M. P.

[8] tempest] storm-wind M. P.

[15] To] And The Friend, 1809. slumbers] slumber M. P., The Friend.

[17] thy gentle hand] the power Divine M. P.

[21] Autumn] Summer M. P.

[23] The best the thoughts will lift M. P.

[26] thee] her M. P.

[28] some] a M. P.

[29] hermit] hermit's M. P.



TO ASRA[361:1]

Are there two things, of all which men possess, That are so like each other and so near, As mutual Love seems like to Happiness? Dear Asra, woman beyond utterance dear! This Love which ever welling at my heart, 5 Now in its living fount doth heave and fall, Now overflowing pours thro' every part Of all my frame, and fills and changes all, Like vernal waters springing up through snow, This Love that seeming great beyond the power 10 Of growth, yet seemeth ever more to grow, Could I transmute the whole to one rich Dower Of Happy Life, and give it all to Thee, Thy lot, methinks, were Heaven, thy age, Eternity!

1801.

FOOTNOTES:

[361:1] First published in 1893. The Sonnet to 'Asra' was prefixed to the MS. of Christabel which Coleridge presented to Miss Sarah Hutchinson in 1804.



THE SECOND BIRTH[362:1]

There are two births, the one when Light First strikes the new-awaken'd sense— The other when two souls unite, And we must count our life from then.

When you lov'd me, and I lov'd you, 5 Then both of us were born anew.

? 1801.

FOOTNOTES:

[362:1] First published from a MS. in 1893.



LOVE'S SANCTUARY[362:2]

This yearning heart (Love! witness what I say) Enshrines thy form as purely as it may, Round which, as to some spirit uttering bliss, My thoughts all stand ministrant night and day Like saintly Priests, that dare not think amiss.

? 1801.

FOOTNOTES:

[362:2] First published from a MS. in 1893.



DEJECTION: AN ODE[362:3]

[WRITTEN APRIL 4, 1802]

Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon, With the old Moon in her arms; And I fear, I fear, my Master dear! We shall have a deadly storm. Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence.

I

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, 5 Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes Upon the strings of this olian lute, Which better far were mute. For lo! the New-moon winter-bright! And overspread with phantom light, 10 (With swimming phantom light o'erspread But rimmed and circled by a silver thread) I see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling The coming-on of rain and squally blast. And oh! that even now the gust were swelling, 15 And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast! Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed, And sent my soul abroad, Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give, Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live! 20

II

A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear, A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief, Which finds no natural outlet, no relief, In word, or sigh, or tear— O Lady! in this wan and heartless mood, 25 To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd, All this long eve, so balmy and serene, Have I been gazing on the western sky, And its peculiar tint of yellow green: And still I gaze—and with how blank an eye! 30 And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars, That give away their motion to the stars; Those stars, that glide behind them or between, Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen: Yon crescent Moon, as fixed as if it grew 35 In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue; I see them all so excellently fair, I see, not feel, how beautiful they are!

III

My genial spirits fail; And what can these avail 40 To lift the smothering weight from off my breast? It were a vain endeavour, Though I should gaze for ever On that green light that lingers in the west: I may not hope from outward forms to win 45 The passion and the Life, whose fountains are within.

IV

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, 50 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— 55 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! 60 What, and wherein it doth exist, This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist, This beautiful and beauty-making power. Joy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne'er was given, Save to the pure, and in their purest hour, 65 Life, and Life's effluence, cloud at once and shower, Joy, Lady! is the spirit and the power, Which wedding Nature to us gives in dower A new Earth and new Heaven, Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud— 70 Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud— We in ourselves rejoice! And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight, All melodies the echoes of that voice, All colours a suffusion from that light. 75

VI

There was a time when, though my path was rough, This joy within me dallied with distress, And all misfortunes were but as the stuff Whence Fancy made me dreams of happiness: For hope grew round me, like the twining vine, 80 And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seemed mine. But now afflictions bow me down to earth: Nor care I that they rob me of my mirth; But oh! each visitation Suspends what nature gave me at my birth, 85 My shaping spirit of Imagination. For not to think of what I needs must feel, But to be still and patient, all I can; And haply by abstruse research to steal From my own nature all the natural man— 90 This was my sole resource, my only plan: Till that which suits a part infects the whole, And now is almost grown the habit of my soul.

VII

Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind, Reality's dark dream! 95 I turn from you, and listen to the wind, Which long has raved unnoticed. What a scream Of agony by torture lengthened out That lute sent forth! Thou Wind, that rav'st without, Bare crag, or mountain-tairn,[367:1] or blasted tree, 100 Or pine-grove whither woodman never clomb, Or lonely house, long held the witches' home, Methinks were fitter instruments for thee, Mad Lutanist! who in this month of showers, Of dark-brown gardens, and of peeping flowers, 105 Mak'st Devils' yule, with worse than wintry song, The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves among. Thou Actor, perfect in all tragic sounds! Thou mighty Poet, e'en to frenzy bold! What tell'st thou now about? 110 '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, 115 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,— 120 'Tis of a little child Upon a lonesome wild, Not far from home, but she hath lost her way: And now moans low in bitter grief and fear, And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother hear.

VIII

'Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep: 126 Full seldom may my friend such vigils keep! 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, 130 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, 135 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.

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[362:3] First published in the Morning Post, October 4, 1802. Included in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. The Ode was sent in a letter to W. Sotheby, dated Keswick, July 19, 1802 (Letters of S. T. C., 1895, i. 379-84). Two other MS. versions are preserved at Coleorton (P. W. of W. Wordsworth, ed. by William Knight, 1896, iii. App., pp. 400, 401). Lines 37, 38 were quoted by Coleridge in the Historie and Gests of Maxilian (first published in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine for January, 1822, and reprinted in Miscellanies, &c., ed. by T. Ashe, 1885, p. 282): l. 38 by Wordsworth in his pamphlet on The Convention of Cintra, 1809, p. 135: lines 47-75, followed by lines 29-38, were quoted by Coleridge in Essays on the Fine Arts, No. III (which were first published in Felix Farley's Bristol Journal, Sept. 10, 1814, and reprinted by Cottle, E. R., 1837, ii. 201-40); and lines 21-28, ibid., in illustration of the following Scholium:—'We have sufficiently distinguished the beautiful from the agreeable, by the sure criterion, that when we find an object agreeable, the sensation of pleasure always precedes the judgment, and is its determining cause. We find it agreeable. But when we declare an object beautiful, the contemplation or intuition of its beauty precedes the feeling of complacency, in order of nature at least: nay in great depression of spirits may even exist without sensibly producing it.' Lines 76-93 are quoted in a letter to Southey of July 29, 1802; lines 76-83 are quoted in a letter to Allsop, September 30, 1819, Letters, &c., 1836, i. 17. Lines 80, 81 are quoted in the Biographia Literaria, 1817, ii. 182, and lines 87-93 in a letter to Josiah Wedgwood, dated October 20, 1802: see Cottle's Rem., 1848, p. 44, and Tom Wedgwood by R. B. Litchfield, 1903, pp. 114, 115.

[367:1] Tairn is a small lake, generally if not always applied to the lakes up in the mountains and which are the feeders of those in the valleys. This address to the Storm-wind [wind S. L.], will not appear extravagant to those who have heard it at night and in a mountainous country.

LINENOTES:

Title] Dejection, &c., written April 4, 1802 M. P.

[2] grand] dear Letter to Sotheby, July 19, 1802.

