(If Mass there be, at best a guess obscure,)
Acts only by its inactivity.
Here we pause humbly. Others boldlier dream, 35
That as one body is the Aggregate
Of Atoms numberless, each organiz'd,
So by a strange and dim similitude
Infinite myriads of self-conscious minds
Form one all-conscious Spirit, who controlls 40
With absolute ubiquity of Thought
All his component Monads: linked Minds,
Each in his own sphere evermore evolving
Its own entrusted powers--Howe'er this be,
Whether a dream presumptious, caught from earth 45
And earthly form, or vision veiling Truth,
Yet the Omnific Father of all Worlds
God in God immanent, the eternal Word,
That gives forth, yet remains--Sun, that at once
Dawns, rises, sets and crowns the Height of Heaven, 50
Great general Agent in all finite souls,
Doth in that action put on finiteness,
For all his Thoughts are acts, and every act
A Being of Substance; God impersonal,
Yet in all worlds impersonate in all, 55
Absolute Infinite, whose dazzling robe
Flows in rich folds, and darts in shooting Hues
Of infinite Finiteness! he rolls each orb
Matures each planet, and Tree, and spread thro' all
Wields all the Universe of Life and Thought, 60
[Yet leaves to all the Creatures meanest, highest,
Angelic Right, self-conscious Agency--]
[_Note._ The last two lines of Draft I are erased.]
[DRAFT II]
Auspicious Reverence! Hush all meaner song,
Ere we the deep prelusive strain have pour'd
To the Great Father, only Rightful king
All-gracious Father, king Omnipotent!
Mind! co-eternal Word! forth-breathing Sound! 5
Aye unconfounded: undivided Trine--
Birth and Procession; ever re-incircling Act!
God in God immanent, distinct yet one!
Omnific, Omniform. The Immoveable,
That goes forth and remains, eke----and at once 10
Dawns, rises, and sets and crowns the height of Heaven!
[Cf. _Anima Poetæ_, 1895, p. 162.]
Such Symphony demands best Instrument.
Seize then, my soul! from Freedom's trophied dome.
The harp which hanging high between the shields
Of Brutus and Leonidas, gives oft 15
A fateful Music, when with breeze-like Touch
Pure spirits thrill its strings: the Poet's heart
Listens, and smiling knows that Poets demand
Once more to live for Man and work by Fame:
For what is Freedom, but th' unfetter'd use 20
Of all the Powers, which God for use had given!
Thro' the sweet Influence of harmonious Word----
* * * * *
The zephyr-travell'd Harp, that flashes forth
Jets and low wooings of wild melody
That sally forth and seek the meeting Ear, 25
Then start away, half-wanton, half-afraid
Like the red-breast forced by wintry snows,
In the first visits by the genial Hearth,
From the fair Hand, that tempts it to--
Or like a course of flame, from the deep sigh 30
Of the idly-musing Lover dreaming of his Love
With thoughts and hopes and fears, {sinking, snatching,
{as warily, upward
Bending, recoiling, fluttering as itself
* * * * *
And cheats us with false prophecies of sound
LINENOTES:
[9] i. e. jure suo, by any inherent Right.
[DRAFT III]
Auspicious Reverence! Hush all meaner song,
Till we the deep prelusive strain have pour'd
To the Great Father, only Rightful king,
All Gracious Father, king Omnipotent!
To Him, the inseparate, unconfounded TRINE, 5
MIND! Co-eternal WORD! Forth-breathing SOUND!
Birth! and PROCESSION! Ever-circling ACT!
GOD in GOD immanent, distinct yet one!
Sole Rest, true Substance of all finite Being!
Omnific! Omniform! The Immoveable, 10
That goes forth and remaineth: and at once
Dawns, rises, sets and crowns the height of Heaven!
* * * * *
Such Symphony demands best Instrument.
Seize then, my Soul! from Freedom's trophied dome
The Harp, that hanging high between the Shields 15
Of Brutus and Leonidas, flashes forth
Starts of shrill-music, when with breeze-like Touch
Departed Patriots thrill the----
D
PASSAGES IN SOUTHEY'S _Joan of Arc_ (FIRST EDITION, 1796)
CONTRIBUTED BY S. T. COLERIDGE[1027:1].
[Vide _ante_, p. 131]
BOOK I, ll. 33-51.
_"O France," he cried, "my country"!_
When soft as breeze that curls the summer clouds
At close of day, stole on his ear a voice 35
Seraphic.
"Son of Orleans! grieve no more.
His eye not slept, tho' long the All-just endured
The woes of France; at length his bar'd right arm
Volleys red thunder. From his veiling clouds
Rushes the storm, Ruin and Fear and Death. 40
Take Son of Orleans the relief of Heaven:
Nor thou the wintry hours of adverse fate
Dream useless: tho' unhous'd thou roam awhile,
The keen and icy wind that shivers _thee_
Shall brace thine arm, and with stern discipline 45
Firm thy strong heart for fearless enterprise
As who, through many a summer night serene
Had hover'd round the fold with coward wish;
Horrid with brumal ice, the fiercer wolf
From his bleak mountain and his den of snows 50
Leaps terrible and mocks the shepherd's spears."
ll. 57-59.
_nor those ingredients dire
Erictho mingled on Pharsalia's field_,
Making the soul retenant its cold corse.
ll. 220-222.
the groves of Paradise
Gave their mild echoes to the choral songs
Of new-born beings.--
ll. 267-280.
_And oft the tear from his averted eye
He dried; mindful of fertile fields laid waste_,
Dispeopled hamlets, the lorn widow's groan,
And the pale orphan's feeble cry for bread. 270
But when he told of those fierce sons of guilt
That o'er this earth which God had fram'd so fair--
Spread desolation, and its wood-crown'd hills
Make echo to the merciless war-dog's howl;
And how himself from such foul savagery 275
Had scarce escap'd with life, then his stretch'd arm
Seem'd, as it wielded the resistless sword
Of Vengeance: in his eager eye the soul
Was eloquent; warm glow'd his manly cheek;
And beat against his side the indignant heart. 280
ll. 454-460.
_then methought_
From a dark lowering cloud, the womb of tempests, 455
A giant arm burst forth and dropt a sword
That pierc'd like lightning thro' the midnight air.
Then was there heard a voice, which in mine ear
Shall echo, at that hour of dreadful joy
When the pale foe shall wither in my rage. 460
ll. 484-496[1029:1]
Last evening lone in thought I wandered forth.
Down in the dingle's depth there is a brook 485
That makes its way between the craggy stones,
Murmuring hoarse murmurs. On an aged oak
Whose root uptorn by tempests overhangs
The stream, I sat, and mark'd the deep red clouds
Gather before the wind, while the rude dash 490
Of waters rock'd my senses, and the mists
Rose round: there as I gazed, a form dim-seen
Descended, like the dark and moving clouds
That in the moonbeam change their shadowy shapes.
His voice was on the breeze; he bade me hail 495
The missioned Maid! for lo! the hour was come.
BOOK III, ll. 73-82.
_Martyr'd patriots--spirits pure
Wept by the good ye fell! Yet still survives_
Sow'd by your toil and by your blood manur'd 75
Th' imperishable seed, soon to become
The Tree, beneath whose vast and mighty shade
The sons of men shall pitch their tents in peace,
And in the unity of truth preserve
The bond of love. For by the eye of God 80
Hath Virtue sworn, that never one good act
Was work'd in vain.
BOOK IV, ll. 328-336.
_The murmuring tide
Lull'd her, and many a pensive pleasing dream_
Rose in sad shadowy trains at Memory's call. 330
She thought of Arc, and of the dingled brook,
Whose waves oft leaping on their craggy course
Made dance the low-hung willow's dripping twigs;
And where it spread into a glassy lake,
_Of the old oak which on the smooth expanse, 335
Imag'd its hoary mossy-mantled boughs_.
FOOTNOTES:
[1027:1] Over and above the contributions to the Second Book of the
_Joan of Arc_, which Southey acknowledged, and which were afterwards
embodied in the _Destiny of Nations_, Coleridge claimed a number of
passages in Books I, III, and IV. The passages are marked by S. T. C. in
an annotated copy of the First Edition 4{o}, at one time the property of
Coleridge's friend W. Hood of Bristol, and afterwards of John Taylor
Brown. See _North British Review_, January, 1864.
[1029:1] Suggested and in part written by S. T. C.
LINENOTES:
[37] not slept] slept not MS. corr. by Southey.
[39] red] S. T. C. notes this word as Southey's.
[46] Firm] S. T. C. writes against this word _Not English_.
E
[Vide _ante_, p. 186.]
THE RIME OF THE ANCYENT MARINERE,[1030:1] IN SEVEN PARTS.
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.
I.
It is an ancyent Marinere,
And he stoppeth one of three:
"By thy long grey beard and thy glittering eye
"Now wherefore stoppest me?
"The Bridegroom's doors are open'd wide, 5
"And I am next of kin;
"The Guests are met, the Feast is set,--
"May'st hear the merry din.
But still he holds the wedding-guest--
There was a Ship, quoth he-- 10
"Nay, if thou'st got a laughsome tale,
"Marinere! come with me."
He holds him with his skinny hand,
Quoth he, there was a Ship--
"Now get thee hence, thou grey-beard Loon! 15
"Or my Staff shall make thee skip.
He holds him with his glittering eye--
The wedding guest stood still
And listens like a three year's child;
The Marinere hath his will. 20
The wedding-guest sate on a stone,
He cannot chuse but hear:
And thus spake on that ancyent man,
The bright-eyed Marinere.
The Ship was cheer'd, the Harbour clear'd-- 25
Merrily did we drop
Below the Kirk, below the Hill,
Below the Light-house top.
The Sun came up upon the left,
Out of the Sea came he: 30
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the Sea.
Higher and higher every day,
Till over the mast at noon--
The wedding-guest here beat his breast, 35
For he heard the loud bassoon.
The Bride hath pac'd into the Hall,
Red as a rose is she;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry Minstralsy. 40
The wedding-guest he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot chuse but hear:
And thus spake on that ancyent Man,
The bright-eyed Marinere.
Listen, Stranger! Storm and Wind, 45
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 wond'rous cauld: 50
And Ice mast-high came floating by
As green as Emerauld.
And thro' the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen;
Ne shapes of men ne beasts we ken-- 55
The Ice was all between.
The Ice was here, the Ice was there,
The Ice was all around:
It crack'd and growl'd, and roar'd and howl'd--
Like noises of a swound. 60
At length did cross an Albatross,
Thorough the Fog it came;
And an it were a Christian Soul,
We hail'd it in God's name.
The Marineres gave it biscuit-worms, 65
And round and round it flew:
The Ice did split with a Thunder-fit,
The Helmsman steer'd us thro'.
And a good south wind sprung up behind.
The Albatross did follow; 70
And every day for food or play
Came to the Marinere's hollo!
In mist or cloud on mast or shroud,
It perch'd for vespers nine,
Whiles all the night thro' fog smoke-white, 75
Glimmer'd the white moon-shine.
"God save thee, ancyent Marinere!
"From the fiends that plague thee thus--
"Why look'st thou so?"--with my cross bow
I shot the Albatross. 80
II.
The Sun came up upon the right,
Out of the Sea came he;
And broad as a weft upon the left
Went down into the Sea.
And the good south wind still blew behind, 85
But no sweet Bird did follow
Ne any day for food or play
Came to the Marinere's hollo!
And I had done an hellish thing
And it would work 'em woe: 90
For all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird
That made the Breeze to blow.
Ne dim ne red, like God's own head,
The glorious Sun uprist:
Then all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird 95
That brought the fog and mist.
