched his long tail
As a gentleman switches his cane.
III
And how then was the Devil drest?
Oh! he was in his Sunday's best: 10
His jacket was red and his breeches were blue,
And there was a hole where the tail came through.
IV
He saw a Lawyer killing a Viper
On a dunghill hard by his own stable;
And the Devil smiled, for it put him in mind 15
Of Cain and his brother, Abel.
V
He saw an Apothecary on a white horse
Ride by on his vocations,
And the Devil thought of his old Friend
Death in the Revelations.[320:1] 20
VI
He saw a cottage with a double coach-house,
A cottage of gentility;
And the Devil did grin, for his darling sin
Is pride that apes humility.
VII
He peep'd into a rich bookseller's shop, 25
Quoth he! we are both of one college!
For I sate myself, like a cormorant, once
Hard by the tree of knowledge.[321:1]
VIII
Down the river did glide, with wind and tide,
A pig with vast celerity; 30
And the Devil look'd wise as he saw how the while,
It cut its own throat. 'There!' quoth he with a smile,
'Goes "England's commercial prosperity."'
IX
As he went through Cold-Bath Fields he saw
A solitary cell; 35
And the Devil was pleased, for it gave him a hint
For improving his prisons in Hell.
X
He saw a Turnkey in a trice
Fetter a troublesome blade;
'Nimbly,' quoth he, 'do the fingers move 40
If a man be but used to his trade.'
XI
He saw the same Turnkey unfetter a man,
With but little expedition,
Which put him in mind of the long debate
On the Slave-trade abolition. 45
XII
He saw an old acquaintance
As he passed by a Methodist meeting;--
She holds a consecrated key,
And the devil nods her a greeting.
XIII
She turned up her nose, and said, 50
'Avaunt! my name's Religion,'
And she looked to Mr. ----
And leered like a love-sick pigeon.
XIV
He saw a certain minister
(A minister to his mind) 55
Go up into a certain House,
With a majority behind.
XV
The Devil quoted Genesis
Like a very learnéd clerk,
How 'Noah and his creeping things 60
Went up into the Ark.'
XVI
He took from the poor,
And he gave to the rich,
And he shook hands with a Scotchman,
For he was not afraid of the ---- 65
XVII
General ----[323:1] burning face
He saw with consternation,
And back to hell his way did he take,
For the Devil thought by a slight mistake
It was general conflagration. 70
1799.
FOOTNOTES:
[319:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, September 6, 1799:
included in 1828, 1829, and 1834. It is printed separately as the
_Devil's Walk_, a Poem, By Professor Porson, London, Marsh and Miller,
&c., 1830. In 1827, by way of repudiating Porson's alleged authorship of
_The Devil's Thoughts_, Southey expanded the _Devil's Thoughts_ of 1799
into a poem of fifty-seven stanzas entitled _The Devil's Walk_. See _P.
W._, 1838, iii. pp. 87-100. In the _Morning Post_ the poem numbered
fourteen stanzas; in 1828, 1829 it is reduced to ten, and in 1834
enlarged to seventeen stanzas. Stanzas iii and xiv-xvi of the text are
not in the _M. P._ Stanzas iv and v appeared as iii, iv; stanza vi as
ix; stanza vii as v; stanza viii as x; stanza ix as viii; stanza x as
vi; stanza xi as vii; stanza xvii as xiv. In 1828, 1829, the poem
consists of stanzas i-ix of the text, and of the concluding stanzas
stanza xi ('Old Nicholas', &c.) of the _M. P._ version was not
reprinted. Stanzas xiv-xvi of the text were first acknowledged by
Coleridge in 1834.
[320:1] And I looked, and behold a pale horse, and his name that sat on
him was Death, Rev. vi. 8. _M. P._
[321:1] This anecdote is related by that most interesting of the Devil's
Biographers, Mr. John Milton, in his _Paradise Lost_, and we have here
the Devil's own testimony to the truth and accuracy of it. _M. P._
'And all amid them stood the TREE OF LIFE
High, eminent, blooming ambrosial fruit
Of vegetable gold (query _paper-money_), and next to Life
_Our_ Death, the TREE OF KNOWLEDGE, grew fast by.--
* * * * *
* * * * *
So clomb this first grand thief--
Thence up he flew, and on the tree of life
Sat like a cormorant.'--_Par. Lost_, iv.
The allegory here is so apt, that in a catalogue of _various readings_
obtained from collating the MSS. one might expect to find it noted, that
for 'LIFE' _Cod. quid. habent_, 'TRADE.' Though indeed THE TRADE, _i.
e._ the bibliopolic, so called κατ' ἐξοχήν, may be regarded as LIFE
sensu _eminentiori_; a suggestion, which I owe to a young retailer in
the hosiery line, who on hearing a description of the net profits,
dinner parties, country houses, etc., of the trade, exclaimed, 'Ay!
that's what I call LIFE now!'--This 'Life, _our_ Death,' is thus happily
contrasted with the fruits of Authorship.--Sic nos non nobis
mellificamus Apes.
Of this poem, which with the 'Fire, Famine, and Slaughter' first
appeared in the _Morning Post_ [6th Sept. 1799], the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 9th,
and 16th stanzas[321:A] were dictated by Mr. Southey. See Apologetic
Preface [to _Fire, Famine and Slaughter_]. [Between the ninth and the
concluding stanza, two or three are omitted, as grounded on subjects
which have lost their interest--and for better reasons. _1828_, _1829_.]
If any one should ask who General ---- meant, the Author begs leave to
inform him, that he did once see a red-faced person in a dream whom by
the dress he took for a General; but he might have been mistaken, and
most certainly he did not hear any names mentioned. In simple verity,
the author never meant any one, or indeed any thing but to put a
concluding stanza to his doggerel.
[321:A] The three first stanzas, which are worth all the rest,
and the ninth _1828_, _1829_.
[323:1] In a MS. copy in the B. M. and in some pirated versions the
blank is filled up by the word 'Gascoigne's'; but in a MS. copy taken at
Highgate, in June, 1820, by Derwent Coleridge the line runs 'General
Tarleton's', &c.
LINENOTES:
[3-4]
{ To look at his little snug farm of the Earth
{ To visit, &c.
1828, 1829.
And see how his stock went on.
M. P., 1828, 1829.
[7] switched] swish'd M. P., 1828, 1829.
[8] switches] swishes M. P., 1828, 1829.
[9-12] Not in M. P.
[14] On the dunghill beside his stable M. P.: On a dung-heap beside his
stable 1828, 1829.
[15-16]
Oh! oh; quoth he, for it put him in mind
Of the story of Cain and Abel
M. P.
[16] his] _his_ 1828, 1829.
[17] He . . . on] An Apothecary on M. P.: A Pothecary on 1828, 1829.
[18] Ride] Rode M.P., 1828, 1829. vocations] vocation M. P.
[20] Revelations] Revelation M. P.
[21] saw] past M. P.
[23] And he grinn'd at the sight, for his favourite vice M. P.
[25] peep'd] went M. P., 1828, 1829.
[27] sate myself] myself sate 1828, 1829.
[28] Hard by] Upon M. P.: Fast by 1828, 1829.
[29-33]
He saw a pig right rapidly
Adown the river float,
The pig swam well, but every stroke
Was cutting his own throat.
M. P.
[29] did glide] there plied 1828, 1829.
[Between 33-4]
Old Nicholas grinn'd and swish'd his tail
For joy and admiration;
And he thought of his daughter, Victory,
And his darling babe, Taxation.
M. P.
[34-5]
As he went through ---- ---- fields he look'd
At a
M. P.
[37] his] the M. P. in] of M. P.
[39] Fetter] Hand-cuff M. P.: Unfetter 1834.
[40-1]
'Nimbly', quoth he, 'the fingers move
If a man is but us'd to his trade.'
M. P.
[42] unfetter] unfettering M. P.
[44] And he laugh'd for he thought of the long debates M. P.
[46] saw] met M. P.
[47] Just by the Methodist meeting. M. P.
[48] holds] held M. P. key] flag[323:A] M. P.
[323:A] The allusion is to Archbishop Randolph consecrating
the Duke of York's banners. See S. T. Coleridge's _Notizbuch
aus den Jahren 1795-8_ . . . von A. Brandl, 1896, p. 354 (p.
25 _a_, l. 18 of _Gutch Memorandum Book_, B. M. Add. MSS.
27,901).
[49] And the Devil nods a greeting. M. P.
[50-2]
She tip'd him the wink, then frown'd and cri'd
'Avaunt! my name's ----
And turn'd to Mr. W----
M. P.
[66] General ----] General ----'s M. P.
[68] way did take M. P.
[70] general] General M. P.
LINES COMPOSED IN A CONCERT-ROOM[324:1]
Nor cold, nor stern, my soul! yet I detest
These scented Rooms, where, to a gaudy throng,
Heaves the proud Harlot her distended breast,
In intricacies of laborious song.
These feel not Music's genuine power, nor deign 5
To melt at Nature's passion-warbled plaint;
But when the long-breathed singer's uptrilled strain
Bursts in a squall--they gape for wonderment.
Hark! the deep buzz of Vanity and Hate!
Scornful, yet envious, with self-torturing sneer 10
My lady eyes some maid of humbler state,
While the pert Captain, or the primmer Priest,
Prattles accordant scandal in her ear.
O give me, from this heartless scene released,
To hear our old Musician, blind and grey, 15
(Whom stretching from my nurse's arms I kissed,)
His Scottish tunes and warlike marches play,
By moonshine, on the balmy summer-night,
The while I dance amid the tedded hay
With merry maids, whose ringlets toss in light. 20
Or lies the purple evening on the bay
Of the calm glossy lake, O let me hide
Unheard, unseen, behind the alder-trees,
For round their roots the fisher's boat is tied,
On whose trim seat doth Edmund stretch at ease, 25
And while the lazy boat sways to and fro,
Breathes in his flute sad airs, so wild and slow,
That his own cheek is wet with quiet tears.
But O, dear Anne! when midnight wind careers,
And the gust pelting on the out-house shed 30
Makes the cock shrilly in the rainstorm crow,
To hear thee sing some ballad full of woe,
Ballad of ship-wreck'd sailor floating dead,
Whom his own true-love buried in the sands!
Thee, gentle woman, for thy voice remeasures 35
Whatever tones and melancholy pleasures
The things of Nature utter; birds or trees,
Or moan of ocean-gale in weedy caves,
Or where the stiff grass mid the heath-plant waves,
Murmur and music thin of sudden breeze. 40
1799.
FOOTNOTES:
[324:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, September 24, 1799:
included in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. There is no
evidence as to the date of composition. In a letter to Coleridge, dated
July 5, 1796, Lamb writes 'Have a care, good Master Poet, of the Statute
_de Contumeliâ_. What do you mean by calling Madame Mara harlots and
naughty things? The goodness of the verse would not save you in a Court
of Justice'--but it is by no means certain that Lamb is referring to the
_Lines Composed in a Concert-Room_, or that there is any allusion in
line 3 to Madame Mara. If, as J. D. Campbell suggested, the poem as it
appeared in the _Morning Post_ is a recast of some earlier verses, it is
possible that the scene is Ottery, and that 'Edmund' is the 'Friend who
died dead of' a 'Frenzy Fever' (vide _ante_, p. 76). In this case a
probable date would be the summer of 1793. But the poem as a whole
suggests a later date. Coleridge and Southey spent some weeks at Exeter
in September 1799. They visited Ottery St. Mary, and walked through
Newton Abbot to Ashburton and Dartmouth. It is possible that the
'Concert-Room,' the 'pert Captain,' and 'primmer Priest' are
reminiscences of Exeter, the 'heath-plant,' and the 'ocean caves' of
Dartmoor and Torbay. If so, the 'shame and absolute rout' (l. 49 of
variant, p. 325) would refer to the victory of Suwaroff over Joubert at
Novi, which took place August 15, 1799. See _Letters of S. T. C._, 1895,
i. 307.
LINENOTES:
[14] heartless] loathsome M. P.
[24] Around whose roots M. P., S. L.
[40] thin] then M. P.
[After line 40]
Dear Maid! whose form in solitude I seek,
Such songs in such a mood to hear thee sing,
It were a deep delight!--But thou shalt fling
Thy white arm round my neck, and kiss my cheek,
And love the brightness of my gladder eye 45
The while I tell thee what a holier joy
It were in proud and stately step to go,
With trump and timbrel clang, and popular shout,
To celebrate the shame and absolute rout
Unhealable of Freedom's latest foe, 50
Whose tower'd might shall to its centre nod.
When human feelings, sudden, deep and vast,
As all good spirits of all ages past
Were armied in the hearts of living men,
Shall purge the earth, and violently sweep 55
These vile and painted locusts to the deep,
Leaving un---- undebas'd
A ---- world made worthy of its God.
M. P.
[The words in lines 57, 58 were left as blanks in the Morning Post,
from what cause or with what object must remain a matter of doubt.]
WESTPHALIAN SONG[326:1]
[The following is an almost literal translation of a very old and very
favourite song among the Westphalian Boors. The turn at the end is the
same with one of Mr. Dibdin's excellent songs, and the air to which it
is sung by the Boors is remarkably sweet and lively.]
When thou to my true-love com'st
Greet her from me kindly;
When she asks thee how I fare?
Say, folks in Heaven fare finely.
When she asks, 'What! Is he sick?' 5
Say, dead!--and when for sorrow
She begins to sob and cry,
Say, I come to-morrow.
? 1799.
FOOTNOTES:
[326:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, Sept. 27, 1802: reprinted
in _Essays on His Own Times_, 1850, iii. 992. First collected in _P.
W._, 1877-80, ii. 170.
HEXAMETERS[326:2]
PARAPHRASE OF PSALM XLVI
Gōd ĭs oŭr Strēngth ănd oŭr Rēfŭge: thērefŏre wīll wĕ nŏt trēmblĕ,
Thō' thĕ Eārth bĕ rĕmōvĕd ănd thō' thĕ pĕrpētŭăl Moūntaīns
Sink in the Swell of the Ocean! God is our Strength and our Refuge.
There is a River the Flowing whereof shall gladden the City,
Hallelujah! the City of God! Jehova shall help her. 5
Thē Idōlătĕrs rāgĕd, the kingdoms were moving in fury;
But he uttered his Voice: Earth melted away from beneath them.
Halleluja! th' Eternal is with us, Almighty Jehova!
Fearful the works of the Lord, yea fearful his Desolations;
But He maketh the Battle to cease, he burneth the Spear and the
Chariot. 10
Halleluja! th' Eternal is with us, the God of our Fathers!
1799.
FOOTNOTES:
[326:2] Now published for the first time. The lines were sent in a
letter to George Coleridge dated September 29, 1799. They were prefaced
as follows:--'We were talking of Hexameters with you. I will, for want
of something better, fill up the paper with a translation of one of my
favourite Psalms into that metre which allowing trochees for spondees,
as the nature of our Language demands, you will find pretty accurate a
scansion.' _Mahomet_ and, no doubt, the _Hymn to the Earth_ may be
assigned to the end of September or the beginning of October, 1799.
HYMN TO THE EARTH[327:1]
[IMITATED FROM STOLBERG'S _HYMNE AN DIE ERDE_]
HEXAMETERS
Earth! thou mother of numberless children, the nurse and the
mother,
Hail! O Goddess, thrice hail! Blest be thou! and, blessing, I hymn
thee!
Forth, ye sweet sounds! from my harp, and my voice shall float on
your surges--
Soar thou aloft, O my soul! and bear up my song on thy pinions.
Travelling the vale with mine eyes--green meadows and lake with
green island, 5
Dark in its basin of rock, and the bare stream flowing in
brightness,
Thrilled with thy beauty and love in the wooded slope of the
mountain,
Here, great mother, I lie, thy child, with his head on thy bosom!
Playful the spirits of noon, that rushing soft through thy tresses,
Green-haired goddess! refresh me; and hark! as they hurry or
linger, 10
Fill the pause of my harp, or sustain it with musical murmurs.
Into my being thou murmurest joy, and tenderest sadness
Shedd'st thou, like dew, on my heart, till the joy and the
heavenly sadness
Pour themselves forth from my heart in tears, and the hymn of
thanksgiving.
Earth! thou mother of numberless children, the nurse and the
mother, 15
Sister thou of the stars, and beloved by the Sun, the rejoicer!
Guardian and friend of the moon, O Earth, whom the comets forget
not,
Yea, in the measureless distance wheel round and again they behold
thee!
Fadeless and young (and what if the latest birth of creation?)
Bride and consort of Heaven, that looks down upon thee enamoured! 20
Say, mysterious Earth! O say, great mother and goddess,
Was it not well with thee then, when first thy lap was ungirdled,
Thy lap to the genial Heaven, the day that he wooed thee and won
thee!
Fair was thy blush, the fairest and first of the blushes of
morning!
Deep was the shudder, O Earth! the throe of thy self-retention: 25
Inly thou strovest to flee, and didst seek thyself at thy centre!
Mightier far was the joy of thy sudden resilience; and forthwith
Myriad myriads of lives teemed forth from the mighty embracement.
Thousand-fold tribes of dwellers, impelled by thousand-fold
instincts,
Filled, as a dream, the wide waters; the rivers sang on their
channels; 30
Laughed on their shores the hoarse seas; the yearning ocean
swelled upward;
Young life lowed through the meadows, the woods, and the echoing
mountains,
Wandered bleating in valleys, and warbled on blossoming branches.
1799.
FOOTNOTES:
[327:1] First published in _Friendship's Offering_, 1834, pp. 165-7,
with other pieces, under the general heading:--_Fragments from the Wreck
of Memory: or Portions of Poems composed in Early Manhood: by S. T.
Coleridge._ A Note was prefixed:--'It may not be without use or interest
to youthful, and especially to intelligent female readers of poetry, to
observe that in the attempt to adapt the Greek metres to the English
language, we must begin by substituting _quality_ of sound for
_quantity_--that is, accentuated or comparatively emphasized syllables,
for what in the Greek and Latin Verse, are named long, and of which the
prosodial mark is ¯; and _vice versâ_, unaccented syllables for short
marked ˘. Now the Hexameter verse consists of two sorts of _feet_, the
spondee composed of two long syllables, and the dactyl, composed of one
long syllable followed by two short. The following verse from the Psalms
is a rare instance of a _perfect_ hexameter (i. e. line of six feet) in
the English language:--
Gōd cāme | ūp wĭth ă | shōut: oūr | Lōrd wĭth thĕ | sōund ŏf ă |
trūmpĕt.
But so few are the truly _spondaic_ words in our language, such as
Ēgȳpt, ūprŏar, tūrmoĭl, &c., that we are compelled to substitute, in
most instances, the trochee; or ¯ ˘, i. e. in such words as mērry̆,
līghtly̆, &c., for the proper spondee. It need only be added, that in
the hexameter the fifth foot must be a dactyl, and the sixth a spondee,
or trochee. I will end this note with two hexameter lines, likewise from
the Psalms:--
Thēre ĭs ă | rīvĕr thĕ | flōwĭng whĕre|ōf shāll | glāddĕn thĕ | cīty̆,
Hāllē|lūjăh thĕ | cīty̆ | Gōd Jē|hōvăh hăth | blēst hĕr.
S. T. C.'
On some proof-sheets, or loose pages of a copy of _The Hymn_ as
published in _Friendship's Offering_ for 1834, which Coleridge
annotated, no doubt with a view to his corrections being adopted in the
forthcoming edition of his poems (1834), he adds in MS. the following
supplementary note:--'To make any considerable number of Hexameters
feasible in our monosyllabic trocheeo-iambic language, there must, I
fear, be other licenses granted--in the _first_ foot, at least--_ex.
gr._ a superfluous ˘ prefixed in cases of particles such as 'of, 'and',
and the like: likewise ¯ ˘ ¯ where the stronger accent is on the first
syllable.--S. T. C.'
The _Hymn to the Earth_ is a free translation of F. L. Stolberg's _Hymne
an die Erde_. (See F. Freiligrath's _Biographical Memoirs_ prefixed to
the Tauchnitz edition of the _Poems_ published in 1852.) The translation
exceeds the German original by two lines. The Hexameters 'from the
Psalms' are taken from a metrical experiment which Coleridge sent to his
brother George, in a letter dated September 29, 1799 (vide _ante_).
First collected in 1834. The acknowledgement that the _Hymn to the
Earth_ is imitated from Stolberg's _Hymne an die Erde_ was first
prefixed by J. D. Campbell in 1893.
LINENOTES:
[8] his] its F. O. 1834.
[9] that creep or rush through thy tresses F. O. 1834.
[33] on] in F. O. 1834.
[After 33]
* * * * *
F. O. 1834.
MAHOMET[329:1]
Utter the song, O my soul! the flight and return of Mohammed,
Prophet and priest, who scatter'd abroad both evil and blessing,
Huge wasteful empires founded and hallow'd slow persecution,
Soul-withering, but crush'd the blasphemous rites of the Pagan
And idolatrous Christians.--For veiling the Gospel of Jesus, 5
They, the best corrupting, had made it worse than the vilest.
Wherefore Heaven decreed th' enthusiast warrior of Mecca,
Choosing good from iniquity rather than evil from goodness.
Loud the tumult in Mecca surrounding the fane of the idol;--
Naked and prostrate the priesthood were laid--the people with mad
shouts 10
Thundering now, and now with saddest ululation
Flew, as over the channel of rock-stone the ruinous river
Shatters its waters abreast, and in mazy uproar bewilder'd,
Rushes dividuous all--all rushing impetuous onward.
? 1799.
FOOTNOTES:
[329:1] First published in 1834. In an unpublished letter to Southey,
dated Sept. 25, 1799, Coleridge writes, 'I shall go on with the
Mohammed'. There can be no doubt that these fourteen lines, which
represent Coleridge's contribution to a poem on 'Mahomet' which he had
planned in conjunction with Southey, were at that time already in
existence. For Southey's portion, which numbered 109 lines, see _Oliver
Newman_. By Robert Southey, 1845, pp. 113-15.
LOVE[330:1]
All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
All are but ministers of Love,
And feed his sacred flame.
Oft in my waking dreams do I 5
Live o'er again that happy hour,
When midway on the mount I lay,
Beside the ruined tower.
The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene
Had blended with the lights of eve; 10
And she was there, my hope, my joy,
My own dear Genevieve!
She leant against the arméd man,
The statue of the arméd knight;
She stood and listened to my lay, 15
Amid the lingering light.
Few sorrows hath she of her own,
My hope! my joy! my Genevieve!
She loves me best, whene'er I sing
The songs that make her grieve. 20
I played a soft and doleful air,
I sang an old and moving story--
An old rude song, that suited well
That ruin wild and hoary.
She listened with a flitting blush, 25
With downcast eyes and modest grace;
For well she knew, I could not choose
But gaze upon her face.
I told her of the Knight that wore
Upon his shield a burning brand; 30
And that for ten long years he wooed
The Lady of the Land.
I told her how he pined: and ah!
The deep, the low, the pleading tone
With which I sang another's love, 35
Interpreted my own.
She listened with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes, and modest grace;
And she forgave me, that I gazed
Too fondly on her face! 40
But when I told the cruel scorn
That crazed that bold and lovely Knight,
And that he crossed the mountain-woods,
Nor rested day nor night;
That sometimes from the savage den, 45
And sometimes from the darksome shade,
And sometimes starting up at once
In green and sunny glade,--
There came and looked him in the face
An angel beautiful and bright; 50
And that he knew it was a Fiend,
This miserable Knight!
And that unknowing what he did,
He leaped amid a murderous band,
And saved from outrage worse than death 55
The Lady of the Land!
And how she wept, and clasped his knees;
And how she tended him in vain--
And ever strove to expiate
The scorn that crazed his brain;-- 60
And that she nursed him in a cave;
And how his madness went away,
When on the yellow forest-leaves
A dying man he lay;--
His dying words--but when I reached 65
That tenderest strain of all the ditty,
My faultering voice and pausing harp
Disturbed her soul with pity!
All impulses of soul and sense
Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve; 70
The music and the doleful tale,
The rich and balmy eve;
And hopes, and fears that kindle hope,
An undistinguishable throng,
And gentle wishes long subdued, 75
Subdued and cherished long!
She wept with pity and delight,
She blushed with love, and virgin-shame;
And like the murmur of a dream,
I heard her breathe my name. 80
Her bosom heaved--she stepped aside,
As conscious of my look she stepped--
Then suddenly, with timorous eye
She fled to me and wept.
She half enclosed me with her arms, 85
She pressed me with a meek embrace;
And bending back her head, looked up,
And gazed upon my face.
'Twas partly love, and partly fear,
And partly 'twas a bashful art, 90
That I might rather feel, than see,
The swelling of her heart.
I calmed her fears, and she was calm,
And told her love with virgin pride;
And so I won my Genevieve, 95
My bright and beauteous Bride.
1799.
FOOTNOTES:
[330:1] First published (with four preliminary and three concluding
stanzas) as the _Introduction to the Tale of the Dark Ladie_, in the
_Morning Post_, Dec. 21, 1799 (for complete text with introductory
letter vide Appendices): included (as _Love_) in the _Lyrical Ballads_
of 1800, 1802, 1805: reprinted with the text of the _Morning Post_ in
_English Minstrelsy_, 1810 (ii. 131-9) with the following prefatory
note:--'These exquisite stanzas appeared some years ago in a London
Newspaper, and have since that time been republished in Mr. Wordsworth's
Lyrical Ballads, but with some alterations; the Poet having apparently
relinquished his intention of writing the Fate of the Dark Ladye':
included (as _Love_) in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1828, 1829, and 1834. The
four opening and three concluding stanzas with prefatory note were
republished in _Literary Remains_, 1836, pp. 50-2, and were first
collected in 1844. For a facsimile of the MS. of _Love_ as printed in
the _Lyrical Ballads_, 1800 (i. 138-44), see _Wordsworth and Coleridge
MSS._, edited by W. Hale White, 1897 (between pp. 34-5). For a collation
of the _Introduction to the Tale of the Dark Ladie_ with two MSS. in the
British Museum [Add. MSS., No. 27,902] see _Coleridge's Poems_. A
Facsimile Reproduction, &c. Ed. by James Dykes Campbell, 1899, and
Appendices of this edition.
It is probable that the greater part of the _Introduction to the Tale of
the Dark Ladie_ was written either during or shortly after a visit which
Coleridge paid to the Wordsworths's friends, George and Mary, and Sarah
Hutchinson, at Sockburn, a farm-house on the banks of the Tees, in
November, 1799. In the first draft, ll. 13-16, 'She leaned, &c.' runs
thus:--
She lean'd against a grey stone rudely carv'd,
The statue of an arméd Knight:
She lean'd in melancholy mood
Amid the lingering light.
In the church at Sockburn there is a recumbent statue of an 'armed
knight' (of the Conyers family), and in a field near the farm-house
there is a 'Grey-Stone' which is said to commemorate the slaying of a
monstrous wyverne or 'worme' by the knight who is buried in the church.
It is difficult to believe that the 'arméd knight' and the 'grey stone'
of the first draft were not suggested by the statue in Sockburn Church,
and the 'Grey-Stone' in the adjoining field. It has been argued that the
_Ballad of the Dark Ladié_, of which only a fragment remains, was
written after Coleridge returned from Germany, and that the
_Introduction to the Tale of the Dark Ladie_, which embodies _Love_, was
written at Stowey in 1797 or 1798. But in referring to 'the plan' of the
_Lyrical Ballads_ of 1798 (_Biog. Lit._, 1817, Cap. XIV, ii. 3)
Coleridge says that he had written the _Ancient Mariner_, and was
preparing the _Dark Ladie_ and the _Christabel_ (both unpublished poems
when this Chapter was written), but says nothing of so typical a poem as
_Love_. By the _Dark Ladié_ he must have meant the unfinished _Ballad of
the Dark Ladié_, which, at one time, numbered 190 lines, not the
_Introduction to the Tale of the Dark Ladie_, which later on he refers
to as the 'poem entitled Love' (_Biog. Lit._, 1817, Cap. XXIV, ii. 298),
and which had appeared under that title in the _Lyrical Ballads_ of
1800, 1802, and 1805.
In _Sibylline Leaves_, 1828, 1829, and 1834, _Love_, which was the first
in order of a group of poems with the sub-title 'Love Poems', was
prefaced by the following motto:--
Quas humilis tenero stylus olim effudit in aevo,
Perlegis hic lacrymas, et quod pharetratus acuta
Ille puer puero fecit mihi cuspide vulnus.
Omnia paulatim consumit longior aetas,
Vivendoque simul morimur, rapimurque manendo.
Ipse mihi collatus enim non ille videbor:
Frons alia est, moresque alii, nova mentis imago,
Voxque aliud sonat--
Pectore nunc gelido calidos miseremur amantes,
Jamque arsisse pudet. Veteres tranquilla tumultus
Mens horret, relegensque alium putat ista locutum.
PETRARCH.
LINENOTES:
Title] Introduction to the Tale of the Dark Ladie M. P.: Fragment, S. T.
Coleridge English Minstrelsy, 1810.
Opening stanzas
O leave the Lilly on its stem;
O leave the Rose upon the spray;
O leave the Elder-bloom, fair Maids!
And listen to my lay.
A Cypress and a Myrtle bough,
This morn around my harp you twin'd,
Because it fashion'd mournfully
Its murmurs in the wind.
And now a Tale of Love and Woe,
A woeful Tale of Love I sing:
Hark, gentle Maidens, hark! it sighs
And trembles on the string.
But most, my own dear Genevieve!
It sighs and trembles most for thee!
O come and hear what cruel wrongs
Befel the dark Ladie.
The fifth stanza of the _Introduction_ finds its place as the fifth
stanza of the text, and the sixth stanza as the first.
[3] All are] Are all S. L. (For _Are all_ r. _All are_. _Errata_, p.
[xi]).
[5-6]
O ever in my waking dreams
I dwell upon
M. P., MS. erased.
[7] lay] sate M. P.
[15] lay] harp M. P., MS., L. B.
[21] soft] sad M. P., MS. erased.
[22] sang] sung E. M.
[23] suited] fitted M. P., MS., L. B.
[24] That ruin] The Ruin M. P., MS., L. B.: The ruins E. M.
[29] that] who M. P.
[31] that] how M. P.
[34] The low, the deep MS., L. B.
[35] In which I told E. M.
[42] That] Which MS., L. B. that] this M. P., MS., L. B.
[43] And how he roam'd M. P. that] how MS. erased.
[Between 44-5]
And how he cross'd the Woodman's paths [path E. M.]
Tho' briars and swampy mosses beat,
How boughs rebounding scourg'd his limbs,
And low stubs gor'd his feet.
M. P.
[45] That] How M. P., MS. erased.
[51] that] how M. P., MS. erased.
[53] that] how M. P., MS. erased.
[54] murderous] lawless M. P.
[59] ever] meekly M. P. For still she MS. erased.
[61] that] how M. P., MS. erased.
[78] virgin-] maiden-M. P., MS., L. B.
[79] murmur] murmurs M. P.
[Between 80-1]
{ heave
I saw her bosom { [*rise*] and swell,
Heave and swell with inward sighs--
I could not choose but love to see
Her gentle bosom rise.
M. P., MS. erased.
[81] Her wet cheek glowed M. P., MS. erased.
[84] fled] flew M. P.
[94] virgin] maiden MS. erased.
[95] so] thus M. P.
[After 96]
And now once more a tale of woe,
A woeful tale of love I sing;
For thee, my Genevieve! it sighs,
And trembles on the string.
When last I sang [sung E. M.] the cruel scorn
That craz'd this bold and lonely [lovely E. M.] knight,
And how he roam'd the mountain woods,
Nor rested day or night;
I promis'd thee a sister tale
Of Man's perfidious Cruelty;
Come, then, and hear what cruel wrong
Befel the Dark Ladie.
_End of the Introduction_ M. P.
ODE TO GEORGIANA, DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE[335:1]
ON THE TWENTY-FOURTH STANZA IN HER 'PASSAGE OVER MOUNT GOTHARD'
And hail the Chapel! hail the Platform wild!
Where Tell directed the avenging dart,
With well-strung arm, that first preservst his child,
Then aim'd the arrow at the tyrant's heart.
Splendour's fondly-fostered child!
And did you hail the platform wild,
Where once the Austrian fell
Beneath the shaft of Tell!
O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure! 5
Whence learn'd you that heroic measure?
Light as a dream your days their circlets ran,
From all that teaches brotherhood to Man
Far, far removed! from want, from hope, from fear!
Enchanting music lulled your infant ear, 10
Obeisance, praises soothed your infant heart:
Emblazonments and old ancestral crests,
With many a bright obtrusive form of art,
Detained your eye from Nature: stately vests,
That veiling strove to deck your charms divine, 15
Rich viands, and the pleasurable wine,
Were yours unearned by toil; nor could you see
The unenjoying toiler's misery.
And yet, free Nature's uncorrupted child,
You hailed the Chapel and the Platform wild, 20
Where once the Austrian fell
Beneath the shaft of Tell!
O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure!
Whence learn'd you that heroic measure?
There crowd your finely-fibred frame 25
All living faculties of bliss;
And Genius to your cradle came,
His forehead wreathed with lambent flame,
And bending low, with godlike kiss
Breath'd in a more celestial life; 30
But boasts not many a fair compeer
A heart as sensitive to joy and fear?
And some, perchance, might wage an equal strife,
Some few, to nobler being wrought,
Corrivals in the nobler gift of thought. 35
Yet these delight to celebrate
Laurelled War and plumy State;
Or in verse and music dress
Tales of rustic happiness--
Pernicious tales! insidious strains! 40
That steel the rich man's breast,
And mock the lot unblest,
The sordid vices and the abject pains,
Which evermore must be
The doom of ignorance and penury! 45
But you, free Nature's uncorrupted child,
You hailed the Chapel and the Platform wild,
Where once the Austrian fell
Beneath the shaft of Tell!
O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure! 50
Whence learn'd you that heroic measure?
You were a Mother! That most holy name,
Which Heaven and Nature bless,
I may not vilely prostitute to those
Whose infants owe them less 55
Than the poor caterpillar owes
Its gaudy parent fly.
You were a mother! at your bosom fed
The babes that loved you. You, with laughing eye,
Each twilight-thought, each nascent feeling read, 60
Which you yourself created. Oh! delight!
A second time to be a mother,
Without the mother's bitter groans:
Another thought, and yet another,
By touch, or taste, by looks or tones, 65
O'er the growing sense to roll,
The mother of your infant's soul!
The Angel of the Earth, who, while he guides[337:1]
His chariot-planet round the goal of day,
All trembling gazes on the eye of God 70
A moment turned his awful face away;
And as he viewed you, from his aspect sweet
New influences in your being rose,
Blest intuitions and communions fleet
With living Nature, in her joys and woes! 75
Thenceforth your soul rejoiced to see
The shrine of social Liberty!
O beautiful! O Nature's child!
'Twas thence you hailed the Platform wild,
Where once the Austrian fell 80
Beneath the shaft of Tell!
O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure!
Thence learn'd you that heroic measure.
1799.
FOOTNOTES:
[335:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, December 24, 1799 (in
four numbered stanzas): included in the _Annual Anthology_, 1800, in
_Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. The Duchess's poem
entitled 'Passage over Mount Gothard' was published in the _Morning
Chronicle_ on Dec. 20 and in the _Morning Post_, Dec. 21, 1799.
[337:1] In a copy of the _Annual Anthology_ Coleridge drew his pen
through ll. 68-77, but the lines appeared in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817,
and in all later editions (see _P. W._, 1898, p. 624).
LINENOTES:
_Ode to Georgiana_, &c.--Motto 4
Then wing'd the arrow to
M. P., An. Anth.
Sub-title] On the 24{th} stanza in her Poem, entitled 'The Passage of
the Mountain of St. Gothard.' M. P.
[1-2]
Lady, Splendor's foster'd child
And did _you_
M. P.
[2] you] _you_ An. Anth.
[7] your years their courses M. P.
[9] Ah! far remov'd from want and hope and fear M. P.
[11] Obeisant praises M. P.
[14] stately] gorgeous M. P.
[15] om. An. Anth.
[31 foll.]
But many of your many fair compeers
[But many of thy many fair compeers M. P.]
Have frames as sensible of joys and fears;
And some might wage an equal strife
An. Anth.
[34-5]
(Some few perchance to nobler being wrought),
Corrivals in the plastic powers of thought.
M. P.
[35] Corrivals] co-rivals An. Anth., S. L. 1828.
[36] these] _these_ S. L. 1828, 1829.
[40] insidious] insulting M. P.
[45] penury] poverty M. P., An. Anth.
[47] Hail'd the low Chapel M. P., An. Anth.
[51] Whence] Where An. Anth., S. L. 1828, 1829.
[56] caterpillar] Reptile M. P., An. Anth.
[60] each] and M. P.
[72] you] thee M. P.
[73] your] thy M. P.
[76] O Lady thence ye joy'd to see M. P.
A CHRISTMAS CAROL[338:1]
I
The shepherds went their hasty way,
And found the lowly stable-shed
Where the Virgin-Mother lay:
And now they checked their eager tread,
For to the Babe, that at her bosom clung, 5
A Mother's song the Virgin-Mother sung.
II
They told her how a glorious light,
Streaming from a heavenly throng,
Around them shone, suspending night!
While sweeter than a mother's song, 10
Blest Angels heralded the Saviour's birth,
Glory to God on high! and Peace on Earth.
III
She listened to the tale divine,
And closer still the Babe she pressed;
And while she cried, the Babe is mine! 15
The milk rushed faster to her breast:
Joy rose within her, like a summer's morn;
Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born.
IV
Thou Mother of the Prince of Peace,
Poor, simple, and of low estate! 20
That strife should vanish, battle cease,
O why should this thy soul elate?
Sweet Music's loudest note, the Poet's story,--
Didst thou ne'er love to hear of fame and glory?
V
And is not War a youthful king, 25
A stately Hero clad in mail?
Beneath his footsteps laurels spring;
Him Earth's majestic monarchs hail
Their friend, their playmate! and his bold bright eye
Compels the maiden's love-confessing sigh. 30
VI
'Tell this in some more courtly scene,
To maids and youths in robes of state!
I am a woman poor and mean,
And therefore is my soul elate.
War is a ruffian, all with guilt defiled, 35
That from the agéd father tears his child!
VII
'A murderous fiend, by fiends adored,
He kills the sire and starves the son;
The husband kills, and from her board
Steals all his widow's toil had won; 40
Plunders God's world of beauty; rends away
All safety from the night, all comfort from the day.
VIII
'Then wisely is my soul elate,
That strife should vanish, battle cease:
I'm poor and of a low estate, 45
The Mother of the Prince of Peace.
Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn:
Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born.'
1799.
FOOTNOTES:
[338:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, December 25, 1799:
included in the _Annual Anthology_, 1800, in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817,
1828, 1829, and 1834.
LINENOTES:
_A Christmas Carol_--8: a] an M. P., An. Anth.
[10] While] And M. P.
[35] War is a ruffian Thief, with gore defil'd M. P., An.
Anth.
[37] fiend] Thief M. P., An. Anth.
[41] rends] tears M. P.
[After 49]
Strange prophecy! Could half the screams
Of half the men that since have died
To realise War's kingly dreams,
Have risen at once in one vast tide,
The choral music of Heav'n's multitude
Had been o'erpower'd, and lost amid the uproar rude!
ESTEESI.
M. P., An. Anth.
TALLEYRAND TO LORD GRENVILLE[340:1]
A METRICAL EPISTLE
[As printed in _Morning Post_ for January 10, 1800.]
To the Editor of _The Morning Post_.
MR. EDITOR,--An unmetrical letter from Talleyrand to Lord
Grenville has already appeared, and from an authority too high
to be questioned: otherwise I could adduce some arguments for
the exclusive authenticity of the following metrical epistle.
The very epithet which the wise ancients used, '_aurea
carmina_,' might have been supposed likely to have determined
the choice of the French minister in favour of verse; and the
rather when we recollect that this phrase of '_golden verses_'
is applied emphatically to the works of that philosopher who
imposed _silence_ on all with whom he had to deal. Besides is
it not somewhat improbable that Talleyrand should have
preferred prose to rhyme, when the latter alone _has got the
chink_? Is it not likewise curious that in our official answer
no notice whatever is taken of the Chief Consul, Bonaparte, as
if there had been no such person [man _Essays, &c., 1850_]
existing; notwithstanding that his existence is pretty
generally admitted, nay that some have been so rash as to
believe that he has created as great a sensation in the world
as Lord Grenville, or even the Duke of Portland? But the
Minister of Foreign Affairs, Talleyrand, is acknowledged,
which, in our opinion, could not have happened had he written
only that insignificant prose-letter, which seems to precede
Bonaparte's, as in old romances a dwarf always ran before to
proclaim the advent or arrival of knight or giant. That
Talleyrand's character and practices more resemble those of
some _regular_ Governments than Bonaparte's I admit; but this
of itself does not appear a satisfactory explanation. However,
let the letter speak for itself. The second line is
supererogative in syllables, whether from the oscitancy of the
transcriber, or from the trepidation which might have
overpowered the modest Frenchman, on finding himself in the
act of writing to so _great_ a man, I shall not dare to
determine. A few Notes are added by
Your servant,
GNOME.
_P.S._--As mottoes are now fashionable, especially if taken
from out of the way books, you may prefix, if you please, the
following lines from Sidonius Apollinaris:
'Saxa, et robora, corneasque fibras
Mollit dulciloquâ canorus arte!'
TALLEYRAND, MINISTER OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS AT PARIS, TO LORD GRENVILLE,
SECRETARY OF STATE IN GREAT BRITAIN FOR FOREIGN AFFAIRS, AUDITOR OF THE
EXCHEQUER, A LORD OF TRADE, AN ELDER BROTHER OF TRINITY HOUSE, ETC.
My Lord! though your Lordship repel deviation
From forms long establish'd, yet with high consideration,
I plead for the honour to hope that no blame
Will attach, should this letter _begin_ with my name.
I dar'd not presume on your Lordship to bounce, 5
But thought it more _exquisite_ first to _announce_!
My Lord! I've the honour to be Talleyrand,
And the letter's from _me_! you'll not draw back your hand
Nor yet take it up by the rim in dismay,
As boys pick up ha'pence on April fool-day. 10
I'm no Jacobin foul, or red-hot Cordelier
That your Lordship's _un_gauntleted fingers need fear
An infection or burn! Believe me, 'tis true,
With a scorn like another I look down on the crew
That bawl and hold up to the mob's detestation 15
The most delicate wish for a _silent persuasion_.
_A form long-establish'd_ these Terrorists call
Bribes, perjury, theft, and the devil and all!
And yet spite of all that the Moralist[341:1] prates,
'Tis the keystone and cement of _civilized States_. 20
Those American _Reps_![342:1] And i' faith, they were serious!
It shock'd us at Paris, like something mysterious,
That men who've a Congress--But no more of 't! I'm proud
To have stood so distinct from the Jacobin crowd.
My Lord! though the vulgar in wonder be lost at 25
My transfigurations, and name me _Apostate_,
Such a meaningless nickname, which never incens'd me,
_Cannot_ prejudice you or your Cousin against me:
I'm Ex-bishop. What then? Burke himself would agree
That I left not the Church--'twas the Church that left me.
My titles prelatic I lov'd and retain'd, 31
As long as what _I_ meant by Prelate remain'd:
And tho' Mitres no longer will _pass_ in our mart,
I'm _episcopal_ still to the core of my heart.
No time from my name this my motto shall sever: 35
'Twill be _Non sine pulvere palma_[342:2] for ever!
Your goodness, my Lord, I conceive as excessive,
Or I dar'd not present you a scroll so digressive;
And in truth with my pen thro' and thro' I should strike it;
But I hear that your Lordship's own style is just like it. 40
Dear my Lord, we are right: for what charms can be shew'd
In a thing that goes straight like an old Roman road?
The tortoise crawls straight, the hare doubles about;
And the true line of beauty still winds in and out.
It argues, my Lord! of fine thoughts such a brood in us 45
To split and divide into heads multitudinous,
While charms that surprise (it can ne'er be denied us)
Sprout forth from each head, like the ears from King Midas.
Were a genius of rank, like a commonplace dunce,
Compell'd to drive on to the main point at once, 50
What a plentiful vintage of initiations[342:3]
Would Noble Lords lose in your Lordship's orations.
My fancy transports me! As mute as a mouse,
And as fleet as a pigeon, I'm borne to the house
Where all those who _are_ Lords, from father to son, 55
Discuss the affairs of all those who are none.
I behold you, my Lord! of your feelings quite full,
'Fore the woolsack arise, like a sack full of wool!
You rise on each Anti-Grenvillian Member,
Short, thick and blustrous, like a day in November![343:1] 60
Short in person, I mean: for the length of your speeches
Fame herself, that most famous reporter, ne'er reaches.
Lo! Patience beholds you contemn her brief reign,
And Time, that all-panting toil'd after in vain,
(Like the Beldam who raced for a smock with her grand-child) 65
Drops and cries: 'Were such lungs e'er assign'd to a man-child?'
Your strokes at her vitals pale Truth has confess'd,
And Zeal unresisted entempests your breast![343:2]
Though some noble Lords may be wishing to sup,
Your merit self-conscious, my Lord, _keeps you up_, 70
Unextinguish'd and swoln, as a balloon of paper
Keeps aloft by the smoke of its own farthing taper.
Ye SIXTEENS[343:3] of Scotland, your snuffs ye must trim;
Your Geminies, fix'd stars of England! grow dim,
And but for _a form long-establish'd_, no doubt 75
Twinkling faster and faster, ye all would _go out_.
_Apropos_, my dear Lord! a ridiculous blunder
Of some of our Journalists caused us some wonder:
It was said that in aspect malignant and sinister
In the Isle of Great Britain a great Foreign Minister 80
Turn'd as pale as a journeyman miller's frock coat is
On observing a star that appear'd in BOOTES!
When the whole truth was this (O those ignorant brutes!)
Your Lordship had made his appearance in boots.
You, my Lord, with your star, sat in boots, and the Spanish
Ambassador thereupon thought fit to vanish. 86
But perhaps, dear my Lord, among other worse crimes,
The whole was no more than a lie of _The Times_.
It is monstrous, my Lord! in a civilis'd state
That such Newspaper rogues should have license to prate. 90
Indeed printing in general--but for the taxes,
Is in theory false and pernicious in praxis!
You and I, and your Cousin, and Abbé Sieyes,
And all the great Statesmen that live in these days,
Are agreed that no nation secure is from vi'lence 95
Unless all who must think are maintain'd all in silence.
This printing, my Lord--but 'tis useless to mention
What we both of us think--'twas a curséd invention,
And Germany might have been honestly prouder
Had she left it alone, and found out only powder. 100
My Lord! when I think of our labours and cares
Who rule the Department of foreign affairs,
And how with their libels these journalists bore us,
Though Rage I acknowledge than Scorn less decorous;
Yet their presses and types I could shiver in splinters, 105
Those Printers' black Devils! those Devils of Printers!
In case of a peace--but perhaps it were better
To proceed to the absolute point of my letter:
For the deep wounds of France, Bonaparte, my master,
Has found out a new sort of _basilicon_ plaister. 110
But your time, my dear Lord! is your nation's best treasure,
I've intruded already too long on your leisure;
If so, I entreat you with penitent sorrow
To pause, and resume the remainder to-morrow.
1800.
FOOTNOTES:
[340:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, January 10, 1800:
reprinted in _Essays on His Own Times_, 1850, i. 233-7. First collected
_P. and D. W._, 1877, 1880.
[341:1] This sarcasm on the writings of moralists is, in general,
extremely just; but had Talleyrand continued long enough in England, he
might have found an honourable exception in the second volume of Dr.
Paley's _Moral Philosophy_; in which both Secret Influence, and all the
other _Established Forms_, are justified and placed in their true light.
[342:1] A fashionable abbreviation in the higher circles for
Republicans. Thus _Mob_ was originally the Mobility.
[342:2] _Palma non sine pulvere_ In plain English, an itching palm, not
without the yellow dust.
[342:3] The word _Initiations_ is borrowed from the new Constitution,
and can only mean, in plain English, introductory matter. If the
manuscript would bear us out, we should propose to read the line thus:
'What a plentiful _Verbage_, what Initiations!' inasmuch as Vintage must
necessarily refer to wine, really or figuratively; and we cannot guess
what species Lord Grenville's eloquence may be supposed to resemble,
unless, indeed, it be _Cowslip_ wine. A slashing critic to whom we read
the manuscript, proposed to read, 'What a plenty of Flowers--what
initiations!' and supposes it may allude indiscriminately to Poppy
Flowers, or Flour of Brimstone. The most modest emendation, perhaps,
would be this--for Vintage read Ventage.
[343:1] We cannot sufficiently admire the accuracy of this simile. For
as Lord Grenville, though short, is certainly not the shortest man in
the House, even so is it with the days in November.
[343:2] An evident plagiarism of the Ex-Bishop's from Dr. Johnson:--
'Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign,
And panting Time toil'd after him in vain:
His pow'rful strokes presiding Truth confess'd,
And unresisting Passion storm'd the breast.'
[343:3] This line and the following are involved in an almost
Lycophrontic tenebricosity. On repeating them, however, to an
_Illuminant_, whose confidence I possess, he informed me (and he ought
to know, for he is a Tallow-chandler by trade) that certain candles go
by the name of _sixteens_. This explains the whole, the Scotch Peers are
destined to burn out--and so are candles! The English are perpetual, and
are therefore styled Fixed Stars! The word _Geminies_ is, we confess,
still obscure to us; though we venture to suggest that it may perhaps be
a metaphor (daringly sublime) for the two eyes which noble Lords do in
general possess. It is certainly used by the poet Fletcher in this
sense, in the 31st stanza of his _Purple Island_:--
'What! shall I then need seek a patron out,
Or beg a favour from a mistress' eyes,
To fence my song against the vulgar rout,
And shine upon me with her _geminies_?'
LINENOTES:
[14] With a scorn, like your own Essay, &c., 1850.
APOLOGIA PRO VITA SUA[345:1]
The poet in his lone yet genial hour
Gives to his eyes a magnifying power:
Or rather he emancipates his eyes
From the black shapeless accidents of size--
In unctuous cones of kindling coal, 5
Or smoke upwreathing from the pipe's trim hole,
His gifted ken can see
Phantoms of sublimity.
1800.
FOOTNOTES:
[345:1] Included in the text of _The Historie and Gests of Maxilian_:
first published in _Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine_, January, 1822, vol.
xi, p. 12. The lines were taken from a MS. note-book, dated August 28,
1800. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877-80.
LINENOTES:
Title] The Poet's ken P. W., 1885: Apologia, &c. 1907.
[1-4]
The poet's eye in his tipsy hour
Hath a magnifying power
Or rather emancipates his eyes
Of the accidents of size
MS.
[5] cones] cone MS.
[6] Or smoke from his pipe's bole MS.
[7] His eye can see MS.
THE KEEPSAKE[345:2]
The tedded hay, the first fruits of the soil,
The tedded hay and corn-sheaves in one field,
Show summer gone, ere come. The foxglove tall
Sheds its loose purple bells, or in the gust,
Or when it bends beneath the up-springing lark, 5
Or mountain-finch alighting. And the rose
(In vain the darling of successful love)
Stands, like some boasted beauty of past years,
The thorns remaining, and the flowers all gone.
Nor can I find, amid my lonely walk 10
By rivulet, or spring, or wet roadside,
That blue and bright-eyed floweret of the brook,
Hope's gentle gem, the sweet Forget-me-not![346:1]
So will not fade the flowers which Emmeline
With delicate fingers on the snow-white silk 15
Has worked (the flowers which most she knew I loved),
And, more beloved than they, her auburn hair.
In the cool morning twilight, early waked
By her full bosom's joyous restlessness,
Softly she rose, and lightly stole along, 20
Down the slope coppice to the woodbine bower,
Whose rich flowers, swinging in the morning breeze,
Over their dim fast-moving shadows hung,
Making a quiet image of disquiet
In the smooth, scarcely moving river-pool. 25
There, in that bower where first she owned her love,
And let me kiss my own warm tear of joy
From off her glowing cheek, she sate and stretched
The silk upon the frame, and worked her name
Between the Moss-Rose and Forget-me-not-- 30
Her own dear name, with her own auburn hair!
That forced to wander till sweet spring return,
I yet might ne'er forget her smile, her look,
Her voice, (that even in her mirthful mood
Has made me wish to steal away and weep,) 35
Nor yet the enhancement of that maiden kiss
With which she promised, that when spring returned,
She would resign one half of that dear name,
And own thenceforth no other name but mine!
? 1800.
FOOTNOTES:
[345:2] First published in the _Morning Post_, September 17, 1802
(signed, ΕΣΤΗΣΕ): included in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829,
1834. 'It had been composed two years before' (1802), _Note_, 1893, p.
624. Mr. Campbell may have seen a dated MS. Internal evidence would
point to the autumn of 1802, when it was published in the _Morning
Post_.
[346:1] One of the names (and meriting to be the only one) of the
_Myosotis Scorpioides Palustris_, a flower from six to twelve inches
high, with blue blossom and bright yellow eye. It has the same name over
the whole Empire of Germany (_Vergissmeinnicht_) and, we believe, in
Denmark and Sweden.
LINENOTES:
[1] om. M. P.
[2] one] _one_ M. P.
[12] Line 13 precedes line 12 M. P.
[17] they] all M. P.
[19] joyous] joyless S. L. 1828.
[19-21]
joyous restlessness,
Leaving the soft bed to her sister,
Softly she rose, and lightly stole along,
Her fair face flushing in the purple dawn,
Adown the meadow to the woodbine bower
M. P.
[Between 19-20] Leaving the soft bed to her sleeping sister S. L. 1817.
[25] scarcely moving] scarcely-flowing M. P.
[39] thenceforth] henceforth M. P.
A THOUGHT SUGGESTED BY A VIEW[347:1]
OF SADDLEBACK IN CUMBERLAND
On stern Blencartha's perilous height
The winds are tyrannous and strong;
And flashing forth unsteady light
From stern Blencartha's skiey height,
As loud the torrents throng! 5
Beneath the moon, in gentle weather,
They bind the earth and sky together.
But oh! the sky and all its forms, how quiet!
The things that seek the earth, how full of noise and riot!
1800.
FOOTNOTES:
[347:1] First published in the _Amulet_, 1833, reprinted in
_Friendship's Offering_, 1834: included in _Essays on His Own Times_,
1850, iii. 997. First collected in _P. and D. W._, 1877-80. These lines
are inserted in one of the Malta Notebooks, and appear from the context
to have been written at Olevano in 1806; but it is almost certain that
they belong to the autumn of 1800 when Coleridge made a first
acquaintance of 'Blencathara's rugged coves'. The first line is an
adaptation of a line in a poem of Isaac Ritson, quoted in Hutchinson's
_History of Cumberland_, a work which supplied him with some of the
place-names in the Second Part of _Christabel_. Compare, too, a sentence
in a letter to Sir H. Davy of Oct. 18, 1800:--'At the bottom of the
Carrock Man . . . the wind became so fearful and _tyrannous_, etc.'
LINENOTES:
Title] A Versified Reflection F. O. 1834. In F. O. 1834, the lines were
prefaced by a note:--[A Force is the provincial term in Cumberland for
any narrow fall of water from the summit of a mountain precipice. The
following stanza (it may not arrogate the name of poem) or versified
reflection was composed while the author was gazing on three parallel
_Forces_ on a moonlight night, at the foot of the Saddleback Fell. _S.
T. C._] A ---- by the view of Saddleback, near Threlkeld in Cumberland,
Essays, &c.
[1] Blencartha's] Blenkarthur's MS.: Blencarthur's F. O.: Blenharthur's
Essays, &c., 1850.
[2] The wind is F. O.
[4] Blencartha's] Blenkarthur's MS.: Blencarthur's F. O.: Blenharthur's
Essays, &c., 1850.
[8] oh!] ah! Essays, &c.
THE MAD MONK[347:2]
I heard a voice from Etna's side;
Where o'er a cavern's mouth
That fronted to the south
A chesnut spread its umbrage wide:
A hermit or a monk the man might be; 5
But him I could not see:
And thus the music flow'd along,
In melody most like to old Sicilian song:
'There was a time when earth, and sea, and skies,
The bright green vale, and forest's dark recess, 10
With all things, lay before mine eyes
In steady loveliness:
But now I feel, on earth's uneasy scene,
Such sorrows as will never cease;--
I only ask for peace; 15
If I must live to know that such a time has been!'
A silence then ensued:
Till from the cavern came
A voice;--it was the same!
And thus, in mournful tone, its dreary plaint renew'd: 20
'Last night, as o'er the sloping turf I trod,
The smooth green turf, to me a vision gave
Beneath mine eyes, the sod--
The roof of Rosa's grave!
My heart has need with dreams like these to strive, 25
For, when I woke, beneath mine eyes I found
The plot of mossy ground,
On which we oft have sat when Rosa was alive.--
Why must the rock, and margin of the flood,
Why must the hills so many flow'rets bear, 30
Whose colours to a _murder'd_ maiden's blood,
Such sad resemblance wear?--
'_I struck the wound_,--this hand of mine!
For Oh, thou maid divine,
I lov'd to agony! 35
The youth whom thou call'd'st thine
Did never love like me!
'Is it the stormy clouds above
That flash'd so red a gleam?
On yonder downward trickling stream?-- 40
'Tis not the blood of her I love.--
The sun torments me from his western bed,
Oh, let him cease for ever to diffuse
Those crimson spectre hues!
Oh, let me lie in peace, and be for ever dead!' 45
Here ceas'd the voice. In deep dismay,
Down thro' the forest I pursu'd my way.
1800.
FOOTNOTES:
[347:2] First published in the _Morning Post_, October 13, 1800 (signed
_Cassiani junior_): reprinted in _Wild Wreath_ (By M. E. Robinson),
1804, pp. 141-4. First collected in _P. W._, 1880 (ii, Supplement, p.
362).
LINENOTES:
Title] The Voice from the Side of Etna; or the Mad Monk: An Ode in Mrs.
Ratcliff's Manner M. P.
[8] to] an M. P.
[14] sorrows] motions M. P.
[16] Then wherefore must I know M. P.
[23] I saw the sod M. P.
[26] woke] wak'd M. P.
[27] The] That M. P.
[28] On which so oft we sat M. P.
[31] a wounded woman's blood M. P.
[38-9]
It is the stormy clouds above
That flash
M. P.
[After 47]
The twilight fays came forth in dewy shoon
Ere I within the Cabin had withdrawn
The goatherd's tent upon the open lawn--
That night there was no moon.
M. P.
INSCRIPTION FOR A SEAT BY THE ROAD SIDE HALF-WAY UP A STEEP HILL FACING
SOUTH[349:1]
Thou who in youthful vigour rich, and light
With youthful thoughts dost need no rest! O thou,
To whom alike the valley and the hill
Present a path of ease! Should e'er thine eye
Glance on this sod, and this rude tablet, stop! 5
'Tis a rude spot, yet here, with thankful hearts,
The foot-worn soldier and his family
Have rested, wife and babe, and boy, perchance
Some eight years old or less, and scantly fed,
Garbed like his father, and already bound 10
To his poor father's trade. Or think of him
Who, laden with his implements of toil,
Returns at night to some far distant home,
And having plodded on through rain and mire
With limbs o'erlaboured, weak from feverish heat, 15
And chafed and fretted by December blasts,
Here pauses, thankful he hath reached so far,
And 'mid the sheltering warmth of these bleak trees
Finds restoration--or reflect on those
Who in the spring to meet the warmer sun 20
Crawl up this steep hill-side, that needlessly
Bends double their weak frames, already bowed
By age or malady, and when, at last,
They gain this wished-for turf, this seat of sods,
Repose--and, well-admonished, ponder here 25
On final rest. And if a serious thought
Should come uncalled--how soon _thy_ motions high,
Thy balmy spirits and thy fervid blood
Must change to feeble, withered, cold and dry,
Cherish the wholesome sadness! And where'er 30
The tide of Life impel thee, O be prompt
To make thy present strength the staff of all,
Their staff and resting-place--so shalt thou give
To Youth the sweetest joy that Youth can know;
And for thy future self thou shalt provide 35
Through every change of various life, a seat,
Not built by hands, on which thy inner part,
Imperishable, many a grievous hour,
Or bleak or sultry may repose--yea, sleep
The sleep of Death, and dream of blissful worlds, 40
Then wake in Heaven, and find the dream all true.
1800.
FOOTNOTES:
[349:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, October 21, 1800
(Coleridge's birthday) under the signature VENTIFRONS: reprinted in the
_Lake Herald_, November 2, 1906. Now first included in Coleridge's
_Poetical Works_. Venti Frons is dog-Latin for Windy Brow, a point of
view immediately above the River Greta, on the lower slope of Latrigg.
Here it was that on Wednesday, August 13, 1800, Wordsworth, his sister
Dorothy, and Coleridge 'made the Windy Brow seat'--a 'seat of sods'. In
a letter to his printers, Biggs and Cottle, of October 10, 1800,
Wordsworth says that 'a friend [the author of the _Ancient Mariner_,
&c.] has also furnished me with a few of these Poems in the second
volume [of the _Lyrical Ballads_] which are classed under the title of
"Poems on the Naming of Places"' (_Wordsworth and Coleridge MSS._, Ed.
W. Hale White, 1897, pp. 27, 28). No such poems or poem appeared, and it
has been taken for granted that none were ever written. At any rate
_one_ 'Inscription', now at last forthcoming, was something more than a
'story from the land of dreams'!
A STRANGER MINSTREL[350:1]
WRITTEN [TO MRS. ROBINSON,] A FEW WEEKS BEFORE HER DEATH
As late on Skiddaw's mount I lay supine,
Midway th' ascent, in that repose divine
When the soul centred in the heart's recess
Hath quaff'd its fill of Nature's loveliness,
Yet still beside the fountain's marge will stay 5
And fain would thirst again, again to quaff;
Then when the tear, slow travelling on its way,
Fills up the wrinkles of a silent laugh--
In that sweet mood of sad and humorous thought
A form within me rose, within me wrought 10
With such strong magic, that I cried aloud,
'Thou ancient Skiddaw by thy helm of cloud,
And by thy many-colour'd chasms deep,
And by their shadows that for ever sleep,
By yon small flaky mists that love to creep 15
Along the edges of those spots of light,
Those sunny islands on thy smooth green height,
And by yon shepherds with their sheep,
And dogs and boys, a gladsome crowd,
That rush e'en now with clamour loud 20
Sudden from forth thy topmost cloud,
And by this laugh, and by this tear,
I would, old Skiddaw, she were here!
A lady of sweet song is she,
Her soft blue eye was made for thee! 25
O ancient Skiddaw, by this tear,
I would, I would that she were here!'
Then ancient Skiddaw, stern and proud,
In sullen majesty replying,
Thus spake from out his helm of cloud 30
(His voice was like an echo dying!):--
'She dwells belike in scenes more fair,
And scorns a mount so bleak and bare.'
I only sigh'd when this I heard,
Such mournful thoughts within me stirr'd 35
That all my heart was faint and weak,
So sorely was I troubled!
No laughter wrinkled on my cheek,
But O the tears were doubled!
But ancient Skiddaw green and high 40
Heard and understood my sigh;
And now, in tones less stern and rude,
As if he wish'd to end the feud,
Spake he, the proud response renewing
(His voice was like a monarch wooing):-- 45
'Nay, but thou dost not know her might,
The pinions of her soul how strong!
But many a stranger in my height
Hath sung to me her magic song,
Sending forth his ecstasy 50
In her divinest melody,
And hence I know her soul is free,
She is where'er she wills to be,
Unfetter'd by mortality!
Now to the "haunted beach" can fly,[352:1] 55
Beside the threshold scourged with waves,
Now where the maniac wildly raves,
"_Pale moon, thou spectre of the sky!_"[352:2]
No wind that hurries o'er my height
Can travel with so swift a flight. 60
I too, methinks, might merit
The presence of her spirit!
To me too might belong
The honour of her song and witching melody,
Which most resembles me, 65
Soft, various, and sublime,
Exempt from wrongs of Time!'
Thus spake the mighty Mount, and I
Made answer, with a deep-drawn sigh:--
Thou ancient Skiddaw, by this tear, 70
I would, I would that she were here!'
_November_, 1800.
FOOTNOTES:
[350:1] First published in _Memoirs of the late Mrs. Robinson_, Written
by herself. With some Posthumous Pieces, 1801, iv. 141: reprinted in
_Poetical Works of the late Mrs. Mary Robinson_, 1806, i. xlviii, li.
First collected in _P. W._, 1877-80.
[352:1] 'The Haunted Beach,' by Mrs. Robinson, was included in the
_Annual Anthology_ for 1800.
[352:2] From 'Jasper', a ballad by Mrs. Robinson, included in the
_Annual Anthology_ for 1800.
LINENOTES:
[1] Skiddaw's] Skiddaw 1801.
[8] wrinkles] wrinkle 1801.
[13] chasms so deep 1801.
[17] sunny] sunshine 1801.
[32] in] by 1801.
[38] on] now 1801.
[57] Now to the maniac while he raves 1801.
ALCAEUS TO SAPPHO[353:1]
How sweet, when crimson colours dart
Across a breast of snow,
To see that you are in the heart
That beats and throbs below.
All Heaven is in a maiden's blush, 5
In which the soul doth speak,
That it was you who sent the flush
Into the maiden's cheek.
Large steadfast eyes! eyes gently rolled
In shades of changing blue, 10
How sweet are they, if they behold
No dearer sight than you.
And, can a lip more richly glow,
Or be more fair than this?
The world will surely answer, No! 15
I, SAPPHO, answer, Yes!
Then grant one smile, tho' it should mean
A thing of doubtful birth;
That I may say these eyes have seen
The fairest face on earth! 20
1800.
FOOTNOTES:
[353:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, November 24, 1800:
reprinted in _Letters from the Lake Poets_, 1889, p. 16. It is probable
that these lines, sent in a letter to Daniel Stuart (Editor of the
_Morning Post_), dated October 7, 1800, were addressed to Mrs. Robinson,
who was a frequent contributor of verses signed 'Sappho'. A sequence of
Sonnets entitled 'Sappho to Phaon' is included in the collected edition
of her _Poems_, 1806, iii. 63-107.
THE TWO ROUND SPACES ON THE TOMBSTONE[353:2]
The Devil believes that the Lord will come,
Stealing a march without beat of drum,
About the same time that he came last,
On an Old Christmas-day in a snowy blast:
Till he bids the trump sound neither body nor soul stirs, 5
For the dead men's heads have slipt under their bolsters.
Oh! ho! brother Bard, in our churchyard,
Both beds and bolsters are soft and green;
Save one alone, and that's of stone,
And under it lies a Counsellor keen. 10
'Twould be a square tomb, if it were not too long;
And 'tis fenced round with irons sharp, spear-like, and strong.
This fellow from Aberdeen hither did skip
With a waxy face and a blubber lip,
And a black tooth in front, to show in part 15
What was the colour of his whole heart.
This Counsellor sweet,
This Scotchman complete,
(The Devil scotch him for a snake!)
I trust he lies in his grave awake. 20
On the sixth of January,
When all around is white with snow,
As a Cheshire yeoman's dairy,
Brother Bard, ho! ho! believe it, or no,
On that stone tomb to you I'll show 25
Two round spaces void of snow.
I swear by our Knight, and his forefathers' souls,
That in size and shape they are just like the holes
In the house of privity
Of that ancient family. 30
On those two places void of snow,
There have sat in the night for an hour or so,
Before sunrise, and after cock-crow,
He kicking his heels, she cursing her corns,
All to the tune of the wind in their horns, 35
The Devil and his Grannam,
With a snow-blast to fan 'em;
Expecting and hoping the trumpet to blow,
For they are cock-sure of the fellow below!
1800.
FOOTNOTES:
[353:2] First published in the _Morning Post_, December 4, 1800:
reprinted in _Fraser's Magazine_ both in February and in May, 1833, and
in Payne Collier's _Old Man's Diary_, i. 35. First collected in _P. W._,
1834, with the following Prefatory Note:--'See the apology for the
"Fire, Famine, and Slaughter", in first volume. This is the first time
the author ever published these lines. He would have been glad, had they
perished; but they have now been printed repeatedly in magazines, and he
is told that the verses will not perish. Here, therefore, they are
owned, with a hope that they will be taken--as assuredly they were
composed--in mere sport.' These lines, which were directed against Sir
James Mackintosh, were included in a letter to [Sir] Humphry Davy, dated
October 9, 1800. There is a MS. version in the British Museum in the
handwriting of R. Heber, presented by him to J. Mitford. Mr. Campbell
questions the accuracy of Coleridge's statement with regard to his never
having published the poem on his own account. But it is possible that
Davy may have sent the lines to the Press without Coleridge's authority.
Daniel Stuart, the Editor of the _Morning Post_, in the _Gentleman's
Magazine_ for May, 1838, says that 'Coleridge sent one [poem] attacking
Mackintosh, too obviously for me not to understand it, and of course it
was not published. Mackintosh had had one of his front teeth broken and
the stump was black'. Stuart remembered that the lines attacking his
brother-in-law had been suppressed, but forgot that he had inserted the
rest of the poem. The poem as printed in 1893, despite the heading, does
not follow the text of the _Morning Post_.
LINENOTES:
Title] Skeltoniad (To be read in the Recitative Lilt) MS. Letter: The
Two Round Spaces; A Skeltoniad M. P.
[1] The Devil believes the Fraser (1).
[3] time] hour MS. Letter, M. P., Fraser (1), Collier. At the same hour
MS. H.
[4] an Old] a cold Fraser (1): On Old MS. H.
[5] neither] nor MS. Letter, M. P.: Till he bids the trump blow nor
Fraser (2): Till the trump then shall sound no Collier: Until that time
not a body or MS. H.
[6] their] the Collier.
[7] Oh! ho!] Ho! Ho! M. P., MS. H.: Oho Fraser (1). Brother Collier.
our] _our_ MS. Letter.
[8] Both bed and bolster Fraser (2). The graves and bolsters MS. H.
[9] Except one alone MS. H.
[10] under] in Fraser (2).
[11] This tomb would be square M. P.: 'Twould be a square stone if it
were not so long Fraser (1). It would be square MS. H. tomb] grave
Collier.
[12] And 'tis railed round with iron tall M. P.: And 'tis edg'd round
with iron Fraser (1): 'Tis fenc'd round with irons tall Fraser (2): And
'tis fenc'd round with iron tall Collier. 'tis] its MS. H.
[13-20] om. M. P.
[13] From Aberdeen hither this fellow MS. Letter. hither] here Fraser
(2).
[14] blubber] blabber MS. Letter, Fraser (1), (2), MS. H.
[15] in front] before MS. H.
[17] Counsellor] lawyer so MS. H.
[19] The Devil] Apollyon MS. Letter. scotch] _scotch_ Collier.
[20] trust] hope Collier.] (A humane wish) Note in MS. Letter.
[21] sixth] seventh M. P., Collier: fifth MS. H.
[22] When all is white both high and low MS. Letter, M. P., Fraser (2),
Collier, MS. H.: When the ground All around Is as white as snow Fraser
(1).
[23] As] Or Fraser (1): Like MS. H.
[24] ho! ho!] oho! Fraser (1). it] me M. P.
[25] stone] tall MS. Letter, M. P., Fraser (2), Collier. On the stone to
you MS. H.
[25-6] om. Fraser (1).
[Between 25-6] After sunset and before cockcrow M. P. Before sunrise and
after cockcrow Fraser (2).
[26] void] clear M. P.
[27] I swear by the might Of the darkness of night, I swear by the sleep
of our forefathers' souls Fraser (1). souls] soul MS. H.
[26-8] om. Fraser (2).
[28] Both in shape and size MS. Letter: Both in shape and in size M. P.:
That in shape and size they resembled Fraser (1), Collier: That in shape
and size they are just like the Hole MS. H.
[29] In the large house M. P.
[29-30]
In mansions not seen by the general eye
Of that right ancient family.
Fraser (1).
[31] two] round MS. Letter. places] spaces Collier, MS. H. void] clear
M. P.
[32] Have sat Fraser (1), (2): There have sat for an hour MS. H.
[33] om. MS. Letter, M. P.
[36] Devil] De'il M. P.
[37] With the snow-drift M. P.: With a snow-blast to fan MS. Letter.
[38] Expecting and wishing the trumpet would blow Collier.
THE SNOW-DROP[356:1]
1
Fear no more, thou timid Flower!
Fear thou no more the winter's might,
The whelming thaw, the ponderous shower,
The silence of the freezing night!
Since Laura murmur'd o'er thy leaves 5
The potent sorceries of song,
To thee, meek Flowret! gentler gales
And cloudless skies belong.
2
Her eye with tearful meanings fraught,
She gaz'd till all the body mov'd 10
Interpreting the Spirit's thought--
The Spirit's eager sympathy
Now trembled with thy trembling stem,
And while thou droopedst o'er thy bed,
With sweet unconscious sympathy 15
Inclin'd the drooping head.[357:1]
3
She droop'd her head, she stretch'd her arm,
She whisper'd low her witching rhymes,
Fame unreluctant heard the charm,
And bore thee to Pierian climes! 20
Fear thou no more the Matin Frost
That sparkled on thy bed of snow;
For there, mid laurels ever green,
Immortal thou shalt blow.
4
Thy petals boast a white more soft, 25
The spell hath so perfuméd thee,
That careless Love shall deem thee oft
A blossom from his Myrtle tree.
Then, laughing at the fair deceit,
Shall race with some Etesian wind 30
To seek the woven arboret
Where Laura lies reclin'd.
5
All them whom Love and Fancy grace,
When grosser eyes are clos'd in sleep,
The gentle spirits of the place 35
Waft up the insuperable steep,
On whose vast summit broad and smooth
Her nest the Phœnix Bird conceals,
And where by cypresses o'erhung
The heavenly Lethe steals. 40
6
A sea-like sound the branches breathe,
Stirr'd by the Breeze that loiters there;
And all that stretch their limbs beneath,
Forget the coil of mortal care.
Strange mists along the margins rise, 45
To heal the guests who thither come,
And fit the soul to re-endure
Its earthly martyrdom.
7*
The margin dear to moonlight elves
Where Zephyr-trembling Lilies grow, 50
And bend to kiss their softer selves
That tremble in the stream below:--
There nightly borne does Laura lie
A magic Slumber heaves her breast:
Her arm, white wanderer of the Harp, 55
Beneath her cheek is prest.
8*
The Harp uphung by golden chains
Of that low wind which whispers round,
With coy reproachfulness complains,
In snatches of reluctant sound: 60
The music hovers half-perceiv'd,
And only moulds the slumberer's dreams;
Remember'd LOVES relume her cheek
With Youth's returning gleams.
1800.
FOOTNOTES:
[356:1] First published in _P. W._, 1893. The two last stanzas[*] were
omitted as 'too imperfect to print'. The MS. bears the following
heading: LINES WRITTEN IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE PERUSAL OF MRS. ROBINSON'S
SNOW DROP.
_To the Editor of the Morning Post._
Sir,
I am one of your many readers who have been highly gratified
by some extracts from Mrs. Robinson's 'Walsingham': you will
oblige me by inserting the following lines [_sic_] immediately
on the perusal of her beautiful poem 'The Snow Drop'.--ZAGRI.
The 'Lines' were never sent or never appeared in the _Morning Post_.
To the Snow Drop.
1
Fear thou no more the wintry storm,
Sweet Flowret, blest by LAURA'S song:
She gaz'd upon thy slender form,
The mild Enchantress gaz'd so long;
That trembling as she saw thee droop,
Poor Trembler! o'er thy snowy bed,
With imitation's sympathy
She too inclin'd her head.
2
She droop'd her head, she stretch'd her arm,
She whisper'd low her witching rhymes:
A gentle Sylphid heard the charm,
And bore thee to Pierian climes!
Fear thou no more the sparkling Frost,
The Tempest's Howl, the Fog-damp's gloom:
For thus mid laurels evergreen
Immortal thou shalt bloom!
3 [Stanza 2]
With eager [*feelings*] unreprov'd
With [*steady eye and brooding thought*]
Her eye with tearful meanings fraught,
[*My Fancy saw her gaze at thee*]
She gaz'd till all the body mov'd
[*Till all the moving body caught,*]
Interpreting, the Spirit's sympathy--
The Spirit's eager sympathy
Now trembled with thy trembling stem,
And while thou drooped'st o'er thy bed,
With sweet unconscious sympathy
Inclin'd { her [*portraiture*]
{ the drooping head.
First draft of Stanzas 1-3. _MS. S. T. C._
[357:1] The second stanza of Mrs. Robinson's ('Perdita') 'Ode to the
Snow-drop' runs thus:
All weak and wan, with head inclin'd,
Its parent-breast the drifted snow,
It trembles, while the ruthless wind
Bends its slim form; the tempest lowers,
Its em'rald eye drops crystal show'rs
On its cold bed below.
_The Poetical Works of the late Mrs. Mary Robinson_, 1806, i. 123.
LINENOTES:
[36] insuperable] unvoyageable MS. erased.