[5] Than that which moulds yon clouds Letter, July 19, 1802. cloud] clouds M. P., S. L.

[6] moans] drones Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.

[12] by] with Letter, July 19, 1802.

[17-20] om. Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.

[21-8] Quoted as illustrative of a 'Scholium' in Felix Farley's Journal, 1814.

[22] stifled] stifling Letter, July 19, 1802.

[23] Which] That Letter, July 19, 1802, F. F.

[Between 24-7]

This, William, well thou knowst Is the sore evil which I dread the most And oft'nest suffer. In this heartless mood To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd That pipes within the larch-tree, not unseen, The larch, that pushes out in tassels green Its bundled leafits, woo'd to mild delights By all the tender sounds and gentle sights Of this sweet primrose-month and vainly woo'd! O dearest Poet in this heartless mood.

Letter, July 19, 1802.

[25] O Edmund M. P.: O William Coleorton MS.: O dearest Lady in this heartless mood F. F.

[26] by yon sweet throstle woo'd F. F.

[28] on] at F. F.

[29] peculiar] celestial F. F. yellow green] yellow-green Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.

[30] blank] black Cottle, 1837.

[35-6]

Yon crescent moon that seems as if it grew In its own starless, cloudless

F. F.

[Between 36-7] A boat becalm'd! thy own sweet sky-canoe Letter, July 19, 1802: A boat becalm'd! a lovely sky-canoe M. P.

[38] I see not feel M. P., Letter, July 19, 1802: I see . . . they are F. F.

[45-6] Quoted in the Gests of Maxilian, Jan. 1822, and Convention of Cintra, 1809, p. 135.

[47] Lady] Wordsworth Letter, July 19, 1802: William Coleorton MS.: Edmund M. P., F. F. we receive but what we give Coleorton MS., F. F.

[48] our] our M. P., F. F.

[51] allowed] allow'd Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.

[57] potent] powerful Letter, July 19, 1802, F. F.

V] Stanza v is included in stanza iv in M. P.

[60] What] What Letter, July 19, 1802.

[61] exist] subsist F. F.

[64] virtuous Lady] blameless Poet Letter, July 19, 1802: virtuous Edmund M. P. Joy, O belovd, Joy that F. F.

[66] om. Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.: Life of our life the parent and the birth F. F. effluence] effulgence S. L. Corr. in Errata p. [xii], and in text by S. T. C. (MS.).

[67] Lady] William Letter, July 19, 1802: Edmund M. P.: om. F. F.

[68] Which] That Letter, July 19, 1802.

[69] A new heaven and new earth F. F.

[71] om. Letter, July 19, 1802: This is the strong voice, this the luminous cloud F. F.

[72] We, we ourselves Letter,July 19, 1802, M. P.: Our inmost selves F. F.

[73] flows] comes Letter, July 19, 1802. charms] glads F. F.

[74] the echoes] an echo Letter, July 19, 1802.

[After 75]

Calm steadfast Spirit, guided from above, O Wordsworth! friend of my devoutest choice, Great son of genius! full of light and love Thus, thus dost thou rejoice. To thee do all things live from pole to pole, Their life the eddying of thy living soul Brother and friend of my devoutest choice Thus may'st thou ever, evermore rejoice!

Letter, July 19, 1802.

[Before 76] Yes, dearest poet, yes Letter, July 19, 1802: Yes, dearest William! Yes! Coleorton MS. [Stanza v] Yes, dearest Edmund, yes M. P.

[76] The time when Letter, Sept. 30, 1819.

[77] This] The Letters, July 19, 1802, Sept. 30, 1819. I had a heart that dallied Letter to Southey, July 29, 1802.

[80] For] When Biog. Lit., Letter, Sept. 30, 1819. twining] climbing Letters, July 19, 29, 1802, Biog. Lit.

[80-1] Quoted in Biog. Lit., 1817, ii. 180.

[81] fruits] fruit Letter, July 19, 1802.

[82] But seared thoughts now Letter, Sept. 30, 1819.

[83] care] car'd Letter, July 19, 1802.

[86] In M. P. the words 'The sixth and seventh stanzas omitted' preceded three rows of four asterisks, lines 87-93 (quoted in Letter to Josiah Wedgwood, Oct. 20, 1802) being omitted. The Coleorton MS. ends with line 86.

[87] think] think Letters, July 19, 29, 1802.

[91] was] is Letter, Sept. 30, 1819. only] wisest Letters, July 19, 29, 1802.

[92] Till] And Letters, July 19, 29, 1802.

[93] habit] temper Letters, July 19, 29, Oct. 20, 1802.

[94-5]

Nay [O M. P.] wherefore did I let it haunt my mind This dark distressful dream.

Letter, July 19, 1802.

[96] you] it Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.

[99] That lute sent out! O thou wild storm without Letter, July 19, 1802. O Wind M. P.

[104] who] that Letter, July 19, 1802.

[112] With many groans from men Letter, July 19, 1802: With many groans of men M. P.

[115] Again! but all that noise Letter, July 19, 1802.

[117] And it has other sounds less fearful and less loud Letter, July 19, 1802.

[120] Otway's self] thou thyself Letter, July 19, 1802: Edmund's self M. P.

[122] lonesome] heath Letter, July 19, 1802.

[124] bitter] utter Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.

[125] hear] hear Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.

VIII] om. Letter, July 19, 1802.

[126] but] and M. P.

[128] her] him M. P.

[130] her] his M. P.

[131] watched] watch'd M. P.

[132] she] he M. P.

[After 133]

And sing his lofty song and teach me to rejoice! O Edmund, friend of my devoutest choice, O rais'd from anxious dread and busy care, By the immenseness of the good and fair Which thou see'st everywhere, 5 Joy lifts thy spirit, joy attunes thy voice, To thee do all things live from pole to pole, Their life the eddying of thy living soul! O simple Spirit, guided from above, O lofty Poet, full of life and love, 10 Brother and Friend of my devoutest choice, Thus may'st thou ever, evermore rejoice! ESTSE.

M. P.

[Note.—For lines 7, 8, 11, 12 of this variant, vide ante, variant of lines 75 foll.]



THE PICTURE[369:1]

OR THE LOVER'S RESOLUTION

Through weeds and thorns, and matted underwood I force my way; now climb, and now descend O'er rocks, or bare or mossy, with wild foot Crushing the purple whorts;[369:2] while oft unseen, Hurrying along the drifted forest-leaves, 5 The scared snake rustles. Onward still I toil, I know not, ask not whither! A new joy, Lovely as light, sudden as summer gust, And gladsome as the first-born of the spring, Beckons me on, or follows from behind, 10 Playmate, or guide! The master-passion quelled, I feel that I am free. With dun-red bark The fir-trees, and the unfrequent slender oak, Forth from this tangle wild of bush and brake Soar up, and form a melancholy vault 15 High o'er me, murmuring like a distant sea.

