Is this 1 piled earth our being's passless mound? Tell me, cold grave! is Death with poppies crown'd?

Tired sentinel! mid fitful starts I nod, And fain would sleep, though pillow'd on a clod!

Nov., 1794.

TO A YOUNG ASS,

ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT.

OOR little foal of an oppressed race!
I love the languid patience of thy

And oft with gentle hand I give
thee bread,

And clap thy ragged coat, and pat thy head.
But what thy dulled spirits hath dismay'd,
That never thou dost sport along the glade?

Is this, &c.] We doubt if Coleridge was ever in a more desponding state than about this time; which warns us not to set down too much to the opium of a later day.

2 I love, &c.] "In the woods of Alfoxden I used to take great delight in noticing the habits, tricks, and physiognomy of asses."-Wordsworth: Prose Works, vol. iii. p. 52. (Dr. Grosart's Edition.)

Lamb describes these verses of Coleridge as "overtures of intimacy to a jackass"; and The Anti-jacobin sings of Cdge, S-th—y, L- -d, and L―b,”—

66

"Now to softer strains they struck the lyre,
They sang the beetle or the mole,

The dying kid, or ass's foal."

And (most unlike the nature of things young)
That earthward still thy moveless head is hung?
Do thy prophetic fears anticipate,
Meek child of misery! thy future fate?

1

The starving meal and all the thousand aches
"Which patient merit of the unworthy takes?"
Or is thy sad heart thrill'd with filial pain
To see thy wretched mother's shorten'd chain?
And, truly very piteous is her lot—
Chain'd to a log within a narrow spot,
Where the close-eaten grass is scarcely seen,
While sweet around her waves the tempting
green!

Poor Ass! thy master should have learnt to show

Pity-best taught by fellowship of woe!

For much I fear me that he lives like thee,
Half famish'd in a land of luxury!

How askingly its footsteps hither bend!

It seems to say, " And have I, then, one friend?"
Innocent foal! thou poor despised forlorn!
I hail thee brother-spite of the fool's scorn!
And fain would take thee with me, in the dell

2

Aches.] i.e., we fear, spurns." We might have been spared this parody of Hamlet's celebrated monologue, misquoted, too, like every quotation Coleridge ever made,

That patient merit," &c.

2 Dell.] This is

"Spurns,

"Peaceful freedom's undivided dale,"

which we have already heard of. As the emigrants to the Susquehana designed to charter a vessel,—

"Spread the canvas to the gale,"

Of peace and mild equality to dwell,

Where Toil shall call the charmer Health his

bride,

And Laughter tickle Plenty's ribless side! How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome

play,

And frisk about, as lamb or kitten gay!
Yea! and more musically sweet to me
Thy dissonant harsh bray of joy would be,
Than warbled melodies that soothe to rest
The aching of pale fashion's vacant breast!1
Dec., 1794.

TO A FRIEND.

TOGETHER WITH AN UNFINISHED POEM.*

HUS far my scanty brain hath built the rhyme

Elaborate and swelling;-yet the heart

Not owns it. From thy spirit-breathing powers I ask not now, my friend! the aiding verse, Tedious to thee, and from thy anxious thought

as we read in the poem to Chatterton,-room for one more "brother" might doubtless have been found.

The poem, however, is clearly a parody, by Coleridge, of those of some of his friends.

The aching, &c.] The edition of 1796 has

"The tumult of some scoundrel monarch's breast."

"To Charles Lamb," the earlier title ran.

Of dissonant mood. In fancy (well I know)
From business wandering far and local cares,
Thou creepest round a dear-loved sister's bed
With noiseless step, and watchest the faint
look,

Soothing each pang with fond solicitude,
And tenderest tones medicinal of love.
I, too, a sister had,' an only sister-
She loved me dearly, and I doted on her;
To her I pour'd forth all my puny sorrows,
(As a sick patient in a nurse's arms,)
And of the heart those hidden maladies
That even from friendship's eye will shrink
ashamed.

Oh! I have woke at midnight, and have wept
Because she was not !—Cheerily, dear Charles!
Thou thy best friend shalt cherish many a year:
Such warm presagings feel I of high hope!
For not uninterested the dear maid

I've view'd-her soul affectionate yet wise,
Her polish'd wit as mild as lambent glories
That play around a sainted infant's head.
He knows, (the Spirit that in secret sees,
Of whose omniscient and all-spreading love
Aught to implore were impotence of mind!) *

2

1 I too a sister had, an only sister.] This sister of Coleridge, the second nearest to him in age of his father's children, he had three step-sisters,-died at twenty-one. Two poems by Coleridge on this sister, Ann by name, will be found in "Additional Early Poems."

2 Aught to implore, &c.] I utterly recant the sentiment contained in the lines,

Of whose omniscient and all-spreading love

Aught to implore were impotence of mind.—

it being written in Scripture, Ask, and it shall be given

E

That my mute thoughts are sad before His throne

Prepared, when He His healing ray vouchsafes,

To pour forth thanksgiving with lifted heart, And praise Him gracious with a brother's joy! Dec., 1794.

RELIGIOUS MUSINGS;

A DESULTORY POEM, WRITTEN ON THE CHRISTMAS EVE OF 1794.*

HIS is the time, when most divine to

hear,

The voice of adoration rouses me,

As with a Cherub's trump: and high upborne,

you! and my human reason being, moreover, convinced of the propriety of offering petitions as well as thanksgivings to Deity.-C. 1797.

"On this my first introduction to Coleridge," writes De Quincey, this was in 1807,-"he reverted with strong compunction to a sentiment which he had expressed in earlier days upon prayer. . . . This sentiment he now so utterly condemned, that, on the contrary, he told me as his own peculiar opinion, that the act of praying was the highest energy of which the human heart was capable."

Compare the opening paragraph of The Pains of Sleep,

written in 1803.

* The statement may apply to the opening lines, but the greater part of the poem, as Cottle clearly proves, was written in 1796. It appeared at the end of the edition of 1796, the issue of which was delayed, because the poem was not finished.