[53-4]
Along that marge does Laura lie
Full oft where Slumber heaves her breast
MS. erased.
[64] With Beauty's morning gleams MS. erased.
ON REVISITING THE SEA-SHORE[359:1]
AFTER LONG ABSENCE, UNDER STRONG MEDICAL RECOMMENDATION NOT TO BATHE
God be with thee, gladsome Ocean!
How gladly greet I thee once more!
Ships and waves, and ceaseless motion,
And men rejoicing on thy shore.
Dissuading spake the mild Physician, 5
'Those briny waves for thee are Death!'
But my soul fulfilled her mission,
And lo! I breathe untroubled breath!
Fashion's pining sons and daughters,
That seek the crowd they seem to fly, 10
Trembling they approach thy waters;
And what cares Nature, if they die?
Me a thousand hopes and pleasures
A thousand recollections bland,
Thoughts sublime, and stately measures, 15
Revisit on thy echoing strand:
Dreams (the Soul herself forsaking),
Tearful raptures, boyish mirth;
Silent adorations, making
A blessed shadow of this Earth! 20
O ye hopes, that stir within me,
Health comes with you from above!
God is with me, God is in me!
I cannot die, if Life be Love.
_August_, 1801.
FOOTNOTES:
[359:1] First published in the _Morning Post_ (signed Εστησε), September
15, 1801: included in the _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, and
1834. The lines were sent in an unpublished letter to Southey dated
August 15, 1801. An autograph MS. is in the possession of Miss Arnold of
Foxhow.
LINENOTES:
Title] A flowering weed on the sweet Hill of Poesy MS. Letter, 1801: Ode
After Bathing in the Sea, Contrary to Medical Advice M. P. After bathing
in the Sea at Scarborough in company with T. Hutchinson. Aug. 1801 MS.
A.
[3] ceaseless] endless MS. Letter, M. P., MS. A.
[4] men] life MS. Letter, M. P., MS. A.
[5]
{ mild MS. A.
Gravely said the { sage Physician MS. Letter:
Mildly said the mild Physician M. P.
[6] To bathe me on thy shores were death MS. Letter, M. P., MS. A.
[10] That love the city's gilded sty MS. Letter, M. P., MS. A.
[13] hopes] loves MS. Letter, MS. A.
[16] echoing] sounding MS. Letter, M. P., MS. A.
[18] Grief-like transports MS. Letter, M. P., MS. A.
ODE TO TRANQUILLITY[360:1]
Tranquillity! thou better name
Than all the family of Fame!
Thou ne'er wilt leave my riper age
To low intrigue, or factious rage;
For oh! dear child of thoughtful Truth, 5
To thee I gave my early youth,
And left the bark, and blest the steadfast shore,
Ere yet the tempest rose and scared me with its roar.
Who late and lingering seeks thy shrine,
On him but seldom, Power divine, 10
Thy spirit rests! Satiety
And Sloth, poor counterfeits of thee,
Mock the tired worldling. Idle Hope
And dire Remembrance interlope,
To vex the feverish slumbers of the mind: 15
The bubble floats before, the spectre stalks behind.
But me thy gentle hand will lead
At morning through the accustomed mead;
And in the sultry summer's heat
Will build me up a mossy seat; 20
And when the gust of Autumn crowds,
And breaks the busy moonlight clouds,
Thou best the thought canst raise, the heart attune,
Light as the busy clouds, calm as the gliding moon.
The feeling heart, the searching soul, 25
To thee I dedicate the whole!
And while within myself I trace
The greatness of some future race,
Aloof with hermit-eye I scan
The present works of present man-- 30
A wild and dream-like trade of blood and guile,
Too foolish for a tear, too wicked for a smile!
1801.
FOOTNOTES:
[360:1] First published in the _Morning Post_ (with two additional
stanzas at the commencement of the poem), December 4, 1801: reprinted in
_The Friend_ (without heading or title), No. 1, Thursday, June 1, 1809:
included in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. The stanzas
were not indented in the _Morning Post_ or _The Friend_.
LINENOTES:
Title] _Vix ea nostra voco_ M. P.
[Before 1]
What Statesmen scheme and Soldiers work,
Whether the Pontiff or the Turk,
Will e'er renew th' expiring lease
Of Empire; whether War or Peace
Will best play off the CONSUL'S game;
What fancy-figures, and what name
Half-thinking, sensual France, a natural Slave,
On those ne'er-broken Chains, her self-forg'd Chains, will grave;
Disturb not me! Some tears I shed
When bow'd the Swiss his noble head;
Since then, with quiet heart have view'd
Both distant Fights and Treaties crude,
Whose heap'd up terms, which Fear compels,
(Live Discord's green Combustibles,
And future Fuel of the funeral Pyre)
Now hide, and soon, alas! will feed the low-burnt Fire.
M. P.
[8] tempest] storm-wind M. P.
[15] To] And The Friend, 1809. slumbers] slumber M. P., The Friend.
[17] thy gentle hand] the power Divine M. P.
[21] Autumn] Summer M. P.
[23] The best the thoughts will lift M. P.
[26] thee] her M. P.
[28] some] a M. P.
[29] hermit] hermit's M. P.
TO ASRA[361:1]
Are there two things, of all which men possess,
That are so like each other and so near,
As mutual Love seems like to Happiness?
Dear Asra, woman beyond utterance dear!
This Love which ever welling at my heart, 5
Now in its living fount doth heave and fall,
Now overflowing pours thro' every part
Of all my frame, and fills and changes all,
Like vernal waters springing up through snow,
This Love that seeming great beyond the power 10
Of growth, yet seemeth ever more to grow,
Could I transmute the whole to one rich Dower
Of Happy Life, and give it all to Thee,
Thy lot, methinks, were Heaven, thy age, Eternity!
1801.
FOOTNOTES:
[361:1] First published in 1893. The Sonnet to 'Asra' was prefixed to
the MS. of _Christabel_ which Coleridge presented to Miss Sarah
Hutchinson in 1804.
THE SECOND BIRTH[362:1]
There are two births, the one when Light
First strikes the new-awaken'd sense--
The other when two souls unite,
And we must count our life from then.
When you lov'd me, and I lov'd you, 5
Then both of us were born anew.
? 1801.
FOOTNOTES:
[362:1] First published from a MS. in 1893.
LOVE'S SANCTUARY[362:2]
This yearning heart (Love! witness what I say)
Enshrines thy form as purely as it may,
Round which, as to some spirit uttering bliss,
My thoughts all stand ministrant night and day
Like saintly Priests, that dare not think amiss.
? 1801.
FOOTNOTES:
[362:2] First published from a MS. in 1893.
DEJECTION: AN ODE[362:3]
[WRITTEN APRIL 4, 1802]
Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon,
With the old Moon in her arms;
And I fear, I fear, my Master dear!
We shall have a deadly storm.
_Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence._
I
Well! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made
The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,
This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence
Unroused by winds, that ply a busier trade
Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes, 5
Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes
Upon the strings of this Æolian lute,
Which better far were mute.
For lo! the New-moon winter-bright!
And overspread with phantom light, 10
(With swimming phantom light o'erspread
But rimmed and circled by a silver thread)
I see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling
The coming-on of rain and squally blast.
And oh! that even now the gust were swelling, 15
And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast!
Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed,
And sent my soul abroad,
Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give,
Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live! 20
II
A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief,
Which finds no natural outlet, no relief,
In word, or sigh, or tear--
O Lady! in this wan and heartless mood, 25
To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd,
All this long eve, so balmy and serene,
Have I been gazing on the western sky,
And its peculiar tint of yellow green:
And still I gaze--and with how blank an eye! 30
And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars,
That give away their motion to the stars;
Those stars, that glide behind them or between,
Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen:
Yon crescent Moon, as fixed as if it grew 35
In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue;
I see them all so excellently fair,
I see, not feel, how beautiful they are!
III
My genial spirits fail;
And what can these avail 40
To lift the smothering weight from off my breast?
It were a vain endeavour,
Though I should gaze for ever
On that green light that lingers in the west:
I may not hope from outward forms to win 45
The passion and the Life, whose fountains are within.
IV
O Lady! we receive but what we give,
And in our life alone does Nature live:
Ours is her wedding garment, ours her shroud!
And would we aught behold, of higher worth, 50
Than that inanimate cold world allowed
To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd,
Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth
A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud
Enveloping the Earth-- 55
And from the soul itself must there be sent
A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth,
Of all sweet sounds the life and element!
V
O pure of heart! thou need'st not ask of me
What this strong music in the soul may be! 60
What, and wherein it doth exist,
This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist,
This beautiful and beauty-making power.
Joy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne'er was given,
Save to the pure, and in their purest hour, 65
Life, and Life's effluence, cloud at once and shower,
Joy, Lady! is the spirit and the power,
Which wedding Nature to us gives in dower
A new Earth and new Heaven,
Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud-- 70
Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud--
We in ourselves rejoice!
And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight,
All melodies the echoes of that voice,
All colours a suffusion from that light. 75
VI
There was a time when, though my path was rough,
This joy within me dallied with distress,
And all misfortunes were but as the stuff
Whence Fancy made me dreams of happiness:
For hope grew round me, like the twining vine, 80
And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seemed mine.
But now afflictions bow me down to earth:
Nor care I that they rob me of my mirth;
But oh! each visitation
Suspends what nature gave me at my birth, 85
My shaping spirit of Imagination.
For not to think of what I needs must feel,
But to be still and patient, all I can;
And haply by abstruse research to steal
From my own nature all the natural man-- 90
This was my sole resource, my only plan:
Till that which suits a part infects the whole,
And now is almost grown the habit of my soul.
VII
Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind,
Reality's dark dream! 95
I turn from you, and listen to the wind,
Which long has raved unnoticed. What a scream
Of agony by torture lengthened out
That lute sent forth! Thou Wind, that rav'st without,
Bare crag, or mountain-tairn,[367:1] or blasted tree, 100
Or pine-grove whither woodman never clomb,
Or lonely house, long held the witches' home,
Methinks were fitter instruments for thee,
Mad Lutanist! who in this month of showers,
Of dark-brown gardens, and of peeping flowers, 105
Mak'st Devils' yule, with worse than wintry song,
The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves among.
Thou Actor, perfect in all tragic sounds!
Thou mighty Poet, e'en to frenzy bold!
What tell'st thou now about? 110
'Tis of the rushing of an host in rout,
With groans, of trampled men, with smarting wounds--
At once they groan with pain, and shudder with the cold!
But hush! there is a pause of deepest silence!
And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd, 115
With groans, and tremulous shudderings--all is over--
It tells another tale, with sounds less deep and loud!
A tale, of less affright,
And tempered with delight,
As Otway's self had framed the tender lay,-- 120
'Tis of a little child
Upon a lonesome wild,
Not far from home, but she hath lost her way:
And now moans low in bitter grief and fear,
And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother hear.
VIII
'Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep: 126
Full seldom may my friend such vigils keep!
Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing,
And may this storm be but a mountain-birth,
May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling, 130
Silent as though they watched the sleeping Earth!
With light heart may she rise,
Gay fancy, cheerful eyes,
Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice;
To her may all things live, from pole to pole, 135
Their life the eddying of her living soul!
O simple spirit, guided from above,
Dear Lady! friend devoutest of my choice,
Thus mayest thou ever, evermore rejoice.
1802.
FOOTNOTES:
[362:3] First published in the _Morning Post_, October 4, 1802. Included
in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. The Ode was sent in a
letter to W. Sotheby, dated Keswick, July 19, 1802 (_Letters of S. T.
C._, 1895, i. 379-84). Two other MS. versions are preserved at Coleorton
(_P. W. of W. Wordsworth_, ed. by William Knight, 1896, iii. App., pp.
400, 401). Lines 37, 38 were quoted by Coleridge in the _Historie and
Gests of Maxilian_ (first published in _Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine_
for January, 1822, and reprinted in _Miscellanies, &c._, ed. by T. Ashe,
1885, p. 282): l. 38 by Wordsworth in his pamphlet on _The Convention of
Cintra_, 1809, p. 135: lines 47-75, followed by lines 29-38, were quoted
by Coleridge in _Essays on the Fine Arts_, No. III (which were first
published in _Felix Farley's Bristol Journal_, Sept. 10, 1814, and
reprinted by Cottle, _E. R._, 1837, ii. 201-40); and lines 21-28,
_ibid._, in illustration of the following _Scholium_:--'We have
sufficiently distinguished the beautiful from the agreeable, by the sure
criterion, that when we find an object agreeable, the _sensation_ of
pleasure always precedes the judgment, and is its determining cause. We
_find_ it agreeable. But when we declare an object beautiful, the
contemplation or intuition of its beauty precedes the _feeling_ of
complacency, in order of nature at least: nay in great depression of
spirits may even exist without sensibly producing it.' Lines 76-93 are
quoted in a letter to Southey of July 29, 1802; lines 76-83 are quoted
in a letter to Allsop, September 30, 1819, _Letters, &c._, 1836, i. 17.
Lines 80, 81 are quoted in the _Biographia Literaria_, 1817, ii. 182,
and lines 87-93 in a letter to Josiah Wedgwood, dated October 20, 1802:
see Cottle's _Rem._, 1848, p. 44, and _Tom Wedgwood_ by R. B.
Litchfield, 1903, pp. 114, 115.
[367:1] Tairn is a small lake, generally if not always applied to the
lakes up in the mountains and which are the feeders of those in the
valleys. This address to the Storm-wind [wind _S. L._], will not appear
extravagant to those who have heard it at night and in a mountainous
country.
LINENOTES:
Title] Dejection, &c., written April 4, 1802 M. P.
[2] grand] dear Letter to Sotheby, July 19, 1802.
[5] Than that which moulds yon clouds Letter, July 19, 1802. cloud]
clouds M. P., S. L.
[6] moans] drones Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.
[12] by] with Letter, July 19, 1802.
[17-20] om. Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.
[21-8] Quoted as illustrative of a 'Scholium' in Felix Farley's Journal,
1814.
[22] stifled] stifling Letter, July 19, 1802.
[23] Which] That Letter, July 19, 1802, F. F.
[Between 24-7]
This, William, well thou knowst
Is the sore evil which I dread the most
And oft'nest suffer. In this heartless mood
To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd
That pipes within the larch-tree, not unseen,
The larch, that pushes out in tassels green
Its bundled leafits, woo'd to mild delights
By all the tender sounds and gentle sights
Of this sweet primrose-month and vainly woo'd!
O dearest Poet in this heartless mood.
Letter, July 19, 1802.
[25] O Edmund M. P.: O William Coleorton MS.: O dearest Lady in this
heartless mood F. F.
[26] by yon sweet throstle woo'd F. F.
[28] on] at F. F.
[29] peculiar] celestial F. F. yellow green] yellow-green Letter, July
19, 1802, M. P.
[30] blank] black Cottle, 1837.
[35-6]
Yon crescent moon that seems as if it grew
In its own starless, cloudless
F. F.
[Between 36-7] A boat becalm'd! thy own sweet sky-canoe Letter, July 19,
1802: A boat becalm'd! a lovely sky-canoe M. P.
[38] I _see_ not _feel_ M. P., Letter, July 19, 1802: _I see . . . they
are_ F. F.
[45-6] Quoted in the _Gests of Maxilian_, Jan. 1822, and _Convention of
Cintra_, 1809, p. 135.
[47] Lady] Wordsworth Letter, July 19, 1802: William Coleorton MS.:
Edmund M. P., F. F. we _receive_ but what we _give_ Coleorton MS., F. F.
[48] our] _our_ M. P., F. F.
[51] allowed] _allow'd_ Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.
[57] potent] powerful Letter, July 19, 1802, F. F.
V] Stanza v is included in stanza iv in M. P.
[60] What] _What_ Letter, July 19, 1802.
[61] exist] subsist F. F.
[64] virtuous Lady] blameless Poet Letter, July 19, 1802: virtuous
Edmund M. P. Joy, O belovéd, Joy that F. F.
[66] om. Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.: Life of our life the parent and
the birth F. F. effluence] effulgence S. L. Corr. in _Errata_ p. [xii],
and in text by S. T. C. (MS.).
[67] Lady] William Letter, July 19, 1802: Edmund M. P.: om. F. F.
[68] Which] That Letter, July 19, 1802.
[69] A new heaven and new earth F. F.
[71] om. Letter, July 19, 1802: _This_ is the strong voice, this the
luminous cloud F. F.
[72] We, we ourselves Letter,July 19, 1802, M. P.: Our inmost selves F.
F.
[73] flows] comes Letter, July 19, 1802. charms] glads F. F.
[74] the echoes] an echo Letter, July 19, 1802.
[After 75]
Calm steadfast Spirit, guided from above,
O Wordsworth! friend of my devoutest choice,
Great son of genius! full of light and love
Thus, thus dost thou rejoice.
To thee do all things live from pole to pole,
Their life the eddying of thy living soul
Brother and friend of my devoutest choice
Thus may'st thou ever, evermore rejoice!
Letter, July 19, 1802.
[Before 76] Yes, dearest poet, yes Letter, July 19, 1802: Yes, dearest
William! Yes! Coleorton MS. [Stanza v] Yes, dearest Edmund, yes M. P.
[76] The time when Letter, Sept. 30, 1819.
[77] This] The Letters, July 19, 1802, Sept. 30, 1819. I had a heart
that dallied Letter to Southey, July 29, 1802.
[80] For] When Biog. Lit., Letter, Sept. 30, 1819. twining] climbing
Letters, July 19, 29, 1802, Biog. Lit.
[80-1] Quoted in Biog. Lit., 1817, ii. 180.
[81] fruits] fruit Letter, July 19, 1802.
[82] But seared thoughts now Letter, Sept. 30, 1819.
[83] care] car'd Letter, July 19, 1802.
[86] In M. P. the words 'The sixth and seventh stanzas omitted' preceded
three rows of four asterisks, lines 87-93 (quoted in Letter to Josiah
Wedgwood, Oct. 20, 1802) being omitted. The Coleorton MS. ends with line
86.
[87] think] _think_ Letters, July 19, 29, 1802.
[91] was] is Letter, Sept. 30, 1819. only] wisest Letters, July 19, 29,
1802.
[92] Till] And Letters, July 19, 29, 1802.
[93] habit] temper Letters, July 19, 29, Oct. 20, 1802.
[94-5]
Nay [O M. P.] wherefore did I let it haunt my mind
This dark distressful dream.
Letter, July 19, 1802.
[96] you] it Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.
[99] That lute sent out! O thou wild storm without Letter, July 19,
1802. O Wind M. P.
[104] who] that Letter, July 19, 1802.
[112] With many groans from men Letter, July 19, 1802: With many groans
of men M. P.
[115] Again! but all that noise Letter, July 19, 1802.
[117] And it has other sounds less fearful and less loud Letter, July
19, 1802.
[120] Otway's self] thou thyself Letter, July 19, 1802: Edmund's self M.
P.
[122] lonesome] heath Letter, July 19, 1802.
[124] bitter] utter Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.
[125] hear] _hear_ Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.
VIII] om. Letter, July 19, 1802.
[126] but] and M. P.
[128] her] him M. P.
[130] her] his M. P.
[131] watched] _watch'd_ M. P.
[132] she] he M. P.
[After 133]
And sing his lofty song and teach me to rejoice!
O Edmund, friend of my devoutest choice,
O rais'd from anxious dread and busy care,
By the immenseness of the good and fair
Which thou see'st everywhere, 5
Joy lifts thy spirit, joy attunes thy voice,
To thee do all things live from pole to pole,
Their life the eddying of thy living soul!
O simple Spirit, guided from above,
O lofty Poet, full of life and love, 10
Brother and Friend of my devoutest choice,
Thus may'st thou ever, evermore rejoice!
ΕΣΤΗΣΕ.
M. P.
[_Note._--For lines 7, 8, 11, 12 of this variant, vide _ante_, variant
of lines 75 foll.]
THE PICTURE[369:1]
OR THE LOVER'S RESOLUTION
Through weeds and thorns, and matted underwood
I force my way; now climb, and now descend
O'er rocks, or bare or mossy, with wild foot
Crushing the purple whorts;[369:2] while oft unseen,
Hurrying along the drifted forest-leaves, 5
The scared snake rustles. Onward still I toil,
I know not, ask not whither! A new joy,
Lovely as light, sudden as summer gust,
And gladsome as the first-born of the spring,
Beckons me on, or follows from behind, 10
Playmate, or guide! The master-passion quelled,
I feel that I am free. With dun-red bark
The fir-trees, and the unfrequent slender oak,
Forth from this tangle wild of bush and brake
Soar up, and form a melancholy vault 15
High o'er me, murmuring like a distant sea.
Here Wisdom might resort, and here Remorse;
Here too the love-lorn man, who, sick in soul,
And of this busy human heart aweary,
Worships the spirit of unconscious life 20
In tree or wild-flower.--Gentle lunatic!
If so he might not wholly cease to be,
He would far rather not be that he is;
But would be something that he knows not of,
In winds or waters, or among the rocks! 25
But hence, fond wretch! breathe not contagion here!
No myrtle-walks are these: these are no groves
Where Love dare loiter! If in sullen mood
He should stray hither, the low stumps shall gore
His dainty feet, the briar and the thorn 30
Make his plumes haggard. Like a wounded bird
Easily caught, ensnare him, O ye Nymphs,
Ye Oreads chaste, ye dusky Dryades!
And you, ye Earth-winds! you that make at morn
The dew-drops quiver on the spiders' webs! 35
You, O ye wingless Airs! that creep between
The rigid stems of heath and bitten furze,
Within whose scanty shade, at summer-noon,
The mother-sheep hath worn a hollow bed--
Ye, that now cool her fleece with dropless damp, 40
Now pant and murmur with her feeding lamb.
Chase, chase him, all ye Fays, and elfin Gnomes!
With prickles sharper than his darts bemock
His little Godship, making him perforce
Creep through a thorn-bush on yon hedgehog's back. 45
This is my hour of triumph! I can now
With my own fancies play the merry fool,
And laugh away worse folly, being free.
Here will I seat myself, beside this old,
Hollow, and weedy oak, which ivy-twine 50
Clothes as with net-work: here will I couch my limbs,
Close by this river, in this silent shade,
As safe and sacred from the step of man
As an invisible world--unheard, unseen,
And listening only to the pebbly brook 55
That murmurs with a dead, yet tinkling sound;
Or to the bees, that in the neighbouring trunk
Make honey-hoards. The breeze, that visits me,
Was never Love's accomplice, never raised
The tendril ringlets from the maiden's brow, 60
And the blue, delicate veins above her cheek;
Ne'er played the wanton--never half disclosed
The maiden's snowy bosom, scattering thence
Eye-poisons for some love-distempered youth,
Who ne'er henceforth may see an aspen-grove 65
Shiver in sunshine, but his feeble heart
Shall flow away like a dissolving thing.
Sweet breeze! thou only, if I guess aright,
Liftest the feathers of the robin's breast,
That swells its little breast, so full of song, 70
Singing above me, on the mountain-ash.
And thou too, desert stream! no pool of thine,
Though clear as lake in latest summer-eve,
Did e'er reflect the stately virgin's robe,
The face, the form divine, the downcast look 75
Contemplative! Behold! her open palm
Presses her cheek and brow! her elbow rests
On the bare branch of half-uprooted tree,
That leans towards its mirror! Who erewhile
Had from her countenance turned, or looked by stealth,
(For Fear is true-love's cruel nurse), he now 81
With steadfast gaze and unoffending eye,
Worships the watery idol, dreaming hopes
Delicious to the soul, but fleeting, vain,
E'en as that phantom-world on which he gazed, 85
But not unheeded gazed: for see, ah! see,
The sportive tyrant with her left hand plucks
The heads of tall flowers that behind her grow,
Lychnis, and willow-herb, and fox-glove bells:
And suddenly, as one that toys with time, 90
Scatters them on the pool! Then all the charm
Is broken--all that phantom world so fair
Vanishes, and a thousand circlets spread,
And each mis-shape the other. Stay awhile,
Poor youth, who scarcely dar'st lift up thine eyes! 95
The stream will soon renew its smoothness, soon
The visions will return! And lo! he stays:
And soon the fragments dim of lovely forms
Come trembling back, unite, and now once more
The pool becomes a mirror; and behold 100
Each wildflower on the marge inverted there,
And there the half-uprooted tree--but where,
O where the virgin's snowy arm, that leaned
On its bare branch? He turns, and she is gone!
Homeward she steals through many a woodland maze 105
Which he shall seek in vain. Ill-fated youth!
Go, day by day, and waste thy manly prime
In mad love-yearning by the vacant brook,
Till sickly thoughts bewitch thine eyes, and thou
Behold'st her shadow still abiding there, 110
The Naiad of the mirror!
Not to thee,
O wild and desert stream! belongs this tale:
Gloomy and dark art thou--the crowded firs
Spire from thy shores, and stretch across thy bed,
Making thee doleful as a cavern-well: 115
Save when the shy king-fishers build their nest
On thy steep banks, no loves hast thou, wild stream!
This be my chosen haunt--emancipate
From Passion's dreams, a freeman, and alone,
I rise and trace its devious course. O lead, 120
Lead me to deeper shades and lonelier glooms.
Lo! stealing through the canopy of firs,
How fair the sunshine spots that mossy rock,
Isle of the river, whose disparted waves
Dart off asunder with an angry sound, 125
How soon to re-unite! And see! they meet,
Each in the other lost and found: and see
Placeless, as spirits, one soft water-sun
Throbbing within them, heart at once and eye!
With its soft neighbourhood of filmy clouds, 130
The stains and shadings of forgotten tears,
Dimness o'erswum with lustre! Such the hour
Of deep enjoyment, following love's brief feuds;
And hark, the noise of a near waterfall!
I pass forth into light--I find myself 135
Beneath a weeping birch (most beautiful
Of forest trees, the Lady of the Woods),
Hard by the brink of a tall weedy rock
That overbrows the cataract. How bursts
The landscape on my sight! Two crescent hills 140
Fold in behind each other, and so make
A circular vale, and land-locked, as might seem,
With brook and bridge, and grey stone cottages,
Half hid by rocks and fruit-trees. At my feet,
The whortle-berries are bedewed with spray, 145
Dashed upwards by the furious waterfall.
How solemnly the pendent ivy-mass
Swings in its winnow: All the air is calm.
The smoke from cottage-chimneys, tinged with light,
Rises in columns; from this house alone, 150
Close by the water-fall, the column slants,
And feels its ceaseless breeze. But what is this?
That cottage, with its slanting chimney-smoke,
And close beside its porch a sleeping child,
His dear head pillowed on a sleeping dog-- 155
One arm between its fore-legs, and the hand
Holds loosely its small handful of wild-flowers,
Unfilletted, and of unequal lengths.
A curious picture, with a master's haste
Sketched on a strip of pinky-silver skin, 160
Peeled from the birchen bark! Divinest maid!
Yon bark her canvas, and those purple berries
Her pencil! See, the juice is scarcely dried
On the fine skin! She has been newly here;
And lo! yon patch of heath has been her couch-- 165
The pressure still remains! O blesséd couch!
For this may'st thou flower early, and the sun,
Slanting at eve, rest bright, and linger long
Upon thy purple bells! O Isabel!
Daughter of genius! stateliest of our maids! 170
More beautiful than whom Alcaeus wooed,
The Lesbian woman of immortal song!
O child of genius! stately, beautiful,
And full of love to all, save only me,
And not ungentle e'en to me! My heart, 175
Why beats it thus? Through yonder coppice-wood
Needs must the pathway turn, that leads straightway
On to her father's house. She is alone!
The night draws on--such ways are hard to hit--
And fit it is I should restore this sketch, 180
Dropt unawares, no doubt. Why should I yearn
To keep the relique? 'twill but idly feed
The passion that consumes me. Let me haste!
The picture in my hand which she has left;
She cannot blame me that I followed her: 185
And I may be her guide the long wood through.
1802.
FOOTNOTES:
[369:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, September 6, 1802:
included in the _Poetical Register_ for 1802 (1804), in _Sibylline
Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834.
It has been pointed out to me (by Mr. Arthur Turnbull) that the
conception of the 'Resolution' that failed was suggested by Gessner's
Idyll _Der feste Vorsatz_ ('The Fixed Resolution'):--_S. Gessner's
Schriften_, i. 104-7; _Works_, 1802, ii. 219-21.
[369:2] _Vaccinium Myrtillus_, known by the different names of Whorts,
Whortle-berries, Bilberries; and in the North of England, Blea-berries
and Bloom-berries. [_Note by S. T. C._ 1802.]
LINENOTES:
[3] wild] blind M. P., P. R.
[17-26] om. M. P., P. R.
[17-25] Quoted in Letter to Cottle, May 27, 1814.
[18] love-lorn] woe-worn (heart-sick _erased_) Letter, 1814.
[20] _unconscious life_ Letter, 1814.
[22] _wholly cease_ to BE Letter, 1814.
[27] these] here M. P.
[28] For Love to dwell in; the low stumps would gore M. P., P. R.
[31-3]
till, like wounded bird
Easily caught, the dusky Dryades
With prickles sharper than his darts would mock.
_His little Godship_
M. P., P. R.
[34-42, 44] om. M.P., P.R.
[51] here will couch M. P., P. R., S. L.
[55] brook] stream M. P., P. R., S. L. (for _stream_ read _brook_
_Errata_, S. L., p. [xi]).
[56-7]
yet bell-like sound
Tinkling, or bees
M. P., P. R., S. L. 1828.
[58] The] This M. P., P. R., S. L.
[70] That swells its] Who swells his M. P., P. R., S. L.
[75] the] her downcast M. P., P. R. Her face, her form divine, her
downcast look S. L.
[76-7]
Contemplative, her cheek upon her palm
Supported; the white arm and elbow rest
M. P., P. R.
Contemplative! Ah see! her open palm
Presses
S. L.
[79-80]
He, meanwhile,
Who from
M. P., P. R., S. L.
[86] om. M. P., P. R., S. L.
[87] The] She M. P., P. R., S. L.
[91-100] These lines are quoted in the prefatory note to _Kubla Khan_.
[94] mis-shape] mis-shapes M. P.
[108] love-yearning by] love-gazing on M. P., P. R.
[114] Spire] Tow'r M. P., P. R., S. L.
[118] my] thy S. L. (for _thy_ read _my_ _Errata_, S. L., p. [xi]).
[121] and] to M. P., P. R.
[124] waves] waters P. R., S. L.
[126-32]
_How soon to re-unite!_ They meet, they join
In deep embrace, and open to the sun
Lie calm and smooth. Such the delicious hour
M. P., P. R., S. L.
[133] Of deep enjoyment, foll'wing Love's brief quarrels M. P., P. R.
Lines 126-33 are supplied in the _Errata_, S. L. 1817 (p. xi).
[134] And] But _Errata_, S. L. (p. xi).
[135] I come out into light M. P., P. R.: I came out into light S. L.
For _came_ read _come_ _Errata_, S. L. (p. xi).
[144] At] Beneath M. P., P. R., S. L. (for _Beneath_ read _At_ _Errata_,
S. L., p. [xi]).
[152] this] _this_ M. P., P. R.: THIS S. L. 1828, 1829.
[162] those] these P. R.
[174] me] one M. P., P. R.
[177] straightway] away M. P., P. R.
[184] The] This M. P., P. R.
TO MATILDA BETHAM FROM A STRANGER[374:1]
['One of our most celebrated poets, who had, I was told, picked out and
praised the little piece 'On a Cloud,' another had quoted (saying it
would have been faultless if I had not used the word _Phoebus_ in it,
which he thought inadmissible in modern poetry), sent me some verses
inscribed "To Matilda Betham, from a Stranger"; and dated "Keswick,
Sept. 9, 1802, S. T. C." I should have guessed whence they came, but
dared not flatter myself so highly as satisfactorily to believe it,
before I obtained the avowal of the lady who had transmitted them.
_Excerpt from 'Autobiographical Sketch'._]
Matilda! I have heard a sweet tune played
On a sweet instrument--thy Poesie--
Sent to my soul by Boughton's pleading voice,
Where friendship's zealous wish inspirited,
Deepened and filled the subtle tones of _taste_: 5
(So have I heard a Nightingale's fine notes
Blend with the murmur of a hidden stream!)
And now the fair, wild offspring of thy genius,
Those wanderers whom thy fancy had sent forth
To seek their fortune in this motley world, 10
Have found a little home within _my_ heart,
And brought me, as the quit-rent of their lodging,
Rose-buds, and fruit-blossoms, and pretty weeds,
And timorous laurel leaflets half-disclosed,
Engarlanded with gadding woodbine tendrils! 15
A coronal, which, with undoubting hand,
I twine around the brows of patriot HOPE!
The Almighty, having first composed a Man,
Set him to music, framing Woman for him,
And fitted each to each, and made them one! 20
And 'tis my faith, that there's a natural bond
Between the female mind and measured sounds,
Nor do I know a sweeter Hope than this,
That this sweet Hope, by judgment unreproved,
That our own Britain, our dear mother Isle, 25
May boast one Maid, a poetess _indeed_,
Great as th' impassioned Lesbian, in sweet song,
And O! of holier mind, and happier fate.
Matilda! I dare twine _thy_ vernal wreath
Around the brows of patriot Hope! But thou 30
Be wise! be bold! fulfil my auspices!
Tho' sweet thy measures, stern must be thy thought,
Patient thy study, watchful thy mild eye!
Poetic feelings, like the stretching boughs
Of mighty oaks, pay homage to the gales, 35
Toss in the strong winds, drive before the gust,
Themselves one giddy storm of fluttering leaves;
Yet, all the while self-limited, remain
Equally near the fixed and solid trunk
Of Truth and Nature in the howling storm, 40
As in the calm that stills the aspen grove.
Be bold, meek Woman! but be wisely bold!
Fly, ostrich-like, firm land beneath thy feet,
Yet hurried onward by thy wings of fancy
Swift as the whirlwind, singing in their quills. 45
Look round thee! look within thee! think and feel!
What nobler meed, Matilda! canst thou win,
Than tears of gladness in a BOUGHTON'S[376:1] eyes,
And exultation even in strangers' hearts?
1802.
FOOTNOTES:
[374:1] First printed in a 'privately printed autobiographical sketch of
Miss Matilda Betham', preserved in a volume of tracts arranged and bound
up by Southey, now in the Forster Collection in the Victoria and Albert
Museum: reprinted (by J. Dykes Campbell) in the _Athenaeum_ (March 15,
1890): and, again, in _A House of Letters_, by Ernest Betham [1905], pp.
76-7. First collected in 1893 (see Editor's _Note_, p. 630). Lines 33-41
are quoted in a Letter to Sotheby, September 10, 1802. See _Letters of
S. T. C._, 1895, i. 404.
[376:1] Catherine Rose, wife of Sir Charles William Rouse-Boughton,
Bart. Sir Charles and Lady Boughton visited Greta Hall in September,
1802.
LINENOTES:
[7] murmur] murmurs 1893.
[16] coronal] coronel P. Sketch.
[34] stretching] flexuous MS. Letter, Sept. 10, 1802.
[35] pay] yield MS. Letter, 1802.
[39] solid] parent MS. Letter, 1802.
[40] Of truth in Nature--in the howling blast MS. Letter, 1802.
HYMN BEFORE SUN-RISE, IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI[376:2]
Besides the Rivers, Arve and Arveiron, which have their sources in the
foot of Mont Blanc, five conspicuous torrents rush down its sides; and
within a few paces of the Glaciers, the Gentiana Major grows in immense
numbers, with its 'flowers of loveliest [liveliest _Friend, 1809_]
blue.'
Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star
In his steep course? So long he seems to pause
On thy bald awful head, O sovran BLANC,
The Arve and Arveiron at thy base
Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful Form! 5
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines,
How silently! Around thee and above
Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black,
An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it,
As with a wedge! But when I look again, 10
It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Thy habitation from eternity!
O dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon thee,
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense,
Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer 15
I worshipped the Invisible alone.
Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,
So sweet, we know not we are listening to it,
Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my Thought,
Yea, with my Life and Life's own secret joy: 20
Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused,
Into the mighty vision passing--there
As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven!
Awake, my soul! not only passive praise
Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, 25
Mute thanks and secret ecstasy! Awake,
Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake!
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my Hymn.
Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the Vale!
O struggling with the darkness all the night,[378:1] 30
And visited all night by troops of stars,
Or when they climb the sky or when they sink:
Companion of the morning-star at dawn,
Thyself Earth's rosy star, and of the dawn
Co-herald: wake, O wake, and utter praise! 35
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in Earth?
Who filled thy countenance with rosy light?
Who made thee parent of perpetual streams?
And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad!
Who called you forth from night and utter death, 40
From dark and icy caverns called you forth,
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks,
For ever shattered and the same for ever?
Who gave you your invulnerable life,
Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, 45
Unceasing thunder and eternal foam?
And who commanded (and the silence came),
Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest?
Ye Ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow
Adown enormous ravines slope amain-- 50
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge!
Motionless torrents! silent cataracts!
Who made you glorious as the Gates of Heaven
Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun 55
Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers[379:1]
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?--
GOD! let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, GOD!
GOD! sing ye meadow-streams with gladsome voice! 60
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!
And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow,
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, GOD!
Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost!
Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! 65
Ye eagles, play-mates of the mountain-storm!
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!
Ye signs and wonders of the element!
Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise!
Thou too, hoar Mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks,
Oft from whose feet the avalanche,[380:1] unheard, 71
Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene
Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy breast--
Thou too again, stupendous Mountain! thou
That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low 75
In adoration, upward from thy base
Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears,
Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud,
To rise before me--Rise, O ever rise,
Rise like a cloud of incense from the Earth! 80
Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills,
Thou dread ambassador from Earth to Heaven,
Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky,
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises GOD. 85
1802.
FOOTNOTES:
[376:2] First published in the _Morning Post_, Sept. 11, 1802: reprinted
in the _Poetical Register_ for 1802 (1803), ii. 308, 311, and in _The
Friend_, No. XI, Oct. 26, 1809: included in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817,
1828, 1829, and 1834. Three MSS. are extant: (1) _MS. A_, sent to Sir
George Beaumont, Oct. 1803 (see _Coleorton Letters_, 1886, i. 26); (2)
_MS. B_, the MS. of the version as printed in _The Friend_, Oct. 26,
1809 (now in the Forster Collection in the Victoria and Albert Museum);
(3) _MS. C_, presented to Mrs. Brabant in 1815 (now in the British
Museum). The _Hymn before Sunrise, &c._, 'Hymn in the manner of the
Psalms,' is an expansion, in part, of a translation of Friederika Brun's
'Ode to Chamouny', addressed to Klopstock, which numbers some twenty
lines. The German original (see the Appendices of this edition) was
first appended to Coleridge's _Poetical Works_ in 1844 (p. 372). A
translation was given in a footnote, _P. W._ (ed. by T. Ashe), 1885, ii.
86, 87. In the _Morning Post_ and _Poetical Register_ the following
explanatory note preceded the poem:--
'CHAMOUNI, THE HOUR BEFORE SUNRISE.
'[Chamouni is one of the highest mountain valleys of the
Barony of Faucigny in the Savoy Alps; and exhibits a kind of
fairy world, in which the wildest appearances (I had almost
said horrors) of Nature alternate with the softest and most
beautiful. The chain of Mont Blanc is its boundary; and
besides the Arve it is filled with sounds from the Arveiron,
which rushes from the melted glaciers, like a giant, mad with
joy, from a dungeon, and forms other torrents of snow-water,
having their rise in the glaciers which slope down into the
valley. The beautiful _Gentiana major_, or greater gentian,
with blossoms of the brightest blue, grows in large companies
a few steps from the never-melted ice of the glaciers. I
thought it an affecting emblem of the boldness of human hope,
venturing near, and, as it were, leaning over the brink of the
grave. Indeed, the whole vale, its every light, its every
sound, must needs impress every mind not utterly callous with
the thought--Who _would_ be, who _could_ be an Atheist in this
valley of wonders! If any of the readers of the MORNING POST
[Those who have _P. R._] have visited this vale in their
journeys among the Alps, I am confident that they [that they
_om. P. R._] will not find the sentiments and feelings
expressed, or attempted to be expressed, in the following
poem, extravagant.]'
[378:1] I had written a much finer line when Sca' Fell was in my
thoughts, viz.:--
O blacker than the darkness all the night
And visited
_Note to MS. A._
[379:1] The _Gentiana major_ grows in large companies a stride's
distance from the foot of several of the glaciers. Its _blue_ flower,
the colour of Hope: is it not a pretty emblem of Hope creeping onward
even to the edge of the grave, to the very verge of utter desolation?
_Note to MS. A._
[380:1] The fall of vast masses of snow, so called. _Note MS. (C)._
LINENOTES:
Title] Chamouny The Hour before Sunrise A Hymn M. P., P. R.: Mount
Blanc, The Summit of the Vale of Chamouny, An Hour before Sunrise: A
Hymn MS. A.
[3] On thy bald awful head O Chamouny M. P., P. R.: On thy bald awful
top O Chamouny MS. A: On thy bald awful top O Sovran Blanc Friend, 1809.
[4] Arve] Arvè M. P., P. R., MS. (C).
[5] dread mountain form M. P., P. R., MS. A. most] dread Friend, 1809.
[6] forth] out MS. A.
[8] Deep is the sky, and black: transpicuous, deep M. P., P. R.: Deep is
the sky, and black! transpicuous, black. MS. A.
[11] is thine] seems thy M. P., P. R.
[13] Mount] form M. P., P. R., MS. A.
[14] the bodily sense] my bodily eye M. P., P. R.: my bodily sense MS.
A.
[16] Invisible] INVISIBLE M. P., P. R., Friend, 1809, MS. A.
[17]
Yet thou meantime, wast working on my soul,
E'en like some deep enchanting melody
M. P., P. R., MS. A.
[19 foll.]
But [Now MS. A] I awake, and with a busier mind,
And active will self-conscious, offer now
Not as before, involuntary pray'r
And passive adoration!
Hand and voice,
Awake, awake! and thou, my heart, awake!
Awake ye rocks! Ye forest pines awake! (Not in MS. A.)
Green fields
M. P., P. R., MS. A.
[29-30]
And thou, O silent Mountain, sole and bare
O blacker than the darkness all the night
M. P., P. R.
[29] And thou, thou silent mountain, lone and bare MS. A. The first and
chief, stern Monarch of the Vale _Errata to 'Hymn', &c._, The Friend,
No. XIII, Nov. 16, 1809.
[38] parent] father M. P., P. R., MS. A.
[41] From darkness let you loose and icy dens M. P., P. R., MS. A.
[46] Eternal thunder and unceasing foam MS. A.
[48] 'Here shall the billows . . .' M. P., P. R.: Here shall your
billows MS. A.
[49] the mountain's brow] yon dizzy heights M. P., P. R.
[50] Adown enormous ravines steeply slope M. P., P. R., MS. A. [A _bad_
line; but I hope to be able to alter it Note to MS. A].
[56]
with lovely flowers
Of living blue
M. P., P. R., MS. A.
[Between 58-64]
GOD! GOD! the torrents like a shout of nations
Utter! the ice-plain bursts and answers GOD!
GOD, sing the meadow-streams with gladsome voice,
And pine-groves with their soft and soul-like sound,
The silent snow-mass, loos'ning thunders God!
M. P., P. R.
These lines were omitted in MS. A.
[64] Ye dreadless flow'rs that fringe M. P., P. R. living] azure MS. A.
livery S. L. (corrected in _Errata_, p. [xi]).
[65] sporting round] bounding by M. P., P. R., MS. A.
[66] mountain-storm] mountain blast M. P., P. R.
[69] God] GOD. M. P., P. R.
[Between 70-80]
And thou, O silent Form, alone and bare
Whom, as I lift again my head bow'd low
In adoration, I again behold,
And to thy summit upward from thy base
Sweep slowly with dim eyes suffus'd by tears,
Awake thou mountain form! rise, like a cloud
M. P., P. R.
And thou thou silent mountain, lone and bare
Whom as I lift again my head bow'd low
In adoration, I again behold!
And from thy summit upward to the base
Sweep slowly, with dim eyes suffus'd with tears
Rise, mighty form! even as thou _seem'st_ to rise.
MS. A.
[70] Thou too] And thou, Errata, Friend, No. XIII. Once more, hoar Mount
MS. (C), S. L. (For _once more_, read _Thou too_ _Errata_, S. L., p.
[xi]).
[72] through] in Friend, 1809. In the blue serene MS. (C).
[74] again] once more MS. (C).
[75] That as once more I raise my Head bow'd low Friend, No. XI, 1809
(see the _Errata_, No. XIII).
[83-4] Tell the blue sky MS. A.
[84] yon] the M. P., P. R., MS. A.
[85] praises] calls on M. P., P. R., MS. A.
THE GOOD, GREAT MAN[381:1]
'How seldom, friend! a good great man inherits
Honour or wealth with all his worth and pains!
It sounds like stories from the land of spirits
If any man obtain that which he merits
Or any merit that which he obtains.' 5
REPLY TO THE ABOVE
For shame, dear friend, renounce this canting strain!
What would'st thou have a good great man obtain?
Place? titles? salary? a gilded chain?
Or throne of corses which his sword had slain? 10
Greatness and goodness are not _means_, but _ends_!
Hath he not always treasures, always friends,
The good great man? _three_ treasures, LOVE, and LIGHT,
And CALM THOUGHTS, regular as infant's breath:
And three firm friends, more sure than day and night, 15
HIMSELF, his MAKER, and the ANGEL DEATH!
1802.
FOOTNOTES:
[381:1] First published in the _Morning Post_ (as an 'Epigram', signed
ΕΣΤΗΣΕ), September 23, 1802: reprinted in the _Poetical Register_ for
1802 (1803, p. 246): included in _The Friend_, No. XIX, December 28,
1809, and in _Literary Remains_, 1836, i. 53. First collected in 1844.
LINENOTES:
Title] Epigram M. P.: Epigrams P. R.: Complaint Lit. Rem., 1844, 1852:
The Good, &c. 1893.
[6] Reply to the above M. P.: Reply The Friend, 1809: Reproof Lit. Rem.,
1844.
INSCRIPTION FOR A FOUNTAIN ON A HEATH[381:2]
This Sycamore, oft musical with bees,--
Such tents the Patriarchs loved! O long unharmed
May all its agéd boughs o'er-canopy
The small round basin, which this jutting stone
Keeps pure from falling leaves! Long may the Spring, 5
Quietly as a sleeping infant's breath,
Send up cold waters to the traveller
With soft and even pulse! Nor ever cease
Yon tiny cone of sand its soundless dance,[382:1]
Which at the bottom, like a Fairy's Page, 10
As merry and no taller, dances still,
Nor wrinkles the smooth surface of the Fount.
Here Twilight is and Coolness: here is moss,
A soft seat, and a deep and ample shade.
Thou may'st toil far and find no second tree. 15
Drink, Pilgrim, here; Here rest! and if thy heart
Be innocent, here too shalt thou refresh
Thy spirit, listening to some gentle sound,
Or passing gale or hum of murmuring bees!
1802.
FOOTNOTES:
[381:2] First published in the _Morning Post_, September 24, 1802:
reprinted in the _Poetical Register_ for 1802 (1803, p. 338): included
in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1828, 1829, and 1834.
[382:1] Compare _Anima Poetae_, 1895, p. 17: 'The spring with the little
tiny cone of loose sand ever rising and sinking to the bottom, but its
surface without a wrinkle.'
LINENOTES:
Title] Inscription on a Jutting Stone, over a Spring M. P., P. R.
[3] agéd] darksome M. P., P. R.
[5] Still may this spring M. P., P. R.
[7] waters] water P. R. to] for M. P., P. R.
[9] soundless] noiseless M. P., P. R.
[10] Which] That M. P., P. R.
[13] Here coolness dwell, and twilight M. P., P. R.
[16 foll.]
Here, stranger, drink! Here rest! And if thy heart
Be innocent, here too may'st thou renew
Thy spirits, listening to these gentle sounds,
The passing gale, or ever-murm'ring bees.
M. P., P. R.
AN ODE TO THE RAIN[382:2]
COMPOSED BEFORE DAYLIGHT, ON THE MORNING APPOINTED FOR THE DEPARTURE OF
A VERY WORTHY, BUT NOT VERY PLEASANT VISITOR, WHOM IT WAS FEARED THE
RAIN MIGHT DETAIN
I
I know it is dark; and though I have lain,
Awake, as I guess, an hour or twain,
I have not once opened the lids of my eyes,
But I lie in the dark, as a blind man lies.
O Rain! that I lie listening to, 5
You're but a doleful sound at best:
I owe you little thanks, 'tis true,
For breaking thus my needful rest!
Yet if, as soon as it is light,
O Rain! you will but take your flight, 10
I'll neither rail, nor malice keep,
Though sick and sore for want of sleep.
But only now, for this one day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away!
II
O Rain! with your dull two-fold sound, 15
The clash hard by, and the murmur all round!
You know, if you know aught, that we,
Both night and day, but ill agree:
For days and months, and almost years,
Have limped on through this vale of tears, 20
Since body of mine, and rainy weather,
Have lived on easy terms together.
Yet if, as soon as it is light,
O Rain! you will but take your flight,
Though you should come again to-morrow, 25
And bring with you both pain and sorrow;
Though stomach should sicken and knees should swell--
I'll nothing speak of you but well.
But only now for this one day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away! 30
III
Dear Rain! I ne'er refused to say
You're a good creature in your way;
Nay, I could write a book myself,
Would fit a parson's lower shelf,
Showing how very good you are.-- 35
What then? sometimes it must be fair
And if sometimes, why not to-day?
Do go, dear Rain! do go away!
IV
Dear Rain! if I've been cold and shy,
Take no offence! I'll tell you why. 40
A dear old Friend e'en now is here,
And with him came my sister dear;
After long absence now first met,
Long months by pain and grief beset--
We three dear friends! in truth, we groan 45
Impatiently to be alone.
We three, you mark! and not one more!
The strong wish makes my spirit sore.
We have so much to talk about,
So many sad things to let out; 50
So many tears in our eye-corners,
Sitting like little Jacky Horners--
In short, as soon as it is day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away.
V
And this I'll swear to you, dear Rain! 55
Whenever you shall come again,
Be you as dull as e'er you could
(And by the bye 'tis understood,
You're not so pleasant as you're good),
Yet, knowing well your worth and place, 60
I'll welcome you with cheerful face;
And though you stayed a week or more,
Were ten times duller than before;
Yet with kind heart, and right good will,
I'll sit and listen to you still; 65
Nor should you go away, dear Rain!
Uninvited to remain.
But only now, for this one day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away.
1802.
FOOTNOTES:
[382:2] First published in the _Morning Post_ (?), Oct. 7, 1802:
included in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817: in _Literary Remains_, 1836, i.
54-6. First collected in 1844. In _Literary Remains_ the poem is dated
1809, but in a letter to J. Wedgwood, Oct. 20, 1802, Coleridge seems to
imply that the _Ode to the Rain_ had appeared recently in the _Morning
Post_. A MS. note of Mrs. H. N. Coleridge, included in other memoranda
intended for publication in _Essays on His Own Times_, gives the date,
'Ode to Rain, October 7'. The issue for October 7 is missing in the
volume for 1802 preserved in the British Museum, and it may be presumed
that it was in that number the _Ode to the Rain_ first appeared. It is
possible that the 'Ode' was written on the morning after the unexpected
arrival of Charles and Mary Lamb at Greta Hall in August, 1802.
LINENOTES:
[45] We] With L. R, 1844, 1852. [The text was amended in P. W.,
1877-80.]
A DAY-DREAM[385:1]
My eyes make pictures, when they are shut:
I see a fountain, large and fair,
A willow and a ruined hut,
And thee, and me and Mary there.
O Mary! make thy gentle lap our pillow! 5
Bend o'er us, like a bower, my beautiful green willow!
A wild-rose roofs the ruined shed,
And that and summer well agree:
And lo! where Mary leans her head,
Two dear names carved upon the tree! 10
And Mary's tears, they are not tears of sorrow:
Our sister and our friend will both be here to-morrow.
'Twas day! but now few, large, and bright,
The stars are round the crescent moon!
And now it is a dark warm night, 15
The balmiest of the month of June!
A glow-worm fall'n, and on the marge remounting
Shines, and its shadow shines, fit stars for our sweet fountain.
O ever--ever be thou blest!
For dearly, Asra! love I thee! 20
This brooding warmth across my breast,
This depth of tranquil bliss--ah, me!
Fount, tree and shed are gone, I know not whither,
But in one quiet room we three are still together.
The shadows dance upon the wall, 25
By the still dancing fire-flames made;
And now they slumber, moveless all!
And now they melt to one deep shade!
But not from me shall this mild darkness steal thee:
I dream thee with mine eyes, and at my heart I feel thee! 30
Thine eyelash on my cheek doth play--
'Tis Mary's hand upon my brow!
But let me check this tender lay
Which none may hear but she and thou!
Like the still hive at quiet midnight humming. 35
Murmur it to yourselves, ye two beloved women!
1802.
FOOTNOTES:
[385:1] First published in the _Bijou_ for 1828: included in 1828, 1829,
and 1834. Asra is Miss Sarah Hutchinson; 'Our Sister and our Friend,'
William and Dorothy Wordsworth. There can be little doubt that these
lines were written in 1801 or 1802.
LINENOTES:
[8] well] will Bijou, 1828.
[17] on] in Bijou, 1828.
[20] For Asra, dearly Bijou, 1828.
[28] one] me Bijou, 1828.
ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION[386:1]
Do you ask what the birds say? The Sparrow, the Dove,
The Linnet and Thrush say, 'I love and I love!'
In the winter they're silent--the wind is so strong;
What it says, I don't know, but it sings a loud song.
But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm weather, 5
And singing, and loving--all come back together.
But the Lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
The green fields below him, the blue sky above,
That he sings, and he sings; and for ever sings he--
'I love my Love, and my Love loves me!' 10
1802.
FOOTNOTES:
[386:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, October 16, 1802:
included in _Sibylline Leaves_, in 1828, 1829, and 1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] The Language of Birds: Lines spoken extempore, to a little child,
in early spring M. P.
[Between 6-7]
'I love, and I love,' almost all the birds say
From sunrise to star-rise, so gladsome are they.
M. P.
[After 10]
'Tis no wonder that he's full of joy to the brim,
When He loves his Love, and his Love loves him.
M. P.
Line 10 is adapted from the refrain of Prior's _Song_ ('One morning very
early, one morning in the spring'):--'I love my love, because I know my
love loves me.'
THE DAY-DREAM[386:2]
FROM AN EMIGRANT TO HIS ABSENT WIFE
If thou wert here, these tears were tears of light!
But from as sweet a vision did I start
As ever made these eyes grow idly bright!
And though I weep, yet still around my heart
A sweet and playful tenderness doth linger, 5
Touching my heart as with an infant's finger.
My mouth half open, like a witless man,
I saw our couch, I saw our quiet room,
Its shadows heaving by the fire-light gloom;
And o'er my lips a subtle feeling ran, 10
All o'er my lips a soft and breeze-like feeling--
I know not what--but had the same been stealing
Upon a sleeping mother's lips, I guess
It would have made the loving mother dream
That she was softly bending down to kiss 15
Her babe, that something more than babe did seem,
A floating presence of its darling father,
And yet its own dear baby self far rather!
Across my chest there lay a weight, so warm!
As if some bird had taken shelter there; 20
And lo! I seemed to see a woman's form--
Thine, Sara, thine? O joy, if thine it were!
I gazed with stifled breath, and feared to stir it,
No deeper trance e'er wrapt a yearning spirit!
And now, when I seemed sure thy face to see, 25
Thy own dear self in our own quiet home;
There came an elfish laugh, and wakened me:
'Twas Frederic, who behind my chair had clomb,
And with his bright eyes at my face was peeping.
I blessed him, tried to laugh, and fell a-weeping! 30
1801-2.
FOOTNOTES:
[386:2] First published in the _Morning Post_, October 19, 1802. First
collected in _Poems_, 1852. A note (p. 384), was affixed:--'This little
poem first appeared in the _Morning Post_ in 1802, but was doubtless
composed in Germany. It seems to have been forgotten by its author, for
this was the only occasion on which it saw the light through him. The
Editors think that it will plead against parental neglect in the mind of
most readers.' Internal evidence seems to point to 1801 or 1802 as the
most probable date of composition.
LINENOTES:
[Below line 30] ΕΣΤΗΣΕ.
THE HAPPY HUSBAND[388:1]
A FRAGMENT
Oft, oft methinks, the while with thee,
I breathe, as from the heart, thy dear
And dedicated name, I hear
A promise and a mystery,
A pledge of more than passing life, 5
Yea, in that very name of Wife!
A pulse of love, that ne'er can sleep!
A feeling that upbraids the heart
With happiness beyond desert,
That gladness half requests to weep! 10
Nor bless I not the keener sense
And unalarming turbulence
Of transient joys, that ask no sting
From jealous fears, or coy denying;
But born beneath Love's brooding wing, 15
And into tenderness soon dying,
Wheel out their giddy moment, then
Resign the soul to love again;--
A more precipitated vein
Of notes, that eddy in the flow 20
Of smoothest song, they come, they go,
And leave their sweeter understrain,
Its own sweet self--a love of Thee
That seems, yet cannot greater be!
? 1802.
FOOTNOTES:
[388:1] First published in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817: included in 1828,
1829, 1834. There is no evidence as to the date of composition.
LINENOTES:
[13] ask] fear S. L. (for _fear_ no sting read _ask_ no sting _Errata_,
p. [xi]).
THE PAINS OF SLEEP[389:1]
Ere on my bed my limbs I lay,
It hath not been my use to pray
With moving lips or bended knees;
But silently, by slow degrees,
My spirit I to Love compose, 5
In humble trust mine eye-lids close,
With reverential resignation,
No wish conceived, no thought exprest,
Only a sense of supplication;
A sense o'er all my soul imprest 10
That I am weak, yet not unblest,
Since in me, round me, every where
Eternal Strength and Wisdom are.
But yester-night I prayed aloud
In anguish and in agony, 15
Up-starting from the fiendish crowd
Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me:
A lurid light, a trampling throng,
Sense of intolerable wrong,
And whom I scorned, those only strong! 20
Thirst of revenge, the powerless will
Still baffled, and yet burning still!
Desire with loathing strangely mixed
On wild or hateful objects fixed.
Fantastic passions! maddening brawl! 25
And shame and terror over all!
Deeds to be hid which were not hid,
Which all confused I could not know
Whether I suffered, or I did:
For all seemed guilt, remorse or woe, 30
My own or others still the same
Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame.
So two nights passed: the night's dismay
Saddened and stunned the coming day.
Sleep, the wide blessing, seemed to me 35
Distemper's worst calamity.
The third night, when my own loud scream
Had waked me from the fiendish dream,
O'ercome with sufferings strange and wild,
I wept as I had been a child; 40
And having thus by tears subdued
My anguish to a milder mood,
Such punishments, I said, were due
To natures deepliest stained with sin,--
For aye entempesting anew 45
The unfathomable hell within,
The horror of their deeds to view,
To know and loathe, yet wish and do!
Such griefs with such men well agree,
But wherefore, wherefore fall on me? 50
To be beloved is all I need,
And whom I love, I love indeed.
1803.
FOOTNOTES:
[389:1] First published, together with _Christabel_, in 1816: included
in 1828, 1829, i. 334-6 (but not in _Contents_), and 1834. A first draft
of these lines was sent in a Letter to Southey, Sept. 11, 1803 (_Letters
of S. T. C._, 1895, i. 435-7), An amended version of lines 18-32 was
included in an unpublished Letter to Poole, dated Oct. 3, 1803.
LINENOTES:
[1] Ere] When MS. Letter to Southey, Sept. 11, 1803.
[9] sense] _sense_ MS. Letter to Southey, 1816, 1828, 1829.
[10] sense] _sense_ MS. Letter to Southey.
[12] Since round me, in me, everywhere MS. Letter to Southey.
[13] Wisdom] Goodness MS. Letter to Southey.
[16] Up-starting] Awaking MS. Letter to Southey.
[Between 18-26]
Desire with loathing strangely mixt,
On wild or hateful objects fixt.
Sense of revenge, the powerless will,
Still baffled and consuming still;
Sense of intolerable wrong,
And men whom I despis'd made strong!
Vain-glorious threats, unmanly vaunting,
Bad men my boasts and fury taunting:
Rage, sensual passion, mad'ning Brawl,
MS. Letter to Southey.
[18] trampling] ghastly MS. Letter to Poole, Oct. 3, 1803.
[19] intolerable] insufferable MS. Letter to Poole.
[20] those] they MS. Letter to Poole.
[Between 22-4]
Tempestuous pride, vain-glorious vaunting
Base men my vices justly taunting
MS. Letter to Poole.
[27] which] that MS. Letters to Southey and Poole.
[28] could] might MS. Letters to Southey and Poole.
[30] For all was Horror, Guilt, and Woe MS. Letter to Southey: For all
was Guilt, and Shame, and Woe MS. Letter to Poole.
[33] So] Thus MS. Letter to Southey.
[34] coming] boding MS. Letter to Southey.
[35-6]
I fear'd to sleep: sleep seem'd to be
Disease's worst malignity
MS. Letter to Southey.
[38] waked] freed MS. Letter to Southey.
[39] O'ercome by sufferings dark and wild MS. Letter to Southey.
[42] anguish] Trouble MS. Letter to Southey.
[43] said] thought MS. Letter to Southey.
[45-6]
Still to be stirring up anew
The self-created Hell within
MS. Letter to Southey.
[47] their deeds] the crimes MS. Letter to Southey.
[48] and] to MS. Letter to Southey.
[Between 48-51]
With such let fiends make mockery--
But I--Oh, wherefore this _on me_?
Frail is my soul, yea, strengthless wholly,
Unequal, restless, melancholy.
But free from Hate and sensual Folly.
MS. Letter to Southey.
[51] be] live MS. Letter to Southey.
[After 52] And etc., etc., etc., etc. MS. Letter to Southey.
THE EXCHANGE[391:1]
We pledged our hearts, my love and I,--
I in my arms the maiden clasping;
I could not guess the reason why,
But, oh! I trembled like an aspen.
Her father's love she bade me gain; 5
I went, but shook like any reed!
I strove to act the man--in vain!
We had exchanged our hearts indeed.
1804.
FOOTNOTES:
[391:1] First published in the _Courier_, April 16, 1804: included in
the _Poetical Register_ for 1804 (1805); reprinted in _Literary
Souvenir_ for 1826, p. 408, and in _Literary Remains_, 1836, i. 59.
First collected in 1844.
LINENOTES:
Title] The Exchange of Hearts Courier, 1804.
[2] Me in her arms Courier, 1804.
[3] guess] tell Lit. Souvenir, Lit. Rem., 1844.
[5] Her father's leave Courier, 1804, P. R. 1804, 1893.
[6] but] and Lit. Souvenir, Lit. Rem., 1844.
AD VILMUM AXIOLOGUM[391:2]
[TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH]
This be the meed, that thy song creates a thousand-fold echo!
Sweet as the warble of woods, that awakes at the gale of the morning!
List! the Hearts of the Pure, like caves in the ancient mountains
Deep, deep _in_ the Bosom, and _from_ the Bosom resound it,
Each with a different tone, complete or in musical fragments-- 5
All have welcomed thy Voice, and receive and retain and prolong it!
This is the word of the Lord! it is spoken, and Beings Eternal
Live and are borne as an Infant; the Eternal begets the Immortal:
Love is the Spirit of Life, and Music the Life of the Spirit!
? 1805.
FOOTNOTES:
[391:2] First published in _P. W._, 1893. These lines were found in one
of Coleridge's Notebooks (No. 24). The first draft immediately follows
the transcription of a series of Dante's _Canzoni_ begun at Malta in
1805. If the Hexameters were composed at the same time, it is possible
that they were inspired by a perusal or re-perusal of a MS. copy of
Wordsworth's unpublished poems which had been made for his use whilst he
was abroad. As Mr. Campbell points out (_P. W._, p. 614), Wordsworth
himself was responsible for the Latinization of his name. A _Sonnet on
seeing Miss Helen Maria Williams weeping at a tale of distress_, which
was published in the _European Magazine_ for March, 1787, is signed
'Axiologus'.
LINENOTES:
[1 foll.]
What is the meed of thy song? 'Tis the ceaseless the thousandfold
echo,
Which from the welcoming Hearts of the Pure repeats and prolongs it--
Each with a different Tone, compleat or in musical fragments.
Or
This be the meed, that thy Song awakes to a thousandfold echo
Welcoming Hearts; is it their voice or is it thy own?
Lost! the Hearts of the Pure, like caves in the ancient mountains
Deep, deep in the bosom, and _from_ the bosom resound it,
Each with a different tone, compleat or in musical fragments.
Meet the song they receive, and retain and resound and prolong it!
Welcoming Souls! is it their voice, sweet Poet, or is it thy own
voice?
Drafts in Notebook.
AN EXILE[392:1]
Friend, Lover, Husband, Sister, Brother!
Dear names close in upon each other!
Alas! poor Fancy's bitter-sweet--
Our names, and but our names can meet.
1805.
FOOTNOTES:
[392:1] First published, with title 'An Exile', in 1893. These lines,
without title or heading, are inserted in one of Coleridge's Malta
Notebooks.
SONNET[392:2]
[TRANSLATED FROM MARINI]
Lady, to Death we're doom'd, our crime the same!
Thou, that in me thou kindled'st such fierce heat;
I, that my heart did of a Sun so sweet
The rays concentre to so hot a flame.
I, fascinated by an Adder's eye-- 5
Deaf as an Adder thou to all my pain;
Thou obstinate in Scorn, in Passion I--
I lov'd too much, too much didst thou disdain.
Hear then our doom in Hell as just as stern,
Our sentence equal as our crimes conspire-- 10
Who living bask'd at Beauty's earthly fire,
In living flames eternal these must burn--
Hell for us both fit places too supplies--
In my heart _thou_ wilt burn, I _roast_ before thine eyes.
? 1805.
FOOTNOTES:
[392:2] First published in 1893. For the Italian original, 'Alia Sua
Amico,' _Sonetto_, vide Appendices of this Edition.
PHANTOM[393:1]
All look and likeness caught from earth,
All accident of kin and birth,
Had pass'd away. There was no trace
Of aught on that illumined face,
Uprais'd beneath the rifted stone 5
But of one spirit all her own;--
She, she herself, and only she,
Shone through her body visibly.
1805.
FOOTNOTES:
[393:1] These lines, without title or heading, are quoted ('vide . . .
my lines') in an entry in one of Coleridge's Malta Notebooks, dated Feb.
8, 1805, to illustrate the idea that the love-sense can be abstracted
from the accidents of form or person (see _Anima Poetae_, 1895, p. 120).
It follows that they were written before that date. _Phantom_ was first
published in 1834, immediately following (ii. 71) _Phantom or Fact. A
dialogue in Verse_, which was first published in 1828, and was probably
written about that time. Both poems are 'fragments from the life of
dreams'; but it was the reality which lay behind both 'phantom' and
'fact' of which the poet dreamt, having his eyes open. With lines 4, 5
compare the following stanza of one of the _MS._ versions of the _Dark
Ladié_:--
Against a grey stone rudely carv'd
The statue of an armed knight,
She lean'd in melancholy mood
To watch ['d] the lingering Light.
A SUNSET[393:2]
Upon the mountain's edge with light touch resting,
There a brief while the globe of splendour sits
And seems a creature of the earth; but soon
More changeful than the Moon,
To wane fantastic his great orb submits, 5
Or cone or mow of fire: till sinking slowly
Even to a star at length he lessens wholly.
Abrupt, as Spirits vanish, he is sunk!
A soul-like breeze possesses all the wood.
The boughs, the sprays have stood 10
As motionless as stands the ancient trunk!
But every leaf through all the forest flutters,
And deep the cavern of the fountain mutters.
1805.
FOOTNOTES:
[393:2] First published in 1893. The title 'A Sunset' was prefixed by
the Editor. These lines are inscribed in one of Coleridge's Malta
Notebooks. The following note or comment is attached:--'These lines I
wrote as nonsense verses merely to try a metre; but they are by no means
contemptible; at least in reading them I am surprised at finding them so
good. 16 Aug., 1805, Malta.
'Now will it be a more English music if the first and fourth are double
rhymes and the 5th and 6th single? or all single, or the 2nd and 3rd
double? Try.' They were afterwards sent to William Worship, Esq.,
Yarmouth, in a letter dated April 22, 1819, as an unpublished autograph.
LINENOTES:
[1] with light touch] all lightly MS.
[4] the] this MS.
[6] A distant Hiss of fire MS. alternative reading.
[7] lessens] lessened MS.
[12] flutters] fluttered MS.
[13] mutters] muttered MS.
WHAT IS LIFE?[394:1]
Resembles life what once was deem'd of light,
Too ample in itself for human sight?
An absolute self--an element ungrounded--
All that we see, all colours of all shade
By encroach of darkness made?-- 5
Is very life by consciousness unbounded?
And all the thoughts, pains, joys of mortal breath,
A war-embrace of wrestling life and death?
1805.
FOOTNOTES:
[394:1] First published in _Literary Souvenir_, 1829: included in
_Literary Remains_, 1836, i. 60. First collected in 1844. These lines,
'written in the same manner, and for the same purpose, but of course
with more conscious effort than the two stanzas on the preceding leaf,'
are dated '16 August, 1805, the day of the Valetta Horse-racing--bells
jangling, and stupefying music playing all day'. Afterwards, in 1819,
Coleridge maintained that they were written 'between the age of 15 and
16'.
LINENOTES:
[1] deem'd] held Lit. Souvenir, 1829.
[2] ample] simple MS.
[6]
{ [*per se*] (in its own Nature)
{ Is Life itself
MS.
THE BLOSSOMING OF THE SOLITARY DATE-TREE[395:1]
A LAMENT
I seem to have an indistinct recollection of having read either in one
of the ponderous tomes of George of Venice, or in some other compilation
from the uninspired Hebrew writers, an apologue or Rabbinical tradition
to the following purpose:
While our first parents stood before their offended Maker, and the
last 5
words of the sentence were yet sounding in Adam's ear, the guileful
false
serpent, a counterfeit and a usurper from the beginning, presumptuously
took on himself the character of advocate or mediator, and pretending to
intercede for Adam, exclaimed: 'Nay, Lord, in thy justice, not so! for
the man was the least in fault. Rather let the Woman return at once
to 10
the dust, and let Adam remain in this thy Paradise.' And the word of
the Most High answered Satan: '_The tender mercies of the wicked are
cruel._
Treacherous Fiend! if with guilt like thine, it had been possible for
thee
to have the heart of a Man, and to feel the yearning of a human soul for
its counterpart, the sentence, which thou now counsellest, should
have 15
been inflicted on thyself.'
The title of the following poem was suggested by a fact mentioned by
Linnaeus, of a date-tree in a nobleman's garden which year after year
had put forth a full show of blossoms, but never produced fruit, till a
branch from another date-tree had been conveyed from a distance of 20
some hundred leagues. The first leaf of the MS. from which the poem
has been transcribed, and which contained the two or three introductory
stanzas, is wanting: and the author has in vain taxed his memory to
repair the loss. But a rude draught of the poem contains the substance
of the stanzas, and the reader is requested to receive it as the
substitute. 25
It is not impossible, that some congenial spirit, whose years do not
exceed those of the Author at the time the poem was written, may find
a pleasure in restoring the Lament to its original integrity by a
reduction
of the thoughts to the requisite metre. _S. T. C._
1
Beneath the blaze of a tropical sun the mountain peaks are 30
the Thrones of Frost, through the absence of objects to reflect
the rays. 'What no one with us shares, seems scarce our own.'
The presence of a ONE,
The best belov'd, who loveth me the best,
is for the heart, what the supporting air from within is for the 35
hollow globe with its suspended car. Deprive it of this, and all
without, that would have buoyed it aloft even to the seat of the
gods,
becomes a burthen and crushes it into flatness.
2
The finer the sense for the beautiful and the lovely, and the
fairer and lovelier the object presented to the sense; the more 40
exquisite the individual's capacity of joy, and the more ample
his means and opportunities of enjoyment, the more heavily
will he feel the ache of solitariness, the more unsubstantial
becomes the feast spread around him. What matters it,
whether in fact the viands and the ministering graces are 45
shadowy or real, to him who has not hand to grasp nor arms
to embrace them?
3
Imagination; honourable aims;
Free commune with the choir that cannot die;
Science and song; delight in little things, 50
The buoyant child surviving in the man;
Fields, forests, ancient mountains, ocean, sky,
With all their voices--O dare I accuse
My earthly lot as guilty of my spleen,
Or call my destiny niggard! O no! no! 55
It is her largeness, and her overflow,
Which being incomplete, disquieteth me so!
4
For never touch of gladness stirs my heart,
But tim'rously beginning to rejoice
Like a blind Arab, that from sleep doth start 60
In lonesome tent, I listen for thy voice.
Belovéd! 'tis not thine; thou art not there!
Then melts the bubble into idle air,
And wishing without hope I restlessly despair.
5
The mother with anticipated glee 65
Smiles o'er the child, that, standing by her chair
And flatt'ning its round cheek upon her knee,
Looks up, and doth its rosy lips prepare
To mock the coming sounds. At that sweet sight
She hears her own voice with a new delight; 70
And if the babe perchance should lisp the notes aright,
6
Then is she tenfold gladder than before!
But should disease or chance the darling take,
What then avail those songs, which sweet of yore
Were only sweet for their sweet echo's sake? 75
Dear maid! no prattler at a mother's knee
Was e'er so dearly prized as I prize thee:
Why was I made for Love and Love denied to me?
1805.
FOOTNOTES:
[395:1] First published in 1828: included in 1829 and 1834.
LINENOTES:
[5] stood] were yet standing 1828.
[8] mediator] moderator 1828.
[9] The words 'not so' are omitted in 1828.
[11] _remain_ here all the days of his now mortal life, and enjoy the
respite thou mayest grant him, in this thy Paradise which thou gavest to
him, and hast planted with every tree pleasant to the sight of man and
of delicious fruitage. 1828.
[13 foll.] _Treacherous Fiend!_ guilt deep as thine could not be, yet
the love of kind not extinguished. But if having done what thou hast
done, thou hadst yet the heart of man within thee, and the yearning of
the soul for its answering image and completing counterpart, O spirit,
desperately wicked! the sentence thou counsellest had been thy own!
1828.
[20] from a Date tree 1828, 1839.
[48] Hope, Imagination, &c. 1828.
[53] With all their voices mute--O dare I accuse 1838.
[55] Or call my niggard destiny! No! No! 1838.
[61] thy] _thy_ 1828, 1829.
[77] thee] _thee_ 1828, 1829.
SEPARATION[397:1]
A sworded man whose trade is blood,
In grief, in anger, and in fear,
Thro' jungle, swamp, and torrent flood,
I seek the wealth you hold so dear!
The dazzling charm of outward form, 5
The power of gold, the pride of birth,
Have taken Woman's heart by storm--
Usurp'd the place of inward worth.
Is not true Love of higher price
Than outward Form, though fair to see, 10
Wealth's glittering fairy-dome of ice,
Or echo of proud ancestry?--
O! Asra, Asra! couldst thou see
Into the bottom of my heart,
There's such a mine of Love for thee, 15
As almost might supply desert!
(This separation is, alas!
Too great a punishment to bear;
O! take my life, or let me pass
That life, that happy life, with her!) 20
The perils, erst with steadfast eye
Encounter'd, now I shrink to see--
Oh! I have heart enough to die--
Not half enough to part from Thee!
? 1805.
FOOTNOTES:
[397:1] First published in 1834. In Pickering's one-volume edition of
the issue of 1848 the following note is printed on p. 372:--
'The fourth and last stanzas are adapted from the twelfth and last of
Cotton's _Chlorinda_ [Ode]:--
'O my Chlorinda! could'st thou see
Into the bottom of my heart,
There's such a Mine of Love for thee,
The Treasure would supply desert.
Meanwhile my Exit now draws nigh,
When, sweet Chlorinda, thou shalt see
That I have heart enough to die,
Not half enough to part with thee.
'The fifth stanza is the eleventh of Cotton's poem.'
In 1852 (p. 385) the note reads: 'The fourth and last stanzas are from
Cotton's _Chlorinda_, with very slight alteration.'
A first draft of this adaptation is contained in one of Coleridge's
Malta Notebooks:--
[I]
Made worthy by excess of Love
A wretch thro' power of Happiness,
And poor from wealth I dare not use.
[II]
This separation etc.
[III]
[*The Pomp of Wealth*]
[*Stores of Gold, the pomp of Wealth*]
[*Nor less the Pride of Noble Birth*]
The dazzling charm etc.
(l. 4) Supplied the place etc.
[IV]
Is not true Love etc.
[V]
O ΑΣΡΑ! ΑΣΡΑ could'st thou see
Into the bottom of my Heart!
There's such a Mine of Love for Thee--
The Treasure would supply desert.
[VI]
Death erst contemn'd--O ΑΣΡΑ! why
Now terror-stricken do I see--
Oh! I have etc.
THE RASH CONJURER[399:1]
Strong spirit-bidding sounds!
