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Hence for many a fearless age
Has social Quiet loved thy shore ;

Nor ever proud invader's rage
Or sacked thy towers, or stained thy fields

In the deep sabbath of meek self

content ; Cleansed from the vaporous passions that bedim

160 God's Image, sister of the Seraphim.

with gore.

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that lap,

chi - VII
Abandon'd of Heaven ! mad Avarice thy

TO THE
guide,

REV. GEORGE COLERIDGE At cowardly distance, yet kindling with pride

OF OTTERY ST. MARY, DEVON Mid thy herds and thy corn-fields secure

IVith some Poems thou hast stood,

Notus in fratres animi paterni. And join'd the wild yelling of Famine

Hor. Carn. lib. I, 2. and Blood ! The nations curse thee! They with eager

They with eager A BLESSED lot hath he, who having wondering

passed Shall hear Destruction, like a vulture, Iis youth and early manhood in the stir scream !

140 And turmoil of the world, retreats at Strange-eyed Destruction ! who with

length, many a dream

With cares that move, not agitate the Of central fires through nether seas up

heart, thundering

To the same dwelling where his father Soothes her fierce solitude ; yet as she

dwelt ; lies

And haply views his tottering little ones By livid fount, or red volcanic stream,

Embrace those aged knees and climb If ever to her lidless dragon-eyes, O Albion ! thy predestined ruins rise,

On which first kneeling his own infancy The fiend-hag on her perilous couch doth Lisped its brief prayer.

. Such, O my leap,

earliest friend ! Muttering distempered triumph in her Thy lot, and such thy brothers too charmed sleep.

enjoy. At distance did ye climb life's upland

road, IX

Yet cheered and cheering : now fraternal
Away, my soul, away!

love
In vain, in vain the birds of warning IIath drawn you to one centre.
sing-

days And hark? I hear the famished brood of Holy, and blest and blessing may ye prey

live! Flap their lank pennons on the groaning wind !

To me the Eternal Wisdom hath disAway, my soul, away!

pensed
I unpartaking of the evil thing, A different fortune and more different
With daily prayer and daily toil

mind-
Soliciting for food my scanty soil, Me from the spot where first I sprang to
Have wailed my country with a loud light
Lament.

Too soon transplanted, ere my soul had Now I recentre my immortal mind

fixed

IO

Be your

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thee ever,

30

Its first domestic loves; and hence through Sorrowed in silence! He who counts life

alone Chasing chance-started friendships. A The beatings of the solitary heart, brief while

That Being knows, how I have loved Some have preserved me from life's pelt

50 ing ills;

Loved as a brother, as a son revered thee! But, like a tree with leaves of feeble stem, Oh ! 'tis to me an ever new delight, If the clouds lasted, and a sudden breeze To talk of thee and thine : or when the Ruffled the boughs, they on my head at

blast once

Of the shrill winter, rattling our rude Dropped the collected shower ; and

sash, some most false,

Endears the cleanly hearth and social False and fair-foliaged as the Manchineel,

bowl ; Have tempted me to slumber in their Or when as now, on some delicious

eve, shade

We in our sweet sequestered orchard-plot E'en mid the storm ; then breathing Sit on the tree crooked earth-ward; whose subtlest damps,

old boughs, Mixed their own venom with the rain That hang above us in an arborous roof, from Heaven,

Stirred by the faint gale of departing That I woke poisoned ! But, all praise

May,

60 to Him

Send their loose blossoms slanting o'er Who gives us all things, more have

our heads ! yielded me Permanent shelter; and beside one friend, Nor dost not thou sometimes recall Beneath the impervious covert of one oak,

those hours, I've raised a lowly shed, and know the When with the joy of hope thou gavest names

thine ear Of IIusband and of Father; not unhearing To my wild firstling-lays. Since then Of that divine and nightly-whispering my song voice,

Hath sounded deeper notes, such as Which from my childhood to maturer

beseem years

Or that sad wisdom folly leaves behind, Spake to me of predestinateci wreaths, Or such as, tuned to these tumultuous Bright with no fading colours !

times,

Cope with the tempest's swell!

