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Be but organic harps diversely framed,
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.
Hor. Carm. lib. 1, 2.
A BLESSED lot hath he, who having passed
To me the Eternal Wisdom hath dispensed A different fortune and more different mindMe from the spot where first I sprang to light
Too soon transplanted, ere my soul had fixed
damps, Mixed their own venom with the rain from Heaven, That I woke poisoned ! But, all praise to Him Who gives us all things, more have yielded me Permanent shelter ; and beside one friend, Beneath the impervious covert of one oak, I've raised a lowly shed, and know the names Of husband and of father; not unhearing Of that divine and nightly-whispering voice, Which from my childhood to maturer years Spake to me of predestinated wreaths, Bright with no fading colours !
Yet at times My soul is sad, that I have roamed through life Still most a stranger, most with naked heart At mine own home and birthplace: chiefly then, When I remember thee, my earliest friend !
Thee, who didst watch my boyhood and my youth;
on some delicious eve, We in our sweet sequestered orchard-plot Sit on the tree crooked earth-ward; whose old
boughs, That hang above us in an arborous roof, Stirred by the faint gale of departing May, Send their loose blossoms slanting o'er our heads !
Nor dost not thou sometimes recall those hours, Vhen ith the joy of hope thou gav’st thine ear To my wild firstling-lays. Since then my song Hath sounded deeper notes, such as beseem Or that sad wisdom folly leaves behind, Or such as, tuned to these tumultuous times, Cope with the tempest's swell!
These various strains, Which I have framed in many a various mood,
Accept, my brother! and, (for some perchance
TO A FRIEND
WHO HAD DECLARED HIS INTENTION OF WRITING
NO MORE POETRY.
DEAR Charles ! whilst yet thou wert a babe, I
That Genius plunged thee in that wizard fount
The world's low cares and lying vanities,