'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay
That bring the fog and mist.
The breezes blew, the white foam flew,
The furrow follow'd free: 100
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent Sea.
Down dropt the breeze, the Sails dropt down,
'Twas sad as sad could be
And we did speak only to break 105
The silence of the Sea.
All in a hot and copper sky
The bloody sun at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the moon. 110
Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, ne breath ne motion.
As idle as a painted Ship
Upon a painted Ocean.
Water, water, every where, 115
And all the boards did shrink:
Water, water, everywhere,
Ne any drop to drink.
The very deeps did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be! 120
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy Sea.
About, about, in reel and rout,
The Death-fires danc'd at night;
The water, like a witch's oils, 125
burnt green and blue and white.
And some in dreams assured were
Of the Spirit that plagued us so:
Nine fathom deep he had follow'd us
From the Land of Mist and Snow. 130
And every tongue thro' utter drouth
Was wither'd at the root;
We could not speak no more than if
We had been choked with soot.
Ah wel-a-day! what evil looks 135
Had I from old and young;
Instead of the Cross the Albatross
About my neck was hung.
III.
I saw a something in the Sky
No bigger than my fist; 140
At first it seem'd a little speck
And then it seem'd a mist:
It mov'd and mov'd, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.
A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! 145
And still it ner'd and ner'd;
And, an it dodg'd a water-sprite,
It plung'd and tack'd and veer'd.
With throat unslack'd, with black lips bak'd
Ne could we laugh, ne wail: 150
Then while thro' drouth all dumb they stood
I bit my arm and suck'd the blood
And cry'd, A sail! a sail!
With throat unslack'd, with black lips bak'd
Agape they hear'd me call: 155
Gramercy! they for joy did grin
And all at once their breath drew in
As they were drinking all.
She doth not tack from side to side--
Hither to work us weal 160
Withouten wind, withouten tide
She steddies with upright keel.
The western wave was all a flame,
The day was well nigh done!
Almost upon the western wave 165
Rested the broad bright Sun;
When that strange shape drove suddenly
Betwixt us and the Sun.
And strait the Sun was fleck'd with bars
(Heaven's mother send us grace) 170
As if thro' a dungeon grate he peer'd
With broad and burning face.
Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)
How fast she neres and neres!
Are those _her_ Sails that glance in the Sun 175
Like restless gossameres?
Are those _her_ naked ribs, which fleck'd
The sun that did behind them peer?
And are those two all, all the crew,
That woman and her fleshless Pheere? 180
_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. 185
_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. 190
The naked Hulk alongside came
And the Twain were playing dice;
"The Game is done! I've won, I've won!"
Quoth she, and whistled thrice.
A gust of wind sterte up behind 195
And whistled thro' his bones;
Thro' the holes of his eyes and the hole of his mouth
Half-whistles and half-groans.
With never a whisper in the Sea
Off darts the Spectre-ship; 200
While clombe above the Eastern bar
The horned Moon, with one bright Star
Almost atween the tips.
One after one by the horned Moon
(Listen, O Stranger! to me) 205
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,
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump 210
They dropp'd down one by one.
Their souls did from their bodies fly,--
They fled to bliss or woe;
And every soul it pass'd me by,
Like the whiz of my Cross-bow. 215
IV.
"I fear thee, ancyent Marinere!
"I fear thy skinny hand;
"And thou art long, and lank, and brown,
"As is the ribb'd Sea-sand.
"I fear thee and thy glittering eye 220
"And thy skinny hand so brown--
Fear not, fear not, thou wedding guest!
This body dropt not down.
Alone, alone, all all alone
Alone on the wide wide Sea; 225
And Christ would take no pity on
My soul in agony.
The many men so beautiful,
And they all dead did lie!
And a million million slimy things 230
Liv'd on--and so did I.
I look'd upon the rotting Sea,
And drew my eyes away;
I look'd upon the eldritch deck,
And there the dead men lay. 235
I look'd to Heav'n, and try'd to pray;
But or ever a prayer had gusht,
A wicked whisper came and made
My heart as dry as dust.
I clos'd my lids and kept them close, 240
Till the balls like pulses beat;
For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky
Lay like a load on my weary eye,
And the dead were at my feet.
The cold sweat melted from their limbs, 245
Ne rot, ne reek did they;
The look with which they look'd on me,
Had never pass'd away.
An orphan's curse would drag to Hell
A spirit from on high: 250
But O! more horrible than that
Is the curse in a dead man's eye!
Seven days, seven nights I saw that curse,
And yet I could not die.
The moving Moon went up the sky, 255
And no where did abide:
Softly she was going up
And a star or two beside--
Her beams bemock'd the sultry main
Like morning frosts yspread; 260
But where the ship's huge shadow lay,
The charmed water burnt alway
A still and awful red.
Beyond the shadow of the ship
I watch'd the water-snakes: 265
They mov'd in tracks of shining white;
And when they rear'd, the elfish light
Fell off in hoary flakes.
Within the shadow of the ship
I watch'd their rich attire: 270
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black
They coil'd and swam; and every track
Was a flash of golden fire.
O happy living things! no tongue
Their beauty might declare: 275
A spring of love gusht from my heart,
And I bless'd them unaware!
Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
And I bless'd them unaware.
The self-same moment I could pray; 280
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea.
V.
O sleep, it is a gentle thing,
Belov'd from pole to pole! 285
To Mary-queen the praise be yeven
She sent the gentle sleep from heaven
That slid into my soul.
The silly buckets on the deck
That had so long remain'd, 290
I dreamt that they were fill'd with dew
And when I awoke it rain'd.
My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
My garments all were dank;
Sure I had drunken in my dreams 295
And still my body drank.
I mov'd and could not feel my limbs,
I was so light, almost
I thought that I had died in sleep,
And was a blessed Ghost. 300
The roaring wind! it roar'd far off,
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the sails
That were so thin and sere.
The upper air bursts into life, 305
And a hundred fire-flags sheen
To and fro they are hurried about;
And to and fro, and in and out
The stars dance on between.
The coming wind doth roar more loud; 310
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: 315
Like waters shot from some high crag,
The lightning falls with never a jag
A river steep and wide.
The strong wind reach'd the ship: it roar'd
And dropp'd down, like a stone! 320
Beneath the lightning and the moon
The dead men gave a groan.
They groan'd, they stirr'd, they all uprose,
Ne spake, ne mov'd their eyes:
It had been strange, even in a dream 325
To have seen those dead men rise.
The helmsman steer'd, the ship mov'd on;
Yet never a breeze up-blew;
The Marineres all 'gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do: 330
They rais'd their limbs like lifeless tools--
We were a ghastly crew.
The body of my brother's son
Stood by me knee to knee:
The body and I pull'd at one rope, 335
But he said nought to me--
And I quak'd to think of my own voice
How frightful it would be!
The day-light dawn'd--they dropp'd their arms,
And cluster'd round the mast: 340
Sweet sounds rose slowly thro' their mouths
And from their bodies pass'd.
Around, around, flew each sweet sound,
Then darted to the sun:
Slowly the sounds came back again 345
Now mix'd, now one by one.
Sometimes a dropping from the sky
I heard the Lavrock sing;
Sometimes all little birds that are
How they seem'd to fill the sea and air 350
With their sweet jargoning.
And now 'twas like all instruments,
Now like a lonely flute;
And now it is an angel's song
That makes the heavens be mute. 355
It ceas'd: yet still the sails made on
A pleasant noise till noon,
A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping woods all night 360
Singeth a quiet tune.
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." 365
Never sadder tale was told
To a man of woman born:
Sadder and wiser thou wedding-guest!
Thou'lt rise to-morrow morn.
Never sadder tale was heard 370
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: 375
Thought I, I am as thin as air--
They cannot me behold.
Till noon we silently sail'd on
Yet never a breeze did breathe:
Slowly and smoothly went the ship 380
Mov'd onward from beneath.
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. 385
The sails at noon left off their tune
And the Ship stood still also.
The sun right up above the mast
Had fix'd her to the ocean:
But in a minute she 'gan stir 390
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: 395
It flung the blood into my head,
And I fell into a swound.
How long in that same fit I lay,
I have not to declare;
But ere my living life return'd, 400
I heard and in my soul discern'd
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 lay'd full low 405
"The harmless Albatross.
"The spirit who 'bideth by himself
"In the land of mist and snow,
"He lov'd the bird that lov'd the man
"Who shot him with his bow. 410
The other was a softer voice,
As soft as honey-dew:
Quoth he the man hath penance done,
And penance more will do.
VI.
FIRST VOICE.
"But tell me, tell me! speak again, 415
"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: 420
"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 425
"She looketh down on him.
FIRST VOICE.
"But why drives on that ship so fast
"Withouten wave or wind?
SECOND VOICE.
"The air is cut away before,
"And closes from behind. 430
"Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high,
"Or we shall be belated:
"For slow and slow that ship will go,
"When the Marinere's trance is abated."
I woke, and we were sailing on 435
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: 440
All fix'd on me their stony eyes
That in the moon did glitter.
The pang, the curse, with which they died,
Had never pass'd away:
I could not draw my een from theirs 445
Ne turn them up to pray.
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. 450
Like one, that on a lonely road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turn'd round, walks on
And turns no more his head:
Because he knows, a frightful fiend 455
Doth close behind him tread.
But soon there breath'd a wind on me,
Ne sound ne motion made:
Its path was not upon the sea
In ripple or in shade. 460
It rais'd my hair, it fann'd 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, 465
Yet she sail'd softly too:
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze--
On me alone it blew.
O dream of joy! is this indeed
The light-house top I see? 470
Is this the Hill? Is this the Kirk?
Is this mine own countrée?
We drifted o'er the Harbour-bar,
And I with sobs did pray--
"O let me be awake, my God! 475
"Or let me sleep alway!"
The harbour-bay was clear as glass,
So smoothly it was strewn!
And on the bay the moon light lay,
And the shadow of the moon. 480
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 485
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, 490
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, 495
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. 500
There was no breeze upon the bay,
No wave against the shore.
The rock shone bright, the kirk no less
That stands above the rock:
The moonlight steep'd in silentness 505
The steady weathercock.
And the bay was white with silent light,
Till rising from the same
Full many shapes, that shadows were,
In crimson colours came. 510
A little distance from the prow
Those crimson shadows were:
I turn'd my eyes upon the deck--
O Christ! what saw I there?
Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat; 515
And by the Holy rood
A man all light, a seraph-man,
On every corse there stood.
This seraph-band, each wav'd his hand:
It was a heavenly sight: 520
They stood as signals to the land,
Each one a lovely light:
This seraph-band, each wav'd his hand,
No voice did they impart--
No voice; but O! the silence sank, 525
Like music on my heart.
Eftsones I heard the dash of oars,
I heard the pilot's cheer:
My head was turn'd perforce away
And I saw a boat appear. 530
Then vanish'd all the lovely lights;
The bodies rose anew:
With silent pace, each to his place,
Came back the ghastly crew.
The wind, that shade nor motion made, 535
On me alone it blew.
The pilot, and the pilot's boy
I heard them coming fast:
Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy,
The dead men could not blast. 540
I saw a third--I heard his voice:
It is the Hermit good!
He singeth loud his godly hymns
That he makes in the wood.
He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away 545
The Albatross's blood.
VII.
This Hermit good lives in that wood
Which slopes down to the Sea.
How loudly his sweet voice he rears!
He loves to talk with Marineres 550
That come from a far Contrée.
He kneels at morn and noon and eve--
He hath a cushion plump:
It is the moss, that wholly hides
The rotted old Oak-stump. 555
The Skiff-boat ne'rd: I heard them talk,
"Why, this is strange, I trow!
