the poetical and dramatic works of st. coleridge with a memoir

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Pagina 31 - Though I should gaze for ever On that green light that lingers in the west: I may not hope from outward forms to win The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.
Pagina 34 - Tis of the rushing of an host in rout. With groans, of trampled men, with smarting wounds — At once they groan with pain, and shudder with the cold! But hush! there is a pause of deepest silence! And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd, With groans, and tremulous shudderings— all is over — It tells another tale, with sounds less deep and loud! A tale of less affright. And tempered with delight. As Otway's self- had framed the tender lay.
Pagina 77 - twixt Now and Then ! This breathing house not built with hands, This body that does me grievous wrong, O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands How lightly then it flashed along : Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, On winding lakes and rivers wide, That ask no aid of sail or oar, That fear no spite of wind or tide ! Nought cared this body for wind or weather When Youth and I lived in't together.
Pagina 77 - twixt Now and Then ! This breathing House not built with hands, This body that does me grievous wrong, O'er aery Cliffs and glittering Sands, How lightly then it flashed along...
Pagina 35 - Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing, And may this storm be but a mountain-birth, May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling, Silent as though they watched the sleeping Earth! With light heart may she rise, Gay fancy, cheerful eyes, Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice : To her may all things live, from Pole to Pole, Their life the eddying of her living soul ! O simple spirit, guided from above, Dear Lady ! friend devoutest of my choice, Thus mayest thou ever, evermore rejoice.
Pagina 31 - O Lady! we receive but what we give, And in our life alone does Nature live; Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her shroud! And would we aught behold, of higher worth, Than that inanimate cold world allowed To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd, Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud Enveloping the Earth — And from the soul itself must there be sent A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth, Of all sweet sounds the life and element!
Pagina 68 - ERE on my bed my limbs I lay, It hath not been my use to pray With moving lips or bended knees ; But silently, by slow degrees, My spirit I to Love compose, In humble Trust mine eye-lids close, With reverential resignation, No wish conceived, no thought expressed ! Only a sense of supplication.
Pagina 31 - And from the soul itself must there be sent A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth, Of all sweet sounds the life and element ! v. O pure of heart ! thou need'st not ask of me What this strong music in the soul may be. What, and wherein it doth exist, This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist, This beautiful and beauty-making power.
Pagina 29 - WELL ! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence, This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence Unroused by winds, that ply a busier trade Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes, Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes Upon the strings...
Pagina 146 - Yet haply there will come a weary day, When overtasked at length Both Love and Hope beneath the load give way. Then, with a statue's smile, a statue's strength, Stands the mute sister, Patience, nothing loth, And both supporting does the work of both.

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