With feelings all too delicate for use? Sweet is the tear that from some Howard's eye Drops on the cheek of one he lifts from earth: And he that works me good with unmoved face, Does it but half: he chills me while he aids, My benefactor, not my brother man!
Yet even this, this cold beneficence
Praise, praise it, O my soul! oft as thou scann'st The sluggard Pity's vision-weaving tribe!
Who sigh for wretchedness, yet shun the wretched, 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.
Yet oft when after honourable toil
Rests the tired mind, and waking loves to dream, My spirit shall revisit thee, dear Cot! Thy jasmin and thy window-peeping rose, And myrtles fearless of the mild sea-air. And I shall sigh fond wishes-sweet abode ! Ah!—had none greater! And that all had such! It might be so-but the time is not yet. Speed it, O Father! Let thy kingdom come!
ON OBSERVING A BLOSSOM ON THE FIRST OF FEBRUARY, 1796.
SWEET Flower! that peeping from thy russet stem Unfoldest timidly, (for in strange sort
This dark, frieze-coated, hoarse, teeth-chattering Month Hath borrowed Zephyr's voice, and gazed upon thee With blue voluptuous eye) alas, poor Flower! These are but flatteries of the faithless year. Perchance, escaped its unknown polar cave, E'en now the keen North-East is on its way. Flower that must perish! shall I liken thee To some sweet girl of too too rapid growth Nipped by consumption 'mid untimely charms? Or to Bristowa's bard,* the wondrous boy! An amaranth, which Earth scarce seemed to own, Till disappointment came, and pelting wrong Beat it to Earth? or with indignant grief Shall I compare thee to poor Poland's hope, Bright flower of Hope killed in the opening bud? Farewell, sweet blossom! better fate be thine And mock my boding! Dim similitudes Weaving in moral strains, I've stolen one hour From anxious self, Life's cruel task-master! And the warm wooings of this sunny day Tremble along my frame, and harmonise The attempered organ, that even saddest thoughts Mix with some sweet sensations, like harsh tunes Played deftly on a soft-toned instrument.
COMPOSED AT CLEVEDON, SOMERSETSHIRE.
My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined. Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is To sit beside our cot, our cot o'ergrown
With white-flowered jasmin, and the broad-leaved mrytle,
(Meet emblems they of Innocence and Love!) And watch the clouds, that late were rich with light, Slow saddening round, and mark the star of eve Serenely brilliant (such should wisdom be)
Shine opposite! How exquisite the scents
Snatched from yon bean-field! and the world so hushed! The stilly murmur of the distant sea
Placed length-ways in the clasping casement, hark ' How by the desultory breeze caressed,
Like some coy maid half yielding to her lover, 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 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 untamed wing!
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 Not to love all things in a world so filled; 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, Whilst through my half-closed eye-lids I behold The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the main, And tranquil muse upon tranquillity; Full many a thought uncalled and undetained, And many idle flitting phantasies, 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 framed, 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 beloved woman! nor such thoughts Dim and unhallowed 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 dispraised These shapings of the unregenerate mind;
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; Who with his saving mercies healed me, A sinful and most miserable man,
Wildered and dark, and gave me to possess
Peace, and this cot, and thee, heart-honoured Maid!
TO THE REV. GEORGE COLERIDGE
OF OTTERY ST. MARY, DEVON. WITH SOME POEMS.
Notus in fratres animi paterni.
A BLESSED 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 where his father dwelt ; And haply views his tottering little ones Embrace those aged knees and climb that lap, On which first kneeling his own infancy Lisped its brief prayer. Such, O my earliest Friend! Thy lot, and such thy brothers too enjoy. At distance did ye climb life's upland road, Yet cheered and cheering: now fraternal love Hath drawn you to one centre. Be your days Holy, and blest and blessing may ye live.
To me the Eternal Wisdom hath dispensed A different fortune and more different mind-
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