Here Wisdom might resort, and here Remorse; Here too the love-lorn man, who, sick in soul, And of this busy human heart aweary, Worships the spirit of unconscious life 20 In tree or wild-flower.—Gentle lunatic! If so he might not wholly cease to be, He would far rather not be that he is; But would be something that he knows not of, In winds or waters, or among the rocks! 25

But hence, fond wretch! breathe not contagion here! No myrtle-walks are these: these are no groves Where Love dare loiter! If in sullen mood He should stray hither, the low stumps shall gore His dainty feet, the briar and the thorn 30 Make his plumes haggard. Like a wounded bird Easily caught, ensnare him, O ye Nymphs, Ye Oreads chaste, ye dusky Dryades! And you, ye Earth-winds! you that make at morn The dew-drops quiver on the spiders' webs! 35 You, O ye wingless Airs! that creep between The rigid stems of heath and bitten furze, Within whose scanty shade, at summer-noon, The mother-sheep hath worn a hollow bed— Ye, that now cool her fleece with dropless damp, 40 Now pant and murmur with her feeding lamb. Chase, chase him, all ye Fays, and elfin Gnomes! With prickles sharper than his darts bemock His little Godship, making him perforce Creep through a thorn-bush on yon hedgehog's back. 45

This is my hour of triumph! I can now With my own fancies play the merry fool, And laugh away worse folly, being free. Here will I seat myself, beside this old, Hollow, and weedy oak, which ivy-twine 50 Clothes as with net-work: here will I couch my limbs, Close by this river, in this silent shade, As safe and sacred from the step of man As an invisible world—unheard, unseen, And listening only to the pebbly brook 55 That murmurs with a dead, yet tinkling sound; Or to the bees, that in the neighbouring trunk Make honey-hoards. The breeze, that visits me, Was never Love's accomplice, never raised The tendril ringlets from the maiden's brow, 60 And the blue, delicate veins above her cheek; Ne'er played the wanton—never half disclosed The maiden's snowy bosom, scattering thence Eye-poisons for some love-distempered youth, Who ne'er henceforth may see an aspen-grove 65 Shiver in sunshine, but his feeble heart Shall flow away like a dissolving thing.

Sweet breeze! thou only, if I guess aright, Liftest the feathers of the robin's breast, That swells its little breast, so full of song, 70 Singing above me, on the mountain-ash. And thou too, desert stream! no pool of thine, Though clear as lake in latest summer-eve, Did e'er reflect the stately virgin's robe, The face, the form divine, the downcast look 75 Contemplative! Behold! her open palm Presses her cheek and brow! her elbow rests On the bare branch of half-uprooted tree, That leans towards its mirror! Who erewhile Had from her countenance turned, or looked by stealth, (For Fear is true-love's cruel nurse), he now 81 With steadfast gaze and unoffending eye, Worships the watery idol, dreaming hopes Delicious to the soul, but fleeting, vain, E'en as that phantom-world on which he gazed, 85 But not unheeded gazed: for see, ah! see, The sportive tyrant with her left hand plucks The heads of tall flowers that behind her grow, Lychnis, and willow-herb, and fox-glove bells: And suddenly, as one that toys with time, 90 Scatters them on the pool! Then all the charm Is broken—all that phantom world so fair Vanishes, and a thousand circlets spread, And each mis-shape the other. Stay awhile, Poor youth, who scarcely dar'st lift up thine eyes! 95 The stream will soon renew its smoothness, soon The visions will return! And lo! he stays: And soon the fragments dim of lovely forms Come trembling back, unite, and now once more The pool becomes a mirror; and behold 100 Each wildflower on the marge inverted there, And there the half-uprooted tree—but where, O where the virgin's snowy arm, that leaned On its bare branch? He turns, and she is gone! Homeward she steals through many a woodland maze 105 Which he shall seek in vain. Ill-fated youth! Go, day by day, and waste thy manly prime In mad love-yearning by the vacant brook, Till sickly thoughts bewitch thine eyes, and thou Behold'st her shadow still abiding there, 110 The Naiad of the mirror! Not to thee, O wild and desert stream! belongs this tale: Gloomy and dark art thou—the crowded firs Spire from thy shores, and stretch across thy bed, Making thee doleful as a cavern-well: 115 Save when the shy king-fishers build their nest On thy steep banks, no loves hast thou, wild stream!

This be my chosen haunt—emancipate From Passion's dreams, a freeman, and alone, I rise and trace its devious course. O lead, 120 Lead me to deeper shades and lonelier glooms. Lo! stealing through the canopy of firs, How fair the sunshine spots that mossy rock, Isle of the river, whose disparted waves Dart off asunder with an angry sound, 125 How soon to re-unite! And see! they meet, Each in the other lost and found: and see Placeless, as spirits, one soft water-sun Throbbing within them, heart at once and eye! With its soft neighbourhood of filmy clouds, 130 The stains and shadings of forgotten tears, Dimness o'erswum with lustre! Such the hour Of deep enjoyment, following love's brief feuds; And hark, the noise of a near waterfall! I pass forth into light—I find myself 135 Beneath a weeping birch (most beautiful Of forest trees, the Lady of the Woods), Hard by the brink of a tall weedy rock That overbrows the cataract. How bursts The landscape on my sight! Two crescent hills 140 Fold in behind each other, and so make A circular vale, and land-locked, as might seem, With brook and bridge, and grey stone cottages, Half hid by rocks and fruit-trees. At my feet, The whortle-berries are bedewed with spray, 145 Dashed upwards by the furious waterfall. How solemnly the pendent ivy-mass Swings in its winnow: All the air is calm. The smoke from cottage-chimneys, tinged with light, Rises in columns; from this house alone, 150 Close by the water-fall, the column slants, And feels its ceaseless breeze. But what is this? That cottage, with its slanting chimney-smoke, And close beside its porch a sleeping child, His dear head pillowed on a sleeping dog— 155 One arm between its fore-legs, and the hand Holds loosely its small handful of wild-flowers, Unfilletted, and of unequal lengths. A curious picture, with a master's haste Sketched on a strip of pinky-silver skin, 160 Peeled from the birchen bark! Divinest maid! Yon bark her canvas, and those purple berries Her pencil! See, the juice is scarcely dried On the fine skin! She has been newly here; And lo! yon patch of heath has been her couch— 165 The pressure still remains! O blessd couch! For this may'st thou flower early, and the sun, Slanting at eve, rest bright, and linger long Upon thy purple bells! O Isabel! Daughter of genius! stateliest of our maids! 170 More beautiful than whom Alcaeus wooed, The Lesbian woman of immortal song! O child of genius! stately, beautiful, And full of love to all, save only me, And not ungentle e'en to me! My heart, 175 Why beats it thus? Through yonder coppice-wood Needs must the pathway turn, that leads straightway On to her father's house. She is alone! The night draws on—such ways are hard to hit— And fit it is I should restore this sketch, 180 Dropt unawares, no doubt. Why should I yearn To keep the relique? 'twill but idly feed The passion that consumes me. Let me haste! The picture in my hand which she has left; She cannot blame me that I followed her: 185 And I may be her guide the long wood through.

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[369:1] First published in the Morning Post, September 6, 1802: included in the Poetical Register for 1802 (1804), in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834.

It has been pointed out to me (by Mr. Arthur Turnbull) that the conception of the 'Resolution' that failed was suggested by Gessner's Idyll Der feste Vorsatz ('The Fixed Resolution'):—S. Gessner's Schriften, i. 104-7; Works, 1802, ii. 219-21.

[369:2] Vaccinium Myrtillus, known by the different names of Whorts, Whortle-berries, Bilberries; and in the North of England, Blea-berries and Bloom-berries. [Note by S. T. C. 1802.]

LINENOTES:

[3] wild] blind M. P., P. R.

[17-26] om. M. P., P. R.

[17-25] Quoted in Letter to Cottle, May 27, 1814.

[18] love-lorn] woe-worn (heart-sick erased) Letter, 1814.

[20] unconscious life Letter, 1814.

[22] wholly cease to BE Letter, 1814.

[27] these] here M. P.

