The Complete Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge (Illustrated Edition). Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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to her lover, 15
It pours such sweet upbraiding, as must needs
Tempt to repeat the wrong! And now, its strings
Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes
Over delicious surges sink and rise,
Such a soft floating witchery of sound 20
As twilight Elfins make, when they at eve
Voyage on gentle gales from Fairy-Land,
Where Melodies round honey-dropping flowers,
Footless and wild, like birds of Paradise,
Nor pause, nor perch, hovering on untam’d wing! 25
O! the one Life within us and abroad,
Which meets all motion and becomes its soul,
A light in sound, a sound-like power in light,
Rhythm in all thought, and joyance every where —
Methinks, it should have been impossible 30
Not to love all things in a world so fill’d;
Where the breeze warbles, and the mute still air
Is Music slumbering on her instrument.
And thus, my Love! as on the midway slope
Of yonder hill I stretch my limbs at noon, 35
Whilst through my half-closed eyelids I behold
The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the main,
And tranquil muse upon tranquillity;
Full many a thought uncall’d and undetain’d,
And many idle flitting phantasies, 40
Traverse my indolent and passive brain,
As wild and various as the random gales
That swell and flutter on this subject Lute!
And what if all of animated nature
Be but organic Harps diversely fram’d, 45
That tremble into thought, as o’er them sweeps
Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze,
At once the Soul of each, and God of all?
But thy more serious eye a mild reproof
Darts, O belovéd Woman! nor such thoughts 50
Dim and unhallow’d dost thou not reject,
And biddest me walk humbly with my God.
Meek Daughter in the family of Christ!
Well hast thou said and holily disprais’d
These shapings of the unregenerate mind; 55
Bubbles that glitter as they rise and break
On vain Philosophy’s aye-babbling spring.
For never guiltless may I speak of him,
The Incomprehensible! save when with awe
I praise him, and with Faith that inly feels; 60
Who with his saving mercies healéd me,
A sinful and most miserable man,
Wilder’d and dark, and gave me to possess
Peace, and this Cot, and thee, heart-honour’d Maid!
TO THE AUTHOR OF POEMS
JOSEPH COTTLE PUBLISHED ANONYMOUSLY AT BRISTOL IN SEPTEMBER 1795
Unboastful Bard! whose verse concise yet clear
Tunes to smooth melody unconquer’d sense,
May your fame fadeless live, as ‘never-sere’
The Ivy wreathes yon Oak, whose broad defence
Embowers me from Noon’s sultry influence! 5
For, like that nameless Rivulet stealing by,
Your modest verse to musing Quiet dear
Is rich with tints heaven-borrow’d: the charm’d eye
Shall gaze undazzled there, and love the soften’d sky.
Circling the base of the Poetic mount 10
A stream there is, which rolls in lazy flow
Its coal-black waters from Oblivion’s fount:
The vapour-poison’d Birds, that fly too low,
Fall with dead swoop, and to the bottom go.
Escaped that heavy stream on pinion fleet 15
Beneath the Mountain’s lofty-frowning brow,
Ere aught of perilous ascent you meet,
A mead of mildest charm delays th’ unlabouring feet.
Not there the cloud-climb’d rock, sublime and vast,
That like some giant king, o’er-glooms the hill; 20
Nor there the Pine-grove to the midnight blast
Makes solemn music! But th’ unceasing rill
To the soft Wren or Lark’s descending trill
Murmurs sweet undersong ‘mid jasmin bowers.
In this same pleasant meadow, at your will 25
I ween, you wander’d — there collecting flowers
Of sober tint, and herbs of med’cinable powers!
There for the monarch-murder’d Soldier’s tomb
You wove th’ unfinish’d wreath of saddest hues;
And to that holier chaplet added bloom 30
Besprinkling it with Jordan’s cleansing dews.
But lo your Henderson awakes the Muse ——
His Spirit beckon’d from the mountain’s height!
You left the plain and soar’d mid richer views!
So Nature mourn’d when sunk the First Day’s light, 35
With stars, unseen before, spangling her robe of night!
Still soar, my Friend, those richer views among,
Strong, rapid, fervent, flashing Fancy’s beam!
Virtue and Truth shall love your gentler song;
But Poesy demands th’ impassion’d theme: 40
Waked by Heaven’s silent dews at Eve’s mild gleam
What balmy sweets Pomona breathes around!
But if the vext air rush a stormy stream
Or Autumn’s shrill gust moan in plaintive sound,
With fruits and flowers she loads the tempest-honor’d ground.
THE SILVER THIMBLE
THE PRODUCTION OF A YOUNG LADY, ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR OF THE POEMS ALLUDED TO IN THE PRECEDING EPISTLE
She had lost her Silver Thimble, and her complaint being
accidentally overheard by him, her Friend, he immediately sent
her four others to take her choice of.
As oft mine eye with careless glance
Has gallop’d thro’ some old romance,
Of speaking Birds and Steeds with wings,
Giants and Dwarfs, and Fiends and Kings;
Beyond the rest with more attentive care 5
I’ve lov’d to read of elfin-favour’d Fair ——
How if she long’d for aught beneath the sky
And suffer’d to escape one votive sigh,
Wafted