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Rich was his bed of clouds, and wide beneath
For the Hymn on the Moon. In a cave in the mountains of Cashmeer there is an image of ice, which makes its appearance thus : Two days before the new moon there appears a bubble of ice, which increases in size every day till the fifteenth, by which time it is an ell or more in height;—then as the moon wanes, the image decreases till it vanishes away.
In darkness I remain'd ;--the neighbouring clock
These be staggerers that, made drunk by power, Forget thirst's eager promise, and presume, Dark dreamers ! that the world forgets it too!
-Perish warmth, Unfaithful to its seeming!
Old age, 'the shape and messenger of death,'
-God no distance knows All of the whole possessing.
With skill that never alchemist yet told,
Guess at the wound and heal with secret hand.
The broad-breasted rock Glasses his rugged forehead in the sea.
I mix in life, and labour to seem free,
With common persons pleased and common things, While every thought and action tends to thee,
And every impulse from thy influence springs.
Grant me a patron, gracious Heaven! whene er
Instead of fiery coals upon my pate,
O let a titled patron be my fate;That fierce compendium of Egyptian pests! Right reverend Dean, right honourable Squire, Lord, Marquis, Earl, Duke, Prince, or if aught higher, However proudly nicknamed, he shall be Anathema Maranatha to me!
His own fair countenance, his kingly forehead,
His solemn grief, like the slow cloud at sunset,
Within these circling hollies, woodbine-clad-
Each crime that once estranges from the virtues
The net that holds not great, takes little fish;
Few all they need, but none have all they wish :
Translation of a Latin Inscription by the Rev.
W. L. Bowles in Nether Storey Church.* Depart in joy from this world's noise and strife To the deep quiet of celestial life!
* Literary Remains of S.T.C., vol. i. p. 50.
Depart !--Affection's self reproves the tear Which falls, O honour'd Parent! on thy bier ;Yet Nature will be heard, the heart will swell, And the voice tremble with a last Farewell !
Epilogue to The Rash Conjuror,
An Uncomposed Poem.
All Christian Papishes to pray
That this unhappy Conjuror may,
For then there's hope ;
Long live the Pope ! * 1805.
Bedecks the valleys low;
My Angelina's toe.
But on the rose there grows a thorn
That breeds disastrous woe;
On Angelina's toe. 1825.
I of my grief were rid-
Or cease to think she did. 1826.
* Literary Remains of S.T.C., vol. i. p. 52. + Ib. vol. i. p. 59.
Written on a Ay-leaf of a copy of “Field on the Church,” folio, 1628, under the name of a former
possessor of the volume inscribed thus : “ Hannah Scollock, her book, February 10, 1787." This, Hannah Scollock! may have been the case; Your writing therefore I will not erase. But now this book, once yours, belongs to me, The Morning Post's and Courier's S.T.C. ;Elsewhere in College, knowledge, wit and scholarage To friends and public known as S. T. Coleridge. Witness hereto my hand, on Ashly Green, One thousand, twice four hundred, and fourteen Year of our Lord-and of the month November The fifteenth day, if right I do remember.*
Translation of a Fragment of Heraclitus.
“ The angel's like a flea,
The devil is a bore;—"
I love him the better therefore. I
Ib., vol. iv. p. 52. Written in a copy of Luther's Tabletalk. VOL. II.