The Complete Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge (Illustrated Edition). Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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e’en from Friendship’s eye will shrink asham’d.
O! I HAVE WAK’D AT MIDNIGHT, AND HAVE WEPT
O! I have wak’d at midnight, and have wept,
Because she was not! — Cheerily, dear Charles!
Thou thy best friend shalt cherish many a year: 20
Such warm presages feel I of high Hope.
For not uninterested the dear Maid
I’ve view’d — her soul affectionate yet wise,
Her polish’d wit as mild as lambent glories
That play around a sainted infant’s head. 25
He knows (the Spirit that in secret sees,
Of whose omniscient and all-spreading Love
Aught to implore were impotence of mind)
That my mute thoughts are sad before his throne,
Prepar’d, when he his healing ray vouchsafes, 30
Thanksgiving to pour forth with lifted heart,
And praise Him Gracious with a Brother’s Joy!
SONNETS ON EMINENT CHARACTERS
CONTRIBUTED TO THE ‘MORNING CHRONICLE’ IN DECEMBER 1794 AND JANUARY 1795
[The Sonnets were introduced by the following letter: —
‘MR. EDITOR — If, Sir, the following Poems will not disgrace
your poetical department, I will transmit you a series of
Sonnets (as it is the fashion to call them) addressed like
these to eminent Contemporaries.
‘JESUS COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.’
S. T. C.]
I
TO THE HONOURABLE MR. ERSKINE
When British Freedom for an happier land
Spread her broad wings, that flutter’d with affright,
ERSKINE! thy voice she heard, and paus’d her flight
Sublime of hope, for dreadless thou didst stand
(Thy censer glowing with the hallow’d flame) 5
A hireless Priest before the insulted shrine,
And at her altar pour the stream divine
Of unmatch’d eloquence. Therefore thy name
Her sons shall venerate, and cheer thy breast
With blessings heavenward breath’d. And when the doom
Of Nature bids thee die, beyond the tomb 11
Thy light shall shine: as sunk beneath the West
Though the great Summer Sun eludes our gaze,
Still burns wide Heaven with his distended blaze.
December 1, 1794.
BURKE
As late I lay in Slumber’s shadowy vale,
With wetted cheek and in a mourner’s guise,
I saw the sainted form of FREEDOM rise:
She spake! not sadder moans the autumnal gale —
‘Great Son of Genius! sweet to me thy name, 5
Ere in an evil hour with alter’d voice
Thou bad’st Oppression’s hireling crew rejoice
Blasting with wizard spell my laurell’d fame.
‘Yet never, BURKE! thou drank’st Corruption’s bowl!
Thee stormy Pity and the cherish’d lure 10
Of Pomp, and proud Precipitance of soul
Wilder’d with meteor fires. Ah Spirit pure!
‘That Error’s mist had left thy purgéd eye:
So might I clasp thee with a Mother’s joy!’
December 9, 1794.
PRIESTLEY
Though rous’d by that dark Vizir Riot rude
Have driven our PRIESTLEY o’er the Ocean swell;
Though Superstition and her wolfish brood
Bay his mild radiance, impotent and fell;
Calm in his halls of brightness he shall dwell! 5
For lo! RELIGION at his strong behest
Starts with mild anger from the Papal spell,
And flings to Earth her tinsel-glittering vest,
Her mitred State and cumbrous Pomp unholy;
And JUSTICE wakes to bid th’ Oppressor wail 10
Insulting aye the wrongs of patient Folly;
And from her dark retreat by Wisdom won
Meek NATURE slowly lifts her matron veil
To smile with fondness on her gazing Son!
December 11, 1794.
LA FAYETTE
As when far off the warbled strains are heard
That soar on Morning’s wing the vales among;
Within his cage the imprison’d Matin Bird
Swells the full chorus with a generous song:
He bathes no pinion in the dewy light, 5
No Father’s joy, no Lover’s bliss he shares,
Yet still the rising radiance cheers his sight —
His fellows’ Freedom soothes the Captive’s cares!
Thou, FAYETTE! who didst wake with startling voice
Life’s better Sun from that long wintry night, 10
Thus in thy Country’s triumphs shalt rejoice
And mock with raptures high the Dungeon’s might:
For lo! the Morning struggles into Day,
And Slavery’s spectres shriek and vanish from the ray!
December 15, 1794.
KOSKIUSKO
O what a loud and fearful shriek was there,
As though a thousand souls one death-groan pour’d!
Ah me! they saw beneath a Hireling’s sword
Their KOSKIUSKO fall! Through the swart air
(As pauses the tir’d Cossac’s barbarous yell 5
Of Triumph) on the chill and midnight gale
Rises with frantic burst or sadder swell
The dirge of murder’d Hope! while Freedom pale
Bends in such anguish o’er her destin’d bier,
As if from eldest time some Spirit meek 10
Had gather’d in a mystic urn each tear
That ever on a Patriot’s furrow’d cheek
Fit channel found; and she had drain’d the bowl
In the mere wilfulness, and sick despair of soul!
December 16, 1794.
PITT
Not always should the Tear’s ambrosial dew
Roll its soft anguish down thy furrow’d cheek!
Not always