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Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost!
My native land! Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest ! Fillid with the thought of thee this heart was proud Ye eagles, play-mates of the mountain-storm! Yea, mine eye swam with tears: that all the view Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds ! From sovran Brocken, woods and woody hills, Ye signs and wonders of the element!
Floated away, like a departing dream,
Blame thou not lightly ; nor will I profane,
That man's sublimer spirit, who can feel
That God is everywhere! the God who framed Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy breast
Mankind to be one mighty Family, Thou too again, stupendous Mountain! thou
Himself our Father, and the World our Home. That as I raise my head, awhile bow'd low In adoration, upward from thy base Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears,
ON OBSERVING A BLOSSOM ON THE FIRST CF Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud,
FEBRUARY, 1796. To rise before me-Rise, O ever rise, Rise like a cloud of incense, from the earth! Sweet Flower! that peeping from thy russet stem Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills,
Unfoldest timidly (for in strange sort Thou dread Ambassador from Earth to Heaven, This dark, frieze-coated, hoarse, teeth-chattering Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky,
month And tell the Stars, and tell yon rising sun
Hath borrow'd Zephyr's voice, and gazed upon thee Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. With blue voluptuous eye), alas, poor Flower!
These are but flatteries of the faithless year.
To some sweet girl of too too rapid growth,
Nipp'd by Consumption 'mid untimely charms ? WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM AT ELBINGERODE, IN THE An Amaranth, which earth scarce seem'd to own,
Or to Bristowa’s Bard,* the wondrous boy!
Beat it to earth ? or with indignant grief
Shall I compare thee to poor Poland's Hope, Woods crowding upon woods, hills over hills,
Bright fower of Hope kill'd in the opening bud ? A surging scene, and only limited
Farewell, sweet blossom! better fate be thine, By the blue distance. Heavily my way Downward I dragg'd through fir-groves evermore,
And mock my boding! Dim similitudes Where bright green moss heaves in sepulchral forms From anxious Self, Life's cruel Task-Master !
Weaving in moral strains, I've stolen one hour Speckled with sunshine; and, but seldom heard,
And the warm wooings of this sunny day
Tremble along my frame, and harmonize
The attemper'd organ, that even saddest thoughts Preserved its solemn murmur most distinct
Mix with some sweet sensations, like harsh tunes
Play'd deftly on a soft-toned instrument.
THE EOLIAN HARP.
COMPOSED AT CLEVEDON, SOMERSETSHIRE. Their finer influence from the Life within :
My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined Fair ciphers else : fair, but of import vague Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is Or unconcerning, where the Heart not finds To sit beside our cot, our cot o'ergrown History or prophecy of Friend, or Child,
With white-flower'd Jasmin, and the broad-leaved Or gentle Maid, our first and early love,
Myrtle, Or Father, or the venerable name
(Meet emblems they of Innocence and Love!) Of our adored Country! O thou Queen,
And watch the clouds, that late were rich with light Thou delegated Deity of Earth,
Slow saddening round, and mark the star of eve O dear, dear England ! how my longing eye Serenely brilliant (such should wisdom be) Turn'd westward, shaping in the steady clouds Shine opposite! How exquisite the scents Thy sands and high white cliffs !
Snatch'd from you bean-field! and the world se
The stilly murmur of the distant Sea
And that simplest Lute, From some high eminence on goodly vales,
Placed length-ways in the clasping casement, harh And cots and villages embower'd below,
How by the desultory breeze caress'd,
Like some coy maid half yielding to her loyht,
It pours such sweet upbraiding, as must needs Was green and woody, and refresh'd the eye.