With deep and hollow voice,
'Twixt Hope and Dread,
Seven Times I said
Iohva Mitzoveh 5
Vohoeen![399:2]
And up came an imp in the shape of a
Pea-hen!
I saw, I doubted,
And seven times spouted 10
Johva Mitzoveh
Yahóevohāen!
When Anti-Christ starting up, butting
and bāing,
In the shape of a mischievous curly 15
black Lamb--
With a vast flock of Devils behind
and beside,
And before 'em their Shepherdess
Lucifer's Dam, 20
Riding astride
On an old black Ram,
With Tartary stirrups, knees up to her chin.
And a sleek chrysom imp to her Dugs muzzled in,--
'Gee-up, my old Belzy! (she cried, 25
As she sung to her suckling cub)
Trit-a-trot, trot! we'll go far and wide
Trot, Ram-Devil! Trot! Belzebub!'
Her petticoat fine was of scarlet Brocade,
And soft in her lap her Baby she lay'd 30
With his pretty Nubs of Horns a-
sprouting,
And his pretty little Tail all curly-twirly--
St. Dunstan! and this comes of spouting--
Of Devils what a Hurly-Burly! 35
'Behold we are up! what want'st thou then?'
'Sirs! only that'--'Say when and what'--
You'd be so good'--'Say what and when'
'This moment to get down again!'
'We do it! we do it! we all get down! 40
But we take you with us to swim
or drown!
Down a down to the grim Engulpher!'
'O me! I am floundering in Fire and Sulphur!
That the Dragon had scrounched you, squeal 45
and squall--
Cabbalists! Conjurers! great and small,
Johva Mitzoveh Evohāen and all!
Had _I_ never uttered your jaw-breaking words,
I might now have been sloshing down Junket and Curds,
Like a Devonshire Christian: 51
But now a Philistine!
Ye Earthmen! be warned by a judgement so tragic,
And wipe yourselves cleanly with all books of magic--
Hark! hark! it is Dives! 'Hold your Bother, you Booby!
I am burnt ashy white, and you yet are but ruby.' 56
_Epilogue._
We ask and urge (here ends the story)
All Christian Papishes to pray
That this unhappy Conjurer may
Instead of Hell, be but in Purgatory-- 60
For then there's Hope,--
Long live the Pope!
Catholicus.
? 1805, ? 1814.
FOOTNOTES:
[399:1] Now first printed from one of Coleridge's Notebooks. The last
stanza--the Epilogue--was first published by H. N. Coleridge as part of
an 'Uncomposed Poem', in _Literary Remains_, 1836, i. 52: first
collected in Appendix to _P. and D. W._, 1877-80, ii. 366. There is no
conclusive evidence as to the date of composition. The handwriting, and
the contents of the Notebook might suggest a date between 1813 and 1816.
The verses are almost immediately preceded by a detached note printed at
the close of an essay entitled 'Self-love in Religion' which is included
among the '_Omniana_ of 1809', _Literary Remains_, 1834, i. 354-6: 'O
magical, sympathetic, _anima_! [Archeus, _MS._] _principium
hylarchichum! rationes spermaticæ!_ λόγοι ποιητικοί! O formidable words!
And O Man! thou marvellous beast-angel! thou ambitious beggar! How
pompously dost thou trick out thy very ignorance with such glorious
disguises, that thou mayest seem to hide in order to worship it.'
With this piece as a whole compare Southey's 'Ballad of a Young Man that
would read unlawful Books, and how he was punished'.
[399:2] A cabbalistic invocation of Jehovah, obscure in the original
Hebrew. I am informed that the second word Mitzoveh may stand for 'from
Sabaoth'.
A CHILD'S EVENING PRAYER[401:1]
Ere on my bed my limbs I lay,
God grant me grace my prayers to say:
O God! preserve my mother dear
In strength and health for many a year;
And, O! preserve my father too, 5
And may I pay him reverence due;
And may I my best thoughts employ
To be my parents' hope and joy;
And O! preserve my brothers both
From evil doings and from sloth, 10
And may we always love each other
Our friends, our father, and our mother:
And still, O Lord, to me impart
An innocent and grateful heart,
That after my great sleep I may 15
Awake to thy eternal day! _Amen._
1806.
FOOTNOTES:
[401:1] First published in 1852. A transcript in the handwriting of Mrs.
S. T. Coleridge is in the possession of the Editor.
LINENOTES:
[3] mother] father MS.
[5] father] mother MS.
[6] him] her MS.
[7-8]
And may I still my thoughts employ
To be her comfort and her joy
MS.
[9] O likewise keep MS.
[13] But chiefly, Lord MS.
[15] great] last P. W. 1877-80, 1893.
[After 16] Our father, &c. MS.
METRICAL FEET[401:2]
LESSON FOR A BOY
Trōchĕe trīps frŏm lōng tŏ shōrt;
From long to long in solemn sort
Slōw Spōndēe stālks; strōng fo͞ot! yet ill able
Ēvĕr tŏ cōme ŭp wĭth Dācty̆l trĭsȳllăblĕ.
Ĭāmbĭcs mārch frŏm shōrt tŏ lōng;— 5
Wĭth ă le͞ap ănd ă bo͞und thĕ swĭft Ānăpæ̆sts thrōng;
One syllable long, with one short at each side,
Ămphībrăchy̆s hāstes wĭth ă stātely̆ stride;--
Fīrst ănd lāst bēĭng lōng, mīddlĕ shōrt, Am̄phĭmācer
Strīkes hĭs thūndērīng ho͞ofs līke ă pro͞ud hīgh-brĕd Rācer. 10
If Derwent be innocent, steady, and wise,
And delight in the things of earth, water, and skies;
Tender warmth at his heart, with these metres to show it,
With sound sense in his brains, may make Derwent a poet,--
May crown him with fame, and must win him the love 15
Of his father on earth and his Father above.
My dear, dear child!
Could you stand upon Skiddaw, you would not from its whole ridge
See a man who so loves you as your fond S. T. COLERIDGE.
1806.
FOOTNOTES:
[401:2] First published in 1834. The metrical lesson was begun for
Hartley Coleridge in 1806 and, afterwards, finished or adapted for the
use of his brother Derwent. The Editor possesses the autograph of a
metrical rendering of the Greek alphabet, entitled 'A Greek Song set to
Music, and sung by Hartley Coleridge, Esq., Graecologian, philometrist
and philomelist'.
LINENOTES:
Title] The chief and most usual Metrical Feet expressed in metre and
addressed to Hartley Coleridge MS. of Lines 1-7.
FAREWELL TO LOVE[402:1]
Farewell, sweet Love! yet blame you not my truth;
More fondly ne'er did mother eye her child
Than I your form: _yours_ were my hopes of youth,
And as _you_ shaped my thoughts I sighed or smiled.
While most were wooing wealth, or gaily swerving 5
To pleasure's secret haunts, and some apart
Stood strong in pride, self-conscious of deserving,
To you I gave my whole weak wishing heart.
And when I met the maid that realised
Your fair creations, and had won her kindness, 10
Say, but for her if aught on earth I prized!
_Your_ dreams alone I dreamt, and caught your blindness.
O grief!--but farewell, Love! I will go play me
With thoughts that please me less, and less betray me.
1806.
FOOTNOTES:
[402:1] First published in the _Courier_, September 27, 1806, and
reprinted in the _Morning Herald_, October 11, 1806, and in the
_Gentleman's Magazine_ for November, 1815, vol. lxxxv, p. 448: included
in _Literary Remains_, 1836, i. 280, and in _Letters, Conversations,
&c._, [by T. Allsop], 1836, i. 143. First collected, appendix, 1863.
This sonnet is modelled upon and in part borrowed from Lord Brooke's
(Fulke Greville) Sonnet LXXIV of Coelica: and was inscribed on the
margin of Charles Lamb's copy of _Certain Learned and Elegant Works of
the Right Honourable Fulke Lord Brooke_ . . . 1633, p. 284.
_'Cælica'. Sonnet lxxiv._
Farewell sweet Boy, complaine not of my truth;
Thy Mother lov'd thee not with more devotion;
For to thy Boyes play I gave all my youth
Yong Master, I did hope for your promotion.
While some sought Honours, Princes thoughts observing,
Many woo'd _Fame, the child of paine and anguish_,
Others judg'd inward good a chiefe deserving,
I in thy wanton Visions joy'd to languish.
I bow'd not to thy image for succession,
Nor bound thy bow to shoot reformed kindnesse,
The playes of hope and feare were my confession
The spectacles to my life was thy blindnesse:
But _Cupid_ now farewell, I will goe play me,
With thoughts that please me lesse, and lesse betray me.
For an adaptation of Sonnet XCIV, entitled 'Lines on a King-and-
Emperor-Making King--altered from the 93rd Sonnet of Fulke Greville',
vide Appendices of this edition.
LINENOTES:
[1-2]
Farewell my Love! yet blame ye not my Truth;
More fondly never mother ey'd her child
MS. 1806.
Sweet power of Love, farewell! nor blame my truth,
More fondly never Mother ey'd her Child
Courier, M. H.
[4] And as you wove the dream I sigh'd or smil'd MS. 1806: And as you
wove my thoughts, I sigh'd or smil'd Courier, M. H.
[5-7]
While some sought Wealth; others to Pleasure swerving,
Many woo'd Fame: and some stood firm apart
In joy of pride, self-conscious of deserving
MS. 1806, Courier, M. H.
[6] haunts] haunt L. R., Letters, &c., 1836, 1863.
[8] weak wishing] weak-wishing Courier, M. H.
[9] that] who Courier, M. H.
[13] will] must Courier, M. H.
TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH[403:1]
COMPOSED ON THE NIGHT AFTER HIS RECITATION OF A POEM ON THE GROWTH OF AN
INDIVIDUAL MIND
Friend of the wise! and Teacher of the Good!
Into my heart have I received that Lay
More than historic, that prophetic Lay
Wherein (high theme by thee first sung aright)
Of the foundations and the building up 5
Of a Human Spirit thou hast dared to tell
What may be told, to the understanding mind
Revealable; and what within the mind
By vital breathings secret as the soul
Of vernal growth, oft quickens in the heart 10
Thoughts all too deep for words!--
Theme hard as high!
Of smiles spontaneous, and mysterious fears
(The first-born they of Reason and twin-birth),
Of tides obedient to external force,
And currents self-determined, as might seem, 15
Or by some inner Power; of moments awful,
Now in thy inner life, and now abroad,
When power streamed from thee, and thy soul received
The light reflected, as a light bestowed--
Of fancies fair, and milder hours of youth, 20
Hyblean murmurs of poetic thought
Industrious in its joy, in vales and glens
Native or outland, lakes and famous hills!
Or on the lonely high-road, when the stars
Were rising; or by secret mountain-streams, 25
The guides and the companions of thy way!
Of more than Fancy, of the Social Sense
Distending wide, and man beloved as man,
Where France in all her towns lay vibrating
Like some becalméd bark beneath the burst 30
Of Heaven's immediate thunder, when no cloud
Is visible, or shadow on the main.
For thou wert there, thine own brows garlanded,
Amid the tremor of a realm aglow,
Amid a mighty nation jubilant, 35
When from the general heart of human kind
Hope sprang forth like a full-born Deity!
----Of that dear Hope afflicted and struck down,
So summoned homeward, thenceforth calm and sure
From the dread watch-tower of man's absolute self, 40
With light unwaning on her eyes, to look
Far on--herself a glory to behold,
The Angel of the vision! Then (last strain)
Of Duty, chosen Laws controlling choice,
Action and joy!--An Orphic song indeed, 45
A song divine of high and passionate thoughts
To their own music chaunted!
O great Bard!
Ere yet that last strain dying awed the air,
With stedfast eye I viewed thee in the choir
Of ever-enduring men. The truly great 50
Have all one age, and from one visible space
Shed influence! They, both in power and act,
Are permanent, and Time is not with them,
Save as it worketh for them, they in it.
Nor less a sacred Roll, than those of old, 55
And to be placed, as they, with gradual fame
Among the archives of mankind, thy work
Makes audible a linkéd lay of Truth,
Of Truth profound a sweet continuous lay,
Not learnt, but native, her own natural notes! 60
Ah! as I listened with a heart forlorn,
The pulses of my being beat anew:
And even as Life returns upon the drowned,
Life's joy rekindling roused a throng of pains--
Keen pangs of Love, awakening as a babe 65
Turbulent, with an outcry in the heart;
And fears self-willed, that shunned the eye of Hope;
And Hope that scarce would know itself from Fear;
Sense of past Youth, and Manhood come in vain,
And Genius given, and Knowledge won in vain; 70
And all which I had culled in wood-walks wild,
And all which patient toil had reared, and all,
Commune with thee had opened out--but flowers
Strewed on my corse, and borne upon my bier,
In the same coffin, for the self-same grave! 75
That way no more! and ill beseems it me,
Who came a welcomer in herald's guise,
Singing of Glory, and Futurity,
To wander back on such unhealthful road,
Plucking the poisons of self-harm! And ill 80
Such intertwine beseems triumphal wreaths
Strew'd before thy advancing!
Nor do thou,
Sage Bard! impair the memory of that hour
Of thy communion with my nobler mind
By pity or grief, already felt too long! 85
Nor let my words import more blame than needs.
The tumult rose and ceased: for Peace is nigh
Where Wisdom's voice has found a listening heart.
Amid the howl of more than wintry storms,
The Halcyon hears the voice of vernal hours 90
Already on the wing.
Eve following eve,
Dear tranquil time, when the sweet sense of Home
Is sweetest! moments for their own sake hailed
And more desired, more precious, for thy song,
In silence listening, like a devout child, 95
My soul lay passive, by thy various strain
Driven as in surges now beneath the stars,
With momentary stars of my own birth,
Fair constellated foam,[408:1] still darting off
Into the darkness; now a tranquil sea, 100
Outspread and bright, yet swelling to the moon.
And when--O Friend! my comforter and guide!
Strong in thyself, and powerful to give strength!--
Thy long sustainéd Song finally closed,
And thy deep voice had ceased--yet thou thyself 105
Wert still before my eyes, and round us both
That happy vision of belovéd faces--
Scarce conscious, and yet conscious of its close
I sate, my being blended in one thought
(Thought was it? or aspiration? or resolve?) 110
Absorbed, yet hanging still upon the sound--
And when I rose, I found myself in prayer.
_January_, 1807.
FOOTNOTES:
[403:1] First published in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817: included in 1828,
1829, 1834. The poem was sent in a Letter to Sir G. Beaumont dated
January, 1807, and in this shape was first printed by Professor Knight
in _Coleorton Letters_, 1887, i. 213-18; and as Appendix H, pp. 525-6,
of _P. W._, 1893 (_MS. B._). An earlier version of about the same date
was given to Wordsworth, and is now in the possession of his grandson,
Mr. Gordon Wordsworth (_MS. W._). The text of _Sibylline Leaves_ differs
widely from that of the original MSS. Lines 11-47 are quoted in a Letter
to Wordsworth, dated May 30, 1815 (_Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i.
646-7), and lines 65-75 at the end of Chapter X of the _Biographia
Literaria_, 1817, i. 220.
[408:1] 'A beautiful white cloud of Foam at momentary intervals coursed
by the side of the Vessel with a Roar, and little stars of flame danced
and sparkled and went out in it: and every now and then light
detachments of this white cloud-like foam dashed off from the vessel's
side, each with its own small constellation, over the Sea, and scoured
out of sight like a Tartar Troop over a wilderness.' _The Friend_, p.
220. [From Satyrane's First Letter, published in _The Friend_, No. 14,
Nov. 23, 1809.]
LINENOTES:
Title] To W. Wordsworth. Lines Composed, for the greater part on the
Night, on which he finished the recitation of his Poem (in thirteen
Books) concerning the growth and history of his own Mind, Jan. 7, 1807,
Cole-orton, near Ashby de la Zouch MS. W.: To William Wordsworth.
Composed for the greater part on the same night after the finishing of
his recitation of the Poem in thirteen Books, on the Growth of his own
Mind MS. B.: To a Gentleman, &c. S. L. 1828, 1829.
[1] O Friend! O Teacher! God's great gift to me! MSS. W., B.
[Between 5-13]
Of thy own Spirit, thou hast lov'd to tell
What may be told, to th' understanding mind
Revealable; and what within the mind
May rise enkindled. Theme as hard as high!
Of Smiles spontaneous and mysterious Fear.
MS. W.
Of thy own spirit thou hast loved to tell
What _may_ be told, by words revealable;
With heavenly breathings, like the secret soul
Of vernal growth, oft quickening in the heart,
Thoughts that obey no mastery of words,
Pure self-beholdings! theme as hard as high,
Of _smiles_ spontaneous and mysterious _fear_.
MS. B.
[9] By vital breathings like the secret soul S. L. 1828.
[16] Or by interior power MS. W: Or by some central breath MS. Letter,
1815.
[17] inner] hidden MSS. W., B.
[Between 17-41]
Mid festive crowds, _thy_ Brows too garlanded,
A Brother of the Feast: of Fancies fair,
_Hyblaean murmurs of poetic Thought,
Industrious in its Joy_, by lilied Streams
_Native or outland, Lakes and famous Hills!
Of more than Fancy_, of the Hope of Man
_Amid the tremor of a Realm aglow--
Where France in all her Towns lay vibrating_
Ev'n as a Bark becalm'd on sultry seas
Beneath the voice from Heav'n, the bursting crash
_Of Heaven's immediate thunder! when no cloud
Is visible, or Shadow on the Main!_
Ah! soon night roll'd on night, and every Cloud
Open'd its eye of Fire: and Hope aloft
Now flutter'd, and now toss'd upon the storm
Floating! Of _Hope afflicted and struck down
Thence summoned homeward_--homeward to thy Heart,
Oft from the _Watch-tower of Man's absolute self_,
With light, &c.
MS. W.
[27] _social sense_ MS. B.
[28] Distending, and of man MS. B.
[29-30]
Even as a bark becalm'd on sultry seas
Quivers beneath the voice from Heaven, the burst
MS. B.
[30]
Ev'n as a bark becalm'd beneath the burst
MS. Letter, 1815, S. L. 1828.
[33] thine] thy MS. B., MS. Letter, 1815.
[37] a full-born] an arméd MS. B.
[38] Of that dear hope afflicted and amazed MS. Letter, 1815.
[39] So homeward summoned MS. Letter, 1815.
[40] As from the watch-tower MS. B.
[44] controlling] ? impelling, ? directing MS. W.
[45-6]
Virtue and Love--an Orphic Tale indeed
A Tale divine
MS. W.
[45] song] tale MS. B.
[46] song] tale MS. B. thoughts] truths MS. Letter, 1815.
[47-9]
Ah! great Bard
Ere yet that last swell dying aw'd the air
With stedfast ken I viewed thee in the choir
MS. W.
[48] that] the MS. B.
[49] With steadfast eyes I saw thee MS. B.
[52] for they, both power and act MS. B.
[53] them] _them_ S. L. 1828, 1829.
[54] _for_ them, they _in_ it S. L. 1828, 1829.
[58] lay] song MSS. W., B.
[59] lay] song MSS. W., B.
[61 foll.]
Dear shall it be to every human heart,
To me how more than dearest! me, on whom
Comfort from thee, and utterance of thy love,
Came with such heights and depths of harmony,
Such sense of wings uplifting, that the storm 5
Scatter'd and whirl'd me, till my thoughts became
A bodily tumult; and thy faithful hopes,
Thy hopes of me, dear Friend! by me unfelt!
Were troublous to me, almost as a voice,
Familiar once, and more than musical; 10
To one cast forth, whose hope had seem'd to die
A wanderer with a worn-out heart
Mid strangers pining with untended wounds.
O Friend, too well thou know'st, of what sad years
The long suppression had benumb'd my soul, 15
That even as life returns upon the drown'd,
The unusual joy awoke a throng of pains--
_Keen pangs_, &c.
MSS. B, W
with the following variants:--
ll. 5-6
Such sense of wings uplifting, that its might
Scatter'd and quell'd me--
MS. B.
ll. 11, 12
As a dear woman's voice to one cast forth
A wanderer with a worn-out heart forlorn.
[73] thee] _thee_ S. L. 1828, 1829.
[74] Strewed] Strewn MS. B., 1828, 1829.
[82] thy] _thy_ S. L. 1828, 1829.
[82-3]
Thou too, Friend!
O injure not the memory of that hour
MS. W.
Thou too, Friend!
Impair thou not the memory of that Hour
MS. B.
[93] Becomes most sweet! hours for their own sake hail'd MS. W.
[96] thy] the MS. B.
[98] my] her MS. B.
[102] and] my MSS. W., B.
[104] Song] lay MS. W.
[106] my] mine MSS. W., B.
[Between 107-8] (All whom I deepliest love--in one room all!) MSS. W.,
B.
AN ANGEL VISITANT[409:1]
Within these circling hollies woodbine-clad--
Beneath this small blue roof of vernal sky--
How warm, how still! Tho' tears should dim mine eye,
Yet will my heart for days continue glad,
For here, my love, thou art, and here am I!
? 1801.
FOOTNOTES:
[409:1] First published in _Literary Remains_, 1836, i. 280. First
collected in _P. and D. W._, 1877-80. The title was prefixed to the
_Poems of Coleridge_ (illustrated edition), 1907. This 'exquisite
fragment . . . was probably composed as the opening of _Recollections of
Love_, and abandoned on account of a change of metre.'--_Editor's Note_,
1893 (p. 635). It is in no way a translation, but the thought or idea
was suggested by one of the German stanzas which Coleridge selected and
copied into one of his Notebooks as models or specimens of various
metres. For the original, vide Appendices of this edition.
RECOLLECTIONS OF LOVE[409:2]
I
How warm this woodland wild Recess!
Love surely hath been breathing here;
And this sweet bed of heath, my dear!
Swells up, then sinks with faint caress,
As if to have you yet more near. 5
II
Eight springs have flown, since last I lay
On sea-ward Quantock's heathy hills,
Where quiet sounds from hidden rills
Float here and there, like things astray,
And high o'er head the sky-lark shrills. 10
III
No voice as yet had made the air
Be music with your name; yet why
That asking look? that yearning sigh?
That sense of promise every where?
Beloved! flew your spirit by? 15
IV
As when a mother doth explore
The rose-mark on her long-lost child,
I met, I loved you, maiden mild!
As whom I long had loved before--
So deeply had I been beguiled. 20
V
You stood before me like a thought,
A dream remembered in a dream.
But when those meek eyes first did seem
To tell me, Love within you wrought--
O Greta, dear domestic stream! 25
VI
Has not, since then, Love's prompture deep,
Has not Love's whisper evermore
Been ceaseless, as thy gentle roar?
Sole voice, when other voices sleep,
Dear under-song in clamor's hour. 30
1807.
FOOTNOTES:
[409:2] First published in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817: included in 1828,
1829, and 1834. It is impossible to fix the date of composition, though
internal evidence points to July, 1807, when Coleridge revisited Stowey
after a long absence. The first stanza, a variant of the preceding
fragment, is introduced into a prose fancy, entitled 'Questions and
Answers in the Court of Love', of uncertain date, but perhaps written at
Malta in 1805 (vide Appendices of this edition). A first draft of
stanzas 1-4 (vide supra) is included in the collection of metrical
experiments and metrical schemes, modelled on German and Italian
originals, which seems to have been begun in 1801, with a view to a
projected 'Essay on Metre'. Stanzas 5, 6 are not contemporary with
stanzas 1-4, and, perhaps, date from 1814, 1815, when _Sibylline Leaves_
were being prepared for the press.
TO TWO SISTERS[410:1]
[MARY MORGAN AND CHARLOTTE BRENT]
A WANDERER'S FAREWELL
To know, to esteem, to love,--and then to part--
Makes up life's tale to many a feeling heart;
Alas for some abiding-place of love,
O'er which my spirit, like the mother dove,
Might brood with warming wings!
O fair! O kind! 5
Sisters in blood, yet each with each intwined
More close by sisterhood of heart and mind!
Me disinherited in form and face
By nature, and mishap of outward grace;
Who, soul and body, through one guiltless fault 10
Waste daily with the poison of sad thought,
Me did you soothe, when solace hoped I none!
And as on unthaw'd ice the winter sun,
Though stern the frost, though brief the genial day,
You bless my heart with many a cheerful ray; 15
For gratitude suspends the heart's despair,
Reflecting bright though cold your image there.
Nay more! its music by some sweeter strain
Makes us live o'er our happiest hours again,
Hope re-appearing dim in memory's guise-- 20
Even thus did you call up before mine eyes
Two dear, dear Sisters, prized all price above,
Sisters, like you, with more than sisters' love;
_So_ like you _they_, and so in _you_ were seen
Their relative statures, tempers, looks, and mien, 25
That oft, dear ladies! you have been to me
At once a vision and reality.
Sight seem'd a sort of memory, and amaze
Mingled a trouble with affection's gaze.
Oft to my eager soul I whisper blame, 30
A Stranger bid it feel the Stranger's shame--
My eager soul, impatient of the name,
No strangeness owns, no Stranger's form descries:
The chidden heart spreads trembling on the eyes.
First-seen I gazed, as I would look you thro'! 35
My best-beloved regain'd their youth in you,--
And still I ask, though now familiar grown,
Are you for _their_ sakes dear, or for your own?
O doubly dear! may Quiet with you dwell!
In Grief I love you, yet I love you well! 40
Hope long is dead to me! an orphan's tear
Love wept despairing o'er his nurse's bier.
Yet still she flutters o'er her grave's green slope:
For Love's despair is but the ghost of Hope!
Sweet Sisters! were you placed around one hearth 45
With those, your other selves in shape and worth,
Far rather would I sit in solitude,
Fond recollections all my fond heart's food,
And dream of _you_, sweet Sisters! (ah! not mine!)
And only _dream_ of you (ah! dream and pine!) 50
Than boast the presence and partake the pride,
And shine in the eye, of all the world beside.
1807.
FOOTNOTES:
[410:1] First published in _The Courier_, December 10, 1807, with the
signature SIESTI. First collected in _P. and D. W._, 1877-80. The
following abbreviated and altered version was included in _P. W._, 1834,
1844, and 1852, with the heading 'On taking Leave of ---- 1817':--
To know, to esteem, to love--and then to part,
Makes up life's tale to many a feeling heart!
O for some dear abiding-place of Love,
O'er which my spirit, like the mother dove
Might brood with warming wings!--O fair as kind,
Were but one sisterhood with you combined,
(Your very image they in shape and mind)
Far rather would I sit in solitude,
The forms of memory all my mental food,
And dream of you, sweet sisters, (ah, not mine!)
And only dream of you (ah dream and pine!)
Than have the presence, and partake the pride,
And shine in the eye of all the world beside!
PSYCHE[412:1]
The butterfly the ancient Grecians made
The soul's fair emblem, and its only name--[412:2]
But of the soul, escaped the slavish trade
Of mortal life!--For in this earthly frame
Ours is the reptile's lot, much toil, much blame, 5
Manifold motions making little speed,
And to deform and kill the things whereon we feed.
1808.
FOOTNOTES:
[412:1] First published with a prefatory note:--'The fact that in Greek
Psyche is the common name for the soul, and the butterfly, is thus
alluded to in the following stanzas from an unpublished poem of the
Author', in the _Biographia Literaria_, 1817, i. 82, n.: included (as
No. II of 'Three Scraps') in _Amulet_, 1833: _Lit. Rem._, 1836, i. 53.
First collected in 1844. In _Lit. Rem._ and 1844 the poem is dated 1808.
[412:2] Psyche means both Butterfly and Soul. _Amulet_, 1833.
In some instances the Symbolic and Onomastic are united as in Psyche =
Anima et papilio. _MS. S. T. C._ (Hence the word 'name' was italicised
in the MS.)
LINENOTES:
Title] The Butterfly Amulet, 1833, 1877-81, 1893.
[4] Of earthly life. For in this fleshly frame MS. S. T. C.: Of earthly
life! For, in this mortal frame Amulet, 1833, 1893.
A TOMBLESS EPITAPH[413:1]
'Tis true, Idoloclastes Satyrane!
(So call him, for so mingling blame with praise,
And smiles with anxious looks, his earliest friends,
Masking his birth-name, wont to character
His wild-wood fancy and impetuous zeal,) 5
'Tis true that, passionate for ancient truths,
And honouring with religious love the Great
Of elder times, he hated to excess,
With an unquiet and intolerant scorn,
The hollow Puppets of a hollow Age, 10
Ever idolatrous, and changing ever
Its worthless Idols! Learning, Power, and Time,
(Too much of all) thus wasting in vain war
Of fervid colloquy. Sickness, 'tis true,
Whole years of weary days, besieged him close, 15
Even to the gates and inlets of his life!
But it is true, no less, that strenuous, firm,
And with a natural gladness, he maintained
The citadel unconquered, and in joy
Was strong to follow the delightful Muse. 20
For not a hidden path, that to the shades
Of the beloved Parnassian forest leads,
Lurked undiscovered by him; not a rill
There issues from the fount of Hippocrene,
But he had traced it upward to its source, 25
Through open glade, dark glen, and secret dell,
Knew the gay wild flowers on its banks, and culled
Its med'cinable herbs. Yea, oft alone,
Piercing the long-neglected holy cave,
The haunt obscure of old Philosophy, 30
He bade with lifted torch its starry walls
Sparkle, as erst they sparkled to the flame
Of odorous lamps tended by Saint and Sage.
O framed for calmer times and nobler hearts!
O studious Poet, eloquent for truth! 35
Philosopher! contemning wealth and death,
Yet docile, childlike, full of Life and Love!
Here, rather than on monumental stone,
This record of thy worth thy Friend inscribes,
Thoughtful, with quiet tears upon his cheek. 40
? 1809.
FOOTNOTES:
[413:1] First published in _The Friend_, No. XIV, November 23, 1809.
There is no title or heading to the poem, which occupies the first page
of the number, but a footnote is appended:--'Imitated, though in the
movements rather than the thoughts, from the vii{th}, of _Gli Epitafi_
of Chiabrera:
Fu ver, che Ambrosio Salinero a torto
Si pose in pena d'odiose liti,' &c.
Included in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, 1834. Sir Satyrane, 'A
Satyres son yborne in forrest wylde' (Spenser's _Faery Queene_, Bk. I,
C. vi, l. 21) rescues Una from the violence of Sarazin. Coleridge may
have regarded Satyrane as the anonymn of Luther. Idoloclast, as he
explains in the preface to 'Satyrane's Letters', is a 'breaker of
idols'.
LINENOTES:
[10] a] an Friend, 1809, S. L. 1828, 1829.
[16] inlets] outlets Friend, 1809.
[37] Life] light The Friend, 1809.
FOR A MARKET-CLOCK[414:1]
(IMPROMPTU)
What now, O Man! thou dost or mean'st to do
Will help to give thee peace, or make thee rue,
When hovering o'er the Dot this hand shall tell
The moment that secures thee Heaven or Hell!
1809.
FOOTNOTES:
[414:1] Sent in a letter to T. Poole, October 9, 1809, and transferred
to one of Coleridge's Notebooks with the heading 'Inscription proposed
on a Clock in a market place': included in 'Omniana' of 1809-16
(_Literary Remains_, 1836, i. 347) with the erroneous title 'Inscription
on a Clock in Cheapside'. First collected in 1893.
What now thou do'st, or art about to do,
Will help to give thee peace, or make thee rue;
When hov'ring o'er the line this hand will tell
The last dread moment--'twill be heaven or hell.
Read for the last two lines:--
When wav'ring o'er the dot this hand shall tell
The moment that secures thee Heaven or Hell.
_MS. Lit. Rem._
THE MADMAN AND THE LETHARGIST[414:2]
AN EXAMPLE
Quoth Dick to me, as once at College
We argued on the use of knowledge;--
'In old King Olim's reign, I've read,
There lay two patients in one bed.
The one in fat lethargic trance, 5
Lay wan and motionless as lead:
The other, (like the Folks in France),
Possess'd a different disposition--
In short, the plain truth to confess,
The man was madder than Mad Bess! 10
But both diseases, none disputed,
Were unmedicinably rooted;
Yet, so it chanc'd, by Heaven's permission,
Each prov'd the other's true physician.
'Fighting with a ghostly stare 15
Troops of Despots in the air,
Obstreperously Jacobinical,
The madman froth'd, and foam'd, and roar'd:
The other, snoring octaves cynical,
Like good John Bull, in posture clinical, 20
Seem'd living only when he snor'd.
The _Citizen_ enraged to see
This fat Insensibility,
Or, tir'd with solitary labour,
Determin'd to convert his neighbour; 25
So up he sprang and to 't he fell,
Like devil piping hot from hell,
With indefatigable fist
Belabr'ing the poor Lethargist;
Till his own limbs were stiff and sore, 30
And sweat-drops roll'd from every pore:--
Yet, still, with flying fingers fleet,
Duly accompanied by feet,
With some short intervals of biting,
He executes the self-same strain, 35
Till the Slumberer woke for pain,
And half-prepared himself for fighting--
That moment that his mad Colleague
Sunk down and slept thro' pure fatigue.
So both were cur'd--and this example 40
Gives demonstration full and ample--
That _Chance_ may bring a thing to bear,
Where _Art_ sits down in blank despair.'
'That's true enough, Dick,' answer'd I,
'But as for the _Example_, 'tis a lie.' 45
? 1809
FOOTNOTES:
[414:2] Now published for the first time from one of Coleridge's
Notebooks. The use of the party catchword 'Citizen' and the allusion to
'Folks in France' would suggest 1796-7 as a probable date, but the point
or interpretation of the 'Example' was certainly in Coleridge's mind
when he put together the first number of _The Friend_, published June 1,
1809:--'Though all men are in error, they are not all in the same error,
nor at the same time . . . each therefore may possibly heal the other
. . . even as two or more physicians, all diseased in their general
health, yet under the immediate action of the disease on different days,
may remove or alleviate the complaints of each other.'
THE VISIONARY HOPE[416:1]
Sad lot, to have no Hope! Though lowly kneeling
He fain would frame a prayer within his breast,
Would fain entreat for some sweet breath of healing,
That his sick body might have ease and rest;
He strove in vain! the dull sighs from his chest 5
Against his will the stifling load revealing,
Though Nature forced; though like some captive guest,
Some royal prisoner at his conqueror's feast,
An alien's restless mood but half concealing,
The sternness on his gentle brow confessed, 10
Sickness within and miserable feeling:
Though obscure pangs made curses of his dreams,
And dreaded sleep, each night repelled in vain,
Each night was scattered by its own loud screams:
Yet never could his heart command, though fain, 15
One deep full wish to be no more in pain.
That Hope, which was his inward bliss and boast,
Which waned and died, yet ever near him stood,
Though changed in nature, wander where he would--
For Love's Despair is but Hope's pining Ghost! 20
For this one hope he makes his hourly moan,
He wishes and can wish for this alone!
Pierced, as with light from Heaven, before its gleams
(So the love-stricken visionary deems)
Disease would vanish, like a summer shower, 25
Whose dews fling sunshine from the noon-tide bower!
Or let it stay! yet this one Hope should give
Such strength that he would bless his pains and live.
? 1810.
FOOTNOTES:
[416:1] First published in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817: included in 1828,
1829, and 1834.
LINENOTES:
[22] can] _can_ S. L. 1828, 1829.
EPITAPH ON AN INFANT[417:1]
Its balmy lips the infant blest
Relaxing from its Mother's breast,
How sweet it heaves the happy sigh
Of innocent satiety!
And such my Infant's latest sigh! 5
Oh tell, rude stone! the passer by,
That here the pretty babe doth lie,
Death sang to sleep with Lullaby.
1811.
FOOTNOTES:
[417:1] First published, with the signature 'Aphilos,' in the _Courier_,
Wednesday, March 20, 1811: included in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, and in
1828, 1829, and 1834.
LINENOTES:
[1] balmy] milky Courier, 1811.
[5] Infant's] darling's Courier, 1811.
[6] Tell simple stone Courier, 1811.
[7] the] a Courier, 1811.
THE VIRGIN'S CRADLE-HYMN[417:2]
COPIED FROM A PRINT OF THE VIRGIN IN A ROMAN CATHOLIC VILLAGE IN GERMANY
Dormi, Jesu! Mater ridet
Quae tam dulcem somnum videt,
Dormi, Jesu! blandule!
Si non dormis, Mater plorat,
Inter fila cantans orat, 5
Blande, veni, somnule.
ENGLISH[417:3]
Sleep, sweet babe! my cares beguiling:
Mother sits beside thee smiling;
Sleep, my darling, tenderly!
If thou sleep not, mother mourneth, 10
Singing as her wheel she turneth:
Come, soft slumber, balmily!
1811.
FOOTNOTES:
[417:2] First published as from 'A Correspondent in Germany' in the
_Morning Post_, December 26, 1801.
[417:3] First published with the Latin in the _Courier_, August 30,
1811, with the following introduction:--'About thirteen years ago or
more, travelling through the middle parts of Germany I saw a little
print of the Virgin and Child in the small public house of a Catholic
Village, with the following beautiful Latin lines under it, which I
transcribed. They may be easily adapted to the air of the famous
Sicilian Hymn, _Adeste fideles, laeti triumphantes_, by the omission of
a few notes.' First collected in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817: included in
1828, 1829, and 1834.
LINENOTES:
Title--In a Roman Catholic] In a Catholic S. L., 1828, 1829.
TO A LADY[418:1]
OFFENDED BY A SPORTIVE OBSERVATION THAT WOMEN HAVE NO SOULS
Nay, dearest Anna! why so grave?
I said, you had no soul, 'tis true!
For what you are, you cannot have:
'Tis I, that have one since I first had you!
? 1811.
FOOTNOTES:
[418:1] First published in _Omniana_ (1812), i. 238; 'as a playful
illustration of the distinction between _To_ have _and to_ be.' First
collected in 1828: included in 1829 and 1834.
LINENOTES:
_To a Lady, &c._--In line 3 'are', 'have', and in line 4 'have', 'you',
are italicized in all editions except 1834.
REASON FOR LOVE'S BLINDNESS[418:2]
I have heard of reasons manifold
Why Love must needs be blind,
But this the best of all I hold--
His eyes are in his mind.
What outward form and feature are 5
He guesseth but in part;
But that within is good and fair
He seeth with the heart.
? 1811.
FOOTNOTES:
[418:2] First published in 1828: included in 1829 and 1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] In 1828, 1829, 1834 these stanzas are printed without a title,
but are divided by a space from _Lines to a Lady_. The title appears
first in 1893.
THE SUICIDE'S ARGUMENT[419:1]
Ere the birth of my life, if I wished it or no,
No question was asked me--it could not be so!
If the life was the question, a thing sent to try,
And to live on be Yes; what can No be? to die.
NATURE'S ANSWER
Is't returned, as 'twas sent? Is't no worse for the wear? 5
Think first, what you are! Call to mind what you were!
I gave you innocence, I gave you hope,
Gave health, and genius, and an ample scope.
Return you me guilt, lethargy, despair?
Make out the invent'ry; inspect, compare! 10
Then die--if die you dare!
1811.
FOOTNOTES:
[419:1] First published in 1828: included in 1829 and 1884. In a
Notebook of (?) 1811 these lines are preceded by the following
couplet:--
Complained of, complaining, there shov'd and here shoving,
Every one blaming me, ne'er a one loving.
LINENOTES:
[4] Yes] YES 1828, 1829.
[6] are] ARE 1828, 1829. were] WERE 1828, 1829.
TIME, REAL AND IMAGINARY[419:2]
AN ALLEGORY
On the wide level of a mountain's head,
(I knew not where, but 'twas some faery place)
Their pinions, ostrich-like, for sails out-spread,
Two lovely children run an endless race,
A sister and a brother!
This far outstripp'd the other;
Yet ever runs she with reverted face.
And looks and listens for the boy behind:
For he, alas! is blind!
O'er rough and smooth with even step he passed, 10
And knows not whether he be first or last.
? 1812.
FOOTNOTES:
[419:2] First published in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, in the preliminary
matter, p. v: included in 1828, 1829, and 1834. In the 'Preface' to
_Sibylline Leaves_, p. iii, an apology is offered for its insertion on
the plea that it was a 'school boy poem' added 'at the request of the
friends of my youth'. The title is explained as follows:--'By imaginary
Time, I meant the state of a school boy's mind when on his return to
school he projects his being in his day dreams, and lives in his next
holidays, six months hence; and this I contrasted with real Time.' In a
Notebook of (?) 1811 there is an attempt to analyse and illustrate the
'sense of Time', which appears to have been written before the lines as
published in _Sibylline Leaves_ took shape: 'How marked the contrast
between troubled manhood and joyously-active youth in the sense of time!
To the former, time like the sun in an empty sky is never seen to move,
but only to have _moved_. There, there it was, and now 'tis here, now
distant! yet all a blank between. To the latter it is as the full moon
in a fine breezy October night, driving on amid clouds of all shapes and
hues, and kindling shifting colours, like an ostrich in its speed, and
yet seems not to have moved at all. This I feel to be a just image of
time real and time as felt, in two different states of being. The title
of the poem therefore (for poem it ought to be) should be time real and
time felt (in the sense of time) in active youth, or activity with hope
and fullness of aim in any period, and in despondent, objectless
manhood--time objective and subjective.' _Anima Poetae_, 1895, pp.
241-2.
AN INVOCATION[420:1]
FROM _REMORSE_
[Act III, Scene i. ll. 69-82.]
Hear, sweet Spirit, hear the spell,
Lest a blacker charm compel!
So shall the midnight breezes swell
With thy deep long-lingering knell.
And at evening evermore, 5
In a chapel on the shore,
Shall the chaunter, sad and saintly,
Yellow tapers burning faintly,
Doleful masses chaunt for thee,
Miserere Domine! 10
Hush! the cadence dies away
On the quiet moonlight sea:
The boatmen rest their oars and say,
Miserere Domine!
1812.
FOOTNOTES:
[420:1] First published in _Remorse_, 1813. First collected, 1844.
LINENOTES:
_An Invocation_--7 chaunter] chaunters 1813, 1828, 1839, 1893.
[12] quiet] yellow 1813, 1828, 1829.
THE NIGHT-SCENE[421:1]
A DRAMATIC FRAGMENT
_Sandoval._ You loved the daughter of Don Manrique?
_Earl Henry._ Loved?
_Sand._ Did you not say you wooed her?
_Earl H._ Once I loved
Her whom I dared not woo!
_Sand._ And wooed, perchance,
One whom you loved not!
_Earl H._ Oh! I were most base,
Not loving Oropeza. True, I wooed her, 5
Hoping to heal a deeper wound; but she
Met my advances with impassioned pride,
That kindled love with love. And when her sire,
Who in his dream of hope already grasped
The golden circlet in his hand, rejected 10
My suit with insult, and in memory
Of ancient feuds poured curses on my head,
Her blessings overtook and baffled them!
But thou art stern, and with unkindly countenance
Art inly reasoning whilst thou listenest to me. 15
_Sand._ Anxiously, Henry! reasoning anxiously.
But Oropeza--
_Earl H._ Blessings gather round her!
Within this wood there winds a secret passage,
Beneath the walls, which opens out at length
Into the gloomiest covert of the garden.-- 20
The night ere my departure to the army,
She, nothing trembling, led me through that gloom,
And to that covert by a silent stream,
Which, with one star reflected near its marge,
Was the sole object visible around me. 25
No leaflet stirred; the air was almost sultry;
So deep, so dark, so close, the umbrage o'er us!
No leaflet stirred;--yet pleasure hung upon
The gloom and stillness of the balmy night-air.
A little further on an arbour stood, 30
Fragrant with flowering trees--I well remember
What an uncertain glimmer in the darkness
Their snow-white blossoms made--thither she led me,
To that sweet bower! Then Oropeza trembled--
I heard her heart beat--if 'twere not my own. 35
_Sand._ A rude and soaring note, my friend!
_Earl H._ Oh! no!
I have small memory of aught but pleasure.
The inquietudes of fear, like lesser streams
Still flowing, still were lost in those of love:
So love grew mightier from the fear, and Nature, 40
Fleeing from Pain, sheltered herself in Joy.
The stars above our heads were dim and steady,
Like eyes suffused with rapture. Life was in us:
We were all life, each atom of our frames
A living soul--I vowed to die for her: 45
With the faint voice of one who, having spoken,
Relapses into blessedness, I vowed it:
That solemn vow, a whisper scarcely heard,
A murmur breathed against a lady's ear.
Oh! there is joy above the name of pleasure. 50
Deep self-possession, an intense repose.
_Sand. (with a sarcastic smile)._ No other than as eastern sages
paint,
The God, who floats upon a Lotos leaf,
Dreams for a thousand ages; then awaking,
Creates a world, and smiling at the bubble, 55
Relapses into bliss.
_Earl H._ Ah! was that bliss
Feared as an alien, and too vast for man?
For suddenly, impatient of its silence,
Did Oropeza, starting, grasp my forehead.
I caught her arms; the veins were swelling on them. 60
Through the dark bower she sent a hollow voice;--
'Oh! what if all betray me? what if thou?'
I swore, and with an inward thought that seemed
The purpose and the substance of my being,
I swore to her, that were she red with guilt, 65
I would exchange my unblenched state with hers.--
Friend! by that winding passage, to that bower
I now will go--all objects there will teach me
Unwavering love, and singleness of heart.
Go, Sandoval! I am prepared to meet her-- 70
Say nothing of me--I myself will seek her--
Nay, leave me, friend! I cannot bear the torment
And keen inquiry of that scanning eye.--
[_Earl Henry retires into the wood._
_Sand. (alone)._ O Henry! always striv'st thou to be great
By thine own act--yet art thou never great 75
But by the inspiration of great passion.
The whirl-blast comes, the desert-sands rise up
And shape themselves; from Earth to Heaven they stand,
As though they were the pillars of a temple,
Built by Omnipotence in its own honour! 80
But the blast pauses, and their shaping spirit
Is fled: the mighty columns were but sand,
And lazy snakes trail o'er the level ruins!
1813.
FOOTNOTES:
[421:1] First published in its present state in _Sibylline Leaves_,
1817: included in 1828, 1829, and 1834. For an earlier draft, forming
part of an 'Historic Drama in Five Acts' (unfinished) entitled _The
Triumph of Loyalty_, 1801, vide Appendices of this edition. A prose
sketch without title or heading is contained in one of Coleridge's
earliest notebooks.
LINENOTES:
[14] unkindly] unkindling 1893.
[23] And to the covert by that silent stream S. L., corrected in
_Errata_, p. [xi].
[24] near] o'er S. L., corrected in _Errata_, p. [xi].
A HYMN[423:1]
My Maker! of thy power the trace
In every creature's form and face
The wond'ring soul surveys:
Thy wisdom, infinite above
Seraphic thought, a Father's love 5
As infinite displays!
From all that meets or eye or ear,
There falls a genial holy fear
Which, like the heavy dew of morn,
Refreshes while it bows the heart forlorn! 10
Great God! thy works how wondrous fair!
Yet sinful man didst thou declare
The whole Earth's voice and mind!
Lord, ev'n as Thou all-present art,
O may we still with heedful heart 15
Thy presence know and find!
Then, come what will, of weal or woe,
Joy's bosom-spring shall steady flow;
For though 'tis Heaven THYSELF to see,
Where but thy _Shadow_ falls, Grief cannot be!-- 20
1814.
FOOTNOTES:
[423:1] First published in _Poems_, 1852. The MS. was placed in the
hands of the Editors by J. W. Wilkins, Esq., of Trinity Hall, Cambridge.
'The accompanying autograph,' writes Mr. Wilkins, 'dated 1814, and
addressed to Mrs. Hood of Brunswick Square, was given not later than the
year 1817 to a relative of my own who was then residing at Clifton (and
was, at the time at which it passed into his hands, an attendant on Mr.
Coleridge's lectures, which were in course of delivery at that place),
either by the lady to whom it is addressed, or by some other friend of
Mr. Coleridge.' 1852, Notes, p. 385.
TO A LADY[424:1]
WITH FALCONER'S _SHIPWRECK_
Ah! not by Cam or Isis, famous streams,
In archéd groves, the youthful poet's choice;
Nor while half-listening, 'mid delicious dreams,
To harp and song from lady's hand and voice;
Not yet while gazing in sublimer mood 5
On cliff, or cataract, in Alpine dell;
Nor in dim cave with bladdery sea-weed strewed.
Framing wild fancies to the ocean's swell;
Our sea-bard sang this song! which still he sings,
And sings for thee, sweet friend! Hark, Pity, hark!
Now mounts, now totters on the tempest's wings, 11
Now groans, and shivers, the replunging bark!
'Cling to the shrouds!' In vain! The breakers roar--
Death shrieks! With two alone of all his clan
Forlorn the poet paced the Grecian shore, 15
No classic roamer, but a shipwrecked man!
Say then, what muse inspired these genial strains,
And lit his spirit to so bright a flame?
The elevating thought of suffered pains,
Which gentle hearts shall mourn; but chief, the name 20
Of gratitude! remembrances of friend,
Or absent or no more! shades of the Past,
Which Love makes substance! Hence to thee I send,
O dear as long as life and memory last!
I send with deep regards of heart and head, 25
Sweet maid, for friendship formed! this work to thee:
And thou, the while thou canst not choose but shed
A tear for Falconer, wilt remember me.
? 1814.
FOOTNOTES:
[424:1] First published in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817: included in 1828,
1829, and 1834. A different or emended version headed 'Written in a
Blank Leaf of Faulkner's Shipwreck, presented by a friend to Miss K',
was published in _Felix Farley's Bristol Journal_ of February 21, 1818.
[See Note by G. E. Weare, Weston-super-Mare, January, 1905.]
LINENOTES:
Title] To a Lady With Falkner's 'Shipwreck' S. L.
[2] archéd] cloyst'ring F. F.
[3] 'mid] midst F. F.
[4] lady's] woman's F. F.
[5] sublimer] diviner F. F.
[6] On torrent falls, on woody mountain dell F. F.
[7] sea-weed] sea-weeds F. F.
[8] Attuning wild tales to the ocean's swell F. F.
[9] this] _this_ F. F.
[10] thee] _thee_ F. F.
[11] It mounts, it totters F. F.
[12] It groans, it quivers F. F.
[14] of] and F. F.
[15] Forlorn the] The toil-worn F. F.
[17-20]
Say then what power evoked such genial strains
And beckon'd godlike to the trembling Muse?
The thought not pleasureless of suffer'd pains
But _chiefly_ friendship's voice, her holy dues.
F. F.
[21] Demanding dear remembrances of friend F. F.
[22] Which love makes real! Thence F. F.
[24] life] love F. F.
[26] Sweet Maid for friendship framed this song to thee F. F.
[28] Falconer] FALKNER S. L.: Faulkner F. F. me] ME S. L., 1828, 1829.
HUMAN LIFE[425:1]
--ON THE DENIAL OF IMMORTALITY
If dead, we cease to be; if total gloom
Swallow up life's brief flash for aye, we fare
As summer-gusts, of sudden birth and doom,
Whose sound and motion not alone declare,
But are their whole of being! If the breath[425:2] 5
Be Life itself, and not its task and tent,
If even a soul like Milton's can know death;
O Man! thou vessel purposeless, unmeant,
Yet drone-hive strange of phantom purposes!
Surplus of Nature's dread activity, 10
Which, as she gazed on some nigh-finished vase,
Retreating slow, with meditative pause,
She formed with restless hands unconsciously.
Blank accident! nothing's anomaly!
If rootless thus, thus substanceless thy state, 15
Go, weigh thy dreams, and be thy hopes, thy fears,
The counter-weights!--Thy laughter and thy tears
Mean but themselves, each fittest to create
And to repay the other! Why rejoices
Thy heart with hollow joy for hollow good? 20
Why cowl thy face beneath the mourner's hood?
Why waste thy sighs, and thy lamenting voices,
Image of Image, Ghost of Ghostly Elf,
That such a thing as thou feel'st warm or cold?
Yet what and whence thy gain, if thou withhold 25
These costless shadows of thy shadowy self?
Be sad! be glad! be neither! seek, or shun!
Thou hast no reason why! Thou canst have none;
Thy being's being is contradiction.
? 1815.
FOOTNOTES:
[425:1] First published in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817: included in 1828,
1829, and 1834.
[425:2] Halitus = anima animae tabernaculum _MS. Note_ (? _S. T. C._)
LINENOTES:
[5] are] _are_ S. L., 1828, 1829. whole] _whole_ S. L., 1828, 1829.
[19] the] each 1887-80, 1893.
SONG[426:1]
FROM _ZAPOLYA_
A Sunny shaft did I behold,
From sky to earth it slanted:
And poised therein a bird so bold--
Sweet bird, thou wert enchanted!
He sank, he rose, he twinkled, he trolled 5
Within that shaft of sunny mist;
His eyes of fire, his beak of gold,
All else of amethyst!
And thus he sang: 'Adieu! adieu!
Love's dreams prove seldom true. 10
The blossoms they make no delay:
The sparkling dew-drops will not stay.
Sweet month of May,
We must away;
Far, far away! 15
To-day! to-day!'
1815.
FOOTNOTES:
[426:1] First published in _Zapolya_, 1817 (Act II, Scene i, ll. 65-80).
First collected in 1844. Two MSS. are extant, one in the possession of
Mr. John Murray (_MS. M._), and a second in the possession of the Editor
(_MS. S. T. C._). For a prose version of Glycine's Song, probably a
translation from the German, vide Appendices of this edition.
LINENOTES:
Title] Sung by Glycine in _Zapolya_ 1893: Glycine's Song MS. M.
[1] A pillar grey did I behold MS. S. T. C.
[4] A faery Bird that chanted MS. S. T. C.
[6] sunny] shiny MS. S. T. C.
[11, 12] om. MS S. T. C., MS. M.
HUNTING SONG[427:1]
FROM _ZAPOLYA_
Up, up! ye dames, and lasses gay!
To the meadows trip away.
'Tis you must tend the flocks this morn,
And scare the small birds from the corn.
Not a soul at home may stay: 5
For the shepherds must go
With lance and bow
To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.
Leave the hearth and leave the house
To the cricket and the mouse: 10
Find grannam out a sunny seat.
With babe and lambkin at her feet.
Not a soul at home may stay:
For the shepherds must go
With lance and bow 15
To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.
1815.
FOOTNOTES:
[427:1] First published in _Zapolya_ (Act IV, Scene ii, ll. 56-71).
First collected, 1844.
LINENOTES:
Title] Choral Song 1893.
FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY[427:2]
FROM THE ITALIAN OF GUARINI
FAITH
Let those whose low delights to Earth are given
Chaunt forth their earthly Loves! but we
Must make an holier minstrelsy,
And, heavenly-born, will sing the Things of Heaven.
CHARITY
But who for us the listening Heart shall gain? 5
Inaudible as of the sphere
Our music dies upon the ear,
Enchanted with the mortal Syren's strain.
HOPE
Yet let our choral songs abound!
Th' inspiring Power, its living Source, 10
May flow with them and give them force,
If, elsewhere all unheard, in Heaven they sound.
ALL
Aid thou our voice, Great Spirit! thou whose flame
Kindled the Songster sweet of Israel,
Who made so high to swell 15
Beyond a mortal strain thy glorious Name.
CHARITY AND FAITH
Though rapt to Heaven, our mission and our care
Is still to sojourn on the Earth,
To shape, to soothe, Man's second Birth,
And re-ascend to Heaven, Heaven's prodigal Heir! 20
CHARITY
What is Man's soul of Love deprived?
HOPE. FAITH
It like a Harp untunéd is,
That sounds, indeed, but sounds amiss.
CHARITY. HOPE
From holy Love all good gifts are derived.
FAITH
But 'tis time that every nation 25
Should hear how loftily we sing.
FAITH. HOPE. CHARITY
See, O World, see thy salvation!
Let the Heavens with praises ring.
Who would have a Throne above,
Let him hope, believe and love; 30
And whoso loves no earthly song,
But does for heavenly music long,
Faith, Hope, and Charity for him,
Shall sing like wingéd Cherubim.
1815.
FOOTNOTES:
[427:2] From a hitherto unpublished MS. For the original _Dialogo: Fide,
Speranza, Fide_, included in the 'Madrigali . . .' del Signor Cavalier
Battista Guarini, 1663, vide Appendices of this edition. The translation
in Coleridge's handwriting is preceded by another version transcribed
and, possibly, composed by Hartley Coleridge.
TO NATURE[429:1]
It may indeed be phantasy, when I
Essay to draw from all created things
Deep, heartfelt, inward joy that closely clings;
And trace in leaves and flowers that round me lie
Lessons of love and earnest piety. 5
So let it be; and if the wide world rings
In mock of this belief, it brings
Nor fear, nor grief, nor vain perplexity.
So will I build my altar in the fields,
And the blue sky my fretted dome shall be, 10
And the sweet fragrance that the wild flower yields
Shall be the incense I will yield to Thee,
Thee only God! and thou shalt not despise
Even me, the priest of this poor sacrifice.
? 1820.
FOOTNOTES:
[429:1] First published in _Letters, Conversations and Recollections_ by
S. T. Coleridge, 1836, i. 144. First collected in _Poems_, 1863,
Appendix, p. 391.
LIMBO[429:2]
* * * * *
The sole true Something--This! In Limbo's Den
It frightens Ghosts, as here Ghosts frighten men.
Thence cross'd unseiz'd--and shall some fated hour
Be pulveris'd by Demogorgon's power,
And given as poison to annihilate souls-- 5
Even now it shrinks them--they shrink in as Moles
(Nature's mute monks, live mandrakes of the ground)
Creep back from Light--then listen for its sound;--
See but to dread, and dread they know not why--
The natural alien of their negative eye. 10
'Tis a strange place, this Limbo!--not a Place,
Yet name it so;--where Time and weary Space
Fettered from flight, with night-mare sense of fleeing,
Strive for their last crepuscular half-being;--
Lank Space, and scytheless Time with branny hands 15
Barren and soundless as the measuring sands,
Not mark'd by flit of Shades,--unmeaning they
As moonlight on the dial of the day!
But that is lovely--looks like Human Time,--
An Old Man with a steady look sublime, 20
That stops his earthly task to watch the skies;
But he is blind--a Statue hath such eyes;--
Yet having moonward turn'd his face by chance,
Gazes the orb with moon-like countenance,
With scant white hairs, with foretop bald and high, 25
He gazes still,--his eyeless face all eye;--
As 'twere an organ full of silent sight,
His whole face seemeth to rejoice in light!
Lip touching lip, all moveless, bust and limb--
He seems to gaze at that which seems to gaze on him! 30
No such sweet sights doth Limbo den immure,
Wall'd round, and made a spirit-jail secure,
By the mere horror of blank Naught-at-all,
Whose circumambience doth these ghosts enthral.
A lurid thought is growthless, dull Privation, 35
Yet that is but a Purgatory curse;
Hell knows a fear far worse,
A fear--a future state;--'tis positive Negation!
1817.
FOOTNOTES:
[429:2] First published, in its present shape, from an original MS. in
1893 (inscribed in a notebook). Lines 6-10 ('they shrink . . . negative
eye') were first printed in _The Friend_ (1818, iii. 215), and included
as a separate fragment with the title 'Moles' in _P. W._, 1834, i. 259.
Lines 11-38 were first printed with the title 'Limbo' in _P. W._, 1834,
i. 272-3. The lines as quoted in _The Friend_ were directed against 'the
partisans of a crass and sensual materialism, the advocates of the
_Nihil nisi ab extra_'. The following variants, now first printed, are
from a second MS. (_MS. S. T. C._) in the possession of Miss Edith
Coleridge. In the notebook _Limbo_ is followed by the lines entitled _Ne
Plus Ultra_, vide _post_, p. 431.
LINENOTES:
Title] Another Fragment, but in a very different style, from a Dream of
Purgatory, alias Limbus MS. S. T. C. [_Note._--In this MS. _Phantom_,
'All Look and Likeness,' &c. precedes _Limbo_.]
[Between 2-3]
For skimming in the wake it mock'd the care
Of the old Boat-God for his farthing fare;
Tho' Irus' Ghost itself he ne'er frown'd blacker on
The skin and skin-pent Druggist cross'd the Acheron,
Styx, and with Periphlegeton Cocytus,--
(The very names, methinks, might frighten us)
Unchang'd it cross'd--_and shall some fated hour_
MS. Notebook.
[Coleridge marks these lines as 'a specimen of the Sublime dashed to
pieces by cutting too close with the fiery Four-in-Hand round the corner
of Nonsense.']
[6] They, like moles Friend, 1818.
[8] Shrink from the light, then listen for a sound Friend, 1818.
[12] so] such MS. S. T. C.
[16] the] his MS. S. T. C.
[17] Mark'd but by Flit MS. S. T. C.
[30] at] on MS. S. T. C.
[31 foll.]
In one sole Outlet yawns the Phantom Wall,
And through this grim road to [a] worser thrall
Oft homeward scouring from a sick Child's dream
Old Mother Brownrigg shoots upon a scream;
And turning back her Face with hideous Leer,
Leaves Sentry there _Intolerable Fear_!
A horrid thought is growthless dull Negation:
Yet that is but a Purgatory Curse,
SHE knows a fear far worse
Flee, lest thou hear its Name! Flee, rash Imagination!
* * * * *
_S. T. Coleridge,
1st Oct. 1827, Grove, Highgate._
_NE PLUS ULTRA_[431:1]
Sole Positive of Night!
Antipathist of Light!
Fate's only essence! primal scorpion rod--
The one permitted opposite of God!--
Condenséd blackness and abysmal storm 5
Compacted to one sceptre
Arms the Grasp enorm--
The Intercepter--
The Substance that still casts the shadow Death!--
The Dragon foul and fell-- 10
The unrevealable,
And hidden one, whose breath
Gives wind and fuel to the fires of Hell!
Ah! sole despair
Of both th' eternities in Heaven! 15
Sole interdict of all-bedewing prayer,
The all-compassionate!
Save to the Lampads Seven
Reveal'd to none of all th' Angelic State,
Save to the Lampads Seven, 20
That watch the throne of Heaven!
? 1826.
FOOTNOTES:
[431:1] First published in 1834. The MS., which is inscribed in a
notebook, is immediately preceded by that of the first draft of _Limbo_
(_ante_, p. 429). The so-called 'Ne Plus Ultra' may have been intended
to illustrate a similar paradox--the 'positivity of negation'. No date
can be assigned to either of these metaphysical conceits, but there can
be little doubt that they were 'written in later life'.
THE KNIGHT'S TOMB[432:1]
Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn?
Where may the grave of that good man be?--
By the side of a spring, on the breast of Helvellyn,
Under the twigs of a young birch tree!
The oak that in summer was sweet to hear, 5
And rustled its leaves in the fall of the year,
And whistled and roared in the winter alone,
Is gone,--and the birch in its stead is grown.--
The Knight's bones are dust,
And his good sword rust;-- 10
His soul is with the saints, I trust.
? 1817.
FOOTNOTES:
[432:1] First published in _P. W._, 1834. Gillman (_Life_, p. 276) says
that the lines were composed 'as an experiment for a metre', and
repeated by the author to 'a mutual friend', who 'spoke of his visit to
Highgate' and repeated them to Scott on the following day. The last
three lines, 'somewhat altered', are quoted in _Ivanhoe_, chapter viii,
and again in _Castle Dangerous_, chapter ix. They run thus:--
The knights are dust,
And their good swords are rust;--
Their souls are with the saints, we trust.
Gillman says that the _Ivanhoe_ quotation convinced Coleridge that Scott
was the author of the Waverley Novels. In the Appendix to the 'Notes' to
_Castle Dangerous_ (1834), which was edited and partly drawn up by
Lockhart, the poem is quoted in full, with a prefatory note ('The author
has somewhat altered part of a beautiful unpublished fragment of
Coleridge').
Where is the grave of Sir Arthur Orellan,--
Where may the grave of that good knight be?
By the marge of a brook, on the slope of Helvellyn,
Under the boughs of a young birch-tree.
The Oak that in summer was pleasant to hear,
That rustled in autumn all wither'd and sear,
That whistled and groan'd thro' the winter alone,
He hath gone, and a birch in his place is grown.
The knight's bones are dust,
His good sword is rust;
His spirit is with the saints, we trust.
This version must have been transcribed from a MS. in Lockhart's
possession, and represents a first draft of the lines as published in
1834. These lines are, no doubt, an 'experiment for a metre'. The upward
movement (ll. 1-7) is dactylic: the fall (ll. 8-11) is almost, if not
altogether, spondaic. The whole forms a complete stanza, or metrical
scheme, which may be compared with ll. 264-78 of the First Part of
_Christabel_. Mrs. H. N. Coleridge, who must have been familiar with
Gillman's story, dates the _Knight's Tomb_ 1802.
ON DONNE'S POETRY[433:1]
With Donne, whose muse on dromedary trots,
Wreathe iron pokers into true-love knots;
Rhyme's sturdy cripple, fancy's maze and clue,
Wit's forge and fire-blast, meaning's press and screw.
? 1818
FOOTNOTES:
[433:1] First published in _Literary Remains_, 1836, i. 148, from 'notes
written by Mr. Coleridge in a volume of "Chalmers's Poets"'. Line 2
finds a place in Hartley Coleridge's couplets on Donne which are written
on the fly-leaves and covers of his copy of Anderson's _British Poets_.
In the original MS. it is enclosed in quotation marks. First collected
in _P. W._, 1885, ii. 409.
ISRAEL'S LAMENT[433:2]
'A Hebrew Dirge, chaunted in the Great Synagogue, St. James's Place,
Aldgate, on the day of the Funeral of her Royal Highness the Princess
Charlotte. By Hyman Hurwitz, Master of the Hebrew Academy, Highgate:
with a Translation in English Verse, by S. T. Coleridge, Esq., 1817.'
Mourn, Israel! Sons of Israel, mourn!
Give utterance to the inward throe!
As wails, of her first love forlorn,
The Virgin clad in robes of woe.
Mourn the young Mother, snatch'd away 5
From Light and Life's ascending Sun!
Mourn for the Babe, Death's voiceless prey,
Earn'd by long pangs and lost ere won.
Mourn the bright Rose that bloom'd and went,
Ere half disclosed its vernal hue! 10
Mourn the green Bud, so rudely rent,
It brake the stem on which it grew.
Mourn for the universal woe
With solemn dirge and fault'ring tongue:
For England's Lady is laid low, 15
So dear, so lovely, and so young!
The blossoms on her Tree of Life
Shone with the dews of recent bliss:
Transplanted in that deadly strife,
She plucks its fruits in Paradise. 20
Mourn for the widow'd Lord in chief,
Who wails and will not solaced be!
Mourn for the childless Father's grief,
The wedded Lover's agony!
Mourn for the Prince, who rose at morn 25
To seek and bless the firstling bud
Of his own Rose, and found the thorn,
Its point bedew'd with tears of blood.
O press again that murmuring string!
Again bewail that princely Sire! 30
A destined Queen, a future King,
He mourns on one funereal pyre.
Mourn for Britannia's hopes decay'd,
Her daughters wail their dear defence;
Their fair example, prostrate laid, 35
Chaste Love and fervid Innocence.
While Grief in song shall seek repose,
We will take up a Mourning yearly:
To wail the blow that crush'd the Rose,
So dearly priz'd and lov'd so dearly. 40
Long as the fount of Song o'erflows
Will I the yearly dirge renew:
Mourn for the firstling of the Rose,
That snapt the stem on which it grew.
The proud shall pass, forgot; the chill, 45
Damp, trickling Vault their only mourner!
Not so the regal Rose, that still
Clung to the breast which first had worn her!
O thou, who mark'st the Mourner's path
To sad Jeshurun's Sons attend! 50
Amid the Light'nings of thy Wrath
The showers of Consolation send!
Jehovah frowns! the Islands bow!
And Prince and People kiss the Rod!--
Their dread chastising Judge wert thou! 55
Be thou their Comforter, O God!
1817.
FOOTNOTES:
[433:2] First published, together with the Hebrew, as an octavo pamphlet
(pp. 13) in 1817. An abbreviated version was included in _Literary
Remains_, 1836, i. 57-8 and in the Appendix to _Poems_, 1863. The
_Lament_ as a whole was first collected in _P. and D. W._, 1877-80, ii.
282-5.
LINENOTES:
_Title_] Israel's Lament on the death of the Princess Charlotte of
Wales. From the Hebrew of Hyman Hurwitz L. R.
[19] Transplanted] Translated L. R., 1863.
[21-4] om. L. R, 1863.
[29-32] om. L. R., 1863.
[49-56] om. L. R., 1863.
[49] Mourner's] Mourners' L. R., 1863.
FANCY IN NUBIBUS[435:1]
OR THE POET IN THE CLOUDS
O! it is pleasant, with a heart at ease,
Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies,
To make the shifting clouds be what you please,
Or let the easily persuaded eyes
Own each quaint likeness issuing from the mould 5
Of a friend's fancy; or with head bent low
And cheek aslant see rivers flow of gold
'Twixt crimson banks; and then, a traveller, go
From mount to mount through Cloudland, gorgeous land!
Or list'ning to the tide, with closéd sight, 10
Be that blind bard, who on the Chian strand
By those deep sounds possessed with inward light,
Beheld the Iliad and the Odyssee
Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea.
1817.
FOOTNOTES:
[435:1] First published in _Felix Farley's Bristol Journal_ for February
7, 1818: and afterwards in _Blackwood's Magazine_ for November, 1819.
First collected in 1828: included in 1829 and 1834. A MS. in the
possession of Major Butterworth of Carlisle is signed 'S. T. Coleridge,
Little Hampton, Oct. 1818'. In a letter to Coleridge dated Jan. 10,
1820, Lamb asks, 'Who put your marine sonnet [i. e. A Sonnet written on
the Sea Coast, vide _Title_] . . . in _Blackwood_?' F. Freiligrath in
his Introduction to the Tauchnitz edition says that the last five lines
are borrowed from Stolberg's _An das Meer_; vide Appendices of this
edition.
LINENOTES:
Title] Fancy, &c. A Sonnet Composed by the Seaside, October 1817. F. F.:
Fancy in Nubibus. A Sonnet, composed on the Sea Coast 1819.
[4] let] bid 1819.
[5] Own] Owe F. F. 1818. quaint] strange 1819.
[6] head] heart MS.: head bow'd low 1819.
[9] through] o'er 1819.
THE TEARS OF A GRATEFUL PEOPLE[436:1]
A Hebrew Dirge and Hymn, chaunted in the Great Synagogue. St. James' pl.
Aldgate, on the Day of the Funeral of King George III. of blessed
memory. By Hyman Hurwitz of Highgate, Translated by a Friend.
_Dirge_
Oppress'd, confused, with grief and pain,
And inly shrinking from the blow,
In vain I seek the dirgeful strain,
The wonted words refuse to flow.
A fear in every face I find, 5
Each voice is that of one who grieves;
And all my Soul, to grief resigned,
Reflects the sorrow it receives.
The Day-Star of our glory sets!
Our King has breathed his latest breath! 10
Each heart its wonted pulse forgets,
As if it own'd the pow'r of death.
Our Crown, our heart's Desire is fled!
Britannia's glory moults its wing!
Let us with ashes on our head, 15
Raise up a mourning for our King.
Lo! of his beams the Day-Star shorn,[436:2]
Sad gleams the Moon through cloudy veil!
The Stars are dim! Our Nobles mourn;
The Matrons weep, their Children wail. 20
No age records a King so just,
His virtues numerous as his days;
The Lord Jehovah was his trust,
And truth with mercy ruled his ways.
His Love was bounded by no Clime; 25
Each diverse Race, each distant Clan
He govern'd by this truth sublime,
'God only knows the heart--not man.'
His word appall'd the sons of pride,
Iniquity far wing'd her way; 30
Deceit and fraud were scatter'd wide,
And truth resum'd her sacred sway.
He sooth'd the wretched, and the prey
From impious tyranny he tore;
He stay'd th' Usurper's iron sway, 35
And bade the Spoiler waste no more.
Thou too, Jeshurun's Daughter! thou,
Th' oppress'd of nations and the scorn!
Didst hail on his benignant brow
A safety dawning like the morn. 40
The scoff of each unfeeling mind,
Thy doom was hard, and keen thy grief;
Beneath his throne, peace thou didst find,
And blest the hand that gave relief.
E'en when a fatal cloud o'erspread 45
The moonlight splendour of his sway,
Yet still the light remain'd, and shed
Mild radiance on the traveller's way.
But he is gone--the Just! the Good!
Nor could a Nation's pray'r delay 50
The heavenly meed, that long had stood
His portion in the realms of day.
Beyond the mighty Isle's extent
The mightier Nation mourns her Chief:
Him Judah's Daughter shall lament, 55
In tears of fervour, love and grief.
Britannia mourns in silent grief;
Her heart a prey to inward woe.
In vain she strives to find relief,
Her pang so great, so great the blow. 60
Britannia! Sister! woe is me!
Full fain would I console thy woe.
But, ah! how shall I comfort thee,
Who need the balm I would bestow?
United then let us repair, 65
As round our common Parent's grave;
And pouring out our heart in prayer,
Our heav'nly Father's mercy crave.
Until Jehovah from his throne
Shall heed his suffering people's fears; 70
Shall turn to song the Mourner's groan,
To smiles of joy the Nation's tears.
Praise to the Lord! Loud praises sing!
And bless Jehovah's righteous hand!
Again he bids a George, our King, 75
Dispense his blessings to the Land.
_Hymn_
O thron'd in Heav'n! Sole King of kings,
Jehovah! hear thy Children's prayers and sighs!
Thou Binder of the broken heart! with wings
Of healing on thy people rise! 80
Thy mercies, Lord, are sweet;
And Peace and Mercy meet,
Before thy Judgment seat:
Lord, hear us! we entreat!
When angry clouds thy throne surround, 85
E'en from the cloud thou bid'st thy mercy shine:
And ere thy righteous vengeance strikes the wound,
Thy grace prepares the balm divine!
Thy mercies, Lord, are sweet;
etc.
The Parent tree thy hand did spare-- 90
It fell not till the ripen'd fruit was won:
Beneath its shade the Scion flourish'd fair,
And for the Sire thou gav'st the Son.
etc.
This thy own Vine, which thou didst rear,
And train up for us from the royal root, 95
Protect, O Lord! and to the Nations near
Long let it shelter yield, and fruit,
etc.
Lord, comfort thou the royal line:
Let Peace and Joy watch round us hand and hand.
Our Nobles visit with thy grace divine, 100
And banish sorrow from the land!
Thy mercies, Lord, are sweet;
And Peace and Mercy meet
Before thy Judgment seat;
Lord, hear us! we entreat! 105
1820.
FOOTNOTES:
[436:1] First published with the Hebrew in pamphlet form in 1820. First
collected in 1893.
[436:2] The author, in the spirit of Hebrew Poetry, here represents the
Crown, the Peerage, and the Commonalty, by the figurative expression of
the Sun, Moon, and Stars.
YOUTH AND AGE[439:1]
Verse, a breeze mid blossoms straying,
Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee--
Both were mine! Life went a-maying
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
When I was young! 5
When I was young?--Ah, woful When!
Ah! for the change 'twixt Now and Then!
This breathing house not built with hands,
This body that does me grievous wrong,
O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands, 10
How lightly then it flashed along:--
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,
That fear no spite of wind or tide! 15
Nought cared this body for wind or weather
When Youth and I lived in't together.
Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;
O! the joys, that came down shower-like. 20
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty,
Ere I was old!
Ere I was old? Ah woful Ere,
Which tells me, Youth's no longer here!
O Youth! for years so many and sweet, 25
'Tis known, that Thou and I were one,
I'll think it but a fond conceit--
It cannot be that Thou art gone!
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd:--
And thou wert aye a masker bold! 30
What strange disguise hast now put on,
To make believe, that thou art gone?
I see these locks in silvery slips,
This drooping gait, this altered size:
But Spring-tide blossoms on thy lips. 35
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!
Life is but thought: so think I will
That Youth and I are house-mates still.
Dew-drops are the gems of morning,
But the tears of mournful eve! 40
Where no hope is, life's a warning
That only serves to make us grieve,
When we are old:
That only serves to make us grieve
With oft and tedious taking-leave, 45
Like some poor nigh-related guest,
That may not rudely be dismist;
Yet hath outstay'd his welcome while,
And tells the jest without the smile.
1823-1832.
FOOTNOTES:
[439:1] First published in its present shape in 1834. Lines 1-38, with
the heading 'Youth and Age', were first published in the _Literary
Souvenir_, 1828, and also in the _Bijou_, 1828: included in 1828, 1829.
Lines 39-49 were first published in _Blackwood's Magazine_ for June
1832, entitled 'An Old Man's Sigh: a Sonnet', as 'an out-slough or
hypertrophic stanza of a certain poem called "Youth and Age".' Of lines
1-43 three MSS. are extant. (1) A fair copy (_MS. 1_) presented to
Derwent Coleridge, and now in the Editor's possession. In _MS. 1_ the
poem is divided into three stanzas: (i) lines 1-17; (ii) lines 18-38;
(iii) lines 39-43. The watermark of this MS. on a quarto sheet of Bath
Post letter-paper is 1822. (2) A rough draft, in a notebook dated Sept.