"Where are those lights so many and fair
"That signal made but now?
"Strange, by my faith! the Hermit said-- 560
"And they answer'd not our cheer.
"The planks look warp'd, and see those sails
"How thin they are and sere!
"I never saw aught like to them
"Unless perchance it were 565
"The skeletons of leaves that lag
"My forest-brook along:
"When the Ivy-tod is heavy with snow,
"And the Owlet whoops to the wolf below
"That eats the she-wolfs young. 570
"Dear Lord! it has a fiendish look--
(The Pilot made reply)
"I am afear'd--"Push on, push on!
"Said the Hermit cheerily.
The Boat came closer to the Ship, 575
But I ne spake ne stirr'd!
The Boat came close beneath the Ship,
And strait a sound was heard!
Under the water it rumbled on,
Still louder and more dread: 580
It reach'd the Ship, it split the bay;
The Ship went down like lead.
Stunn'd by that loud and dreadful sound,
Which sky and ocean smote:
Like one that had been seven days drown'd 585
My body lay afloat:
But, swift as dreams, myself I found
Within the Pilot's boat.
Upon the whirl, where sank the Ship,
The boat spun round and round: 590
And all was still, save that the hill
Was telling of the sound.
I mov'd my lips: the Pilot shriek'd
And fell down in a fit.
The Holy Hermit rais'd his eyes 595
And pray'd where he did sit.
I took the oars: the Pilot's boy,
Who now doth crazy go,
Laugh'd loud and long, and all the while
His eyes went to and fro, 600
"Ha! ha!" quoth he--"full plain I see,
"The devil knows how to row."
And now all in mine own Countrée
I stood on the firm land!
The Hermit stepp'd forth from the boat, 605
And scarcely he could stand.
"O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy Man!
The Hermit cross'd his brow--
"Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say
"What manner man art thou?" 610
Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd
With a woeful agony,
Which forc'd me to begin my tale
And then it left me free.
Since then at an uncertain hour, 615
Now oftimes and now fewer,
That anguish comes and makes me tell
My ghastly aventure.
I pass, like night, from land to land;
I have strange power of speech; 620
The moment that his face I see
I know the man that must hear me;
To him my tale I teach.
What loud uproar bursts from that door!
The Wedding-guests are there; 625
But in the Garden-bower the Bride
And Bride-maids singing are:
And hark the little Vesper-bell
Which biddeth me to prayer.
O Wedding-guest! this soul hath been 630
Alone on a wide wide sea:
So lonely 'twas, that God himself
Scarce seemed there to be.
O sweeter than the Marriage-feast,
'Tis sweeter far to me 635
To walk together to the Kirk
With a goodly company.
To walk together to the Kirk
And all together pray,
While each to his great Father bends, 640
Old men, and babes, and loving friends,
And Youths, and Maidens gay.
Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
To thee, thou wedding-guest!
He prayeth well who loveth well, 645
Both man and bird and beast.
He prayeth best who loveth best,
All things both great and small:
For the dear God, who loveth us,
He made and loveth all. 650
The Marinere, whose eye is bright,
Whose beard with age is hoar,
Is gone; and now the wedding-guest
Turn'd from the bridegroom's door.
He went, like one that hath been stunn'd 655
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man
He rose the morrow morn.
FOOTNOTES:
[1030:1] First published in _Lyrical Ballads_, 1798, pp. [1]-27;
republished in _Lyrical Ballads_, 1800, vol. i; _Lyrical Ballads_, 1802,
vol. i; _Lyrical Ballads_, 1805, vol. i; reprinted in _The Poems of
Samuel Taylor Coleridge_, Appendix, pp. 404-29, London: E. Moxon, Son,
and Company, [1870]; reprinted in _Lyrical Ballads_ edition of 1798,
edited by Edward Dowden, LL D., 1890, in _P. W._, 1893, Appendix E, pp.
512-20, and in _Lyrical Ballads_ . . . 1798, edited by Thomas
Hutchinson, 1898. The text of the present issue has been collated with
that of an early copy of _Lyrical Ballads_, 1798 (containing _Lewti_,
pp. 63-7), presented by Coleridge to his sister-in-law, Miss Martha
Fricker. The lines were not numbered in _L. B._, 1798.
LINENOTES:
[63] And an] As if MS. corr. by S. T. C.
[75] Corrected in the Errata to fog-smoke white.
[83] [*weft*] [S. T. C.]
[179] For "those" read "these" Errata, p. [221], L. B. 1798.
[After 338] * * * * * * MS., L. B. 1798.
F
THE RAVEN
[As printed in the _Morning Post_, March 10, 1798.]
[Vide _ante_, p. 169.]
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!
Blacker was he than the blackest jet;
Flew low in the rain; his feathers were wet. 10
He pick'd up the acorn and buried it strait,
By the side of a river both deep and great.
Where then did the Raven go?
He went high and low--
O'er hill, o'er dale did the black Raven go! 15
Many Autumns, many Springs;
Travell'd he with wand'ring wings;
Many Summers, many Winters--
I can't tell half his adventures.
At length he return'd, and with him a she; 20
And the acorn was grown a large oak-tree.
They built them a nest in the topmost bough,
And young ones they had, and were jolly 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, and he nothing spoke,
But with many a hem! and a sturdy stroke,
At last he brought down the poor Raven's own oak.
His young ones were kill'd, for they could not depart,
And his wife she did die of a broken heart! 30
The branches from off it the Woodman did sever!
And they floated it down on the course of the River:
They saw'd it to planks, and it's rind they did strip,
And with this tree and others they built up a ship.
The ship, it was launch'd; but in sight of the land, 35
A tempest arose which no ship could withstand.
It bulg'd on a rock, and the waves rush'd in fast--
The auld Raven flew round and round, and caw'd to the blast.
He heard the sea-shriek of their perishing souls--
They be sunk! O'er the top-mast the mad water rolls. 40
The Raven was glad that such fate they did meet,
They had taken his all, and REVENGE WAS SWEET!
G
LEWTI; OR THE CIRCASSIAN'S LOVE-CHANT[1049:1]
[Vide _ante_, p. 253.]
(1)
[Add. MSS. 27,902.]
High o'er the silver rocks I roved
To forget the form I loved
In hopes fond fancy would be kind
And steal my Mary from my mind
T'was twilight and the lunar beam 5
Sailed slowly o'er Tamaha's stream
As down its sides the water strayed
Bright on a rock the moonbeam playe[d]
It shone, half-sheltered from the view
By pendent boughs of tressy yew 10
True, true to love but false to rest,
So fancy whispered to my breast,
So shines her forehead smooth and fair
Gleaming through her sable hair
I turned to heaven--but viewed on high 15
The languid lustre of her eye
The moons mild radiant edge I saw
Peeping a black-arched cloud below
Nor yet its faint and paly beam
Could tinge its skirt with yellow gleam 20
I saw the white waves o'er and o'er
Break against a curved shore
Now disappearing from the sight
Now twinkling regular and white
Her mouth, her smiling mouth can shew 25
As white and regular a row
Haste Haste, some God indulgent prove
And bear me, bear me to my love
Then might--for yet the sultry hour
Glows from the sun's oppressive power 30
Then might her bosom soft and white
Heave upon my swimming sight
As yon two swans together heave
Upon the gently-swelling wave
Haste--haste some God indulgent prove 35
And bear--oh bear me to my love.
(2)
[Add. MSS. 35,343.]
THE CIRCASSIAN'S LOVE-CHAUNT
[*Wild Indians*]
High o'er the rocks at night I rov'd
[*silver*]
To forget the form I lov'd.
Image of LEWTI! from my mind
[*Cora*]
Depart! for LEWTI is not kind!
[*Cora*]
Bright was the Moon: the Moon's bright beam 5
Speckled with many a moving shade,
Danc'd upon Tamaha's stream;
But brightlier on the Rock it play'd,
The Rock, half-shelter'd from my view
By pendent boughs of tressy Yew! 10
True to Love, but false to Rest,
My fancy whisper'd in my breast--
So shines my Lewti's forehead fair
Gleaming thro' her sable hair,
Image of LEWTI! from my mind 15
[*Cora*]
Depart! for LEWTI is not kind.
[*Cora*]
I saw a cloud of whitest hue;
Onward to the Moon it pass'd!
Still brighter and more bright it grew
With floating colours not a few, 20
Till it reach'd the Moon at last.
LEWTI; OR THE CIRCASSIAN'S LOVE-CHANT
(3)
[Add. MSS. 35,343, f. 3 recto.]
High o'er the rocks at night I rov'd
To forget the form I lov'd.
Image of LEWTI! from my mind
Depart: for LEWTI is not kind. 25
Bright was the Moon: the Moon's bright bea[m]
Speckled with many a moving shade,
Danc'd upon TAMAHA'S stream;
But brightlier on the Rock it play'd,
The Rock, half-shelter'd from my view 30
By pendent boughs of tressy Yew!
True to Love, but false to Rest,
My fancy whisper'd in my breast--
So shines my LEWTI'S forehead fair
Gleaming thro' her sable hair! 35
Image of LEWTI! from my mind
Depart--for LEWTI is not kind.
I saw a Cloud of whitest hue--
Onward to the Moon it pass'd.
Still brighter and more bright it grew 40
With floating colours not a few,
Till it reach'd the Moon at last:
Then the Cloud was wholly bright
With a rich and amber light!
[*deep*]
And so with many a hope I seek, 45
And so with joy I find my LEWTI:
And even so my pale wan cheek
Drinks in as deep a flush of Beauty
Image of LEWTI! leave my mind
If Lewti never will be kind! 50
Away the little Cloud, away.
Away it goes--away so soon
[*alone*]
Alas! it has no power to stay:
It's hues are dim, it's hues are grey
Away it passes from the Moon. 55
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!
[*Thou living Image*]
Image of LEWTI in my mind, 60
Methinks thou lookest not [*kin*] unkind!
FOOTNOTES:
[1049:1] The first ten lines of MS. version (1) were first published in
_Note 44_ of _P. W._, 1893, p. 518, and the MS. as a whole is included
in _Coleridge's Poems_, A Facsimile Reproduction of The Proofs and MSS.,
&c., 1899, pp. 132-4. MSS. (2) and (3) are now printed for the first
time.
H
INTRODUCTION TO THE TALE OF THE DARK LADIE[1052:1]
[Vide _ante_, p. 330.]
TO THE EDITOR OF THE MORNING POST.
SIR,
The following Poem is the Introduction to a somewhat longer one, for
which I shall solicit insertion on your next open day. The use of the
Old Ballad word, _Ladie_, for Lady, is the only piece of obsoleteness in
it; and as it is professedly a tale of ancient times, I trust, that 'the
affectionate lovers of venerable antiquity' (as Camden says) will grant
me their pardon, and perhaps may be induced to admit a force and
propriety in it. A heavier objection may be adduced against the Author,
that in these times of fear and expectation, when novelties _explode_
around us in all directions, he should presume to offer to the public a
silly tale of old fashioned love; and, five years ago, I own, I should
have allowed and felt the force of this objection. But, alas! explosion
has succeeded explosion so rapidly, that novelty itself ceases to appear
new; and it is possible that now, even a simple story, wholly unspired
[? inspired] with politics or personality, may find some attention amid
the hubbub of Revolutions, as to those who have resided a long time by
the falls of Niagara, the lowest whispering becomes distinctly audible.
S. T. COLERIDGE.
1
O leave the Lily on its stem;
O leave the Rose upon the spray;
O leave the Elder-bloom, fair Maids!
And listen to my lay.