[28] For Love to dwell in; the low stumps would gore M. P., P. R.

[31-3]

till, like wounded bird Easily caught, the dusky Dryades With prickles sharper than his darts would mock. His little Godship

M. P., P. R.

[34-42, 44] om. M.P., P.R.

[51] here will couch M. P., P. R., S. L.

[55] brook] stream M. P., P. R., S. L. (for stream read brook Errata, S. L., p. [xi]).

[56-7]

yet bell-like sound Tinkling, or bees

M. P., P. R., S. L. 1828.

[58] The] This M. P., P. R., S. L.

[70] That swells its] Who swells his M. P., P. R., S. L.

[75] the] her downcast M. P., P. R. Her face, her form divine, her downcast look S. L.

[76-7]

Contemplative, her cheek upon her palm Supported; the white arm and elbow rest

M. P., P. R.

Contemplative! Ah see! her open palm Presses

S. L.

[79-80]

He, meanwhile, Who from

M. P., P. R., S. L.

[86] om. M. P., P. R., S. L.

[87] The] She M. P., P. R., S. L.

[91-100] These lines are quoted in the prefatory note to Kubla Khan.

[94] mis-shape] mis-shapes M. P.

[108] love-yearning by] love-gazing on M. P., P. R.

[114] Spire] Tow'r M. P., P. R., S. L.

[118] my] thy S. L. (for thy read my Errata, S. L., p. [xi]).

[121] and] to M. P., P. R.

[124] waves] waters P. R., S. L.

[126-32]

How soon to re-unite! They meet, they join In deep embrace, and open to the sun Lie calm and smooth. Such the delicious hour

M. P., P. R., S. L.

[133] Of deep enjoyment, foll'wing Love's brief quarrels M. P., P. R. Lines 126-33 are supplied in the Errata, S. L. 1817 (p. xi).

[134] And] But Errata, S. L. (p. xi).

[135] I come out into light M. P., P. R.: I came out into light S. L. For came read come Errata, S. L. (p. xi).

[144] At] Beneath M. P., P. R., S. L. (for Beneath read At Errata, S. L., p. [xi]).

[152] this] this M. P., P. R.: THIS S. L. 1828, 1829.

[162] those] these P. R.

[174] me] one M. P., P. R.

[177] straightway] away M. P., P. R.

[184] The] This M. P., P. R.



TO MATILDA BETHAM FROM A STRANGER[374:1]

['One of our most celebrated poets, who had, I was told, picked out and praised the little piece 'On a Cloud,' another had quoted (saying it would have been faultless if I had not used the word Phoebus in it, which he thought inadmissible in modern poetry), sent me some verses inscribed "To Matilda Betham, from a Stranger"; and dated "Keswick, Sept. 9, 1802, S. T. C." I should have guessed whence they came, but dared not flatter myself so highly as satisfactorily to believe it, before I obtained the avowal of the lady who had transmitted them. Excerpt from 'Autobiographical Sketch'.]

Matilda! I have heard a sweet tune played On a sweet instrument—thy Poesie— Sent to my soul by Boughton's pleading voice, Where friendship's zealous wish inspirited, Deepened and filled the subtle tones of taste: 5 (So have I heard a Nightingale's fine notes Blend with the murmur of a hidden stream!) And now the fair, wild offspring of thy genius, Those wanderers whom thy fancy had sent forth To seek their fortune in this motley world, 10 Have found a little home within my heart, And brought me, as the quit-rent of their lodging, Rose-buds, and fruit-blossoms, and pretty weeds, And timorous laurel leaflets half-disclosed, Engarlanded with gadding woodbine tendrils! 15 A coronal, which, with undoubting hand, I twine around the brows of patriot HOPE!

The Almighty, having first composed a Man, Set him to music, framing Woman for him, And fitted each to each, and made them one! 20 And 'tis my faith, that there's a natural bond Between the female mind and measured sounds, Nor do I know a sweeter Hope than this, That this sweet Hope, by judgment unreproved, That our own Britain, our dear mother Isle, 25 May boast one Maid, a poetess indeed, Great as th' impassioned Lesbian, in sweet song, And O! of holier mind, and happier fate.

Matilda! I dare twine thy vernal wreath Around the brows of patriot Hope! But thou 30 Be wise! be bold! fulfil my auspices! Tho' sweet thy measures, stern must be thy thought, Patient thy study, watchful thy mild eye! Poetic feelings, like the stretching boughs Of mighty oaks, pay homage to the gales, 35 Toss in the strong winds, drive before the gust, Themselves one giddy storm of fluttering leaves; Yet, all the while self-limited, remain Equally near the fixed and solid trunk Of Truth and Nature in the howling storm, 40 As in the calm that stills the aspen grove. Be bold, meek Woman! but be wisely bold! Fly, ostrich-like, firm land beneath thy feet, Yet hurried onward by thy wings of fancy Swift as the whirlwind, singing in their quills. 45 Look round thee! look within thee! think and feel! What nobler meed, Matilda! canst thou win, Than tears of gladness in a BOUGHTON'S[376:1] eyes, And exultation even in strangers' hearts?

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[374:1] First printed in a 'privately printed autobiographical sketch of Miss Matilda Betham', preserved in a volume of tracts arranged and bound up by Southey, now in the Forster Collection in the Victoria and Albert Museum: reprinted (by J. Dykes Campbell) in the Athenaeum (March 15, 1890): and, again, in A House of Letters, by Ernest Betham [1905], pp. 76-7. First collected in 1893 (see Editor's Note, p. 630). Lines 33-41 are quoted in a Letter to Sotheby, September 10, 1802. See Letters of S. T. C., 1895, i. 404.

[376:1] Catherine Rose, wife of Sir Charles William Rouse-Boughton, Bart. Sir Charles and Lady Boughton visited Greta Hall in September, 1802.

LINENOTES:

[7] murmur] murmurs 1893.

[16] coronal] coronel P. Sketch.

[34] stretching] flexuous MS. Letter, Sept. 10, 1802.

[35] pay] yield MS. Letter, 1802.

[39] solid] parent MS. Letter, 1802.

[40] Of truth in Nature—in the howling blast MS. Letter, 1802.



HYMN BEFORE SUN-RISE, IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI[376:2]

Besides the Rivers, Arve and Arveiron, which have their sources in the foot of Mont Blanc, five conspicuous torrents rush down its sides; and within a few paces of the Glaciers, the Gentiana Major grows in immense numbers, with its 'flowers of loveliest [liveliest Friend, 1809] blue.'

Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star In his steep course? So long he seems to pause On thy bald awful head, O sovran BLANC, The Arve and Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful Form! 5 Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, How silently! Around thee and above Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it, As with a wedge! But when I look again, 10 It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, Thy habitation from eternity! O dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon thee, Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer 15 I worshipped the Invisible alone.

Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my Thought, Yea, with my Life and Life's own secret joy: 20 Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused, Into the mighty vision passing—there As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven!

Awake, my soul! not only passive praise Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, 25 Mute thanks and secret ecstasy! Awake, Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake! Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my Hymn.

Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the Vale! O struggling with the darkness all the night,[378:1] 30 And visited all night by troops of stars, Or when they climb the sky or when they sink: Companion of the morning-star at dawn, Thyself Earth's rosy star, and of the dawn Co-herald: wake, O wake, and utter praise! 35 Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in Earth? Who filled thy countenance with rosy light? Who made thee parent of perpetual streams?