10, 1823; and (3) a corrected draft of forty-three lines (vide for _MSS.
2_, _3_ Appendices of this edition). A MS. version of _An Old Man's
Sigh_, dated 'Grove, Highgate, April 1832', was contributed to Miss
Rotha Quillinan's Album; and another version numbering only eight lines
was inscribed in an album in 1828 when Coleridge was on his Rhine tour
with Wordsworth. After line 42 this version continues:--
As we creep feebly down life's slope,
Yet courteous dame, accept this truth,
Hope leaves us not, but we leave hope,
And quench the inward light of youth.
T. Colley Grattan's _Beaten Paths_,
1862, ii. 139.
There can be little doubt that lines 1-43 were composed in 1823, and
that the last six lines of the text which form part of _An Old Man's
Sigh_ were composed, as an afterthought, in 1832.
LINENOTES:
[1] Verse, a] Verse is a _with the alternative_ ? Vērse ă breeze MS. 1.
[2] clung] clings MS. 1, Bijou.
[6] When I] _When_ I 1828, 1829.
[8] This house of clay MS. 1, Bijou.
[10] O'er hill and dale and sounding sands MS. 1, Bijou.
[11] then] _then_ 1828, 1829.
[12] skiffs] boats MS. 1, Bijou.
[20] came] come Bijou.
[21] Of Beauty, Truth, and Liberty MS. 1, Bijou.
[23] Ere I] _Ere_ I 1828, 1829. woful] mournful Literary Souvenir.
[25] many] merry Bijou.
[27] fond] false MS. 1, Bijou.
[32] make believe] _make believe_ 1828, 1829.
[34] drooping] dragging MS. 1, Bijou.
[42-4]
That only serves to make me grieve
Now I am old!
Now I am old,--ah woful Now
MS. 1.
[44-5]
In our old age
Whose bruised wings quarrel with the bars of the still
narrowing cage.
Inserted in 1832.
[49] Two lines were added in 1832:--
O might Life cease! and Selfless Mind,
Whose total Being is Act, alone remain behind.
THE REPROOF AND REPLY[441:1]
Or, The Flower-Thief's Apology, for a robbery committed in Mr. and Mrs.
----'s garden, on Sunday morning, 25th of May, 1823, between the hours
of eleven and twelve.
"Fie, Mr. Coleridge!--and can this be you?
Break two commandments? and in church-time too!
Have you not heard, or have you heard in vain,
The birth-and-parentage-recording strain?--
Confessions shrill, that out-shrill'd mack'rel drown 5
Fresh from the drop--the youth not yet cut down--
Letter to sweet-heart--the last dying speech--
And didn't all this begin in Sabbath-breach?
You, that knew better! In broad open day,
Steal in, steal out, and steal our flowers away? 10
What could possess you? Ah! sweet youth. I fear
The chap with horns and tail was at your ear!"
Such sounds of late, accusing fancy brought
From fair Chisholm to the Poet's thought.
Now hear the meek Parnassian youth's reply:-- 15
A bow--a pleading look--a downcast eye,--
And then:
"Fair dame! a visionary wight,
Hard by your hill-side mansion sparkling white,
His thoughts all hovering round the Muses' home,
Long hath it been your Poet's wont to roam, 20
And many a morn, on his becharméd sense
So rich a stream of music issued thence,
He deem'd himself, as it flowed warbling on,
Beside the vocal fount of Helicon!
But when, as if to settle the concern, 25
A Nymph too he beheld, in many a turn,
Guiding the sweet rill from its fontal urn,--
Say, can you blame?--No! none that saw and heard
Could blame a bard, that he thus inly stirr'd;
A muse beholding in each fervent trait, 30
Took Mary H---- for Polly Hymnia!
Or haply as there stood beside the maid
One loftier form in sable stole array'd,
If with regretful thought he hail'd in _thee_
Chisholm, his long-lost friend, Mol Pomene! 35
But most of _you_, soft warblings, I complain!
'Twas ye that from the bee-hive of my brain
Did lure the fancies forth, a freakish rout,
And witch'd the air with dreams turn'd inside out.
"Thus all conspir'd--each power of eye and ear, 40
And this gay month, th' enchantress of the year,
To cheat poor me (no conjuror, God wot!)
And Chisholm's self accomplice in the plot.
Can you then wonder if I went astray?
Not bards alone, nor lovers mad as they;-- 45
All Nature _day-dreams_ in the month of May.
And if I pluck'd 'each flower that _sweetest_ blows,'--
Who walks in sleep, needs follow must his _nose_.
"Thus, long accustom'd on the twy-fork'd hill,[442:1]
To pluck both flower and floweret at my will; 50
The garden's maze, like No-man's-land, I tread,
Nor common law, nor statute in my head;
For my own proper smell, sight, fancy, feeling,
With autocratic hand at once repealing
Five Acts of Parliament 'gainst private stealing! 55
But yet from Chisholm who despairs of grace?
There's no spring-gun or man-trap in _that_ face!
Let Moses then look black, and Aaron blue,
That look as if they had little else to do:
For Chisholm speaks, 'Poor youth! he's but a waif! 60
The spoons all right? the hen and chickens safe?
Well, well, he shall not forfeit our regards--
The Eighth Commandment was not made for Bards!'"[443:1]
1823.
FOOTNOTES:
[441:1] First published in _Friendship's Offering_ for 1834, as the
first of four 'Lightheartednesses in Rhyme'. A motto was prefixed:--'I
expect no sense, worth listening to, from the man who never does talk
nonsense,'--_Anon._ In _F. O._, 1834, Chisholm was printed C---- in line
14, C----m in lines 35, 56, and 60, C----m's in line 43. In 1834, 1844
the name was omitted altogether. The text of the present edition follows
the MS. First collected in _P. W._, 1834. A MS. version is in the
possession of Miss Edith Coleridge. These lines were included in 1844,
but omitted from 1852, 1863, and 1870.
[442:1] The English Parnassus is remarkable for its two summits of
unequal height, the lower denominated Hampstead, the higher Highgate.
[443:1] Compare '_The Eighth Commandment_ was not made for Love', l. 16
of Elegy I of _The Love Elegies of Abel Shufflebottom_, by R. Southey.
LINENOTES:
Title] The Reproof and Reply (the alternative title is omitted) 1834.
[31] Mary H----] Mary ---- 1834, 1844.
[38] Did lure the] Lured the wild F. O. 1834.
FIRST ADVENT OF LOVE[443:2]
O FAIR is Love's first hope to gentle mind!
As Eve's first star thro' fleecy cloudlet peeping;
And sweeter than the gentle south-west wind.
O'er willowy meads, and shadow'd waters creeping,
And Ceres' golden fields;--the sultry hind 5
Meets it with brow uplift, and stays his reaping.
? 1824.
FOOTNOTES:
[443:2] First published in 1834. In a MS. note, dated September 1827, it
is included in 'Relics of my School-boy Muse: i. e. fragments of poems
composed before my fifteenth year', _P. W._, 1852, Notes, p. 379; but in
an entry in a notebook dated 1824, Coleridge writes: 'A pretty
unintended couplet in the prose of Sidney's _Arcadia_:--
'And, sweeter than a gentle south-west wind
O'er flowery fields and shadowed waters creeping
In summer's extreme heat.'
The passage which Coleridge versified is to be found in the _Arcadia_:--
'Her breath is more sweet than a gentle south-west wind, which
comes creeping over flowing fields and shadowed waters in the
heat of summer.'
LINENOTES:
Title] Love's First Hope 1893.
THE DELINQUENT TRAVELLERS[443:3]
Some are home-sick--some two or three,
Their third year on the Arctic Sea--
Brave Captain Lyon tells us so[444:1]--
Spite of those charming Esquimaux.
But O, what scores are sick of Home, 5
Agog for Paris or for Rome!
Nay! tho' contented to abide,
You should prefer your own fireside;
Yet since grim War has ceas'd its madding,
And Peace has set John Bull agadding, 10
'Twould such a vulgar taste betray,
For very shame you must away!
'What? not yet seen the coast of France!
The folks will swear, for lack of bail,
You've spent your last five years in jail!' 15
Keep moving! Steam, or Gas, or Stage,
Hold, cabin, steerage, hencoop's cage--
Tour, Journey, Voyage, Lounge, Ride, Walk,
Skim, Sketch, Excursion, Travel-talk--
For move you must! 'Tis now the rage, 20
The law and fashion of the Age.
If you but perch, where Dover tallies,
So strangely with the coast of Calais,
With a good glass and knowing look,
You'll soon get matter for a book! 25
Or else, in Gas-car, take your chance
Like that adventurous king of France,
Who, once, with twenty thousand men
Went up--and then came down again;
At least, he moved if nothing more: 30
And if there's nought left to explore,
Yet while your well-greased wheels keep spinning,
The traveller's honoured name you're winning,
And, snug as Jonas in the Whale,
You may loll back and dream a tale. 35
Move, or be moved--there's no protection,
Our Mother Earth has ta'en the infection--
(That rogue Copernicus, 'tis said
First put the whirring in her head,)
A planet She, and can't endure 40
T'exist without her annual Tour:
The _name_ were else a mere misnomer,
Since Planet is but Greek for _Roamer_.
The atmosphere, too, can do no less
Than ventilate her emptiness, 45
Bilks turn-pike gates, for no one cares,
And gives herself a thousand airs--
While streams and shopkeepers, we see,
Will have their run toward the sea--
And if, meantime, like old King Log, 50
Or ass with tether and a clog,
Must graze at home! to yawn and bray
'I guess we shall have rain to-day!'
Nor clog nor tether can be worse
Than the dead palsy of the purse. 55
Money, I've heard a wise man say,
Makes herself wings and flys away:
Ah! would She take it in her head
To make a pair for me instead!
At all events, the Fancy's free, 60
No traveller so bold as she.
From Fear and Poverty released
I'll saddle Pegasus, at least,
And when she's seated to her mind,
I within I can mount behind: 65
And since this outward I, you know,
Must stay because he cannot go,
My fellow-travellers shall be they
Who go because they cannot stay--
Rogues, rascals, sharpers, blanks and prizes, 70
Delinquents of all sorts and sizes,
Fraudulent bankrupts, Knights burglarious,
And demireps of means precarious--
All whom Law thwarted, Arms or Arts,
Compel to visit foreign parts, 75
All hail! No compliments, I pray,
I'll follow where you lead the way!
But ere we cross the main once more,
Methinks, along my native shore,
Dismounting from my steed I'll stray 80
Beneath the cliffs of Dumpton Bay.[446:1]
Where, Ramsgate and Broadstairs between,
Rude caves and grated doors are seen:
And here I'll watch till break of day,
(For Fancy in her magic might 85
Can turn broad noon to starless night!)
When lo! methinks a sudden band
Of smock-clad smugglers round me stand.
Denials, oaths, in vain I try,
At once they gag me for a spy, 90
And stow me in the boat hard by.
Suppose us fairly now afloat,
Till Boulogne mouth receives our Boat.
But, bless us! what a numerous band
Of cockneys anglicise the strand! 95
Delinquent bankrupts, leg-bail'd debtors,
Some for the news, and some for letters--
With hungry look and tarnished dress,
French shrugs and British surliness.
Sick of the country for their sake 100
Of them and France _French leave_ I take--
And lo! a transport comes in view
I hear the merry motley crew,
Well skill'd in pocket to make entry,
Of Dieman's Land the elected Gentry, 105
And founders of Australian Races.--
The Rogues! I see it in their faces!
Receive me, Lads! I'll go with you,
Hunt the black swan and kangaroo,
And that New Holland we'll presume 110
Old England with some elbow-room.
Across the mountains we will roam,
And each man make himself a home:
Or, if old habits ne'er forsaking,
Like clock-work of the Devil's making, 115
Ourselves inveterate rogues should be,
We'll have a virtuous progeny;
And on the dunghill of our vices
Raise human pine-apples and spices.
Of all the children of John Bull 120
With empty heads and bellies full,
Who ramble East, West, North and South,
With leaky purse and open mouth,
In search of varieties exotic
The usefullest and most patriotic, 125
And merriest, too, believe me, Sirs!
Are your Delinquent Travellers!
1824.
FOOTNOTES:
[443:3] From an hitherto unpublished MS., formerly in the possession of
Coleridge's friend and amanuensis Joseph Henry Green.
[444:1] _The Private Journal of Captain G. F. Lyon of the Mt. Hecla,
during the recent voyage of discovery under Captain Parry_, was
published by John Murray in 1824. In a letter dated May, 1823, Lucy
Caroline Lamb writes to Murray:--'If there is yet time, do tell Captain
Lyon, that I, and others far bettor than I am, are enchanted with his
book.' _Memoirs . . . of John Murray_, 1891, i. 145.
[446:1] A coast village near Ramsgate. Coleridge passed some weeks at
Ramsgate in the late autumn of 1824.
WORK WITHOUT HOPE[447:1]
LINES COMPOSED 21ST FEBRUARY 1825
All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair--
The bees are stirring--birds are on the wing--[447:2]
And Winter slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I the while, the sole unbusy thing, 5
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.
Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,
Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away! 10
With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll:
And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?
Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve,
And Hope without an object cannot live.
1825.
FOOTNOTES:
[447:1] First printed in the _Bijou_ for 1828: included in 1828, 1829,
and 1834. These lines, as published in the _Bijou_ for 1828, were an
excerpt from an entry in a notebook, dated Feb. 21, 1825. They were
preceded by a prose introduction, now for the first time printed, and
followed by a metrical interpretation or afterthought which was first
published in the Notes to the Edition of 1893. For an exact reproduction
of the prose and verse as they appear in the notebook, vide Appendices
of this edition.
[447:2] Compare the last stanza of George Herbert's _Praise_:--
O raise me thus! Poor Bees that work all day,
Sting my delay,
Who have a work as well as they,
And much, much more.
LINENOTES:
Title] Lines composed on a day in February. By S. T. Coleridge, Esq.
Bijou: Lines composed on the 21st of February, 1827 1828, 1829, 1834.
[1] Slugs] Snails erased MS. S. T. C.: Stags 1828, 1829, 1885.
[11]
{ With unmoist lip and wreathless brow I stroll
{ With lips unmoisten'd wreathless brow I stroll MS. S. T. C.
_SANCTI DOMINICI PALLIUM_[448:1]
A DIALOGUE BETWEEN POET AND FRIEND
FOUND WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF AT THE BEGINNING OF BUTLER'S 'BOOK OF
THE CHURCH' (1825)
POET
I note the moods and feelings men betray,
And heed them more than aught they do or say;
The lingering ghosts of many a secret deed
Still-born or haply strangled in its birth;
_These_ best reveal the smooth man's inward creed! 5
_These_ mark the spot where lies the treasure--Worth!
Milner, made up of impudence and trick,[448:2]
With cloven tongue prepared to hiss and lick,
Rome's Brazen Serpent--boldly dares discuss
The roasting of thy heart, O brave John Huss! 10
And with grim triumph and a truculent glee[448:3]
Absolves anew the Pope-wrought perfidy,
That made an empire's plighted faith a lie,
And fix'd a broad stare on the Devil's eye--
(Pleas'd with the guilt, yet envy-stung at heart 15
To stand outmaster'd in his own black art!)
Yet Milner--
FRIEND
Enough of Milner! we're agreed,
Who now defends would then have done the deed.
But who not feels persuasion's gentle sway,
Who but must meet the proffered hand half way 20
When courteous Butler--
POET (_aside_)
(Rome's smooth go-between!)
FRIEND
Laments the advice that soured a milky queen--
(For 'bloody' all enlightened men confess
An antiquated error of the press:)
Who rapt by zeal beyond her sex's bounds, 25
With actual cautery staunched the Church's wounds!
And tho' he deems, that with too broad a blur
We damn the French and Irish massacre,
Yet _blames_ them both--and thinks the Pope _might_ err!
What think you now? Boots it with spear and shield 30
Against such gentle foes to take the field
Whose beckoning hands the mild Caduceus wield?
POET
What think I now? Even what I thought before;--
What Milner boasts though Butler may deplore,
Still I repeat, words lead me not astray 35
When the _shown_ feeling points a different way.
Smooth Butler can say grace at slander's feast,[449:1]
And bless each haut-gout cook'd by monk or priest;
Leaves the full lie on Milner's gong to swell,
Content with half-truths that do just as well; 40
But duly decks his mitred comrade's flanks,[450:1]
And with him shares the Irish nation's thanks!
So much for you, my friend! who own a Church,
And would not leave your mother in the lurch!
But when a Liberal asks me what I think-- 45
Scared by the blood and soot of Cobbett's ink,
And Jeffrey's glairy phlegm and Connor's foam,
In search of some safe parable I roam--
An emblem sometimes may comprise a tome!
Disclaimant of his uncaught grandsire's mood, 50
I see a tiger lapping kitten's food:
And who shall blame him that he purs applause,
When brother Brindle pleads the good old cause;
And frisks his pretty tail, and half unsheathes his claws!
Yet not the less, for modern lights unapt, 55
I trust the bolts and cross-bars of the laws
More than the Protestant milk all newly lapt,
Impearling a tame wild-cat's whisker'd jaws!
1825, or 1826.
FOOTNOTES:
[448:1] First published in the _Evening Standard_, May 21, 1827. 'The
poem signed ΕΣΤΗΣΕ appeared likewise in the _St. James's
Chronicle_.' See Letter of S. T. C. to J. Blanco White, dated Nov. 28,
1827. _Life_, 1845, i. 439, 440. First collected in 1834. I have amended
the text of 1834 in lines 7, 17, 34, 39 in accordance with a MS. in the
possession of the poet's granddaughter, Miss Edith Coleridge. The poem
as published in 1834 and every subsequent edition (except 1907) is
meaningless. Southey's _Book of the Church_, 1825, was answered by
Charles Butler's _Book of the Roman Catholic Church_, 1825, and in an
anonymous pamphlet by the Vicar Apostolic, Dr. John Milner, entitled
_Merlin's Strictures_. Southey retaliated in his _Vindiciae Ecclesiae
Anglicanae_, 1826. In the latter work he addresses Butler as 'an
honourable and courteous opponent'--and contrasts his 'habitual
urbanity' with the malignant and scurrilous attacks of that
'ill-mannered man', Dr. Milner. In the 'Dialogue' the poet reminds his
'Friend' Southey that Rome is Rome, a 'brazen serpent', charm she never
so wisely. In the _Vindiciae_ Southey devotes pp. 470-506 to an excursus
on 'The Rosary'--the invention of St. Dominic. Hence the title--'Sancti
Dominici Pallium'.
[448:2] These lines were written before this Prelate's decease.
_Standard, 1827._
[448:3] Trŭcŭlĕnt: a tribrach as the isochronous substitute for the
Trochee ¯ ˘. N. B. If our accent, a _quality_ of sound were actually
equivalent to the _Quantity_ in the Greek ¯ ˘ ¯, or dactyl ¯ ˘ ˘ at
least. But it is not so, accent shortens syllables: thus Spīrĭt, sprite;
Hŏnĕy, mŏnĕy, nŏbŏdy, &c. _MS. S. T. C._
[449:1] 'Smooth Butler.' See the Rev. Blanco White's Letter to C.
Butler, Esq. _MS. S. T. C._, _Sd. 1827_.
[450:1] 'Your coadjutor the Titular Bishop Milner'--Bishop of Castabala
I had called him, till I learnt from the present pamphlet that he had
been translated to the see of Billingsgate.' _Vind. Ecl. Angl. 1826_, p.
228, _note_.
LINENOTES:
Title]--A dialogue written on a Blank Page of Butler's Book of the Roman
Catholic Church. Sd. 1827.
[7] Milner] ---- 1834, 1852: Butler 1893.
[17] Milner--Milner] ----, ---- 1834, 1852: Butler--Butler 1893. Yet
Milner] Yet Miln-- Sd. 1827.
[25] Who with a zeal that passed Sd. 1827.
[30] spear] helm Sd. 1827.
[32] beckoning] proffered Sd. 1827.
[34] Milner] ---- 1834, 1852: Butler 1893. boasts] lauds Sd. 1827.
[35] repeat] reply Sd. 1827.
[38] or] and Sd. 1827.
[39] Milner's] ----'s 1834, 1852: Butler's 1893.
[42] Irish] the O'Gorman MS. S. T. C., Sd. 1827.
[46] blood and soot] soot and blood Sd. 1827.
[55] lights] sights Sd. 1827.
SONG[450:2]
Though veiled in spires of myrtle-wreath,
Love is a sword which cuts its sheath,
And through the clefts itself has made,
We spy the flashes of the blade!
But through the clefts itself has made 5
We likewise see Love's flashing blade,
By rust consumed, or snapt in twain;
And only hilt and stump remain.
? 1825.
FOOTNOTES:
[450:2] First published in 1828: included in 1852, 1885, and 1893. A MS.
version (undated) is inscribed in a notebook.
LINENOTES:
Title] Love, a Sword 1893.
[1] Tho' hid in spiral myrtle wreath MS.
[2] which] that MS.
[3] slits itself hath made MS.
[4] flashes] glitter MS.
[5] clefts] slits MS.
[6-8]
We spy no less, too, that the Blade,
Is cut away or snapt atwain
And nought but Hilt or Stump remain.
MS.
A CHARACTER[451:1]
A bird, who for his other sins
Had liv'd amongst the Jacobins;
Though like a kitten amid rats,
Or callow tit in nest of bats,
He much abhorr'd all democrats; 5
Yet nathless stood in ill report
Of wishing ill to Church and Court,
Tho' he'd nor claw, nor tooth, nor sting,
And learnt to pipe God save the King;
Tho' each day did new feathers bring, 10
All swore he had a leathern wing;
Nor polish'd wing, nor feather'd tail,
Nor down-clad thigh would aught avail;
And tho'--his tongue devoid of gall--
He civilly assur'd them all:-- 15
'A bird am I of Phoebus' breed,
And on the sunflower cling and feed;
My name, good Sirs, is Thomas Tit!'
The bats would hail him Brother Cit,
Or, at the furthest, cousin-german. 20
At length the matter to determine,
He publicly denounced the vermin;
He spared the mouse, he praised the owl;
But bats were neither flesh nor fowl.
Blood-sucker, vampire, harpy, goul, 25
Came in full clatter from his throat,
Till his old nest-mates chang'd their note
To hireling, traitor, and turncoat,--
A base apostate who had sold
His very teeth and claws for gold;-- 30
And then his feathers!--sharp the jest--
No doubt he feather'd well his nest!
'A Tit indeed! aye, tit for tat--
With place and title, brother Bat,
We soon shall see how well he'll play 35
Count Goldfinch, or Sir Joseph Jay!'
Alas, poor Bird! and ill-bestarr'd--
Or rather let us say, poor Bard!
And henceforth quit the allegoric,
With metaphor and simile, 40
For simple facts and style historic:--
Alas, poor Bard! no gold had he;
Behind another's team he stept,
And plough'd and sow'd, while others reapt;
The work was his, but theirs the glory, 45
_Sic vos non vobis_, his whole story.
Besides, whate'er he wrote or said
Came from his heart as well as head;
And though he never left in lurch
His king, his country, or his church, 50
'Twas but to humour his own cynical
Contempt of doctrines Jacobinical;
To his own conscience only hearty,
'Twas but by chance he serv'd the party;--
The self-same things had said and writ, 55
Had Pitt been Fox, and Fox been Pitt;
Content his own applause to win,
Would never dash thro' thick and thin,
And he can make, so say the wise,
No claim who makes no sacrifice;-- 60
And bard still less:--what claim had he,
Who swore it vex'd his soul to see
So grand a cause, so proud a realm,
With Goose and Goody at the helm;
Who long ago had fall'n asunder 65
But for their rivals' baser blunder,
The coward whine and Frenchified
Slaver and slang of the other side?--
Thus, his own whim his only bribe,
Our Bard pursued his old A. B. C. 70
Contented if he could subscribe
In fullest sense his name Ἔστησε;
('Tis Punic Greek for 'he hath stood!')
Whate'er the men, the cause was good;
And therefore with a right good will, 75
Poor fool, he fights their battles still.
Tush! squeak'd the Bats;--a mere bravado
To whitewash that base renegado;
'Tis plain unless you're blind or mad,
His conscience for the bays he barters;-- 80
And true it is--as true as sad--
These circlets of green baize he had--
But then, alas! they were his garters!
Ah! silly Bard, unfed, untended,
His lamp but glimmer'd in its socket; 85
He lived unhonour'd and unfriended
With scarce a penny in his pocket;--
Nay--tho' he hid it from the many--
With scarce a pocket for his penny!
1825.
FOOTNOTES:
[451:1] First published in 1834. It is probable that the immediate
provocation of these lines was the publication of Hazlitt's
character-sketch of Coleridge in _The Spirit of the Age_, 1825, pp.
57-75. Lines 1-7, 49, 50, 84, 89 are quoted by J. Payne Collier (_An Old
Man's Diary_, Oct. 20, 1833, Pt. IV, p. 56) from a MS. presented by
Charles Lamb to Martin Burney. A fragmentary MS. with the lines in
different order is in the British Museum.
LINENOTES:
Title] A Trifle MS. J. P. C.
[1] for] 'mongst MS. B. M.
[2] amongst] among J. P. C.
[3] amid] among J. P. C.
[5] all] the J. P. C.
[6] ill] bad J. P. C.
[7] Of ill to Church as well as Court J. P. C.
[11] had a] had but a MS. B. M.
[22] denounced] disowned MS. B. M.
[31] sharp] smoke MS. B. M.
[36] Joseph] Judas MS. B. M.
[69-74]
Yet still pursu'd thro' scoff and gibe
From A. to Z. his old A. B. C.
Content that he could still subscribe
In symbol just his name ΕΣΤΗΣΕ;
(In punic Greek that's He hath stood:)
Whate'er the men, the cause was good.
MS. B. M.
[84] Ah! silly bird and unregarded J. P. C.: Poor witless Bard, unfed,
untended MS. B. M.
[86] He liv'd unpraised, and unfriended MS. B. M.: unfriended] discarded
J. P. C.
[87] With scarce] Without J. P. C.
THE TWO FOUNTS[454:1]
STANZAS ADDRESSED TO A LADY ON HER RECOVERY WITH UNBLEMISHED LOOKS, FROM
A SEVERE ATTACK OF PAIN
'Twas my last waking thought, how it could be
That thou, sweet friend, such anguish should'st endure;
When straight from Dreamland came a Dwarf, and he
Could tell the cause, forsooth, and knew the cure.
Methought he fronted me with peering look 5
Fix'd on my heart; and read aloud in game
The loves and griefs therein, as from a book:
And uttered praise like one who wished to blame.
In every heart (quoth he) since Adam's sin
Two Founts there are, of Suffering and of Cheer! 10
That to let forth, and this to keep within!
But she, whose aspect I find imaged here,
Of Pleasure only will to all dispense,
That Fount alone unlock, by no distress
Choked or turned inward, but still issue thence 15
Unconquered cheer, persistent loveliness.
As on the driving cloud the shiny bow,
That gracious thing made up of tears and light,
Mid the wild rack and rain that slants below
Stands smiling forth, unmoved and freshly bright; 20
As though the spirits of all lovely flowers,
Inweaving each its wreath and dewy crown,
Or ere they sank to earth in vernal showers,
Had built a bridge to tempt the angels down.
Even so, Eliza! on that face of thine, 25
On that benignant face, whose look alone
(The soul's translucence thro' her crystal shrine!)
Has power to soothe all anguish but thine own,
A beauty hovers still, and ne'er takes wing,
But with a silent charm compels the stern 30
And tort'ring Genius of the bitter spring,
To shrink aback, and cower upon his urn.
Who then needs wonder, if (no outlet found
In passion, spleen, or strife) the Fount of Pain
O'erflowing beats against its lovely mound, 35
And in wild flashes shoots from heart to brain?
Sleep, and the Dwarf with that unsteady gleam
On his raised lip, that aped a critic smile,
Had passed: yet I, my sad thoughts to beguile,
Lay weaving on the tissue of my dream; 40
Till audibly at length I cried, as though
Thou hadst indeed been present to my eyes,
O sweet, sweet sufferer; if the case be so,
I pray thee, be less good, less sweet, less wise!
In every look a barbéd arrow send, 45
On those soft lips let scorn and anger live!
Do any thing, rather than thus, sweet friend!
Hoard for thyself the pain, thou wilt not give!
1826.
FOOTNOTES:
[454:1] First published in the _Annual Register_ for 1827: reprinted in
the _Bijou_ for 1828: included in 1828, 1829, 1834. 'In Gilchrist's
_Life of Blake_ (1863, i. 337) it is stated that this poem was addressed
to Mrs. Aders, the daughter of the engraver Raphael Smith.' _P. W._,
1892, p. 642.
LINENOTES:
Title]: Stanzas addressed to a Lady on her Recovery from a Severe attack
of Pain Annual Register.
[11] That--this] _That--this_ 1828, 1829.
[14] That] _That_ 1828, 1829.
[16-17] In a MS. dated 1826, the following stanza precedes stanza 5 of
the text:--
Was ne'er on earth seen beauty like to this.
A concentrated satisfying sight!
In its deep quiet, ask no further bliss--
At once the form and substance of delight.
[19-20]
Looks forth upon the troubled air below
Unmov'd, entire, inviolably bright.
MS. 1826.
[31] tort'ring] fost'ring Annual Register, Bijou.
[44] less--less--less] _less--less--less_ 1828, 1829.
[47] any] _any_ 1828, 1829.
CONSTANCY TO AN IDEAL OBJECT[455:1]
Since all that beat about in Nature's range,
Or veer or vanish; why should'st thou remain
The only constant in a world of change,
O yearning Thought! that liv'st but in the brain?
Call to the Hours, that in the distance play, 5
The faery people of the future day----
Fond Thought! not one of all that shining swarm
Will breathe on thee with life-enkindling breath,
Till when, like strangers shelt'ring from a storm,[456:1]
Hope and Despair meet in the porch of Death! 10
Yet still thou haunt'st me; and though well I see,
She is not thou, and only thou art she,
Still, still as though some dear embodied Good,
Some living Love before my eyes there stood
With answering look a ready ear to lend, 15
I mourn to thee and say--'Ah! loveliest friend!
That this the meed of all my toils might be,
To have a home, an English home, and thee!'
Vain repetition! Home and Thou are one.
The peacefull'st cot, the moon shall shine upon, 20
Lulled by the thrush and wakened by the lark,
Without thee were but a becalméd bark,
Whose Helmsman on an ocean waste and wide
Sits mute and pale his mouldering helm beside.
And art thou nothing? Such thou art, as when 25
The woodman winding westward up the glen
At wintry dawn, where o'er the sheep-track's maze
The viewless snow-mist weaves a glist'ning haze,
Sees full before him, gliding without tread,
An image[456:2] with a glory round its head; 30
The enamoured rustic worships its fair hues,
Nor knows he makes the shadow, he pursues!
? 1826.
FOOTNOTES:
[455:1] There is no evidence as to date of composition. J. D. Campbell
(1893, p. 635) believed that it 'was written at Malta'. Line 18 seems to
imply that the poem was not written in England. On the other hand a
comparison of ll. 9, 10 with a passage in the _Allegoric Vision_, which
was re-written with large additions, and first published in 1817,
suggests a much later date. The editors of 1852 include these lines
among 'Poems written in Later Life', but the date (? 1826) now assigned
is purely conjectural. First published in 1828: included in 1829 and
1834.
[456:1] With lines 9, 10 J. D. Campbell compares, 'After a pause of
silence: even thus, said he, like two strangers that have fled to the
same shelter from the same storm, not seldom do Despair and Hope meet
for the first time in the porch of Death.' _Allegoric Vision_
(1798-1817); vide Appendices of this edition.
[456:2] This phenomenon, which the Author has himself experienced, and
of which the reader may find a description in one of the earlier volumes
of the _Manchester Philosophical Transactions_, is applied figuratively
to the following passage in the _Aids to Reflection_:--
'Pindar's fine remark respecting the different effects of Music, on
different characters, holds equally true of Genius--as many as are not
delighted by it are disturbed, perplexed, irritated. The beholder either
recognises it as a projected form of his own Being, that moves before
him with a Glory round its head, or recoils from it as a
Spectre.'--_Aids to Reflection_ [1825], p. 220.
LINENOTES:
[8] thee] _thee_ 1828, 1829.
[13] embodied] _embodied_ 1828, 1829.
[14] living] _living_ 1828, 1829.
[32] makes] _makes_ 1828, 1829.
THE PANG MORE SHARP THAN ALL[457:1]
AN ALLEGORY
I
He too has flitted from his secret nest,
Hope's last and dearest child without a name!--
Has flitted from me, like the warmthless flame,
That makes false promise of a place of rest
To the tired Pilgrim's still believing mind;-- 5
Or like some Elfin Knight in kingly court,
Who having won all guerdons in his sport,
Glides out of view, and whither none can find!
II
Yes! he hath flitted from me--with what aim,
Or why, I know not! 'Twas a home of bliss, 10
And he was innocent, as the pretty shame
Of babe, that tempts and shuns the menaced kiss,
From its twy-cluster'd hiding place of snow!
Pure as the babe, I ween, and all aglow
As the dear hopes, that swell the mother's breast-- 15
Her eyes down gazing o'er her claspéd charge;--
Yet gay as that twice happy father's kiss,
That well might glance aside, yet never miss,
Where the sweet mark emboss'd so sweet a targe--
Twice wretched he who hath been doubly blest! 20
III
Like a loose blossom on a gusty night
He flitted from me--and has left behind
(As if to them his faith he ne'er did plight)
Of either sex and answerable mind
Two playmates, twin-births of his foster-dame:-- 25
The one a steady lad (Esteem he hight)
And Kindness is the gentler sister's name.
Dim likeness now, though fair she be and good,
Of that bright Boy who hath us all forsook;--
But in his full-eyed aspect when she stood, 30
And while her face reflected every look,
And in reflection kindled--she became
So like Him, that almost she seem'd the same!
IV
Ah! he is gone, and yet will not depart!--
Is with me still, yet I from him exiled! 35
For still there lives within my secret heart
The magic image of the magic Child,
Which there he made up-grow by his strong art,
As in that crystal[458:1] orb--wise Merlin's feat,--
The wondrous 'World of Glass,' wherein inisled 40
All long'd-for things their beings did repeat;--
And there he left it, like a Sylph beguiled,
To live and yearn and languish incomplete!
V
Can wit of man a heavier grief reveal?
Can sharper pang from hate or scorn arise?-- 45
Yes! one more sharp there is that deeper lies,
Which fond Esteem but mocks when he would heal.
Yet neither scorn nor hate did it devise,
But sad compassion and atoning zeal!
One pang more blighting-keen than hope betray'd! 50
And this it is my woeful hap to feel,
When, at her Brother's hest, the twin-born Maid
With face averted and unsteady eyes,
Her truant playmate's faded robe puts on;
And inly shrinking from her own disguise 55
Enacts the faery Boy that's lost and gone.
O worse than all! O pang all pangs above
Is Kindness counterfeiting absent Love!
? 1825-6.
FOOTNOTES:
[457:1] First published in 1834. With lines 36-43, and with the poem as
a whole, compare the following fragments of uncertain date, which were
first published in a note to the edition of 1893. Both the poem as
completed and these fragments of earlier drafts seem to belong to the
last decade of the poet's life. The water-mark of the scrap of paper on
which these drafts are written is 1819, but the tone and workmanship of
the verse suggest a much later date, possibly 1826.
'---- into my Heart
The magic Child as in a magic glass
Transfused, and ah! he _left_ within my Heart
A loving Image and a counterpart.'
'---- into my Heart
As 'twere some magic Glass the magic child
Transfused his Image and full counterpart;
And then he left it like a Sylph beguiled
To live and yearn and languish incomplete!
Day following day, more rugged grows my path.
There dwells a cloud before my heavy eyes;
A Blank my Heart, and Hope is dead and buried,
Yet the deep yearning will not die; but Love
Clings on and cloathes the marrowless remains,
Like the fresh moss that grows on dead men's bones,
Quaint mockery! and fills its scarlet cups
With the chill dewdamps of the Charnel House.
O ask not for my Heart! my Heart is but
The darksome vault where Hope lies dead and buried,
And Love with Asbest Lamp bewails the Corse.'
[458:1] _Faerie Queene_, b. iii. c. 2, s. 19.
DUTY SURVIVING SELF-LOVE[459:1]
THE ONLY SURE FRIEND OF DECLINING LIFE
A SOLILOQUY
Unchanged within, to see all changed without,
Is a blank lot and hard to bear, no doubt.
Yet why at others' wanings should'st thou fret?
Then only might'st thou feel a just regret,
Hadst thou withheld thy love or hid thy light 5
In selfish forethought of neglect and slight.
O wiselier then, from feeble yearnings freed,
While, and on whom, thou may'st--shine on! nor heed
Whether the object by reflected light
Return thy radiance or absorb it quite: 10
And though thou notest from thy safe recess
Old Friends burn dim, like lamps in noisome air,
Love them for what they are; nor love them less,
Because to thee they are not what they were.
1826.
FOOTNOTES:
[459:1] First published in 1828: included in 1829 and 1834. The MS. of
the first draft, dated Sept. 2, 1826, is preceded by the following
introductory note:--
'QUESTION, ANSWER, AND SOLILOQUY.
And are _you_ (said Alia to Constantius, on whose head
sickness and sorrow had antedated Winter, ere yet the time of
Vintage had passed), Are you the happier for your Philosophy?
And the smile of Constantius was as the light from a purple
cluster of the vine, gleaming through snowflakes, as he
replied, The Boons of Philosophy are of higher worth, than
what you, O Alia, mean by Happiness. But I will not seem to
evade the question--Am _I_ the happier for my Philosophy? The
calmer at least and the less unhappy, answered Constantius,
for it has enabled me to find that selfless Reason is the best
Comforter, and only sure friend of declining Life. At this
moment the sounds of a carriage followed by the usual bravura
executed on the brazen knocker announced a morning visit: and
Alia hastened to receive the party. Meantime the grey-haired
philosopher, left to his own musings, continued playing with
the thoughts that Alia and Alia's question had excited, till
he murmured them to himself in half audible words, which at
first casually, and then for the amusement of his ear, he
_punctuated_ with rhymes, without however conceiting that he
had by these means changed them into poetry.'
LINENOTES:
[4] When thy own body first the example set. MS. S. T. C.
[5-11] om. MS. S. T. C.
[8] While--on whom] _While--on whom_ 1828, 1829.
[9] object] Body MS. S. T. C.
[13] are] _are_ 1828, 1829.
[14] thee--were] _thee--were_ 1828, 1829.
HOMELESS[460:1]
'O! Christmas Day, Oh! happy day!
A foretaste from above,
To him who hath a happy home
And love returned from love!'
O! Christmas Day, O gloomy day, 5
The barb in Memory's dart,
To him who walks alone through Life,
The desolate in heart.
1826.
FOOTNOTES:
[460:1] First published in the _Literary Magnet_, January, 1827, p. 71.
First collected in 1893. A transcript, possibly in Mrs. Gillman's
handwriting, is inscribed on the fly-leaf of a copy of Bartram's
_Travels in South Carolina_ which Coleridge purchased in April 1818. J.
D. Campbell prefixed the title 'Homeless', and assigned 1810 as a
conjectural date. Attention was first called to publication in the
_Literary Magnet_ by Mr. Bertram Dobell in the _Athenaeum_.
LINENOTES:
Title] An Impromptu on Christmas Day L. M. 1827.
[4] from] for L. M. 1827.
LINES[460:2]
SUGGESTED BY THE LAST WORDS OF BERENGARIUS
OB. ANNO DOM. 1088
No more 'twixt conscience staggering and the Pope
Soon shall I now before my God appear,
By him to be acquitted, as I hope;
By him to be condemnéd, as I fear.--
REFLECTION ON THE ABOVE
Lynx amid moles! had I stood by thy bed, 5
Be of good cheer, meek soul! I would have said:
I see a hope spring from that humble fear.
All are not strong alike through storms to steer
Right onward. What? though dread of threatened death
And dungeon torture made thy hand and breath 10
Inconstant to the truth within thy heart!
That truth, from which, through fear, thou twice didst start,
Fear haply told thee, was a learned strife,
Or not so vital as to claim thy life:
And myriads had reached Heaven, who never knew 15
Where lay the difference 'twixt the false and true!
Ye, who secure 'mid trophies not your own,
Judge him who won them when he stood alone,
And proudly talk of recreant Berengare--
O first the age, and then the man compare! 20
That age how dark! congenial minds how rare!
No host of friends with kindred zeal did burn!
No throbbing hearts awaited his return!
Prostrate alike when prince and peasant fell,
He only disenchanted from the spell, 25
Like the weak worm that gems the starless night,
Moved in the scanty circlet of his light:
And was it strange if he withdrew the ray
That did but guide the night-birds to their prey?
The ascending day-star with a bolder eye 30
Hath lit each dew-drop on our trimmer lawn!
Yet not for this, if wise, shall we decry
The spots and struggles of the timid Dawn;
Lest so we tempt th' approaching Noon to scorn
The mists and painted vapours of our Morn. 35
? 1826.
FOOTNOTES:
[460:2] First published in the _Literary Souvenir_, 1827. The
_Epitaphium Testamentarium_ (vide _post_, p. 462) is printed in a
footnote to the word 'Berengarius'. Included in 1828, 1829, and 1834.
LINENOTES:
[13] learned] _learned_ L. S.
[19] recreant] _recreant_ L. S., 1828, 1829.
[23] his] _his_ L. S.
[32] shall] will L. S., 1828, 1829.
[34] th' approaching] the coming L. S.
EPITAPHIUM TESTAMENTARIUM[462:1]
Τὸ τοῦ ἜΣΤΗΣΕ τοῦ ἐπιθανοῦς Epitaphium testamentarium αὐτόγραφον.
Quae linquam, aut nihil, aut nihili, aut vix sunt mea. Sordes
Do Morti: reddo caetera, Christe! tibi.
1826.
Ἔρως ἀεὶ λάληθρος ἑταῖρος[462:2]
In many ways does the full heart reveal
The presence of the love it would conceal;
But in far more th' estrangéd heart lets know
The absence of the love, which yet it fain would shew.
1826.
FOOTNOTES:
[462:1] First published in _Literary Souvenir_ of 1827, as footnote to
title of the _Lines Suggested by the Last Words of Berengarius_:
included in _Literary Remains_, 1836, i. 60: first collected in 1844.
[462:2] This quatrain was prefixed as a motto to 'Prose in Rhyme; and
Epigrams, Moralities, and Things without a Name', the concluding section
of 'Poems' in the edition of 1828, 1829, vol. ii, pp. 75-117. It was
prefixed to 'Miscellaneous Poems' in 1834, vol. ii, pp. 55-152, and to
'Poems written in Later Life', 1852, pp. 319-78.
LINENOTES:
Title] ΕΠΙΤΑΦΙΟΝ ΑΥΤΟΓΡΑΠΤΟΝ L. R., 1844: ἐπιθανοῦς] ἐπιδανοὺς L. S.
The emendation ἐπιθανοῦς (i. e. moribund) was suggested by the Reader of
Macmillan's edition of 1893. Other alternatives, e. g. ἐπιδευοῦς (the
lacking), to the word as misprinted in the Literary Souvenir have been
suggested, but there can be no doubt that what Coleridge intended to
imply was that he was near his end.
Greek motto: Ἔρως ἀεὶ λάλος MS. S. T. C.
[1-4]
In many ways I own do we reveal.
The Presence of the Love we would conceal,
But in how many more do we let know
The absence of the Love we found would show.
MS. S. T. C.
THE IMPROVISATORE[462:3]
OR, 'JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO, JOHN'
_Scene--A spacious drawing-room, with music-room adjoining._
_Katharine._ What are the words?
_Eliza._ Ask our friend, the Improvisatore; here he comes. Kate has a
favour to ask of you, Sir; it is that you will repeat the ballad[463:1]
that Mr. ---- sang so sweetly.
_Friend._ It is in Moore's Irish Melodies; but I do not recollect the
words distinctly. The moral of them, however, I take to be this:--
Love would remain the same if true,
When we were neither young nor new;
Yea, and in all within the will that came,
By the same proofs would show itself the same.
_Eliz._ What are the lines you repeated from Beaumont and Fletcher,
which my mother admired so much? It begins with something about two
vines so close that their tendrils intermingle.
_Fri._ You mean Charles' speech to Angelina, in _The Elder
Brother_[463:2].
We'll live together, like two neighbour vines,
Circling our souls and loves in one another!
We'll spring together, and we'll bear one fruit;
One joy shall make us smile, and one grief mourn;
One age go with us, and one hour of death
Shall close our eyes, and one grave make us happy.
_Kath._ A precious boon, that would go far to reconcile one to old
age--this love--_if_ true! But is there any such true love?
_Fri._ I hope so.
_Kath._ But do you believe it?
_Eliz._ (_eagerly_). I am sure he does.
_Fri._ From a man turned of fifty, Katharine, I imagine, expects a less
confident answer.
_Kath._ A more sincere one, perhaps.
_Fri._ Even though he should have obtained the nick-name of
Improvisatore, by perpetrating charades and extempore verses at
Christmas times?
_Eliz._ Nay, but be serious.
_Fri._ Serious! Doubtless. A grave personage of my years giving a
Love-lecture to two young ladies, cannot well be otherwise. The
difficulty, I suspect, would be for them to remain so. It will be asked
whether I am not the 'elderly gentleman' who sate 'despairing beside a
clear stream', with a willow for his wig-block.
_Eliz._ Say another word, and we will call it downright affectation.
_Kath._ No! we will be affronted, drop a courtesy, and ask pardon for
our presumption in expecting that Mr. ---- would waste his sense on two
insignificant girls.
_Fri._ Well, well, I will be serious. Hem! Now then commences the
discourse; Mr. Moore's song being the text. Love, as distinguished from
Friendship, on the one hand, and from the passion that too often usurps
its name, on the other--
_Lucius_ (_Eliza's brother, who had just joined the trio, in a whisper
to the Friend_). But is not Love the union of both?
_Fri._ (_aside to Lucius_). He never loved who thinks so.
_Eliz._ Brother, we don't want _you_. There! Mrs. H. cannot arrange the
flower vase without you. Thank you, Mrs. Hartman.
_Luc._ I'll have my revenge! I know what I will say!
_Eliz._ Off! Off! Now, dear Sir,--Love, you were saying--
_Fri._ Hush! _Preaching_, you mean, Eliza.
_Eliz._ (_impatiently_). Pshaw!
_Fri._ Well then, I was _saying_ that Love, truly such, is itself not
the most common thing in the world: and mutual love still less so. But
that enduring personal attachment, so beautifully delineated by Erin's
sweet melodist, and still more touchingly, perhaps, in the well-known
ballad, 'John Anderson, my Jo, John,' in addition to a depth and
constancy of character of no every-day occurrence, supposes a peculiar
sensibility and tenderness of nature; a constitutional communicativeness
and _utterancy_ of heart and soul; a delight in the detail of sympathy,
in the outward and visible signs of the sacrament within--to count, as
it were, the pulses of the life of love. But above all, it supposes a
soul which, even in the pride and summer-tide of life--even in the
lustihood of health and strength, had felt oftenest and prized highest
that which age cannot take away and which, in all our lovings, is _the_
Love;--
_Eliz._ There is something _here_ (_pointing to her heart_) that _seems_
to understand you, but wants the _word_ that would make it understand
itself.
_Kath._ I, too, seem to _feel_ what you mean. Interpret the feeling for
us.
_Fri._ ---- I mean that _willing_ sense of the insufficingness of the
_self_ for itself, which predisposes a generous nature to see, in the
total being of another, the supplement and completion of its own;--that
quiet perpetual _seeking_ which the presence of the beloved object
modulates, not suspends, where the heart momently finds, and, finding,
again seeks on;--lastly, when 'life's changeful orb has pass'd the
full', a confirmed faith in the nobleness of humanity, thus brought home
and pressed, as it were, to the very bosom of hourly experience; it
supposes, I say, a heartfelt reverence for worth, not the less deep
because divested of its solemnity by habit, by familiarity, by mutual
infirmities, and even by a feeling of modesty which will arise in
delicate minds, when they are conscious of possessing the same or the
correspondent excellence in their own characters. In short, there must
be a mind, which, while it feels the beautiful and the excellent in the
beloved as its own, and by right of love appropriates it, can call
Goodness its Playfellow; and dares make sport of time and infirmity,
while, in the person of a thousand-foldly endeared partner, we feel for
aged Virtue the caressing fondness that belongs to the Innocence of
childhood, and repeat the same attentions and tender courtesies which
had been dictated by the same affection to the same object when attired
in feminine loveliness or in manly beauty.
_Eliz._ What a soothing--what an elevating idea!
_Kath._ If it be not only an _idea_.
_Fri._ At all events, these qualities which I have enumerated, are
rarely found united in a single individual. How much more rare must it
be, that two such individuals should meet together in this wide world
under circumstances that admit of their union as Husband and Wife. A
person may be highly estimable on the whole, nay, amiable as neighbour,
friend, housemate--in short, in all the concentric circles of attachment
save only the last and inmost; and yet from how many causes be estranged
from the highest perfection in this! Pride, coldness, or fastidiousness
of nature, worldly cares, an anxious or ambitious disposition, a passion
for display, a sullen temper,--one or the other--too often proves 'the
dead fly in the compost of spices', and any one is enough to unfit it
for the precious balm of unction. For some mighty good sort of people,
too, there is not seldom a sort of solemn saturnine, or, if you will,
_ursine_ vanity, that keeps itself alive by sucking the paws of its own
self-importance. And as this high sense, or rather sensation of their
own value is, for the most part, grounded on negative qualities, so
they have no better means of preserving the same but by
_negatives_--that is, by _not_ doing or saying any thing, that might be
put down for fond, silly, or nonsensical;--or (to use their own phrase)
by _never forgetting themselves_, which some of their acquaintance are
uncharitable enough to think the most worthless object they could be
employed in remembering.
_Eliz._ (_in answer to a whisper from Katharine_). To a hair! He must
have sate for it himself. Save me from such folks! But they are out of
the question.
_Fri._ True! but the same effect is produced in thousands by the too
general insensibility to a very important truth; this, namely, that the
MISERY of human life is made up of large masses, each separated from the
other by certain intervals. One year, the death of a child; years after,
a failure in trade; after another longer or shorter interval, a daughter
may have married unhappily;--in all but the singularly unfortunate, the
integral parts that compose the sum total of the unhappiness of a man's
life, are easily counted, and distinctly remembered. The HAPPINESS of
life, on the contrary, is made up of minute fractions--the little,
soon-forgotten charities of a kiss, a smile, a kind look, a heartfelt
compliment in the disguise of playful raillery, and the countless other
infinitesimals of pleasurable thought and genial feeling.
_Kath._ Well, Sir; you have said quite enough to make me despair of
finding a 'John Anderson, my Jo, John', with whom to totter down the
hill of life.
_Fri._ Not so! Good men are not, I trust, so much scarcer than good
women, but that what another would find in you, you may hope to find in
another. But well, however, may that boon be rare, the possession of
which would be more than an adequate reward for the rarest virtue.
_Eliz._ Surely, he, who has described it so well, must have possessed
it?
_Fri._ If he were worthy to have possessed it, and had believingly
anticipated and not found it, how bitter the disappointment!
(_Then, after a pause of a few minutes_).
ANSWER, _ex improviso_
Yes, yes! that boon, life's richest treat
He had, or fancied that he had;
Say, 'twas but in his own conceit--
The fancy made him glad!
Crown of his cup, and garnish of his dish! 5
The boon, prefigured in his earliest wish,
The fair fulfilment of his poesy,
When his young heart first yearn'd for sympathy!
But e'en the meteor offspring of the brain
Unnourished wane; 10
Faith asks her daily bread,
And Fancy must be fed!
Now so it chanced--from wet or dry,
It boots not how--I know not why--
She missed her wonted food; and quickly 15
Poor Fancy stagger'd and grew sickly.
Then came a restless state, 'twixt yea and nay,
His faith was fix'd, his heart all ebb and flow;
Or like a bark, in some half-shelter'd bay,
Above its anchor driving to and fro. 20
That boon, which but to have possess'd
In a _belief_, gave life a zest--
Uncertain both what it _had_ been,
And if by error lost, or luck;
And what it _was_;--an evergreen 25
Which some insidious blight had struck,
Or annual flower, which, past its blow,
No vernal spell shall e'er revive;
Uncertain, and afraid to know,
Doubts toss'd him to and fro: 30
Hope keeping Love, Love Hope alive,
Like babes bewildered in a snow,
That cling and huddle from the cold
In hollow tree or ruin'd fold.
Those sparkling colours, once his boast 35
Fading, one by one away,
Thin and hueless as a ghost,
Poor Fancy on her sick bed lay;
Ill at distance, worse when near,
Telling her dreams to jealous Fear! 40
Where was it then, the sociable sprite
That crown'd the Poet's cup and deck'd his dish!
Poor shadow cast from an unsteady wish,
Itself a substance by no other right
But that it intercepted Reason's light; 45
It dimm'd his eye, it darken'd on his brow,
A peevish mood, a tedious time, I trow!
Thank Heaven! 'tis not so now.
O bliss of blissful hours!
The boon of Heaven's decreeing, 50
While yet in Eden's bowers
Dwelt the first husband and his sinless mate!
The one sweet plant, which, piteous Heaven agreeing,
They bore with them thro' Eden's closing gate!
Of life's gay summer tide the sovran Rose! 55
Late autumn's Amaranth, that more fragrant blows
When Passion's flowers all fall or fade;
If this were ever his, in outward being,
Or but his own true love's projected shade,
Now that at length by certain proof he knows, 60
That whether real or a magic show,
Whate'er it _was_, it _is_ no longer so;
Though heart be lonesome, Hope laid low,
Yet, Lady! deem him not unblest:
The certainty that struck Hope dead, 65
Hath left Contentment in her stead:
And that is next to Best!
1827.
FOOTNOTES:
[462:3] First published in the _Amulet_ for 1828 (with a prose
introduction entitled 'New Thoughts on Old Subjects; or Conversational
Dialogues on Interests and Events of Common Life.' By S. T. Coleridge):
included in 1829 and 1834. The text of 1834 is identical with that of
the _Amulet_, 1828, but the italics in the prose dialogue were not
reproduced. They have been replaced in the text of the present issue.
The title may have been suggested by L. E. L.'s _Improvisatrice_
published in 1824.
[463:1] 'Believe me if all those endearing young charms.'
[463:2] See Beaumont and Fletcher, _The Elder Brother_, Act III, Scene
v. In the original the lines are printed as prose. In line 1 of the
quotation Coleridge has substituted 'neighbour' for 'wanton', and in
line 6, 'close' for 'shut'.
TO MARY PRIDHAM[468:1]
[AFTERWARDS MRS. DERWENT COLERIDGE]
Dear tho' unseen! tho' I have left behind
Life's gayer views and all that stirs the mind,
Now I revive, Hope making a new start,
Since I have heard with most believing heart,
That all my glad eyes would grow bright to see, 5
My Derwent hath found realiz'd in thee,
The boon prefigur'd in his earliest wish
Crown of his cup and garnish of his dish!
The fair fulfilment of his poesy,
When his young heart first yearn'd for sympathy! 10
Dear tho' unseen! unseen, yet long portray'd!
A Father's blessing on thee, gentle Maid!
S. T. COLERIDGE.
_16th October_ 1827.
FOOTNOTES:
[468:1] First published in 1893. Lines 7-10 are borrowed from lines 5-8
of the 'Answer _ex improviso_', which forms part of the _Improvisatore_
(ll. 7, 8 are transposed). An original MS. is inscribed on the first
page of an album presented to Mrs. Derwent Coleridge on her marriage, by
her husband's friend, the Reverend John Moultrie. The editor of _P. W._,
1893, printed from another MS. dated Grove, Highgate, 15th October,
1827.
LINENOTES:
Title]: To Mary S. Pridham MS. S. T. C.
[1-3]
Dear tho' unseen! tho' hard has been my lot
And rough my path thro' life, I murmur not--
Rather rejoice--
MS. S. T. C.
[5] That all this shaping heart has yearned to see MS. S. T. C.
[8] his] the MS. S. T. C. his] the MS. S. T. C.
ALICE DU CLOS[469:1]
OR THE FORKED TONGUE
A BALLAD
'One word with two meanings is the traitor's shield and shaft:
and a slit tongue be his blazon!'--_Caucasian Proverb._
'The Sun is not yet risen,
But the dawn lies red on the dew:
Lord Julian has stolen from the hunters away,
Is seeking, Lady! for you.
Put on your dress of green, 5
Your buskins and your quiver:
Lord Julian is a hasty man,
Long waiting brook'd he never.
I dare not doubt him, that he means
To wed you on a day, 10
Your lord and master for to be,
And you his lady gay.
O Lady! throw your book aside!
I would not that my Lord should chide.'
Thus spake Sir Hugh the vassal knight 15
To Alice, child of old Du Clos,
As spotless fair, as airy light
As that moon-shiny doe,
The gold star on its brow, her sire's ancestral crest!
For ere the lark had left his nest, 20
She in the garden bower below
Sate loosely wrapt in maiden white,
Her face half drooping from the sight,
A snow-drop on a tuft of snow!
O close your eyes, and strive to see 25
The studious maid, with book on knee,--
Ah! earliest-open'd flower;
While yet with keen unblunted light
The morning star shone opposite
The lattice of her bower-- 30
Alone of all the starry host,
As if in prideful scorn
Of flight and fear he stay'd behind,
To brave th' advancing morn.
O! Alice could read passing well, 35
And she was conning then
Dan Ovid's mazy tale of loves,
And gods, and beasts, and men.
The vassal's speech, his taunting vein,
It thrill'd like venom thro' her brain; 40
Yet never from the book
She rais'd her head, nor did she deign
The knight a single look.
'Off, traitor friend! how dar'st thou fix
Thy wanton gaze on me? 45
And why, against my earnest suit,
Does Julian send by thee?
'Go, tell thy Lord, that slow is sure:
Fair speed his shafts to-day!
I follow here a stronger lure, 50
And chase a gentler prey.'
She said: and with a baleful smile
The vassal knight reel'd off--
Like a huge billow from a bark
Toil'd in the deep sea-trough, 55
That shouldering sideways in mid plunge,
Is travers'd by a flash.
And staggering onward, leaves the ear
With dull and distant crash.
And Alice sate with troubled mien 60
A moment; for the scoff was keen,
And thro' her veins did shiver!
Then rose and donn'd her dress of green,
Her buskins and her quiver.
There stands the flow'ring may-thorn tree! 65
From thro' the veiling mist you see
The black and shadowy stem;--
Smit by the sun the mist in glee
Dissolves to lightsome jewelry--
Each blossom hath its gem! 70
With tear-drop glittering to a smile,
The gay maid on the garden-stile
Mimics the hunter's shout.
'Hip! Florian, hip! To horse, to horse!
Go, bring the palfrey out. 75
'My Julian's out with all his clan.
And, bonny boy, you wis,
Lord Julian is a hasty man,
Who comes late, comes amiss.'
Now Florian was a stripling squire, 80
A gallant boy of Spain,
That toss'd his head in joy and pride,
Behind his Lady fair to ride,
But blush'd to hold her train.
The huntress is in her dress of green,-- 85
And forth they go; she with her bow,
Her buskins and her quiver!--
The squire--no younger e'er was seen--
With restless arm and laughing een,
He makes his javelin quiver. 90
And had not Ellen stay'd the race,
And stopp'd to see, a moment's space,
The whole great globe of light
Give the last parting kiss-like touch
To the eastern ridge, it lack'd not much, 95
They had o'erta'en the knight.
It chanced that up the covert lane,
Where Julian waiting stood,
A neighbour knight prick'd on to join
The huntsmen in the wood. 100
And with him must Lord Julian go,
Tho' with an anger'd mind:
Betroth'd not wedded to his bride,
In vain he sought, 'twixt shame and pride,
Excuse to stay behind. 105
He bit his lip, he wrung his glove,
He look'd around, he look'd above,
But pretext none could find or frame.
Alas! alas! and well-a-day!
It grieves me sore to think, to say, 110
That names so seldom meet with Love,
Yet Love wants courage without a name!
Straight from the forest's skirt the trees
O'er-branching, made an aisle,
Where hermit old might pace and chaunt 115
As in a minster's pile.
From underneath its leafy screen,
And from the twilight shade,
You pass at once into a green,
A green and lightsome glade. 120
And there Lord Julian sate on steed;
Behind him, in a round,
Stood knight and squire, and menial train;
Against the leash the greyhounds strain;
The horses paw'd the ground. 125
When up the alley green, Sir Hugh
Spurr'd in upon the sward,
And mute, without a word, did he
Fall in behind his lord.
Lord Julian turn'd his steed half round,-- 130
'What! doth not Alice deign
To accept your loving convoy, knight?
Or doth she fear our woodland sleight,
And join us on the plain?'
With stifled tones the knight replied, 135
And look'd askance on either side,--
'Nay, let the hunt proceed!--
The Lady's message that I bear,
I guess would scantly please your ear,
And less deserves your heed. 140
'You sent betimes. Not yet unbarr'd
I found the middle door;--
Two stirrers only met my eyes,
Fair Alice, and one more.
'I came unlook'd for; and, it seem'd, 145
In an unwelcome hour;
And found the daughter of Du Clos
Within the lattic'd bower.
'But hush! the rest may wait. If lost,
No great loss, I divine; 150
And idle words will better suit
A fair maid's lips than mine.'
'God's wrath! speak out, man,' Julian cried,
O'ermaster'd by the sudden smart;--
And feigning wrath, sharp, blunt, and rude, 155
The knight his subtle shift pursued.--
'Scowl not at me; command my skill,
To lure your hawk back, if you will,
But not a woman's heart.
'"Go! (said she) tell him,--slow is sure; 160
Fair speed his shafts to-day!
I follow here a stronger lure,
And chase a gentler prey."
'The game, pardie, was full in sight,
That then did, if I saw aright, 165
The fair dame's eyes engage;
For turning, as I took my ways,
I saw them fix'd with steadfast gaze
Full on her wanton page.'
The last word of the traitor knight 170
It had but entered Julian's ear,--
From two o'erarching oaks between,
With glist'ning helm-like cap is seen,
Borne on in giddy cheer,
A youth, that ill his steed can guide; 175
Yet with reverted face doth ride,
As answering to a voice,
That seems at once to laugh and chide--
'Not mine, dear mistress,' still he cried,
''Tis this mad filly's choice.' 180
With sudden bound, beyond the boy,
See! see! that face of hope and joy,
That regal front! those cheeks aglow!
Thou needed'st but the crescent sheen,
A quiver'd Dian to have been, 185
Thou lovely child of old Du Clos!
Dark as a dream Lord Julian stood,
Swift as a dream, from forth the wood,
Sprang on the plighted Maid!
With fatal aim, and frantic force, 190
The shaft was hurl'd!--a lifeless corse,
Fair Alice from her vaulting horse,
Lies bleeding on the glade.
? 1828.
FOOTNOTES:
[469:1] First published in 1834. The date of composition cannot be
ascertained. The MS., an early if not a first draft, is certainly of
late date. The water-marks of the paper (Bath Post) are 1822 and 1828.
There is a second draft (_MS. b_) of lines 97-112. Line 37, 'Dan Ovid's
mazy tale of loves,' may be compared with line 100 of _The Garden of
Boccaccio_, 'Peers Ovid's Holy Book of Love's sweet smart,' and it is
probable that _Alice Du Clos_ was written about the same time, 1828-9.
In line 91 'Ellen' is no doubt a slip of the pen for 'Alice'.
LINENOTES:
Title] Alice Du Clos: or &c. MS.
[19-25]
Her sires had chosen for their Crest
A star atwixt its brow,
For she, already up and drest
Sate in the garden bower below.
For she enwrapt in }
Enwrapt in robe of } Maiden white
{ face half drooping
Her { [*visage drooping*] from the sight
A snow-drop in a tuft of snow
Ere the first lark had left the nest
Sate in the garden bower below.
MS. erased.
[48] Go tell him I am well at home MS. erased.
[49] speed] fly MS. erased.
[50] stronger] sweeter MS. erased.
[51] gentler] lovelier MS. erased.
[53] reel'd] pass'd MS. erased.
[54-7]
{ [*stormy*]
Like a [*tall Wave that*] { [*huge and dark*]
Reels sideway from a toiling Bark
Toil'd in the deep sea-trough
Is traversed by }
[*Catches askance*] } the Lightning flash
_or_
Like a huge Billow, rude and dark
{ as it falls off from a Bark
That { [*tumbling mainward from*]
Toil'd in the deep Sea-trough
MS. erased.
[56] shouldering] wheeling MS. erased.
[61] A moment's pause MS. erased.
[65]
Yon May-thorn tree dimly--
_or_
O fairly flower yon may-thorn tree
MS. erased.
[69] lightsome] glittering MS.
[71] With] The MS.
[76] Lord Julian in the Greenwood stays MS. erased.
[87] With buskins and with quiver MS. erased.
[100] huntsmen] huntsman MS. b.
[104] He sought in vain twixt shame and pride MS. b.
[107] He look'd far round MS. b.
[110] sore] sair MS. b, MS. erased.
[111] Tho' names too seldom MS. b.
[122] With all his gay hunt round MS.
[126] When] And MS.
[128] And dark of Brow, without a word MS.
[135] stifled] muttering MS. erased.
[136] And Look askance MS.: Yet not unheard MS. erased.
[153-7]
{ Lord Julian cry'd
God's wrath! speak out! { What mean'st thou man?
{ Recoiling with a start
{ Cried Julian with a start.
{ well-feign'd anger
With { feign'd resentment blunt and rude
Sir Hugh his deep revenge pursued
Why scowl at me? Command my skill.
MS. erased (_first draft_).
[159] She bade me tell you MS. erased.
[167] For as she clos'd her scoffing phrase MS. erased.
[173-4]
And who from twixt those opening Trees
Pricks on with laughing cheer
MS. erased (_first draft_).
LOVE'S BURIAL-PLACE[475:1]
_Lady._ If Love be dead--
_Poet._ And I aver it!
_Lady._ Tell me, Bard! where Love lies buried?
_Poet._ Love lies buried where 'twas born:
Oh, gentle dame! think it no scorn 5
If, in my fancy, I presume
To call thy bosom poor Love's Tomb.
And on that tomb to read the line:--
'Here lies a Love that once seem'd mine,
But caught a chill, as I divine, 10
And died at length of a Decline.'
1828.
FOOTNOTES:
[475:1] First published in 1828: included in the _Amulet_, 1833, as the
first of 'Three Scraps', and in 1852. The present text is that of the
_Amulet_, 1833.
LINENOTES:
Title] The Alienated Mistress: A Madrigal (From an unfinished Melodrama)
1828, 1852.
[1-3]
_Lady._ If Love be dead (and you aver it!)
Tell me Bard! where Love lies buried.
1828, 1852.
[5] Ah faithless nymph 1828, 1852.
[7] call] name 1828, 1852.
[9] seem'd] was 1828, 1852.
[10] caught] took 1828, 1852.
LINES[476:1]
TO A COMIC AUTHOR, ON AN ABUSIVE REVIEW
What though the chilly wide-mouth'd quacking chorus
From the rank swamps of murk Review-land croak:
So was it, neighbour, in the times before us,
When Momus, throwing on his Attic cloak,
Romp'd with the Graces; and each tickled Muse 5
(That Turk, Dan Phœbus, whom bards call divine,
Was married to--at least, he kept--all nine)
Fled, but still with reverted faces ran;
Yet, somewhat the broad freedoms to excuse,
They had allured the audacious Greek to use, 10
Swore they mistook him for their own good man.
This Momus--Aristophanes on earth
Men call'd him--maugre all his wit and worth,
Was croak'd and gabbled at. How, then, should you,
Or I, friend, hope to 'scape the skulking crew? 15
No! laugh, and say aloud, in tones of glee,
'I hate the quacking tribe, and they hate me!'
? 1825.
FOOTNOTES:
[476:1] First published in _Friendship's Offering_, 1834, as No. III of
'Lightheartednesses in Rhyme': included in 1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] To a Comic Author on an abusive review of his Aristophanes MS.
[1 foll.]
They fled;--
Friend yet unknown! What tho' a brainless rout
_Usurp the sacred title of the Bard_--
What tho' the chilly wide-mouth'd chorus
From Styx or Lethe's oozy Channel croak:
So was it, Peter, in the times before us
When Momus throwing on his Attic cloak
Romp'd with the Graces and each tickled Muse
The plighted coterie of Phœbus he bespoke
And laughing with reverted faces ran,
And somewhat the broad freedom to excuse
They had allow'd the audacious Greek to use
Swore they mistook him for their own good man!
If the good dulness be the home of worth
Duller than Frogs co-ax'd, or Jeffrey writ
We, too, will Aristoff (_sic_) and welcome it--
_First draft_ MS. B. M.
[7] kept] _kept_ F. O. 1834.
COLOGNE[477:1]
In Köhln[477:2], a town of monks and bones[477:3],
And pavements fang'd with murderous stones
And rags, and hags, and hideous wenches;
I counted two and seventy stenches,
All well defined, and several stinks! 5
Ye Nymphs that reign o'er sewers and sinks,
The river Rhine, it is well known,
Doth wash your city of Cologne;
But tell me, Nymphs, what power divine
Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine[477:4]? 10
1828.
FOOTNOTES:
[477:1] First published in _Friendship's Offering_, 1834, as No. IV of
'Lightheartednesses in Rhyme'. It follows the lines 'On my joyful
Departure', &c., and is headed 'Expectoration the Second'. First
collected in 1834.
[477:2] Köhln Coln _F. O._ The German Name of Cologne. _F. O._]
[477:3] Of the eleven thousand virgin Martyrs. _F. O._
[477:4] As Necessity is the mother of Invention, and extremes beget each
other, the facts above recorded may explain how this _ancient_ town
(which, alas! as sometimes happens with venison, _has been kept too
long_), _came to be the birthplace of the most fragrant of spirituous
fluids, the_ EAU DE COLOGNE. _F. O._
ON MY JOYFUL DEPARTURE[477:5]
FROM THE SAME CITY
As I am a Rhymer[477:6],
And now at least a merry one,
Mr. Mum's Rudesheimer[477:7]
And the church of St. Geryon
Are the two things alone 5
That deserve to be known
In the body-and-soul-stinking town of Cologne.
1828.
FOOTNOTES:
[477:5] First published in _Friendship's Offering_, 1834, with the
heading 'An Expectoration, or Splenetic Extempore, on my joyful
departure from the City of Cologne'. First collected in 1834.
[477:6] As I am Rhymer, _F. O._, _P. W._, 1834, 1893. The 'a' is
inserted by Coleridge on a page of _F. O._, 1834; the correction was not
adopted in _P. W._, 1834.
[477:7] The _apotheosis_ of Rhenish wine.
THE GARDEN OF BOCCACCIO[478:1]
Or late, in one of those most weary hours,
When life seems emptied of all genial powers,
A dreary mood, which he who ne'er has known
May bless his happy lot, I sate alone;
And, from the numbing spell to win relief, 5
Call'd on the Past for thought of glee or grief.
In vain! bereft alike of grief and glee,
I sate and cow'r'd o'er my own vacancy!
And as I watch'd the dull continuous ache,
Which, all else slumb'ring, seem'd alone to wake; 10
O Friend[478:2]! long wont to notice yet conceal,
And soothe by silence what words cannot heal,
I but half saw that quiet hand of thine
Place on my desk this exquisite design.
Boccaccio's Garden and its faery, 15
The love, the joyaunce, and the gallantry!
An Idyll, with Boccaccio's spirit warm,
Framed in the silent poesy of form.
Like flocks adown a newly-bathed steep
Emerging from a mist: or like a stream 20
Of music soft that not dispels the sleep,
But casts in happier moulds the slumberer's dream,
Grazed by an idle eye with silent might
The picture stole upon my inward sight.
A tremulous warmth crept gradual o'er my chest, 25
As though an infant's finger touch'd my breast.
And one by one (I know not whence) were brought
All spirits of power that most had stirr'd my thought
In selfless boyhood, on a new world tost
Of wonder, and in its own fancies lost; 30
Or charm'd my youth, that, kindled from above,
Loved ere it loved, and sought a form for love;
Or lent a lustre to the earnest scan
Of manhood, musing what and whence is man!
Wild strain of Scalds, that in the sea-worn caves 35
Rehearsed their war-spell to the winds and waves;
Or fateful hymn of those prophetic maids,
That call'd on Hertha in deep forest glades;
Or minstrel lay, that cheer'd the baron's feast;
Or rhyme of city pomp, of monk and priest, 40
Judge, mayor, and many a guild in long array,
To high-church pacing on the great saint's day:
And many a verse which to myself I sang,
That woke the tear, yet stole away the pang
Of hopes, which in lamenting I renew'd: 45
And last, a matron now, of sober mien,
Yet radiant still and with no earthly sheen,
Whom as a faery child my childhood woo'd
Even in my dawn of thought--Philosophy;
Though then unconscious of herself, pardie, 50
She bore no other name than Poesy;
And, like a gift from heaven, in lifeful glee,
That had but newly left a mother's knee,
Prattled and play'd with bird and flower, and stone,
As if with elfin playfellows well known, 55
And life reveal'd to innocence alone.
Thanks, gentle artist! now I can descry
Thy fair creation with a mastering eye,
And all awake! And now in fix'd gaze stand,
Now wander through the Eden of thy hand; 60
Praise the green arches, on the fountain clear
See fragment shadows of the crossing deer;
And with that serviceable nymph I stoop,
The crystal, from its restless pool, to scoop.
I see no longer! I myself am there, 65
Sit on the ground-sward, and the banquet share.
'Tis I, that sweep that lute's love-echoing strings,
And gaze upon the maid who gazing sings:
Or pause and listen to the tinkling bells
From the high tower, and think that there she dwells.
With old Boccaccio's soul I stand possest, 71
And breathe an air like life, that swells my chest.
The brightness of the world, O thou once free,
And always fair, rare land of courtesy!
O Florence! with the Tuscan fields and hills 75
And famous Arno, fed with all their rills;
Thou brightest star of star-bright Italy!
Rich, ornate, populous,--all treasures thine,
The golden corn, the olive, and the vine.
Fair cities, gallant mansions, castles old, 80
And forests, where beside his leafy hold
The sullen boar hath heard the distant horn,
And whets his tusks against the gnarled thorn;
Palladian palace with its storied halls;
Fountains, where Love lies listening to their falls; 85
Gardens, where flings the bridge its airy span,
And Nature makes her happy home with man;
Where many a gorgeous flower is duly fed
With its own rill, on its own spangled bed,
And wreathes the marble urn, or leans its head, 90
A mimic mourner, that with veil withdrawn
Weeps liquid gems, the presents of the dawn;--
Thine all delights, and every muse is thine;
And more than all, the embrace and intertwine
Of all with all in gay and twinkling dance! 95
Mid gods of Greece and warriors of romance,
See! Boccace sits, unfolding on his knees
The new-found roll of old Maeonides;[480:1]
But from his mantle's fold, and near the heart,
Peers Ovid's Holy Book of Love's sweet smart![480:2] 100
O all-enjoying and all-blending sage,
Long be it mine to con thy mazy page,
Where, half conceal'd, the eye of fancy views
Fauns, nymphs, and wingéd saints, all gracious to thy muse!
Still in thy garden let me watch their pranks, 105
And see in Dian's vest between the ranks
Of the trim vines, some maid that half believes
The vestal fires, of which her lover grieves,
With that sly satyr peeping through the leaves!
1828.
FOOTNOTES:
[478:1] First published in _The Keepsake_ for 1829, to accompany a plate
by Stothard: included in 1829 and 1834. The variant of lines 49-56,
probably a fragment of some earlier unprinted poem, is inserted in one
of Coleridge's Notebooks.
[478:2] Mrs. Gillman.
[480:1] Boccaccio claimed for himself the glory of having first
introduced the works of Homer to his countrymen.
[480:2] I know few more striking or more interesting proofs of the
overwhelming influence which the study of the Greek and Roman classics
exercised on the judgments, feelings, and imaginations of the literati
of Europe at the commencement of the restoration of literature, than the
passage in the _Filocopo_ of Boccaccio, where the sage instructor,
Racheo, as soon as the young prince and the beautiful girl Biancofiore
had learned their letters, sets them to study the Holy Book, Ovid's Art
of Love. 'Incominciò Racheo a mettere il suo [officio] in esecuzione con
intera sollecitudine. E loro, in breve tempo, insegnato a conoscer le
lettere, fece leggere il santo libro d'Ovvidio, [!! _S. T. C._] nel
quale il sommo poeta mostra, come i santi fuochi di Venere si debbano
ne' freddi cuori con sollecitudine accendere.' ['Deeply interesting--but
observe, p. 63, ll. 33-5 [_loc. cit._], The _holy Book_--Ovid's Art of
Love!! This is not the result of mere Immorality:--
Multum, Multum
Hic jacet sepultum.'
MS. note on the fly-leaf of S. T. C.'s copy of vol. i of Boccaccio's
_Opere_, 1723.]
