Like that great Spirit, who with plastic Of murky midnight ride the air sweep sublime, Mov'd on the darkness of the formless And mingle foul embrace with fiends of Deep! Hell : Cold Horror drinks its blood ! Anon [SECOND VERSION, IN POEMS, 1796] the tear [tell My heart has thank'd thee, BOWLES ! for More gentle starts, to hear the Beldame those soft strains Of pretty babes, that loved each other Whose sadness soothes me, like the dear, murmuring Murder'd by cruel Uncle's mandate fell : Of wild-bees in the sunny showers of spring! Even such the shivering joys thy tones For hence not callous to the mourner's impart, pains Even so thou, SIDDONS ! meltest my sad heart ! December 29, 1794. Through Youth's gay prime and thorn less paths I went : And when the darker day of life IX began, TO WILLIAM GODWIN And I did roam, a thought-bewilder'd man, AUTHOR OF POLITICAL JUSTICE Their mild and manliest melancholy lent O FORM’D t illume a sunless world forA mingled charm, such as the pang lorn, consign'd As o'er the chill and dusky brow of To slumber, though the big tear it Night, renew'd ; In Finland's wintry skies the mimic Bidding a strange mysterious PLEA morn 1 SURE brood Electric pours a stream of rosy light, Over the wavy and tumultuous mind, Pleased I have mark'd Oppression, As the great SPIRIT erst with plastic terror-pale, sweep Since, thro' the windings of her dark Moy'd on the darkness of the unform'd machine, deep. Thy steady eye has shot its glances keen And bade th' all-lovely scenes at disVIII tance hail.' MRS. SIDDONS Nor will I not thy holy guidance bless, As when a child on some long winter's And hymn thee, GODWIN ! with an night ardent lay; Affrighted clinging to its Grandam's For that thy voice, in Passion's stormy knees With eager wond’ring and perturb’u When wild I roam'd the bleak Heath of delight Distress, Listens strange tales of fearful dark decrees Bade the bright form of Justice meet my wayMutter'd to wretch by necromantic spell; And told me that her name was HappiOr of those hags, who at the witching January 10, 1795. time 6 day, 1 Aurora Borealis. ness. 42 TO ROBERT SOUTHEY—TO LORD STANHOPE X And sweet thy voice, as when o'er Laura's bier Sad music trembled thro' Vauclusa's OF BALIOL COLLEGE, OXFORD, AUTHOR glade; OF THE RETROSPECT,' AND OTHER Sweet, as at dawn the love - lorn POEMS serenade That wafts soft dreams to Slumber's SOUTHEY ! thy melodies steal o'er mine listening ear. ear Like far-off joyance, or the murmuring Now patriot Rage and Indignation high Of wild bees in the sunny showers of Swell the full tones ! And now thine Spring eye-beams dance Sounds of such mingled import as may Meanings of Scorn and Wit's quaint cheer revelry ! The lonely breast, yet rouse a mindful Writhes inly from the bosom-probing glance tear : Waked by the Song doth Hope-born The Apostate by the brainless rout Fancy fling adored, Rich showers of dewy fragrance from As erst that elder Fiend beneath great her wing, Michael's sword. Till sickly Passion's drooping Myrtles January 29, 1795. 1 Hymettus, a mountain of Attica famous for honey. Pleading the cause of Nature! Still The path of Honour !—To thy Country pursue LINES true, Still watch th' expiring flame of Liberty ! TO A FRIEND IN ANSWER TO A MELAN CHOLY LETTER O Patriot! still pursue thy virtuous way, Away, those cloudy looks, that labouring As holds his course the splendid Orb sigh, of Day, The peevish offspring of a sickly hour! Or thro’ the stormy or the tranquil sky! Nor meanly thus complain of Fortune's ONE OF THE PEOPLE. power, [Although the above Sonnet was not printed as When the blind Gamester throws a luckone of the series of 'Sonnets on Eminent Char less die. acters, I think there can be little doubt that it is by Coleridge, and was the original of the one Yon setting sun flashes a mournful gleam to Stanhope printed in the Poems in 1796 and Behind those broken clouds, his stormy 1803. Of the latter, which follows, I can find train : no trace in the Morning Chronicle.--Ed.] To-morrow shall the many-coloured main In brightness roll beneath his orient TO EARL STANHOPE beam ! NoT, STANHOPE! with the Patriot's Wild, as the autumnal gust, the hand of doubtful name Time I mock thy worth-Friend of the Flies o'er his mystic lyre : in shadowy Human Race ! dance Since scorning Faction's low and par The alternate groups of Joy and Grief tial aim advance Aloof thou wendest in thy stately pace, Responsive to his varying strains sublime ! Thyself redeeming from that leprous stain, Bears on its wing each hour a load of Nobility : and aye unterrify'd Fate; Pourest thine Abdiel warnings on the The swain, who, lulled by Seine's mild train murmurs, led That sit complotting with rebellious His weary oxen to their nightly shed, pride To-day may rule a tempest-troubled State. 