And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! Who called you forth from night and utter death, 40 From dark and icy caverns called you forth, Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, For ever shattered and the same for ever? Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, 45 Unceasing thunder and eternal foam? And who commanded (and the silence came), Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest?

Ye Ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amain— 50 Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge! Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! Who made you glorious as the Gates of Heaven Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun 55 Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers[379:1] Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?— GOD! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, GOD! GOD! sing ye meadow-streams with gladsome voice! 60 Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds! And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow, And in their perilous fall shall thunder, GOD!

Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost! Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! 65 Ye eagles, play-mates of the mountain-storm! Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds! Ye signs and wonders of the element! Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise!

Thou too, hoar Mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks, Oft from whose feet the avalanche,[380:1] unheard, 71 Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy breast— Thou too again, stupendous Mountain! thou That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low 75 In adoration, upward from thy base Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears, Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud, To rise before me—Rise, O ever rise, Rise like a cloud of incense from the Earth! 80 Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills, Thou dread ambassador from Earth to Heaven, Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky, And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun Earth, with her thousand voices, praises GOD. 85

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[376:2] First published in the Morning Post, Sept. 11, 1802: reprinted in the Poetical Register for 1802 (1803), ii. 308, 311, and in The Friend, No. XI, Oct. 26, 1809: included in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. Three MSS. are extant: (1) MS. A, sent to Sir George Beaumont, Oct. 1803 (see Coleorton Letters, 1886, i. 26); (2) MS. B, the MS. of the version as printed in The Friend, Oct. 26, 1809 (now in the Forster Collection in the Victoria and Albert Museum); (3) MS. C, presented to Mrs. Brabant in 1815 (now in the British Museum). The Hymn before Sunrise, &c., 'Hymn in the manner of the Psalms,' is an expansion, in part, of a translation of Friederika Brun's 'Ode to Chamouny', addressed to Klopstock, which numbers some twenty lines. The German original (see the Appendices of this edition) was first appended to Coleridge's Poetical Works in 1844 (p. 372). A translation was given in a footnote, P. W. (ed. by T. Ashe), 1885, ii. 86, 87. In the Morning Post and Poetical Register the following explanatory note preceded the poem:—

'CHAMOUNI, THE HOUR BEFORE SUNRISE.

'[Chamouni is one of the highest mountain valleys of the Barony of Faucigny in the Savoy Alps; and exhibits a kind of fairy world, in which the wildest appearances (I had almost said horrors) of Nature alternate with the softest and most beautiful. The chain of Mont Blanc is its boundary; and besides the Arve it is filled with sounds from the Arveiron, which rushes from the melted glaciers, like a giant, mad with joy, from a dungeon, and forms other torrents of snow-water, having their rise in the glaciers which slope down into the valley. The beautiful Gentiana major, or greater gentian, with blossoms of the brightest blue, grows in large companies a few steps from the never-melted ice of the glaciers. I thought it an affecting emblem of the boldness of human hope, venturing near, and, as it were, leaning over the brink of the grave. Indeed, the whole vale, its every light, its every sound, must needs impress every mind not utterly callous with the thought—Who would be, who could be an Atheist in this valley of wonders! If any of the readers of the MORNING POST [Those who have P. R.] have visited this vale in their journeys among the Alps, I am confident that they [that they om. P. R.] will not find the sentiments and feelings expressed, or attempted to be expressed, in the following poem, extravagant.]'

[378:1] I had written a much finer line when Sca' Fell was in my thoughts, viz.:—

O blacker than the darkness all the night And visited Note to MS. A.

[379:1] The Gentiana major grows in large companies a stride's distance from the foot of several of the glaciers. Its blue flower, the colour of Hope: is it not a pretty emblem of Hope creeping onward even to the edge of the grave, to the very verge of utter desolation? Note to MS. A.

[380:1] The fall of vast masses of snow, so called. Note MS. (C).

LINENOTES:

Title] Chamouny The Hour before Sunrise A Hymn M. P., P. R.: Mount Blanc, The Summit of the Vale of Chamouny, An Hour before Sunrise: A Hymn MS. A.

[3] On thy bald awful head O Chamouny M. P., P. R.: On thy bald awful top O Chamouny MS. A: On thy bald awful top O Sovran Blanc Friend, 1809.

[4] Arve] Arv M. P., P. R., MS. (C).

[5] dread mountain form M. P., P. R., MS. A. most] dread Friend, 1809.

[6] forth] out MS. A.

[8] Deep is the sky, and black: transpicuous, deep M. P., P. R.: Deep is the sky, and black! transpicuous, black. MS. A.

[11] is thine] seems thy M. P., P. R.

[13] Mount] form M. P., P. R., MS. A.

[14] the bodily sense] my bodily eye M. P., P. R.: my bodily sense MS. A.

[16] Invisible] INVISIBLE M. P., P. R., Friend, 1809, MS. A.

[17]

Yet thou meantime, wast working on my soul, E'en like some deep enchanting melody

M. P., P. R., MS. A.

[19 foll.]

But [Now MS. A] I awake, and with a busier mind, And active will self-conscious, offer now Not as before, involuntary pray'r And passive adoration! Hand and voice, Awake, awake! and thou, my heart, awake! Awake ye rocks! Ye forest pines awake! (Not in MS. A.) Green fields

M. P., P. R., MS. A.

[29-30]

And thou, O silent Mountain, sole and bare O blacker than the darkness all the night

M. P., P. R.

[29] And thou, thou silent mountain, lone and bare MS. A. The first and chief, stern Monarch of the Vale Errata to 'Hymn', &c., The Friend, No. XIII, Nov. 16, 1809.

[38] parent] father M. P., P. R., MS. A.

[41] From darkness let you loose and icy dens M. P., P. R., MS. A.

[46] Eternal thunder and unceasing foam MS. A.

[48] 'Here shall the billows . . .' M. P., P. R.: Here shall your billows MS. A.

[49] the mountain's brow] yon dizzy heights M. P., P. R.

[50] Adown enormous ravines steeply slope M. P., P. R., MS. A. [A bad line; but I hope to be able to alter it Note to MS. A].

[56]

with lovely flowers Of living blue

M. P., P. R., MS. A.

[Between 58-64]

GOD! GOD! the torrents like a shout of nations Utter! the ice-plain bursts and answers GOD! GOD, sing the meadow-streams with gladsome voice, And pine-groves with their soft and soul-like sound, The silent snow-mass, loos'ning thunders God!

M. P., P. R.

These lines were omitted in MS. A.

[64] Ye dreadless flow'rs that fringe M. P., P. R. living] azure MS. A. livery S. L. (corrected in Errata, p. [xi]).

[65] sporting round] bounding by M. P., P. R., MS. A.

[66] mountain-storm] mountain blast M. P., P. R.

[69] God] GOD. M. P., P. R.

[Between 70-80]

And thou, O silent Form, alone and bare Whom, as I lift again my head bow'd low In adoration, I again behold, And to thy summit upward from thy base Sweep slowly with dim eyes suffus'd by tears, Awake thou mountain form! rise, like a cloud

M. P., P. R.

And thou thou silent mountain, lone and bare Whom as I lift again my head bow'd low In adoration, I again behold! And from thy summit upward to the base Sweep slowly, with dim eyes suffus'd with tears Rise, mighty form! even as thou seem'st to rise.

MS. A.

[70] Thou too] And thou, Errata, Friend, No. XIII. Once more, hoar Mount MS. (C), S. L. (For once more, read Thou too Errata, S. L., p. [xi]).

[72] through] in Friend, 1809. In the blue serene MS. (C).

