V. But cease, ye pitying bosoms, cease to bleed! Such scenes no more demand the tear humane; I see, I see! glad Liberty succeed, VI. Shall France alone a despot spurn? Shall she alone, O Freedom, boast thy care? Lo, round thy standard Belgia's heroes burn, Tho' Power's blood-stain'd streamers fire the air; And wider yet thy influence spread, Till every land from pole to pole And still, as erst, let favour'd Britain be "LINES WRITTEN IN A PRAYER BOOK." * YET remain To mourn the hours of youth (yet mourn in vain) That fled neglected: wisely thou hast trod The better path, and that high meed which Assign'd to virtue, towering from the dust, O God! how sweet it were to think, that all Who silent mourn around this gloomy ball Might hear the voice of joy ;-but 'tis the will Of man's great Author, that through good and ill Calm he should hold his course, and so sustain His varied lot of pleasure, toil, and pain! 1793. "These lines were found in Mr. Coleridge's handwriting in one of the Prayer Books in the chapel of Jesus College, Cambridge."-H. N. C. Remains, v. i. 34. FORM'D to illume a sunless world forlorn, As o'er the chill and dusky brow of Night In Finland's wintry skies the mimic morn Pleased have I mark'd Oppression terror-pale, Nor will I not thy holy guidance bless, And hymn thee, Godwin! with an ardent lay; For that thy voice, in passion's stormy day, When wild I roam'd the bleak heath of dis tress, Bade the bright form of Justice meet my way, And told me that her name was Happiness! *Printed in 1795, but never published in Coleridge's works. Nor is the fact surprising. TO ROBERT SOUTHEY,* OF BALLIOL COLLEGE, OXFORD, AUTHOR OF THE "RETROSPECT," AND OTHER POEMS. OUTHEY! thy melodies steal o'er mine ear Like far-off joyance, or the murmuring Of wild bees in the sunny showers of Spring: 1 Sounds of such mingled import as may cheer The lonely breast, yet rouse a mindful tear. Waked by the song doth hope-born Fancy fling Rich showers of dewy fragrance from her wing, Till sickly passion's drooping myrtles sere Blossom anew! But O! more thrill'd, I prize Thy sadder strains, that bid in Memory's dream The faded forms of past delight arise; Then soft, on Love's pale cheek, the tearful gleam Of pleasure smiles, as faint yet beauteous lies The imaged rainbow on a willowy stream. *The note to the previous sonnet holds true also for this one. 1 The murmuring, &c.] See the sonnet To Bowles. "TO MRS. MERRY." A TRANSLATION OF F. WRANGHAM'S Hendecasyllabi ad Bruntonam e Granta Exi turam.* AID of unboastful 1 charms! whom white-robed Truth Right onward guiding through the Forbade the Circe Praise to witch thy soul, For never yet did mortal voice impart Tones more congenial to the sadden'd heart: * Printed in "Poems by Francis Wrangham, M.A., Member of Trinity College, Cambridge, Lond., 1795." First included among Coleridge's poems by the editor of Macmillan's edition. See his note in the Athenæum, Jan. 29, 1881. The Latin lines were "addressed to Mrs. Merry, a well-known tragic actress of that time." Coleridge sent his translation of them, with some original verses, to her "more famous sister, Miss Brunton, afterwards Countess of Craven." Coleridge, in a letter to Cottle, in 1796, describes Wrangham as a college acquaintance of mine, an admirer of me, and a pitier of my principles." 1 Unboastful.] See note, p. 9. |