2
A Cypress and a Myrtle bough, 5
This morn around my harp you twin'd,
Because it fashion'd mournfully
Its murmurs in the wind.
3
And now a Tale of Love and Woe,
A woeful Tale of Love I sing: 10
Hark, gentle Maidens, hark! it sighs
And trembles on the string.
4
But most, my own dear Genevieve!
It sighs and trembles most for thee!
O come and hear the cruel wrongs 15
Befel the dark Ladie!
5
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
6
All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
All are but ministers of Love,
And feed his sacred flame.
7
O ever in my waking dreams, 25
I dwell upon that happy hour,
When midway on the Mount I sate
Beside the ruin'd Tow'r.
8
The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene,
Had blended with the lights of eve, 30
And she was there, my hope! my joy!
My own dear Genevieve!
9
She lean'd against the armed Man
The statue of the armed Knight--
She stood and listen'd to my harp, 35
Amid the ling'ring light.
10
I play'd a sad and doleful air,
I sang an old and moving story,
An old rude song, that fitted well
The ruin wild and hoary. 40
11
She listen'd with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes and modest grace:
For well she knew, I could not choose
But gaze upon her face.
12
I told her of the Knight that wore 45
Upon his shield a burning brand.
And how for ten long years he woo'd
The Ladie of the Land:
13
I told her, how he pin'd, and ah!
The deep, the low, the pleading tone, 50
With which I sang another's love,
Interpreted my own!
14
She listen'd with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes and modest grace.
And she forgave me, that I gaz'd 55
Too fondly on her face!
15
But when I told the cruel scorn,
That craz'd this bold and lovely Knight;
And how he roam'd the mountain woods,
Nor rested day or night; 60
16
And how he cross'd the Woodman's paths,
Thro' briars and swampy mosses beat;
How boughs rebounding scourg'd his limbs,
And low stubs gor'd his feet.
17
How sometimes from the savage den, 65
And sometimes from the darksome shade,
And sometimes starting up at once,
In green and sunny glade;
18
There came and look'd him in the face
An Angel beautiful and bright, 70
And how he knew it was a Fiend,
This mis'rable Knight!
19
And how, unknowing what he did,
He leapt amid a lawless band,
And sav'd from outrage worse than death 75
The Ladie of the Land.
20
And how she wept, and clasp'd his knees,
And how she tended him in vain,
And meekly strove to expiate
The scorn that craz'd his brain; 80
21
And how she nurs'd him in a cave;
And how his madness went away,
When on the yellow forest leaves
A dying man he lay;
22
His dying words--but when I reach'd 85
That tenderest strain of all the ditty,
My fault'ring voice and pausing harp
Disturb'd her soul with pity.
23
All impulses of soul and sense
Had thrill'd my guiltless Genevieve-- 90
The music and the doleful tale,
The rich and balmy eve;
24
And hopes and fears that kindle hope,
An undistinguishable throng;
And gentle wishes long subdu'd, 95
Subdu'd and cherish'd long.
25
She wept with pity and delight--
She blush'd with love and maiden shame,
And like the murmurs of a dream,
I heard her breathe my name. 100
26
I saw her bosom heave and swell,
Heave and swell with inward sighs--
I could not choose but love to see
Her gentle bosom rise.
27
Her wet cheek glow'd; she stept aside, 105
As conscious of my look she stept;
Then suddenly, with tim'rous eye,
She flew to me, and wept;
28
She half-inclos'd me with her arms--
She press'd me with a meek embrace; 110
And, bending back her head, look'd up,
And gaz'd upon my face.
29
'Twas partly love, and partly fear,
And partly 'twas a bashful art,
That I might rather feel than see, 115
The swelling of her heart.
30
I calm'd her fears, and she was calm,
And told her love with virgin pride;
And so I won my Genevieve,
My bright and beaut'ous bride. 120
31
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.
32
When last I sang the cruel scorn 125
That craz'd this bold and lonely Knight,
And how he roam'd the mountain woods,
Nor rested day or night;
33
I promis'd thee a sister tale
Of Man's perfidious cruelty: 130
Come, then, and hear what cruel wrong
Befel the Dark Ladie.
_End of the Introduction._
FOOTNOTES:
[1052:1] Published in the _Morning Post_, Dec. 21, 1799. Collated with
two MSS.--_MS. (1)_; _MS. (2)_--in the British Museum [Add. MSS.
27,902]. See _Coleridge's Poems_, A Facsimile of the Proofs, &c., edited
by the late James Dykes Campbell, 1899. _MS. 1_ consists of thirty-two
stanzas (unnumbered), written on nine pages: _MS. 2_ (which begins with
stanza 6, and ends with stanza 30) of fourteen stanzas (unnumbered)
written on four pages.
LINENOTES:
_Title_--The Dark Ladiè. MS. B. M. (1).
[2] Rose upon] Rose-bud on MS. B. M. (1).
[3] fair] dear erased MS. (1).
[7] mournfully] sad and sweet MS. (1).
[8] in] to MS. (1).
[16] Ladie] Ladié MS. (2).
[20] The song that makes her grieve. MS. (1).
[21-4]
Each thought, each feeling of the Soul,
All lovely sights, each tender, name,
All, all are ministers of Love,
That stir our mortal frame.
MS. (1).
[22] All, all that stirs this mortal frame MS. B. M. (2).
[24] feed] fan MS. (2).
[25]
O ever in my lonely walk
erased MS. (1).
In lonely walk and noontide dreams
MS. (1).
O ever when I walk alone
erased MS. (1).
[26]
I feed upon that blissful hour
MS. (1).
I feed upon that hour of Bliss
erased MS. (1).
That ruddy eve that blissful hour
erased MS. (1).
[26] dwell] feed MS. (2).
[27]
we [*sate*]
When midway on the mount I stood
MS. (1).
When we too stood upon the Hill
erased MS. (1).
[29]
The Moonshine stole upon the ground
erased MS. (1).
The Moon [*be blended on*] the ground
MS. (1).
[30] Had] And erased MS. (1).
[31] was there] stood near (was there _erased_) MS. (1).
[33-6]
Against a grey stone rudely carv'd,
The statue of an armed Knight,
in
She lean'd [*the*] melancholy mood,
[*And*] To watch'd the lingering Light
MS. (1).
[33-4]
[*She lean'd against*] a [*chissold stone*]
[*tall*]
[*The statue of a*]
MS. (1).
[34] the] an MS. (1) [Stanza 10, revised.]
[37] sad] soft MSS. (1, 2). doleful] mournful erased MS. (1).
[39] An] And MS. (2).
rude] wild erased MS. (1).
[41-4]
With flitting Blush and downcast eyes,
In modest melancholy grace
The Maiden stood: perchance I gaz'd
Too fondly on her face.
Erased MS. (1).
[45-8] om. MS. (1).
[49] [*I gaz'd and when*] I sang of love MS. (1).
[53-6]
With flitting Blush and downcast eyes
and
With downcast eyes _in_ modest grace
for
[*She listen'd; and perchance I gaz'd*]
Too fondly on her face.
MS. (1).
[55] And] Yet MS. (1).
[57] told] sang MS. (1).
[59] roam'd] cross'd MS. (1).
[60] or] nor MS. (1).
[61-4] om. MS. (1).]
[65] How sometimes from the hollow Trees MS. (1).
[69-72]
look'd
There came and [*star'd*] him in the face
An[d] Angel beautiful and bright,
And how he knew it was a fiend
And yell'd with strange affright.
MS. (1).
[74] lawless] murderous MS. (1).
[77] clasp'd] kiss'd MS. (1).
[79] meekly] how she MS. (1).
[87] fault'ring] trembling MS. (1) erased.
[90] guiltless] guileless MS. (1).
[Between 96 and 97]
And while midnight
[*While*] Fancy like the [*nuptial*] Torch
That bends and rises in the wind
Lit up with wild and broken lights
The Tumult of her mind.
MS. (1) erased.
[99]
And like the murmur of a dream
MSS. (1, 2).
_And_ [*in a*] murmur [*faint and sweet*]
MS. (1) erased.
[100]
[*She half pronounced my name.*]
She breathed her Lover's name.
MS. (1) erased.
[101-4]
I saw her gentle Bosom heave
Th' inaudible and frequent sigh;
modest
And ah! the [*bashful*] Maiden mark'd
The wanderings of my eye[s]
MS. (1) erased.
[105-8] om. MS. (1).
[105] cheek] cheeks MS. (2).
[108] flew] fled MS. (2).
[109-16]
side
And closely to my [*heart*] she press'd
And ask'd me with her swimming eyes
might
That I [*would*] rather feel than see
Her gentle Bosom rise.--
_Or_
side
And closely to my [*heart*] she press'd
And closer still with bashful art--
That I might rather feel than see
The swelling of her Heart.
MS. (1) erased.
[111] And] Then MS. (2) erased.
[117]
And now serene, serene and chaste
But soon in calm and solemn tone
MS. (1) erased.
[118] And] She MS. (1) erased. virgin] maiden MSS. (1, 2).
[120] bright] dear MS. (1) erased. beaut'ous] lovely MS. (1) erased.
[125-8]
When last I sang of Him whose heart
Was broken by a woman's scorn--
And how he cross'd the mountain woods
All frantic and forlorn
MS. (1).
[129] sister] moving MS. (1).
[131] wrong] wrongs MS. (1).
[132] Ladie] Ladié MS. (2).
[After 132] _The Dark Ladiè._ MS. (1).
I
THE TRIUMPH OF LOYALTY.[1060:1]
[Vide _ante_, p. 421.]
AN HISTORIC DRAMA
IN
FIVE ACTS.
FIRST PERFORMED WITH UNIVERSAL APPLAUSE AT THE
THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY LANE, ON SATURDAY,
FEBRUARY THE 7TH, 1801.
APOECIDES.
Quis hoc scit factum?
EPIDICUS.
Ego ita esse factum dico.
PERIPHANES.
Scin' tu istuc?
EPIDICUS.
Scio.
PERIPHANES.
Qui tu scis?
EPIDICUS.
Quia ego vidi.
PERIPHANES.
[Ipse vidistine [Tragediam?]] Nimis factum bene!
EPIDICUS.
Sed vestita, aurata, ornata, ut lepide! ut concinne! ut nove! [Proh
Dii immortales! tempestatem (plausuum Populus) nobis nocte hac
misit!][1060:2]
(Plaut. _Epidicus_. Act 2. Scen. 2, ll. 22 sqq.)
LONDON.
PRINTED FOR T. N. LONGMAN AND REES,
PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1801.
FOOTNOTES:
[1060:1] Now first published from an MS. in the British Museum (Add.
MSS. 34,225). The _Triumph of Loyalty_, 'a sort of dramatic romance'
(see _Letter to Poole_, December 5, 1800; _Letters of S. T. C._, 1895,
i. 343), was begun and left unfinished in the late autumn of 1800. An
excerpt (ll. 277-358) was revised and published as 'A Night Scene. A
Dramatic Fragment,' in _Sibylline Leaves_ (1817), vide _ante_, pp.
421-3. The revision of the excerpt (ll. 263-349) with respect to the
order and arrangement of its component parts is indicated by asterisks,
which appear to be contemporary with the MS. I have, therefore, in
printing the MS., followed the revised and not the original order of
these lines. Again, in the hitherto unpublished portion of the MS. (ll.
1-263) I have omitted rough drafts of passages which were rewritten,
either on the same page or on the reverse of the leaf.
[1060:2] The words enclosed in brackets are not to be found in the text.