[74] again] once more MS. (C).

[75] That as once more I raise my Head bow'd low Friend, No. XI, 1809 (see the Errata, No. XIII).

[83-4] Tell the blue sky MS. A.

[84] yon] the M. P., P. R., MS. A.

[85] praises] calls on M. P., P. R., MS. A.



THE GOOD, GREAT MAN[381:1]

'How seldom, friend! a good great man inherits Honour or wealth with all his worth and pains! It sounds like stories from the land of spirits If any man obtain that which he merits Or any merit that which he obtains.' 5

REPLY TO THE ABOVE

For shame, dear friend, renounce this canting strain! What would'st thou have a good great man obtain? Place? titles? salary? a gilded chain? Or throne of corses which his sword had slain? 10 Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends! Hath he not always treasures, always friends, The good great man? three treasures, LOVE, and LIGHT, And CALM THOUGHTS, regular as infant's breath: And three firm friends, more sure than day and night, 15 HIMSELF, his MAKER, and the ANGEL DEATH!

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[381:1] First published in the Morning Post (as an 'Epigram', signed ESTSE), September 23, 1802: reprinted in the Poetical Register for 1802 (1803, p. 246): included in The Friend, No. XIX, December 28, 1809, and in Literary Remains, 1836, i. 53. First collected in 1844.

LINENOTES:

Title] Epigram M. P.: Epigrams P. R.: Complaint Lit. Rem., 1844, 1852: The Good, &c. 1893.

[6] Reply to the above M. P.: Reply The Friend, 1809: Reproof Lit. Rem., 1844.



INSCRIPTION FOR A FOUNTAIN ON A HEATH[381:2]

This Sycamore, oft musical with bees,— Such tents the Patriarchs loved! O long unharmed May all its agd boughs o'er-canopy The small round basin, which this jutting stone Keeps pure from falling leaves! Long may the Spring, 5 Quietly as a sleeping infant's breath, Send up cold waters to the traveller With soft and even pulse! Nor ever cease Yon tiny cone of sand its soundless dance,[382:1] Which at the bottom, like a Fairy's Page, 10 As merry and no taller, dances still, Nor wrinkles the smooth surface of the Fount. Here Twilight is and Coolness: here is moss, A soft seat, and a deep and ample shade. Thou may'st toil far and find no second tree. 15 Drink, Pilgrim, here; Here rest! and if thy heart Be innocent, here too shalt thou refresh Thy spirit, listening to some gentle sound, Or passing gale or hum of murmuring bees!

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[381:2] First published in the Morning Post, September 24, 1802: reprinted in the Poetical Register for 1802 (1803, p. 338): included in Sibylline Leaves, 1828, 1829, and 1834.

[382:1] Compare Anima Poetae, 1895, p. 17: 'The spring with the little tiny cone of loose sand ever rising and sinking to the bottom, but its surface without a wrinkle.'

LINENOTES:

Title] Inscription on a Jutting Stone, over a Spring M. P., P. R.

[3] agd] darksome M. P., P. R.

[5] Still may this spring M. P., P. R.

[7] waters] water P. R. to] for M. P., P. R.

[9] soundless] noiseless M. P., P. R.

[10] Which] That M. P., P. R.

[13] Here coolness dwell, and twilight M. P., P. R.

[16 foll.]

Here, stranger, drink! Here rest! And if thy heart Be innocent, here too may'st thou renew Thy spirits, listening to these gentle sounds, The passing gale, or ever-murm'ring bees.

M. P., P. R.



AN ODE TO THE RAIN[382:2]

COMPOSED BEFORE DAYLIGHT, ON THE MORNING APPOINTED FOR THE DEPARTURE OF A VERY WORTHY, BUT NOT VERY PLEASANT VISITOR, WHOM IT WAS FEARED THE RAIN MIGHT DETAIN

I

I know it is dark; and though I have lain, Awake, as I guess, an hour or twain, I have not once opened the lids of my eyes, But I lie in the dark, as a blind man lies. O Rain! that I lie listening to, 5 You're but a doleful sound at best: I owe you little thanks, 'tis true, For breaking thus my needful rest! Yet if, as soon as it is light, O Rain! you will but take your flight, 10 I'll neither rail, nor malice keep, Though sick and sore for want of sleep. But only now, for this one day, Do go, dear Rain! do go away!

II

O Rain! with your dull two-fold sound, 15 The clash hard by, and the murmur all round! You know, if you know aught, that we, Both night and day, but ill agree: For days and months, and almost years, Have limped on through this vale of tears, 20 Since body of mine, and rainy weather, Have lived on easy terms together. Yet if, as soon as it is light, O Rain! you will but take your flight, Though you should come again to-morrow, 25 And bring with you both pain and sorrow; Though stomach should sicken and knees should swell— I'll nothing speak of you but well. But only now for this one day, Do go, dear Rain! do go away! 30

III

Dear Rain! I ne'er refused to say You're a good creature in your way; Nay, I could write a book myself, Would fit a parson's lower shelf, Showing how very good you are.— 35 What then? sometimes it must be fair And if sometimes, why not to-day? Do go, dear Rain! do go away!

IV

Dear Rain! if I've been cold and shy, Take no offence! I'll tell you why. 40 A dear old Friend e'en now is here, And with him came my sister dear; After long absence now first met, Long months by pain and grief beset— We three dear friends! in truth, we groan 45 Impatiently to be alone. We three, you mark! and not one more! The strong wish makes my spirit sore. We have so much to talk about, So many sad things to let out; 50 So many tears in our eye-corners, Sitting like little Jacky Horners— In short, as soon as it is day, Do go, dear Rain! do go away.

V

And this I'll swear to you, dear Rain! 55 Whenever you shall come again, Be you as dull as e'er you could (And by the bye 'tis understood, You're not so pleasant as you're good), Yet, knowing well your worth and place, 60 I'll welcome you with cheerful face; And though you stayed a week or more, Were ten times duller than before; Yet with kind heart, and right good will, I'll sit and listen to you still; 65 Nor should you go away, dear Rain! Uninvited to remain. But only now, for this one day, Do go, dear Rain! do go away.

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[382:2] First published in the Morning Post (?), Oct. 7, 1802: included in Sibylline Leaves, 1817: in Literary Remains, 1836, i. 54-6. First collected in 1844. In Literary Remains the poem is dated 1809, but in a letter to J. Wedgwood, Oct. 20, 1802, Coleridge seems to imply that the Ode to the Rain had appeared recently in the Morning Post. A MS. note of Mrs. H. N. Coleridge, included in other memoranda intended for publication in Essays on His Own Times, gives the date, 'Ode to Rain, October 7'. The issue for October 7 is missing in the volume for 1802 preserved in the British Museum, and it may be presumed that it was in that number the Ode to the Rain first appeared. It is possible that the 'Ode' was written on the morning after the unexpected arrival of Charles and Mary Lamb at Greta Hall in August, 1802.

LINENOTES:

[45] We] With L. R, 1844, 1852. [The text was amended in P. W., 1877-80.]



A DAY-DREAM[385:1]

My eyes make pictures, when they are shut: I see a fountain, large and fair, A willow and a ruined hut, And thee, and me and Mary there. O Mary! make thy gentle lap our pillow! 5 Bend o'er us, like a bower, my beautiful green willow!

A wild-rose roofs the ruined shed, And that and summer well agree: And lo! where Mary leans her head, Two dear names carved upon the tree! 10 And Mary's tears, they are not tears of sorrow: Our sister and our friend will both be here to-morrow.