'Gainst Herl who from the Almighty's Nor shall not Fortune with a vengeful bosom leapt smile With whirlwind arm, fierce Minister Survey the sanguinary despot's might, of Love! And haply hurl the pageant from his Wherefore, ere Virtue o'er thy tomb height hath wept, Unwept to wander in some savage isle. Angels shall lead thee to the Throne above: There shiv’ring sad beneath the tempest's frown And thou from forth its clouds shalt hear Round his tired limbs to wrap the purple the voice, vest; Champion of Freedom and her God! | And mixed with nails and beads, an equal rejoice! jest ! i Gallic Liberty. Barter for food, the jewels of his crown. а ? 1795. TO AN INFANT Ah ! cease thy tears and sobs, my little Life! I did but snatch away the unclasped knife : Some safer toy will soon arrest thine eye, And to quick laughter change this peevish cry! Poor stumbler on the rocky coast of Woe, Tutored by pain each source of pain to know ! Alike the foodful fruit and scorching fire Awake thy eager grasp and young desire ; Alike the Good, the Ill offend thy sight, And rouse the stormy sense of shrill Affright! Untaught, yet wise! mid all thy brief alarms Thou closely clingest to thy mother's arms, Nestling thy little face in that fond breast Whose anxious heavings lull thee to thy rest ! Man's breathing miniature ! thou mak'st me sighA babe art thou—and such a Thing am I ! To anger rapid and as soon appeased, For trifles mourning and by trifles pleased, Break Friendship’s mirror with a tetchy blow, Yet snatch what coals of fire on Pleasure's altar glow! O thou that rearest with celestial aim The future Seraph in my mortal frame, Thrice holy Faith! whatever thorns I meet As on I totter with unpractised feet, Still let me stretch my arms and cling to thee, Meek nurse of souls through their long infancy ! ? 1795. I've made thro' Earth, and Air, and Sea, dub her I ween, In London streets thou oft hast seen The very image of this pair : A little Ape with huge She-Bear Link'd by hapless chain together : An unlick'd mass the one—the other An antic huge with nimble crupper-But stop, my Muse! for here comes supper. ? 1795 TO THE REV. W. J. HORT WHILE TEACHING A YOUNG LADY SOME SONG-TUNES ON HIS FLUTE WRITTEN AFTER A WALK BEFORE SUPPER 1 IIUSH ! ye clamorous Cares ! be mute ! Again, dear Harmonist ! again Thro' the hollow of thy flute Breathe that passion-warbled strain : Till Memory each form shall bring The loveliest of her shadowy throng; And Hope, that soars on sky-lark wing, Carol wild her gladdest song! Tho'much averse, dear Jack, to flicker, To find a likeness for friend V-ker, II O skill'd with magic spell to roll The thrilling tones, that concentrate the soul ! Breathe thro' thy flute those tender notes again, While near thee sits the chaste-eyed Maiden mild ; And bid her raise the Poet's kindred strain In soft impassion'd voice, correctly wild. My Sara too shall tend thee, like a child : And thou shalt talk, in our fireside's recess, Of purple Pride, that scowls on Wretched ness. He did not so, the Galilæan mild, Who met the Lazars turned from rich man's doors And called them Friends, and healed their noisome sores ! ? 1795. TO THE NIGHTINGALE Sister of love-lorn Poets, Philomel ! How many Bards in city garret pent, While at their window they with down ward eye III Love shall dwell, And ponder on thee far away aspire (Making my fond attuned heart her lyre '), Thy honour'd form, my Friend ! shall re appear, And I will thank thee with a raptured tear. ? 1795 CHARITY Mark the faint lamp-beam on the ken nell'd mud, And listen to the drowsy cry of Watch men (Those hoarse unfeather'd Nightingales of Time !), How many wretched Bards address thy name, And hers, the full-orb'd Queen that shines above. But I do hear thee, and the high bough mark, Within whose mild mild moon - mellow'd foliage hid Thou warblest sad thy pity-pleading strains. O! I have listen'd, till my working soul, Waked by those strains to thousand phantasies, Absorb'd hath ceased to listen ! There fore oft, I hymn thy name : and with a proud delight Oft will I tell thee, Minstrel of the Moon ! Most musical, most melancholy' Bird ! That all thy soft diversities of tone, Tho' sweeter far than the delicious airs That vibrate from a white-arm'd Lady's harp, What time the languishment of lonely love 6 Hoar with the snowy blast : while no one cares To clothe thy shrivelled limbs and palsied head. My Father! throw away this tattered vest That mocks thy shivering ! take my garment-use A young man's arm ! I'll melt these frozen dews That hang from thy white beard and numb thy breast. |