They were either invented or adapted by Coleridge _ad hoc_. The text of
the passage as a whole has been reconstructed by modern editors.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
Earl Henry MR. KEMBLE
Don Curio MR. C. KEMBLE
Sandoval MR. BARRYMORE
Alva, the Chancellor MR. AICKIN
Barnard, Earl Henry's Groom of the Chamber MR. SUETT
Don Fernandez MR. BANNISTER, JUN.
The Governor of the State Prison MR. DAVIS
Herreras (Oropeza's Uncle) and three Conspirators
MESSRS. PACKER, WENTWORTH, MATHEW, and GIBBON
Officers and Soldiers of Earl Henry's Regiment.
The Queen of Navarre MRS. SIDDONS
Donna Oropeza MRS. POWELL
Mira, her attendant MISS DECAMP
Aspasia, a singer MRS. CROUCH
Scene, partly at the Country seat of Donna Oropeza, and partly in
Pampilona [_sic_], the Capital of Navarre.
THE TRIUMPH OF LOYALTY
ACT I
SCENE I. _A cultivated Plain, skirted on the Left by a Wood. The
Pyrenees are visible in the distance. Small knots of Soldiers all in the
military Dress of the middle Ages are seen passing across the Stage.
Then_
_Enter EARL HENRY and SANDOVAL, both armed._
_Sandoval._ A delightful plain this, and doubly pleasant
after so long and wearisome a descent from the Pyranees
[_sic_]. Did you not observe how our poor over wearied horses
mended their pace as soon as they reached it?
_Earl Henry._ I must entreat your forgiveness, gallant 5
Castilian! I ought ere this to have bade you welcome to my
native Navarre.
_Sandoval._ Cheerily, General! Navarre has indeed but ill
repaid your services, in thus recalling you from the head of
an army which you yourself had collected and disciplined. 10
But the wrongs and insults which you have suffered----
_Earl Henry._ Deserve my thanks, Friend! In the sunshine
of Court-favor I could only _believe_ that I loved my Queen and
my Country: now I _know_ it. But why name I my Country or
my Sovereign? I owe all my Wrongs to the private enmity of 15
the Chancellor.
_Sandoval._ Heaven be praised, you have atchieved [_sic_]
a delicious revenge upon him!--that the same Courier who
brought the orders for your recall carried back with him the
first tidings of your Victory--it was exquisite good fortune! 20
_Earl Henry._ Sandoval! my gallant Friend! Let me not
deceive you. To you I have vowed an undisguised openness.
The gloom which overcast me, was occasioned by causes of less
public import.
_Sandoval._ Connected, I presume, with that Mansion, the 25
spacious pleasure grounds of which we noticed as we were
descending from the mountain. Lawn and Grove, River and
Hillock--it looked within these high walls, like a World of
itself.
_Earl Henry._ This Wood scarcely conceals these high walls 30
from us. Alas! I know the place too well. . . . Nay, why too
well?--But wherefore spake you, Sandoval, of this Mansion?
What know you?
_Sandoval._ Nothing. Therefore I spake of it. On our descent
from the mountain I pointed it out to you and asked to whom 35
it belonged--you became suddenly absent, and answered me
only by looks of Disturbance and Anxiety.
_Earl Henry._ That Mansion once belonged to Manric [_sic_],
Lord of Valdez.
_Sandoval._ Alas, poor Man! the same, who had dangerous 40
claims to the Throne of Navarre.
_Earl Henry._ Claims?--Say rather, pretensions--plausible
only to the unreasoning Multitude.
_Sandoval._ Pretensions then (_with bitterness_).
_Earl Henry._ Bad as these were, the means he employed to 45
give effect to them were still worse. He trafficked with France
against the independence of his Country. He was a traitor,
my Friend! and died a traitor's death. His two sons suffered
with him, and many, (I fear, too many) of his adherents.
_Sandoval._ Earl Henry! (_a pause_) If the sentence were just, 50
why was not the execution of it public. . . . It is reported, that
they were--but no! I will not believe it--the honest soul of
my friend would not justify so foul a deed.
_Earl Henry._ Speak plainly--what is reported?
_Sandoval._ That they were all assassinated by order of the 55
new Queen.
_Earl Henry._ Accursed be the hearts that framed and
the tongues that scattered the Calumny!--The Queen was
scarcely seated on her throne; the Chancellor, who had been
her Guardian, exerted a pernicious influence over her 60
judgement--she was taught to fear dangerous commotions in the
Capital, she was intreated to prevent the bloodshed of the
deluded citizens, and thus overawed she reluctantly consented
to permit the reinforcement of an obsolete law, and----
_Sandoval._ They were not assassinated then?---- 65
_Earl Henry._ Why these bitter tones to me, Sandoval? Can
a law assassinate? Don Manrique [_sic_] and his accomplices
drank the sleepy poison adjudged by that law in the State
Prison at Pampilona. At that time I was with the army on
the frontiers of France. 70
_Sandoval._ Had you been in the Capital----
_Earl Henry._ I would have pledged my life on the safety of
a public Trial and a public Punishment.
_Sandoval._ Poisoned! The Father and his Sons!--And this,
Earl Henry, was the first act of that Queen, whom you idolize! 75
_Earl Henry._ No, Sandoval, No! This was not _her_ act. She
roused herself from the stupor of alarm, she suspended _in
opposition to the advice of her council_, all proceedings against
the inferior partisans of the Conspiracy; she facilitated the
escape of Don Manrique's brother, and to Donna Oropeza, his 80
daughter and only surviving child, she restored all her father's
possessions, nay became herself her Protectress and Friend.
These were the acts, these the first acts of my royal Mistress.
_Sandoval._ And how did Donna Oropeza receive these favors?
_Earl Henry._ Why ask you that? Did they not fall on her, 85
like heavenly dews?
_Sandoval._ And will they not rise again, like an earthly mist?
What is Gratitude opposed to Ambition, filial revenge, and
Woman's rivalry--what is it but a cruel Curb in the mouth of
a fiery Horse, maddening the fierce animal whom it cannot 90
restrain? Forgive me, Earl Henry! I meant not to move
you so deeply.
_Earl Henry._ Sandoval, you have uttered that in a waking
hour which having once dreamt, I feared the return of sleep
lest I should dream it over again. My Friend (_his Voice 95
trembling_) I woo'd the daughter of Don Manrique, _but_ we are
interrupted.
_Sandoval._ It is Fernandez.
_Earl Henry (struggling with his emotions)._ A true-hearted old
fellow---- 100
_Sandoval._ As splenetic as he is brave.
_Enter_ FERNANDEZ.
_Earl Henry._ Well, my ancient! how did you like our tour
through the mountains. (_EARL HENRY sits down on the seat by
the woodside._)
_Fernandez._ But little, General! and my faithful charger 105
Liked it still less.
The field of battle in the level plain
By Fontarabia was more to our taste.
_Earl Henry._ Where is my brother, Don Curio! Have you
Seen him of late?
_Fernandez._ Scarcely, dear General! 110
For by my troth I have been laughing at him
Even till the merry tears so filled my eyes
That I lost sight of him.
_Sandoval._ But wherefore, Captain.
_Fernandez._ He hath been studying speeches with fierce gestures;
Speeches brimfull of wrath and indignation, 115
The which he hopes to vent in open council:
And, in the heat and fury of this fancy
He grasp'd your groom of the Chamber by the throat
Who squeaking piteously, Ey! quoth your brother,
I cry you Mercy, Fool! Hadst been indeed 120
The Chancellor, I should have strangled thee.
_Sandoval._ Ha, ha! poor Barnard!
_Fernandez._ What you know my Gentleman,
My Groom of the Chamber, my Sieur Barnard, hey?
_Sandoval._ I know him for a barren-pated coxcomb.
_Fernandez._ But very weedy, Sir! in worthless phrases, 125
A sedulous eschewer of the popular
And the colloquial--one who seeketh dignity
I' th' paths of circumlocution! It would have
Surpris'd you tho', to hear how nat'rally
He squeak'd when Curio had him by the throat. 130
_Sandoval._ I know him too for an habitual scorner
Of Truth.
_Fernandez._ And one that lies more dully than
Old Women dream, without pretence of fancy,
Humour or mirth, a most disinterested,
Gratuitous Liar.
_Earl Henry._ Ho! enough, enough! 135
Spare him, I pray you, were't but from respect
To the presence of his Lord.
_Sandoval._ I stand reprov'd.
_Fernandez._ I too, but that I know our noble General
Maintains him near his person, only that
If he should ever go in jeopardy 140
Of being damn'd (as he's now persecuted)
For his virtue and fair sense, he may be sav'd
By the supererogation of this Fellow's
Folly and Worthlessness.----
_Earl Henry._ Hold, hold, good Ancient!
Do you not know that this Barnard saved my life? 145
Well, but my brother----
_Fernandez._ He will soon be here.
I swear by this, my sword, dear General.
I swear he has a Hero's soul--I only
Wish I could communicate to him
My gift of governing the spleen.--Then he 150
Has had his colors, the drums too of the Regiment
All put in cases--O, that stirs the Soldiery.
_Earl Henry._ Impetuous Boy!
_Fernandez._ Nay, Fear not for them, General.
The Chancellor, no doubt, will take good care
To let their blood grow cool on garrison duty. 155
_Sandoval._ Earl Henry! Frown not thus upon Fernandez;
'Tis said, and all the Soldiery believe it,
That the five Regiments who return with you
Will be dispers'd in garrisons and castles,
And other Jails of honourable name. 160
So great a crime it is to have been present
In duty and devotion to a Hero!
_Fernandez._ What now? What now? The politic Chancellor is
The Soldier's friend, and rather than not give
Snug pensions to brave Men, he'll overlook 165
All small disqualifying circumstances
Of youth and health, keen eye and muscular limb,
He'll count our scars, and set them down for maims.
And gain us thus all privileges and profits
Of Invalids and superannuate veterans. 170
_Earl Henry._ 'Tis but an idle rumour--See! they come.
_Enter_ BARNARD _and a number of_ Soldiers, _their Colours wound up, and
the Drums in Cases, and after them_ DON CURIO. _All pay the military
Honors to the General. During this time_ FERNANDEZ _has hurried up in
front of the Stage_.
_Enter DON CURIO._
_Don Curio (advancing to EARL HENRY)._ Has Barnard told you?
Insult on insult! by mine honor, Brother!
(_BARNARD goes beside CURIO._) And by our Father's soul they mean
to saint you,
Having first prov'd your Patience more than mortal. 175
_Earl Henry._ Take heed, Don Curio! lest with greater right
They scoff my Brother for a choleric boy.
What insult then?
_Don Curio._ Our Friend, the Chancellor,
Welcomes you home, and shares the common joy
In the most happy tidings of your Victory: 180
But as to your demand of instant audience
From the Queen's Royal Person,--'tis rejected!
_Sandoval._ Rejected?
_Barnard (making a deep obeisance)._ May it please the Earl!
_Earl Henry._ Speak,
Barnard.
_Barnard._ The noble Youth, your very valiant brother,
And wise as valiant (_bowing to DON CURIO who puffs at him_)
rightly doth insinuate 185
Fortune deals nothing singly--whether Honors
Or Insults, whether it be Joys or Sorrows,
They crowd together on us, or at best
Drop in in quick succession.
_Fernandez (mocking him)._ 'Ne'er rains it, but it pours,' or, at
the best, 190
'More sacks upon the mill.' This fellow's a
Perpetual plagiarist from his Grandmother, and
How slily in the parcel wraps [he] up
The stolen goods!
_Earl Henry._ Be somewhat briefer, Barnard.
_Barnard._ But could I dare insinuate to your Brother 195
A fearless Truth, Earl Henry--it were this:
Even Lucifer, Prince of the Air, hath claims
Upon our justice.
_Fernandez._ Give the Devil his Due!