LINENOTES:
[49-56]
And there was young Philosophy
Unconscious of herself, pardie;
And now she hight poesy,
And like a child in playful glee
Prattles and plays with flower and stone,
As youth's fairy playfellows
Revealed to Innocence alone.
MS. S. T. C.
[59] all] _all_ Keepsake, 1829.
[108] vestal] _vestal_ Keepsake, 1829.
LOVE, HOPE, AND PATIENCE IN EDUCATION[481:1]
O'er wayward childhood would'st thou hold firm rule,
And sun thee in the light of happy faces;
Love, Hope, and Patience, these must be thy graces,
And in thine own heart let them first keep school.
For as old Atlas on his broad neck places 5
Heaven's starry globe, and there sustains it;--so
Do these upbear the little world below
Of Education,--Patience, Love, and Hope.
Methinks, I see them group'd in seemly show,
The straiten'd arms upraised, the palms aslope, 10
And robes that touching as adown they flow,
Distinctly blend, like snow emboss'd in snow.
O part them never! If Hope prostrate lie,
Love too will sink and die.
But Love is subtle, and doth proof derive 15
From her own life that Hope is yet alive;
And bending o'er, with soul-transfusing eyes,
And the soft murmurs of the mother dove,
Woos back the fleeting spirit, and half supplies;--
Thus Love repays to Hope what Hope first gave to Love.
Yet haply there will come a weary day, 21
When overtask'd at length
Both Love and Hope beneath the load give way.
Then with a statue's smile, a statue's strength,
Stands the mute sister, Patience, nothing loth, 25
And both supporting does the work of both.
1829.
FOOTNOTES:
[481:1] First published in _The Keepsake_ for 1830: included in _P. W._,
1834, iii. 381. An MS. version was forwarded to W. Sotheby in an
unpublished letter of July 12, 1829. A second MS., dated July 1, 1829,
is inscribed in an album now in the Editor's possession, which belonged
to Miss Emily Trevenen (the author of _Little Derwent's Breakfast_,
1839). With regard to the variant of ll. 24-6, vide _infra_, Coleridge
writes (Letter of July 12, 1829):--'They were struck out by the author,
not because he thought them bad lines in themselves (quamvis Delia
Cruscam fortasse nimis redolere videantur), but because they diverted
and retarded the stream of the thought, and injured the organic unity of
the composition. _Più nel uno_ is Francesco de Sallez' brief and happy
definition of the beautiful, and the shorter the poem the more
indispensable is it that the _Più_ should not overlay the _Uno_, that
the unity should be evident. But to sacrifice the _gratification_, the
sting of _pleasure_, from a fine _passage_ to the _satisfaction_, the
sense of _complacency_ arising from the contemplation of a symmetrical
_Whole_ is among the last conquests achieved by men of genial powers.'
LINENOTES:
Title] Lines in a Lady's Album in answer to her question respecting the
accomplishments most desirable in the Mistress or Governess of a
Preparatory School Letter, July 1829: The Poet's Answer, To a Lady's
Question respecting the accomplishments most desirable in an
instructress of Children Keepsake, 1830.
[2] And] Yet Letter, 1829.
[3] thy] _thy_ Keepsake.
[4] keep school] _keep school_ Keepsake.
[9-11]
Methinks I see them now, the triune group,
With straiten'd arms uprais'd, the Palms aslope
Robe touching Robe beneath, and blending as they flow.
Letter, July 1829.
[15] doth] will Keepsake, 1833.
[24-6]
Then like a Statue with a Statue's strength,
And with a Smile, the Sister Fay of those
Who at meek Evening's Close
To teach our Grief repose,
Their freshly-gathered store of Moonbeams wreath
On Marble Lips, a Chantrey has made breathe.
Letter, July 1829.
TO MISS A. T.[482:1]
Verse, pictures, music, thoughts both grave and gay,
Remembrances of dear-loved friends away,
On spotless page of virgin white displayed,
Such should thine Album be, for such art thou, sweet maid!
1829.
FOOTNOTES:
[482:1] First published in _Essays on His Own Times_, 1850, iii, 998
with the title 'To Miss A. T.' First collected in 1893, with the title
'In Miss E. Trevenen's Album'. 'Miss A. T.' may have been a misprint for
Miss E. T., but there is no MS. authority for the title prefixed in
1893.
LINES[483:1]
WRITTEN IN COMMONPLACE BOOK OF MISS BARBOUR, DAUGHTER OF THE MINISTER OF
THE U.S.A. TO ENGLAND
Child of my muse! in Barbour's gentle hand
Go cross the main: thou seek'st no foreign land:
'Tis not the clod beneath our feet we name
Our country. Each heaven-sanctioned tie the same,
Laws, manners, language, faith, ancestral blood, 5
Domestic honour, awe of womanhood:--
With kindling pride thou wilt rejoice to see
Britain with elbow-room and doubly free!
Go seek thy countrymen! and if one scar
Still linger of that fratricidal war, 10
Look to the maid who brings thee from afar;
Be thou the olive-leaf and she the dove,
And say, I greet thee with a brother's love!
S. T. COLERIDGE.
GROVE, HIGHGATE, _August_ 1829.
FOOTNOTES:
[483:1] First published in the _New York Mirror_ for Dec. 19, 1829:
reprinted in _The Athenaeum_, May 3, 1884: first collected in 1893.
LINENOTES:
Title] lines written . . . daughter of the late Minister to England.
Athenaeum 1884.
SONG, _ex improviso_[483:2]
ON HEARING A SONG IN PRAISE OF A LADY'S BEAUTY
'Tis not the lily-brow I prize,
Nor roseate cheeks, nor sunny eyes,
Enough of lilies and of roses!
A thousand-fold more dear to me
The gentle look that Love discloses,-- 5
The look that Love alone can see!
_Keepsake_, 1830.
FOOTNOTES:
[483:2] First published in _The Keepsake_ for 1830: included in _Essays
on His Own Times_, 1850, iii. 997. First collected in _P. and D. W._,
1877-80.
LINENOTES:
Title] To a Lady Essays, &c. 1850.
[5-6]
The look that gentle Love discloses,--
That look which Love alone can see.
Essays, &c. 1850.
LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP OPPOSITE[484:1]
Her attachment may differ from yours in degree,
Provided they are both of one kind;
But Friendship, how tender so ever it be,
Gives no accord to Love, however refined.
Love, that meets not with Love, its true nature revealing, 5
Grows ashamed of itself, and demurs:
If you cannot lift hers up to your state of feeling,
You must lower down your state to hers.
? 1830.
FOOTNOTES:
[484:1] First published as No. ii of 'Lightheartednesses in Rhyme' in
_Friendship's Offering_ for 1834: included in _P. W._, 1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] In Answer To A Friend's Question F. O.
[1] in degree] _in degree_ F. O.
[2] kind] _kind_ F. O.
NOT AT HOME[484:2]
That Jealousy may rule a mind
Where Love could never be
I know; but ne'er expect to find
Love without Jealousy.
She has a strange cast in her ee, 5
A swart sour-visaged maid--
But yet Love's own twin-sister she
His house-mate and his shade.
Ask for her and she'll be denied:--
What then? they only mean 10
Their mistress has lain down to sleep,
And can't just then be seen.
? 1830.
FOOTNOTES:
[484:2] First published in 1834.
PHANTOM OR FACT[484:3]
A DIALOGUE IN VERSE
AUTHOR
A lovely form there sate beside my bed,
And such a feeding calm its presence shed,
A tender love so pure from earthly leaven,
That I unnethe the fancy might control,
'Twas my own spirit newly come from heaven, 5
Wooing its gentle way into my soul!
But ah! the change--It had not stirr'd, and yet--
Alas! that change how fain would I forget!
That shrinking back, like one that had mistook!
That weary, wandering, disavowing look! 10
'Twas all another, feature, look, and frame,
And still, methought, I knew, it was the same!
FRIEND
This riddling tale, to what does it belong?
Is't history? vision? or an idle song?
Or rather say at once, within what space 15
Of time this wild disastrous change took place?
AUTHOR
Call it a moment's work (and such it seems)
This tale's a fragment from the life of dreams;
But say, that years matur'd the silent strife,
And 'tis a record from the dream of life. 20
? 1830.
FOOTNOTES:
[484:3] First published in 1834.
DESIRE[485:1]
Where true Love burns Desire is Love's pure flame;
It is the reflex of our earthly frame,
That takes its meaning from the nobler part,
And but translates the language of the heart.
? 1830.
FOOTNOTES:
[485:1] First published in 1834.
LINENOTES:
[1-4]
Desire of pure Love born, itself the same;
A pulse that animates the outer frame,
And takes the impress of the nobler part,
It but repeats the Life, that of the Heart.
MS. S. T. C.
CHARITY IN THOUGHT[486:1]
To praise men as good, and to take them for such,
Is a grace which no soul can mete out to a tittle;--
Of which he who has not a little too much,
Will by Charity's gauge surely have much too little.
? 1830.
FOOTNOTES:
[486:1] First published in 1834.
HUMILITY THE MOTHER OF CHARITY[486:2]
Frail creatures are we all! To be the best,
Is but the fewest faults to have:--
Look thou then to thyself, and leave the rest
To God, thy conscience, and the grave.
? 1830.
FOOTNOTES:
[486:2] First published in 1834.
[COELI ENARRANT][486:3]
The stars that wont to start, as on a chace,
Mid twinkling insult on Heaven's darken'd face,
Like a conven'd conspiracy of spies
Wink at each other with confiding eyes!
Turn from the portent--all is blank on high, 5
No constellations alphabet the sky:
The Heavens one large Black Letter only shew,
And as a child beneath its master's blow
Shrills out at once its task and its affright--[486:4]
The groaning world now learns to read aright, 10
And with its Voice of Voices cries out, O!
? 1830.
FOOTNOTES:
[486:3] Now first published from a MS. of uncertain date. 'I wrote these
lines in imitation of Du Bartas as translated by our Sylvester.' _S. T.
C._
[486:4] Compare Leigh Hunt's story of Boyer's reading-lesson at Christ's
Hospital:--'_Pupil._--(. . . never remembering the stop at the word
"Missionary"). "_Missionary_ Can you see the wind?" (Master gives him a
slap on the cheek.) _Pupil._--(Raising his voice to a cry, and still
forgetting to stop.) "_Indian_ No."' _Autobiography of Leigh Hunt_,
1860, p. 68.
REASON[487:1]
['Finally, what is Reason? You have often asked me: and this
is my answer':--]
Whene'er the mist, that stands 'twixt God and thee,
Defecates to a pure transparency,
That intercepts no light and adds no stain--
There Reason is, and then begins her reign!
But alas! 5
----'tu stesso, ti fai grosso
Col falso immaginar, sì che non vedi
Ciò che vedresti, se l'avessi scosso.'
Dante, _Paradiso_, Canto i.
1830.
FOOTNOTES:
[487:1] First published as the conclusion of _On the Constitution of the
Church and State_, 1830, p. 227. First collected, _P. and D. W._,
1877-80, ii. 374.
SELF-KNOWLEDGE[487:2]
--E coelo descendit γνῶθι σεαυτόν.--JUVENAL, xi. 27.
Γνῶθι σεαυτόν!--and is this the prime
And heaven-sprung adage of the olden time!--
Say, canst thou make thyself?--Learn first that trade;--
Haply thou mayst know what thyself had made.
What hast thou, Man, that thou dar'st call thine own?-- 5
What is there in thee, Man, that can be known?--
Dark fluxion, all unfixable by thought,
A phantom dim of past and future wrought,
Vain sister of the worm,--life, death, soul, clod--
Ignore thyself, and strive to know thy God! 10
1832.
FOOTNOTES:
[487:2] First published in 1834.
LINENOTES:
Title] The heading 'Self-knowledge' appears first in 1893.
FORBEARANCE[488:1]
Beareth all things.--1 COR. xiii. 7.
Gently I took that which ungently came,[488:2]
And without scorn forgave:--Do thou the same.
A wrong done to thee think a cat's-eye spark
Thou wouldst not see, were not thine own heart dark.
Thine own keen sense of wrong that thirsts for sin, 5
Fear that--the spark self-kindled from within,
Which blown upon will blind thee with its glare,
Or smother'd stifle thee with noisome air.
Clap on the extinguisher, pull up the blinds,
And soon the ventilated spirit finds 10
Its natural daylight. If a foe have kenn'd,
Or worse than foe, an alienated friend,
A rib of dry rot in thy ship's stout side,
Think it God's message, and in humble pride
With heart of oak replace it;--thine the gains-- 15
Give him the rotten timber for his pains!
? 1832.
FOOTNOTES:
[488:1] First published in 1834.
[488:2] Compare Spenser's _Shepherd's Calendar_ (Februarie):--
'Ne ever was to Fortune foeman,
But gently took that ungently came.'
LINENOTES:
Title] The heading 'Forbearance' appears first in 1893.
LOVE'S APPARITION AND EVANISHMENT[488:3]
AN ALLEGORIC ROMANCE
Like a lone Arab, old and blind,
Some caravan had left behind,
Who sits beside a ruin'd well,
Where the shy sand-asps bask and swell;
And now he hangs his agéd head aslant, 5
And listens for a human sound--in vain!
And now the aid, which Heaven alone can grant,
Upturns his eyeless face from Heaven to gain;--
Even thus, in vacant mood, one sultry hour,
Resting my eye upon a drooping plant, 10
With brow low-bent, within my garden-bower,
I sate upon the couch of camomile;
And--whether 'twas a transient sleep, perchance,
Flitted across the idle brain, the while
I watch'd the sickly calm with aimless scope, 15
In my own heart; or that, indeed a trance,
Turn'd my eye inward--thee, O genial Hope,
Love's elder sister! thee did I behold,
Drest as a bridesmaid, but all pale and cold,
With roseless cheek, all pale and cold and dim, 20
Lie lifeless at my feet!
And then came Love, a sylph in bridal trim,
And stood beside my seat;
She bent, and kiss'd her sister's lips,
As she was wont to do;-- 25
Alas! 'twas but a chilling breath
Woke just enough of life in death
To make Hope die anew.
L'ENVOY
In vain we supplicate the Powers above;
There is no resurrection for the Love 30
That, nursed in tenderest care, yet fades away
In the chill'd heart by gradual self-decay.
1833.
FOOTNOTES:
[488:3] Lines 1-28 were first published in _Friendship's Offering_ for
1834, signed and dated 'S. T. Coleridge, August 1833': included in _P.
W._, 1834. Lines 29-32 were first added as 'L'Envoy' in 1852. J. D.
Campbell in a note to this poem (1893, p. 644) prints an expanded
version of these lines, which were composed on April 24, 1824, 'as
Coleridge says, "without taking my pen off the paper"'. The same lines
were sent in a letter to Allsop, April 27, 1824 (_Letters, &c._, 1836,
ii. 174-5) with a single variant (line 3) 'uneclips'd' for
'unperturb'd'. In the draft of April 24, four lines were added, and of
these an alternative version was published in _P. W._, 1834, with the
heading 'Desire' (vide _ante_, p. 485). For an earlier draft in S. T.
C.'s handwriting vide Appendices of this edition.
LINENOTES:
[4] Where basking Dipsads[489:A] hiss and swell F. O. 1834.
[489:A] The Asps of the sand-desert, anciently named Dipsads.
[7] And now] Anon F. O. 1834.
[14] Flitting across the idle sense the while F. O. 1834.
[27] That woke enough F. O. 1834.
[29-32]
Idly we supplicate the Powers above:
There is no resurrection for a Love
That uneclips'd, unshadow'd, wanes away
In the chill'd heart by inward self-decay.
Poor mimic of the Past! the love is o'er
That must _resolve_ to do what did itself of yore.
Letter, April 27, 1824.
TO THE YOUNG ARTIST[490:1]
KAYSER OF KASERWERTH
Kayser! to whom, as to a second self,
Nature, or Nature's next-of-kin, the Elf,
Hight Genius, hath dispensed the happy skill
To cheer or soothe the parting friend's 'Alas!'
Turning the blank scroll to a magic glass, 5
That makes the absent present at our will;
And to the shadowing of thy pencil gives
Such seeming substance, that it almost lives.
Well hast thou given the thoughtful Poet's face!
Yet hast thou on the tablet of his mind 10
A more delightful portrait left behind--
Even thy own youthful beauty, and artless grace,
Thy natural gladness and eyes bright with glee!
Kayser! farewell!
Be wise! be happy! and forget not me.
1833.
FOOTNOTES:
[490:1] First published in 1834. The original of Kayser's portrait of S.
T. C., a pencil-sketch, is in the possession of the Editor. In 1852
Kaserwerth is printed Kayserwerth. The modern spelling is Kaiserswerth.
MY BAPTISMAL BIRTH-DAY[490:2]
God's child in Christ adopted,--Christ my all,--
What that earth boasts were not lost cheaply, rather
Than forfeit that blest name, by which I call
The Holy One, the Almighty God, my Father?--
Father! in Christ we live, and Christ in Thee-- 5
Eternal Thou, and everlasting we.
The heir of heaven, henceforth I fear not death:
In Christ I live! in Christ I draw the breath
Of the true life!--Let then earth, sea, and sky
Make war against me! On my heart I show 10
Their mighty master's seal. In vain they try
To end my life, that can but end its woe.--
Is that a death-bed where a Christian lies?--
Yes! but not his--'tis Death itself there dies.
1833.
FOOTNOTES:
[490:2] First published in _Friendship's Offering_ for 1834: included in
_P. W._, 1834. Emerson heard Coleridge repeat an earlier version of
these lines on Aug. 5, 1833.
LINENOTES:
Title] Lines composed on a sick-bed, under severe bodily suffering, on
my spiritual birthday, October 28th. F. O.
[1] Born unto God in Christ--in Christ, my All! F. O.
[3] I] we F. O.
[4] my] our F. O.
[7] fear] dread F. O.
[9-10]
Let Sea, and Earth and Sky
Wage war against me! On my front I show
F. O.
[11] they] _they_ F. O.
[12] that] who F. O.
[14] his . . . there] _his . . . there_ F. O.
EPITAPH[491:1]
Stop, Christian passer-by!--Stop, child of God,
And read with gentle breast. Beneath this sod
A poet lies, or that which once seem'd he.
O, lift one thought in prayer for S. T. C.;
That he who many a year with toil of breath 5
Found death in life, may here find life in death!
Mercy for praise--to be forgiven for fame[492:1]
He ask'd, and hoped, through Christ. Do thou the same!
_9th November_, 1833.
FOOTNOTES:
[491:1] First published in 1834. Six MS. versions are extant:--(_a_) in
a letter to Mrs. Aders of 1833 (_Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, ii. 770);
(_b_) in a letter to J. G. Lockhart; (_c_) in a letter to J. H. Green of
October 29, 1833: (_d_ _e_) in a copy of Grew's _Cosmologia Sacra_,
annotated by Coleridge in 1833; (_f_) in a copy of the _Todtentanz_,
which belonged to Thomas Poole.
[492:1] N.B. 'for' in the sense of 'instead of'. ἔστη κεῖται
ἀναστήσει--stetit: restat: resurget. ΕΣΤΗΣΕ. _Letter to J. G. Lockhart,
1833._
LINENOTES:
Title or Heading] (_a_) 'Epitaph on a Poet little known, yet better
known by the Initials of his name than by the Name Itself.' S. T. C.
Letter to Mrs. Aders: (_b_) 'Epitaph on a Writer better known by the
Initials of his Name than by the name itself. Suppose an upright
tombstone.' S. T. C. Letter to J. G. Lockhart: (_c_) 'On an author not
wholly unknown; but better known by the initials of his name than by the
name itself, which he partly Graecized, Hic jacet qui stetit, restat,
resurget--on a Tombstone.' Letter to J. H. Green: (_d_) 'Epitaph in
Hornsey Churchyard. Hic jacet S. T. C. Grew (1): (_e_) 'Etesi's (_sic_)
Epitaph,' (and below (_e_)) 'Inscription on the Tombstone of one not
unknown; yet more commonly known by the Initials of his Name than by the
Name itself.' Grew (2): (_f_) 'Esteese's αυτοεπιταφιον.' Note in Poole's
Todtentanz.
From the letter to Mrs. Aders it appears that Coleridge did not
contemplate the epitaph being inscribed on his tombstone, but that he
intended it to be printed 'in letters of a distinctly visible and
legible size' on the outline of a tomb-stone to be engraved as a
vignette to be published in a magazine, or to illustrate the last page
of his 'Miscellaneous Poems' in the second volume of his Poetical Works.
It would seem that the artist, Miss Denman, had included in her sketch
of the vignette the figure of a Muse, and to this Coleridge objects:--'A
rude old yew-tree, or a mountain ash, with a grave or two, or any other
characteristic of a village church-yard,--such a hint of a landscape was
all I meant; but if any figure rather that of an elderly man, thoughtful
with quiet tears upon his cheek.' Letters of S. T. C., 1895, ii. 770.
For the versions inscribed in Grew's _Cosmologia Sacra_, and in Poole's
copy of the _Todtentanz_, vide Appendices of this work.
[2] breast] heart MS. Letters to Mrs. Aders, J. G. Lockhart, J. H.
Green.
[3] seem'd he] was he MS. Letter to J. H. Green.
[5] toil of] toilsome MS. Letter to Mrs. Aden.
[7] to be forgiven] _to be forgiven_ MS. Letters to Mrs. Aders and J. H.
Green.
THE
COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS
OF
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE
INCLUDING
POEMS AND VERSIONS OF POEMS NOW
PUBLISHED FOR THE FIRST TIME
EDITED
WITH TEXTUAL AND BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTES
BY
ERNEST HARTLEY COLERIDGE
M.A., HON. F.R.S.L.
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. II: DRAMATIC WORKS AND APPENDICES
[Illustration]
OXFORD
AT THE CLARENDON PRESS
1912
HENRY FROWDE, M.A.
PUBLISHER TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD
LONDON, EDINBURGH, NEW YORK
TORONTO AND MELBOURNE
CONTENTS OF VOL. II
DRAMATIC WORKS
1794 PAGE
THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE. An Historic Drama 495
1797
OSORIO. A Tragedy 518
1800
THE PICCOLOMINI; or, THE FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. A Drama
translated from the German of Schiller.
Preface to the First Edition 598
The Piccolomini 600
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. A Tragedy in Five Acts.
Preface of the Translator to the First Edition 724
The Death of Wallenstein 726
1812
REMORSE.
Preface 812
Prologue 816
Epilogue 817
Remorse. A Tragedy in Five Acts 819
1815
ZAPOLYA. A Christmas Tale in Two Parts.
Advertisement 883
Part I. The Prelude, entitled 'The Usurper's Fortune' 884
Part II. The Sequel, entitled 'The Usurper's Fate' 901
EPIGRAMS 951
An Apology for Spencers 951
On a Late Marriage between an Old Maid and French Petit Maître 952
On an Amorous Doctor 952
'Of smart pretty Fellows,' &c. 952
On Deputy ---- 953
'To be ruled like a Frenchman,' &c. 953
On Mr. Ross, usually Cognominated _Nosy_ 953
'Bob now resolves,' &c. 953
'Say what you will, Ingenious Youth' 954
'If the guilt of all lying,' &c. 954
On an Insignificant 954
'There comes from old Avaro's grave' 954
On a Slanderer 955
Lines in a German Student's Album 955
[Hippona] 955
On a Reader of His Own Verses 955
On a Report of a Minister's Death 956
[Dear Brother Jem] 956
Job's Luck 957
On the Sickness of a Great Minister 957
[To a Virtuous Oeconomist] 958
[L'Enfant Prodigue] 958
On Sir Rubicund Naso 958
To Mr. Pye 959
[Ninety-Eight] 959
Occasioned by the Former 959
[A Liar by Profession] 960
To a Proud Parent 960
Rufa 960
On a Volunteer Singer 960
Occasioned by the Last 961
Epitaph on Major Dieman 961
On the Above 961
Epitaph on a Bad Man (Three Versions) 961
To a Certain Modern Narcissus 962
To a Critic 962
Always Audible 963
Pondere non Numero 963
The Compliment Qualified 963
'What is an Epigram,' &c. 963
'Charles, grave or merry,' &c. 964
'An evil spirit's on thee, friend,' &c. 964
'Here lies the Devil,' &c. 964
To One Who Published in Print, &c. 964
'Scarce any scandal,' &c. 965
'Old Harpy,' &c. 965
To a Vain Young Lady 965
A Hint to Premiers and First Consuls 966
'From me, Aurelia,' &c. 966
For a House-Dog's Collar 966
'In vain I praise thee, Zoilus' 966
Epitaph on a Mercenary Miser 967
A Dialogue between an Author and his Friend 967
Μωροσοφία, or Wisdom in Folly 967
'Each Bond-street buck,' &c. 968
From an Old German Poet 968
On the Curious Circumstance, That in the German, &c. 968
Spots in the Sun 969
'When Surface talks,' &c. 969
To my Candle 969
Epitaph on Himself 970
The Taste of the Times 970
On Pitt and Fox 970
'An excellent adage,' &c. 971
Comparative Brevity of Greek and English 971
On the Secrecy of a Certain Lady 971
Motto for a Transparency, &c. (Two Versions) 972
'Money, I've heard,' &c. 972
Modern Critics 972
Written in an Album 972
To a Lady who requested me to Write a Poem upon Nothing 973
Sentimental 973
'So Mr. Baker,' &c. 973
Authors and Publishers 973
The Alternative 974
'In Spain, that land,' &c. 974
Inscription for a Time-piece 974
On the Most Veracious Anecdotist, &c. 974
'Nothing speaks but mind,' &c. 975
Epitaph of the Present Year on the Monument of Thomas Fuller 975
JEUX D'ESPRIT 976
My Godmother's Beard 976
Lines to Thomas Poole 976
To a Well-known Musical Critic, &c. 977
To T. Poole: An Invitation 978
Song, To be Sung by the Lovers of all the noble liquors, &c. 978
Drinking _versus_ Thinking 979
The Wills of the Wisp 979
To Captain Findlay 980
On Donne's Poem 'To a Flea' 980
[Ex Libris S. T. C.] 981
ΕΓΩΕΝΚΑΙΠΑΝ 981
The Bridge Street Committee 982
Nonsense Sapphics 983
To Susan Steele, &c. 984
Association of Ideas 984
Verses Trivocular 985
Cholera Cured Before-hand 985
To Baby Bates 987
To a Child 987
FRAGMENTS FROM A NOTEBOOK, (_circa_ 1796-1798) 988
FRAGMENTS. (_For unnamed Fragments see_ Index of First Lines.) 996
Over my Cottage 997
[The Night-Mare Death in Life] 998
A Beck in Winter 998
[Not a Critic--But a Judge] 1000
[De Profundis Clamavi] 1001
Fragment of an Ode on Napoleon 1003
Epigram on Kepler 1004
[Ars Poetica] 1006
Translation of the First Strophe of Pindar's Second Olympic 1006
Translation of a Fragment of Heraclitus 1007
Imitated from Aristophanes 1008
To Edward Irving 1008
[Luther--De Dæmonibus] 1009
The Netherlands 1009
Elisa: Translated from Claudian 1009
Profuse Kindness 1010
Napoleon 1010
The Three Sorts of Friends 1012
Bo-Peep and I Spy-- 1012
A Simile 1013
Baron Guelph of Adelstan. A Fragment 1013
METRICAL EXPERIMENTS 1014
An Experiment for a Metre ('I heard a Voice, &c.') 1014
Trochaics 1015
The Proper Unmodified Dochmius 1015
Iambics 1015
Nonsense ('Sing, impassionate Soul,' &c.) 1015
A Plaintive Movement 1016
An Experiment for a Metre ('When thy Beauty appears') 1016
Nonsense Verses ('Ye fowls of ill presage') 1017
Nonsense ('I wish on earth to sing') 1017
'There in some darksome shade' 1018
'Once again, sweet Willow, wave thee' 1018
'Songs of Shepherds, and rustical Roundelays' 1018
A Metrical Accident 1019
Notes by Professor Saintsbury 1019
APPENDIX I
FIRST DRAFTS, EARLY VERSIONS, ETC.
A. Effusion 35, August 20th, 1795. (First Draft.) [MS. R.] 1021
Effusion, p. 96 [1797]. (Second Draft.) [MS. R.] 1021
B. Recollection 1023
C. The Destiny of Nations. (Draft I.) [Add. MSS. 34,225] 1024
" " " (Draft II.) [_ibid._] 1026
" " " (Draft III.) [_ibid._] 1027
D. Passages in Southey's _Joan of Arc_ (First Edition, 1796)
contributed by S. T. Coleridge 1027
E. The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere [1798] 1030
F. The Raven. [_M. P._ March 10, 1798.] 1048
G. Lewti; or, The Circassian's Love-Chant. (1.) [B. M. Add. MSS.
27,902.] 1049
The Circassian's Love-Chaunt. (2.) [Add. MSS. 35,343.] 1050
Lewti; or, The Circassian's Love-Chant. (3.) [Add. MSS.
35,343.] 1051
H. Introduction to the Tale of the Dark Ladie. [_M. P._ Dec. 21,
1799.] 1051
I. The Triumph of Loyalty. An Historic Drama. [Add. MSS.
34,225.] 1069
J. Chamouny; The Hour before Sunrise. A Hymn. [_M. P._ Sept. 11,
1802.] 1074
K. Dejection: An Ode. [_M. P._ Oct. 4, 1802.] 1076
L. To W. Wordsworth. January 1807 1081
M. Youth and Age. (MS. I, Sept. 10, 1823.) 1084
" " (MS. II. 1.) 1085
" " (MS. II. 2.) 1086
N. Love's Apparition and Evanishment. (First Draft.) 1087
O. Two Versions of the Epitaph. ('Stop, Christian,' &c.) 1088
P. [Habent sua Fata--Poetae.] ('The Fox, and Statesman,' &c.) 1089
Q. To John Thelwall 1090
R. [Lines to T. Poole.] [1807.] 1090
APPENDIX II
ALLEGORIC VISION 1091
APPENDIX III
APOLOGETIC PREFACE TO 'FIRE, FAMINE, AND SLAUGHTER' 1097
APPENDIX IV
PROSE VERSIONS OF POEMS, ETC.
A. Questions and Answers in the Court of Love 1109
B. Prose Version of Glycine's Song in _Zapolya_ 1109
C. Work without Hope. (First Draft.) 1110
D. Note to Line 34 of the _Joan of Arc_ Book II. [4{o} 1796.] 1112
E. Dedication. Ode on the Departing Year. [4{o} 1796.] 1113
F. Preface to the MS. of _Osorio_ 1114
APPENDIX V
ADAPTATIONS
From Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke:
God and the World _we_ worship still together 1115
The _Augurs_ we of all the world admir'd 1116
Of Humane Learning 1116
From Sir John Davies: On the Immortality of the Soul 1116
From Donne: Eclogue. 'On Unworthy Wisdom' 1117
Letter to Sir Henry Goodyere 1117
From Ben Jonson: A Nymph's Passion (Mutual Passion) 1118
Underwoods, No. VI. The Hour-glass 1119
The Poetaster, Act I, Scene i. 1120
From Samuel Daniel: Epistle to Sir Thomas Egerton, Knight 1120
Musophilus, Stanza CXLVII 1121
Musophilus, Stanzas XXVII, XXIX, XXX 1122
From Christopher Harvey: The Synagogue (The Nativity, or
Christmas Day.) 1122
From Mark Akenside: Blank Verse Inscriptions 1123
From W. L. Bowles: 'I yet remain' 1124
From an old Play: Napoleon 1124
APPENDIX VI
ORIGINALS OF TRANSLATIONS
F. von Matthison: Ein milesisches Mährchen, Adonide. 1125
Schiller: Schwindelnd trägt er dich fort auf rastlos strömenden
Wogen. 1125
Im Hexameter steigt des Springquells flüssige Säule. 1125
Stolberg: Unsterblicher Jüngling! 1126
Seht diese heilige Kapell! 1126
Schiller: Nimmer, das glaubt mir. 1127
Goethe: Kennst du das Land, wo die Citronen blühn. 1128
François-Antoine-Eugène de Planard: 'Batelier, dit Lisette.' 1128
German Folk Song: Wenn ich ein Vöglein wär. 1129
Stolberg; Mein Arm wird stark und gross mein Muth. 1129
Leasing: Ich fragte meine Schöne. 1130
Stolberg: Erde, du Mutter zahlloser Kinder, Mutter und Amme! 1130
Friederike Brun: Aus tiefem Schatten des schweigenden
Tannenhains. 1131
Giambattista Marino: Donna, siam rei di morte. Errasti, errai. 1131
MS. Notebook: In diesem Wald, in diesen Gründen. 1132
Anthologia Graeca: Κοινῇ πὰρ κλισίῃ ληθαργικὸς ἠδὲ φρενοπλὴξ 1132
Battista Guarini: Canti terreni amori. 1132
Stolberg: Der blinde Sänger stand am Meer. 1134
BIBLIOGRAPHY OF THE POETICAL WORKS OF SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 1135
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL APPENDIX
No. I. Poems first published in Newspapers or Periodicals. 1178
No. II. Epigrams and Jeux d'Esprit first published in Newspapers
and Periodicals. 1182
No. III. Poems included in Anthologies and other Works. 1183
No. IV. Poems first printed or reprinted in _Literary Remains_,
1836, &c. 1187
Poems first printed or reprinted in _Essays on His Own Times_,
1850. 1188
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 1189
ERRATA
On p. 1179, line 7, _for_ Sept. 27, _read_ Sept. 23.
On p. 1181, line 33, _for_ Oct. 9 _read_ Oct. 29.
DRAMATIC WORKS
THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE[495:1]
AN HISTORIC DRAMA
[_First Act_ by Coleridge: _Second and Third_ by Southey--1794.]
TO
H. MARTIN, ESQ.
OF
JESUS COLLEGE
CAMBRIDGE
DEAR SIR,
Accept, as a small testimony of my grateful attachment, the following
Dramatic Poem, in which I have endeavoured to detail, in an interesting
form, the fall of a man, whose great bad actions have cast a disastrous
lustre on his name. In the execution of the work, as intricacy of plot
could not have been attempted without a gross violation of recent facts,
it has been my sole aim to imitate the empassioned and highly figurative
language of the French orators, and to develope the characters of the
chief actors on a vast stage of horrors.
Yours fraternally,
S. T. COLERIDGE.
JESUS COLLEGE, _September_ 22, 1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[495:1] First published (as an octavo pamphlet) at Cambridge by Benjamin
Flower in 1794: included in _Literary Remains_, 1836, i. (1)-32. First
collected in _P. and D. W._, 1877-80, in. (1)-39. 'It will be remarked,'
writes J. D. Campbell (_P. W._, 1893, p. 646), 'that neither title-page
nor dedication contains any hint of the joint authorship.' On this point
Coleridge writes to Southey, September 19, 1794:--'The tragedy will be
printed in less than a week. I shall put my name because it will sell at
least a hundred copies in Cambridge. It would appear ridiculous to print
two names to such a work. But if you choose it, mention it and it shall
be done. To every man who _praises_ it, of course I give the _true_
biography of it.' _Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i. 85.
ACT I
SCENE--_The Thuilleries._
_Barrere._ The tempest gathers--be it mine to seek
A friendly shelter, ere it bursts upon him.
But where? and how? I fear the Tyrant's _soul_--
Sudden in action, fertile in resource,
And rising awful 'mid impending ruins; 5
In splendor gloomy, as the midnight meteor,
That fearless thwarts the elemental war.
When last in secret conference we met,
He scowl'd upon me with suspicious rage,
Making his eye the inmate of my bosom. 10
I know he scorns me--and I feel, I hate him--
Yet there is in him that which makes me tremble! [_Exit._
_Enter TALLIEN and LEGENDRE._
_Tallien._ It was Barrere, Legendre! didst thou mark him?
Abrupt he turn'd, yet linger'd as he went,
And towards us cast a look of doubtful meaning. 15
_Legendre._ I mark'd him well. I met his eye's last glance;
It menac'd not so proudly as of yore.
Methought he would have spoke--but that he dar'd not--
Such agitation darken'd on his brow.
_Tallien._ 'Twas all-distrusting guilt that kept from bursting 20
Th' imprison'd secret struggling in the face:
E'en as the sudden breeze upstarting onwards
Hurries the thundercloud, that pois'd awhile
Hung in mid air, red with its mutinous burthen.
_Legendre._ Perfidious Traitor!--still afraid to bask 25
In the full blaze of power, the rustling serpent
Lurks in the thicket of the Tyrant's greatness,
Ever prepared to sting who shelters him.
Each thought, each action in himself converges;
And love and friendship on his coward heart 30
Shine like the powerless sun on polar ice;
To all attach'd, by turns deserting all,
Cunning and dark--a necessary villain!
_Tallien._ Yet much depends upon him--well you know
With plausible harangue 'tis his to paint 35
Defeat like victory--and blind the mob
With truth-mix'd falsehood. They led on by him,
And wild of head to work their own destruction,
Support with uproar what he plans in darkness.
_Legendre._ O what a precious name is Liberty 40
To scare or cheat the simple into slaves!
Yes--we must gain him over: by dark hints
We'll shew enough to rouse his watchful fears,
Till the cold coward blaze a patriot.
O Danton! murder'd friend! assist my counsels-- 45
Hover around me on sad Memory's wings,
And pour thy daring vengeance in my heart.
Tallien! if but to-morrow's fateful sun
Beholds the Tyrant living--we are dead!
_Tallien._ Yet his keen eye that flashes mighty meanings-- 50
_Legendre._ Fear not--or rather fear th' alternative,
And seek for courage e'en in cowardice--
But see--hither he comes--let us away!
His brother with him, and the bloody Couthon,
And high of haughty spirit, young St. Just. [_Exeunt._ 55
_Enter ROBESPIERRE, COUTHON, ST. JUST, and ROBESPIERRE JUNIOR._
_Robespierre._ What? did La Fayette fall before my power?
And did I conquer Roland's spotless virtues?
The fervent eloquence of Vergniaud's tongue?
And Brissot's thoughtful soul unbribed and bold?
Did zealot armies haste in vain to save them? 60
What! did th' assassin's dagger aim its point
Vain, as a _dream_ of murder, at my bosom?
And shall I dread the soft luxurious Tallien?
Th' Adonis Tallien? banquet-hunting Tallien?
Him, whose heart flutters at the dice-box? Him, 65
Who ever on the harlots' downy pillow
Resigns his head impure to feverish slumbers!
_St. Just._ I cannot fear him--yet we must not scorn him.
Was it not Antony that conquer'd Brutus,
Th' Adonis, banquet-hunting Antony? 70
The state is not yet purified: and though
The stream runs clear, yet at the bottom lies
The thick black sediment of all the factions--
It needs no magic hand to stir it up!
_Couthon._ O we did wrong to spare them--fatal error! 75
Why lived Legendre, when that Danton died?
And Collot d'Herbois dangerous in crimes?
_I've_ fear'd him, since his iron heart endured
To make of Lyons one vast human shambles,
Compar'd with which the sun-scorcht wilderness 80
Of Zara were a smiling paradise.
_St. Just._ Rightly thou judgest, Couthon! He is one
Who flies from silent solitary anguish,
Seeking forgetful peace amid the jar
Of elements. The howl of maniac uproar 85
Lulls to sad sleep the memory of himself.
A calm is fatal to him--then he feels
The dire upboilings of the storm within him.
A tiger mad with inward wounds!--I dread
The fierce and restless turbulence of guilt. 90
_Robespierre._ Is not the Commune ours? The stern tribunal?
Dumas? and Vivier? Fleuriot? and Louvet?
And Henriot? We'll denounce an hundred, nor
Shall they behold to-morrow's sun roll westward.
_Robespierre Junior._ Nay--I am sick of blood; my aching heart 95
Reviews the long, long train of hideous horrors
That still have gloom'd the rise of the Republic.
I should have died before Toulon, when war
Became the patriot!
_Robespierre._ Most unworthy wish!
He, whose heart sickens at the blood of traitors, 100
Would be himself a traitor, were he not
A coward! 'Tis congenial souls alone
Shed tears of sorrow for each other's fate.
O thou art brave, my brother! and thine eye
Full firmly shines amid the groaning battle-- 105
Yet in thine heart the woman-form of pity
Asserts too large a share, an ill-timed guest!
There is unsoundness in the state--To-morrow
Shall see it cleans'd by wholesome massacre!
_Robespierre Junior._ Beware! already do the sections murmur-- 110
'O the great glorious patriot, Robespierre--
The _tyrant guardian_ of the country's _freedom_!'
_Couthon._ 'Twere folly sure to work great deeds by halves!
Much I suspect the darksome fickle heart
Of cold Barrere!
_Robespierre._ I see the villain in him! 115
_Robespierre Junior._ If he--if all forsake thee--what remains?
_Robespierre._ Myself! the steel-strong Rectitude of soul
And Poverty sublime 'mid circling virtues!
The giant Victories my counsels form'd
Shall stalk around me with sun-glittering plumes, 120
Bidding the darts of calumny fall pointless.
[_Exeunt caeteri. Manet COUTHON._
_Couthon (solus)._ So we deceive ourselves! What goodly virtues
Bloom on the poisonous branches of ambition!
Still, Robespierre! thou'lt guard thy country's freedom
To despotize in all the patriot's pomp. 125
While Conscience, 'mid the mob's applauding clamours,
Sleeps in thine ear, nor whispers--blood-stain'd tyrant!
Yet what is Conscience? Superstition's dream,
Making such deep impression on our sleep--
That long th' awakened breast retains its horrors! 130
But he returns--and with him comes Barrere. [_Exit COUTHON._
_Enter ROBESPIERRE and BARRERE._
_Robespierre._ There is no danger but in cowardice.--
Barrere! we _make_ the danger, when we _fear_ it.
We have such force without, as will suspend
The cold and trembling treachery of these members. 135
_Barrere._ 'Twill be a pause of terror.--
_Robespierre._ But to whom?
Rather the short-lived slumber of the tempest,
Gathering its strength anew. The dastard traitors!
Moles, that would undermine the rooted oak!
A pause!--a _moment's_ pause?--'Tis all _their life_. 140
_Barrere._ Yet much they talk--and plausible their speech.
Couthon's decree has given such powers, that--
_Robespierre._ That what?
_Barrere._ The freedom of debate--
_Robespierre._ Transparent mask!
They wish to clog the wheels of government,
Forcing the hand that guides the vast machine 145
To bribe them to their duty--_English_ patriots!
Are not the congregated clouds of war
Black all around us? In our very vitals
Works not the king-bred poison of rebellion?
Say, what shall counteract the selfish plottings 150
Of wretches, cold of heart, nor awed by fears
Of him, whose power directs th' eternal justice?
Terror? or secret-sapping gold? The first
Heavy, but transient as the ills that cause it;
And to the virtuous patriot rendered light 155
By the necessities that gave it birth:
The other fouls the fount of the republic,
Making it flow polluted to all ages:
Inoculates the state with a slow venom,
That once imbibed, must be continued ever. 160
Myself incorruptible I ne'er could bribe them--
Therefore they hate me.
_Barrere._ Are the sections friendly?
_Robespierre._ There are who wish my ruin--but I'll make them
Blush for the crime in blood!
_Barrere._ Nay--but I tell thee,
Thou art too fond of slaughter--and the right 165
(If right it be) workest by most foul means!
_Robespierre._ _Self-centering Fear!_ how well thou canst ape
_Mercy_!
Too fond of slaughter!--matchless hypocrite!
Thought Barrere so, when Brissot, Danton died?
Thought Barrere so, when through the streaming streets 170
Of Paris red-eyed Massacre o'erwearied
Reel'd heavily, intoxicate with blood?
And when (O heavens!) in Lyons' death-red square
Sick Fancy groan'd o'er putrid hills of slain,
Didst thou not fiercely laugh, and bless the day? 175
Why, thou hast been the mouth-piece of all horrors,
And, like a blood-hound, crouch'd for murder! Now
Aloof thou standest from the tottering pillar,
Or, like a frighted child behind its mother,
Hidest thy pale face in the skirts of--_Mercy_! 180
_Barrere._ O prodigality of eloquent anger!
Why now I see thou'rt weak--thy case is desperate!
The cool ferocious Robespierre turn'd scolder!
_Robespierre._ Who from a bad man's bosom wards the blow
Reserves the whetted dagger for his own. 185
Denounced twice--and twice I saved his life! [_Exit._
_Barrere._ The sections will support them--there's the point!
No! he can never weather out the storm--
Yet he is sudden in revenge--No more!
I must away to Tallien. [_Exit._ 190
_SCENE changes to the house of ADELAIDE._
_ADELAIDE enters, speaking to a_ Servant.
_Adelaide._ Didst thou present the letter that I gave thee?
Did Tallien answer, he would soon return?
_Servant._ He is in the Thuilleries--with him Legendre--
In deep discourse they seem'd: as I approach'd
He waved his hand as bidding me retire: 195
I did not interrupt him. [_Returns the letter._
_Adelaide._ Thou didst rightly. [_Exit_ Servant.
O this new freedom! at how dear a price
We've bought the seeming good! The peaceful virtues
And every blandishment of private life,
The father's cares, the mother's fond endearment, 200
All sacrificed to liberty's wild riot.
The wingéd hours, that scatter'd roses round me,
Languid and sad drag their slow course along,
And shake big gall-drops from their heavy wings.
But I will steal away these anxious thoughts 205
By the soft languishment of warbled airs,
If haply melodies may lull the sense
Of sorrow for a while. [_Soft music._
_Enter TALLIEN._
_Tallien._ Music, my love? O breathe again that air!
Soft nurse of pain, it sooths the weary soul 210
Of care, sweet as the whisper'd breeze of evening
That plays around the sick man's throbbing temples.
SONG[501:1]
Tell me, on what holy ground
May domestic peace be found?
Halcyon daughter of the skies, 215
Far on fearful wing she flies,
From the pomp of scepter'd state,
From the rebel's noisy hate.
In a cottag'd vale she dwells
List'ning to the Sabbath bells! 220
Still around her steps are seen,
Spotless honor's meeker mien,
Love, the sire of pleasing fears,
Sorrow smiling through her tears,
And conscious of the past employ, 225
Memory, bosom-spring of joy.
_Tallien._ I thank thee, Adelaide! 'twas sweet, though mournful.
But why thy brow o'ercast, thy cheek so wan?
Thou look'st as a lorn maid beside some stream
That sighs away the soul in fond despairing, 230
While sorrow sad, like the dank willow near her,
Hangs o'er the troubled fountain of her eye.
_Adelaide._ Ah! rather let me ask what mystery lowers
On Tallien's darken'd brow. Thou dost me wrong--
Thy soul distemper'd, can my heart be tranquil? 235
_Tallien._ Tell me, by whom thy brother's blood was spilt?
Asks he not vengeance on these patriot murderers?
It has been borne too tamely. Fears and curses
Groan on our midnight beds, and e'en our dreams
Threaten the assassin hand of Robespierre. 240
He dies!--nor has the plot escaped his fears.
_Adelaide._ Yet--yet--be cautious! much I fear the Commune--
The tyrant's creatures, and their fate with his
Fast link'd in close indissoluble union.
The pale Convention--
_Tallien._ Hate him as they fear him, 245
Impatient of the chain, resolv'd and ready.
_Adelaide._ Th' enthusiast mob, confusion's lawless sons--
_Tallien._ They are aweary of his stern morality,
The fair-mask'd offspring of ferocious pride.
The sections too support the delegates: 250
All--all is ours! e'en now the vital air
Of Liberty, condens'd awhile, is bursting
(Force irresistible!) from its compressure--
To shatter the arch chemist in the explosion!
_Enter BILLAUD VARENNES and BOURDON L'OISE._
[_ADELAIDE retires._
_Bourdon l'Oise._ Tallien! was this a time for amorous
conference? 255
Henriot, the tyrant's most devoted creature,
Marshals the force of Paris: The fierce Club,
With Vivier at their head, in loud acclaim
Have sworn to make the guillotine in blood
Float on the scaffold.--But who comes here? 260
_Enter BARRERE abruptly._
_Barrere._ Say, are ye friends to freedom? _I am her's!_
Let us, forgetful of all common feuds,
Rally around her shrine! E'en now the tyrant
Concerts a plan of instant massacre!
_Billaud Varennes._ Away to the Convention! with that voice 265
So oft the herald of glad victory,
Rouse their fallen spirits, thunder in their ears
The names of tyrant, plunderer, assassin!
The violent workings of my soul within
Anticipate the monster's blood! 270
[_Cry from the street of--No Tyrant! Down with the Tyrant!_
_Tallien._ Hear ye that outcry?--If the trembling members
Even for a moment hold his fate suspended,
I swear by the holy poniard, that stabbed Caesar,
This dagger probes his heart! [_Exeunt omnes._
FOOTNOTES:
[501:1] This Song was reprinted in Coleridge's _Poems_ of 1796, and
later under the title of _To Domestic Peace_, _vide ante_, pp. 71, 72.
ACT II
SCENE--_The Convention._
_Robespierre mounts the Tribune._ Once more befits it that the voice
of Truth,
Fearless in innocence, though leaguered round
By Envy and her hateful brood of hell,
Be heard amid this hall; once more befits
The patriot, whose prophetic eye so oft 5
Has pierced thro' faction's veil, to flash on crimes
Of deadliest import. Mouldering in the grave
Sleeps Capet's caitiff corse; my daring hand
Levelled to earth his blood-cemented throne,
My voice declared his guilt, and stirred up France 10
To call for vengeance. I too dug the grave
Where sleep the Girondists, detested band!
Long with the shew of freedom they abused
Her ardent sons. Long time the well-turn'd phrase,
The high-fraught sentence and the lofty tone 15
Of declamation, thunder'd in this hall,
Till reason midst a labyrinth of words
Perplex'd, in silence seem'd to yield assent.
I durst oppose. Soul of my honoured friend,
Spirit of Marat, upon thee I call-- 20
Thou know'st me faithful, know'st with what warm zeal
I urg'd the cause of justice, stripp'd the mask
From faction's deadly visage, and destroy'd
Her traitor brood. Whose patriot arm hurl'd down
Hébert and Rousin, and the villain friends 25
Of Danton, foul apostate! those, who long
Mask'd treason's form in liberty's fair garb,
Long deluged France with blood, and durst defy
Omnipotence! but I it seems am false!
I am a traitor too! I--Robespierre! 30
I--at whose name the dastard despot brood
Look pale with fear, and call on saints to help them!
Who dares accuse me? who shall dare belie
My spotless name? Speak, ye accomplice band,
Of what am I accus'd? of what strange crime 35
Is Maximilian Robespierre accus'd,
That through this hall the buz of discontent
Should murmur? who shall speak?
_Billaud Varennes._ O patriot tongue
Belying the foul heart! Who was it urg'd
Friendly to tyrants that accurst decree, 40
Whose influence brooding o'er this hallowed hall,
Has chill'd each tongue to silence? Who destroyed
The freedom of debate, and carried through
The fatal law, that doom'd the delegates,
Unheard before their equals, to the bar 45
Where cruelty sat throned, and murder reign'd
With her Dumas coequal? Say--thou man
Of mighty eloquence, whose law was that?
_Couthon._ That law was mine. I urged it--I propos'd--
The voice of France assembled in her sons 50
Assented, though the tame and timid voice
Of traitors murmur'd. I advis'd that law--
I justify it. It was wise and good.
_Barrere._ Oh, wonderous wise and most convenient too!
I have long mark'd thee, Robespierre--and now 55
Proclaim thee traitor tyrant! [_Loud applauses._
_Robespierre._ It is well.
I am a traitor! oh, that I had fallen
When Regnault lifted high the murderous knife,
Regnault the instrument belike of those
Who now themselves would fain assassinate, 60
And legalise their murders. I stand here
An isolated patriot--hemmed around
By faction's noisy pack; beset and bay'd
By the foul hell-hounds who know no escape
From Justice' outstretch'd arm, but by the force 65
That pierces through her breast.
[_Murmurs, and shouts of--Down with the Tyrant!_
_Robespierre._ Nay, but I will be heard. There was a time
When Robespierre began, the loud applauses
Of honest patriots drown'd the honest sound.
But times are chang'd, and villainy prevails. 70
_Collot d'Herbois._ No--villainy shall fall. France could not brook
A monarch's sway--sounds the dictator's name
More soothing to her ear?
_Bourdon l'Oise._ Rattle her chains
More musically now than when the hand
Of Brissot forged her fetters; or the crew 75
Of Hébert thundered out their blasphemies,
And Danton talk'd of virtue?
_Robespierre._ Oh, that Brissot
Were here again to thunder in this hall,
That Hébert lived, and Danton's giant form
Scowl'd once again defiance! so my soul 80
Might cope with worthy foes.
People of France,
Hear me! Beneath the vengeance of the law
Traitors have perish'd countless; more survive:
The hydra-headed faction lifts anew
Her daring front, and fruitful from her wounds, 85
Cautious from past defects, contrives new wiles
Against the sons of Freedom.
_Tallien._ Freedom lives!
Oppression falls--for France has felt her chains,
Has burst them too. Who traitor-like stept forth
Amid the hall of Jacobins to save 90
Camille Desmoulins, and the venal wretch
D'Eglantine?
_Robespierre._ I did--for I thought them honest.
And Heaven forefend that Vengeance e'er should strike,
Ere justice doom'd the blow.
_Barrere._ Traitor, thou didst.
Yes, the accomplice of their dark designs, 95
Awhile didst thou defend them, when the storm
Lower'd at safe distance. When the clouds frown'd darker,
Fear'd for yourself and left them to their fate.
Oh, I have mark'd thee long, and through the veil
Seen thy foul projects. Yes, ambitious man, 100
Self-will'd dictator o'er the realm of France,
The vengeance thou hast plann'd for patriots
Falls on thy head. Look how thy brother's deeds
Dishonour thine! He the firm patriot,
Thou the foul parricide of Liberty! 105
_Robespierre Junior._ Barrere--attempt not meanly to divide
Me from my brother. I partake his guilt,
For I partake his virtue.
_Robespierre._ Brother, by my soul,
More dear I hold thee to my heart, that thus
With me thou dar'st to tread the dangerous path 110
Of virtue, than that Nature twined her cords
Of kindred round us.
_Barrere._ Yes, allied in guilt,
Even as in blood ye are. O, thou worst wretch,
Thou worse than Sylla! hast thou not proscrib'd,
Yea, in most foul anticipation slaughter'd 115
Each patriot representative of France?
_Bourdon l'Oise._ Was not the younger Caesar too to reign
O'er all our valiant armies in the south,
And still continue there his merchant wiles?
_Robespierre Junior._ His merchant wiles! Oh, grant me patience,
heaven! 120
Was it by merchant wiles I gain'd you back
Toulon, when proudly on her captive towers
Wav'd high the English flag? or fought I then
With merchant wiles, when sword in hand I led
Your troops to conquest? fought I merchant-like, 125
Or barter'd I for victory, when death
Strode o'er the reeking streets with giant stride,
And shook his ebon plumes, and sternly smil'd
Amid the bloody banquet? when appall'd
The hireling sons of England spread the sail 130
Of safety, fought I like a merchant then?
Oh, patience! patience!
_Bourdon l'Oise._ How this younger tyrant
Mouths out defiance to us! even so
He had led on the armies of the south,
Till once again the plains of France were drench'd 135
With her best blood.
_Collot d'Herbois._ Till once again display'd
Lyons' sad tragedy had call'd me forth
The minister of wrath, whilst slaughter by
Had bathed in human blood.
_Dubois Crancé._ No wonder, friend,
That we are traitors--that our heads must fall 140
Beneath the axe of death! when Caesar-like
Reigns Robespierre, 'tis wisely done to doom
The fall of Brutus. Tell me, bloody man,
Hast thou not parcell'd out deluded France,
As it had been some province won in fight, 145
Between your curst triumvirate? You, Couthon,
Go with my brother to the southern plains;
St. Just, be yours the army of the north;
Meantime I rule at Paris.
_Robespierre._ Matchless knave!
What--not one blush of conscience on thy cheek-- 150
Not one poor blush of truth! most likely tale!
That I who ruined Brissot's towering hopes,
I who discover'd Hébert's impious wiles,
And sharp'd for Danton's recreant neck the axe,
Should now be traitor! had I been so minded, 155
Think ye I had destroyed the very men
Whose plots resembled mine? bring forth your proofs
Of this deep treason. Tell me in whose breast
Found ye the fatal scroll? or tell me rather
Who forg'd the shameless falsehood?
_Collot d'Herbois._ Ask you proofs? 160
Robespierre, what proofs were ask'd when Brissot died?
_Legendre._ What proofs adduced you when the Danton died?
When at the imminent peril of my life
I rose, and fearless of thy frowning brow,
Proclaim'd him guiltless?
_Robespierre._ I remember well 165
The fatal day. I do repent me much
That I kill'd Caesar and spar'd Antony.
But I have been too lenient. I have spared
The stream of blood, and now my own must flow
To fill the current. [_Loud applauses._
Triumph not too soon, 170
Justice may yet be victor.
_Enter ST. JUST, and mounts the Tribune._
_St. Just._ I come from the Committee--charged to speak
Of matters of high import. I omit
Their orders. Representatives of France,
Boldly in his own person speaks St. Just 175
What his own heart shall dictate.
_Tallien._ Hear ye this,
Insulted delegates of France? St. Just
From your Committee comes--comes charg'd to speak
Of matters of high import, yet omits
Their orders! Representatives of France, 180
That bold man I denounce, who disobeys
The nation's orders.--I denounce St. Just. [_Loud applauses._
_St. Just._ Hear me! [_Violent murmurs._
_Robespierre._ He shall be heard!
_Bourdon l'Oise._ Must we contaminate this sacred hall
With the foul breath of treason?
_Collot d'Herbois._ Drag him away! 185
Hence with him to the bar.
_Couthon._ Oh, just proceedings!
Robespierre prevented liberty of speech--
And Robespierre is a tyrant! Tallien reigns,
He dreads to hear the voice of innocence--
And St. Just must be silent!
_Legendre._ Heed we well 190
That justice guide our actions. No light import
Attends this day. I move St. Just be heard.
_Freron._ Inviolate be the sacred right of man.
The freedom of debate. [_Violent applauses._
_St. Just._ I may be heard then! much the times are chang'd, 195
When St. Just thanks this hall for hearing him.
Robespierre is call'd a tyrant. Men of France,
Judge not too soon. By popular discontent
Was Aristides driven into exile,
Was Phocion murder'd. Ere ye dare pronounce 200
Robespierre is guilty, it befits ye well,
Consider who accuse him. Tallien,
Bourdon of Oise--the very men denounced,
For that their dark intrigues disturb'd the plan
Of government. Legendre the sworn friend 205
Of Danton, fall'n apostate. Dubois Crancé,
He who at Lyons spared the royalists--
Collot d'Herbois--
_Bourdon l'Oise._ What--shall the traitor rear
His head amid our tribune--and blaspheme
Each patriot? shall the hireling slave of faction-- 210
_St. Just._ I am of no one faction. I contend
Against all factions.
_Tallien._ I espouse the cause
Of truth. Robespierre on yester morn pronounced
Upon his own authority a report.
To-day St. Just comes down. St. Just neglects 215
What the Committee orders, and harangues
From his own will. O citizens of France
I weep for you--I weep for my poor country--
I tremble for the cause of Liberty,
When individuals shall assume the sway, 220
And with more insolence than kingly pride
Rule the Republic.
_Billaud Varennes._ Shudder, ye representatives of France,
Shudder with horror. Henriot commands
The marshall'd force of Paris. Henriot, 225
Foul parricide--the sworn ally of Hébert,
Denounced by all--upheld by Robespierre.
Who spar'd La Valette? who promoted him,
Stain'd with the deep dye of nobility?
Who to an ex-peer gave the high command? 230
Who screen'd from justice the rapacious thief?
Who cast in chains the friends of Liberty?
Robespierre, the self-stil'd patriot Robespierre--
Robespierre, allied with villain Daubigné--
Robespierre, the foul arch-tyrant Robespierre. 235
_Bourdon l'Oise._ He talks of virtue--of morality--
Consistent patriot! he Daubigné's friend!
Henriot's supporter virtuous! preach of virtue,
Yet league with villains, for with Robespierre
Villains alone ally. Thou art a tyrant! 240
I stile thee tyrant, Robespierre! [_Loud applauses._
_Robespierre._ Take back the name. Ye citizens of France--
[_Violent clamour. Cries of--Down with the Tyrant!_
_Tallien._ Oppression falls. The traitor stands appall'd--
Guilt's iron fangs engrasp his shrinking soul--
He hears assembled France denounce his crimes! 245
He sees the mask torn from his secret sins--
He trembles on the precipice of fate.
Fall'n guilty tyrant! murder'd by thy rage
How many an innocent victim's blood has stain'd
Fair freedom's altar! Sylla-like thy hand 250
Mark'd down the virtues, that, thy foes removed,
Perpetual Dictator thou might'st reign,
And tyrannize o'er France, and call it freedom!
Long time in timid guilt the traitor plann'd
His fearful wiles--success emboldened sin-- 255
And his stretch'd arm had grasp'd the diadem
Ere now, but that the coward's heart recoil'd,
Lest France awak'd should rouse her from her dream,
And call aloud for vengeance. He, like Caesar,
With rapid step urged on his bold career, 260
Even to the summit of ambitious power,
And deem'd the name of King alone was wanting.
Was it for this we hurl'd proud Capet down?
Is it for this we wage eternal war
Against the tyrant horde of murderers, 265
The crownéd cockatrices whose foul venom
Infects all Europe? was it then for this
We swore to guard our liberty with life,
That Robespierre should reign? the spirit of freedom
Is not yet sunk so low. The glowing flame 270
That animates each honest Frenchman's heart
Not yet extinguish'd. I invoke thy shade,
Immortal Brutus! I too wear a dagger;
And if the representatives of France,
Through fear or favour, should delay the sword 275
Of justice, Tallien emulates thy virtues;
Tallien, like Brutus, lifts the avenging arm;
Tallien shall save his country. [_Violent applauses._
_Billaud Varennes._ I demand
The arrest of all the traitors. Memorable
Will be this day for France.
_Robespierre._ Yes! Memorable 280
This day will be for France--for villains triumph.
_Lebas._ I will not share in this day's damning guilt.
Condemn me too. [_Great cry--Down with the Tyrants!_
(_The two ROBESPIERRES, COUTHON, ST. JUST, and LEBAS are led off._)
ACT III
SCENE CONTINUES.
_Collot d'Herbois._ Caesar is fall'n! The baneful tree of Java,
Whose death-distilling boughs dropt poisonous dew,
Is rooted from its base. This worse than Cromwell,
The austere, the self-denying Robespierre,
Even in this hall, where once with terror mute 5
We listen'd to the hypocrite's harangues,
Has heard his doom.
_Billaud Varennes._ Yet must we not suppose
The tyrant will fall tamely. His sworn hireling
Henriot, the daring desperate Henriot,
Commands the force of Paris. I denounce him. 10
_Freron._ I denounce Fleuriot too, the mayor of Paris.
_Enter DUBOIS CRANCÉ._
_Dubois Crancé._ Robespierre is rescued. Henriot at the head
Of the arm'd force has rescued the fierce tyrant.
_Collot d'Herbois._ Ring the tocsin--call all the citizens
To save their country--never yet has Paris 15
Forsook the representatives of France.
_Tallien._ It is the hour of danger. I propose
This sitting be made permanent. [_Loud applauses._
_Collot d'Herbois._ The National Convention shall remain
Firm at its post. 20
_Enter a_ Messenger.
_Messenger._ Robespierre has reach'd the Commune. They espouse
The tyrant's cause. St. Just is up in arms!
St. Just--the young ambitious bold St. Just
Harangues the mob. The sanguinary Couthon
Thirsts for your blood. [_Tocsin rings._ 25
_Tallien._ These tyrants are in arms against the law:
Outlaw the rebels.
_Enter MERLIN OF DOUAY._
_Merlin._ Health to the representatives of France!
I past this moment through the arméd force--
They ask'd my name--and when they heard a delegate, 30
Swore I was not the friend of France.
_Collot d'Herbois._ The tyrants threaten us as when they turn'd
The cannon's mouth on Brissot.
_Enter another_ Messenger.
_Second Messenger._ Vivier harangues the Jacobins--the Club
Espouse the cause of Robespierre. 35
_Enter another_ Messenger.
_Third Messenger._ All's lost--the tyrant triumphs. Henriot leads
The soldiers to his aid.--Already I hear
The rattling cannon destined to surround
This sacred hall.
_Tallien._ Why, we will die like men then.
The representatives of France dare death, 40
When duty steels their bosoms. [_Loud applauses._
_Tallien (addressing the galleries)._ Citizens!
France is insulted in her delegates--
The majesty of the Republic is insulted--
Tyrants are up in arms. An arméd force
Threats the Convention. The Convention swears 45
To die, or save the country!
[_Violent applauses from the galleries._
_Citizen (from above)._ We too swear
To die, or save the country. Follow me.
[_All the men quit the galleries._
_Enter another_ Messenger.
_Fourth Messenger._ Henriot is taken! [_Loud applauses._
Three of your brave soldiers
Swore they would seize the rebel slave of tyrants,
Or perish in the attempt. As he patroll'd 50
The streets of Paris, stirring up the mob,
They seiz'd him. [_Applauses._
_Billaud Varennes._ Let the names of these brave men
Live to the future day.
_Enter BOURDON L'OISE, sword in hand._
_Bourdon l'Oise._ I have clear'd the Commune.
[_Applauses._
Through the throng I rush'd,
Brandishing my good sword to drench its blade 55
Deep in the tyrant's heart. The timid rebels
Gave way. I met the soldiery--I spake
Of the dictator's crimes--of patriots chain'd
In dark deep dungeons by his lawless rage--
Of knaves secure beneath his fostering power. 60
I spake of Liberty. Their honest hearts
Caught the warm flame. The general shout burst forth,
'Live the Convention--Down with Robespierre!' [_Applauses._
(_Shouts from without--Down with the Tyrant!_)
_Tallien._ I hear, I hear the soul-inspiring sounds,
France shall be saved! her generous sons attached 65
To principles, not persons, spurn the idol
They worshipp'd once. Yes, Robespierre shall fall
As Capet fell! Oh! never let us deem
That France shall crouch beneath a tyrant's throne,
That the almighty people who have broke 70
On their oppressors' heads the oppressive chain,
Will court again their fetters! easier were it
To hurl the cloud-capt mountain from its base,
Than force the bonds of slavery upon men
Determined to be free! [_Applauses._ 75
_Enter LEGENDRE--a pistol in one hand, keys in the other._
_Legendre (flinging down the keys)._ So--let the mutinous Jacobins
meet now
In the open air. [_Loud applauses._
A factious turbulent party
Lording it o'er the state since Danton died,
And with him the Cordeliers.--A hireling band
Of loud-tongued orators controull'd the Club, 80
And bade them bow the knee to Robespierre.
Vivier has 'scaped me. Curse his coward heart--
This fate-fraught tube of Justice in my hand,
I rush'd into the hall. He mark'd mine eye
That beam'd its patriot anger, and flash'd full 85
With death-denouncing meaning. 'Mid the throng
He mingled. I pursued--but stay'd my hand,
Lest haply I might shed the innocent blood. [_Applauses._
_Freron._ They took from me my ticket of admission--
Expell'd me from their sittings.--Now, forsooth, 90
Humbled and trembling re-insert my name.
But Freron enters not the Club again
'Till it be purged of guilt:--'till, purified
Of tyrants and of traitors, honest men
May breathe the air in safety. [_Shouts from without._ 95
_Barrere._ What means this uproar! if the tyrant band
Should gain the people once again to rise--
We are as dead!
_Tallien._ And wherefore fear we death?
Did Brutus fear it? or the Grecian friends
Who buried in Hipparchus' breast the sword, 100
And died triumphant? Caesar should fear death,
Brutus must scorn the bugbear.
(_Shouts from without--Live the Convention!--Down with the Tyrants!_)
_Tallien._ Hark! again
The sounds of honest Freedom!
_Enter_ Deputies _from the_ Sections.
_Citizen._ Citizens! representatives of France!
Hold on your steady course. The men of Paris 105
Espouse your cause. The men of Paris swear
They will defend the delegates of Freedom.
_Tallien._ Hear ye this, Colleagues? hear ye this, my brethren?
And does no thrill of joy pervade your breasts?
My bosom bounds to rapture. I have seen 110
The sons of France shake off the tyrant yoke;
I have, as much as lies in mine own arm,
Hurl'd down the usurper.--Come death when it will,
I have lived long enough. [_Shouts without._
_Barrere._ Hark! how the noise increases! through the gloom 115
Of the still evening--harbinger of death,
Rings the tocsin! the dreadful generale
Thunders through Paris--
[_Cry without--Down with the Tyrant!_
_Enter LECOINTRE._
_Lecointre._ So may eternal justice blast the foes
Of France! so perish all the tyrant brood, 120
As Robespierre has perish'd! Citizens,
Caesar is taken. [_Loud and repeated applauses._
I marvel not that with such fearless front
He braved our vengeance, and with angry eye
Scowled round the hall defiance. He relied 125
On Henriot's aid--the Commune's villain friendship,
And Henriot's _boughten_ succours. Ye have heard
How Henriot rescued him--how with open arms
The Commune welcom'd in the rebel tyrant--
How Fleuriot aided, and seditious Vivier 130
Stirr'd up the Jacobins. All had been lost--
The representatives of France had perish'd--
Freedom had sunk beneath the tyrant arm
Of this foul parricide, but that her spirit
Inspir'd the men of Paris. Henriot call'd 135
'To arms' in vain, whilst Bourdon's patriot voice
Breathed eloquence, and o'er the Jacobins
Legendre frown'd dismay. The tyrants fled--
They reach'd the Hôtel. We gather'd round--we call'd
For vengeance! Long time, obstinate in despair, 140
With knives they hack'd around them. 'Till foreboding
The sentence of the law, the clamorous cry
Of joyful thousands hailing their destruction,
Each sought by suicide to escape the dread
Of death. Lebas succeeded. From the window 145
Leapt the younger Robespierre, but his fractur'd limb
Forbade to escape. The self-will'd dictator
Plunged often the keen knife in his dark breast,
Yet impotent to die. He lives all mangled
By his own tremulous hand! All gash'd and gored 150
He lives to taste the bitterness of death.
Even now they meet their doom. The bloody Couthon,
The fierce St. Just, even now attend their tyrant
To fall beneath the axe. I saw the torches
Flash on their visages a dreadful light-- 155
I saw them whilst the black blood roll'd adown
Each stern face, even then with dauntless eye
Scowl round contemptuous, dying as they lived,
Fearless of fate! [_Loud and repeated applauses._
_Barrere mounts the Tribune._ For ever hallowed be this glorious
day, 160
When Freedom, bursting her oppressive chain,
Tramples on the oppressor. When the tyrant
Hurl'd from his blood-cemented throne, by the arm
Of the almighty people, meets the death
He plann'd for thousands. Oh! my sickening heart 165
Has sunk within me, when the various woes
Of my brave country crowded o'er my brain
In ghastly numbers--when assembled hordes,
Dragg'd from their hovels by despotic power,
Rush'd o'er her frontiers, plunder'd her fair hamlets, 170
And sack'd her populous towns, and drench'd with blood
The reeking fields of Flanders.--When within,
Upon her vitals prey'd the rankling tooth
Of treason; and oppression, giant form,
Trampling on freedom, left the alternative 175
Of slavery, or of death. Even from that day,
When, on the guilty Capet, I pronounced
The doom of injured France, has faction reared
Her hated head amongst us. Roland preach'd
Of mercy--the uxorious dotard Roland, 180
The woman-govern'd Roland durst aspire
To govern France; and Petion talk'd of virtue,
And Vergniaud's eloquence, like the honeyed tongue
Of some soft Syren wooed us to destruction.
We triumphed over these. On the same scaffold 185
Where the last Louis pour'd his guilty blood,
Fell Brissot's head, the womb of darksome treasons,
And Orleans, villain kinsman of the Capet,
And Hébert's atheist crew, whose maddening hand
Hurl'd down the altars of the living God, 190
With all the infidel's intolerance.
The last worst traitor triumphed--triumph'd long,
Secur'd by matchless villainy--by turns
Defending and deserting each accomplice
As interest prompted. In the goodly soil 195
Of Freedom, the foul tree of treason struck
Its deep-fix'd roots, and dropt the dews of death
On all who slumber'd in its specious shade.
He wove the web of treachery. He caught
The listening crowd by his wild eloquence, 200
His cool ferocity that persuaded murder,
Even whilst it spake of mercy!--never, never
Shall this regenerated country wear
The despot yoke. Though myriads round assail,
And with worse fury urge this new crusade 205
Than savages have known; though the leagued despots
Depopulate all Europe, so to pour
The accumulated mass upon our coasts,
Sublime amid the storm shall France arise,
And like the rock amid surrounding waves 210
Repel the rushing ocean.--She shall wield
The thunder-bolt of vengeance--she shall blast
The despot's pride, and liberate the world!
FINIS
OSORIO
A TRAGEDY[518:1]
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
[_Not in MSS._]
_Osorio_, 1797. _Remorse._
_VELEZ_ = _MARQUIS VALDEZ, Father to the two brothers, and
Doña Teresa's Guardian._
_ALBERT_ = _DON ALVAR, the eldest son._
_OSORIO_ = _DON ORDONIO, the youngest son._
_FRANCESCO_ = _MONVIEDRO, a Dominican and Inquisitor._
_MAURICE_ = _ZULIMEZ, the faithful attendant on Alvar._
_FERDINAND_ = _ISIDORE, a Moresco Chieftain, ostensibly a
Christian._
_NAOMI_ = _NAOMI._
_MARIA_ = _DOÑA TERESA, an Orphan Heiress._
_ALHADRA, wife
of FERDINAND_ = _ALHADRA, Wife of Isidore._
_FAMILIARS OF THE INQUISITION._
_MOORS, SERVANTS, &C._
_Time. The reign of Philip II., just at the close of the civil wars
against the Moors, and during the heat of the persecution which raged
against them, shortly after the edict which forbad the wearing of
Moresco apparel under pain of death._
FOOTNOTES:
[518:1] First published in 1873 by Mr. John Pearson (under the
editorship of R. H. Shepherd): included in _P. and D. W._ 1877-80, and
in _P. W._ 1893.
Four MSS. are (or were) extant, (1) the transcript of the play as sent
to Sheridan in 1797 (_MS. I_); (2) a contemporary transcript sent by
Coleridge to a friend (_MS. II_); (3) a third transcript (the
handwriting of a 'legal character') sold at Christie's, March 8, 1895
(_MS. III_); (4) a copy of Act I in Coleridge's handwriting, which
formerly belonged to Thomas Poole, and is now in the British Museum
(_MS. P._). The text of the present issue follows MS. I. The variants
are derived from MSS. I, II as noted by J. Dykes Campbell in _P. W._
1893, from a MS. collation (by J. D. Campbell) of MS. III, now published
for the first time, and from a fresh collation of MS. P.
_Osorio_ was begun at Stowey in March, 1797. Two and a half Acts were
written before June, four and a half Acts before September 13, 1797. A
transcript of the play (_MS. I_) was sent to Drury Lane in October, and
rejected, on the score of the 'obscurity of the last three acts', on or
about December 1, 1797. See 'Art.' Coleridge, _Osorio_ and _Remorse_, by
J. D. Campbell, _Athenaeum_, April 8, 1890.
In the reign of Philip II shortly after the civil war against the Moors,
and during the heat of the Persecution which raged against them. Maria
an orphan of fortune had been espoused to Albert the eldest son of Lord
Velez, but he having been supposed dead, is now addressed by Osorio the
brother of Albert.
In the character of Osorio I wished to represent a man, who, from his
childhood had mistaken constitutional abstinence from vices, for
strength of character--thro' his pride duped into guilt, and then
endeavouring to shield himself from the reproaches of his own mind by
misanthropy.
Don Garcia (supposed dead) and Valdez father of Don Ordoño, and Guardian
of Teresa di Monviedro. Don Garcia eldest son of the Marquis di Valdez,
supposed dead, having been six years absent, and for the last three
without any tidings of him.
Teresa Senñora [_sic_] di Monviedro, an orphan lady, bequeathed by both
Parents on their death-bed to the wardship of the Marquis, and betrothed
to Don Garcia--Gulinaez a Moorish Chieftain and ostensibly a new
Christian--Alhadra his wife. _MS. III._
For the Preface of _MS. I_, vide Appendices of this edition.
LINENOTES:
_Osorio A Tragedy_--Title] Osorio, a Dramatic Poem MS. II: Osorio, The
Sketch of a Tragedy MS. III.
ACT THE FIRST[519:1]
SCENE--_The sea shore on the coast of Granada._
_VELEZ, MARIA._
_Maria._ I hold Osorio dear: he is your son,
And Albert's brother.
_Velez._ Love him for himself,
Nor make the living wretched for the dead.
_Maria._ I mourn that you should plead in vain, Lord Velez!
But Heaven hath heard my vow, and I remain 5
Faithful to Albert, be he dead or living.