The Valley of Seclusion! once I saw
|(Hallowing his Sabbath-day by quietness) Such a soft floating witchery of sound
A wealthy son of commerce saunter by, As twilight Elfins make, when they at eve Bristowa's citizen: methought, it calm'd Voyage on gentle gales from Fairy-Land,
His thirst of idle gold, and made him muse Where Melodies round honey-dropping flowers, With wiser feelings; for he paused, and look'd Footless and wild, like birds of Paradise,
With a pleased sadness, and gazed all around, Nor pause, nor perch, hovering on untamed wing! Then eyed our cottage, and gazed round again, O the one life within us and abroad,
And sigh’d, and said, it was a blessed place. Which meets all motion and becomes its soul, And we were bless'd. Oft with patient ear A light in sound, a sound-like power in light, Long-listening to the viewless sky-lark's note Rhythm in all thought, and joyance everywhere- (Viewless or haply for a moment seen Methinks, it should have been impossible
Gleaming on sunny wings), in whisper'd tones Not to love all things in a world so fillid;
I've said to my beloved, “ Such, sweet girl!
Unearthly minstrelsy! then only heard
When the soul seeks to hear; when all is hush d, And thus, my love! as on the midway slope And the Heart listens !” of yonder hill í stretch my limbs at noon, Whilst through my half-closed eye-lids I behold
But the time, when fint The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the main,
From that low dell, steep up the stony Mount And tranquil muse upon tranquillity;
I climb'd with perilous toil, and reach'd the top, Full many a thought uncallid and undetain'd,
Oh! what a goodly scene! Here the bleak Mount, And many idle flitting phantasies,
The bare bleak Mountain speckled thin with sheep Traverse my indolent and passive brain,
Gray clouds, that shadowing spot the sunny fields ; As wild and various as the random gales
And River, now with bushy rocks o'erbrowd, That swell and flutter on this subject lute!
Now winding bright and full, with naked banks ;
And Seats, and Lawns, the Abbey and the Wood, And what if all of animated nature
And Cots, and Hamlets, and faint City-spire ; Be but organic harps diversely framed,
The Channel there, the Islands and white Sails, That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweeps, Dim Coasts, and cloud-like Hills, and shoreless Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze,
OceanAt once the Soul of each, and God of All?
It seem'd like Omnipresence! God, methought,
Had built him there a Temple: the whole World
Blest hour! It was a luxury,—to be!
Ah! quiet dell; dear cot, and Mount sublime!
I was constrain'd to quit you. Was it right, These shapings of the unregenerate mind;
While my unnumber'd brethren toil'd and bled, Bubbles that glitter as they rise and break On vain Philosophy's aye-babbling spring.
That I should dream away the intrusted hours
On rose-leaf beds, pampering the coward heart For never guiltless may I speak of him,
With feelings all too delicate for use ? The Incomprehensible! save when with awe
Sweet is the tear that from some Howard's eye I praise him, and with Faith that inly feels ; Who with his saving mercies healed me,
Drops on the cheek of One he lifts from Earth:
And He that works me good with unmoved face, A sinful and most miserable Man, Wilder'd and dark, and gave me to possess
Does it but half: he chills me while he aids,
My Benefactor, not my Brother Man!
Praise, praise it, O my Soul ! oft as thou scann'st
Who sigh for wretchedness, yet shun the wretched REFLECTIONS ON HAVING LEFT A PLACE Nursing in some delicious solitude
Their slothful loves and dainty Sympathies!
I therefore go, and join head, heart, and hand,
Active and firm, to fight the bloodless fight
Of Science, Freedom, and the Truth in Christ.
Luw was our pretty Cot: our tallest rose
Yet oft, when after honorable toil
Ah had none greater! And that all had such!
Loved as a brother, as a son revered thee!
Endears the cleanly hearth and social bowl;
Stirr'd by the faint gale of departing May,
TO THE REV. GEORGE COLERIDGE OF
OTTERY ST. MARY, DEVON.
WITH SOME POEMS.
Nor dost not thou sometimes recall those hours, Notus in fratres animi paterni.
When with the joy of hope thou gavest thine ear Hor. Carm. lib. i. 2.
To my wild firstling-lays. Since then my song
Hath sounded deeper notes, such as beseem A BLESSED lot hath he, who having pass'd
Or that sad wisdom folly leaves behind, His youth and early manhood in the stir
Or such as, tuned to these tumultuous times,
Cope with the tempest's swell!