Why, thou base Lacquerer of worm-eaten proverbs,
[And] wherefore dost thou not tell us at once 200
What the Chancellor said to thee?
_Barnard_ (_looking round superciliously at_ FERNANDEZ).
The Queen hath left the Capital affecting
Rural retirement, but 'I will hasten'
(Thus said the Chancellor) 'I myself will hasten
And lay before her Majesty the Tidings 205
Both of Earl Henry's Victory and return.
She will vouchsafe, I doubt not, to re-enter
Her Capital, without delay, and grant
The wish'd for Audience with all public honour.'
_Don Curio._ A mere Device, I say, to pass a slight on us. 210
_Fernandez (to himself)._ To think on't. Pshaw! A fellow, that must
needs
Have been decreed an Ass by acclamation,
Had he not looked so very like an Owl.
And he to---- (_turns suddenly round, and faces BARNARD who had
even then come close beside him_).
Boo!----Ah! is it you, Sieur Barnard!
_Barnard._ No other, Sir!
_Fernandez._ And is it not reported, 215
That you once sav'd the General's life?
_Barnard._ 'Tis certain!
_Fernandez._ Was he asleep? And were the hunters coming
And did you bite him on the nose?
_Barnard._ What mean you?
_Fernandez._ That was the way in which the Flea i' th' Fable
Once sav'd the Lion's life.
_Earl Henry._ 'Tis well. 220
The Sun hath almost finish'd his Day's Travels;
We too will finish ours. Go, gallant Comrades,
And at the neighbouring Mansion, for us all,
Claim entertainment in your General's name.
_Exeunt_ Soldiers, &c. _As they are leaving the Stage._
_Fernandez_ (_to_ BARNARD). A word with you! You act the
Chancellor 225
Incomparably well.
_Barnard._ Most valiant Captain,
Vouchsafe a manual union.
_Fernandez_ (_griping_ [sic] _his hand with affected fervor_). 'Tis
no wonder,
Don Curio should mistook [_sic_] you for him.
_Barnard._ Truly,
The Chancellor, and I, it hath been notic'd
Are of one stature.
_Fernandez._ And Don Curio's _Gripe_ too 230
Had lent a guttural Music to your voice,
A sort of bagpipe Buz, that suited well
Your dignity of utterance.
_Barnard (simpering courteously)._ Don Fernandez,
Few are the storms that bring unmingled evil.
_Fernandez (mocking him)._ 'Tis an ill wind, that blows no good,
Sieur Barnard! [_Exeunt._ 235
_DON CURIO lingering behind._
_Don Curio._ I have offended you, my brother.
_Earl H._ Yes!
For you've not learnt the noblest part of valour,
To suffer and obey. Drums put in cases,
Colours wound up--what means this Mummery?
We are sunk low indeed, if wrongs like our's 240
Must seek redress in impotent Freaks of Anger.
(This way, Don Sandoval) of boyish anger----
(_Walks with SANDOVAL to the back of the Stage._)
_Don Curio (to himself)._ Freaks! freaks! But what if they have
sav'd from bursting
The swelling heart of one, whose Cup of Hope
Was savagely dash'd down--even from his lips?-- 245
Permitted just to see the face of War,
Then like a truant boy, scourgd home again
One Field my whole Campaign! One glorious Battle
To madden one with Hope!--Did he not pause
Twice in the fight, and press me to his breastplate, 250
And cry, that all might hear him, Well done, brother!
No blessed Soul, just naturalized in Heaven,
Pac'd ever by the side of an Immortal
More proudly, Henry! than I fought by thine--
Shame on these tears!--this, too, is boyish anger! [_Exit._ 255
_EARL HENRY and SANDOVAL return to the front of the stage._
_Earl Henry._ I spake more harshly to him, than need was.
_Sandoval._ Observ'd you how he pull'd his beaver down--
Doubtless to hide the tears, he could not check.
_Earl Henry._ Go, sooth [_sic_] him, Friend!--And having reach'd
the Castle
Gain Oropeza's private ear, and tell her 260
Where you have left me.
(_As SANDOVAL is going_)
Nay, stay awhile with me.
I am too full of dreams to meet her now.
_Sandoval._ You lov'd the daughter of Don Manrique?
_Earl Henry._ Loved?
_Sandoval._ Did you not say, you woo'd her?
_Earl Henry._ Once I lov'd
Her whom I dar'd not woo!----
_Sandoval._ And woo'd perchance 265
One whom you lov'd not!
_Earl Henry._ O I were most base
Not loving Oropeza. True, I woo'd her
Hoping to heal a deeper wound: but she
Met my advances with an empassion'd Pride
That kindled Love with Love. And when her Sire 270
Who in his dream of Hope already grasp'd
The golden circlet in his hand, rejected
My suit, with Insult, and in memory
Of ancient Feuds, pour'd Curses on my head,
Her Blessings overtook and baffled them. 275
But thou art stern, and with unkindling Countenance
Art inly reasoning whilst thou listenest to me.
_Sandoval._ Anxiously, Henry! reasoning anxiously.
But Oropeza--
_Earl Henry._ Blessings gather round her!
Within this wood there winds a secret passage, 280
Beneath the walls, which open out at length
Into the gloomiest covert of the Garden.--
The night ere my departure to the Army,
She, nothing trembling, led me through that gloom,
And to the covert by a silent stream, 285
Which, with one star reflected near its marge,
Was the sole object visible around me.
The night so dark, so close, the umbrage o'er us!
No leaflet stirr'd;--yet pleasure hung upon us,
The gloom and stillness of the balmy night-air. 290
A little further on an arbor stood,
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-- 295
I heard her heart beat--if 'twere not my own.
_Sandoval._ A rude and searing note, my friend!
_Earl Henry._ 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: 300
So Love grew mightier from the Pear, and Nature,
Fleeing from Pain, shelter'd herself in Joy.
The stars above our heads were dim and steady,
Like eyes suffus'd with rapture. Life was in us:
We were all life, each atom of our Frames 305
A living soul--I vow'd to die for her:
With the faint voice of one who, having spoken,
Relapses into blessedness, I vow'd it:
That solemn Vow, a whisper scarcely heard,
A murmur breath'd against a lady's Cheek. 310
Oh! there is Joy above the name of Pleasure,
Deep self-possession, an intense Repose.
No other than as Eastern Sages feign,
The God, who floats upon a Lotos Leaf,
Dreams for a thousand ages; then awaking, 315
Creates a world, and smiling at the bubble,
Relapses into bliss. Ah! was that bliss
Fear'd as an alien, and too vast for man?
For suddenly, intolerant of its silence,
Did Oropeza, starting, grasp my forehead. 320
I caught her arms; the veins were swelling on them.
Thro' 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 unity and substance of my Being, 325
I swore to her, that were she red with guilt,
I would exchange my unblench'd state with hers.--
Friend! by that winding passage, to the Bower
I now will go--all objects there will teach me
Unwavering Love, and singleness of Heart. 330
Go, Sandoval! I am prepar'd to meet her--
Say nothing of me--I myself will seek her--
Nay, leave me, friend! I cannot bear the torment
And Inquisition of that scanning eye.--
[_Earl Henry retires into the wood._
_Sandoval (alone)._ O Henry! always striv'st thou to be great 335
By thine own act--yet art thou never great
But by the Inspiration of great Passion.
The Whirl-blast comes, the desert-sands rise up
And shape themselves; from Heaven to Earth they stand,
As though they were the Pillars of a Temple, 340
Built by Omnipotence in its own honour!
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!
I know, he loves the Queen. I know she is 345
His Soul's first love, and this is ever his nature--
To his first purpose, his soul toiling back
Like the poor storm-wreck'd [sailor] to his Boat,
Still swept away, still struggling to regain it. [_Exit._
* * * * *
_Herreras._ He dies, that stirs! Follow me this instant. 350
(First Conspirator _takes his arrow, snaps it, and throws it on the
ground. The two others do the same._)
_Herreras._ Accursed cowards! I'll go myself, and make sure work
(_drawing his Dagger_).
(HERRERAS _strides towards the arbor, before he reaches it, stops and
listens and then returns hastily to the front of the stage, as he turns
his Back to the Arbor_, EARL HENRY _appears, watching the_ Conspirators,
_and enters the Arbor unseen_.)
_First Conspirator._ Has she _seen_ us think you?
_The Mask._ No! she has not _seen_ us; but she heard us
distinctly.
_Herreras._ There was a rustling in the wood--go, all of 355
you, stand on the watch--towards the passage.
_A Voice from the Arbor._ Mercy! Mercy! Tell me, why
you murder me.
_Herreras._ I'll do it first. (_Strides towards the Arbor, EARL
HENRY rushes out of it._) 360
_The Mask._ Jesu Maria. (_They all three fly, EARL HENRY
attempts to seize HERRERAS, who defending himself retreats
into the Covert follow'd by the EARL. THE QUEEN comes
from out the arbor, veiled--stands listening a moment, then
lifts up her veil, with folded hands assumes the attitude of
Prayer, and after a momentary silence breaks into audible
soliloquy._)
_The Queen._ I pray'd to thee, All-wonderful! And thou
Didst make my very Prayer the Instrument,
By which thy Providence sav'd me. Th' armed Murderer
Who with suspended breath stood listening to me,
Groan'd as I spake thy name. In that same moment, 365
O God! thy Mercy shot the swift Remorse
That pierc'd his Heart. And like an Elephant
Gor'd as he rushes to the first assault,
He turn'd at once and trampled his Employers.
But hark! (_drops her veil_)--O God in Heaven! they come again. 370
(_EARL HENRY returns with the Dagger in his hand._)
_Earl Henry (as he is entering)._ The violent pull with which I
seiz'd his Dagger
Unpois'd me and I fell.
[END OF THE FRAGMENT.]
LINENOTES:
[After 88] in which all her wrongs will appear twofold--(or) in a mist
of which her Wrongs will wander, magnified into giant shapes. MS.
erased.
[110] After General! And yet I have not stirred from his side. That is
to say-- MS. erased.
[Before 211]
Fortune! Plague take her for a blind old Baggage!
That such a patch as Barnard should have had
The Honour to have sav'd our General's life.
That Barnard! that mock-man! that clumsy forgery
Of Heaven's Image. Any other heart
But mine own would have turn'd splenetic to think of it.
MS. erased.
[269] an empassion'd S. L.: empassioned 1834.
[276] unkindling] unkindly S. L., 1834.
[281] open] opens S. L.
[285] the] that. a] that S. L. (corr. in Errata, p. [xi]) S. L.
[288] o'er] near S. L. (corr. in Errata, p. [xi]) S. L.
[289-290]
No leaflet stirr'd; the air was almost sultry;
So deep, so dark, so close, the umbrage o'er us!
No leaflet stirr'd, yet pleasure hung upon
S. L.
[310] Cheek] Ear S. L.
[After 312]
Deep repose of bliss we lay
No other than as Eastern Sages gloss,
The God who floats upon a Lotos leaf
Dreams for a thousand ages, then awaking
Creates a World, then loathing the dull task
Relapses into blessedness, when an omen
Screamed from the Watch-tower--'twas the Watchman's cry,
And Oropeza starting.
MS. (alternative reading).
[313] feign] paint S. L.
[Before 314] Sandoval (_with a sarcastic smile_) S. L.
[314-16] Compare Letter to Thelwall, Oct. 16, 1797, Letters of S. T. C.,
1895, i. 229.]
[317]
bliss.--
_Earl Henry._ Ah! was that bliss
S. L.
[319] intolerant] impatient S. L.
[325] unity and] purpose and the S. L.