_Velez._ Heaven knows with what delight I saw your loves;
And could my heart's blood give him back to thee
I would die smiling. But these are idle thoughts!
Thy dying father comes upon my soul 10
With that same look, with which he gave thee to me:
I held thee in mine arms, a powerless babe,
While thy poor mother with a mute entreaty
Fix'd her faint eyes on mine: ah, not for this,
That I should let thee feed thy soul with gloom, 15
And with slow anguish wear away thy life,
The victim of a useless constancy.
I must not see thee wretched.
_Maria._ There are woes
Ill-barter'd for the garishness of joy!
If it be wretched with an untired eye 20
To watch those skiey tints, and this green ocean;
Or in the sultry hour beneath some rock,
My hair dishevell'd by the pleasant sea-breeze,
To shape sweet visions, and live o'er again
All past hours of delight; if it be wretched 25
To watch some bark, and fancy Albert there;
To go through each minutest circumstance
Of the bless'd meeting, and to frame adventures
Most terrible and strange, and hear _him_ tell them:
(As once I knew a crazy Moorish maid, 30
Who dress'd her in her buried lover's cloaths,
And o'er the smooth spring in the mountain cleft
Hung with her lute, and play'd the selfsame tune
He used to play, and listen'd to the shadow
Herself had made); if this be wretchedness, 35
And if indeed it be a wretched thing
To trick out mine own death-bed, and imagine
That I had died--died, just ere his return;
Then see him listening to my constancy;
And hover round, as he at midnight ever 40
Sits on my grave and gazes at the moon;
Or haply in some more fantastic mood
To be in Paradise, and with choice flowers
Build up a bower where he and I might dwell,
And there to wait his coming! O my sire! 45
My Albert's sire! if this be wretchedness
That eats away the life, what were it, think you,
If in a most assur'd reality
He should return, and see a brother's infant
Smile at him from _my_ arms? [_Clasping her forehead._
O what a thought! 50
'Twas horrible! it pass'd my brain like lightning.
_Velez._ 'Twere horrible, if but one doubt remain'd
The very week he promised his return.
_Maria._ Ah, what a busy joy was ours--to see him
After his three years' travels! tho' that absence 55
His still-expected, never-failing letters
Almost endear'd to me! Even then what tumult!
_Velez._ O power of youth to feed on pleasant thoughts
Spite of conviction! I am old and heartless!
Yes, I am old--I have no pleasant dreams-- 60
Hectic and unrefresh'd with rest.
_Maria (with great tenderness)._ My father!
_Velez._ Aye, 'twas the morning thou didst try to cheer me
With a fond gaiety. My heart was bursting,
And yet I could not tell me, how my sleep
Was throng'd with swarthy faces, and I saw 65
The merchant-ship in which my son was captured--
Well, well, enough--captured in sight of land--
We might almost have seen it from our house-top!
_Maria (abruptly)._ He did not perish there!
_Velez (impatiently)._ Nay, nay--how aptly thou forgett'st a tale 70
Thou ne'er didst wish to learn--my brave Osorio
Saw them both founder in the storm that parted
Him and the pirate: both the vessels founder'd.
Gallant Osorio! [_Pauses, then tenderly._
O belov'd Maria,
Would'st thou best prove thy faith to generous Albert 75
And most delight his spirit, go and make
His brother happy, make his agéd father
Sink to the grave with joy!
_Maria._ For mercy's sake
Press me no more. I have no power to love him!
His proud forbidding eye, and his dark brow 80
Chill me, like dew-damps of the unwholesome night.
My love, a timorous and tender flower,
Closes beneath his touch.
_Velez._ You wrong him, maiden.
You wrong him, by my soul! Nor was it well
To character by such unkindly phrases 85
The stir and workings of that love for you
Which he has toil'd to smother. 'Twas not well--
Nor is it grateful in you to forget
His wounds and perilous voyages, and how
With an heroic fearlessness of danger 90
He roamed the coast of Afric for your Albert.
It was not well--you have moved me even to tears.
_Maria._ O pardon me, my father! pardon me.
It was a foolish and ungrateful speech,
A most ungrateful speech! But I am hurried 95
Beyond myself, if I but dream of one
Who aims to rival Albert. Were we not
Born on one day, like twins of the same parent?
Nursed in one cradle? Pardon me, my father!
A six years' absence is an heavy thing; 100
Yet still the hope survives----
_Velez (looking forwards)._ Hush--hush! Maria.
_Maria._ It is Francesco, our Inquisitor;
That busy man, gross, ignorant, and cruel!
_Enter FRANCESCO and ALHADRA._
_Francesco (to Velez)._ Where is your son, my lord? Oh! here he
comes.
_Enter OSORIO._
My Lord Osorio! this Moresco woman 105
(Alhadra is her name) asks audience of you.
_Osorio._ Hail, reverend father! What may be the business?
_Francesco._ O the old business--a Mohammedan!
The officers are in her husband's house,
And would have taken him, but that he mention'd 110
Your name, asserting that you were his friend,
Aye, and would warrant him a Catholic.
But I know well these children of perdition,
And all their idle fals[e]hoods to gain time;
So should have made the officers proceed, 115
But that this woman with most passionate outcries,
(Kneeling and holding forth her infants to me)
So work'd upon me, who (you know, my lord!)
Have human frailties, and am tender-hearted,
That I came with her.
_Osorio._ You are merciful. [_Looking at ALHADRA._ 120
I would that I could serve you; but in truth
Your face is new to me.
[_ALHADRA is about to speak, but is interrupted by_
_Francesco._ Aye, aye--I thought so;
And so I said to one of the familiars.
A likely story, said I, that Osorio,
The gallant nobleman, who fought so bravely 125
Some four years past against these rebel Moors;
Working so hard from out the garden of faith
To eradicate these weeds detestable;
That he should countenance this vile Moresco,
Nay, be his friend--and warrant him, forsooth! 130
Well, well, my lord! it is a warning to me;
Now I return.
_Alhadra._ My lord, my husband's name
Is Ferdinand: you may remember it.
Three years ago--three years this very week--
You left him at Almeria.
_Francesco (triumphantly)._ Palpably false! 135
This very week, three years ago, my lord!
(You needs must recollect it by your wound)
You were at sea, and fought the Moorish fiends
Who took and murder'd your poor brother Albert.
[_MARIA looks at FRANCESCO with disgust and horror.
OSORIO'S appearance to be collected from the
speech that follows._
_Francesco (to Velez and pointing to Osorio)._ What? is he ill, my
lord? How strange he looks! 140
_Velez (angrily)._ You started on him too abruptly, father!
The fate of one, on whom you know he doted.
_Osorio (starting as in a sudden agitation)._ O heavens! _I_
doted! [_Then, as if recovering himself._
Yes! I DOTED on him!
[_OSORIO walks to the end of the stage.
VELEZ follows soothing him._
_Maria (her eye following them)._ I do not, cannot love him. Is my
heart hard?
Is my heart hard? that even now the thought 145
Should force itself upon me--yet I feel it!
_Francesco._ The drops did start and stand upon his forehead!
I will return--in very truth I grieve
To have been the occasion. Ho! attend me, woman!
_Alhadra (to Maria)._ O gentle lady, make the father stay 150
Till that my lord recover. I am sure
That he will say he is my husband's friend.
_Maria._ Stay, father, stay--my lord will soon recover.
[_OSORIO and VELEZ returning._
_Osorio (to Velez as they return)._ Strange! that this Francesco
Should have the power so to distemper me. 155
_Velez._ Nay, 'twas an amiable weakness, son!
_Francesco (to Osorio)._ My lord, I truly grieve----
_Osorio._ Tut! name it
not.
A sudden seizure, father! think not of it.
As to this woman's husband, I _do_ know him:
I know him well, and that he is a Christian. 160
_Francesco._ I hope, my lord, your sensibility
Doth not prevail.
_Osorio._ Nay, nay--you know me better.
You hear what I have said. But 'tis a trifle.
I had something here of more importance.
[_Touching his forehead as if in the act of recollection._
Hah!
The Count Mondejar, our great general, 165
Writes, that the bishop we were talking of
Has sicken'd dangerously.
_Francesco._ Even so.
_Osorio._ I must return my answer.
_Francesco._ When, my lord?
_Osorio._ To-morrow morning, and shall not forget
How bright and strong your zeal for the Catholic faith. 170
_Francesco._ You are too kind, my lord! You overwhelm me.
_Osorio._ Nay, say not so. As for this Ferdinand,
'Tis certain that he _was_ a Catholic.
What changes may have happen'd in three years,
I cannot say, but grant me this, good father! 175
I'll go and sift him: if I find him sound,
You'll grant me your authority and name
To liberate his house.
_Francesco._ My lord you have it.
_Osorio (to Alhadra)._ I will attend you home within an hour.
Meantime return with us, and take refreshment. 180
_Alhadra._ Not till my husband's free, I may not do it.
I will stay here.
_Maria (aside)._ Who is this Ferdinand?
_Velez._ Daughter!
_Maria._ With your permission, my dear lord,
I'll loiter a few minutes, and then join you.
[_Exeunt VELEZ, FRANCESCO, and OSORIO._
_Alhadra._ Hah! there he goes. A bitter curse go with him. 185
A scathing curse! [_ALHADRA had been betrayed by the warmth
of her feelings into an imprudence.
She checks herself, yet recollecting
MARIA'S manner towards FRANCESCO,
says in a shy and distrustful
manner_
You hate him, don't you, lady!
_Maria._ Nay, fear me not! my heart is sad for you.
_Alhadra._ These fell Inquisitors, these sons of blood!
As I came on, his face so madden'd me
That ever and anon I clutch'd my dagger 190
And half unsheathed it.
_Maria._ Be more calm, I pray you.
_Alhadra._ And as he stalk'd along the narrow path
Close on the mountain's edge, my soul grew eager.
'Twas with hard toil I made myself remember
That his foul officers held my babes and husband. 195
To have leapt upon him with a Tyger's plunge
And hurl'd him down the ragged precipice,
O--it had been most sweet!
_Maria._ Hush, hush! for shame.
Where is your woman's heart?
_Alhadra._ O gentle lady!
You have no skill to guess my many wrongs, 200
Many and strange. Besides I am a Christian,
And they do never pardon, 'tis their faith!
_Maria._ Shame fall on those who so have shown it to thee!
_Alhadra._ I know that man; 'tis well he knows not me!
Five years ago, and he was the prime agent. 205
Five years ago the Holy Brethren seized me.
_Maria._ What might your crime be?
_Alhadra._ Solely my complexion.
They cast me, then a young and nursing mother,
Into a dungeon of their prison house.
There was no bed, no fire, no ray of light, 210
No touch, no sound of comfort! The black air,
It was a toil to breathe it! I have seen
The gaoler's lamp, the moment that he enter'd,
How the flame sunk at once down to the socket.
O miserable, by that lamp to see 215
My infant quarrelling with the coarse hard bread
Brought daily: for the little wretch was sickly--
My rage had dry'd away its natural food!
In darkness I remain'd, counting the clocks[528:1]
Which haply told me that the blessed sun 220
Was rising on my garden. When I dozed,
My infant's moanings mingled with my dreams
And wak'd me. If you were a mother, Lady,
I should scarce dare to tell you, that its noises
And peevish cries so fretted on my brain 225
That I have struck the innocent babe in anger!
_Maria._ O God! it is too horrible to hear!
_Alhadra._ What was it then to suffer? 'Tis most right
That such as you should hear it. Know you not
What Nature makes you mourn, she bids you heal? 230
Great evils ask great passions to redress them,
And whirlwinds fitliest scatter pestilence.
_Maria._ You were at length deliver'd?
_Alhadra._ Yes, at length
I saw the blessed arch of the whole heaven.
'Twas the first time my infant smiled! No more. 235
For if I dwell upon that moment, lady,
A fit comes on, which makes me o'er again
All I then was, my knees hang loose and drag,
And my lip falls with such an ideot laugh
That you would start and shudder!
_Maria._ But your husband? 240
_Alhadra._ A month's imprisonment would kill him, lady!
_Maria._ Alas, poor man!
_Alhadra._ He hath a lion's courage,
But is not stern enough for fortitude.
Unfit for boisterous times, with gentle heart
He worships Nature in the hill and valley, 245
Not knowing what he loves, but loves it all!
[_Enter ALBERT disguised as a Moresco, and in
Moorish garments._
_Albert (not observing Maria and Alhadra)._ Three weeks have I been
loitering here, nor ever
Have summon'd up my heart to ask one question,
Or stop one peasant passing on this way.
_Maria._ Know you that man?
_Alhadra._ His person, not his name. 250
I doubt not, he is some Moresco chieftain
Who hides himself among the Alpuxarras.
A week has scarcely pass'd since first I saw him;
He has new-roof'd the desolate old cottage
Where Zagri lived--who dared avow the prophet 255
And died like one of the faithful! There he lives,
And a friend with him.
_Maria._ Does he know his danger
So near this seat?
_Alhadra._ He wears the Moorish robes too,
As in defiance of the royal edict.
[_ALHADRA advances to ALBERT, who has walked to the
back of the stage near the rocks. MARIA drops
her veil._
_Alhadra._ Gallant Moresco! you are near the castle 260
Of the Lord Velez, and hard by does dwell
A priest, the creature of the Inquisition.
_Albert (retiring)._ You have mistaken me--I am a Christian.
_Alhadra (to Maria)._ He deems that we are plotting to ensnare him.
Speak to him, lady! none can hear you speak 265
And not believe you innocent of guile.
[_ALBERT, on hearing this, pauses and turns round._
_Maria._ If aught enforce you to concealment, sir!
_Alhadra._ He trembles strangely.
[_ALBERT sinks down and hides his face in his garment_
[_robe_ Remorse].
_Maria._ See--we have disturb'd him.
[_Approaches nearer to him._
I pray you, think us friends--uncowl your face,
For you seem faint, and the night-breeze blows healing. 270
I pray you, think us friends!
_Albert (raising his head)._ Calm--very calm;
'Tis all too tranquil for reality!
And she spoke to me with her innocent voice.
That voice! that innocent voice! She is no traitress!
It was a dream, a phantom of my sleep, 275
A lying dream. [_He starts up, and abruptly addresses her._
Maria! you are not wedded?
_Maria (haughtily to Alhadra)._ Let us retire.
[_They advance to the front of the stage._
_Alhadra._ He is indeed a
Christian.
Some stray Sir Knight, that falls in love of a sudden.
_Maria._ What can this mean? How should he know my name?
It seems all shadowy.
_Alhadra._ Here he comes again. 280
_Albert (aside)._ She deems me dead, and yet no mourning garment!
Why should my brother's wife wear mourning garments?
God of all mercy, make me, make me quiet! [_To MARIA._
Your pardon, gentle maid! that I disturb'd you.
I had just started from a frightful dream. 285
_Alhadra._ These renegado Moors--how soon they learn
The crimes and follies of their Christian tyrants!
_Albert._ I dreamt I had a friend, on whom I lean'd
With blindest trust, and a betrothéd maid
Whom I was wont to call not mine, but me, 290
For mine own self seem'd nothing, lacking her!
This maid so idoliz'd, that trusted friend,
Polluted in my absence soul and body!
And she with him and he with her conspired
To have me murder'd in a wood of the mountains: 295
But by my looks and most impassion'd words
I roused the virtues, that are dead in no man,
Even in the assassins' hearts. They made their terms,
And thank'd me for redeeming them from murder.
_Alhadra (to Maria)._ You are lost in thought. Hear him no more,
sweet lady! 300
_Maria._ From morn to night I am myself a dreamer,
And slight things bring on me the idle mood.
Well, sir, what happen'd then?
_Albert._ On a rude rock,
A rock, methought, fast by a grove of firs
Whose threaddy leaves to the low breathing gale 305
Made a soft sound most like the distant ocean,
I stay'd as tho' the hour of death were past,
And I were sitting in the world of spirits,
For all things seem'd unreal! There I sate.
The dews fell clammy, and the night descended, 310
Black, sultry, close! and ere the midnight hour
A storm came on, mingling all sounds of fear
That woods and sky and mountains seem'd one havock!
The second flash of lightning show'd a tree
Hard by me, newly-scathed. I rose tumultuous: 315
My soul work'd high: I bared my head to the storm,
And with loud voice and clamorous agony
Kneeling I pray'd to the great Spirit that made me,
Pray'd that Remorse might fasten on their hearts,
And cling, with poisonous tooth, inextricable 320
As the gored lion's bite!
_Maria._ A fearful curse!
_Alhadra._ But dreamt you not that you return'd and kill'd him?
Dreamt you of no revenge?
_Albert (his voice trembling, and in tones of deep distress)._ She
would have died,
Died in her sins--perchance, by her own hands!
And bending o'er her self-inflicted wounds 325
I might have met the evil glance of frenzy
And leapt myself into an unblest grave!
I pray'd for the punishment that cleanses hearts,
For still I loved her!
_Alhadra._ And you dreamt all this?
_Maria._ My soul is full of visions, all is wild! 330
_Alhadra._ There is no room in this heart for puling love-tales.
Lady! your servants there seem seeking us.
_Maria (lifts up her veil and advances to Albert)._ Stranger,
farewell! I guess not who you are,
Nor why you so address'd your tale to me.
Your mien is noble, and, I own, perplex'd me 335
With obscure memory of something past,
Which still escap'd my efforts, or presented
Tricks of a fancy pamper'd with long-wishing.
If (as it sometimes happens) our rude startling,
While your full heart was shaping out its dream, 340
Drove you to this, your not ungentle wildness,
You have my sympathy, and so farewell!
But if some undiscover'd wrongs oppress you,
And you need strength to drag them into light,
The generous Velez, and my Lord Osorio 345
Have arm and will to aid a noble sufferer,
Nor shall you want my favourable pleading.
[_Exeunt MARIA and ALHADRA._
_Albert (alone)._ 'Tis strange! it cannot be! my Lord Osorio!
Her Lord Osorio! Nay, I will not do it.
I curs'd him once, and one curse is enough. 350
How sad she look'd and pale! but not like guilt,
And her calm tones--sweet as a song of mercy!
If the bad spirit retain'd his angel's voice,
Hell scarce were hell. And why not innocent?
Who meant to murder me might well cheat her. 355
But ere she married him, he had stain'd her honour.
Ah! there I am hamper'd. What if this were a lie
Fram'd by the assassin? who should tell it him
If it were truth? Osorio would not tell him.
Yet why one lie? All else, I know, was truth. 360
No start! no jealousy of stirring conscience!
And she referr'd to me--fondly, methought!
Could she walk here, if that she were a traitress?
Here where we play'd together in our childhood?
Here where we plighted vows? Where her cold cheek 365
Received my last kiss, when with suppress'd feelings
She had fainted in my arms? It cannot be!
'Tis not in nature! I will die, believing
That I shall meet her where no evil is,
No treachery, no cup dash'd from the lips! 370
I'll haunt this scene no more--live she in peace!
Her husband--ay, her husband! May this Angel
New-mould his canker'd heart! Assist me, Heaven!
That I may pray for my poor guilty brother!
END OF ACT THE FIRST.
FOOTNOTES:
[519:1] For Act I, Scene 1 (ll. 1-118) of _Remorse_, vide _post_, pp.
820-3.
[528:1] With lines 219-21 compare _Fragments from a Notebook_, No. 17,
p. 990.
LINENOTES:
[Before 1] ACT THE FIRST (The Portrait and the Picture). Corr. in MS.
III.
Scene--_The sea shore, &c._] Scene--The Sea shore on the coast of
Granada, in the Seigniory of the Marquis Valdez. _Valdez_ _Teresa_ corr.
in MS. III. [For _Velez_, _Maria_, _Osorio_, _Albert_, _Francesco_, read
_Valdez_, _Teresa_, _Ordonio_, _Alvar_, _Isidore_ throughout, Remorse.
[Before 1] SCENE II. _Enter_ Teresa _and_ Valdez. Remorse. Osorio]
Ordoño] corr. in MS. II.
[2] Albert's] Garcia's corr. in MS. III.
[12] mine] my Remorse, 1813.
[29] _him_] him Remorse.
[40] Or hover round, as he at midnight oft Remorse.
[50] _my_] my Remorse. Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[51-2] _Erased MS. III._
[52-3]
_Valdez._ A thought? even so! mere thought! an empty thought.
The very week he promised his return--
Remorse.
an empty thought
That boasts no neighbourhood with Hope or Reason
Corr. in MS. III.
[54-7]
_Ter._ Was it not then a busy joy? to see him,
After those three years' travels! we had no fears--
The frequent tidings, the ne'er failing letter,
Almost endeared his absence! yet the gladness,
The tumult of our joy! What then, if now--
Marginal correction in MS. III, Remorse.
[60] dreams] fancies Remorse.
[61] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[62-8] Erased MS. III.
[62-73]
_Vald._ The sober truth is all too much for me!
I see no sail which brings not to my mind
The home-bound bark, in which my son was captured
By the Algerine--to perish with his captors!
_Ter._ Oh no! he did not!
_Vald._ Captured in sight of land!
From yon Hill-point, nay, from our castle watch-tower
We might have seen--
_Ter._ His capture, not his death.
_Vald._ Alas! how aptly thou forgett'st a tale
Thou ne'er didst wish to learn! my brave Ordonio
Saw both the pirate and his prize go down,
In the same storm that baffled his own valour,
And thus twice snatched a brother from his hopes.
Marginal correction in MS. III, Remorse.
[74] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[76] And most delight his spirit, go, make thou Remorse.
[78] with] in Remorse.
[93] my father] Lord Valdez Remorse.
[96] dream] hear Remorse.
[101-5] Erased MS. III.
_Vald. (looking forward)._ Hush! 'tis Monviedro.
_Ter._ The Inquisitor--on what new scent of blood?
_Enter_ Monviedro _with_ Alhadra.
_Mon._ Peace and the truth be with you! Good my Lord.
My present need is with your son.
We have hit the time. Here comes he! Yes, 'tis he.
_Enter from the opposite side_ Don Ordonio
My Lord Ordonio, this Moresco woman
MS. III, Remorse.
[108] Erased MS. III.
[109] The] Our MS. III.
[108-31]
_Mon._ My lord, on strong suspicion of relapse
To his false creed, so recently abjured,
The secret servants of the Inquisition
Have seized her husband, and at my command
To the supreme tribunal would have led him,
But that he made appeal to you, my lord,
As surety for his soundness in the faith.
Tho' lesson'd by experience what small trust
The asseverations of these Moors deserve,
Yet still the deference to Ordonio's name,
Nor less the wish to prove, with what high honour
The Holy Church regards her faithful soldiers,
Thus far prevailed with me that--
_Ord._ Reverend father,
I am much beholden to your high opinion,
Which so o'erprizes my light services. [_then to Alhadra_
I would that I could serve you; but in truth
Your face is new to me.
_Mon._ My mind foretold me
That such would be the event. In truth, Lord Valdez,
'Twas little probable, that Don Ordonio,
That your illustrious son, who fought so bravely
Some four years since to quell these rebel Moors,
Should prove the patron of this infidel!
The warranter of a Moresco's faith!
Remorse.
[114] Have learnt by heart their falsehoods to gain time. Corr. in MS.
III.
[118-20] who (you know, &c., . . . with her Erased MS. III. The
stage-direction (_Alhadra here advances towards Ordonio_) is inserted at
the end of Francesco's speech.
[127-8] om. MS. III.
[133] Is Isidore. (_Ordonio starts_) Remorse.
[135] Stage-direction (_triumphantly_) om. Remorse.
[138-9]
You were at sea, and there engaged the pirates,
The murderers doubtless of your brother Alvar!
Remorse.
[139] The stage-direction _Maria looks, &c._, om. Remorse.
[140] _Francesco (. . . Osorio)_ om. Remorse.
[141] _Val._ You pressed upon him too abruptly father Remorse.
[143] _Ord._ O heavens! I?--I doted?-- Remorse. Stage-directions
(_starting, &c._), (_Then, as, &c._) om. Remorse.
[Before 144] stage direction ends at '_follows_' Remorse.
[144] Stage-direction (_her eye, &c._) om. Remorse.
[151] Till that] Until Remorse.
Stage-direction before 154 om. Remorse.
[154] Ordonio (_as they return to Valdez_). Remorse.
[157] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[159] _do_] do Remorse.
[161] I hope, my lord, your merely human pity MS. III, Remorse.
[162-72] Nay, nay . . . Ferdinand om. Remorse.
[173] _was_] was Remorse.
[176] Myself I'll sift him Remorse.
[178] [_Francesco's speech_ 'My lord you have it' _is thus
expanded_]:--
_Monviedro._ Your zeal, my lord,
And your late merits in this holy warfare
Would authorize an ampler trust--you have it.
Remorse.
[179] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[180] Attributed to Valdez in Remorse.
[184] I'll loiter yet awhile t'enjoy the sea breeze. Remorse.
[186] The stage-direction, _Alhadra had been, &c._, was interpolated by
_S. T. C._ in MS. III, and 'distrustful' is written 'mistrustful'. It is
omitted in Remorse.
[187] The line was originally written:--
Nay, nay, not hate him. I try not to do it;
and in this form it stands in the Poole MS. MSS. II, III have the line
as amended, but have also this stage-direction '(_perceiving that
Alhadra is conscious she has spoken imprudently_)'; and MS. II has the
word _me_ underlined.
Oh fear not me! my heart is sad for you
Remorse.
[188] In Poole MS. this line was originally--
These wolfish Priests! these lappers-up of Blood.
[192] stalk'd] walk'd Remorse.
[193] on] by Remorse.
[195] Interpolated by S. T. C.
That his vile Slaves, his pitiless officers
Held in their custody my babes and husband.
MS. III.
[195] foul officers] familiars Remorse.
[197] ragged] rugged Remorse.
[201] '(_ironically_)' only in MS. II.
[202] And they do] And Christians Remorse.
[207] Solely my complexion] I was a Moresco Remorse.
[210] There] Where Remorse.
[212-14]
It was a toil to breathe it! When the door,
Slow opening at the appointed hour, disclosed
One human countenance, the lamp's red flame
Cowered as it entered, and at once sank down
Remorse.
[219] the dull bell counting Remorse.
[220] blessed] all-cheering. Remorse.
[221] my] our Remorse.
[222] dreams] slumbers Remorse.
[227] God] Heaven Remorse.
[233] deliver'd] released Corr. in MS. III, Remorse.
[237] fit] trance Remorse.
[243] Fearless in act, but feeble in endurance Corr. in MS. III,
Remorse.
[247-9] MS. III erased: om. Remorse.
[Between 249-50]
_Teresa. (starting)._ This sure must be the man (_to ALHADRA_)
Know you that man?
Corr. in MS. III.
[Between 250 and 263]
_Ter._ Know you that stately Moor?
_Alhad._ I know him not:
But doubt not he is some Moresco chieftain,
Who hides himself among the Alpujarras.
_Ter._ The Alpujarras? Does he know his danger,
So near this seat?
_Alhad._ He wears the Moorish robes too,
As in defiance of the royal edict.
[_ALHADRA advances to ALVAR, who has walked to the
back of the stage near the rocks. TERESA
drops her veil._
_Alhad._ Gallant Moresco! An inquisitor,
Monviedro, of known hatred to our race--
Remorse.
[254-7]
His ends, his motives, why he shrinks from notice
And spurns all commune with the Moorish chieftain,
Baffles conjecture--
Corr. in MS. III.
Before stage-direction affixed to 259.
_Teresa._ Ask of him whence he came? if he bear tidings
Of any Christian Captive--if he knows--
Corr. in MS. III.
[259] _Philip the Second had forbidden under pain of death the Moorish
Robes_ MS. II: _Phillip (sic) the Second had prohibited under pain of
death all the Moorish customs and garments_ MS. III.
[262] the creature] a brother Corr. in MS. III.
[263] _Albert (retiring)_] _advancing as if to pass them_ Corr. in MS.
III. Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[264] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[266] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[275-6] om. Remorse.
[277] Stage-direction _They advance . . . followed by Alvar_ Corr. in
MS. III: om. Remorse.
[277] _Alhadra (with bitter scorn)._ Corr. in MS. III.
[278-80] om. Remorse.
[Prefixed to 279.] _Alhadra walks away to the back of the stage, to the
part where Alvar had first placed himself, stoops in the act of taking
up a small Picture, looks at it and in dumb show appears as talking to
herself._ Corr. in MS. III.
[279-80]
_Maria._ This cannot be the Moor the Peasant spoke of
Nor face, nor stature squares with his description.
_Alhadra._ A painted tablet which he held and por'd on
Caught my eye strangely, and as I disturb'd him
He hid it hastily within his sash,
Yet when he started up (if my sight err'd not)
It slipt unnotic'd by him on the Sand.
Corr. in MS. III.
[281] She deems me dead yet wears no mourning garments Remorse.
[283] om. Remorse.
[284] gentle maid] noble dame Remorse.
[286-7] om. Remorse.
[Between 285 and 288]
_Ter._ Dreams tell but of the past, and yet, 'tis said
They prophesy--
_Alv._ The Past lives o'er again
In its effects, and to the guilty spirit,
The ever frowning [guilty _MS. III_] Present is its image.
_Ter._ Traitress! [guilty _MS. III_] (_then aside_)
What sudden spell o'er-masters me?
Why seeks he me, shunning the Moorish woman.
Corr. in MS. III: Remorse.
[293] Polluted] Dishonour'd MS. III, Remorse. [In MS. III S. T. C.
substituted 'Polluted' for 'Dishonoured.']
[294-5]
Fear, following guilt, tempted to blacker guilt,
And murderers were suborned against my life
Remorse.
[Affixed to 296] _During this speech Alhadra returns, and unobserved by
Alvar and Teresa scans the picture, and in dumb show compares it with
the countenance of Alvar. Then conceals it in her robe._ MS. III.
[300] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[305] threaddy] thready Remorse.
[322] him] them Remorse.
[323] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[324] sins] guilt Remorse.
[330] all is] all as MS. III, Remorse.
[332] MS. III erased.
[332 foll.]
ALHADRA (_aside_).
I must reserve all knowledge of this Table
Till I can pierce the mystery of the slander--
Form, Look, Features,--the scar below the Temple
All, all are Isidore's--and the whole Picture-- (_then to ALVAR._)
On matter of concerning Import . .
. . . I would discourse with you:
Thou hast ta'en up thy sojourn in the Dell,
Where Zagri liv'd--who dar'd avow the Prophet,
And died like one of the Faithful--there expect me.
Addition on margin of MS. III.
[332] om. Remorse.
[340] While] Whilst Remorse.
[359] Interpolated by S. T. C. MS. III.
[363] Could she walk here, if she had been a traitress Remorse.
ACT THE SECOND
SCENE THE FIRST.--_A wild and mountainous country. OSORIO and FERDINAND
are discovered at a little distance from a house, which stands under the
brow of a slate rock, the rock covered with vines._
_FERDINAND and OSORIO._
_Ferdinand._ Thrice you have sav'd my life. Once in the battle
You gave it me, next rescued me from suicide,
When for my follies I was made to wander
With mouths to feed, and not a morsel for them.
Now, but for you, a dungeon's slimy stones 5
Had pillow'd my snapt joints.
_Osorio._ Good Ferdinand!
Why this to me? It is enough you know it.
_Ferdinand._ A common trick of gratitude, my lord!
Seeking to ease her own full heart.
_Osorio._ Enough.
A debt repay'd ceases to be a debt. 10
You have it in your power to serve me greatly.
_Ferdinand._ As how, my lord? I pray you name the thing!
I would climb up an ice-glaz'd precipice
To pluck a weed you fancied.
_Osorio (with embarrassment and hesitation)._ Why--that--lady--
_Ferdinand._ 'Tis now three years, my lord! since last I saw you. 15
Have you a son, my lord?
_Osorio._ O miserable! [_Aside._
Ferdinand! you are a man, and know this world.
I told you what I wish'd--now for the truth!
She lov'd the man you kill'd!
_Ferdinand (looking as suddenly alarmed)._ You jest, my lord?
_Osorio._ And till his death is proved, she will not wed me. 20
_Ferdinand._ You sport with me, my lord?
_Osorio._ Come, come, this foolery
Lives only in thy looks--thy heart disowns it.
_Ferdinand._ I can bear this, and anything more grievous
From you, my lord!--but how can I serve you here?
_Osorio._ Why, you can mouth set speeches solemnly, 25
Wear a quaint garment, make mysterious antics.
[_Ferdinand._ I am dull, my lord! I do not comprehend you.
_Osorio._ In blunt terms] you can play the sorcerer.
She has no faith in Holy Church, 'tis true.
Her lover school'd her in some newer nonsense: 30
Yet still a tale of spirits works on her.
She is a lone enthusiast, sensitive,
Shivers, and cannot keep the tears in her eye.
Such ones do love the marvellous too well
Not to believe it. We will wind her up 35
With a strange music, that she knows not of,
With fumes of frankincense, and mummery--
Then leave, as one sure token of his death,
That portrait, which from off the dead man's neck
I bade thee take, the trophy of thy conquest. 40
_Ferdinand (with hesitation)._ Just now I should have cursed the
man who told me
You could ask aught, my lord! and I refuse.
But this I cannot do.
_Osorio._ Where lies your scruple?
_Ferdinand._ That shark Francesco.
_Osorio._ O! an o'ersiz'd gudgeon!
I baited, sir, my hook with a painted mitre, 45
And now I play with him at the end of the line.
Well--and what next?
_Ferdinand (stammering)._ Next, next--my lord!
You know you told me that the lady loved you,
Had loved you with incautious tenderness.
That if the young man, her betrothéd husband, 50
Return'd, yourself, and she, and an unborn babe,
Must perish. Now, my lord! to be a man!
_Osorio (aloud, though to express his contempt he speaks in the
third person)._ This fellow is a man! he kill'd for hire
One whom he knew not--yet has tender scruples.
[_Then turning to FERDINAND._
Thy hums and ha's, thy whine and stammering. 55
Pish--fool! thou blunder'st through the devil's book,
Spelling thy villany!
_Ferdinand._ My lord--my lord!
I can bear much, yes, very much from you.
But there's a point where sufferance is meanness!
I am no villain, never kill'd for hire. 60
My gratitude----
_Osorio._ O! aye, your gratitude!
'Twas a well-sounding word--what have you done with it?
_Ferdinand._ Who proffers his past favours for my virtue
Tries to o'erreach me, is a very sharper,
And should not speak of gratitude, my lord! 65
I knew not 'twas your brother!
_Osorio (evidently alarmed)._ And who told you?
_Ferdinand._ He himself told me.
_Osorio._ Ha! you talk'd with him?
And those, the two Morescoes, that went with you?
_Ferdinand._ Both fell in a night-brawl at Malaga.
_Osorio (in a low voice)._ My brother!
_Ferdinand._ Yes, my lord! I could not
tell you: 70
I thrust away the thought, it drove me wild.
But listen to me now. I pray you, listen!
_Osorio._ Villain! no more! I'll hear no more of it.
_Ferdinand._ My lord! it much imports your future safety
That you should hear it.
_Osorio (turning off from Ferdinand)._ Am I not a man? 75
'Tis as it should be! Tut--the deed itself
Was idle--and these after-pangs still idler!
_Ferdinand._ We met him in the very place you mention'd,
Hard by a grove of firs.
_Osorio._ Enough! enough!
_Ferdinand._ He fought us valiantly, and wounded all; 80
In fine, compell'd a parley!
_Osorio (sighing as if lost in thought)._ Albert! Brother!
_Ferdinand._ He offer'd me his purse.
_Osorio._ Yes?
_Ferdinand._ Yes! I spurn'd it.
He promis'd us I know not what--in vain!
Then with a look and voice which overaw'd me,
He said--What mean you, friends? My life is dear. 85
I have a brother and a promised wife
Who make life dear to me, and if I fall
That brother will roam earth and hell for vengeance.
There was a likeness in his face to yours.
I ask'd his brother's name; he said, Osorio, 90
Son of Lord Velez! I had well-nigh fainted!
At length I said (if that indeed I said it,
And that no spirit made my tongue his organ),
That woman is now pregnant by that brother,
And he the man who sent us to destroy you, 95
He drove a thrust at me in rage. I told him,
He wore her portrait round his neck--he look'd
As he had been made of the rock that propp'd him back;
Ay, just as you look now--only less ghastly!
At last recovering from his trance, he threw 100
His sword away, and bade us take his life--
It was not worth his keeping.
_Osorio._ And you kill'd him?
O blood-hounds! may eternal wrath flame round you!
He was the image of the Deity. [_A pause._
It seizes me--by Hell! I will go on! 105
What? would'st thou stop, man? thy pale looks won't save thee!
[_Then suddenly pressing his forehead._
Oh! cold, cold, cold--shot thro' with icy cold!
_Ferdinand (aside)._ Were he alive, he had return'd ere now.
The consequence the same, dead thro' his plotting!
_Osorio._ O this unutterable dying away here, 110
This sickness of the heart! [_A pause._
What if I went
And liv'd in a hollow tomb, and fed on weeds?
Ay! that's the road to heaven! O fool! fool! fool! [_A pause._
What have I done but that which nature destin'd
Or the blind elements stirr'd up within me? 115
If good were meant, why were we made these beings?
And if not meant----
_Ferdinand._ How feel you now, my lord?
[_OSORIO starts, looks at him wildly, then, after a
pause, during which his features are forced
into a smile._
_Osorio._ A gust of the soul! i'faith, it overset me.
O 'twas all folly--all! idle as laughter!
Now, Ferdinand, I swear that thou shalt aid me. 120
_Ferdinand (in a low voice)._ I'll perish first! Shame on my
coward heart,
That I must slink away from wickedness
Like a cow'd dog!
_Osorio._ What dost thou mutter of?
_Ferdinand._ Some of your servants know me, I am certain.
_Osorio._ There's some sense in that scruple; but we'll mask you. 125
_Ferdinand._ They'll know my gait. But stay! of late I have
watch'd
A stranger that lives nigh, still picking weeds,
Now in the swamp, now on the walls of the ruin,
Now clamb'ring, like a runaway lunatic,
Up to the summit of our highest mount. 130
I have watch'd him at it morning-tide and noon,
Once in the moonlight. Then I stood so near,
I heard him mutt'ring o'er the plant. A wizard!
Some gaunt slave, prowling out for dark employments.
_Osorio._ What may his name be?
_Ferdinand._ That I cannot tell you. 135
Only Francesco bade an officer
Speak in your name, as lord of this domain.
So he was question'd, who and what he was.
This was his answer: Say to the Lord Osorio,
'He that can bring the dead to life again.' 140
_Osorio._ A strange reply!
_Ferdinand._ Aye--all of him is strange.
He call'd himself a Christian--yet he wears
The Moorish robe, as if he courted death.
_Osorio._ Where does this wizard live?
_Ferdinand (pointing to a distance)._ You see that brooklet?
Trace its course backward thro' a narrow opening 145
It leads you to the place.
_Osorio._ How shall I know it?
_Ferdinand._ You can't mistake. It is a small green dale
Built all around with high off-sloping hills,
And from its shape our peasants aptly call it
The Giant's Cradle. There's a lake in the midst, 150
And round its banks tall wood, that branches over
And makes a kind of faery forest grow
Down in the water. At the further end
A puny cataract falls on the lake;
And there (a curious sight) you see its shadow 155
For ever curling, like a wreath of smoke,
Up through the foliage of those faery trees.
His cot stands opposite--you cannot miss it.
Some three yards up the hill a mountain ash
Stretches its lower boughs and scarlet clusters 160
O'er the new thatch.
_Osorio._ I shall not fail to find it.
[_Exit OSORIO. FERDINAND goes into his house._
_Scene changes._
_The inside of a cottage, around which flowers and plants of various
kinds are seen._
_ALBERT and MAURICE._
_Albert._ He doth believe himself an iron soul,
And therefore puts he on an iron outward
And those same mock habiliments of strength
Hide his own weakness from himself.
_Maurice._ His weakness! 165
Come, come, speak out! Your brother is a villain!
Yet all the wealth, power, influence, which is yours
You suffer him to hold!
_Albert._ Maurice! dear Maurice!
That my return involved Osorio's death
I trust would give me an unmingl'd pang-- 170
Yet bearable. But when I see my father
Strewing his scant grey hairs even on the ground
Which soon must be his grave; and my Maria,
Her husband proved a monster, and her infants
His infants--poor Maria!--all would perish, 175
All perish--all!--and I (nay bear with me!)
Could not survive the complicated ruin!
_Maurice (much affected)._ Nay, now, if I have distress'd you--you
well know,
I ne'er will quit your fortunes! true, 'tis tiresome.
You are a painter--one of many fancies-- 180
You can call up past deeds, and make them live
On the blank canvas, and each little herb,
That grows on mountain bleak, or tangled forest,
You've learnt to name--but _I_----
_Albert._ Well, to the Netherlands
We will return, the heroic Prince of Orange 185
Will grant us an asylum, in remembrance
Of our past service.
_Maurice._ Heard you not some steps?
_Albert._ What if it were my brother coming onward!
Not very wisely (but his creature teiz'd me)
I sent a most mysterious message to him. 190
_Maurice._ Would he not know you?
_Albert._ I unfearingly
Trust this disguise. Besides, he thinks me dead;
And what the mind believes impossible,
The bodily sense is slow to recognize.
Add too my youth, when last we saw each other; 195
Manhood has swell'd my chest, and taught my voice
A hoarser note.
_Maurice._ Most true! And Alva's Duke
Did not improve it by the unwholesome viands
He gave so scantily in that foul dungeon,
During our long imprisonment.
_Enter OSORIO._
_Albert._ It is he! 200
_Maurice._ Make yourself talk; you'll feel the less. Come, speak.
How do you find yourself? Speak to me, Albert.
_Albert (placing his hand on his heart)._ A little fluttering
here; but more of sorrow!
_Osorio._ You know my name, perhaps, better than me.
I am Osorio, son of the Lord Velez. 205
_Albert (groaning aloud)._ The son of Velez!
[_OSORIO walks leisurely round the room, and looks
attentively at the plants._
_Maurice._ Why, what ails you now?
[_ALBERT grasps MAURICE'S hand in agitation._
_Maurice._ How your hand trembles, Albert! Speak! what wish you?
_Albert._ To fall upon his neck and weep in anguish!
_Osorio (returning)._ All very curious! from a ruin'd abbey
Pluck'd in the moonlight. There's a strange power in weeds 210
When a few odd prayers have been mutter'd o'er them.
Then they work miracles! I warrant you,
There's not a leaf, but underneath it lurks
Some serviceable imp. There's one of you,
Who sent me a strange message.
_Albert._ I am he! 215
_Osorio._ I will speak with you, and by yourself.
[_Exit MAURICE._
_Osorio._ 'He that can bring the dead to life again.'
Such was your message, Sir! You are no dullard,
But one that strips the outward rind of things!
_Albert._ 'Tis fabled there are fruits with tempting rinds 220
That are all dust and rottenness within.
Would'st thou I should strip such?
_Osorio._ Thou quibbling fool,
What dost thou mean? Think'st thou I journey'd hither
To sport with thee?
_Albert._ No, no! my lord! to sport
Best fits the gaiety of innocence! 225
_Osorio (draws back as if stung and embarrassed, then folding his
arms)._ O what a thing is Man! the wisest heart
A fool--a fool, that laughs at its own folly,
Yet still a fool! [_Looks round the cottage._
It strikes me you are poor!
_Albert._ What follows thence?
_Osorio._ That you would fain be richer.
Besides, you do not love the rack, perhaps, 230
Nor a black dungeon, nor a fire of faggots.
The Inquisition--hey? You understand me,
And you are poor. Now I have wealth and power,
Can quench the flames, and cure your poverty.
And for this service, all I ask you is 235
That you should serve me--once--for a few hours.
_Albert (solemnly)._ Thou art the son of Velez! Would to Heaven
That I could truly and for ever serve thee!
_Osorio._ The canting scoundrel softens. [_Aside._
You are my friend!
'He that can bring the dead to life again.' 240
Nay, no defence to me. The holy brethren
Believe these calumnies. I know thee better.
[_Then with great bitterness._
Thou art a man, and as a man I'll trust thee!
_Albert._ Alas, this hollow mirth! Declare your business!
_Osorio._ I love a lady, and she would love me 245
But for an idle and fantastic scruple.
Have you no servants round the house? no listeners?
[_OSORIO steps to the door._
_Albert._ What! faithless too? false to his angel wife?
To such a wife? Well might'st thou look so wan,
Ill-starr'd Maria! Wretch! my softer soul 250
Is pass'd away! and I will probe his conscience.
_Osorio (returned)._ In truth this lady loved another man,
But he has perish'd.
_Albert._ What? you kill'd him? hey?
_Osorio._ I'll dash thee to the earth, if thou but think'st it,
Thou slave! thou galley-slave! thou mountebank! 255
I leave thee to the hangman!
_Albert._ Fare you well!
I pity you, Osorio! even to anguish!
[_ALBERT retires off the stage._
_Osorio (recovering himself)._ 'Twas ideotcy! I'll tie myself to
an aspen,
And wear a Fool's Cap. Ho! [_Calling after ALBERT._
_Albert (returning)._ Be brief, what wish you?
_Osorio._ You are deep at bartering--you charge yourself 260
At a round sum. Come, come, I spake unwisely.
_Albert._ I listen to you.
_Osorio._ In a sudden tempest
Did Albert perish--he, I mean, the lover--
The fellow----
_Albert._ Nay, speak out, 'twill ease your heart
To call him villain! Why stand'st thou aghast? 265
Men think it natural to hate their rivals!
_Osorio (hesitating and half doubting whether he should proceed)._
Now till she knows him dead she will not wed me!
_Albert (with eager vehemence)._ Are you not wedded, then?
Merciful God!
Not wedded to Maria?
_Osorio._ Why, what ails thee?
Art mad or drunk? Why look'st thou upward so? 270
Dost pray to Lucifer, prince of the air?
_Albert._ Proceed. I shall be silent.
[_ALBERT sits, and leaning on the table hides his face._
_Osorio._ To Maria!
Politic wizard! ere you sent that message,
You had conn'd your lesson, made yourself proficient
In all my fortunes! Hah! you prophesied 275
A golden crop!--well, you have not mistaken--
Be faithful to me, and I'll pay thee nobly.
_Albert (lifting up his head)._ Well--and this lady!
_Osorio._ If we could make her certain of his death,
She needs must wed me. Ere her lover left her, 280
She tied a little portrait round his neck
Entreating him to wear it.
_Albert (sighing)._ Yes! he did so!
_Osorio._ Why, no! he was afraid of accidents,
Of robberies and shipwrecks, and the like.
In secrecy he gave it me to keep 285
Till his return.
_Albert._ What, he was your friend then?
_Osorio (wounded and embarrassed)._ I was his friend.
[_A pause._
Now that he gave it me
This lady knows not. You are a mighty wizard--
Can call this dead man up--he will not come-- 290
He is in heaven then!--there you have no influence--
Still there are tokens; and your imps may bring you
Something he wore about him when he died.
And when the smoke of the incense on the altar
Is pass'd, your spirits will have left this picture. 295
What say you now?
_Albert (after a long pause)._ Osorio, I will do it.
_Osorio._ Delays are dangerous. It shall be to-morrow
In the early evening. Ask for the Lord Velez.
I will prepare him. Music, too, and incense,
All shall be ready. Here is this same picture-- 300
And here what you will value more, a purse.
Before the dusk----
_Albert._ I will not fail to meet you.
_Osorio._ Till next we meet, farewell!
_Albert (alone, gazes passionately at the portrait)._ And I did
curse thee?
At midnight? on my knees? And I believed
_Thee_ perjured, _thee_ polluted, thee a murderess? 305
O blind and credulous fool! O guilt of folly!
Should not thy inarticulate fondnesses,
Thy infant loves--should not thy maiden vows,
Have come upon my heart? And this sweet image
Tied round my neck with many a chaste endearment 310
And thrilling hands, that made me weep and tremble.
Ah, coward dupe! to yield it to the miscreant
Who spake pollutions of thee!
I am unworthy of thy love, Maria!
Of that unearthly smile upon those lips, 315
Which ever smil'd on me! Yet do not scorn me.
I lisp'd thy name ere I had learnt my mother's!
_Enter MAURICE._
_Albert._ Maurice! that picture, which I painted for thee,
Of my assassination.
_Maurice._ I'll go fetch it.
_Albert._ Haste! for I yearn to tell thee what has pass'd. 320
[_MAURICE goes out._
_Albert (gazing at the portrait)._ Dear image! rescued from a
traitor's keeping,
I will not now prophane thee, holy image!
To a dark trick! That worst bad man shall find
A picture which shall wake the hell within him,
And rouse a fiery whirlwind in his conscience! 325
END OF ACT THE SECOND.
LINENOTES:
[Before 1]
_A wild and mountainous Country. ORDONIO and ISIDORE are discovered,
supposed at a little distance from Isidore's house._
_Ord._ Here we may stop: your house distinct in view,
Yet we secured from listeners.
_Isid._ Now indeed
My house! and it looks cheerful as the clusters
Basking in sunshine on yon vine-clad rock
That overbrows it! Patron! Friend! Preserver!
Thrice have you sav'd my life.
Remorse.
[6] Had been my bed and pillow Remorse.
[12] And how, my Lord, I pray you to name Remorse.
[14] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[17] this world] mankind Remorse.
[19] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[Between 24 and 26]
Why you can utter with a solemn gesture
Oracular sentences of deep no-meaning
Remorse.
[27-8] The words in square brackets are interpolated in MS. I. They are
in their place, as here, in MSS. II, III, and in Remorse.
[31] on] upon Remorse.
[34-5]
And such do love the marvellous too well
Not to believe it. We will wind up her fancy
Remorse.
[Between 40 and 41]
_Isid._ Will that be a sure sign?
_Ord._ Beyond suspicion.
Fondly caressing him, her favour'd lover,
(By some base spell he had bewitched her senses.)
She whisper'd such dark fears of me forsooth,
As made this heart pour gall into my veins,
And as she coyly bound it round his neck,
She made him promise silence; and now holds
The secret of the existence of this portrait
Known only to her lover and herself.
But I had traced her, stolen unnotic'd on them,
And unsuspected saw and heard the whole.
Remorse.
[41] _Isid._ But now, &c. Remorse.
[44-7] om. Remorse.
[47] _Isidore._ Why--why, my lord! Remorse.
[Between 50 and 53]
Return'd, yourself, and she, and the honour of both
Must perish. Now though with no tenderer scruples
Than those which being native to the heart,
Than those, my lord, which merely being a man--
Remorse.
Stage-direction before 53 om. Remorse.
[55-6]
These doubts, these fears, thy whine, thy stammering--
Pish, fool! thou blund'rest through the book of guilt
Remorse.
[After 63] _Ord._ Virtue-- Remorse.
[64] _Isid._ Tries to o'erreach me, &c. Remorse.
[66] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[68] And those, the two Morescoes who were with you? Remorse.
[75] Am not I a man? Remorse.
[81] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[84] which] that Remorse.
[93] his] its Remorse.
[94] That woman is dishonoured Remorse.
[98] him] his Remorse.
[100] last] length Remorse.
[103] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[104] He was his Maker's image undefac'd Remorse.
[106] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[111] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[113] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[117] _Isidore._ You are disturb'd, my lord Remorse.
[After 117] _Ord. (starts)._ A gust, &c. Remorse.
[121-3] Shame . . . dog om. Remorse.
[Between 125 and 140.]
_Isidore._ They'll know my gait: but stay! last night I watched
A stranger near the ruin in the wood,
Who as it seemed was gathering herbs and wild flowers.
I had followed him at distance, seen him scale
Its western wall, and by an easier entrance
Stole after him unnoticed. There I marked,
That mid the chequer work of light and shade,
With curious choice he plucked no other flowers,
But those on which the moonlight fell: and once
I heard him muttering o'er the plant. A wizard--
Some gaunt slave prowling here for dark employment.
_Ordonio._ Doubtless you question'd him?
_Isidore._ 'Twas my intention,
Having first traced him homeward to his haunt.
But lo! the stern Dominican, whose spies
Lurk everywhere, already (as it seemed)
Had given commission to his apt familiar
To seek and sound the Moor; who now returning,
Was by this trusty agent stopped midway.
I, dreading fresh suspicion if found near him
In that lone place, again concealed myself;
Yet within hearing. So the Moor was question'd,
And in your name, as lord of this domain,
Proudly he answered, 'Say to the Lord Ordonio,
Remorse.
[143] robe] robes Remorse.
[144] Stage-direction, _a_] _the_ Remorse.
[147] You cannot err. It is a small green dell Remorse.
[Between 158 and 205:]
_Ordonio (in retiring stops suddenly at the edge of the scene, and
then turning round to ISIDORE)._ Ha! Who lurks there! Have we been
overheard?
There where the smooth high wall of slate-rock glitters----
_Isidore._ 'Neath those tall stones, which propping each the other,
Form a mock portal with their pointed arch?
Pardon my smiles! 'Tis a poor idiot boy,
Who sits in the sun, and twirls a bough about,
His weak eyes seeth'd in most unmeaning tears.
And so he sits, swaying his cone-like head,
And, staring at his bough from morn to sun-set,
See-saws his voice in inarticulate noises.
_Ordonio._ 'Tis well! and now for this same wizard's lair.
_Isidore._ Some three strides up the hill, a mountain ash
Stretches its lower boughs and scarlet clusters
O'er the old thatch.
_Ordonio._ I shall not fail to find it.
[_Exeunt ORDONIO and ISIDORE._
SCENE II.
_The inside of a Cottage, around which flowers and plants of various
kinds are seen. Discovers ALVAR, ZULIMEZ and ALHADRA, as on the point of
leaving._
_Alhadra (addressing ALVAR)._ Farewell then! and though many thoughts
perplex me,
Aught evil or ignoble never can I
Suspect of thee! If what thou seem'st thou art,
The oppressed brethren of thy blood have need
Of such a leader.
_Alvar._ Nobly minded woman!
Long time against oppression have I fought,
And for the native liberty of faith
Have bled and suffered bonds. Of this be certain:
Time, as he courses onward, still unrolls
The volume of concealment. In the future,
As in the optician's glassy cylinder,
The indistinguishable blots and colours
Of the dim past collect and shape themselves,
Upstarting in their own completed image
To scare or to reward.
I sought the guilty,
And what I sought I found: but ere the spear
Flew from my hand, there rose an angel form
Betwixt me and my aim. With baffled purpose
To the Avenger I leave Vengeance, and depart!
Whate'er betide, if aught my arm may aid,
Or power protect, my word is pledged to thee:
For many are thy wrongs, and thy soul noble.
Once more, farewell. [_Exit ALHADRA._
Yes, to the Belgic states
We will return. These robes, this stained complexion,
Akin to falsehood, weigh upon my spirit.
Whate'er befall us, the heroic Maurice
Will grant us an asylum, in remembrance
Of our past services.
_Zulimez._ And all the wealth, power, influence which is yours,
You let a murderer hold?
_Alvar._ O faithful Zulimez!
That my return involved Ordonio's death,
I trust, would give me an unmingled pang,
Yet bearable:--but when I see my father
Strewing his scant grey hairs, e'en on the ground,
Which soon must be his grave, and my Teresa--
Her husband proved a murderer, and her infants
His infants--poor Teresa!--all would perish,
All perish--all; and I (nay bear with me)
Could not survive the complicated ruin!
_Zulimez._ Nay now! I have distress'd you--you well know,
I ne'er will quit your fortunes. True, 'tis tiresome:
You are a painter, one of many fancies!
You can call up past deeds, and make them live
On the blank canvass! and each little herb,
That grows on mountain bleak, or tangled forest,
You have learnt to name--
Hark! heard you not some footsteps?
_Alvar._ What if it were my brother coming onwards?
I sent a most mysterious message to him.
_Enter ORDONIO._
_Alvar._ It is he!
_Ordonio (to himself as he enters)._ If I distinguished right her gait
and stature,
It was the Moorish woman, Isidore's wife,
That passed me as I entered. A lit taper,
In the night air, doth not more naturally
Attract the night flies round it, than a conjuror
Draws round him the whole female neighbourhood. [_Addressing ALVAR._
You know my name, I guess, if not my person.
Remorse.
[For lines 31-46 of Remorse, Act II, Scene II, vide _supra_ Osorio, Act
II, Scene II, lines 169-84.]
Stage-direction preceding 162:
_Albert and an old servant both drest as Morescoes._ Corr. in MS. III.
[162-6] MS. III erased.
[167-8]
And all the wealth, power, influence, which is yours
You let a murderer hold!
_Albert._ O faithful Ali
Corr. in MS. III.
[184-7]
_Albert._ Yes to the Netherlands
We will return, these robes this stained complexion
Akin to Falsehood, weigh upon my spirit
What e'er befal us, the heroic Maurice
Will grant us an asylum, in remembrance
Of our past service.
Corr. in MS. III.
[200] After _Enter OSORIO._
Be quick
Remove these tablets--quick conceal it--
Corr. in MS. III.
[201-3] om. MS. III.
Stage-directions (_groaning_, &c.) before 206, and (_Albert_, &c.) after
206 om. Remorse.
[206] _Zul. (to Alvar)._ Why, &c. Remorse.
[208] in anguish] forgiveness Remorse.
[209-10]
_Ord. (returning and aloud)._
Plucked in the moonlight from a ruin'd abbey--
Those only, which the pale rays visited!
O the unintelligible power of weeds,
Remorse.
[215] Who] Hath Remorse.
[216]
_Ord._ With you, then, I am to speak.
[_Haughtily waving his hand to ZULIMEZ._
And mark you, alone. [_Exit ZULIMEZ._
Remorse.
[224] No, no!] O no! Remorse.
[225] fits] suits Remorse.
[Before 226] _Ord. (aside)._ O what a, &c. Remorse.
[228]
Yet still a fool! [_Looks round the cottage._
You are poor!
Remorse.
[230-3]
The Inquisition, too--You comprehend me?
You are poor, in peril. I have wealth and power
Remorse.
[235] And for the boon I ask of you but this Remorse.
[237] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[239]
_Ord._ The slave begins to soften. [_aside._
You are my friend
Remorse.
[After 242] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[244] _Alv. (aside)._ Alas! &c. Remorse.
[247] Have you no servants here, &c.? Remorse.
[252] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[255-9]
Insolent slave! how dar'dst thou--
[_Turns abruptly from ALVAR, and then to himself._
Why! What's this?
'Twas idiocy! I'll tie myself to an aspen,
And wear a fool's cap--
_Alvar._ Fare thee well--
I pity thee, Ordonio, even to anguish. [_ALVAR is retiring._
_Ordonio._ Ho! [_Calling to ALVAR._
_Alvar._ Be brief, &c.
Remorse.
[267] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[268] Stage-direction om. Remorse. God] Heaven Remorse.
[270] What, art thou mad? Why look'st thou upward so? Remorse.
[272] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[278] Stage-direction om. Remorse. Well--and this lady! Pray, proceed my
lord MS. III. erased.
[282] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[Before and after 287] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[290] this] the Remorse.
[296] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[297] _Ordonio._ We'll hazard no delay. Be it to-night, Remorse.
[300-2]
(For I have arranged it--music, altar, incense)
All shall be ready. Here is this same picture,
And here, what you will value more, a purse.
Come early for your magic ceremonies.
Remorse.
[303] _Exit ORDONIO. ALVAR (alone, indignantly flings the purse away and
gazes_, &c. Remorse.
[305] Thee perjur'd, thee a traitress! Thee dishonour'd! Remorse.
[Between 312 and 313:]
Who spake pollution of thee! barter for life
This farewell pledge, which with impassioned vow
I had sworn that I would grasp--ev'n in my death-pang!
Remorse.
Affixed to 318-19 omitted. (_Ali re-enters_).
Ali! new Hope, new joy! A life thrills thro' me
As if renew'd from Heaven! Bring back that tablet
Restor'd to me by a fortunate Star. This picture
Of my assassination will I leave
As the token of my Fate:--
Haste, for I yearn to tell thee what has pass'd [_Exit Ali._
MS. III.
[318-20] and stage-directions [_Maurice_, &c.; (_gazing_, &c.) om.
Remorse.
[321] image] portrait Remorse.
[324] shall] will Remorse.
ACT THE THIRD
SCENE THE FIRST.--_A hall of armory, with an altar in the part farthest
from the stage._
_VELEZ, OSORIO, MARIA._
_Maria._ Lord Velez! you have ask'd my presence here,
And I submit; but (Heaven bear witness for me!)
My heart approves it not! 'tis mockery!
[_Here ALBERT enters in a sorcerer's robe._
_Maria (to Albert)._ Stranger! I mourn and blush to see _you_ here
On such employments! With far other thoughts 5
I left you.
_Osorio (aside)._ Ha! he has been tampering with her!
_Albert._ O high-soul'd maiden, and more dear to me
Than suits the stranger's name, I swear to thee,
I will uncover all concealed things!
Doubt, but decide not!
Stand from off the altar. 10
[_Here a strain of music is heard from behind the
scenes, from an instrument of glass or
steel--the harmonica or Celestina stop, or
Clagget's metallic organ._
_Albert._ With no irreverent voice or uncouth charm
I call up the departed. Soul of Albert!
Hear our soft suit, and heed my milder spells:
So may the gates of Paradise unbarr'd
Cease thy swift toils, since haply thou art one 15
Of that innumerable company,
Who in broad circle, lovelier than the rainbow,
Girdle this round earth in a dizzy motion,
With noise too vast and constant to be heard--
Fitliest unheard! For, O ye numberless 20
And rapid travellers! what ear unstun'd,
What sense unmadden'd, might bear up against
The rushing of your congregated wings?
Even now your living wheel turns o'er my head!
Ye, as ye pass, toss high the desart sands, 25
That roar and whiten, like a burst of waters,
A sweet appearance, but a dread illusion,
To the parch'd caravan that roams by night.
And ye build up on the becalmed waves
That whirling pillar, which from earth to heaven 30
Stands vast, and moves in blackness. Ye too split
The ice-mount, and with fragments many and huge,
Tempest the new-thaw'd sea, whose sudden gulphs
Suck in, perchance, some Lapland wizard's skiff.
Then round and round the whirlpool's marge ye dance, 35
Till from the blue-swoln corse the soul toils out,
And joins your mighty army.
Soul of Albert!
Hear the mild spell and tempt no blacker charm.
By sighs unquiet and the sickly pang
Of an half dead yet still undying hope, 40
Pass visible before our mortal sense;
So shall the Church's cleansing rites be thine,
Her knells and masses that redeem the dead.
THE SONG
(_Sung behind the scenes, accompanied by the same
instrument as before._)
Hear, sweet spirit! hear the spell
Lest a blacker charm compel! 45
So shall the midnight breezes swell
With thy deep long-lingering knell.
And at evening evermore
In a chapel on the shore
Shall the chanters sad and saintly, 50
Yellow tapers burning faintly,
Doleful masses chant for thee,
Miserere, Domine!
Hark! the cadence dies away
On the quiet moonlight sea, 55
The boatmen rest their oars, and say,
Miserere, Domine! [_A long pause._
_Osorio._ This was too melancholy, father!
_Velez._ Nay!
My Albert lov'd sad music from a child.
Once he was lost; and after weary search 60
We found him in an open place of the wood,
To which spot he had follow'd a blind boy
Who breathed into a pipe of sycamore
Some strangely-moving notes, and these, he said,
Were taught him in a dream; him we first saw 65
Stretch'd on the broad top of a sunny heath-bank;
And, lower down, poor Albert fast asleep,
His head upon the blind boy's dog--it pleased me
To mark, how he had fasten'd round the pipe
A silver toy, his grandmother had given him. 70
Methinks I see him now, as he then look'd.
His infant dress was grown too short for him,
Yet still he wore it.
_Albert (aside)._ My tears must not flow--
I must not clasp his knees, and cry, my father!
_Osorio._ The innocent obey nor charm nor spell. 75
My brother is in heaven. Thou sainted spirit
Burst on our sight, a passing visitant!
Once more to hear thy voice, once more to see thee,
O 'twere a joy to me.
_Albert (abruptly)._ A joy to thee!
What if thou heard'st him now? What if his spirit 80
Re-enter'd its cold corse, and came upon thee,
With many a stab from many a murderer's poniard?
What if, his steadfast eye still beaming pity
And brother's love, he turn'd his head aside,
Lest he should look at thee, and with one look 85
Hurl thee beyond all power of penitence?
_Velez._ These are unholy fancies!
_Osorio (struggling with his feelings)._ Yes, my father!
He is in heaven!
_Albert (still to Osorio)._ But what if this same brother
Had lived even so, that at his dying hour
The name of heaven would have convuls'd his face 90
More than the death-pang?
_Maria._ Idly-prating man!
He was most virtuous.
_Albert (still to Osorio)._ What if his very virtues
Had pamper'd his swoln heart, and made him proud?
And what if pride had duped him into guilt,
Yet still he stalk'd, a self-created God, 95
Not very bold, but excellently cunning;
And one that at his mother's looking-glass,
Would force his features to a frowning sternness?
Young lord! I tell thee, that there are such beings,--
Yea, and it gives fierce merriment to the damn'd, 100
To see these most proud men, that loathe mankind,
At every stir and buz of coward conscience,
Trick, cant, and lie, most whining hypocrites!
Away! away! Now let me hear more music. [_Music as before._
_Albert._ The spell is mutter'd--come, thou wandering shape, 105
Who own'st no master in an eye of flesh,
Whate'er be this man's doom, fair be it or foul,
If he be dead, come quick, and bring with thee
That which he grasp'd in death; and if he lives,
Some token of his obscure perilous life. 110
[_The whole orchestra crashes into one chorus._
Wandering demon! hear the spell
Lest a blacker charm compel!
[_A thunder-clap. The incense on the altar takes
fire suddenly._
_Maria._ This is some trick--I know, it is a trick.
Yet my weak fancy, and these bodily creepings,
Would fain give substance to the shadow.[555:1]
_Velez (advancing to the altar)._ Hah! 115
A picture!
_Maria._ O God! _my_ picture?
_Albert (gazing at Maria with wild impatient distressfulness)._
Pale--pale--deadly pale!
_Maria._ He grasp'd it when he died.
[_She swoons. ALBERT rushes to her and supports her._
_Albert._ My love! my wife!
Pale--pale, and cold! My love! my wife! Maria!
[_VELEZ is at the altar. OSORIO remains near him in a
state of stupor._
_Osorio (rousing himself)._ Where am I? 'Twas a lazy chilliness. 120
_Velez (takes and conceals the picture in his robe)._ This way, my
son! She must not see this picture.
Go, call the attendants! Life will soon ebb back!
[_VELEZ and OSORIO leave the stage._
_Albert._ Her pulse doth flutter. Maria! my Maria!
_Maria (recovering--looks round)._ I heard a voice--but often in
my dreams,
I hear that voice, and wake; and try, and try, 125
To hear it waking--but I never could!
And 'tis so now--even so! Well, he is dead,
Murder'd perhaps! and I am faint, and feel
As if it were no painful thing to die!
_Albert (eagerly)._ Believe it not, sweet maid! believe it not, 130
Beloved woman! 'Twas a low imposture
Framed by a guilty wretch.
_Maria._ Ha! who art thou?
_Albert (exceedingly agitated)._ My heart bursts over thee!
_Maria._ Didst _thou_ murder him?
And dost thou now repent? Poor troubled man!
I do forgive thee, and may Heaven forgive thee! 135
_Albert (aside)._ Let me be gone.
_Maria._ If thou didst murder him,
His spirit ever, at the throne of God,
Asks mercy for thee, prays for mercy for thee,
With tears in heaven!
_Albert._ Albert was not murder'd.
Your foster-mother----
_Maria._ And doth she know aught? 140
_Albert._ She knows not aught--but haste thou to her cottage
To-morrow early--bring Lord Velez with thee.
There ye must meet me--but your servants come.
_Maria (wildly)._ Nay--nay--but tell me!
[_A pause--then presses her forehead._
Ah! 'tis lost again!
This dead confused pain! [_A pause--she gazes at ALBERT._
Mysterious man! 145
Methinks, I cannot fear thee--for thine eye
Doth swim with pity--I will lean on thee.
[_Exeunt ALBERT and MARIA._
_Re-enter VELEZ and OSORIO._
_Velez (sportively)._ You shall not see the picture, till you own
it.[556:1]
_Osorio._ This mirth and raillery, sir! beseem your age.
I am content to be more serious.[556:2] 150
_Velez._ Do you think I did not scent it from the first?
An excellent scheme, and excellently managed.
'Twill blow away her doubts, and now she'll wed you,
I'faith, the likeness is most admirable.
I saw the trick--yet these old eyes grew dimmer 155
With very foolish tears, it look'd so like him!
_Osorio._ Where should I get her portrait?
_Velez._ Get her portrait?
Portrait? You mean the picture! At the painter's--
No difficulty then--but that you lit upon
A fellow that could play the sorcerer, 160
With such a grace and terrible majesty,
It was most rare good fortune. And how deeply
He seem'd to suffer when Maria swoon'd,
And half made love to her! I suppose you'll ask me
Why did he so?
_Osorio (with deep tones of suppressed agitation)._ Ay, wherefore
did he so? 165
_Velez._ Because you bade him--and an excellent thought!
A mighty man, and gentle as he is mighty.
He'll wind into her confidence, and rout
A host of scruples--come, confess, Osorio!
_Osorio._ You pierce through mysteries with a lynx's eye, 170
In this, your merry mood! you see it all!
_Velez._ Why, no!--not all. I have not yet discover'd,
At least, not wholly, what his speeches meant.
Pride and hypocrisy, and guilt and cunning--
Then when he fix'd his obstinate eye on you, 175
And you pretended to look strange and tremble.
Why--why--what ails you now?
_Osorio (with a stupid stare)._ Me? why? what ails me?
A pricking of the blood--it might have happen'd
At any other time. Why scan you me?
_Velez (clapping him on the shoulder)._ 'Twon't do--'twon't do--I
have lived too long in the world. 180
His speech about the corse and stabs and murderers,
Had reference to the assassins in the picture:
That I made out.
_Osorio (with a frantic eagerness)._ Assassins! what assassins!
_Velez._ Well-acted, on my life! Your curiosity
Runs open-mouth'd, ravenous as winter wolf. 185
I dare not stand in its way. [_He shows OSORIO the picture._
_Osorio._ Dup'd--dup'd--dup'd!
That villain Ferdinand! (_aside_).
_Velez._ Dup'd--dup'd--not I.
As he swept by me----
_Osorio._ Ha! _what_ did he say?
_Velez._ He caught his garment up and hid his face.
It seem'd as he were struggling to suppress---- 190
_Osorio._ A laugh! a laugh! O hell! he laughs at me!
_Velez._ It heaved his chest more like a violent sob.
_Osorio._ A choking laugh! [_A pause--then very wildly._
I tell thee, my dear father!
I am most glad of this!
_Velez._ Glad!--aye--to be sure.
_Osorio._ I was benumb'd, and stagger'd up and down 195
Thro' darkness without light--dark--dark--dark--
And every inch of this my flesh did feel
As if a cold toad touch'd it! Now 'tis sunshine,
And the blood dances freely thro' its channels!
[_He turns off--then (to himself) mimicking FERDINAND'S
manner._[558:1]
'A common trick of gratitude, my lord! 200
Old Gratitude! a dagger would dissect
His own full heart,' 'twere good to see its colour!
_Velez (looking intently at the picture)._ Calm, yet commanding!
how he bares his breast,
Yet still they stand with dim uncertain looks,
As penitence had run before their crime. 205
A crime too black for aught to follow it
Save blasphemous despair! See _this_ man's face--
With what a difficult toil he drags his soul
To do the deed. [_Then to OSORIO._
O this was delicate flattery
To poor Maria, and I love thee for it! 210
_Osorio (in a slow voice with a reasoning laugh)._ Love--love--and
then we hate--and what? and wherefore?
Hatred and love. Strange things! both strange alike!
What if one reptile sting another reptile,
Where is the crime? The goodly face of Nature
Hath one trail less of slimy filth upon it. 215
Are we not all predestined rottenness
And cold dishonor? Grant it that this hand
Had given a morsel to the hungry worms
Somewhat too early. Where's the guilt of this?
That this must needs bring on the idiotcy 220
Of moist-eyed penitence--'tis like a dream!
_Velez._ Wild talk, my child! but thy excess of feeling
[_Turns off from OSORIO._
Sometimes, I fear, it will unhinge his brain!
_Osorio._ I kill a man and lay him in the sun,
And in a month there swarm from his dead body 225
A thousand--nay, ten thousand sentient beings
In place of that one man whom I had kill'd.
Now who shall tell me, that each one and all,
Of these ten thousand lives, is not as happy
As that one life, which being shov'd aside 230
Made room for these ten thousand?[559:1]
_Velez._ Wild as madness!
_Osorio._ Come, father! you have taught me to be merry,
And merrily we'll pore upon this picture.
_Velez (holding the picture before Osorio)._ That Moor, who points
his sword at Albert's breast----
_Osorio (abruptly)._ A tender-hearted, scrupulous, grateful
villain, 235
Whom I will strangle!
_Velez._ And these other two----
_Osorio._ Dead--dead already!--what care I for the dead?
_Velez._ The heat of brain and your too strong affection
For Albert, fighting with your other passion,
Unsettle you, and give reality 240
To these your own contrivings.
_Osorio._ Is it so?
You see through all things with _your_ penetration.
Now I am calm. How fares it with Maria?
My heart doth ache to see her.
_Velez._ Nay--defer it!
Defer it, dear Osorio! I will go. [_Exit VELEZ._ 245
_Osorio._ A rim of the sun lies yet upon the sea--
And now 'tis gone! all may be done this night!
_Enter a_ Servant.
_Osorio._ There is a man, once a Moresco chieftain,
One Ferdinand.
_Servant._ He lives in the Alpuxarras,
Beneath a slate rock.
_Osorio._ Slate rock?
_Servant._ Yes, my lord! 250
If you had seen it, you must have remember'd
The flight of steps his children had worn up it
With often clambering.
_Osorio._ Well, it may be so.
_Servant._ Why, now I think on't, at this time of the year
'Tis hid by vines.
_Osorio (in a muttering voice)._ The cavern--aye--the cavern.
He cannot fail to find it. [_To the_ Servant. 255
Where art going?
You must deliver to this Ferdinand
A letter. Stay till I have written it. [_Exit the_ Servant.
_Osorio (alone)._ The tongue can't stir when the mouth is fill'd
with mould.
A little earth stops up most eloquent mouths, 260
And a square stone with a few pious texts
Cut neatly on it, keeps the earth down tight.
_Scene changes to the space before the castle._
_FRANCESCO and a_ Spy.
_Francesco._ Yes! yes! I have the key of all their lives.
If a man fears me, he is forced to love me.
And if I can, and do not ruin him, 265
He is fast bound to serve and honour me!
[_ALBERT enters from the castle, and is crossing
the stage._
_Spy._ There--there--your Reverence! That is the sorcerer.
[_FRANCESCO runs up and rudely catches hold of
ALBERT. ALBERT dashes him to the earth.
FRANCESCO and the_ Spy _make an uproar,
and the servants rush from out the
castle._
_Francesco._ Seize, seize and gag him! or the Church curses you!
[_The servants seize and gag ALBERT._
_Enter VELEZ and OSORIO._
_Osorio (aside)._ This is most lucky!
_Francesco (inarticulate with rage)._ See you this, Lord Velez?
Good evidence have I of most foul sorcery, 270
And in the name of Holy Church command you
To give me up the keys--the keys, my lord!
Of that same dungeon-hole beneath your castle.
This imp of hell--but we delay enquiry
Till to Granada we have convoy'd him. 275
_Osorio (to the Servants)._ Why haste you not? Go, fly and
dungeon him!
Then bring the keys and give them to his Reverence.
[_The_ Servants _hurry off ALBERT. OSORIO goes up
to FRANCESCO, and pointing at ALBERT._
_Osorio (with a laugh)._ 'He that can bring the dead to life
again.'
_Francesco._ What? did _you_ hear it?
_Osorio._ Yes, and plann'd this scheme
To bring conviction on him. Ho! a wizard, 280
Thought I--but where's the proof! I plann'd this scheme.
The scheme has answer'd--we have proof enough.
_Francesco._ My lord, your pious policy astounds me.
I trust my honest zeal----
_Osorio._ Nay, reverend father!
It has but raised my veneration for you. 285
But 'twould be well to stop all intertalk
Between my servants and this child of darkness.
_Francesco._ My lord! with speed I'll go, make swift return,
And humbly redeliver you the keys. [_Exit FRANCESCO._
_Osorio (alone)._ 'The stranger, that lives nigh, still picking
weeds.' 290
And this was his friend, his crony, his twin-brother!
O! I am green, a very simple stripling--
The wise men of this world make nothing of me.
By Heaven, 'twas well contrived! And I, forsooth,
I was to cut my throat in honour of conscience. 295
And this tall wizard--ho!--he was to pass
For Albert's friend! He _hath_ a trick of his manner.
He was to tune his voice to honey'd sadness,
And win her to a transfer of her love
By lamentable tales of her dear Albert, 300
And his dear Albert! Yea, she would have lov'd him.