Yet at times My soul is sad, that I have roamed

These various strains, through life

40 Which I have framed in many a various Still most a stranger, most with naked

mood, heart

Accept, my Brother! and (for some At mine own home and birth-place :

perchance

70 chiefly then,

Will strike discordant on thy milder When I remember thee, my earliest

mind) friend !

If aught of error or intemperate truth Thee, who didst watch my boyhood and Should meet thine ear, think thou that my youth;

riper age Didst trace my wanderings with a father's Will calm it down, and let thy love foreye ;

give it! And boding evil yet still hoping good,

NETHER-STOWEY, SOMERSET, Rebuked each fault, and over all my woes

May 26, 1797

ON THE CHRISTENING OF A

TRANSLATION
FRIEND'S CHILD

OF A LATIN INSCRIPTION BY THE REV.

W. L. BOWLES IN NETHER-STOWEY This day among the faithful placed

CHURCH
And fed with fontal manna,
O with maternal title graced,

DEPART in joy from this world's noise and Dear Anna's dearest Anna !

strife

To the deep quiet of celestial life! While others wish thee wise and fair,

Depart !- Affection's self reproves the tear A maid of spotless fame,

Which falls, O honour'd Parent ! on thy I'll breathe this more compendious

bier ; prayer

Yet Nature will be heard, the heart will May'st thou deserve thy name !

swell, Thy mother's name, a potent spell,

And the voice tremble with a last Farewell! That bids the Virtues hie

1797. From mystic grove and living cell, Confess'd to Fancy's eye ;

[The Tablet is erected to the Memory of

Richard Camplin, who died Jan, 20, Meek Quietness without offence;

1792. Content in homespun kirtle ;

* Lætus abi! mundi strepitu curisque True Love ; and True Love's Innocence, White Blossom of the Myrtle !

remotus ;

Lætus abi ! cæli quâ vocat alma Quies. Associates of thy name, sweet Child ! Ipsa fides loquitur lacrymamque incusat These Virtues may'st thou win ;

inanem, With face as eloquently mild

Quæ cadit in vestros, care Pater, Cineres. To say, they lodge within.

Heu ! tantum liceat meritos hos solvere

Ritus, So, when her tale of days all flown,

Naturæ et tremulâ dicere Voce, Vale!'] Thy mother shall be miss'd here ; When Heaven at length shall claim its own And Angels snatch their Sister;

THE FOSTER-MOTHER'S TALE
Some hoary-headed friend, perchance,
May gaze with stifled breath;

A DRAMATIC FRAGMENT
And oft, in momentary trance,
Forget the waste of death.

[From Osorio, Act IV. The title and text are

here printed from Lyrical Ballads, 1798.] Even thus a lovely rose I've view'd

Foster-Mother. I never saw the man In summer-swelling pride ;

whom you describe. Nor mark'd the bud, that green and rude

Maria. 'Tis strange! he spake of you Peep'd at the rose's side.

familiarly It chanc'd I pass’d again that way

As mine and Albert's common Foster

mother. In Autumn's latest hour, And wond’ring saw the selfsame spray

Foster-Nlother. Now blessings on the Rich with the selfsame flower.

man, whoe'er he be,

That joined your names with mine! O Ah fond deceit ! the rude green bud

my sweet lady, Alike in shape, place, name,

As often as I think of those dear times Had bloom'd where bloom'dits parent stud, When you two little ones would stand at Another and the same!

? 1797

eve,

IO

40

ere his

twentieth year,

to pray

20

On each side of my chair, and make me With earth and water, on the stumps oi learn

trees. All you had learnt in the day; and how A Friar, who gathered simples in the to talk

wood, In gentle phrase, then bid me sing to A grey-haired man-he loved this little you

boy, 'Tis more like heaven to come, than what The boy loved him — and, when the has been !