These various strains And haply views his tottering little ones
Which I have framed in many a various mood, Embrace those aged knees and climb that lap, Accept, my Brother! and (for some perchance On which first kneeling his own infancy
Will strike discordant on thy milder mind) Lasp'd its brief prayer. Such, O my earliest Friend! If aught of Error or intemperate Truth Thy lot, and such thy brothers too enjoy.
Should meet thine ear, think thou that riper age At distance did ye climb Life's upland road,
Will calm it down, and let thy love forgive it!
INSCRIPTION FOR A FOUNTAIN ON A HEATH.
With soft and even pulse! Nor ever cease Ruffled the boughs, they on my head at once Yon tiny cone of sand its soundless dance, Dropp'd the collected shower; and some most false, Which at the bottom, like a fairy's page, False and fair foliaged as the Manchineel,
As merry and no taller, dances suill, Have tempted me to slumber in their shade Nor wrinkles the smooth surface of the Fount. E'en 'mid the storm ; then breathing subtlest damps, Here twilight is and coolness : here is moss, Mir'd their own venom with the rain from Heaven, A soft seat, and a deep and ample shade. That I woke poison'd! But, all praise to Him Thou mayst toil far and find no second tree. Who gives us all things, more have yielded me Drink, Pilgrim, here! Here rest! and if thy heart Permanent shelter; and beside one Friend, Be innocent, here too shalt thou refresh Beneath th' impervious covert of one Oak, Thy spirit, listening to some gentle sound, I've raised a lowly shed, and know the names Or passing gale or hum of murmuring bees! Of Husband and of Father ; nor unhearing Or that divine and nightly-whispering Voice, Which from my childhood to maturer years Spake to me of predestinated wreaths,
A TOMBLESS EPITAPH. Bright with no fading colors !
"T is true, Idoloclastes Satyrane!
Yet at times (So call him, for so mingling blame with praise, My soul is sad, that I have roam'd through life And smiles with anxious looks, his earliest friends, Soll most a stranger, most with naked heart Masking his birth-name, wont to character At mine own home and birth-place : chiefly then, His wild-wood fancy and impetuous zeal) When I remember thee, my earliest Friend! "T is true that, passionate for ancient truths, 'Thee, who didst watch my boyhood and my youth ; And honoring with religious love the Great Didat trace my wanderings with a Father's eye; Of elder times, he hated to excess, And boding evil, yet still hoping good,
With an unquiet and intolerant scorn, Rebuked each fault, and over all my woes The hollow puppets of a hollow age, Sorrow'd in silence! He who counts alone Ever idolatrous, and changing ever The beatings of the solitary heart,
Its worthless Idols! Learning, Power, and Time That Being knows, how I have loved thee ever, |(Too much of all) thus wasting in vain war
Of fervid colloquy. Sickness, 't is true,
The slip of smooth clear blue betwixt two isles Whole years of weary days, besieged him close, Of purple shadow! Yes, they wander on Even to the gates and inlets of his life!
In gladness all; but thou, methinks, most glad, But it is true, no less, that strenuous, firm,
My gentle-hearted Charles! fur thou hast pined And with a natural gladness, he maintain'd Ard hunger'd after Nature, Kany a year, The citadel unconquer'd, and in joy
In the great city pent, winning thy way Was strong to follow the delightful Muse.
With sad yet patient soul, through evil and pair For not a hidden Path, that to the Shades
And strange calamity! Ah! slowly sink Of the beloved Parnassian forest leads,
Behind the western ridge, thou glorious Sun! Lurk'd undiscover'd by him; not a rill
Shine in the slant beams of the sinking orb, There issues from the fount of Hippocrene, Ye purple heath-flowers! richlier burn, ye clouds ! But he had traced it upward to its source,
Live in the yellow light, ye distant groves ! Through open glade, dark glen, and secret dell. And kindle, thou blue Ocean! So my Friend, Knew the gay wild-flowers on its banks, and culla Struck with deep joy, may stand, as I have stood, Its med'cinable herbs. Yea, oft alone,
Silent with swimming sense ; yea, gazing round Piercing the long-neglected holy cave,
On the wide landscape, gaze till all doth seem The haunt obscure of old Philosophy,
Less gross than bodily; and of such hues
Spirits perceive his presence.