He, that can sigh out in a woman's ear
Sad recollections of her perish'd lover,
And sob and smile with veering sympathy,
And, now and then, as if by accident, 305
Pass his mouth close enough to touch her cheek
With timid lip, he takes the lover's place,
He takes his place, for certain! Dusky rogue,
Were it not sport to whimper with thy mistress,
Then steal away and roll upon my grave, 310
Till thy sides shook with laughter? Blood! blood! blood!
They want thy blood! thy blood, Osorio!
[END OF ACT THE THIRD.]
FOOTNOTES:
[555:1] In MS. II this speech is crossed out, and on the blank page
opposite the following is written in Coleridge's hand:--
'Instead of Maria's portrait, Albert places on the altar a small picture
of his attempted assassination. The scene is not wholly without
_poetical_ merit, but it is miserably undramatic, or rather untragic. A
scene of magic is introduced in which no single person on the stage has
the least faith--all, though in different ways, think or know it to be a
_trick_----consequently, &c.' _P. W._, 1893, p. 494, _Editor's Note_.
In MS. III the following stage-direction is written (in S. T. C.'s
handwriting) on the page opposite to lines 113-15:--
'Albert has placed on the altar a small picture representing the attempt
to assassinate him, instead of the portrait of Maria which Osorio had
given him.'
[556:1] In MS. II Coleridge has written opposite this:--'Velez supposes
the picture is an innocent contrivance of Osorio's to remove Maria's
scruples: Osorio, that it is the portrait of Maria which he had himself
given the supposed Wizard.' _P. W._, 1893, p. 495, _Editors Note_.
In MS. III Coleridge wrote on the opposite page:--'Velez supposes the
picture which represents the attempt to assassinate Albert, to have been
a mere invention contrived by Osorio with the most innocent intentions.
Osorio supposes it of course, to be the _portrait_ of Maria which he had
restored to Albert!'
[556:2] The transcriber of MS. I had here written 'superstitious', which
is marked through with ink, and 'serious' is substituted, in Coleridge's
own hand. In MS. II 'superstitious' is left undisturbed. _P. W._, 1893,
p. 495, _Editor's Note_. In MS. III 'serious' is erased and
'superstitious' is superscribed.
[558:1] In MS. II Coleridge has written opposite this:--'Osorio
immediately supposes that this wizard whom Ferdinand had recommended to
him, was in truth, an accomplice of Ferdinand, to whom the whole secret
had been betrayed.' _P. W._, 1893, p. 496, _Editor's Note_.
[559:1] Opposite the passage in MS. II the following is written
in the transcriber's hand:--
Ce malheur, dites-vous, est le bien d'un autre être--
De mon corps tout sanglant, mille insectes vont naître.
Quand la mort met le comble aux maux que j'ai souffert,
Le beau soulagement d'être mangé de vers!
Je ne suis du grand TOUT qu'une faible partie--
Oui; mais les animaux condamnés à la vie
Sous les êtres sentants nés sous la mème loi
Vivent dans la douleur, et meurent comme moi.
_Désastre de Lisbonne._ _P. W._, 1893, p. 491, _Editor's Note_.
LINENOTES:
[Before 1]
ACT III.
SCENE 1.--_A Hall of armory, with an altar at the back of the stage.
Soft music from an instrument of glass or steel. VALDEZ, ORDONIO, and
ALVAR in a Sorcerer's robe, are discovered._
_Ord._ This was too melancholy, father.
_Val._ Nay,
My Alvar lov'd sad music from a child.
Once he was lost; and after weary search
We found him in an open place in [of _Osor._] the wood,
To which spot he had followed a blind boy,
Who breath'd into a pipe of sycamore
Some strangely-moving notes: and these, he said,
Were taught him in a dream. Him we first saw
Stretch'd on the broad top of a sunny heath-bank;
And lower down poor Alvar, fast asleep,
His head upon the blind boy's dog. It pleas'd me
To mark how he had fasten'd round the pipe
A silver toy his {grandmother had _Osor._
{grandam had late given him.
Methinks I see him now as he then look'd--
{ His infant dress was grown too short for him, _Osor._
{ Even so!--He had outgrown his infant dress,
Yet still he wore it.
_Alv. (aside)._ My tears must not flow!
I must not clasp his knees, and cry, My father!
_Enter TERESA and attendants._
Remorse.
[These lines with the variants as noted above are included in Osorio,
Act III, lines 58-74.]
[After 3] stage-direction om. Remorse.
[Between 3 and 4]
_Ordonio._ Believe you then no preternatural influence?
{ Believe you not that spirits throng around us?
{ I thought you held that spirits throng'd around us?
Corr. in MS. III.
_Ter._ Say rather that I have imagined it
A possible thing; and it has sooth'd my soul
As other fancies have; but ne'er seduced me
To traffic with the black and frenzied hope,
That the dead hear the voice of witch or wizard.
Remorse.
[4] _you_] you Remorse.
[5] employments] employment Remorse.
[9] things] guilt Remorse.
[10] Stand ye from the altar Remorse.
[After 10] [_Here_, &c. . . . scene Remorse.
[13] spells] spell Remorse.
[21] unstun'd] unstunn'd Remorse.
[After 23] [_Music_ Remorse.
[29] build up] upbuild Remorse.
[37] [_Here behind the scenes a voice sings the three words, 'Hear,
sweet Spirit.'_ Remorse.
[After 43] SONG.--_Behind the scenes_, &c. Remorse.
[50] chanters] chaunter Remorse.
[58-74] are printed as ll. 1-17, Act III, Sc. I Remorse.
[61] of] in Remorse.
[70-72]
A silver toy his grandam had late given him,
Methinks I see him now as he then look'd--
Even so!--He had outgrown his infant dress,
Remorse, Act III, ll. 13-15.
[79] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[87] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[88-9]
But what if he had a brother,
Who had lived even so
Remorse.
[91-2]
_Valdez._ Idly prating man!
Thou hast guess'd ill: Don Alvar's only brother
Stands here before thee--a father's blessing on him!
He is most virtuous.
Remorse.
[96] excellently] exquisitely Remorse.
[Between 104 and 105]
[_Music again._
_Teresa._ 'Tis strange, I tremble at my own conjectures!
But whatso'er it mean, I dare no longer
Be present at these lawless mysteries,
This dark provoking of the hidden Powers!
Already I affront--if not high Heaven--
Yet Alvar's memory!--Hark! I make appeal
Against the unholy rite, and hasten hence
To bend before a lawful shrine, and seek
That voice which whispers, when the still heart listens,
Comfort and faithful hope! Let us retire.
_Alv. (to TERESA)._
O full of faith and guileless love, thy spirit
Still prompts thee wisely. Let the pangs of guilt
Surprise the guilty: thou art innocent!
[_Exeunt TERESA and Attendant. Music as before._
Remorse.
[106] an eye of flesh] a human eye Remorse.
[108] come quick] O come Remorse.
[109] and if he lives] but if he live Remorse.
[After 110] _The whole music clashes into a Chorus_ Remorse.
[111] demon] demons Remorse.
[113 foll.] For the rest of Act III, as published in Remorse, vide
_post_ pp. 851-8. According to the Editor of Osorio as first published
in 1873, 'The rest of this Act is entirely different in the published
Remorse.' This statement needs qualification. The remainder of Act III
of Osorio was rewritten, much was omitted, much added, and the 'dramatic
ordonnance' of this part of the play was remodelled on a different plan,
but the following lines 174-82, 195-202, 210-31 and 246-7 were included,
with certain alterations, in Remorse. See Remorse, Act III, Scene II,
ll. 64-71, 79-87, 94-114 and 185-6.
[140-3] _And . . . come_ MS. III erased.
[After 146]
Doth swim with love and pity--Well Ordonio
O my foreboding Spirit, he suborn'd thee,
And thou didst spare his life
Corr. in MS. III.
[299] interpolated by S. T. C. MS. III.
ACT THE FOURTH
SCENE THE FIRST.--_A cavern, dark except where a gleam of moonlight is
seen on one side of the further end of it, supposed to be cast on it
from a cranny_ [_crevice_ Remorse] _in a part of the cavern out of
sight._
[_FERDINAND alone, an extinguished torch in his hand._
_Ferdinand._ Drip! drip! drip! drip!--in such a place as this
It has nothing else to do but drip! drip! drip!
I wish it had not dripp'd upon my torch.
Faith 'twas a moving letter--very moving!
His life in danger--no place safe but this. 5
'Twas his turn now to talk of gratitude!
And yet--but no! there can't be such a villain.
It cannot be!
Thanks to that little cranny
Which lets the moonlight in! I'll go and sit by it.
To peep at a tree, or see a he-goat's beard, 10
Or hear a cow or two breathe loud in their sleep,
'Twere better than this dreary noise of water-drops!
[_He goes out of sight, opposite to the patch of
moonlight,_ [_and returns_. Remorse]
_returns after a minute's elapse in an
ecstasy of fear._
A hellish pit! O God--'tis like my night-mair!
I was just in!--and those damn'd fingers of ice
Which clutch'd my hair up! Ha! what's that? it moved! 15
[_FERDINAND stands_ [_motionless_ _MS. III erased_]
_staring at another recess in the cavern. In
the mean time OSORIO enters with a torch and
hollas to him_ [_halloes to ISIDORE_ Remorse].
_Ferdinand._ I swear, I saw a something moving there!
The moonshine came and went, like a flash of lightning.
I swear, I saw it move!
[_OSORIO goes into the recess, then returns, and with
great scorn._
_Osorio._ A jutting clay-stone
Drips on the long lank weed that grows beneath;
And the weed nods and drips.
_Ferdinand (forcing a faint laugh)._ A joke to laugh at! 20
It was not that which frighten'd me, my lord!
_Osorio._ What frighten'd you?
_Ferdinand._ You see that little cranny?
But first permit me,
[_Lights his torch at OSORIO'S, and while lighting it._
(A lighted torch in the hand
Is no unpleasant object here--one's breath
Floats round the flame, and makes as many colours 25
As the thin clouds that travel near the moon.)[564:1]
You see that cranny there?
_Osorio._ Well, what of that?
_Ferdinand._ I walk'd up to it, meaning to sit there.
When I had reach'd it within twenty paces----
[_FERDINAND starts as if he felt the terror over again._
Merciful Heaven! Do go, my lord! and look. 30
[_OSORIO goes and returns._
_Osorio._ It must have shot some pleasant feelings thro' you?
_Ferdinand._ If every atom of a dead man's flesh
Should move, each one with a particular life,
Yet all as cold as ever--'twas just so!
Or if it drizzled needle-points of frost 35
Upon a feverish head made suddenly bald--
_Osorio (interrupting him)._ Why, Ferdinand! I blush for thy
cowardice.
It would have startled any man, I grant thee.
But such a panic.
_Ferdinand._ When a boy, my lord!
I could have sat whole hours beside that chasm, 40
Push'd in huge stones and heard them thump and rattle
Against its horrid sides; and hung my head
Low down, and listen'd till the heavy fragments
Sunk, with faint crash, in that still groaning well,
Which never thirsty pilgrim blest, which never 45
A living thing came near; unless, perchance,
Some blind-worm battens on the ropy mould,
Close at its edge.
_Osorio._ Art thou more coward now?
_Ferdinand._ Call him that fears his fellow-men a coward.
I fear not man. But this inhuman cavern 50
It were too bad a prison-house for goblins.
Besides (you'll laugh, my lord!) but true it is,
My last night's sleep was very sorely haunted[565:1]
By what had pass'd between us in the morning.
I saw you in a thousand hideous ways, 55
And doz'd and started, doz'd again and started.
I do entreat your lordship to believe me,
In my last dream----
_Osorio._ Well?
_Ferdinand._ I was in the act
Of falling down that chasm, when Alhadra
Waked me. She heard my heart beat!
_Osorio._ Strange enough! 60
Had you been here before?
_Ferdinand._ Never, my lord!
But my eyes do not see it now more clearly
Than in my dream I saw that very chasm.
[_OSORIO stands in a deep study--then, after a pause._
_Osorio._ There is no reason why it should be so.
And yet it is.
_Ferdinand._ What is, my lord?
_Osorio._ Unpleasant 65
To kill a man!
_Ferdinand._ Except in self-defence.
_Osorio._ Why that's my case: and yet 'tis still unpleasant.
At least I find it so! But you, perhaps,
Have stronger nerves?
_Ferdinand._ Something doth trouble you.
How can I serve you? By the life you gave me, 70
By all that makes that life of value to me,
My wife, my babes, my honour, I swear to you,
Name it, and I will toil to do the thing,
If it be innocent! But this, my lord!
Is not a place where you could perpetrate, 75
No, nor propose a wicked thing. The darkness
(When ten yards off, we know, 'tis chearful moonlight)
Collects the guilt and crowds it round the heart.
It must be innocent.
_Osorio._ Thyself be judge.
[_OSORIO walks round the cavern--then looking round it._
One of our family knew this place well. 80
_Ferdinand._ Who? when? my lord.
_Osorio._ What boots it who or when?
Hang up the torch. I'll tell his tale to thee.
[_They hang [up] their torches in some shelf of_
[_on some ridge in_ Remorse] _the cavern._
_Osorio._ He was a man different from other men,
And he despised them, yet revered himself.[567:1]
_Ferdinand._ What? he was mad?
_Osorio._ All men seem'd mad to him, 85
Their actions noisome folly, and their talk--
A goose's gabble was more musical.
Nature had made him for some other planet,
And press'd his soul into a human shape
By accident or malice. In this world 90
He found no fit companion!
_Ferdinand._ Ah, poor wretch!
Madmen are mostly proud.
_Osorio._ He walk'd alone,
And phantasies, unsought for, troubled him.
Something within would still be shadowing out
All possibilities, and with these shadows 95
His mind held dalliance. Once, as so it happen'd,
A fancy cross'd him wilder than the rest:
To this in moody murmur, and low voice,
He yielded utterance as some talk in sleep.
The man who heard him----
Why didst thou look round? 100
_Ferdinand._ I have a prattler three years old, my lord!
In truth he is my darling. As I went
From forth my door, he made a moan in sleep--
But I am talking idly--pray go on!
And what did this man?
_Osorio._ With his human hand 105
He gave a being and reality
To that wild fancy of a possible thing.
Well it was done. [_Then very wildly._
Why babblest thou of guilt?
The deed was done, and it pass'd fairly off.
And he, whose tale I tell thee--dost thou listen? 110
_Ferdinand._ I would, my lord, you were by _my_ fireside!
I'd listen to you with an eager eye,
Tho' you began this cloudy tale at midnight.
But I do listen--pray proceed, my lord!
_Osorio._ Where was I?
_Ferdinand._ He of whom you tell the tale-- 115
_Osorio._ Surveying all things with a quiet scorn
Tamed himself down to living purposes,
The occupations and the semblances
Of ordinary men--and such he seem'd.
But that some over-ready agent--he---- 120
_Ferdinand._ Ah! what of him, my lord?
_Osorio._ He proved a villain;
Betray'd the mystery to a brother villain;
And they between them hatch'd a damnéd plot
To hunt him down to infamy and death
To share the wealth of a most noble family, 125
And stain the honour of an orphan lady
With barbarous mixture and unnatural union.
What did the Velez? I am proud of the name,
Since he dared do it.
[_OSORIO grasps his sword and turns off from FERDINAND,
then, after a pause, returns._
_Osorio._ Our links burn dimly.
_Ferdinand._ A dark tale darkly finish'd! Nay, my lord! 130
Tell what he did.
_Osorio (fiercely)._ That which his wisdom prompted.
He made the traitor meet him in this cavern,
And here he kill'd the traitor.
_Ferdinand._ No!--the fool.
He had not wit enough to be a traitor.
Poor thick-eyed beetle! not to have foreseen 135
That he, who gull'd thee with a whimper'd lie
To murder _his own brother_, would not scruple
To murder _thee_, if e'er his guilt grew jealous
And he could steal upon thee in the dark!
_Osorio._ Thou would'st not then have come, if----
_Ferdinand._ O yes, my lord! 140
I would have met him arm'd, and scared the coward!
[_FERDINAND throws off his robe, shows himself armed,
and draws his sword._
_Osorio._ Now this is excellent, and warms the blood!
My heart was drawing back, drawing me back
With womanish pulls of pity. Dusky slave,
Now I will kill thee pleasantly, and count it 145
Among my comfortable thoughts hereafter.
_Ferdinand._ And all my little ones fatherless! Die thou first.
[_They fight. OSORIO disarms FERDINAND, and in disarming
him, throws his sword up that recess, opposite to
which they were standing._
_Ferdinand (springing wildly towards Osorio)._ Still I can strangle
thee!
_Osorio._ Nay, fool! stand off.
I'll kill thee--but not so! Go fetch thy sword.
[_FERDINAND hurries into the recess with his torch.
OSORIO follows him, and in a moment returns
alone._
_Osorio._ Now--this was luck! No bloodstains, no dead body! 150
His dream, too, is made out. Now for his friend.[570:1]
[_Exit._
_SCENE changes to the court before the Castle of VELEZ._
_MARIA and her FOSTER-MOTHER._
_Maria._ And when I heard that you desired to see me,
I thought your business was to tell me of him.
_Foster-Mother._ I never saw the Moor, whom you describe.
_Maria._ 'Tis strange! he spake of you familiarly 155
As mine and Albert's common foster-mother.
_Foster-Mother._ Now blessings on the man, whoe'er he be,
That join'd your names with mine! O my sweet lady,
As often as I think of those dear times
When you two little ones would stand at eve, 160
On each side of my chair, and make me learn
All you had learnt in the day; and how to talk
In gentle phrase, then bid me sing to you,
'Tis more like heaven to come, that what _has_ been!
_Maria._ O my dear mother! this strange man has left me 165
Wilder'd with wilder fancies than yon moon
Breeds in the love-sick maid--who gazes at it
Till lost in inward vision, with wet eye
She gazes idly! But that entrance, mother!
_Foster-Mother._ Can no one hear? It is a perilous tale! 170
_Maria._ No one.
_Foster-Mother._ My husband's father told it me,
Poor old Leoni. Angels rest his soul!
He was a woodman, and could fell and saw
With lusty arm. You know that huge round beam
Which props the hanging wall of the old chapel? 175
Beneath that tree, while yet it was a tree,
He found a baby wrapt in mosses, lined
With thistle-beards, and such small locks of wool
As hang on brambles. Well, he brought him home,
And rear'd him at the then Lord Velez' cost. 180
And so the babe grew up a pretty boy.
A pretty boy, but most unteachable--
And never learnt a prayer, nor told a bead,
But knew the names of birds, and mock'd their notes,
And whistled, as he were a bird himself. 185
And all the autumn 'twas his only play
To get the seeds of wild flowers, and to plant them
With earth and water on the stumps of trees.
A friar who gather'd simples in the wood,
A grey-hair'd man--he loved this little boy, 190
The boy loved him--and, when the friar taught him,
He soon could write with the pen; and from that time
Lived chiefly at the convent or the castle.
So he became a very learned youth.
But O! poor wretch--he read, and read, and read, 195
Till his brain turn'd--and ere his twentieth year,
He had unlawful thoughts of many things.
And though he pray'd, he never loved to pray
With holy men, nor in a holy place.
But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet, 200
The late Lord Velez ne'er was wearied with him,
And once as by the north side of the chapel
They stood together, chain'd in deep discourse,
The earth heav'd under them with such a groan,
That the wall totter'd, and had well-nigh fall'n 205
Right on their heads. My lord was sorely frighten'd;
A fever seiz'd him; and he made confession
Of all the heretical and lawless talk
Which brought this judgment: so the youth was seiz'd
And cast into that hole. My husband's father 210
Sobb'd like a child--it almost broke his heart.
And once as he was working in the cellar,
He heard a voice distinctly; 'twas the youth's,
Who sung a doleful song about green fields,
How sweet it were on lake or wild savannah 215
To hunt for food, and be a naked man,
And wander up and down at liberty.
He always doted on the youth, and now
His love grew desperate; and defying death,
He made that cunning entrance I described: 220
And the young man escaped.
_Maria._ 'Tis a sweet tale:
Such as would lull a list'ning child to sleep,
His rosy face besoil'd with unwiped tears.
And what became of him?
_Foster-Mother._ He went on shipboard
With those bold voyagers, who made discovery 225
Of golden lands; Leoni's younger brother
Went likewise, and when he return'd to Spain,
He told Leoni that the poor mad youth,
Soon after they arrived in that new world,
In spite of his dissuasion seized a boat, 230
And all alone set sail by silent moonlight,
Up a great river, great as any sea,
And ne'er was heard of more; but 'tis supposed
He liv'd and died among the savage men.
_Enter VELEZ._
_Velez._ Still sad, Maria? This same wizard haunts you. 235
_Maria._ O Christ! the tortures that hang o'er his head,
If ye betray him to these holy brethren!
_Velez (with a kind of sneer)._ A portly man, and eloquent, and
tender!
In truth, I shall not wonder if you mourn
That their rude grasp should seize on _such_ a victim. 240
_Maria._ The horror of their ghastly punishments
Doth so o'ertop the height of sympathy,
That I should feel too little for mine enemy--
Ah! far too little--if 'twere possible,
I could feel more, even tho' my child or husband 245
Were doom'd to suffer them! That such things are----
_Velez._ Hush! thoughtless woman!
_Maria._ Nay--it wakes within me
More than a woman's spirit.
_Velez (angrily)._ No more of this--
I can endure no more.
_Foster-Mother._ My honour'd master!
Lord Albert used to talk so.
_Maria._ Yes! my mother! 250
These are my Albert's lessons, and I con them
With more delight than, in my fondest hour,
I bend me o'er his portrait.
_Velez (to the Foster-Mother)._ My good woman,
You may retire. [_Exit the FOSTER-MOTHER._
_Velez._ We have mourn'd for Albert.
Have I no living son?
_Maria._ Speak not of him! 255
That low imposture--my heart sickens at it,
If it be madness, must I wed a madman?
And if not madness, there is mystery,
And guilt doth lurk behind it!
_Valdez._ Is this well?
_Maria._ Yes! it is truth. Saw you his countenance? 260
How rage, remorse, and scorn, and stupid fear,
Displac'd each other with swift interchanges?
If this were all assumed, as you believe,
He must needs be a most consummate actor;
And hath so vast a power to deceive me, 265
I never could be safe. And why assume
The semblance of such execrable feelings?
_Velez._ Ungrateful woman! I have tried to stifle
An old man's passion! Was it not enough
That thou hast made my son a restless man, 270
Banish'd his health and half-unhinged his reason,
But that thou wilt insult him with suspicion,
And toil to blast his honour? I am old--
A comfortless old man! Thou shalt not stay
Beneath my roof!
[_FRANCESCO enters and stands listening._
_Velez._ Repent and marry him-- 275
Or to the convent.
_Francesco (muttering)._ Good! good! very good!
_Maria._ Nay, grant me some small pittance of my fortune,
And I will live a solitary woman,
Or my poor foster-mother and her grandsons
May be my household.
_Francesco (advancing)._ I abhor a listener; 280
But you spoke so, I could not choose but hear you.
I pray, my lord! will you embolden me
To ask you why this lady doth prefer
To live in lonely sort, without a friend
Or fit companion?
_Velez._ Bid her answer you. 285
_Maria._ Nature will be my friend and fit companion.
[_Turns off from them._
O Albert! Albert! that they could return,
Those blessed days, that imitated heaven!
When we two wont to walk at evening-tide;
When we saw nought but beauty; when we heard 290
The voice of that Almighty One, who lov'd us,
In every gale that breath'd, and wave that murmur'd!
O we have listen'd, even till high-wrought pleasure
Hath half-assumed the countenance of grief,
And the deep sigh seem'd to heave up a weight 295
Of bliss, that press'd too heavy on the heart.
_Francesco._ But in the convent, lady, you would have
Such aids as might preserve you from perdition.
There you might dwell.
_Maria._ With tame and credulous faith,
Mad melancholy, antic merriment, 300
Leanness, disquietude, and secret pangs!
O God! it is a horrid thing to know
That each pale wretch, who sits and drops her beads
Had once a mind, which might have given her wings
Such as the angels wear!
_Francesco (stifling his rage)._ Where is your son, my lord? 305
_Velez._ I have not seen him, father, since he left you.
_Francesco._ His lordship's generous nature hath deceiv'd him!
_That_ Ferdinand (or if not he his wife)
I have fresh evidence--are infidels.
We are not safe until they are rooted out. 310
_Maria._ Thou man, who call'st thyself the minister
Of Him whose law was love unutterable!
Why is thy soul so parch'd with cruelty,
That still thou thirstest for thy brother's blood?
_Velez (rapidly)._ Father! I have long suspected it--her brain-- 315
Heed it not, father!
_Francesco._ Nay--but I _must_ heed it.
_Maria._ Thou miserable man! I fear thee not,
Nor prize a life which soon may weary me.
Bear witness, Heav'n! I neither scorn nor hate him-- 320
But O! 'tis wearisome to mourn for evils,
Still mourn, and have no power to remedy! [_Exit MARIA._
_Francesco._ My lord! I shall presume to wait on you
To-morrow early.
_Velez._ Be it so, good father! [_Exit FRANCESCO._
_Velez (alone)._ I do want solace, but not such as thine! 325
The moon is high in heaven, and my eyes ache,
But not with sleep. Well--it is ever so.
A child, a child is born! and the fond heart
Dances! and yet the childless are most happy.
[_SCENE changes to the mountains by moonlight. ALHADRA alone in a
Moorish dress, her eyes fixed on the earth. Then drop in one after
another, from different parts of the stage, a considerable number of_
Morescoes, _all in their Moorish garments. They form a circle at a
distance round ALHADRA. After a pause one of the_ Morescoes _to the man
who stands next to him._
_First Moresco._ The law which forced these Christian dresses on
us, 330
'Twere pleasant to cleave down the wretch who framed it.
_Second._ Yet 'tis not well to trample on it idly.
_First._ Our country robes are dear.
_Second._ And like dear friends,
May chance to prove most perilous informers.
[_A third Moresco, NAOMI, advances from out the circle._
_Naomi._ Woman! may Alla and the prophet bless thee! 335
We have obey'd thy call. Where is our chief?
And why didst thou enjoin the Moorish garments?
_Alhadra (lifting up_ [_raising_ Remorse] _her eyes, and looking
round on the circle)._
Warriors of Mahomet, faithful in the battle,
My countrymen! Come ye prepared to work
An honourable deed? And would ye work it 340
In the slave's garb? Curse on those Christian robes!
They are _spell_-blasted; and whoever wears them,
His arm shrinks wither'd, his heart melts away,
And his bones soften!
_Naomi._ Where is Ferdinand?
_Alhadra (in a deep low voice)._ This night I went from forth my
house, and left 345
His children all asleep; and he was living!
And I return'd, and found them still asleep--
But he had perish'd.
_All._ Perished?
_Alhadra._ He had perish'd!
Sleep on, poor babes! not one of you doth know
That he is fatherless, a desolate orphan! 350
Why should we wake them? Can an infant's arm
Revenge his murder?
_One to Another._ Did she say his murder?
_Naomi._ Murder'd? Not murder'd?
_Alhadra._ Murder'd by a Christian!
[_They all, at once, draw their sabres._
_Alhadra (to Naomi, who on being addressed again advances from
the circle)._ Brother of Zagri! fling away thy sword:
This is thy chieftain's! [_He steps forward to take it._
Dost thou dare receive it? 355
For I have sworn by Alia and the prophet,
No tear shall dim these eyes, this woman's heart
Shall heave no groan, till I have seen that sword
Wet with the blood of all the house of Velez!
_Enter MAURICE._
_All._ A spy! a spy! [_They seize him._
_Maurice._ Off! off! unhand me, slaves! 360
[_After much struggling he disengages himself and draws
his sword._
_Naomi (to Alhadra)._ Speak! shall we kill him?
_Maurice._ Yes! ye can kill a
man,
Some twenty of you! But ye are Spanish slaves!
And slaves are always cruel, always cowards.
_Alhadra._ That man has spoken truth. Whence and who art thou?
_Maurice._ I seek a dear friend, whom for aught I know 365
The son of Velez hath hired one of you
To murder! Say, do ye know aught of Albert?
_Alhadra (starting)._ Albert?--three years ago I heard that name
Murmur'd in sleep! High-minded foreigner!
Mix thy revenge with mine, and stand among us. 370
[_MAURICE stands among the_ Morescoes.
_Alhadra._ Was not Osorio my husband's friend?
_Old Man._ He kill'd my son in battle; yet our chieftain
Forced me to sheathe my dagger. See--the point
Is bright, unrusted with the villain's blood!
_Alhadra._ He is your chieftain's murderer!
_Naomi._ He dies by Alla!
_All (dropping on one knee)._ By
Alla! 375
_Alhadra._ This night a reeking slave came with loud pant,
Gave Ferdinand a letter, and departed,
Swift as he came. Pale, with unquiet looks,
He read the scroll.
_Maurice._ Its purport?
_Alhadra._ Yes, I ask'd it.
He answer'd me, 'Alhadra! thou art worthy 380
A nobler secret; but I have been faithful
To this bad man, and faithful I will be.'
He said, and arm'd himself, and lit a torch;
Then kiss'd his children, each one on its pillow,
And hurried from me. But I follow'd him 385
At distance, till I saw him enter _there_.
_Naomi._ The cavern?
_Alhadra._ Yes--the mouth of yonder cavern.
After a pause I saw the son of Velez
Rush by with flaring torch; he likewise enter'd--
There was another and a longer pause-- 390
And once, methought, I heard the clash of swords,
And soon the son of Velez reappear'd.
He flung his torch towards the moon in sport,
And seem'd as he were mirthful! I stood listening
Impatient for the footsteps of my husband! 395
_Maurice._ Thou called'st him?
_Alhadra._ I crept into the cavern:
'Twas dark and very silent. [_Then wildly._
What said'st thou?
No, no! I did not dare call, Ferdinand!
Lest I should hear no answer. A brief while,
Belike, I lost all thought and memory 400
Of that for which I came! After that pause,
O God! I heard a groan!--and follow'd it.
And yet another groan--which guided me
Into a strange recess--and there was _light_,
A _hideous_ light! his torch lay on the ground-- 405
Its flame burnt dimly o'er a chasm's brink.
I spake--and while I spake, a feeble groan
Came from that chasm! It was his last! his death groan!
_Maurice._ Comfort her, comfort her, Almighty Father!
_Alhadra._ I stood in unimaginable trance 410
And agony, that cannot be remember'd,
Listening with horrid hope to hear a groan!
But I had heard his last--my husband's death-groan!
_Naomi._ Haste! let us go!
_Alhadra._ I look'd far down the pit.
My sight was bounded by a jutting fragment, 415
And it was stain'd with blood! Then first I shriek'd!
My eyeballs burnt! my brain grew hot as fire!
And all the hanging drops of the wet roof
Turn'd into blood. I saw them turn to blood!
And I was leaping wildly down the chasm 420
When on the further brink I saw his sword,
And it said, Vengeance! Curses on my tongue!
The moon hath moved in heaven, and I am here,
And he hath not had vengeance! Ferdinand!
Spirit of Ferdinand! thy murderer lives! 425
Away! away! [_She rushes off, all following._
END OF THE FOURTH ACT
FOOTNOTES:
[564:1] The square brackets (which appear in both MSS.) seem to indicate
that these words were an 'aside'. _P. W._ 1893, p. 499. _Editor's Note_.
[565:1] Against this passage Coleridge has written in MS. II:--'This
will be held by many for a mere Tragedy-dream--by many who have never
given themselves the trouble to ask themselves from what grounds dreams
pleased in Tragedy, and wherefore they have become so common. I believe,
however, that in the present case, the whole is here psychologically
true and accurate. Prophetical dreams are things of nature, and
explicable by that law of the mind in which where dim ideas are
connected with vivid feelings, Perception and Imagination insinuate
themselves and mix with the forms of Recollection, till the Present
appears to exactly correspond with the Past. Whatever is partially like,
the Imagination will gradually represent as wholly like--a law of our
nature which, when it is perfectly understood, woe to the great city
Babylon--to all the superstitions of Men!' _P. W._, 1893, p. 499.
[567:1] Against this passage Coleridge writes in MS. II:--'Under the
mask of the third person Osorio relates his own story, as in the
delusion of self-justification and pride, it appeared to himself--at
least as he wished it to appear to himself.' _P. W._, 1893, p. 499.
'Osorio darkly, and in the feeling of self-justification, tells what he
conceives of his own character and actions--speaking of himself in the
third person.' _MS. III_.
[570:1] Against this line Coleridge writes in MS. II:--'Osorio has
thrust Ferdinand down the chasm. I think it an important instance how
Dreams and Prophecies coöperate to their own completion.' _P. W._, 1893,
p. 501.
LINENOTES:
[1-3] Erased MS. III.: om. Remorse.
{ [*water drops*]
This ceaseless dreary sound of { dropping water--
I would they had not fallen upon my Torch!
Corr. in MS. III.
[5-6] In inverted commas. Remorse.
[8] cannot] can not Remorse. cranny] crevice Remorse.
[12] MS. III erased.
[Between 11 and 13]
(_a_) Any thing but this crash of water drops!
These dull abortive sounds that fret the silence
With puny thwartings and mock opposition!
So beats the death-watch to a sick man's ear
Remorse.
(_b_) Anything but this { crash of water-drops
{ [*noise*]
{ scoffing
At broken measure { [*mocking*] intervals--
Their discontinuous, interruptive sound
{ These
{ [*With*] dull abortive &c.
MS. III erased.
Affixed to variant (a) of l. 12 '--this at all events is the final
result of this correction.' _S. T. C._
[13] A hellish pit! O God--'tis that I dreamt of! Corr. in MS. III: A
hellish pit! The very same I dreamt of! Remorse.
[Affixed to 13] 'You mean like the dream presented to my mind when under
the influence of the night-mare. This is most ludicrously expressed.' C.
Ll[oyd]
[16] I swear that I saw something Remorse.
[18] In the stage-direction the last four words are omitted Remorse.
[19] Drips] Drops Remorse.
[Between 19 and 31.]
_Isidore._ A jest to laugh at!
It was not that which scar'd me, good my lord.
_Ordonio._ What scar'd you, then?
_Isidore._ You see that little rift?
But first permit me!
[_Lights his torch at ORDONIO'S, and while
lighting it._
(A lighted torch in the hand
Is no unpleasant object here--one's breath
Floats round the flame, and makes as many colours
As the thin clouds that travel near the moon.)
You see that crevice there?
My torch extinguished by these water drops,
And marking that the moonlight came from thence,
I stept in to it, meaning to sit there;
But scarcely had I measured twenty paces--
My body bending forward, yea, o'erbalanced
Almost beyond recoil, on the dim brink
Of a hugh chasm I stept. The shadowy moonshine
Filling the void so counterfeited substance,
That my foot hung aslant adown the edge.
Was it my own fear?
Fear too hath its instincts!
(And yet such dens as these are wildly told of,
And there are beings that live, yet not for the eye)
An arm of frost above and from behind me
Pluck'd up and snatched me backward. Merciful Heaven!
You smile! alas, even smiles look ghastly here!
My lord, I pray you, go yourself and view it.
Remorse.
[33] move] creep Remorse.
[35] if] had Remorse.
[37-9]
_Ordonio._ Why, Isidore,
I blush for thy cowardice. It might have startled,
I grant you, even a brave man for a moment--
Remorse.
[41] thump] strike Corr. in MS. III, Remorse.
[42] and] then Remorse.
[44] Sunk with a faint splash in that groaning Corr. in MS. III. Sunk]
Sank Remorse.
[49] fellow-men] fellow man Remorse.
[52] laugh] smile Remorse.
[Between 54 and 57:]
O sleep of horrors! Now run down and stared at
By forms so hideous that they mock remembrance--
Now seeing nothing and imagining nothing,
But only being afraid--stifled with fear!
While every goodly or familiar form
Had a strange power of breathing terror round me!
I saw you in a thousand fearful shapes;
And I entreat your lordship to believe me,
Remorse.
[56] om. Remorse.
[62] my] mine Remorse.
[64] _Ord. (after a pause)._ I know not why it should be! yet it is--
Remorse.
[65] Abhorrent from our nature, Remorse.
[67-70]
_Ord._ Why that's my case! and yet the soul recoils from it--
'Tis so with me at least. But you, perhaps,
Have sterner feelings?
_Isid._ Something troubles you.
How shall I serve you?
Remorse.
[77] yards] strides Remorse.
[80] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[82] the] thy Remorse.
[Between 84 and 88]
_Isid. (aside)._ He? He despised? Thou'rt speaking of thyself!
I am on my guard however: no surprise [_Then to ORDONIO._
Remorse.
[86-7] om. Remorse.
[91-2]
_Isidore._ Of himself he speaks. [_Aside._
Alas! poor wretch!
Mad men, &c.
Remorse.
[93] phantasies] phantom thoughts Remorse.
[104] go on] proceed Remorse.
[105] his] this Remorse.
[106] being] substance Remorse.
[108] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[120] some] same Remorse.
[121-2]
He proved a traitor,
Betrayed the mystery to a brother traitor
Remorse.
[125-7] om. Remorse.
[131] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[Between 143 and 145.]
With weak and womanish scruples. Now my vengeance
Beckons me onwards with a warrior's mien,
And claims that life, my pity robb'd her of--
Now will I kill thee, thankless slave, and count it
Remorse.
[Affixed to 147.] _Ferdinand on hearing the threat of Osorio feels a
momentary horror at the consequences of his being killed, and in tones
of mingled fear and sorrow_--
And all my little ones fatherless!
_then bursting into indignation_ 'Die thou first',
MS. III.
[After 147]
[_They fight. ORDONIO disarms ISIDORE, and in disarming
him throws his sword up that recess opposite to
which they were standing. ISIDORE hurries into the
recess with his torch, ORDONIO follows him; a loud
cry of 'Traitor! Monster!' is heard from the
cavern, and in a moment ORDONIO returns alone._
_Ordonio._ I have hurl'd him down the chasm! treason for treason.
He dreamt of it, henceforward let him sleep,
A dreamless sleep, from which no wife can wake him.
His dream too is made out--Now for his friend. [_Exit. ORDONIO._
Remorse.
[148-51] om. Remorse.
[150] Now] So MS. III.
[Affixed to 150.] 'Ferdinand's death is not sufficiently explained to
the Audience. There should be a struggling behind the scene, as if
Osorio had taken him unawares, and was hurrying him down the Precipice.
An exclamation or even groans would add still more to the interest of
the scene.' MS. III erased.
[152-234] om. Remorse. vide _ante_ The Foster-Mother's Tale: a Dramatic
Fragment, pp. 182-4.
[Between 152 and 246:]
SCENE II
_The interior Court of a Saracenic or Gothic Castle with the iron gate
of a dungeon visible._
_Teresa._ Heart-chilling Superstition! thou canst glaze
Ev'n Pity's eye with her own frozen tear.
In vain I urge the tortures that await him:
Even Selma, reverend guardian of my childhood,
My second mother, shuts her heart against me!
Well, I have won from her what most imports
The present need, this secret of the dungeon
Known only to herself.--A Moor! a Sorcerer!
No, I have faith, that nature ne'er permitted
Baseness to wear a form so noble. True,
I doubt not, that Ordonio had suborned him
To act some part in some unholy fraud;
As little doubt, that for some unknown purpose
He hath baffled his suborner, terror-struck him,
And that Ordonio meditates revenge!
But my resolve is fixed! myself will rescue him,
And learn if haply he knew aught of Alvar.
_Enter VALDEZ._
_Valdez._ Still sad?--and gazing at the massive door
Of that fell dungeon which thou ne'er had'st sight of,
Save what, perchance, thy infant fancy shap'd it
When the nurse still'd thy cries with unmeant threats.
Now by my faith, girl! this same wizard haunts thee!
A stately man, and eloquent and tender--
Who then need wonder if a lady sighs
Even at the thought of what these stern Dominicans--
_Teresa._ The horror of their ghastly punishments
Doth so o'ertop the height of all compassion,
That I should feel too little for mine enemy,
If it were possible I could feel more,
Even though the dearest inmates of our household
Were doom'd to suffer them. That such things are--
Remorse.
[155] _Maria._ 'Tis strange] _Teresa._ 'Tis said MS. III.
[157] _Foster-Mother_] _Selma_ Corr. in MS. III.
[165-6]
O honor'd Selma! this strange man has left me
Wilder'd with stranger fancies than yon moon
Corr. in MS. III.
[169]
She gazes idly!
_Ter._ But that entrance, Selma
Corr. in MS. III.
[170] _Foster-Mother_] _Selma_ Corr. in MS. III.
[171] _Maria_] _Teresa._ _Foster-Mother_] _Selma_ Corr. in MS. III.
[172] Leoni] Sesina Corr. in MS. III.
[180] Velez] Valdez Corr. in MS. III.
[201] Velez] Valdez Corr. in MS. III.
[212] And once as he was working near this dungeon Corr. in MS. III.
[221] _Maria_] _Teresa_ Corr. in MS. III.
[226] Leoni's] Sesina's Corr. in MS. III.
[228] Leoni] Sesina Corr. in MS. III.
[Between 248 and 255:]
What if Monviedro or his creatures hear us!
I dare not listen to you.
_Teresa._ My honoured lord,
These were my Alvar's lessons, and whene'er
I bend me o'er his portrait, I repeat them,
As if to give a voice to the mute image.
_Valdez._ ----We have mourned for
Alvar.
Of his sad fate there now remains no doubt.
Have I no other son?
Remorse.
[256] That low imposture! That mysterious picture! Remorse. it] this
Remorse.
[Between 262 and 268:]
O that I had indeed the sorcerer's power.--
I would call up before thine eyes the image
Of my betrothed Alvar, of thy first-born!
His own fair countenance, his kingly forehead,
His tender smiles, love's day-dawn on his lips!
That spiritual and almost heavenly light
In his commanding eye--his mien heroic,
Virtue's own native heraldry! to man
Genial, and pleasant to his guardian angel.
Whene'er he gladden'd, how the gladness spread
Wide round him! and when oft with swelling tears,
Flash'd through by indignation, he bewail'd
The wrongs of Belgium's martyr'd patriots,
Oh, what a grief was there--for joy to envy,
Or gaze upon enamour'd!
O my father!
Recall that morning when we knelt together,
And thou didst bless our loves! O even now,
Even now, my sire! to thy mind's eye present him,
As at that moment he rose up before thee,
Stately, with beaming look! Place, place beside him
Ordonio's dark perturbed countenance!
Then bid me (Oh thou could'st not) bid me turn
From him, the joy, the triumph of our kind!
To take in exchange that brooding man, who never
Lifts up his eye from the earth, unless to scowl.
Remorse.
[274-86] (Thou shalt not stay . . . companion) om. Remorse.
[Between 274-87:]
_Teresa._ O grief! to hear
Hateful intreaties from a voice we love!
_Enter a PEASANT and presents a letter to VALDEZ._
_Valdez (reading it)._ 'He dares not venture hither!' Why what can
this mean?
'Lest the Familiars of the Inquisition,
That watch around my gates, should intercept him;
But he conjures me, that without delay
I hasten to him--for my own sake entreats me
To guard from danger him I hold imprison'd--
He will reveal a secret, the joy of which
Will even outweigh the sorrow.'--Why what can this be?
Perchance it is some Moorish stratagem,
To have in me a hostage for his safety.
Nay, that they dare not! Ho! collect my servants!
I will go thither--let them arm themselves. [_Exit VALDEZ._
_Teresa (alone)._ The moon is high in heaven, and all is hush'd.
Yet anxious listener! I have seem'd to hear
A low dead thunder mutter thro' the night,
As 'twere a giant angry in his sleep.
O Alvar! Alvar! &c.
Remorse.
[After 276] And all his wealth perhaps come to the Church MS. III.
erased.
[289] evening-tide] eventide Remorse.
[296-334] om. Remorse.
[After 296]
[_A pause._
And this majestic Moor, seems he not one
Who oft and long communing with my Alvar,
Hath drunk in kindred lustre from his presence,
And guides me to him with reflected light?
What if in yon dark dungeon coward treachery
Be groping for him with envenomed poniard--
Hence womanish fears, traitors to love and duty--
I'll free him. [_Exit TERESA._
SCENE III
_The mountains by moonlight. ALHADRA alone in a Moorish dress._
_Alhadra._ Yon hanging woods, that touch'd by autumn seem
As they were blossoming hues of fire and gold;
{ The hanging Act V, l. 41.
{ The flower-like woods, most lovely in decay,
The many clouds, the sea, the rock, the sands,
Lie in the silent moonshine: and the owl,
(Strange! very strange!) the scritch-owl only wakes!
Sole voice, sole eye of all this world of beauty!
Unless, perhaps, she sing her screeching song
To a herd of wolves, that skulk athirst for blood.
Why such a thing am I?--Where are these men?
I need the sympathy of human faces,
To beat away this deep contempt for all things,
Which quenches my revenge. O! would to Alla,
The raven, or the sea-mew, were appointed
To bring me food! or rather that my soul
Could drink in life from the universal air!
It were a lot divine in some small skiff
Along some Ocean's boundless solitude,
To float for ever with a careless course,
And think myself the only being alive.
[_Vide post Osorio_, Act V, ll. 39-56.]
My children!--Isidore's children!--Son of Valdez,
This hath new strung mine arm. Thou coward tyrant!
To stupify a woman's heart with anguish,
Till she forgot--even that she was a mother!
[_She fixes her eye on the earth. Then drop in one after
another, from different parts of the stage, a
considerable number of Morescoes, all in Moorish
garments and Moorish armour. They form a circle at
a distance round ALHADRA, and remain silent till
NAOMI enters._
Remorse.
[337] the] these Remorse.
[342] _spell_-blasted] spell-blasted Remorse.
[345] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[348] _All_] _All Morescoes._ Remorse.
[352] _One to Another_] _One Morescoe (to another)._ Remorse.
[353] Murder? Not murder'd? Remorse.
[After 353] [Stage-direction] _Alhadra (to Naomi, who advances from the
circle)._ Remorse.
[359] house] sons MS. III. Wet with the life-blood of the son of Valdez
Remorse.
[After 359] _Enter_ Warville. MS. III.
[_A pause._
Ordonio was your chieftain's murderer
Remorse.
[360-70] Erased MS. III.
[360-75] om. Remorse.
[373-80] Erased MS. III.
[375] Stage-direction _All (kneeling)._ Remorse.
[After 375] _Alhadra._ This night your chieftain armed himself Remorse.
[Affixed to 375] (not in S. T. C.'s handwriting) and erased:
_Naomi._
Proceed, proceed, Alhadra.
_Alhadra._
Yestermorning
He stood before our house, startful and gloomy,
And stirr'd up fierce dispute with Ferdinand,
I saw him when the vehement Gripe of Conscience
Had wrenched his features to a visible agony.
When he was gone Ferdinand sighed out 'Villain'
And spake no other word.
_Warville (mournfully)._
The brother of Albert.
MS. III erased.
[_Note._--Warville was a character introduced into the deleted passage
360-70, the name being always altered by S. T. C. to 'Maurice'.]
[376-84] om. Remorse.
[384] its] their Corr. in MS. III.
[386] _there_] there Remorse.
[388] a pause] a while Remorse.
[397] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[399] A brief while] A little while Corr. in MS. III erased.
[402] God] Heaven Remorse.
[404] _light_] light Remorse.
[405] _hideous_] hideous Remorse.
[407] while] whilst Remorse.
[409] Erased MS. III. _Naomi._ Comfort her, Alla! Remorse.
[414] go] onward Remorse.
[421] his] the MS. III.
[After 425
_All._ Away! away! [_She rushes off, all following her._
Remorse.
ACT THE FIFTH
SCENE THE FIRST.--_The Sea Shore._
_NAOMI and a_ Moresco.
_Moresco._ This was no time for freaks of useless vengeance.
_Naomi._ True! but Francesco, the Inquisitor,
Thou know'st the bloodhound--'twas a strong temptation.
And when they pass'd within a mile of his house,
We could not curb them in. They swore by Mahomet, 5
It were a deed of treachery to their brethren
To sail from Spain and leave that man alive.
_Moresco._ Where is Alhadra?
_Naomi._ She moved steadily on
Unswerving from the path of her resolve.
Yet each strange object fix'd her eye: for grief 10
Doth love to dally with fantastic shapes,
And smiling, like a sickly moralist,
Gives some resemblance of her own concerns
To the straws of chance, and things inanimate.
I seek her here; stand thou upon the watch. 15
[_Exit_ Moresco.
_Naomi (looking wistfully to the distance)._ Stretch'd on the rock!
It must be she--Alhadra!
[_ALHADRA rises from the rock, and advances slowly,
as if musing._
_Naomi._ Once more, well met! what ponder'st thou so deeply?
_Alhadra._ I scarce can tell thee! For my many thoughts
Troubled me, till with blank and naked mind
I only listen'd to the dashing billows. 20
It seems to me, I could have closed my eyes
And wak'd without a dream of what has pass'd;
So well it counterfeited quietness,
This wearied heart of mine!
_Naomi._ 'Tis thus by nature
Wisely ordain'd, that so excess of sorrow 25
Might bring its own cure with it.
_Alhadra._ Would to Heaven
That it had brought its last and certain cure!
That ruin in the wood.
_Naomi._ It is a place
Of ominous fame; but 'twas the shortest road,
Nor could we else have kept clear of the village. 30
Yet some among us, as they scal'd the wall,
Mutter'd old rhyming prayers.
_Alhadra._ On that broad wall
I saw a skull; a poppy grew beside it,
There was a ghastly solace in the sight!
_Naomi._ I mark'd it not, and in good truth the night-bird 35
Curdled my blood, even till it prick'd the heart.
Its note comes dreariest in the fall of the year:
[_Looking round impatiently._
Why don't they come? I will go forth and meet them.
[_Exit NAOMI._
_Alhadra (alone)._ The hanging woods, that touch'd by autumn
seem'd
As they were blossoming hues of fire and gold, 40
The hanging woods, most lovely in decay,
The many clouds, the sea, the rock, the sands,
Lay in the silent moonshine; and the owl,
(Strange! very strange!) the scritch owl only wak'd,
Sole voice, sole eye of all that world of beauty! 45
Why such a thing am I! Where are these men?
I need the sympathy of human faces
To beat away this deep contempt for all things
Which quenches my revenge. Oh!--would to Alla
The raven and the sea-mew were appointed 50
To bring me food, or rather that my soul
Could drink in life from the universal air!
It were a lot divine in some small skiff,
Along some ocean's boundless solitude,
To float for ever with a careless course, 55
And think myself the only being alive! [_NAOMI re-enters._
_Naomi._ Thy children----
_Alhadra._ Children? _Whose_ children?
[_A pause--then fiercely._
Son of Velez,
This hath new-strung my arm! Thou coward tyrant,
To stupify a woman's heart with anguish, 60
Till she forgot even that she was a mother!
[_A noise--enter a part of the_ Morescoes; _and from the
opposite side of the stage a_ Moorish Seaman.
_Moorish Seaman._ The boat is on the shore, the vessel waits.
Your wives and children are already stow'd;
I left them prattling of the Barbary coast,
Of Mosks, and minarets, and golden crescents. 65
Each had her separate dream; but all were gay,
Dancing, in thought, to finger-beaten timbrels!
[_Enter MAURICE and the rest of the_ Morescoes
_dragging in FRANCESCO._
_Francesco._ O spare me, spare me! only spare my life!
_An Old Man._ All hail, Alhadra! O that thou hadst heard him
When first we dragg'd him forth! [_Then turning to the band._
Here! in her presence---- 70
[_He advances with his sword as about to kill him. MAURICE
leaps in and stands with his drawn sword between
FRANCESCO and the_ Morescoes.
_Maurice._ Nay, but ye shall not!
_Old Man._ Shall not? Hah? Shall not?
_Maurice._ What, an unarm'd man?
A man that never wore a sword? A priest?
It is unsoldierly! I say, ye shall not!
_Old Man (turning to the bands)._ He bears himself most like an
insolent Spaniard! 75
_Maurice._ And ye like slaves, that have destroy'd their master,
But know not yet what freedom means; how holy
And just a thing it is! He's a fallen foe!
Come, come, forgive him!
_All._ No, by Mahomet!
_Francesco._ O mercy, mercy! talk to them of mercy! 80
_Old Man._ Mercy to thee! No, no, by Mahomet!
_Maurice._ Nay, Mahomet taught mercy and forgiveness.
I am sure he did!
_Old Man._ Ha! Ha! Forgiveness! Mercy!
_Maurice._ If he did not, he needs it for himself!
_Alhadra._ Blaspheming fool! the law of Mahomet 85
Was given by him, who framed the soul of man.
This the best proof--it fits the soul of man!
Ambition, glory, thirst of enterprize,
The deep and stubborn purpose of revenge,
With all the boiling revelries of pleasure-- 90
These grow in the heart, yea, intertwine their roots
With its minutest fibres! And that Being
Who made us, laughs to scorn the lying faith,
Whose puny precepts, like a wall of sand,
Would stem the full tide of predestined Nature! 95
_Naomi (who turns toward Francesco with his sword)._ Speak!
_All (to Alhadra)._ Speak!
_Alhadra._ Is the murderer of your chieftain dead?
Now as God liveth, who hath suffer'd him
To make my children orphans, none shall die
Till I have seen his blood!
Off with him to the vessel!
[_A part of the_ Morescoes _hurry him off._
_Alhadra._ The Tyger, that with unquench'd cruelty, 100
Still thirsts for blood, leaps on the hunter's spear
With prodigal courage. 'Tis not so with man.
_Maurice._ It is not so, remember that, my friends!
Cowards are cruel, and the cruel cowards.
_Alhadra._ Scatter yourselves, take each a separate way, 105
And move in silence to the house of Velez. [_Exeunt._
SCENE.--_A Dungeon._
_ALBERT (alone) rises slowly from a bed of reeds._
_Albert._ And this place my forefathers made for men!
This is the process of our love and wisdom
To each poor brother who offends against us--
Most innocent, perhaps--and what if guilty? 110
Is this the only cure? Merciful God!
Each pore and natural outlet shrivell'd up
By ignorance and parching poverty,
His energies roll back upon his heart,
And stagnate and corrupt till changed to poison, 115
They break out on him like a loathsome plague-spot!
Then we call in our pamper'd mountebanks--
And this is their best cure! uncomforted
And friendless solitude, groaning and tears,
And savage faces at the clanking hour 120
Seen thro' the steaming vapours of his dungeon
By the lamp's dismal twilight! So he lies
Circled with evil, till his very soul
Unmoulds its essence, hopelessly deform'd
By sights of ever more deformity! 125
With other ministrations thou, O Nature!
Healest thy wandering and distemper'd child:
Thou pourest on him thy soft influences,
Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweets,
Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and waters, 130
Till he relent, and can no more endure
To be a jarring and a dissonant thing
Amid this general dance and minstrelsy;
But bursting into tears wins back his way,
His angry spirit heal'd and harmoniz'd 135
By the benignant touch of love and beauty.
[_A noise at the dungeon-door. It opens, and OSORIO
enters with a goblet in his hand._
_Osorio._ Hail, potent wizard! In my gayer mood
I pour'd forth a libation to old Pluto;
And as I brimm'd the bowl, I thought of thee!
_Albert (in a low voice)._ I have not summon'd up my heart to
give 140
That pang, which I must give thee, son of Velez!
_Osorio (with affected levity)._ Thou hast conspired against my
life and honour,
Hast trick'd me foully; yet I hate thee not!
Why should I hate thee? This same world of ours--
It is a puddle in a storm of rain, 145
And we the air-bladders, that course up and down,
And joust and tilt in merry tournament,
And when one bubble runs foul of another,
[_Waving his hand at ALBERT._
The lesser must needs break!
_Albert._ I see thy heart!
There is a frightful glitter in thine eye, 150
Which doth betray thee. Crazy-conscienc'd man,
This is the gaiety of drunken anguish,
Which fain would scoff away the pang of guilt,
And quell each human feeling!
_Osorio._ Feeling! feeling!
The death of a man--the breaking of a bubble. 155
'Tis true, I cannot sob for such misfortunes!
But faintness, cold, and hunger--curses on me
If willingly I e'er inflicted them!
Come, share the beverage--this chill place demands it.
Friendship and wine! [_OSORIO proffers him the goblet._
_Albert._ Yon insect on the wall, 160
Which moves this way and that its hundred legs,
Were it a toy of mere mechanic craft,
It were an infinitely curious thing!
But it has life, Osorio! life and thought;
And by the power of its miraculous will 165
Wields all the complex movements of its frame
Unerringly, to pleasurable ends!
Saw I that insect on this goblet's brink,
I would remove it with an eager terror.
_Osorio._ What meanest thou?
_Albert._ There's poison in the wine. 170
_Osorio._ Thou hast guess'd well. There's poison in the wine.
Shall we throw dice, which of us two shall drink it?
For one of us must die!
_Albert._ Whom dost thou think me?
_Osorio._ The accomplice and sworn friend of Ferdinand.
_Albert._ Ferdinand! Ferdinand! 'tis a name I know not. 175
_Osorio._ Good! good! that lie! by Heaven! it has restor'd me.
Now I am thy master! Villain, thou shalt drink it,
Or die a bitterer death.
_Albert._ What strange solution
Hast thou found out to satisfy thy fears,
And drug them to unnatural sleep?
[_ALBERT takes the goblet, and with a sigh throws it
on the ground._
_My_ master! 180
_Osorio._ Thou mountebank!
_Albert._ Mountebank and villain!
What then art thou? For shame, put up thy sword!
What boots a weapon in a wither'd arm?
I fix mine eye upon thee, and thou tremblest!
I speak--and fear and wonder crush thy rage, 185
And turn it to a motionless distraction!
Thou blind self-worshipper! thy pride, thy cunning,
Thy faith in universal villainy,
Thy shallow sophisms, thy pretended scorn
For all thy human brethren--out upon them! 190
What have they done for thee? Have they given thee peace?
Cured thee of starting in thy sleep? or made
The darkness pleasant, when thou wakest at midnight?
Art happy when alone? can'st walk by thyself
With even step, and quiet cheerfulness? 195
Yet, yet thou mayst be saved.
_Osorio (stupidly reiterating the word)._ Saved? saved?
_Albert._ One pang--
Could I call up one pang of true remorse!
_Osorio._ He told me of the babe, that prattled to him,
His fatherless little ones! Remorse! remorse!
Where gott'st thou that fool's word? Curse on remorse! 200
Can it give up the dead, or recompact
A mangled body--mangled, dash'd to atoms!
Not all the blessings of an host of angels
Can blow away a desolate widow's curse;
And tho' thou spill thy heart's blood for atonement, 205
It will not weigh against an orphan's tear.
_Albert (almost overcome by his feelings)._ But Albert----
_Osorio._ Ha! it
chokes thee in the throat,
Even thee! and yet, I pray thee, speak it out.
Still Albert! Albert! Howl it in mine ear!
Heap it, like coals of fire, upon my heart! 210
And shoot it hissing through my brain!
_Albert._ Alas--
That day, when thou didst leap from off the rock
Into the waves, and grasp'd thy sinking brother,
And bore him to the strand, then, son of Velez!
How sweet and musical the name of Albert! 215
Then, then, Osorio! he was dear to thee,
And thou wert dear to him. Heaven only knows
How very dear thou wert! Why didst thou hate him?
O Heaven! how he would fall upon thy neck,
And weep forgiveness!
_Osorio._ Spirit of the dead! 220
Methinks I know thee! Ha!--my brain turns wild
At its own dreams--off--off, fantastic shadow!
_Albert (seizing his hand)._ I fain would tell thee what I am,
but dare not!
_Osorio (retiring from him)._ Cheat, villain, traitor! whatsoe'er
thou be
I fear thee, man!
[_He starts, and stands in the attitude of listening._
And is _this_ too my madness? 225
_Albert._ It is the step of one that treads in fear
Seeking to cheat the echo.
_Osorio._ It approaches--
This nook shall hide me.
[_MARIA enters from a plank which slips to and fro._
_Maria._ I have put aside
The customs and the terrors of a woman,
To work out thy escape. Stranger! begone, 230
And only tell me what thou know'st of Albert.
[_ALBERT takes her portrait from his neck, and gives it
her with unutterable tenderness._
_Albert._ Maria! _my_ Maria!
_Maria._ Do not mock me.
This is my face--and thou--ha! who art thou?
Nay, I will call thee Albert!
[_She falls upon his neck. OSORIO leaps out from the
nook with frantic wildness, and rushes towards
ALBERT with his sword. MARIA gapes at him, as
one helpless with terror, then leaves ALBERT,
and flings herself upon OSORIO, arresting his
arm._
_Maria._ Madman, stop!
_Albert (with majesty and tenderness)._ Does then this thin
disguise impenetrably 235
Hide Albert from thee? Toil and painful wounds,
And long imprisonment in unwholesome dungeons,
Have marr'd perhaps all trace and lineament
Of what I was! But chiefly, chiefly, brother!
My anguish for thy guilt. Spotless Maria, 240
I thought thee guilty too! Osorio, brother!
Nay, nay, thou _shalt_ embrace me!
_Osorio (drawing back and gazing at Albert with a countenance
expressive at once of awe and terror)._ Touch me not!
Touch not pollution, Albert!--I will die!
[_He attempts to fall on his sword. ALBERT and MARIA
struggle with him._
_Albert._ We will invent some tale to save your honour.
Live, live, Osorio!
_Maria._ You may yet be happy. 245
_Osorio (looking at Maria)._ O horror! Not a thousand years in
heaven
Could recompose this miserable heart,
Or make it capable of one brief joy.
Live! live!--why yes! 'Twere well to live with you--
For is it fit a villain should be proud? 250
My brother! I will kneel to you, my brother!
[_Throws himself at ALBERT'S feet._
Forgive me, Albert!--_Curse_ me with forgiveness!
_Albert._ Call back thy soul, my brother! and look round thee.
Now is the time for greatness. Think that Heaven----
_Maria._ O mark his eye! he hears not what you say. 255
_Osorio (pointing at vacancy)._ Yes, mark his eye! there's
fascination in it.
Thou said'st thou didst not know him. That is he!
He comes upon me!
_Albert (lifting his eye to heaven)._ Heal, O heal him, Heaven!
_Osorio._ Nearer and nearer! And I cannot stir!
Will no one hear these stifled groans, and wake me? 260
He would have died to save me, and I kill'd him--
A husband and a father!
_Maria._ Some secret poison
Drinks up his spirit!
_Osorio (fiercely recollecting himself)._ Let the eternal Justice
Prepare my punishment in the obscure world.
I will not bear to live--to live! O agony! 265
And be myself alone, my own sore torment!
[_The doors of the dungeon are burst open with a crash.
ALHADRA, MAURICE, and the band of_ Morescoes
_enter._
_Alhadra (pointing at Osorio)._ Seize first that man!
[_The_ Moors _press round._
_Albert (rushing in among them)._ Draw thy sword, Maurice, and
defend my brother.
[_A scuffle, during which they disarm MAURICE._
_Osorio._ Off, ruffians! I have flung away my sword.
Woman, my life is thine! to thee I give it. 270
Off! he that touches me with his hand of flesh,
I'll rend his limbs asunder! I have strength
With this bare arm to scatter you like ashes!
_Alhadra._ My husband----
_Osorio._ Yes! I murder'd him most foully.
_Albert (throws himself on the earth)._ O horrible!
_Alhadra._ Why didst thou
leave his children? 275
Demon! thou shouldst have sent thy dogs of hell
To lap _their_ blood. Then, then, I might have harden'd
My soul in misery, and have had comfort.
I would have stood far off, quiet tho' dark,
And bade the race of men raise up a mourning 280
For the deep horror of a desolation
Too great to be one soul's particular lot!
Brother of Zagri! let me lean upon thee.
[_Struggling to suppress her anguish._
The time is not yet come for woman's anguish--
I have not seen his blood. Within an hour 285
Those little ones will crowd around and ask me,
Where is our father? [_Looks at OSORIO._
I shall curse thee then!
Wert thou in heaven, my curse would pluck thee thence!
_Maria._ See--see! he doth repent. I kneel to thee.
Be merciful!
[_MARIA kneels to her. ALHADRA regards her face wistfully._
_Alhadra._ Thou art young and innocent; 290
'Twere merciful to kill thee! Yet I will not.
And for thy sake none of this house shall perish,
Save only he.
_Maria._ That aged man, his father!
_Alhadra (sternly)._ Why had he such a son?
[_The_ Moors _press on._
_Maria (still kneeling, and wild with affright)._ Yet spare his
life!
They must not murder him!
_Alhadra._ And is it then 295
An enviable lot to waste away
With inward wounds, and like the spirit of chaos
To wander on disquietly thro' the earth,
Cursing all lovely things? to let him live--
It were a deep revenge!
_All the band cry out_--No mercy! no mercy! 300
[_NAOMI advances with the sword towards OSORIO._
_Alhadra._ Nay, bear him forth! Why should this innocent maid
Behold the ugliness of death?
_Osorio (with great majesty)._ O woman!
I have stood silent like a slave[596:1] before thee,
That I might taste the wormwood and the gall,
And satiate this self-accusing spirit 305
With bitterer agonies than death can give.
[_The_ Moors _gather round him in a crowd, and pass off
the stage._
_Alhadra._ I thank thee, Heaven! thou hast ordain'd it wisely,
That still extremes bring their own cure. That point
In misery which makes the oppressed man
Regardless of his own life, makes him too 310
Lord of the oppressor's! Knew I an hundred men
Despairing, but not palsied by despair,
This arm should shake the kingdoms of this world;
The deep foundations of iniquity
Should sink away, earth groaning from beneath them; 315
The strong holds of the cruel men should fall,
Their temples and their mountainous towers should fall;
Till desolation seem'd a beautiful thing,
And all that were and had the spirit of life
Sang a new song to him who had gone forth 320
Conquering and still to conquer!
THE END[597:1]
FOOTNOTES:
[596:1] In _MS. II_ 'worm' has the place of 'slave', which is the word
in _MS. I_.
[597:1] On a blank page of _MS. III_ some one, probably Bowles, has
written:--'Upon the whole a very masterly production, and with judicious
contractments might be rendered an interesting Drama on the stage.'
LINENOTES:
[1-106] om. Remorse.
[39] The hanging] Yon pendent Corr. in MS. III.
[41]
hanging] { pendent
{ flowerlike
Corr. in MS. III.
[45] that] this Corr. in MS. III.
[Affixed to 57] _Naomi, the second in command to Isidore, enters in
haste._ MS. III erased.
[After 61] stage-direction erased MS. III.
[62] _Moorish Seaman_] _Naomi_ Corr. in MS. III.
[100-106] Erased MS. III.
[107 foll.] _vide ante_, 'The Dungeon,' p. 185.
[121] steaming] steam and Corr. in MS. III, Remorse.
[125] ever more] _evermore_ Remorse.
[After 136]
I am chill and weary! Yon rude bench of stone,
In that dark angle, the sole resting-place!
But the self-approving mind is its own light,
And Life's best warmth still radiates from the heart
Where love sits brooding, and an honest purpose.
_Enter TERESA._ [_Retires out of sight._
Corr. in MS. III, Remorse.
Stage-direction affixed to 136 and 136-9 erased in MS. III: om. Remorse.
[Between 136 and 137:]
I am chill and weary, &c. . . . honest purpose.
_Enter TERESA with a taper._
_Teresa._ It has chilled my very life--my own voice scares me;
Yet when I hear it not I seem to lose
The substance of my being--my strongest grasp
Sends inwards but weak witness that I am.
I seek to cheat the echo.--How the half sounds
Blend with this strangled light! Is he not here-- [_Looking round._
O for one human face here--but to see
One human face here to sustain me.--Courage!
It is but my own fear! The life within me,
It sinks and wavers like this cone of flame,
Beyond which I scarce dare look onward! Oh!
If I faint? If this inhuman den should be
At once my death-bed and my burial vault?
[_Faintly screams as ALVAR emerges from the recess._
_Alvar (rushes towards her, and catches her as she is falling)._ O
gracious heaven! it is, it is Teresa!
Shall I reveal myself? The sudden shock
Of rapture will blow out this spark of life,
And joy complete what terror has begun.
O ye impetuous beatings here, be still!
Teresa, best beloved! pale, pale, and cold!
Her pulse doth flutter! Teresa! my Teresa!
_Teresa (recovering)._ I heard a voice; but often in my dreams
I hear that voice! and wake and try--and try--
To hear it waking! but I never could--
And 'tis so now--even so! Well! he is dead--
Murdered perhaps! And I am faint, and feel
As if it were no painful thing to die!
_Alvar._ Believe it not, sweet maid! Believe it not,
Beloved woman! 'Twas a low imposture
Framed by a guilty wretch.
_Teresa._ Ha! Who art thou?
_Alvar._ Suborned by his brother--
_Teresa._ Didst thou murder him?
And dost thou now repent? Poor troubled man,
I do forgive thee, and may Heaven forgive thee!
_Alvar._ Ordonio--he----
_Teresa._ If thou didst murder him--
His spirit ever at the throne of God
Asks mercy for thee: prays for mercy for thee,
With tears in Heaven!
_Alvar._ Alvar was not murdered.
Be calm! be calm, sweet maid!
_Teresa._ Nay, nay, but tell me! [_A pause._
O 'tis lost again!
This dull confused pain-- [_A pause._
Mysterious man!
Methinks I can not fear thee: for thine eye
Doth swim with love and pity--Well! Ordonio--
Oh my foreboding heart! And he suborned thee,
And thou didst spare his life? Blessings shower on thee,
As many as the drops twice counted o'er
In the fond faithful heart of his Teresa!
_Alvar._ I can endure no more. The Moorish sorcerer
Exists but in the stain upon his face.
That picture----
_Teresa._ Ha! speak on!
_Alvar._ Beloved Teresa!
It told but half the truth. O let this portrait
Tell all--that Alvar lives--that he is here!
Thy much deceived but ever faithful Alvar.
[_Takes her portrait from his neck, and gives it her._
_Teresa (receiving the portrait)._ The same--it is the same. Ah! Who
art thou?
Nay, I will call thee, Alvar! [_She falls on his neck._
_Alvar._ O joy unutterable!
But hark! a sound as of removing bars
At the dungeon's outer door. A brief, brief while
Conceal thyself, my love! It is Ordonio.
For the honour of our race, for our dear father;
O for himself too (he is still my brother)
Let me recall him to his nobler nature,
That he may wake as from a dream of murder!
O let me reconcile him to himself,
Open the sacred source of penitent tears,
And be once more his own beloved Alvar.
_Teresa._ O my all virtuous love! I fear to leave thee
With that obdurate man.
_Alvar._ Thou dost not leave me!
But a brief while retire into the darkness:
O that my joy could spread its sunshine round thee!
_Teresa._ The sound of thy voice shall be my music!
Alvar! my Alvar! am I sure I hold thee?
Is it no dream? thee in my arms, my Alvar! [_Exit._
[_A noise at the dungeon door. It opens, and ORDONIO enters,
with a goblet in his hand._
Remorse.
[139] of] on Remorse.
[140-1] and stage-direction before 142 om. Remorse.
[145] 'Tis but a pool amid a storm of rain Remorse.
[148] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[149] lesser must needs] weaker needs must Remorse.
[151-2]
Inly-tortured man,
This is the revelry of a drunken anguish
Remorse.
[Before 160] [_ORDONIO proffers the goblet._ Remorse.
[160] Friendship and wine om. Remorse.
[161] legs] limbs Remorse.
[164] life and thought] life, enjoyment Remorse.
[168] brink] brim Remorse.
[169] I would remove it with an anxious pity Remorse.
[171-2]
Thou hast guessed right; there's poison in the wine.
There's poison in't--which of us two shall drink it?
Remorse.
[Between 174 and 176:]
_Alvar._ I know him not.
And yet methinks, I have heard the name but lately.
Means he the husband of the Moorish woman?
Isidore? Isidore?
Remorse.
[175] om. Remorse.
[180] Stage-direction [_ALVAR takes the goblet, and throws it to the
ground._ Remorse. _My_] My Remorse.
[196] Stage-direction om. Remorse.]
[198] babe] babes Remorse.
[207] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[223] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[224] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[225-35] om. Remorse.
[Between 225 and 235]
_Teresa (rushing out and falling on ALVAR'S neck)._
Ordonio! 'tis thy brother!
[_ORDONIO runs upon ALVAR with his sword. TERESA flings
herself on ORDONIO and arrests his arm._
Stop, madman, stop!
Remorse.
[235] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[238] trace] trial corr. in MS. III; trait Remorse.
[240-41] Spotless . . . guilty too om. Remorse.
[242] _shalt_] shalt Remorse.
[After 242] stage-direction (_Drawing back and gazing at Alvar_)
Remorse.
[Between 243 and 245]
_Alvar._ We will find means to save your honour. Live,
Oh live, Ordonio! for our father's sake!
Spare his gray hairs!
_Teresa._ And you may yet be happy
_Ordonio._ O horror, &c.
Remorse.
[After 243] _struggle with_] _prevent_ Remorse.
[After 251] [_Throws himself, &c._] _Kneeling_ Remorse.
[252] _Curse_] Curse Remorse.
[253] my brother] Ordonio Remorse.
[256] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[258] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[263] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[After 266]
[_The doors of the dungeon are broken open, and in
rush ALHADRA, and the band of_ Morescoes.
_Alh._ Seize first that man!
[_ALVAR presses onward to defend ORDONIO._
_Ord._ Off, &c.
Remorse.
[274] _Alvar and Teresa._ O horrible Remorse.
[277] _their_] their Remorse.
[283] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[287] Stage-direction om. Remorse.
[Between 288 and 304:]
_Teresa._ He doth repent! See, see, I kneel to thee!
O let him live! That aged man, his father----
_Alhadra._ Why had he such a son?
[_Shouts from the distance of_, Rescue! Rescue! Alvar!
Alvar! _and the voice of VALDEZ heard._
Rescue?--and Isidore's spirit unavenged?--
The deed be mine! [_Suddenly stabs ORDONIO._
Now take my Life!
_Ordonio (staggering from the wound)._ Atonement!
_Alvar (while with TERESA supporting ORDONIO)._ Arm of avenging Heaven
Thou hast snatched from me my most cherished hope--
But go! my word was pledged to thee.
_Ordonio._ Away!
Brave not my father's rage! I thank thee! Thou--
[_Then turning his eyes languidly to ALVAR._
She hath avenged the blood of Isidore!
I stood in silence like a slave before her
Remorse.
[290-303] om. Remorse.
[Affixed to 300] _ALHADRA snatches it from him and suddenly stabs
ORDONIO. ALVAR rushes towards him through the_ Moors, _and catches him
in his arms, &c._ MS. III.
[303-4]
'Tis well! thou hast avenged thyself
I have stood in silence like a slave before thee
Corr. in MS. III.
[305] spirit] heart Remorse.
[After 306]
Forgive me, Alvar! O couldst thou forgive thyself.
Corr. in MS. III.
Forgive me, Alvar!
Oh!--couldst thou forget me! [_Dies._
[_ALVAR and TERESA bend over the body of ORDONIO._
_Alh._ (_to the_ Moors). I thank thee, Heaven! &c.
Remorse.
_Shouts of_ Alvar! _Alvar!_ _Noises heard; a_ Moor _rushes in._
_Moor._ We are surprised, away! away! the instant--
The country is in arms. The old man heads them
And still cries out, 'My son! My son is living'
Haste to the shore! They come the opposite road.
_ALHADRA (to ALVAR)._
Thou then art Alvar! to my aid and safety
Thy word stands pledged.
_Alvar._ Arm of avenging Heaven!
My word stands pledged nor shall it be retracted.
(_The_ Moors _surround ALHADRA) and force her off. The stage
fills with armed peasants. ALI and VALDEZ at their
head. VALDEZ rushes into ALVAR'S arms and the Curtain
drops._
[Alternative ending in S. T. C.'s handwriting affixed to lines 307-21,
MS. III]
[320] him] her Remorse.
[After 321]
[_ALHADRA hurries off with the_ Moors; _the stage fills
with armed_ Peasants _and_ Servants, _ZULIMEZ and
VALDEZ at their head. VALDEZ rushes into ALVAR'S
arms._
_Alvar._ Turn not thy face that way, my father! hide,
Oh hide it from his eye! Oh let thy joy
Flow in unmingled stream through thy first blessing.
[_both kneel to VALDEZ._
_Valdez._ My Son! My Alvar! bless, Oh bless him, heaven!
_Teresa._ Me too, my Father?
_Valdez._ Bless, Oh, bless my children!
[_both rise._
_Alvar._ Delights so full, if unalloyed with grief,
Were ominous. In these strange dread events
Just Heaven instructs us with an awful voice,
That Conscience rules us e'en against our choice.
Our inward monitress to guide or warn,
If listened to; but if repelled with scorn,
At length as dire Remorse, she reappears,
Works in our guilty hopes, and selfish fears!
Still bids, Remember! and still cries, Too late!
And while she scares us, goads us to our fate.
Remorse.