'Twas day! but now few, large, and bright, The stars are round the crescent moon! And now it is a dark warm night, 15 The balmiest of the month of June! A glow-worm fall'n, and on the marge remounting Shines, and its shadow shines, fit stars for our sweet fountain.

O ever—ever be thou blest! For dearly, Asra! love I thee! 20 This brooding warmth across my breast, This depth of tranquil bliss—ah, me! Fount, tree and shed are gone, I know not whither, But in one quiet room we three are still together.

The shadows dance upon the wall, 25 By the still dancing fire-flames made; And now they slumber, moveless all! And now they melt to one deep shade! But not from me shall this mild darkness steal thee: I dream thee with mine eyes, and at my heart I feel thee! 30

Thine eyelash on my cheek doth play— 'Tis Mary's hand upon my brow! But let me check this tender lay Which none may hear but she and thou! Like the still hive at quiet midnight humming. 35 Murmur it to yourselves, ye two beloved women!

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[385:1] First published in the Bijou for 1828: included in 1828, 1829, and 1834. Asra is Miss Sarah Hutchinson; 'Our Sister and our Friend,' William and Dorothy Wordsworth. There can be little doubt that these lines were written in 1801 or 1802.

LINENOTES:

[8] well] will Bijou, 1828.

[17] on] in Bijou, 1828.

[20] For Asra, dearly Bijou, 1828.

[28] one] me Bijou, 1828.



ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION[386:1]

Do you ask what the birds say? The Sparrow, the Dove, The Linnet and Thrush say, 'I love and I love!' In the winter they're silent—the wind is so strong; What it says, I don't know, but it sings a loud song. But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm weather, 5 And singing, and loving—all come back together. But the Lark is so brimful of gladness and love, The green fields below him, the blue sky above, That he sings, and he sings; and for ever sings he— 'I love my Love, and my Love loves me!' 10

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[386:1] First published in the Morning Post, October 16, 1802: included in Sibylline Leaves, in 1828, 1829, and 1834.

LINENOTES:

Title] The Language of Birds: Lines spoken extempore, to a little child, in early spring M. P.

[Between 6-7]

'I love, and I love,' almost all the birds say From sunrise to star-rise, so gladsome are they.

M. P.

[After 10]

'Tis no wonder that he's full of joy to the brim, When He loves his Love, and his Love loves him.

M. P.

Line 10 is adapted from the refrain of Prior's Song ('One morning very early, one morning in the spring'):—'I love my love, because I know my love loves me.'



THE DAY-DREAM[386:2]

FROM AN EMIGRANT TO HIS ABSENT WIFE

If thou wert here, these tears were tears of light! But from as sweet a vision did I start As ever made these eyes grow idly bright! And though I weep, yet still around my heart A sweet and playful tenderness doth linger, 5 Touching my heart as with an infant's finger.

My mouth half open, like a witless man, I saw our couch, I saw our quiet room, Its shadows heaving by the fire-light gloom; And o'er my lips a subtle feeling ran, 10 All o'er my lips a soft and breeze-like feeling— I know not what—but had the same been stealing

Upon a sleeping mother's lips, I guess It would have made the loving mother dream That she was softly bending down to kiss 15 Her babe, that something more than babe did seem, A floating presence of its darling father, And yet its own dear baby self far rather!

Across my chest there lay a weight, so warm! As if some bird had taken shelter there; 20 And lo! I seemed to see a woman's form— Thine, Sara, thine? O joy, if thine it were! I gazed with stifled breath, and feared to stir it, No deeper trance e'er wrapt a yearning spirit!

And now, when I seemed sure thy face to see, 25 Thy own dear self in our own quiet home; There came an elfish laugh, and wakened me: 'Twas Frederic, who behind my chair had clomb, And with his bright eyes at my face was peeping. I blessed him, tried to laugh, and fell a-weeping! 30

1801-2.

FOOTNOTES:

[386:2] First published in the Morning Post, October 19, 1802. First collected in Poems, 1852. A note (p. 384), was affixed:—'This little poem first appeared in the Morning Post in 1802, but was doubtless composed in Germany. It seems to have been forgotten by its author, for this was the only occasion on which it saw the light through him. The Editors think that it will plead against parental neglect in the mind of most readers.' Internal evidence seems to point to 1801 or 1802 as the most probable date of composition.

LINENOTES:

[Below line 30] ESTSE.



THE HAPPY HUSBAND[388:1]

A FRAGMENT

Oft, oft methinks, the while with thee, I breathe, as from the heart, thy dear And dedicated name, I hear A promise and a mystery, A pledge of more than passing life, 5 Yea, in that very name of Wife!

A pulse of love, that ne'er can sleep! A feeling that upbraids the heart With happiness beyond desert, That gladness half requests to weep! 10 Nor bless I not the keener sense And unalarming turbulence

Of transient joys, that ask no sting From jealous fears, or coy denying; But born beneath Love's brooding wing, 15 And into tenderness soon dying, Wheel out their giddy moment, then Resign the soul to love again;—

A more precipitated vein Of notes, that eddy in the flow 20 Of smoothest song, they come, they go, And leave their sweeter understrain, Its own sweet self—a love of Thee That seems, yet cannot greater be!

? 1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[388:1] First published in Sibylline Leaves, 1817: included in 1828, 1829, 1834. There is no evidence as to the date of composition.

LINENOTES:

[13] ask] fear S. L. (for fear no sting read ask no sting Errata, p. [xi]).



THE PAINS OF SLEEP[389:1]

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, 5 In humble trust mine eye-lids close, With reverential resignation, No wish conceived, no thought exprest, Only a sense of supplication; A sense o'er all my soul imprest 10 That I am weak, yet not unblest, Since in me, round me, every where Eternal Strength and Wisdom are.

But yester-night I prayed aloud In anguish and in agony, 15 Up-starting from the fiendish crowd Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me: A lurid light, a trampling throng, Sense of intolerable wrong, And whom I scorned, those only strong! 20 Thirst of revenge, the powerless will Still baffled, and yet burning still! Desire with loathing strangely mixed On wild or hateful objects fixed. Fantastic passions! maddening brawl! 25 And shame and terror over all! Deeds to be hid which were not hid, Which all confused I could not know Whether I suffered, or I did: For all seemed guilt, remorse or woe, 30 My own or others still the same Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame.

So two nights passed: the night's dismay Saddened and stunned the coming day. Sleep, the wide blessing, seemed to me 35 Distemper's worst calamity. The third night, when my own loud scream Had waked me from the fiendish dream, O'ercome with sufferings strange and wild, I wept as I had been a child; 40 And having thus by tears subdued My anguish to a milder mood, Such punishments, I said, were due To natures deepliest stained with sin,— For aye entempesting anew 45 The unfathomable hell within, The horror of their deeds to view, To know and loathe, yet wish and do! Such griefs with such men well agree, But wherefore, wherefore fall on me? 50 To be beloved is all I need, And whom I love, I love indeed.

1803.

FOOTNOTES:

[389:1] First published, together with Christabel, in 1816: included in 1828, 1829, i. 334-6 (but not in Contents), and 1834. A first draft of these lines was sent in a Letter to Southey, Sept. 11, 1803 (Letters of S. T. C., 1895, i. 435-7), An amended version of lines 18-32 was included in an unpublished Letter to Poole, dated Oct. 3, 1803.

LINENOTES:

[1] Ere] When MS. Letter to Southey, Sept. 11, 1803.