Friar taught him, Maria. O my dear Mother! this He soon could write with the pen; and strange man has left me

from that time, Troubled with wilder fancies, than the Lived chiefly at the Convent or the moon

Castle. Breeds in the love-sick maid who gazes So he became a very learned youth. at it,

But Oh! poor wretch ! - he read, and Till lost in inward vision, with wet eye,

read, and read, She gazes idly!-- But that entrance, Till his brain turned and

Mother! Foster-Mother. Can no one hear? It He had unlawful thoughts of many is a perilous tale!

things: Maria. No one.

And though he prayed, he never loved Foster-Mother. My husband's father told it me,

With holy men, nor in a holy placePoor old Leoni !-Angels rest his soul ! But yet his speech, it was so soft and He was a woodman, and could fell and

sweet, saw

The late Lord Velez ne'er was wearied With lusty arm. You know that huge

with him. round beam

And once, as by the north side of the Which props the hanging wall of the old

Chapel chapel ?

They stood together, chained in deep Beneath that tree, while yet it was a

discourse,

50 tree,

The earth heaved under them with such He found a baby wrapt in mosses,

a groan, lined

That the wall tottered, and had wellWith thistle-beards, and such small locks

nigh fallen of wool

Right on their heads. My Lord was As hang on brambles. Well, he brought

sorely frightened ; him home,

A fever seized him; and he made conAnd reared him at the then Lord Velez'

fession cost.

Of all the heretical and lawless talk And so the babe grew up a pretty boy, Which brought this judgment: so the A pretty boy, but most unteachable

youth was seized And never learnt a prayer, nor told a And cast into that hole. My husband's bead,

30

father But knew the names of birds, and Sobbed like a child--it almost broke his mocked their notes,

heart. And whistled, as he were a bird him. And once as he was working in the cellar, self:

He heard a voice distinctly; 'twas the And all the autumn 'twas his only play

youth's,

60 To get the seeds of wild flowers, and to Who sung a doleful song about green plant them

fields,

V How sweet it were on lake or wild Is this the only cure ? Merciful God ! savannah

Each pore and natural outlet shrivellid To hunt for food, and be a naked man,

up And wander up and down at liberty. By ignorance and parching poverty He always doted on the youth, and His energies roll back upon his heart, now

And stagnate and corrupt ; till changed His love grew desperate; and defying

to poison, death,

They break out on him, like a loathHe made that cunning entrance I de

some plague-spot ; scribed :

Then we call in our pamper'd mounteAnd the young man escaped.

banksMaria.

'Tis a sweet tale : And this is their best cure ! uncomforted Such as would lull a listening child to And friendless solitude, groaning and sleep,

tears, His rosy face besoiled with unwiped And savage faces, at the clanking hour, tears.

70

Seen through the steams and vapours of And what became of him?

his dungeon, Foster-Mother. He went on ship- By the lamp's dismal twilight ! So he lies board

Circled with evil, till his very soul With those bold voyagers, who made Unmoulds its essence, hopelessly dediscovery

formed
Of golden lands. Leoni’s younger brother By sights of ever more deformity!
Went likewise, and when he returned to
Spain,

With other ministrations thou, O nature ! He told Leoni, that the poor mad youth, Healest thy wandering and distempered Soon after they arrived in that new

child : world,

Thou pourest on him thy soft influences, In spite of his dissuasion, seized a boat, Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathAnd all alone, set sail by silent moon

ing sweets, light,

Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and Up a great river, great as any sea,

waters, And ne'er was heard of more: but ’tis Till he relent, and can no more endure supposed,

80 To be a jarring and a dissonant thing He lived and died among the savage Amid this general dance and minstrelsy ; men.

1797
But, bursting into tears, wins back his

way

His angry spirit healed and harmonized THE DUNGEON

By the benignant touch of love and

beauty. [From Osorio, Act V.; and Remorse, Act V.

1797. Scene i. The title and text are here printed from Lyrical Ballads, 1798.]

THE THREE GRAVES AND this place our forefathers made for men !

A FRAGMENT OF A SEXTON'S TALE This is the process of our love and wisdom,

[PART 1- FROM MS.] To each poor brother who offends BENEATH this thorn when I was young, against us

This thorn that blooms so sweet, Most innocent, perhaps—and what if We loved to stretch our lazy limbs guilty ?

In summer's noon-tide heat.

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