THE PICCOLOMINI[598:1]
OR, THE FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN
A DRAMA
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION
It was my intention to have prefixed a Life of Wallenstein to this
translation; but I found that it must either have occupied a space
wholly disproportionate to the nature of the publication, or have been
merely a meagre catalogue of events narrated not more fully than they
already are in the Play itself. The recent translation, likewise, of
Schiller's _History of the Thirty Years' War_ diminished the motives
thereto. In the translation I endeavoured to render my Author literally
wherever I was not prevented by absolute differences of idiom; but I am
conscious that in two or three short passages I have been guilty of
dilating the original; and, from anxiety to give the full meaning, have
weakened the force. In the metre I have availed myself of no other
liberties than those which Schiller had permitted to himself, except the
occasional breaking-up of the line by the substitution of a trochee for
an iambus; of which liberty, so frequent in our tragedies, I find no
instance in these dramas.
S. T. COLERIDGE.
FOOTNOTES:
[598:1] First published in a single octavo volume, 1800: included in
1828, 1829, 1834, and in _Dramatic Works_ (one vol. 8vo) 1852. The
_Piccolomini_ and the _Death of Wallenstein_ were translated from MS.
copies which had been acquired by the Messrs. Longman. The MS. copy of
the original of the _Death of Wallenstein_ is in the possession of Mrs.
Alexander Gillman. The MS. of the copy of the original of the
_Piccolomini_ was at one time in the possession of Mr. Henry R. Mark of
17 Highbury Crescent. A note in Schiller's handwriting, dated 'Jena, 30.
September 1799', attesting the genuineness of the copies, is attached to
either play. The MS. copy of _Wallenstein's Camp_ ('Wallenstein's
Lager'), which Coleridge did not attempt to translate, is not
forthcoming. See two articles by Ferdinand Freiligrath, published in the
_Athenæum_, July 15 and August 31, 1861. See, too, _Die
Wallensteinübersetzung von Samuel T. Coleridge und ihr Deutsches
Original_ . . . vorgelegt von Hans Roscher. Borna-Leipzig, 1905. A copy
of the translation which Macready marked for acting is in the Forster
Library, which forms part of the Victoria and Albert Museum at South
Kensington. See note by J. Dykes Campbell, _P. W._, 1893, p. 649. An
annotated copy (in Coleridge's handwriting) of the translation of the
_Piccolomini_ and the _Death of Wallenstein_, presented by Mr. Shadworth
Hodgson, is in the Library of Rugby School [_MS. R._]. The MS. contents
of this volume are now published for the first time. Coleridge began his
translation of the two plays at No. 21 Buckingham Street, Strand, in
December, 1799, and finished the 'last sheet' at Town End, Grasmere,
April 20, 1800.
'These dramas have two grievous faults: they are prolix in the
particular parts and slow in the general movement. But they have
passion, distinct and diversified character, and they abound in passages
of great moral and poetic beauty.' S. T. COLERIDGE.
'The defects of these dramas are all of an instructive character; for
tho' not the products of genius, like those of Shakespere, they result
from an energetic and thinking mind. (1) The speeches are seldom suited
to characters--the characters are truly diversified and distinctly
conceived--but we learn them from the actions and from the descriptions
given by other characters, or from particular speeches. The brutal Illo
repeatedly talks language which belongs to the Countess, &c. (2)
Astrology (an undramatic superstition because it inspires no terror, and
its foundation of imagination is overbuilt and concealed by its
scientific superstructure, with other cause from the imagery, is thus
unpopular or swallowed up in more general and pleasing associations, as
the Sun and Moon) is made prophetic, and yet treated ludicrously: the
author as philosopher is in compleat discord with himself as Historian.
This is a most grievous fault. (3) The assassins talk ludicrously. This
is a most egregious misimitation of Shakespere--Schiller should not have
attempted tragico-comedy, and none but Shakespere has succeeded. It is
wonderful, however, that Schiller, who had studied Shakespere, should
not have perceived his divine judgment in the management of his
assassins, as in Macbeth. They are fearful and almost pitiable
Beings--not loathsome, ludicrous miscreants. (4) The character of Thekla
= O, the bold Heroine of any novel. Nothing of the Convent, no
superstition, nothing of the Daughter of Wallenstein, nothing that her
past life is represented by. (5) Wallenstein is a finer psychological
than dramatic, and a more dramatic than a tragic character. Shakespere
draws _strength_ as in Richard the Third, and even when he blends
weakness as in Macbeth--yet it is weakness of a specific kind that
leaves the strength in full and fearful energy--but Schiller has drawn
weakness imposing on itself the love of power for the sense of strength
(a fine conception in itself, but not tragic--at least for the principal
character of a long drama).--Hence Wallenstein, with one exception (that
of the Regimental Deputation to him in the Second Part) evaporates in
mock-mysterious speeches. These are the chief defects, I think. On the
other hand, the character of Butler is admirable throughout. Octavio is
very grand, and Max, tho' it may be an easy character to draw, for a man
of thought and lofty feeling--for a man who possesses all the _analoga_
of genius, is yet so delightful, and its moral influence so grand and
salutary, that we must allow it great praise. The childish love-toying
with the glove and Aunt Tertsky in the first act should be omitted.
Certain whole scenes are masterly, and far above anything since the
dramatists of Eliz. & James the first.' _Note on fly-leaf of annotated
copy (MS. R.)._
THE PICCOLOMINI[600:1]
ACT I
SCENE I
_An old Gothic Chamber in the Council House at Pilsen, decorated with
Colours and other War Insignia._
_ILLO with BUTLER and ISOLANI._
_Illo._ Ye have come late--but ye are come! The distance,
Count Isolan, excuses your delay.
_Isolani._ Add this too, that we come not empty-handed.
At Donauwert[600:2] it was reported to us,
A Swedish caravan was on its way 5
Transporting a rich cargo of provision,
Almost six hundred waggons. This my Croats
Plunged down upon and seized, this weighty prize!----
We bring it hither----
_Illo._ Just in time to banquet
The illustrious company assembled here. 10
_Butler._ 'Tis all alive! a stirring scene here!
_Isolani._ Ay!
The very churches are all full of soldiers.
And in the Council-house, too, I observe,
You're settled, quite at home! Well, well! we soldiers
Must shift and suit us in what way we can. 15
_Illo._ We have the Colonels here of thirty regiments.
You'll find Count Tertsky here, and Tiefenbach,
Kolatto, Goetz, Maradas, Hinnersam,
The Piccolomini, both son and father----
You'll meet with many an unexpected greeting 20
From many an old friend and acquaintance. Only
Galas is wanting still, and Altringer.
_Butler._ Expect not Galas.
_Illo._ How so? Do you know----
_Isolani._ Max Piccolomini here?--O bring me to him. 25
I see him yet, ('tis now ten years ago,
We were engaged with Mansfeld hard by Dessau)
I see the youth, in my mind's eye I see him,
Leap his black war-horse from the bridge adown,
And t'ward his father, then in extreme peril, 30
Beat up against the strong tide of the Elbe.
The down was scarce upon his chin! I hear
He has made good the promise of his youth,
And the full hero now is finished in him.
_Illo._ You'll see him yet ere evening. He conducts 35
The Duchess Friedland hither, and the Princess[601:1]
From Carnthen. We expect them here at noon.
_Butler._ Both wife and daughter does the Duke call hither?
He crowds in visitants from all sides.
_Isolani._ Hm!
So much the better! I had framed my mind 40
To hear of nought but warlike circumstance,
Of marches, and attacks, and batteries:
And lo! the Duke provides, that something too
Of gentler sort, and lovely, should be present
To feast our eyes. 45
_Illo (aside to Butler)._ And how came you to know
That the Count Galas joins us not?
_Butler._ Because
He importuned me to remain behind.
_Illo._ And you?--You hold out firmly?
Noble Butler!
_Butler._ After the obligation which the Duke 50
Had laid so newly on me----
_Illo._ I had forgotten
A pleasant duty--Major-General,
I wish you joy!
_Isolani._ What, you mean, of his regiment?
I hear, too, that to make the gift still sweeter, 55
The Duke has given him the very same
In which he first saw service, and since then,
Worked himself, step by step, through each preferment,
From the ranks upwards. And verily, it gives
A precedent of hope, a spur of action 60
To the whole corps, if once in their remembrance
An old deserving soldier makes his way.
_Butler._ I am perplexed and doubtful, whether or no
I dare accept this your congratulation.
The Emperor has not yet confirmed the appointment. 65
_Isolani._ Seize it, friend! Seize it! The hand which in that post
Placed you, is strong enough to keep you there,
Spite of the Emperor and his Ministers!
_Illo._ Ay, if we would but so consider it!--
If we would all of us consider it so! 70
The Emperor gives us nothing; from the Duke
Comes all--whate'er we hope, whate'er we have.
_Isolani (to Illo)._ My noble brother! did I tell you how
The Duke will satisfy my creditors?
Will be himself my banker for the future, 75
Make me once more a creditable man!--
And this is now the third time, think of that!
This kingly-minded man has rescued me
From absolute ruin, and restored my honour.
_Illo._ O that his power but kept pace with his wishes! 80
Why, friend! he'd give the whole world to his soldiers.
But at Vienna, brother! here's the grievance!--
What politic schemes do they not lay to shorten
His arm, and, where they can, to clip his pinions.
Then these new dainty requisitions! these, 85
Which this same Questenberg brings hither!--
_Butler._ Ay,
These requisitions of the Emperor,--
I too have heard about them; but I hope
The Duke will not draw back a single inch! 90
_Illo._ Not from his right most surely, unless first
--From office!
_Butler._ Know you aught then? You alarm me.
_Isolani (at the same time with Butler, and in a hurrying voice)._
We should be ruined, every one of us!
_Illo._ No more!
Yonder I see our worthy friend[603:1] approaching
With the Lieutenant-General, Piccolomini.
_Butler._ I fear we shall not go hence as we came. 95
FOOTNOTES:
[600:1] In 1800 the following table of _Dramatis Personae_ was prefixed
to Act I of _The Piccolomini, or The First Part of Wallenstein_. In
1828, 1829, and 1834 this table was omitted.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
_WALLENSTEIN, Duke of Friedland, Generalissimo of the Imperial Forces
in The Thirty-years' War._
_OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI, Lieutenant-General._
_MAX PICCOLOMINI, his son, Colonel of a Regiment of Cuirassiers._
_COUNT TERTSKY, the Commander of several Regiments, and Brother-in-law
of Wallenstein._
_ILLO, Field Marshal, Wallenstein's Confidant._
_ISOLANI, General of the Croats._
_BUTLER, an Irishman, Commander of a Regiment of Dragoons._
_TIEFENBACH_, }
_DON MARADAS_, } _Generals under Wallenstein._
_GOETZ_, }
_KOLATTO_, }
_NEUMANN, Captain of Cavalry, Aide-de-Camp to Tertsky._
_The War Commissioner, VON QUESTENBERG, Imperial Envoy._
_GENERAL WRANGEL, Swedish Envoy._
_BAPTISTA SENI, Astrologer._
_DUCHESS OF FRIEDLAND, Wife of Wallenstein._
_THEKLA, her Daughter, Princess of Friedland._
_The COUNTESS TERTSKY, Sister of the Duchess._
_A CORNET._
_Several COLONELS and GENERALS._
_PAGES and ATTENDANTS belonging to Wallenstein._
_ATTENDANTS and HOBÖISTS belonging to Tertsky._
_The MASTER OF THE CELLAR to Count Tertsky._
_VALET DE CHAMBRE of Count Piccolomini._
[600:2] A town about 12 German miles NE. of Ulm.
[601:1] The Dukes in Germany being always reigning powers, their sons
and daughters are entitled Princes and Princesses. _1800_, _1828_,
_1829_.
[603:1] _Spoken with a sneer._ _1800_, _1828_, _1829_.
LINENOTES:
[1] _are_ 1800.
[After 12] [_Casts his eye round._ 1817, 1828, 1829.
[24] _Illo (hesitating)._ How so? 1817, 1828, 1829. _you_ 1800, 1828,
1829.
[Before 25] _Isolani (interrupting him)._ 1817, 1828, 1829.
[45] _Illo (who has been standing in the attitude of meditation, to
Butler, whom he leads a little on one side)._ And how, &c. 1817, 1828,
1829.
[48] _me_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[49]
_Illo (with warmth)._ And you?--You hold out firmly?
[_Grasping his hand with affection._
1817, 1828, 1829.
[70] _all_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 91] _Butler (shocked and confused)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. _aught_
1800, 1828, 1829.
[93] _our worthy friend_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 95] _Butler (shaking his head significantly)._ 1817, 1828, 1829.
SCENE II
_Enter OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI and QUESTENBERG._
_Octavio._ Ay, ay! more still! Still more new visitors!
Acknowledge, friend! that never was a camp,
Which held at once so many heads of heroes.
Welcome, Count Isolani!
_Isolani._ My noble brother,
Even now am I arrived; it had been else my duty-- 5
_Octavio._ And Colonel Butler--trust me, I rejoice
Thus to renew acquaintance with a man
Whose worth and services I know and honour.
See, see, my friend!
There might we place at once before our eyes 10
The sum of war's whole trade and mystery--
[_To QUESTENBERG, presenting BUTLER and ISOLANI at the
same time to him._
These two the total sum--Strength and Dispatch.
_Questenberg (to Octavio)._ And lo! betwixt them both experienced
Prudence!
_Octavio (presenting Questenberg to Butler and Isolani)._ The
Chamberlain and War-commissioner Questenberg,
The bearer of the Emperor's behests, 15
The long-tried friend and patron of all soldiers,
We honour in this noble visitor.
_Illo._ 'Tis not the first time, noble Minister,
You have shewn our camp this honour.
_Questenberg._ Once before
I stood before these colours. 20
_Illo._ Perchance too you remember where that was.
It was at Znäim[604:1] in Moravia, where
You did present yourself upon the part
Of the Emperor, to supplicate our Duke
That he would straight assume the chief command. 25
_Questenberg._ To supplicate? Nay, noble General!
So far extended neither my commission
(At least to my own knowledge) nor my zeal.
_Illo._ Well, well, then--to compel him, if you choose.
I can remember me right well, Count Tilly 30
Had suffered total rout upon the Lech.
Bavaria lay all open to the enemy,
Whom there was nothing to delay from pressing
Onwards into the very heart of Austria.
At that time you and Werdenberg appeared 35
Before our General, storming him with prayers,
And menacing the Emperor's displeasure,
Unless he took compassion on this wretchedness.
_Isolani._ Yes, yes, 'tis comprehensible enough,
Wherefore with your commission of to-day 40
You were not all too willing to remember
Your former one.
_Questenberg._ Why not, Count Isolan?
No contradiction sure exists between them.
It was the urgent business of that time 45
To snatch Bavaria from her enemy's hand;
And my commission of to-day instructs me
To free her from her good friends and protectors.
_Illo._ A worthy office! After with our blood
We have wrested this Bohemia from the Saxon, 50
To be swept out of it is all our thanks,
The sole reward of all our hard-won victories.
_Questenberg._ Unless that wretched land be doomed to suffer
Only a change of evils, it must be
Freed from the scourge alike of friend and foe. 55
_Illo._ What? 'Twas a favourable year; the Boors
Can answer fresh demands already.
_Questenberg._ Nay,
If you discourse of herds and meadow-grounds--
_Isolani._ The war maintains the war. Are the Boors ruined,
The Emperor gains so many more new soldiers. 60
_Questenberg._ And is the poorer by even so many subjects.
_Isolani._ Poh! We are all his subjects.
_Questenberg._ Yet with a difference, General! The one fill
With profitable industry the purse,
The others are well skilled to empty it. 65
The sword has made the Emperor poor; the plough
Must reinvigorate his resources.
_Isolani._ Sure!
Times are not yet so bad. Methinks I see
[_Examining with his eye the dress and ornaments
of QUESTENBERG._
Good store of gold that still remains uncoined.
_Questenberg._ Thank Heaven! that means have been found out to
hide 70
Some little from the fingers of the Croats.
_Illo._ There! The Stawata and the Martinitz,
On whom the Emperor heaps his gifts and graces,
To the heart-burning of all good Bohemians--
Those minions of court favour, those court harpies, 75
Who fatten on the wrecks of citizens
Driven from their house and home--who reap no harvests
Save in the general calamity--
Who now, with kingly pomp, insult and mock
The desolation of their country--these, 80
Let these, and such as these, support the war,
The fatal war, which they alone enkindled!
_Butler._ And those state-parasites, who have their feet
So constantly beneath the Emperor's table,
Who cannot let a benefice fall, but they 85
Snap at it with dog's hunger--they, forsooth,
Would pare the soldier's bread, and cross his reckoning!
_Isolani._ My life long will it anger me to think,
How when I went to court seven years ago,
To see about new horses for our regiment, 90
How from one antechamber to another
They dragged me on, and left me by the hour
To kick my heels among a crowd of simpering
Feast-fattened slaves, as if I had come thither
A mendicant suitor for the crumbs of favour 95
That fall beneath their tables. And, at last,
Whom should they send me but a Capuchin!
Straight I began to muster up my sins
For absolution--but no such luck for me!
This was the man, this Capuchin, with whom 100
I was to treat concerning the army horses:
And I was forced at last to quit the field,
The business unaccomplished. Afterwards
The Duke procured me in three days, what I
Could not obtain in thirty at Vienna. 105
_Questenberg._ Yes, yes! your travelling bills soon found their
way to us:
Too well I know we have still accounts to settle.
_Illo._ War is a violent trade; one cannot always
Finish one's work by soft means; every trifle
Must not be blackened into sacrilege. 110
If we should wait till you, in solemn council,
With due deliberation had selected
The smallest out of four-and-twenty evils,
I'faith, we should wait long.--
'Dash! and through with it!'--That's the better watch-word. 115
Then after come what may come. 'Tis man's nature
To make the best of a bad thing once past.
A bitter and perplexed 'what shall I do?'
Is worse to man than worst necessity.
_Questenberg._ Ay, doubtless, it is true: the Duke does spare us 120
The troublesome task of choosing.
_Butler._ Yes, the Duke
Cares with a father's feelings for his troops;
But how the Emperor feels for us, we see.
_Questenberg._ His cares and feelings all ranks share alike,
Nor will he offer one up to another. 125
_Isolani._ And therefore thrusts he us into the deserts
As beasts of prey, that so he may preserve
His dear sheep fattening in his fields at home.
_Questenberg._ Count, this comparison you make, not I.
_Butler._ Why, were we all the Court supposes us, 130
'Twere dangerous, sure, to give us liberty.
_Questenberg._ You have taken liberty--it was not given you.
And therefore it becomes an urgent duty
To rein it in with curbs.
_Octavio._ My noble friend,
This is no more than a remembrancing 135
That you are now in camp, and among warriors.
The soldier's boldness constitutes his freedom.
Could he act daringly, unless he dared
Talk even so? One runs into the other.
The boldness of this worthy officer, [_pointing to BUTLER._ 140
Which now has but mistaken in its mark,
Preserved, when nought but boldness could preserve it,
To the Emperor his capital city, Prague,
In a most formidable mutiny
Of the whole garrison. [_Military music at a distance._ 145
Hah! here they come!
_Illo._ The sentries are saluting them: this signal
Announces the arrival of the Duchess.
_Octavio._ Then my son Max too has returned. 'Twas he
Fetched and attended them from Carnthen hither. 150
_Isolani (to Illo)._ Shall we not go in company to greet them?
_Illo._ Well, let us go.--Ho! Colonel Butler, come.
[_To OCTAVIO._
You'll not forget, that yet ere noon we meet
The noble Envoy at the General's palace.
[_Exeunt all but QUESTENBERG and OCTAVIO._
FOOTNOTES:
[604:1] A town not far from the Mine-mountains, on the high road from
Vienna to Prague.
LINENOTES:
[Before 1] _Octavio (still in the distance)._ 1817, 1828, 1829.
[After 4] [_Approaching nearer._ 1817, 1828, 1829.
[17]
We honour in this noble visitor. [_Universal silence._
_Illo (moving towards Questenberg)._ 'Tis not, &c.
1817, 1828, 1829.
[21] _where_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[26] _supplicate_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[30] _compel_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 39] _Isolani (steps up to them)._ _1817_, _1828_, _1829_.
[51] _out_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[58] _you_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[80] _these_ 1800.
[81] _these_ 1800.
[87] _pare_ 1800.
[99] _me_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[100] _This was, &c._ 1800.
[120] _does_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[124] _His_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 129] _Questenberg (with a sneer)._ 1817, 1828, 1829.
[134] _Octavio (interposing and addressing Questenberg)._ 1817, 1828,
1829.
[138] _act_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 149] _Octavio (to Questenberg)._ 1817, 1828, 1829.
[149] _Max_ 1800.
SCENE III
_QUESTENBERG and OCTAVIO._
_Questenberg._ What have I not been forced to hear, Octavio!
What sentiments! what fierce, uncurbed defiance!
And were this spirit universal--
_Octavio._ Hm!
You are now acquainted with three-fourths of the army.
_Questenberg._ Where must we seek then for a second host 5
To have the custody of this? That Illo
Thinks worse, I fear me, than he speaks. And then
This Butler too--he cannot even conceal
The passionate workings of his ill intentions.
_Octavio._ Quickness of temper--irritated pride; 10
'Twas nothing more. I cannot give up Butler.
I know a spell that will soon dispossess
The evil spirit in him.
_Questenberg._ Friend, friend!
O! this is worse, far worse, than we had suffered
Ourselves to dream of at Vienna. There 15
We saw it only with a courtier's eyes,
Eyes dazzled by the splendour of the throne.
We had not seen the War-Chief, the Commander,
The man all-powerful in his camp. Here, here,
'Tis quite another thing. 20
Here is no Emperor more--the Duke is Emperor.
Alas, my friend! alas, my noble friend!
This walk which you have ta'en me through the camp
Strikes my hopes prostrate.
_Octavio._ Now you see yourself
Of what a perilous kind the office is, 25
Which you deliver to me from the Court.
The least suspicion of the General
Costs me my freedom and my life, and would
But hasten his most desperate enterprise.
_Questenberg._ Where was our reason sleeping when we trusted 30
This madman with the sword, and placed such power
In such a hand? I tell you, he'll refuse,
Flatly refuse, to obey the Imperial orders.
Friend, he can do 't, and what he can, he will.
And then the impunity of his defiance-- 35
O! what a proclamation of our weakness!
_Octavio._ D'ye think too, he has brought his wife and daughter
Without a purpose hither? Here in camp!
And at the very point of time, in which
We're arming for the war? That he has taken 40
These, the last pledges of his loyalty,
Away from out the Emperor's domains--
This is no doubtful token of the nearness
Of some eruption!
_Questenberg._ How shall we hold footing
Beneath this tempest, which collects itself 45
And threats us from all quarters? The enemy
Of the empire on our borders, now already
The master of the Danube, and still farther,
And farther still, extending every hour!
In our interior the alarum-bells 50
Of insurrection--peasantry in arms----
All orders discontented--and the army,
Just in the moment of our expectation
Of aidance from it--lo! this very army
Seduced, run wild, lost to all discipline, 55
Loosened, and rent asunder from the state
And from their sovereign, the blind instrument
Of the most daring of mankind, a weapon
Of fearful power, which at his will he wields!
_Octavio._ Nay, nay, friend! let us not despair too soon, 60
Men's words are ever bolder than their deeds:
And many a resolute, who now appears
Made up to all extremes, will, on a sudden
Find in his breast a heart he knew not of,
Let but a single honest man speak out 65
The true name of his crime! Remember, too,
We stand not yet so wholly unprotected.
Counts Altringer and Galas have maintained
Their little army faithful to its duty,
And daily it becomes more numerous. 70
Nor can he take us by surprise: you know,
I hold him all-encompassed by my listeners.
Whate'er he does, is mine, even while 'tis doing--
No step so small, but instantly I hear it;
Yea, his own mouth discloses it.
_Questenberg._ 'Tis quite 75
Incomprehensible, that he detects not
The foe so near!
_Octavio._ Beware, you do not think,
That I by lying arts, and complaisant
Hypocrisy, have skulked into his graces:
Or with the sustenance of smooth professions 80
Nourish his all-confiding friendship! No--
Compelled alike by prudence, and that duty
Which we all owe our country, and our sovereign,
To hide my genuine feelings from him, yet
Ne'er have I duped him with base counterfeits! 85
_Questenberg._ It is the visible ordinance of heaven.
_Octavio._ I know not what it is that so attracts
And links him both to me and to my son.
Comrades and friends we always were--long habit,
Adventurous deeds performed in company, 90
And all those many and various incidents
Which store a soldier's memory with affections,
Had bound us long and early to each other--
Yet I can name the day, when all at once
His heart rose on me, and his confidence 95
Shot out in sudden growth. It was the morning
Before the memorable fight at Lützner.
Urged by an ugly dream, I sought him out,
To press him to accept another charger.
At distance from the tents, beneath a tree, 100
I found him in a sleep. When I had waked him,
And had related all my bodings to him,
Long time he stared upon me, like a man
Astounded; thereon fell upon my neck,
And manifested to me an emotion 105
That far outstripped the worth of that small service.
Since then his confidence has followed me
With the same pace that mine has fled from him.
_Questenberg._ You lead your son into the secret?
_Octavio._ No!
_Questenberg._ What? and not warn him either what bad hands 110
His lot has placed him in?
_Octavio._ I must perforce
Leave him in wardship to his innocence.
His young and open soul--dissimulation
Is foreign to its habits! Ignorance
Alone can keep alive the cheerful air, 115
The unembarrassed sense and light free spirit,
That make the Duke secure.
_Questenberg._ My honoured friend! most highly do I deem
Of Colonel Piccolomini--yet--if----
Reflect a little----
_Octavio._ I must venture it. 120
Hush!--There he comes!
LINENOTES:
[Before 1] _Questenberg (with signs of aversion and astonishment)._
1817, 1828, 1829.
[13] _him_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
_Questenberg (walking up and down in evident disquiet)._ Friend, &c.
1817, 1828, 1829.
[34] _can_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[59] _he_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[64] knew] wot 1800, 1828, 1829.
[84] _genuine_ 1800.
[95] _rose_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[118] _Questenberg (anxiously)._ My honoured, &c. 1800, 1828, 1829.
SCENE IV
_MAX PICCOLOMINI, OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI, QUESTENBERG._
_Max._ Ha! there he is himself. Welcome, my father!
You are engaged, I see. I'll not disturb you.
_Octavio._ How, Max? Look closer at this visitor;
Attention, Max, an old friend merits--Reverence
Belongs of right to the envoy of your sovereign. 5
_Max._ Von Questenberg!--Welcome--if you bring with you
Aught good to our head quarters.
_Questenberg (seizing his hand)._ Nay, draw not
Your hand away, Count Piccolomini!
Not on mine own account alone I seized it,
And nothing common will I say therewith. 10
[_Taking the hands of both._
Octavio--Max Piccolomini!
O saviour names, and full of happy omen!
Ne'er will her prosperous genius turn from Austria,
While two such stars, with blessed influences
Beaming protection, shine above her hosts. 15
_Max._ Heh!--Noble minister! You miss your part.
You came not here to act a panegyric.
You're sent, I know, to find fault and to scold us--
I must not be beforehand with my comrades.
_Octavio._ He comes from court, where people are not quite 20
So well contented with the duke, as here.
_Max._ What now have they contrived to find out in him?
That he alone determines for himself
What he himself alone doth understand?
Well, therein he does right, and will persist in 't. 25
Heaven never meant him for that passive thing
That can be struck and hammered out to suit
Another's taste and fancy. He'll not dance
To every tune of every minister.
It goes against his nature--he can't do it. 30
He is possessed by a commanding spirit,
And his too is the station of command.
And well for us it is so! There exist
Few fit to rule themselves, but few that use
Their intellects intelligently.--Then 35
Well for the whole, if there be found a man,
Who makes himself what nature destined him,
The pause, the central point to thousand thousands--
Stands fixed and stately, like a firm-built column,
Where all may press with joy and confidence. 40
Now such a man is Wallenstein; and if
Another better suits the court--no other
But such a one as he can serve the army.
_Questenberg._ The army? Doubtless!
_Octavio (aside)._ Hush! suppress it, friend!
Unless some end were answered by the utterance.-- 45
Of him there you'll make nothing.
_Max._ In their distress
They call a spirit up, and when he comes,
Straight their flesh creeps and quivers, and they dread him
More than the ills for which they called him up.
The uncommon, the sublime, must seem and be 50
Like things of every day.--But in the field,
Aye, there the Present Being makes itself felt.
The personal must command, the actual eye
Examine. If to be the chieftain asks
All that is great in nature, let it be 55
Likewise his privilege to move and act
In all the correspondencies of greatness.
The oracle within him, that which lives,
He must invoke and question--not dead books,
Not ordinances, not mould-rotted papers. 60
_Octavio._ My son! of those old narrow ordinances
Let us not hold too lightly. They are weights
Of priceless value, which oppressed mankind
Tied to the volatile will of their oppressors.
For always formidable was the league 65
And partnership of free power with free will.
The way of ancient ordinance, though it winds,
Is yet no devious way. Straight forward goes
The lightning's path, and straight the fearful path
Of the cannon-ball. Direct it flies and rapid, 70
Shattering that it may reach, and shattering what it reaches.
My son! the road the human being travels,
That on which blessing comes and goes, doth follow
The river's course, the valley's playful windings,
Curves round the corn-field and the hill of vines, 75
Honouring the holy bounds of property!
And thus secure, though late, leads to its end.
_Questenberg._ O hear your father, noble youth! hear him,
Who is at once the hero and the man.
_Octavio._ My son, the nursling of the camp spoke in thee! 80
A war of fifteen years
Hath been thy education and thy school.
Peace hast thou never witnessed! There exists
A higher than the warrior's excellence.
In war itself war is no ultimate purpose. 85
The vast and sudden deeds of violence,
Adventures wild, and wonders of the moment,
These are not they, my son, that generate
The calm, the blissful, and the enduring mighty!
Lo there! the soldier, rapid architect! 90
Builds his light town of canvas, and at once
The whole scene moves and bustles momently,
With arms, and neighing steeds, and mirth and quarrel
The motley market fills; the roads, the streams
Are crowded with new freights, trade stirs and hurries! 95
But on some morrow morn, all suddenly,
The tents drop down, the horde renews its march.
Dreary, and solitary as a church-yard
The meadow and down-trodden seed-plot lie,
And the year's harvest is gone utterly. 100
_Max._ O let the Emperor make peace, my father!
Most gladly would I give the blood-stained laurel
For the first violet[614:1] of the leafless spring,
Plucked in those quiet fields where I have journeyed!
_Octavio._ What ails thee? What so moves thee all at once? 105
_Max._ Peace have I ne'er beheld? I have beheld it.
From thence am I come hither: O! that sight,
It glimmers still before me, like some landscape
Left in the distance,--some delicious landscape!
My road conducted me through countries where 110
The war has not yet reached. Life, life, my father--
My venerable father, life has charms
Which we have ne'er experienced. We have been
But voyaging along its barren coasts,
Like some poor ever-roaming horde of pirates, 115
That, crowded in the rank and narrow ship,
House on the wild sea with wild usages,
Nor know aught of the main land, but the bays
Where safeliest they may venture a thieves' landing.
Whate'er in the inland dales the land conceals 120
Of fair and exquisite, O! nothing, nothing,
Do we behold of that in our rude voyage.
_Octavio._ And so your journey has revealed this to you?
_Max._ 'Twas the first leisure of my life. O tell me,
What is the meed and purpose of the toil, 125
The painful toil, which robbed me of my youth,
Left me a heart unsoul'd and solitary,
A spirit uninformed, unornamented.
For the camp's stir and crowd and ceaseless larum,
The neighing war-horse, the air-shattering trumpet, 130
The unvaried, still-returning hour of duty,
Word of command, and exercise of arms--
There's nothing here, there's nothing in all this
To satisfy the heart, the gasping heart!
Mere bustling nothingness, where the soul is not-- 135
This cannot be the sole felicity,
These cannot be man's best and only pleasures.
_Octavio._ Much hast thou learnt, my son, in this short journey.
_Max._ O! day thrice lovely! when at length the soldier
Returns home into life; when he becomes 140
A fellow-man among his fellow-men.
The colours are unfurled, the cavalcade
Marshals, and now the buzz is hushed, and hark!
Now the soft peace-march beats, home, brothers, home!
The caps and helmets are all garlanded 145
With green boughs, the last plundering of the fields.
The city gates fly open of themselves,
They need no longer the petard to tear them.
The ramparts are all filled with men and women,
With peaceful men and women, that send onwards 150
Kisses and welcomings upon the air,
Which they make breezy with affectionate gestures.
From all the towers rings out the merry peal,
The joyous vespers of a bloody day.
O happy man, O fortunate! for whom 155
The well-known door, the faithful arms are open,
The faithful tender arms with mute embracing.
_Questenberg._ O! that you should speak
Of such a distant, distant time, and not
Of the to-morrow, not of this to-day. 160
_Max._ Where lies the fault but on you in Vienna?
I will deal openly with you, Questenberg.
Just now, as first I saw you standing here,
(I'll own it to you freely) indignation
Crowded and pressed my inmost soul together. 165
'Tis ye that hinder peace, ye!--and the warrior,
It is the warrior that must force it from you.
Ye fret the General's life out, blacken him,
Hold him up as a rebel, and Heaven knows
What else still worse, because he spares the Saxons, 170
And tries to awaken confidence in the enemy;
Which yet 's the only way to peace: for if
War intermit not during war, how then
And whence can peace come?--Your own plagues fall on you!
Even as I love what's virtuous, hate I you. 175
And here make I this vow, here pledge myself;
My blood shall spurt out for this Wallenstein,
And my heart drain off, drop by drop, ere ye
Shall revel and dance jubilee o'er his ruin. [_Exit._
FOOTNOTES:
[614:1] In the original,
Den blut'gen Lorbeer geb ich him mit Freuden
Fürs erste Veilchen, das der Merz uns bringt,
Das duftige Pffand der neuverjüngten Erde.
_1800_, _1828_, _1829_.
LINENOTES:
[After 1] [_He embraces His father. As he turns round he observes
Questenberg, and draws back with a cold and reserved air._ 1800, 1828,
1829.
[Before 6] _Max (drily)._ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 20] _Octavio (to Max)._ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[38] to] of 1800.
[44] _Octavio (to Questenberg)._ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[45] _some_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[46] _him_ 1800, 1828, 1829. _Max (continuing)._ In their, &c. 1800,
1828, 1829.
[52] _there_ the _Present Being_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[58] _lives_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[63] _th' oppressed_ MS. R.
[71] _may_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[73] BLESSING 1800, 1828, 1829.
[78] _him_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[106] _have_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[113] _we_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 123] _Octavio (attentive, with an appearance of uneasiness)._
1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 158] _Questenberg (apparently much affected)._ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 161] _Max (turning round to him, quick and vehement)._ 1800,
1828, 1829.
[165] peace, _ye_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[172] _how_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[173] _whence_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
SCENE V
_QUESTENBERG, OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI._
_Questenberg._ Alas, alas! and stands it so?
What, friend! and do we let him go away
In this delusion--let him go away?
Not call him back immediately, not open
His eyes upon the spot?
_Octavio._ He has now opened mine, 5
And I see more than pleases me.
_Questenberg._ What is it?
_Octavio._ Curse on this journey!
_Questenberg._ But why so? What is it?
_Octavio._ Come, come along, friend! I must follow up
The ominous track immediately. Mine eyes
Are opened now, and I must use them. Come! 10
[_Draws QUESTENBERG on with him._
_Questenberg._ What now? Where go you then?
_Octavio._ To her herself.
_Questenberg._ To----
_Octavio._ To the Duke. Come, let us go--'Tis done, 'tis done,
I see the net that is thrown over him.
O! he returns not to me as he went.
_Questenberg._ Nay, but explain yourself.
_Octavio._ And that I should not 15
Foresee it, not prevent this journey! Wherefore
Did I keep it from him?--You were in the right.
I should have warned him! Now it is too late.
_Questenberg._ But what's too late? Bethink yourself, my friend,
That you are talking absolute riddles to me. 20
_Octavio._ Come!--to the Duke's. 'Tis close upon the hour
Which he appointed you for audience. Come!
A curse, a threefold curse, upon this journey!
[_He leads QUESTENBERG off._
LINENOTES:
[After 1] [_Then in pressing and impatient tones._ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[5] _Octavio (recovering himself out of a deep study)._ 1800, 1828,
1829.
[11] _Where_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 12] _Octavio (interrupting him, and correcting himself)._ 1800,
1828, 1829.
[19] _what's_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 21] _Octavio (more collected)._ 1800, 1828, 1829.
SCENE VI
_Changes to a spacious chamber in the house of the Duke of
Friedland._--Servants _employed in putting the tables and chairs in
order. During this enters SENI, like an old Italian doctor, in black,
and clothed somewhat fantastically. He carries a white staff, with which
he marks out the quarters of the heaven._
_First Servant._ Come--to it, lads, to it! Make an end of it.
I hear the sentry call out, 'Stand to your arms!' They will
be there in a minute.
_Second Servant._ Why were we not told before that the
audience would be held here? Nothing prepared--no orders--no 5
instructions--
_Third Servant._ Ay, and why was the balcony-chamber
countermanded, that with the great worked carpet?--there one can
look about one.
_First Servant._ Nay, that you must ask the mathematician there. 10
He says it is an unlucky chamber.
_Second Servant._ Poh! stuff and nonsense! That's what I call
a hum. A chamber is a chamber; what much can the place
signify in the affair?
_Seni._ My son, there's nothing insignificant, 15
Nothing! But yet in every earthly thing
First and most principal is place and time.
_First Servant (to the Second)._ Say nothing to him, Nat. The
Duke himself must let him have his own will.
_Seni (counts the chairs, half in a loud, half in a low voice, till
he comes to eleven, which he repeats)._ Eleven! an evil number!
Set twelve chairs. 20
Twelve! twelve signs hath the zodiac: five and seven,
The holy numbers, include themselves in twelve.
_Second Servant._ And what may you have to object against
eleven? I should like to know that now.
_Seni._ Eleven is--transgression; eleven oversteps 25
The ten commandments.
_Second Servant._ That's good! and why do you call five an
holy number?
_Seni._ Five is the soul of man: for even as man
Is mingled up of good and evil, so 30
The five is the first number that's made up
Of even and odd.
_Second Servant._ The foolish old coxcomb!
_First Servant._ Ey! let him alone though. I like to hear
him; there is more in his words than can be seen at first sight. 35
_Third Servant._ Off! They come.
_Second Servant._ There! Out at the side-door.
[_They hurry off. SENI follows slowly. A page brings the
staff of command on a red cushion, and places it on
the table near the DUKE'S chair. They are announced
from without, and the wings of the door fly open._
LINENOTES:
[13] _hum_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 15] _Seni (with gravity)._ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[15] _nothing_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[16] _Nothing_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
SCENE VII
_WALLENSTEIN, DUCHESS._
_Wallenstein._ You went then through Vienna, were presented
To the Queen of Hungary?
_Duchess._ Yes, and to the Empress too,
And by both Majesties were we admitted
To kiss the hand.
_Wallenstein._ And how was it received,
That I had sent for wife and daughter hither 5
To the camp, in winter time?
_Duchess._ I did even that
Which you commissioned me to do. I told them,
You had determined on our daughter's marriage,
And wished, ere yet you went into the field,
To shew the elected husband his betrothed. 10
_Wallenstein._ And did they guess the choice which I had made?
_Duchess._ They only hoped and wished it may have fallen
Upon no foreign nor yet Lutheran noble.
_Wallenstein._ And you--what do you wish, Elizabeth?
_Duchess._ Your will, you know, was always mine.
_Wallenstein._ Well, then? 15
And in all else, of what kind and complexion
Was your reception at the court?
Hide nothing from me. How were you received?
_Duchess._ O! my dear lord, all is not what it was.
A cankerworm, my lord, a cankerworm 20
Has stolen into the bud.
_Wallenstein._ Ay! is it so!
What, they were lax? they failed of the old respect?
_Duchess._ Not of respect. No honours were omitted,
No outward courtesy; but in the place
Of condescending, confidential kindness, 25
Familiar and endearing, there were given me
Only these honours and that solemn courtesy.
Ah! and the tenderness which was put on,
It was the guise of pity, not of favour.
No! Albrecht's wife, Duke Albrecht's princely wife, 30
Count Harrach's noble daughter, should not so--
Not wholly so should she have been received.
_Wallenstein._ Yes, yes; they have ta'en offence. My latest
conduct,
They railed at it, no doubt.
_Duchess._ O that they had!
I have been long accustomed to defend you, 35
To heal and pacify distempered spirits.
No; no one railed at you. They wrapped them up,
O Heaven! in such oppressive, solemn silence!--
Here is no every-day misunderstanding,
No transient pique, no cloud that passes over; 40
Something most luckless, most unhealable,
Has taken place. The Queen of Hungary
Used formerly to call me her dear aunt,
And ever at departure to embrace me--
_Wallenstein._ Now she omitted it?
_Duchess._ She did embrace me, 45
But then first when I had already taken
My formal leave, and when the door already
Had closed upon me, then did she come out
In haste, as she had suddenly bethought herself,
And pressed me to her bosom, more with anguish 50
Than tenderness.
_Wallenstein (seizes her hand soothingly)._ Nay, now collect
yourself,
And what of Eggenberg and Lichtenstein,
And of our other friends there?
_Duchess._ I saw none.
_Wallenstein._ The Ambassador from Spain, who once was wont
To plead so warmly for me?--
_Duchess._ Silent, Silent! 55
_Wallenstein._ These suns then are eclipsed for us. Henceforward
Must we roll on, our own fire, our own light.
_Duchess._ And were it--were it, my dear lord, in that
Which moved about the court in buzz and whisper,
But in the country let itself be heard 60
Aloud--in that which Father Lamormain
In sundry hints and----
_Wallenstein._ Lamormain! what said he?
_Duchess._ That you're accused of having daringly
O'erstepped the powers entrusted to you, charged
With traitorous contempt of the Emperor 65
And his supreme behests. The proud Bavarian,
He and the Spaniards stand up your accusers--
That there's a storm collecting over you
Of far more fearful menace than that former one
Which whirled you headlong down at Regensburg. 70
And people talk, said he, of----Ah!--
_Wallenstein._ Proceed!
_Duchess._ I cannot utter it!
_Wallenstein._ Proceed!
_Duchess._ They talk----
_Wallenstein._ Well!
_Duchess._ Of a second----
_Wallenstein._ Second----
_Duchess._ More disgraceful
----Dismission.
_Wallenstein._ Talk they?
O! they force, they thrust me
With violence, against my own will, onward! 75
_Duchess_. O! if there yet be time, my husband! if
By giving way and by submission, this
Can be averted--my dear lord, give way!
Win down your proud heart to it! Tell that heart
It is your sovereign lord, your Emperor 80
Before whom you retreat. O let no longer
Low tricking malice blacken your good meaning
With abhorred venomous glosses. Stand you up
Shielded and helm'd and weapon'd with the truth,
And drive before you into uttermost shame 85
These slanderous liars! Few firm friends have we--
You know it!--The swift growth of our good fortune
It hath but set us up, a mark for hatred.
What are we, if the sovereign's grace and favour
Stand not before us? 90
LINENOTES:
[14] _you_ wish 1800, 1828, 1829.
[15] _Wallenstein (after a pause)._ Well, then? 1800, 1828, 1829.
[After 17] [_The DUCHESS casts her eyes on the ground and remains
silent._ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[31] _so_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[45] _Now_ 1800, 1828, 1829. _Duchess (wiping away her tears, after a
pause)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. _did_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[53] _Duchess (shaking her head)._ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[62] _Wallenstein (eagerly)._ Lamormain, &c. 1800, 1828, 1829. _he_
1800, 1828, 1829.
[71]
And people . . . Ah!-- [_Stifling extreme emotion._
1800, 1828, 1829.
[73] _Duchess._ Of a second---- (_catches her voice and hesitates_).
1800, 1828, 1829.
[74]
_Wallenstein._ Talk they? [_Strides across the chamber in vehement
agitation._
1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 76] _Duchess (presses near to him, in entreaty)._ 1800, 1828,
1829.
SCENE VIII
_Enter the COUNTESS TERTSKY, leading in her hand the PRINCESS THEKLA,
richly adorned with brilliants._
_COUNTESS, THEKLA, WALLENSTEIN, DUCHESS._
_Countess._ How, sister? What already upon business,
And business of no pleasing kind I see,
Ere he has gladdened at his child. The first
Moment belongs to joy. Here, Friedland! father!
This is thy daughter. 5
(_THEKLA approaches with a shy and timid air, and bends
herself as about to kiss his hand. He receives her
in his arms, and remains standing for some time
lost in the feeling of her presence._)
_Wallenstein._ Yes! pure and lovely hath hope risen on me:
I take her as the pledge of greater fortune.
_Duchess._ 'Twas but a little child when you departed
To raise up that great army for the Emperor:
And after, at the close of the campaign, 10
When you returned home out of Pomerania,
Your daughter was already in the convent,
Wherein she has remain'd till now.
_Wallenstein._ The while
We in the field here gave our cares and toils
To make her great, and fight her a free way 15
To the loftiest earthly good, lo! mother Nature
Within the peaceful silent convent walls
Has done her part, and out of her free grace
Hath she bestowed on the beloved child
The godlike; and now leads her thus adorned 20
To meet her splendid fortune, and my hope.
_Duchess (to Thekla)._ Thou wouldst not have recognized thy father,
Wouldst thou, my child? She counted scarce eight years,
When last she saw your face.
_Thekla._ O yes, yes, mother!
At the first glance!--My father is not altered. 25
The form, that stands before me, falsifies
No feature of the image that hath lived
So long within me!
_Wallenstein._ The voice of my child!
[_Then after a pause._
I was indignant at my destiny
That it denied me a man-child to be 30
Heir of my name and of my prosperous fortune,
And re-illume my soon extinguished being
In a proud line of princes.
I wronged my destiny. Here upon this head
So lovely in its maiden bloom will I 35
Let fall the garland of a life of war,
Nor deem it lost, if only I can wreath it
Transmitted to a regal ornament,
Around these beauteous brows.
[_He clasps her in his arms as PICCOLOMINI enters._
LINENOTES:
[After 1] [_Observing the countenance of the Duchess._ 1800, 1828, 1829.
SCENE IX
_Enter MAX PICCOLOMINI, and some time after COUNT TERTSKY, the others
remaining as before._
_Countess._ There comes the Paladin who protected us.
_Wallenstein._ Max! Welcome, ever welcome! Always wert thou
The morning star of my best joys!
_Max._ My General----
_Wallenstein._ 'Till now it was the Emperor who rewarded thee,
I but the instrument. This day thou hast bound 5
The father to thee, Max! the fortunate father,
And this debt Friedland's self must pay.
_Max._ My prince!
You made no common hurry to transfer it.
I come with shame: yea, not without a pang!
For scarce have I arrived here, scarce delivered 10
The mother and the daughter to your arms,
But there is brought to me from your equerry
A splendid richly-plated hunting dress
So to remunerate me for my troubles----
Yes, yes, remunerate me! Since a trouble 15
It must be, a mere office, not a favour
Which I leapt forward to receive, and which
I came already with full heart to thank you for.
No! 'twas not so intended, that my business
Should be my highest best good fortune! 20
[_TERTSKY enters, and delivers letters to the DUKE, which
he breaks open hurryingly._
_Countess (to Max)._ Remunerate your trouble! For his joy
He makes you recompense. 'Tis not unfitting
For you, Count Piccolomini, to feel
So tenderly--my brother it beseems
To shew himself for ever great and princely. 25
_Thekla._ Then I too must have scruples of his love:
For his munificent hands did ornament me
Ere yet the father's heart had spoken to me.
_Max._ Yes; 'tis his nature ever to be giving
And making happy.
How my heart pours out 30
Its all of thanks to him: O! how I seem
To utter all things in the dear name Friedland.
While I shall live, so long will I remain
The captive of this name: in it shall bloom
My every fortune, every lovely hope. 35
Inextricably as in some magic ring
In this name hath my destiny charm-bound me!
_Countess._ My brother wishes us to leave him. Come.
_Wallenstein (turns himself round quick, collects himself, and
speaks with cheerfulness to the Duchess)._ Once more I
bid thee welcome to the camp,
Thou art the hostess of this court. You, Max, 40
Will now again administer your old office,
While we perform the sovereign's business here.
[_MAX PICCOLOMINI offers the DUCHESS his arm, the
COUNTESS accompanies the PRINCESS._
_Tertsky (calling after him)._ Max, we depend on seeing you at the
meeting.
LINENOTES:
[30]
And making happy. [_He grasps the hand of the DUCHESS with still
increasing warmth._
1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 38] _Countess (who during this time has been anxiously watching
the Duke, and remarks that he is lost in thought over the letters)._
1800, 1828, 1829.
SCENE X
_WALLENSTEIN, COUNT TERTSKY._
_Wallenstein (to himself)._ She hath seen all things as they are--It
is so
And squares completely with my other notices.
They have determined finally in Vienna,
Have given me my successor already;
It is the king of Hungary, Ferdinand, 5
The Emperor's delicate son! he's now their saviour,
He's the new star that's rising now! Of us
They think themselves already fairly rid,
And as we were deceased, the heir already
Is entering on possession--Therefore--dispatch! 10
[_As he turns round he observes TERTSKY, and gives him
a letter._
Count Altringer will have himself excused,
And Galas too--I like not this!
_Tertsky._ And if
Thou loiterest longer, all will fall away,
One following the other.
_Wallenstein._ Altringer
Is master of the Tyrole passes. I must forthwith 15
Send some one to him, that he let not in
The Spaniards on me from the Milanese.
----Well, and the old Sesin, that ancient trader
In contraband negotiations, he
Has shewn himself again of late. What brings he 20
From the Count Thur?
_Tertsky._ The Count communicates,
He has found out the Swedish chancellor
At Halberstadt, where the convention's held,
Who says, you've tired him out, and that he'll have
No further dealings with you.
_Wallenstein._ And why so? 25
[625:1]_Tertsky._ He says, you are never in earnest in your
speeches,
That you decoy the Swedes--to make fools of them,
Will league yourself with Saxony against them,
And at last make yourself a riddance of them
With a paltry sum of money.
_Wallenstein._ So then, doubtless, 30
Yes, doubtless, this same modest Swede expects
That I shall yield him some fair German tract
For his prey and booty, that ourselves at last
On our own soil and native territory,
May be no longer our own lords and masters! 35
An excellent scheme! No, no! They must be off,
Off, off! away! we want no such neighbours.
_Tertsky._ Nay, yield them up that dot, that speck of land--
It goes not from your portion. If you win
The game what matters it to you who pays it? 40
_Wallenstein._ Off with them, off! Thou understand'st not this.
Never shall it be said of me, I parcelled
My native land away, dismembered Germany,
Betrayed it to a foreigner, in order
To come with stealthy tread, and filch away 45
My own share of the plunder--Never! never!--
No foreign power shall strike root in the empire,
And least of all, these Goths! these hunger-wolves!
Who send such envious, hot and greedy glances
T'wards the rich blessings of our German lands! 50
I'll have their aid to cast and draw my nets,
But not a single fish of all the draught
Shall they come in for.
_Tertsky._ You will deal, however,
More fairly with the Saxons? They lose patience
While you shift ground and make so many curves. 55
Say, to what purpose all these masks? Your friends
Are plunged in doubts, baffled, and led astray in you.
There's Oxenstirn, there's Arnheim--neither knows
What he should think of your procrastinations.
And in the end I prove the liar: all 60
Passes through me. I have not even your hand-writing.
_Wallenstein._ I never give my handwriting; thou knowest it.
_Tertsky._ But how can it be known that you're in earnest,
If the act follows not upon the word?
You must yourself acknowledge, that in all 65
Your intercourses hitherto with the enemy
You might have done with safety all you have done,
Had you meant nothing further than to gull him
For the Emperor's service.
_Wallenstein (after a pause, during which he looks narrowly on
Tertsky)._ And from whence dost thou know
That I'm not gulling him for the Emperor's service? 70
Whence knowest thou that I'm not gulling all of you?
Dost thou know me so well? When made I thee
The intendant of my secret purposes?
I am not conscious that I ever open'd
My inmost thoughts to thee. The Emperor, it is true, 75
Hath dealt with me amiss; and if I would,
I could repay him with usurious interest
For the evil he hath done me. It delights me
To know my power; but whether I shall use it,
Of that, I should have thought that thou could'st speak 80
No wiselier than thy fellows.
_Tertsky._ So hast thou always played thy game with us.
[_Enter ILLO._
FOOTNOTES:
[625:1] This passing off of his real irresolution and fancy-dalliance
for depth of Reserve and for Plan formed within the magic circle of his
own inapproachable spirits is very fine; but still it is not tragic--nay
scarce obvious enough to be altogether _dramatic_, if in this word we
involve theatre-representation. Iago (so far only analogous to
Wallenstein as in him an _Impulse_ is the source of his conduct rather
than the _motive_), always acting is not the object of Interest, [but]
derives a constant interest from Othello, on whom he is acting; from
Desdemona, Cassio, every one; and, besides, for the purpose of theatric
comprehensibility he is furnished with a set of outside motives that
actually pass with the groundling for the true springs of action. _MS.
R_.
LINENOTES:
[Before 1] _Wallenstein (in deep thought to himself)._ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[37] _we_ 1800
[62] _never_ 1800.
[63] _known_ 1800.
[69] _thou_ 1800.
[70] _not_ 1800.
[72] _me_ 1800.
[76] _would_ 1800.
[79] _power_ 1800.
SCENE XI
_ILLO, WALLENSTEIN, TERTSKY._
_Wallenstein._ How stand affairs without? Are they prepared?
_Illo._ You'll find them in the very mood you wish.
They know about the Emperor's requisitions,
And are tumultuous.
_Wallenstein._ How hath Isolan
Declared himself?
_Illo._ He's yours, both soul and body, 5
Since you built up again his Faro-bank.
_Wallenstein._ And which way doth Kolatto bend? Hast thou
Made sure of Tiefenbach and Deodate?
_Illo._ What Piccolomini does, that they do too.
_Wallenstein._ You mean then I may venture somewhat with them? 10
_Illo._--If you are assured of the Piccolomini.
_Wallenstein._ Not more assured of mine own self.
_Tertsky._ And yet
I would you trusted not so much to Octavio,
The fox!
_Wallenstein._ Thou teachest me to know my man?
Sixteen campaigns I have made with that old warrior. 15
Besides, I have his horoscope,
We both are born beneath like stars--in short
To this belongs its own particular aspect,
If therefore thou canst warrant me the rest----
_Illo._ There is among them all but this one voice, 20
You must not lay down the command. I hear
They mean to send a deputation to you.
_Wallenstein._ If I'm in aught to bind myself to them,
They too must bind themselves to me.
_Illo._ Of course.
_Wallenstein._ Their words of honour they must give, their oaths, 25
Give them in writing to me, promising
Devotion to my service unconditional.
_Illo._ Why not?
_Tertsky._ Devotion unconditional?
The exception of their duties towards Austria
They'll always place among the premises. 30
With this reserve----
_Wallenstein._ All unconditional!
No premises, no reserves.
_Illo._ A thought has struck me.
Does not Count Tertsky give us a set banquet
This evening?
_Tertsky._ Yes; and all the Generals
Have been invited.
_Illo (to Wallenstein)._ Say, will you here fully 35
Commission me to use my own discretion?
I'll gain for you the Generals' words of honour,
Even as you wish.
_Wallenstein._ Gain me their signatures!
How you come by them, that is your concern.
_Illo._ And if I bring it to you, black on white, 40
That all the leaders who are present here
Give themselves up to you, without condition;
Say, will you then--then will you shew yourself
In earnest, and with some decisive action
Make trial of your luck?
_Wallenstein._ The signatures! 45
Gain me the signatures.
_Illo._ [628:1]Seize, seize the hour
Ere it slips from you. Seldom comes the moment
In life, which is indeed sublime and weighty.
To make a great decision possible,
O! many things, all transient and all rapid, 50
Must meet at once: and, haply, they thus met
May by that confluence be enforced to pause
Time long enough for wisdom, though too short,
Far, far too short a time for doubt and scruple!
This is that moment. See, our army chieftains, 55
Our best, our noblest, are assembled around you,
Their kinglike leader! On your nod they wait.
The single threads, which here your prosperous fortune
Hath woven together in one potent web
Instinct with destiny, O let them not 60
Unravel of themselves. If you permit
These chiefs to separate, so unanimous
Bring you them not a second time together.
'Tis the high tide that heaves the stranded ship,
And every individual's spirit waxes 65
In the great stream of multitudes. Behold
They are still here, here still! But soon the war
Bursts them once more asunder, and in small
Particular anxieties and interests
Scatters their spirit, and the sympathy 70
Of each man with the whole. He, who to-day
Forgets himself, forced onward with the stream,
Will become sober, seeing but himself,
Feel only his own weakness, and with speed
Will face about, and march on in the old 75
High road of duty, the old broad-trodden road,
And seek but to make shelter in good plight.
_Wallenstein._ The time is not yet come.
_Tertsky._ So you say always.
But when will it be time?
_Wallenstein._ When I shall say it.
_Illo._ You'll wait upon the stars, and on their hours, 80
Till the earthly hour escapes you. O, believe me,
In your own bosom are your destiny's stars.
Confidence in yourself, prompt resolution,
This is your Venus! and the sole malignant,
The only one that harmeth you is Doubt. 85
_Wallenstein._ Thou speakest as thou understand'st. How oft
And many a time I've told thee, Jupiter,
That lustrous god, was setting at thy birth.
Thy visual power subdues no mysteries;
Mole-eyed, thou mayest but burrow in the earth, 90
[629:1]Blind as that subterrestrial, who with wan,
Lead-coloured shine lighted thee into life.
The common, the terrestrial, thou mayest see,
With serviceable cunning knit together
The nearest with the nearest; and therein 95
I trust thee and believe thee! but whate'er
Full of mysterious import Nature weaves,
And fashions in the depths--the spirit's ladder,
That from this gross and visible world of dust
Even to the starry world, with thousand rounds, 100
Builds itself up; on which the unseen powers
Move up and down on heavenly ministries--
The circles in the circles, that approach
The central sun with ever-narrowing orbit--
These see the glance alone, the unsealed eye, 105
Of Jupiter's glad children born in lustre.
[_He walks across the chamber, then returns, and standing
still, proceeds._
The heavenly constellations make not merely
The day and nights, summer and spring, not merely
Signify to the husbandman the seasons
Of sowing and of harvest. Human action, 110
That is the seed too of contingencies,
Strewed on the dark land of futurity
In hopes to reconcile the powers of fate.
Whence it behoves us to seek out the seed-time,
To watch the stars, select their proper hours, 115
And trace with searching eye the heavenly houses,
Whether the enemy of growth and thriving
Hide himself not, malignant, in his corner.
Therefore permit me my own time. Meanwhile
Do you your part. As yet I cannot say 120
What I shall do--only, give way I will not.
Depose me too they shall not. On these points
You may rely.
_Page (entering)._ My Lords, the Generals.
_Wallenstein._ Let them come in.
FOOTNOTES:
[628:1] Here is an instance of the defect classed No. 1 in the blank
leaf. With what propriety is this speech of profound moral insight put
in the mouth of that stupid, foolish Illo? _MS. R_.
[629:1] This is _said_, and finely too; but in what one instance is it
shown realized in Illo? This is a common fault of a man of genius whose
genius is not however _creative_ but _ideative_. There is just such
another in my Maria as described by Osorio, the Character exists only in
the description. _MS. R_.
LINENOTES:
[After 17] (_with an air of mystery_) 1800, 1828, 1829.
[21] _must_ 1800.
[27] _unconditional_ 1800.
[28] _unconditional_ 1800.
[31] _unconditional_ 1800.
[32] _Wallenstein (shaking his head)._ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[39] _your_ 1800.
[43] _then_--_then_ 1800.
[66] multitudes] multitude 1800.
[79] _when_ 1800.
[108] nights] night 1800, 1828, 1829.
[121] _I_ 1800.
SCENE XII
_WALLENSTEIN, TERTSKY, ILLO.--To them enter QUESTENBERG, OCTAVIO, and
MAX PICCOLOMINI, BUTLER, ISOLANI, MARADAS, and three other_ Generals.
_WALLENSTEIN motions QUESTENBERG, who in consequence takes the Chair
directly opposite to him; the others follow, arranging themselves
according to their rank._
_Wallenstein._ I have understood, 'tis true, the sum and import
Of your instructions, Questenberg, have weighed them,
And formed my final, absolute resolve;
Yet it seems fitting, that the Generals
Should hear the will of the Emperor from your mouth. 5
May't please you then to open your commission
Before these noble Chieftains.
_Questenberg._ I am ready
To obey you; but will first entreat your Highness,
And all these noble Chieftains, to consider,
The Imperial dignity and sovereign right 10
Speaks from my mouth, and not my own presumption.
_Wallenstein._ We excuse all preface.
_Questenberg._ When his Majesty
The Emperor to his courageous armies
Presented in the person of Duke Friedland
A most experienced and renowned commander, 15
He did it in glad hope and confidence
To give thereby to the fortune of the war
A rapid and auspicious change. The onset
Was favourable to his royal wishes.
Bohemia was delivered from the Saxons, 20
The Swede's career of conquest checked! These lands
Began to draw breath freely, as Duke Friedland
From all the streams of Germany forced hither
The scattered armies of the enemy,
Hither invoked as round one magic circle 25
The Rhinegrave, Bernhard, Banner, Oxenstirn,
Yea, and that never-conquered King himself;
Here finally, before the eye of Nürnberg,
The fearful game of battle to decide.
_Wallenstein._ May't please you to the point. 30
_Questenberg._ In Nürnberg's camp the Swedish monarch left
His fame--in Lützen's plains his life. But who
Stood not astounded, when victorious Friedland
After this day of triumph, this proud day,
Marched toward Bohemia with the speed of flight, 35
And vanished from the theatre of war;
While the young Weimar hero forced his way
Into Franconia, to the Danube, like
Some delving winter-stream, which, where it rushes,
Makes its own channel; with such sudden speed 40
He marched, and now at once 'fore Regenspurg
Stood to the affright of all good Catholic Christians.
Then did Bavaria's well-deserving Prince
Entreat swift aidance in his extreme need;
The Emperor sends seven horsemen to Duke Friedland, 45
Seven horsemen couriers sends he with the entreaty:
He superadds his own, and supplicates
Where as the sovereign lord he can command.
In vain his supplication! At this moment
The Duke hears only his old hate and grudge, 50
Barters the general good to gratify
Private revenge--and so falls Regenspurg.
_Wallenstein._ Max, to what period of the war alludes he?
My recollection fails me here.
_Max._ He means
When we were in Silesia.
_Wallenstein._ Ay! Is it so! 55
But what had we to do there?
_Max._ To beat out
The Swedes and Saxons from the province.
_Wallenstein._ True.
In that description which the Minister gave
I seemed to have forgotten the whole war. [_To QUESTENBERG._
Well, but proceed a little.
_Questenberg._ Yes! at length 60
Beside the river Oder did the Duke
Assert his ancient fame. Upon the fields
Of Steinau did the Swedes lay down their arms,
Subdued without a blow. And here, with others,
The righteousness of Heaven to his avenger 65
Delivered that long-practised stirrer-up
Of insurrection, that curse-laden torch
And kindler of this war, Matthias Thur.
But he had fallen into magnanimous hands;
Instead of punishment he found reward, 70
And with rich presents did the Duke dismiss
The arch-foe of his Emperor.
_Wallenstein (laughs)._ I know,
I know you had already in Vienna
Your windows and balconies all forestalled
To see him on the executioner's cart. 75
I might have lost the battle, lost it too
With infamy, and still retained your graces--
But, to have cheated them of a spectacle,
Oh! that the good folks of Vienna never,
No, never can forgive me.
_Questenberg._ So Silesia 80
Was freed, and all things loudly called the Duke
Into Bavaria, now pressed hard on all sides.
And he did put his troops in motion: slowly,
Quite at his ease, and by the longest road
He traverses Bohemia; but ere ever 85
He hath once seen the enemy, faces round,
Breaks up the march, and takes to winter quarters.
_Wallenstein._ The troops were pitiably destitute
Of every necessary, every comfort.
The winter came. What thinks his Majesty 90
His troops are made of? Arn't we men? subjected
Like other men to wet, and cold, and all
The circumstances of necessity?
O miserable lot of the poor soldier!
Wherever he comes in, all flee before him, 95
And when he goes away, the general curse
Follows him on his route. All must be seized,
Nothing is given him. And compelled to seize
From every man, he's every man's abhorrence.
Behold, here stand my Generals. Karaffa! 100
Count Deodate! Butler! Tell this man
How long the soldiers' pay is in arrears.
_Butler._ Already a full year.
_Wallenstein._ And 'tis the hire
That constitutes the hireling's name and duties,
The soldier's pay is the soldier's covenant.[634:1] 105
_Questenberg._ Ah! this is a far other tone from that
In which the Duke spoke eight, nine years ago.
_Wallenstein._ Yes! 'tis my fault, I know it: I myself
Have spoilt the Emperor by indulging him.
Nine years ago, during the Danish war, 110
I raised him up a force, a mighty force,
Forty or fifty thousand men, that cost him
Of his own purse no doit. Through Saxony
The fury goddess of the war marched on,
E'en to the surf-rocks of the Baltic, bearing 115
The terrors of his name. That was a time!
In the whole Imperial realm no name like mine
Honoured with festival and celebration--
And Albrecht Wallenstein, it was the title
Of the third jewel in his crown! 120
But at the Diet, when the Princes met
At Regenspurg, there, there the whole broke out,
There 'twas laid open, there it was made known,
Out of what money-bag I had paid the host.
And what was now my thank, what had I now, 125
That I, a faithful servant of the Sovereign,
Had loaded on myself the people's curses,
And let the Princes of the empire pay
The expenses of this war, that aggrandizes
The Emperor alone--What thanks had I! 130
What? I was offered up to their complaints,
Dismissed, degraded!
_Questenberg._ But your Highness knows
What little freedom he possessed of action
In that disastrous diet.
_Wallenstein._ Death and hell!
I had that which could have procured him freedom. 135
No! Since 'twas proved so inauspicious to me
To serve the Emperor at the empire's cost,
I have been taught far other trains of thinking
Of the empire, and the diet of the empire.
From the Emperor, doubtless, I received this staff, 140
But now I hold it as the empire's general--
For the common weal, the universal interest,
And no more for that one man's aggrandizement!
But to the point. What is it that's desired of me?
_Questenberg._ First, his imperial Majesty hath willed 145
That without pretexts of delay the army
Evacuate Bohemia.
_Wallenstein._ In this season?
And to what quarter wills the Emperor
That we direct our course?
_Questenberg._ To the enemy.
His Majesty resolves, that Regenspurg 150
Be purified from the enemy, ere Easter,
That Lutheranism may be no longer preached
In that cathedral, nor heretical
Defilement desecrate the celebration
Of that pure festival.
_Wallenstein._ My generals, 155
Can this be realized?
_Illo._ 'Tis not possible.
_Butler._ It can't be realized.
_Questenberg._ The Emperor
Already hath commanded Colonel Suys
To advance toward Bavaria!
_Wallenstein._ What did Suys?
_Questenberg._ That which his duty prompted. He advanced! 160
_Wallenstein._ What? he advanced? And I, his general,
Had given him orders, peremptory orders,
Not to desert his station! Stands it thus
With my authority? Is this the obedience
Due to my office, which being thrown aside 165
No war can be conducted? Chieftains, speak!
You be the judges, generals! What deserves
That officer, who of his oath neglectful
Is guilty of contempt of orders?
_Illo._ Death.
_Wallenstein._ Count Piccolomini! what has he deserved? 170
_Max Piccolomini._ According to the letter of the law,
Death.
_Isolani._ Death.
_Butler._ Death, by the laws of war.
[_QUESTENBERG rises from his seat, WALLENSTEIN follows;
all the rest rise._
_Wallenstein._ To this the law condemns him, and not I.
And if I shew him favour, 'twill arise
From the reverence that I owe my Emperor. 175
_Questenberg._ If so, I can say nothing further--here!
_Wallenstein._ I accepted the command but on conditions!
And this the first, that to the diminution
Of my authority no human being,
Not even the Emperor's self, should be entitled 180
To do aught, or to say aught, with the army.
If I stand warranter of the event,
Placing my honour and my head in pledge,
Needs must I have full mastery in all
The means thereto. What rendered this Gustavus 185
Resistless, and unconquered upon earth?
This--that he was the monarch in his army!
A monarch, one who is indeed a monarch,
Was never yet subdued but by his equal.
But to the point! The best is yet to come. 190
Attend now, generals!
_Questenberg._ The prince Cardinal
Begins his route at the approach of spring
From the Milanese; and leads a Spanish army
Through Germany into the Netherlands.
That he may march secure and unimpeded, 195
'Tis the Emperor's will you grant him a detachment
Of eight horse-regiments from the army here.
_Wallenstein._ Yes, yes! I understand!--Eight regiments! Well,
Right well concerted, father Lamormain!
Eight thousand horse! Yes, yes! 'Tis as it should be! 200
I see it coming!
_Questenberg._ There is nothing coming.
All stands in front: the counsel of state-prudence,
The dictate of necessity!----
_Wallenstein._ What then?
What, my Lord Envoy? May I not be suffered
To understand, that folks are tired of seeing 205
The sword's hilt in my grasp: and that your court
Snatch eagerly at this pretence, and use
The Spanish title, to drain off my forces,
To lead into the empire a new army
Unsubjected to my control. To throw me 210
Plumply aside,--I am still too powerful for you
To venture that. My stipulation runs,
That all the Imperial forces shall obey me
Where'er the German is the native language.
Of Spanish troops and of Prince Cardinals 215
That take their route, as visitors, through the empire,
There stands no syllable in my stipulation.
No syllable! And so the politic court
Steals in a-tiptoe, and creeps round behind it;
First makes me weaker, then to be dispensed with, 220
Till it dares strike at length a bolder blow
And make short work with me.
What need of all these crooked ways, Lord Envoy?
Straight-forward man! His compact with me pinches
The Emperor. He would that I moved off!-- 225
Well!--I will gratify him!
[_Here there commences an agitation among the Generals
which increases continually._
It grieves me for my noble officers' sakes!
I see not yet, by what means they will come at
The moneys they have advanced, or how obtain
The recompense their services demand. 230
Still a new leader brings new claimants forward,
And prior merit superannuates quickly.
There serve here many foreigners in the army,
And were the man in all else brave and gallant,
I was not wont to make nice scrutiny 235
After his pedigree or catechism.
This will be otherwise, i'the time to come.
Well--me no longer it concerns. [_He seats himself._
_Max Piccolomini._ Forbid it. Heaven, that it should come to this!
Our troops will swell in dreadful fermentation-- 240
The Emperor is abused--it cannot be.
_Isolani._ It cannot be; all goes to instant wreck.
_Wallenstein._ Thou hast said truly, faithful Isolani!
What we with toil and foresight have built up,
Will go to wreck--all go to instant wreck. 245
What then? another chieftain is soon found,
Another army likewise (who dares doubt it?)
Will flock from all sides to the Emperor
At the first beat of his recruiting drum.
[_During this speech, ISOLANI, TERTSKY, ILLO and MARADAS
talk confusedly with great agitation._
_Max Piccolomini (busily and passionately going from one to
another, and soothing them)._ Hear, my commander! Hear me,
generals! 250
Let me conjure you, Duke! Determine nothing,
Till we have met and represented to you
Our joint remonstrances.--Nay, calmer! Friends!
I hope all may be yet set right again.
_Tertsky._ Away! let us away! in the antechamber 255
Find we the others. [_They go._
_Butler (to Questenberg)._ If good counsel gain
Due audience from your wisdom, my Lord Envoy!
You will be cautious how you shew yourself
In public for some hours to come--or hardly
Will that gold key protect you from maltreatment. 260
[_Commotions heard from without._
_Wallenstein._ A salutary counsel----Thou, Octavio!
Wilt answer for the safety of our guest.
Farewell, Von Questenberg! [_QUESTENBERG is about to speak._
Nay, not a word.
Not one word more of that detested subject!
You have performed your duty--We know how 265
To separate the office from the man.
[_As QUESTENBERG is going off with OCTAVIO, GOETZ,
TIEFENBACH, KOLATTO, press in; several other_
Generals _following them._
_Goetz._ Where's he who means to rob us of our general?
_Tiefenbach (at the same time)._ What are we forced to hear?
That thou wilt leave us?
_Kolatto (at the same time)._ We will live with thee, we will die
with thee.
_Wallenstein (pointing to Illo)._ There! the Field-Marshal knows
our will. [_Exit._ 270
FOOTNOTES:
[634:1] The original is not translatable into English:
----Und sein _Sold_
Muss dem _Soldaten_ werden, darnach heisst er.
It might perhaps have been thus rendered:
'And that for which he sold his services,
The soldier must receive.'
But a false or doubtful etymology is no more than a dull pun.
LINENOTES:
[Before 1] _WALLENSTEIN, TERTSKY, &c. . . . rank. There reigns a
momentary silence._ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[56] _there_ 1800.
[79] _that_ 1800.
[83] _did_ 1800.
[91] Arn't] An't 1800, 1828, 1829.
[105] _pay . . . covenant_ 1800.
[135] _I_ 1800.
[Before 170] _Wallenstein (raising his voice, as all, but Illo, had
remained silent, and seemingly scrupulous)._ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[171] _Max Piccolomini (after a long pause)._ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[176] _so . . . here_ 1800.
[182] _event_ 1800.
[206] _my_ 1800.
[244] _we_ 1800.
[270] _Wallenstein (with stateliness and, &c.)._ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[After 270] [_While all are going off the stage, the curtain drops._
1800, 1828, 1829.
ACT II
SCENE I
SCENE--_A small Chamber._
_ILLO and TERTSKY._
_Tertsky._ Now for this evening's business! How intend you
To manage with the generals at the banquet?
_Illo._ Attend! We frame a formal declaration,
Wherein we to the Duke consign ourselves
Collectively, to be and to remain 5
His both with life and limb, and not to spare
The last drop of our blood for him, provided
So doing we infringe no oath nor duty,
We may be under to the Emperor.--Mark!
This reservation we expressly make 10
In a particular clause, and save the conscience.
Now hear! This formula so framed and worded
Will be presented to them for perusal
Before the banquet. No one will find in it
Cause of offence or scruple. Hear now further! 15
After the feast, when now the vap'ring wine
Opens the heart, and shuts the eyes, we let
A counterfeited paper, in the which
This one particular clause has been left out,
Go round for signatures.
_Tertsky._ How? think you then 20
That they'll believe themselves bound by an oath,
Which we had tricked them into by a juggle?
_Illo._ We shall have caught and caged them! Let them then
Beat their wings bare against the wires, and rave
Loud as they may against our treachery, 25
At court their signatures will be believed
Far more than their most holy affirmations.
Traitors they are, and must be; therefore wisely
Will make a virtue of necessity.
_Tertsky._ Well, well, it shall content me; let but something 30
Be done, let only some decisive blow
Set us in motion.
_Illo._ Besides, 'tis of subordinate importance
How, or how far, we may thereby propel
The generals. 'Tis enough that we persuade 35
The Duke, that they are his--Let him but act
In his determined mood, as if he had them,
And he will have them. Where he plunges in,
He makes a whirlpool, and all stream down to it.
_Tertsky._ His policy is such a labyrinth, 40
That many a time when I have thought myself
Close at his side, he's gone at once, and left me
Ignorant of the ground where I was standing.
He lends the enemy his ear, permits me
To write to them, to Arnheim; to Sesina 45
Himself comes forward blank and undisguised;
Talks with us by the hour about his plans,
And when I think I have him--off at once----
He has slipped from me, and appears as if
He had no scheme, but to retain his place. 50
_Illo._ He give up his old plans! I'll tell you, friend!
His soul is occupied with nothing else,
Even in his sleep--They are his thoughts, his dreams,
That day by day he questions for this purpose
The motions of the planets----
_Tertsky._ Ay! you know 55
This night, that is now coming, he with Seni
Shuts himself up in the astrological tower
To make joint observations--for I hear,
It is to be a night of weight and crisis;
And something great, and of long expectation, 60
Is to make its procession in the heaven.
_Illo._ Come! be we bold and make dispatch. The work
In this next day or two must thrive and grow
More than it has for years. And let but only
Things first turn up auspicious here below---- 65
Mark what I say--the right stars too will shew themselves.
Come, to the generals. All is in the glow,
And must be beaten while 'tis malleable.
_Tertsky._ Do you go thither, Illo. I must stay
And wait here for the Countess Tertsky. Know 70
That we too are not idle. Break one string,
A second is in readiness.
_Illo._ Yes! Yes!
I saw your Lady smile with such sly meaning.
What's in the wind?
_Tertsky._ A secret. Hush! she comes. [_Exit ILLO._
LINENOTES:
[6] _His_ 1800.
[7] _him_ 1800.
[8] nor] or 1800, 1828, 1829.
[31] _done_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[38] _will_ 1800.
[70] _wait_ 1800.