[After 327]
Even as a Herdsboy mutely plighting troth
Gives his true Love a Lily for a Rose.
MS. erased.
[334] Inquisition] keen inquiry S. L.
[Before 335]
Earl Henry thou art dear to me--perchance
For these follies; since the Health of Reason,
Our would-be Sages teach, engenders not
The Whelks and Tumours of particular Friendship.
MS. erased.
[339] Heaven to Earth] Earth to Heaven S. L.
J
CHAMOUNY; THE HOUR BEFORE SUNRISE
A HYMN
[Vide _ante_, p. 376.]
[As published in _The Morning Post_, Sept. 11, 1802]
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 Chamouny!
The Arvè and Arveiron at thy base
Eave ceaselessly; but thou, dread mountain form, 5
Resist from forth thy silent sea of pines
How silently! Around thee, and above,
Deep is the sky, and black: transpicuous, deep,
An ebon mass! Methinks thou piercest it
As with a wedge! But when I look again, 10
It seems thy own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Thy habitation from eternity.
O dread and silent form! I gaz'd upon thee,
Till thou, still present to my bodily eye,
Did'st vanish from my thought. Entranc'd in pray'r, 15
I worshipp'd the INVISIBLE alone.
Yet thou, meantime, wast working on my soul,
E'en like some deep enchanting melody,
So sweet, we know not, we are list'ning to it.
But I awoke, and with a busier mind, 20
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! 25
Green fields, and icy cliffs! All join my hymn!
And thou, O silent mountain, sole and bare,
O blacker, than the darkness, all the night,
And visited, all night, by troops of stars,
Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink-- 30
Companion of the morning star at dawn,
Thyself Earth's rosy star, and of the dawn
Co-herald! Wake, O wake, and utter praise!
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth?
Who fill'd thy countenance with rosy light? 35
Who made thee father of perpetual streams?
And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad,
Who call'd you forth from Night and utter Death?
From darkness let you loose, and icy dens,
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks 40
For ever shatter'd, and the same for ever!
Who gave you your invulnerable life,
Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy,
Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam!
And who commanded, and the silence came-- 45
'Here shall the billows stiffen, and have rest?'
Ye ice-falls! ye that from yon dizzy heights
Adown enormous ravines steeply slope,
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopp'd at once amid their maddest plunge! 50
Motionless torrents! silent cataracts!
Who made you glorious, as the gates of Heav'n,
Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun
Clothe you with rainbows? Who with lovely flow'rs
Of living blue spread garlands at your feet? 55
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! 60
Ye dreadless flow'rs! that fringe th' eternal frost!
Ye wild goats, bounding by the eagle's nest!
Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain blast!
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!
Ye signs and wonders of the element, 65
Utter forth, GOD! and fill the hills with praise!
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 70
Sweep slowly with dim eyes suffus'd by tears,
Awake, thou mountain form! rise, like a cloud!
Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth!
Thou kingly spirit thron'd among the hills,
Thou dread ambassador from Earth to Heav'n-- 75
Great hierarch, tell thou the silent sky,
And tell the stars, and tell the rising sun,
Earth with her thousand voices calls on God!
ΕΣΤΗΣΕ.
K
DEJECTION: AN ODE[1076:1]
[Vide _ante_, p. 362.]
[As first printed in the _Morning Post_, October 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."[1076:2]
BALLAD OF SIR PATRICK SPENCE.
LINENOTES:
Motto_--2 Moon] one Letter to S.
[4] There will be, &c. Letter to S.
DEJECTION:
AN ODE, WRITTEN APRIL 4, 1802.
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
Unrous'd by winds, that ply a busier trade
Than those, which mould yon cloud, in lazy flakes, 5
Or the dull sobbing draft, that drones and rakes
Upon the strings of this Œolian 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 rimm'd and circled by a silver thread)
I see the Old Moon in her lap, foretelling
The coming on of rain and squally blast:
And O! that even now the gust were swelling, 15
And the slant night-show'r driving loud and fast!
Those sounds which oft have rais'd me, while they aw'd,
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, unimpassion'd grief,
Which finds no nat'ral outlet, no relief,
In word, or sigh, or tear--
O EDMUND! 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 bedimm'd, but always seen;
Yon crescent moon, as fix'd as if it grew, 35
In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue,
A boat becalm'd! a lovely sky-canoe!
I see them all so excellently fair--
I _see_, not _feel_ how beautiful they are!
III
My genial spirits fail; 40
And what can these avail,
To lift the smoth'ring 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: 45
I may not hope from outward forms to win
The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.
IV
O EDMUND! we receive but what we give,
And in _our_ life alone does Nature live:
Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her shroud! 50
And would we aught behold, of higher worth,
Than that inanimate cold world, _allow'd_
To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd,
Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth,
A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud 55
Enveloping the earth--
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!
O pure of heart! Thou need'st not ask of me 60
What this strong music in the soul may be?
What, and wherein it doth exist,
This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist,
This beautiful and beauty-making pow'r?
Joy, virtuous EDMUND! joy that ne'er was given, 65
Save to the pure, and in their purest hour,
Joy, EDMUND! is the spirit and the pow'r,
Which wedding Nature to us gives in dow'r,
A new Earth and new Heaven,
Undream'd of by the sensual and the proud-- 70
JOY is the sweet voice, JOY the luminous cloud--
We, we 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
Yes, dearest EDMUND, yes!
There was a time that, tho' 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: 80
For hope grew round me, like the twining vine,
And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seem'd mine.
But now afflictions bow me down to earth:
Nor care I, that they rob me of my mirth,
But oh! each visitation 85
Suspends what nature gave me at my birth,
My shaping spirit of imagination.
[The Sixth and Seventh Stanzas omitted.]
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
VIII
O wherefore did I let it haunt my mind
This dark distressful dream?
I turn from it, and listen to the wind 90
Which long has rav'd unnotic'd. What a scream
Of agony, by torture, lengthen'd out,
That lute sent forth! O wind, that rav'st without,
Bare crag, or mountain-tairn[1079:1], or blasted tree,
Or pine-grove, whither woodman never clomb, 95
Or lonely house, long held the witches' home,
Methinks were fitter instruments for thee,
Mad Lutanist! who, in this month of show'rs,
Of dark-brown gardens, and of peeping flow'rs,
Mak'st devil's yule, with worse than wintry song, 100
The blossoms, buds, and tim'rous leaves among.
Thou Actor, perfect in all tragic sounds!
Thou mighty Poet, ev'n to frenzy bold!
What tell'st thou now about?
'Tis of the rushing of a host in rout, 105
With many groans of 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,
With groans, and tremulous shudderings--all is over! 110
It tells another tale, with sounds less deep and loud--
A tale of less affright.
And temper'd with delight,
As EDMUND'S self had fram'd the tender lay--
'Tis of a little child, 115
Upon a lonesome wild
Not far from home; but she hath lost her way--
And now moans low, in utter grief and fear;
And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother _hear_!
IX
'Tis midnight, and small thoughts have I of sleep; 120
Full seldom may my friend such vigils keep!
Visit him, gentle Sleep, with wings of healing,
And may this storm be but a mountain-birth,
May all the stars hang bright above his dwelling,
Silent, as though they _watch'd_ the sleeping Earth! 125
With light heart may he rise,
Gay fancy, cheerful eyes,
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, 130
By the immenseness of the good and fair
Which thou see'st everywhere,
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! 135
O simple spirit, guided from above,
O lofty Poet, full of life and love,
Brother and friend of my devoutest choice,
Thus may'st thou ever, evermore rejoice!
ΕΣΤΗΣΕ.
FOOTNOTES:
[1076:1] Collated with the text of the poem as sent to W. Sotheby in a
letter dated July 19, 1802 (_Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i. 379-84).
[1076:2] In the letter of July 19, 1802, the Ode is broken up and quoted
in parts or fragments, illustrative of the mind and feelings of the
writer. 'Sickness,' he explains, 'first forced me into _downright
metaphysics_. For I believe that by nature I have more of the poet in
me. In a poem written during that dejection, to Wordsworth, I thus
expressed the thought in language more forcible than harmonious.' Then
follow lines 76-87 of the text, followed by lines 87-98 of the text
first published in _Sibylline Leaves_ ('For not to think of what I needs
must feel,' &c.). He then reverts to the 'introduction of the
poem':--'The first lines allude to a stanza in the Ballad of Sir Patrick
Spence: "Late, late yestreen I saw the new moon with the old one in her
arms: and I fear, I fear, my master dear, there will be a deadly
Storm."' This serves as a motto to lines 1-75 and 129-39 of the first
draft of the text. Finally he 'annexes as a _fragment_ a few lines (ll.
88-119) on the "Œolian Lute", it having been introduced in its dronings
in the first stanzas.'
[1079:1] Tairn, a small lake, generally, if not always, applied to the
lakes up in the mountains, and which are the feeders of those in the
vallies. This address to the wind will not appear extravagant to those
who have heard it at night, in a mountainous country. [Note in _M. P._]
LINENOTES:
[2] grand] dear Letter to S.
[5] those] that Letter to S. cloud] clouds Letter to S.
[12] by] with Letter to S.
[17-20] om. Letter to S.
[22] stifled] stifling Letter to S.
[Between 24 and 25]
This William, well thou knowest,
Is that sore evil which I dread the most,
And oftnest 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 to S.
[37] a lovely sky-canoe] thy own sweet sky-canoe Letter to S. [_Note._
The reference is to the Prologue to 'Peter Bell'.]
[48] Edmund] Wordsworth Letter to S.
[58] potent] powerful Letter to S.
[65] virtuous Edmund] blameless poet Letter to S.
[67] Edmund] William Letter to S.
[71] om. Letter to S.
[74] the echoes] an echo Letter to S.
[76] Edmund] poet Letter to S.
[77] that] when Letter to S.
[78] This] The Letter to S.
[82] fruits] fruit Letter to S.
After 87 six lines 'For not to think', &c., are inserted after a row of
asterisks. The direction as to the omission of the Sixth and Seventh
Stanzas is only found in the M. P.
[88] O] Nay Letter to S.
[93] That lute sent out! O thou wild storm without Letter to S.
[98] who] that Letter to S.
[106] of] from Letter to S.
[109] Again! but all that noise Letter to S.
[111] And it has other sounds, less fearful and less loud Letter to S.
[114] Edmund's self] thou thyself Letter to S.
[120-8] om. Letter to S.
[129-39]
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 to S.
[_Note._ In the letter these lines follow line 75 of the text of the _M.
P._]
L
TO W. WORDSWORTH[1081:1]
(_Vide ante_, p. 403.)
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{RY}, 1807. COLE-ORTON, NEAR ASHBY DE LA ZOUCH.
O friend! O Teacher! God's great Gift to me!
Into my heart have I receiv'd 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 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 Feard; 10
(The First-born they of Reason, and Twin-birth)
Of Tides obedient to external Force,
And _currents_ self-determin'd, as might seem,
Or by interior Power: of Moments aweful,
Now in thy hidden Life; and now abroad, 15
Mid festive Crowds, _thy_ Brows too garlanded,
A Brother of the Feast: of _Fancies_ fair,
Hyblæan Murmurs of poetic Thought,
Industrious in its Joy, by lilied Streams
Native or outland, Lakes and famous Hills! 20
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 Heaven, the bursting Crash 25
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 30
Floating! Of Hope afflicted, and struck down,
Thence summon'd homeward--homeward to thy Heart,
Oft from the Watch-tower of Man's absolute Self,
With Light unwaning on her eyes, to look
Far on--herself a Glory to behold, 35
The Angel of the Vision! Then (last strain!)
