The Complete Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge (Illustrated Edition). Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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on the marge of some fire-flashing fount
In the black Chamber of a sulphur’d mount.
In the long sabbath of high self-content.
Cleans’d from the fleshly passions that bedim
In the deep sabbath of blest self-content
Cleans’d from the fears and anguish that bedim
1797.
In the blest sabbath of high self-content
Cleans’d from bedimming Fear, and Anguish weak and blind.
1803.
1797
THE RAVEN
A CHRISTMAS TALE, TOLD BY A SCHOOLBOY TO HIS LITTLE BROTHERS AND SISTERS
Underneath an old oak tree
There was of swine a huge company,
That grunted as they crunched the mast:
For that was ripe, and fell full fast.
Then they trotted away, for the wind grew high: 5
One acorn they left, and no more might you spy.
Next came a Raven, that liked not such folly:
He belonged, they did say, to the witch Melancholy!
Blacker was he than blackest jet,
Flew low in the rain, and his feathers not wet. 10
He picked up the acorn and buried it straight
By the side of a river both deep and great.
Where then did the Raven go?
He went high and low,
Over hill, over dale, did the black Raven go. 15
Many Autumns, many Springs
Travelled he with wandering wings:
Many Summers, many Winters —
I can’t tell half his adventures.
At length he came back, and with him a She, 20
And the acorn was grown to a tall oak tree.
They built them a nest in the topmost bough,
And young ones they had, and were happy enow.
But soon came a Woodman in leathern guise,
His brow, like a pent-house, hung over his eyes. 25
He’d an axe in his hand, not a word he spoke,
But with many a hem! and a sturdy stroke,
At length he brought down the poor Raven’s own oak.
His young ones were killed; for they could not depart,
And their mother did die of a broken heart. 30
The boughs from the trunk the Woodman did sever;
And they floated it down on the course of the river.
They sawed it in planks, and its bark they did strip,
And with this tree and others they made a good ship.
The ship, it was launched; but in sight of the land 35
Such a storm there did rise as no ship could withstand.
It bulged on a rock, and the waves rush’d in fast:
Round and round flew the raven, and cawed to the blast.
He heard the last shriek of the perishing souls —
See! see! o’er the topmast the mad water rolls! 40
Right glad was the Raven, and off he went fleet,
And Death riding home on a cloud he did meet,
And he thank’d him again and again for this treat:
They had taken his all, and REVENGE IT WAS SWEET!
TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN AT THE THEATRE
Maiden, that with sullen brow
Sitt’st behind those virgins gay,
Like a scorch’d and mildew’d bough,
Leafless ‘mid the blooms of May!
Him who lur’d thee and forsook, 5
Oft I watch’d with angry gaze,
Fearful saw his pleading look,
Anxious heard his fervid phrase.
Soft the glances of the Youth,
Soft his speech, and soft his sigh; 10
But no sound like simple Truth,
But no true love in his eye.
Loathing thy polluted lot,
Hie thee, Maiden, hie thee hence!
Seek thy weeping Mother’s cot, 15
With a wiser innocence.
Thou hast known deceit and folly,
Thou hast felt that Vice is woe:
With a musing melancholy
Inly arm’d, go, Maiden! go. 20
Mother sage of Self-dominion,
Firm thy steps, O Melancholy!
The strongest plume in Wisdom’s pinion
Is the memory of past folly.
Mute the skylark and forlorn, 25
While she moults the firstling plumes,
That had skimm’d the tender corn,
Or the beanfield’s odorous blooms.
Soon with renovated wing
Shall she dare a loftier flight, 30
Upward to the Day-Star spring,
And embathe in heavenly light.
TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN WHOM THE AUTHOR HAD KNOWN IN THE DAYS OF HER INNOCENCE
Myrtle-leaf that, ill besped,
Pinest in the gladsome ray,
Soil’d beneath the common tread
Far from thy protecting spray!
When the Partridge o’er the sheaf 5
Whirr’d along the yellow vale,
Sad I saw thee, heedless leaf!
Love the dalliance of the gale.
Lightly didst thou, foolish thing!
Heave and flutter to his sighs, 10
While the flatterer, on his wing,
Woo’d and whisper’d thee to rise.
Gaily from thy mother-stalk
Wert thou danc’d and wafted high —
Soon on this unshelter’d walk 15
Flung to fade, to rot and die.
TO THE REV. GEORGE COLERIDGE OF OTTERY ST. MARY, DEVON
With some Poems
Notus in fratres animi paterni.
HOR. Carm. lib. II. 2.
A blesséd lot hath he, who having passed
His youth and early manhood in the stir
And turmoil of the world, retreats at length,
With cares that move, not agitate the heart,
To the same dwelling