Comes sudden on my heart, and I am glad Philosopher! contemning wealth and death, As I myself were there! Nor in this bower, Yet docile, childlike, full of life and love!
This little lime-tree bower, have I not mark'd Here, rather than on monumental stone,
Much that has soothed me. Pale beneath the blade This record of thy worth thy Friend inscribes, Hung the transparent foliage; and I watch'd Thoughtful, with quiet tears upon his cheek. Some broad and sunny leaf, and loved to see
The shadow of the leaf and stem above
Was richly tinged, and a deep radiance lay
Those fronting elms, and now, with blackest mass, In the June of 1797, some long-expected Friends paid a visit Makes their dark branches gleam a lighter hue
to the Author's Cottage; and on the morning of their ar- Through the late twilight: and though now he Bau
Sings in the bean-llower! Henceforth I shall know
No plot so narrow, be but Nature there,
No waste so vacant, but may well employ This Lime-tree bower my prison! I have lost
Each faculty of sense, and keep the heart Beauties and feelings, such as would have been
Awake to Love and Beauty! and sometimes Most sweet to my remembrance, even when age ”T is well to be bereft of promised good, Had dimm'd mine eyes to blindness! They, mean. That we may lift the soul, and contemplate while,
With lively joy the joys we cannot share. Friends, whom I never more may meet again,
My gentle-hearted Charles ! when the last Rook On springy heath, along the hill-top edge,
Beat its straight path along the dusky air Wander in gladness, and wind down, perchance,
Homewards, I blest it! deeming its black wing To that still roaring dell, of which I told :
(Now a dim speck, now vanishing in light) The roaring dell, o'erwooded, narrow, deep, Had cross'd the mighty Orb's dilated glory, And only speckled by the mid-day sun ;
While thou stood'st gazing; or when all was still, Where its slimn trunk the Ash from rock to rock
Flew creakingt o'er thy head, and had a charm Flings arching like a bridge ;--that branchless Ash, For thee, my gentle-hearted Charles, to whom Unsunn'd and damp, whose few poor yellow leaves No sound is dissonant which tells of Life. Ne'er tremble in the gale, yet tremble still, Fann'd by the waterfall! and there my friends Behold the dark-green file of long lank weeds,* That all at once (a most fantastic sight!) Still nod and drip beneath the dripping edge
TO A FRIEND Of the blue clay-stone.
Now, my Friends emerge WHO HAD DECLARED HIS INTENTION OF WRITING Beneath the wide wide Heaven-and view again The many-steepled tract magnificent 01 lully fields and meadows, and the sea, Dear Charles! whilst yet thou wert a babe, I ween With some fair bark, perhaps, whose sails light up That Genius plunged thee in that wizard fount
NO MORE POETRY.
1 he Asplenium Scolopendrium, called in some countries † Some months after I had written this line, it gave me pleathe Adder's Tongue, in others the Hart's Tongue ; but With- sure to observe that Bartram had observed the same circumering gives the Adder's Tongue as the trivial name of the stance of the Savanna Crane. * When thesc Birds mora Ophioglossum only.
their wings in flight, their strokes are slow, moderate and
Hight Castalıe: and (sureties of thy faith)
of tides obedient to external force, That Pity and Simplicity stood by,
And currents self-determined, as might seem, And promised for thee, that thou shouldst renounce Or by some inner Power; of moments awful, The world's low cares and lying vanities,
Now in thy inner life, and now abroad, Stedfast and rooted in the heavenly Muse,
When Power stream'd from thee, and thy sou! And wash'd and sanctified to Poesy.
received Yes—thou wert plunged, but with forgetful hand The light reflected, as a light bestow'dHeld, as by Thetis erst her warrior Son :
Of Fancies fair, and milder hours of youth, And with those recreant unbaptized heels
Hyblean murmurs of poetic thought Thou 'rt flying from thy bounden ministeries- Industrious in its joy, in Vales and Glens So sore it seems and burthensome a task
Native or outland, Lakes and famous Hills! To weave unwithering flowers ! But take thou heed: Or on the lonely High-road, when the Stars For thou art vulnerable, wild-eyed Boy,
Were rising; or by secret Mountain-streams,
The Guides and the Companions of thy way'
Of more than Fancy, of the Social Sense * Without the meed of one melodious tear ?"