Of _Duty_, chosen Laws controlling choice,
Virtue and Love! An Orphic Tale indeed,
A Tale divine of high and passionate Thoughts
To their own music chaunted!
Ah great Bard! 40
Ere yet that last Swell dying aw'd the Air,
With stedfast ken I view'd thee in the Choir
Of ever-enduring Men. The truly Great
Have all one Age, and from one visible space
Shed influence: for they, both power and act, 45
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,
And to be plac'd, as they, with gradual fame
Among the Archives of mankind, thy Work 50
Makes audible a linked Song of Truth,
Of Truth profound a sweet continuous Song
Not learnt, but native, her own natural Notes!
Dear shall it be to every human Heart.
To me how more than dearest! Me, on whom 55
Comfort from Thee and utterance of thy Love
Came with such heights and depths of Harmony
Such sense of Wings uplifting, that the Storm
Scatter'd and whirl'd me, till my Thoughts became
A bodily Tumult! and thy faithful Hopes, 60
Thy Hopes of me, dear Friend! by me unfelt
Were troublous to me, almost as a Voice
Familiar once and more than musical
To one cast forth, whose hope had seem'd to die,
A Wanderer with a worn-out heart, [_sic_] 65
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,
That even as Life returns upon the Drown'd,
Th' unusual Joy awoke a throng of Pains-- 70
Keen Pangs of LOVE, awakening, as a Babe,
Turbulent, with an outcry in the Heart:
And Fears self-will'd, that shunn'd the eye of Hope,
And Hope, that would not know itself from Fear:
Sense of pass'd Youth, and Manhood come in vain; 75
And Genius given, and knowledge won in vain;
And all, which I had cull'd in Wood-walks wild,
And all, which patient Toil had rear'd, and all,
Commune with Thee had open'd out, but Flowers
Strew'd on my Corse, and borne upon my Bier, 80
In the same Coffin, for the self-same Grave!
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 85
Plucking the Poisons of Self-harm! and ill
Such Intertwine beseems triumphal wreaths
Strew'd before thy Advancing! Thou too, Friend!
O injure not the memory of that Hour
Of thy communion with my nobler mind 90
By pity or grief, already felt too long!
Nor let my words import more blame than needs.
The Tumult rose and ceas'd: for Peace is nigh
Where Wisdom's Voice has found a list'ning Heart.
Amid the howl of more than wintry Storms 95
The Halcyon hears the voice of vernal Hours,
Already on the wing!
Eve following eve,
Dear tranquil Time, when the sweet sense of Home
Becomes most sweet! hours for their own sake hail'd,
And more desir'd, more precious, for thy song! 100
In silence list'ning, like a devout Child,
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 still darting off 105
Into the darkness! now a tranquil Sea
Outspread and bright, yet swelling to the Moon!
And when O Friend! my Comforter! my Guide!
Strong in thyself and powerful to give strength!
Thy long sustained Lay finally clos'd, 110
And thy deep Voice had ceas'd (yet thou thyself
Wert still before mine eyes, and round us both
That happy Vision of beloved Faces!
All, whom I deepliest love, in one room all!),
Scarce conscious and yet conscious of it's Close, 115
I sate, my Being blended in one Thought,
(Thought was it? or aspiration? or Resolve?)
Absorb'd, yet hanging still upon the sound:
And when I rose, I found myself in Prayer!
S. T. COLERIDGE.
FOOTNOTES:
[1081:1] Now first printed from an original MS. in the possession of Mr.
Gordon Wordsworth.
LINENOTES:
[37] controlling] ? impelling, ? directing.
M
YOUTH AND AGE
[Vide _ante_, p. 439.]
_MS. I_
10 SEPT. 1823. WEDNESDAY MORNING, 10 O'CLOCK
On the Tenth Day of September,
Eighteen hundred Twenty Three,
Wednesday morn, and I remember
Ten on the Clock the Hour to be
[_The Watch and Clock do both agree_] 5
An _Air_ that whizzed διὰ ἐγκεφάλου (right across the diameter
of my Brain) exactly like a Hummel Bee, _alias_ Dumbeldore,
the gentleman with Rappee Spenser (_sic_), with bands of Red, and
Orange Plush Breeches, close by my ear, at once sharp and
burry, right over the summit of Quantock [item of Skiddaw 10
(_erased_)] at earliest Dawn just between the Nightingale that
I stopt to hear in the Copse at the Foot of Quantock, and the
first Sky-Lark that was a Song-Fountain, dashing up and
sparkling to the Ear's eye, in full column, or ornamented Shaft of
sound in the order of Gothic Extravaganza, out of Sight, over 15
the Cornfields on the Descent of the Mountain on the other
side--out of sight, tho' twice I beheld its _mute_ shoot downward in
the sunshine like a falling star of silver:--
ARIA SPONTANEA
Flowers are lovely, Love is flower-like,
Friendship is a shelt'ring tree-- 20
O the Joys, that came down shower-like,
Of Beauty, Truth, and Liberty,
When I was young, ere I was old!
[_O Youth that wert so glad, so bold,
What quaint disguise hast thou put on? 25
Would'st make-believe that thou art gone?
O Youth! thy Vesper Bell_] has not yet toll'd.
Thou always were a Masker bold--
What quaint Disguise hast now put on?
To make believe that thou art gone! 30
O Youth, so true, so fair, so free,
Thy Vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd,
Thou always, &c.
* * * * *
Ah! was it not enough, that Thou
In Thy eternal Glory should outgo me? 35
Would'st thou not Grief's sad Victory allow
* * * * *
Hope's a Breeze that robs the Blossoms
Fancy feeds, and murmurs the Bee----
* * * * *
_MS. II_
1
Verse, that Breeze mid blossoms straying
Where Hope clings feeding like a Bee.
Both were mine: Life went a Maying
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
When I was young.
_When_ I was young! ah woeful When!
Ah for the Change twixt now and then!
This House of Life, not built with hands
Where now I sigh, where once I sung.
_Or_ [This snail-like House, not built with hands,
This Body that does me grievous wrong.]
O'er Hill and dale and sounding Sands.
How lightly then it flash'd along--
Like those trim Boats, 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.
Pencil { Nought car'd this Body for wind or weather,
{ When youth and I liv'd in't together.
2
Flowers are lovely, Love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering Tree;
O the joys that came down shower-like
Of Beauty, Truth and Liberty
When I was young 5
_When_ I was young, [*ah woeful when*]
[*Ah for the change twixt now and then*]
In Heat or Frost we car'd not whether
Night and day we lodged together
woeful when
When I was young--ah [*words of agony*] 10
Ah for the change 'twixt now and then
[*O youth my Home-Mate dear so long, so long:*]
I thought that thou and I were one
I scarce believe that thou art gone
Thou always wert a Masker bold
I [*mark that change,*] in garb and size 15
heave the Breath
Those grisled Locks I well behold
But still thy Heart is in thine eyes
What strange disguise hast now put on
To make believe that thou art gone
_Or_ [O youth for years so many so sweet 20
It seem'd that Thou and I were one
That still I nurse the fond deceit
And scarce believe that thou art gone]
When I was young--ere I was old
Ah! happy ere, ah! woeful When 25
When I was young, ah woeful when
Which says that Youth and I are twain!
O Youth! for years so many and sweet
'Tis known that Thou and I were one
I'll think it but a false conceit 30
[*Tis but a gloomy*]
It cannot be,
[*I'll not believe*] that thou art gone
Thy Vesper Bell has not yet toll'd
always
[*And*] thou wert [*still*] a masker bold
What hast
[*Some*] strange disguise [*thou'st*] now put on
To make believe that thou art gone? 35
I see these Locks in silvery slips,
This dragging gait, this alter'd size
But spring-tide blossoms on thy Lips
And [*the young Heart*] is in thy eyes
tears take sunshine from
Life is but Thought so think I will 40
That Youth and I are Housemates still.
Ere I was old
Ere I was old! ah woeful ere
Which tells me youth's no longer here!
O Youth, &c. 45
Dewdrops are the Gems of Morning,
But the Tears of mournful Eve:
Where no Hope is Life's a Warning
me
That only serves to make [*us*] grieve,
Now I am old. 50
N
LOVE'S APPARITION AND EVANISHMENT[1087:1]
[Vide _ante_, p. 488.]
[FIRST DRAFT]
In vain I supplicate the Powers above;
There is no Resurrection for the Love
That, nursed with tenderest care, yet fades away
In the chilled heart by inward self-decay.
Like a lorn Arab old and blind 5
Some caravan had left behind
That sits beside a ruined Well,
And hangs his wistful head aslant,
Some sound he fain would catch--
Suspended there, as it befell, 10
O'er my own vacancy,
And while I seemed to watch
The sickly calm, as were of heart
A place where Hope lay dead,
The spirit of departed Love 15
Stood close beside my bed.
She bent methought to kiss my lips
As she was wont to do.
Alas! 'twas with a chilling breath
That awoke just enough of life in death 20
To make it die anew.
FOOTNOTES:
[1087:1] Now first published from an MS.
O
TWO VERSIONS OF THE EPITAPH[1088:1]
INSCRIBED IN A COPY OF GREW'S _Cosmologia Sacra_ (1701)
[Vide _ante_, p. 491.]
1
Epitaph
in Hornsey Church yard
Hic Jacet S. T. C.
Stop, Christian Passer-by! Stop, Child of God!
And read with gentle heart. Beneath this sod
There lies a Poet: or what once was He.
[_Up_] O lift thy soul 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
He ask'd, and hoped thro' Christ. Do thou the same.
2
ETESI'S [for Estesi's] Epitaph.
Stop, Christian Visitor! Stop, Child of God,
Here lies a Poet: or what once was He!
[_O_] Pause, Traveller, pause and pray for S. T. C.
That He who many a year with toil of Breath
Found Death in Life, may here find Life in Death. 5
And read with gentle heart! Beneath this sod
There lies a Poet, etc.
'Inscription on the Tomb-stone of one not unknown; yet more commonly
known by the Initials of his Name than by the Name itself.'
ESTEESE'S αυτοεπιταφιον[1089:1]
(From a copy of the _Todten-Tanz_ which belonged to Thomas Poole.)
Here lies a Poet; or what once was he:
Pray, gentle Reader, pray for S. T. C.
That he who threescore years, with toilsome breath,
Found Death in Life, may now find Life in Death.
FOOTNOTES:
[1088:1] First published in _The Athenaeum_, April 7, 1888: included in
the _Notes_ to 1893 (p. 645).
[1089:1] First published in the _Notes_ to 1893 (p. 646).
P
[HABENT SUA FATA--POETAE][1089:2]
The Fox, and Statesman subtile wiles ensure,
The Cit, and Polecat stink and are secure;
Toads with their venom, doctors with their drug,
The Priest, and Hedgehog, in their robes are snug!
Oh, Nature! cruel step-mother, and hard, 5
To thy poor, naked, fenceless child the Bard!
No Horns but those by luckless Hymen worn,
And those (alas! alas!) not Plenty's Horn!
With naked feelings, and with aching pride,
He hears th' unbroken blast on every side! 10
Vampire Booksellers drain him to the heart,
And Scorpion Critics cureless venom dart!
FOOTNOTES:
[1089:2] First published in Cottle's _Early Recollections_, 1839, i.
172. Now collected for the first time. These lines, according to Cottle,
were included in a letter written from Lichfield in January, 1796. They
illustrate the following sentence: 'The present hour I seem in a
quickset hedge of embarrassments! For shame! I ought not to mistrust
God! but, indeed, to hope is far more difficult than to fear. Bulls have
horns, Lions have talons.'--They are signed 'S. T. C.' and are
presumably his composition.
Q
TO JOHN THELWALL[1090:1]