Distending wide, and Man beloved as Man, Thy Burns, and Nature's own beloved Bard,
Where France in all her towns lay vibrating Who to the * Illustrioust of his native land
Like some becalmed bark beneath the burst So properly did look for patronage.”
Of Heaven's immediate thunder, when no cloud Ghost of Mæcenas! hide thy blushing face!
Is visible, or shadow on the Main. They snatch'd him from the Sickle and the Plow- For thou wert there, thine own brows garlanded, To gauge Ale-Firkins.
Amid the tremor of a realm aglow,
Amid a mighty nation jubilant,
When from the general heart of human-kind
Hope sprang forth like a full-born Deity! There stands a lone and melancholy tree,
-Of that dear Hope afficted and struck down Whose aged branches in the midnight blast So summond homeward, thenceforth calm and sure Make solemn music: pluck its darkest bough, From the dread watch-tower of man's absolute Self, Ere yet the unwholesome night-dew be exhaled,
With light unwaning on her eyes, to look And weeping wreath it round thy Poet's tomb.
Far on-herself a glory to behold, Then in the outskirts, where pollutions grow,
The Angel of the vision! Then (last strain) Pick the rank henbane and the dusky flowers
Of Duty, chosen laws controlling choice, Of night-shade, or its red and tempting fruit.
Action and Joy !- An orphic song indeed, These with stopp'd nostril and glove-guarded hand
A song divine of high and passionate thoughts, Knit in nice intertexture, so to twine
To their own music chanted !
O great Bard'
Of ever-enduring men. The truly Great
Have all one age, and from one visible space
Shed influence! They, both in power and act, COMPOSED ON THE NIGHT AFTER HIS RECITATION Are permanent, and Time is not with them, OF A POEM ON THE GROWTH OF AN INDIVIDUAL Save as it worketh for them, they in it.
Nor less a sacred roil, than those of old,
And to be placed, as they, with gradual fame FRIEND of the Wise! and Teacher of the Good! Among the archives of mankind, thy work Into my heart have I received that lay
Makes audible a linked lay of Truth, More than historic, that prophetic lay,
Of Truth profound a sweet continuous lay, Wherein (high theme by thee first sung aright) Not learnt, but native, her own natural notes' Of the foundations and the building up
Ah! as I listen'd with a heart forlorn,
The pulses of my being beat anew :
Life's joy rekindling roused a throng of painsBy vital breathings secret as the soul
Keen Pangs of Love, awakening as a babe Of vernal growth, oft quickens in the heart Turbulent, with an outery in the heart; l'houghts all too deep for words !
And Fears self-willd, that shunn'd the eye of Hope
And Hope that scarce would know itself from Fear
Theme hard as high! Sense of past Youth, and Manhood come in vain Of smiles spontaneous, and mysterious fears And Genius given, and knowledge won in vain The first-born they of Reason and twin-birth), And all which I had cull'd in wood-walks wild
And all which patient toil had reard, and all, regular ; and even when at a considerable distance or high Commune with thee had open'd out-but flowers above us, we plainly hear the quill feathers; their shafts and Strew'd on my corse, and borne upon my bier, webs upon one another creak as the joints or working of a In the same coffin, for the self-same grave! essel in a tempestuous sea." * Vide Pind. Olymp. iii. I. 156. + Verbatim from Burns's dedication of his Poema to the No- who came a welcomer in herald's guise.
That way no more! and ill beseems it me. lity and Gentry of the Caledonian Hunt.