[9] sense] sense MS. Letter to Southey, 1816, 1828, 1829.

[10] sense] sense MS. Letter to Southey.

[12] Since round me, in me, everywhere MS. Letter to Southey.

[13] Wisdom] Goodness MS. Letter to Southey.

[16] Up-starting] Awaking MS. Letter to Southey.

[Between 18-26]

Desire with loathing strangely mixt, On wild or hateful objects fixt. Sense of revenge, the powerless will, Still baffled and consuming still; Sense of intolerable wrong, And men whom I despis'd made strong! Vain-glorious threats, unmanly vaunting, Bad men my boasts and fury taunting: Rage, sensual passion, mad'ning Brawl,

MS. Letter to Southey.

[18] trampling] ghastly MS. Letter to Poole, Oct. 3, 1803.

[19] intolerable] insufferable MS. Letter to Poole.

[20] those] they MS. Letter to Poole.

[Between 22-4]

Tempestuous pride, vain-glorious vaunting Base men my vices justly taunting

MS. Letter to Poole.

[27] which] that MS. Letters to Southey and Poole.

[28] could] might MS. Letters to Southey and Poole.

[30] For all was Horror, Guilt, and Woe MS. Letter to Southey: For all was Guilt, and Shame, and Woe MS. Letter to Poole.

[33] So] Thus MS. Letter to Southey.

[34] coming] boding MS. Letter to Southey.

[35-6]

I fear'd to sleep: sleep seem'd to be Disease's worst malignity

MS. Letter to Southey.

[38] waked] freed MS. Letter to Southey.

[39] O'ercome by sufferings dark and wild MS. Letter to Southey.

[42] anguish] Trouble MS. Letter to Southey.

[43] said] thought MS. Letter to Southey.

[45-6]

Still to be stirring up anew The self-created Hell within

MS. Letter to Southey.

[47] their deeds] the crimes MS. Letter to Southey.

[48] and] to MS. Letter to Southey.

[Between 48-51]

With such let fiends make mockery— But I—Oh, wherefore this on me? Frail is my soul, yea, strengthless wholly, Unequal, restless, melancholy. But free from Hate and sensual Folly.

MS. Letter to Southey.

[51] be] live MS. Letter to Southey.

[After 52] And etc., etc., etc., etc. MS. Letter to Southey.



THE EXCHANGE[391:1]

We pledged our hearts, my love and I,— I in my arms the maiden clasping; I could not guess the reason why, But, oh! I trembled like an aspen.

Her father's love she bade me gain; 5 I went, but shook like any reed! I strove to act the man—in vain! We had exchanged our hearts indeed.

1804.

FOOTNOTES:

[391:1] First published in the Courier, April 16, 1804: included in the Poetical Register for 1804 (1805); reprinted in Literary Souvenir for 1826, p. 408, and in Literary Remains, 1836, i. 59. First collected in 1844.

LINENOTES:

Title] The Exchange of Hearts Courier, 1804.

[2] Me in her arms Courier, 1804.

[3] guess] tell Lit. Souvenir, Lit. Rem., 1844.

[5] Her father's leave Courier, 1804, P. R. 1804, 1893.

[6] but] and Lit. Souvenir, Lit. Rem., 1844.



AD VILMUM AXIOLOGUM[391:2]

[TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH]

This be the meed, that thy song creates a thousand-fold echo! Sweet as the warble of woods, that awakes at the gale of the morning! List! the Hearts of the Pure, like caves in the ancient mountains Deep, deep in the Bosom, and from the Bosom resound it, Each with a different tone, complete or in musical fragments— 5 All have welcomed thy Voice, and receive and retain and prolong it!

This is the word of the Lord! it is spoken, and Beings Eternal Live and are borne as an Infant; the Eternal begets the Immortal: Love is the Spirit of Life, and Music the Life of the Spirit!

? 1805.

FOOTNOTES:

[391:2] First published in P. W., 1893. These lines were found in one of Coleridge's Notebooks (No. 24). The first draft immediately follows the transcription of a series of Dante's Canzoni begun at Malta in 1805. If the Hexameters were composed at the same time, it is possible that they were inspired by a perusal or re-perusal of a MS. copy of Wordsworth's unpublished poems which had been made for his use whilst he was abroad. As Mr. Campbell points out (P. W., p. 614), Wordsworth himself was responsible for the Latinization of his name. A Sonnet on seeing Miss Helen Maria Williams weeping at a tale of distress, which was published in the European Magazine for March, 1787, is signed 'Axiologus'.

LINENOTES:

[1 foll.]

What is the meed of thy song? 'Tis the ceaseless the thousandfold echo, Which from the welcoming Hearts of the Pure repeats and prolongs it— Each with a different Tone, compleat or in musical fragments.

Or

This be the meed, that thy Song awakes to a thousandfold echo Welcoming Hearts; is it their voice or is it thy own? Lost! the Hearts of the Pure, like caves in the ancient mountains Deep, deep in the bosom, and from the bosom resound it, Each with a different tone, compleat or in musical fragments. Meet the song they receive, and retain and resound and prolong it! Welcoming Souls! is it their voice, sweet Poet, or is it thy own voice?

Drafts in Notebook.



AN EXILE[392:1]

Friend, Lover, Husband, Sister, Brother! Dear names close in upon each other! Alas! poor Fancy's bitter-sweet— Our names, and but our names can meet.

1805.

FOOTNOTES:

[392:1] First published, with title 'An Exile', in 1893. These lines, without title or heading, are inserted in one of Coleridge's Malta Notebooks.



SONNET[392:2]

[TRANSLATED FROM MARINI]

Lady, to Death we're doom'd, our crime the same! Thou, that in me thou kindled'st such fierce heat; I, that my heart did of a Sun so sweet The rays concentre to so hot a flame. I, fascinated by an Adder's eye— 5 Deaf as an Adder thou to all my pain; Thou obstinate in Scorn, in Passion I— I lov'd too much, too much didst thou disdain. Hear then our doom in Hell as just as stern, Our sentence equal as our crimes conspire— 10 Who living bask'd at Beauty's earthly fire, In living flames eternal these must burn— Hell for us both fit places too supplies— In my heart thou wilt burn, I roast before thine eyes.

? 1805.

FOOTNOTES:

[392:2] First published in 1893. For the Italian original, 'Alia Sua Amico,' Sonetto, vide Appendices of this Edition.



PHANTOM[393:1]

All look and likeness caught from earth, All accident of kin and birth, Had pass'd away. There was no trace Of aught on that illumined face, Uprais'd beneath the rifted stone 5 But of one spirit all her own;— She, she herself, and only she, Shone through her body visibly.

1805.

FOOTNOTES:

[393:1] These lines, without title or heading, are quoted ('vide . . . my lines') in an entry in one of Coleridge's Malta Notebooks, dated Feb. 8, 1805, to illustrate the idea that the love-sense can be abstracted from the accidents of form or person (see Anima Poetae, 1895, p. 120). It follows that they were written before that date. Phantom was first published in 1834, immediately following (ii. 71) Phantom or Fact. A dialogue in Verse, which was first published in 1828, and was probably written about that time. Both poems are 'fragments from the life of dreams'; but it was the reality which lay behind both 'phantom' and 'fact' of which the poet dreamt, having his eyes open. With lines 4, 5 compare the following stanza of one of the MS. versions of the Dark Ladi:—

Against a grey stone rudely carv'd The statue of an armed knight, She lean'd in melancholy mood To watch d the lingering Light.



A SUNSET[393:2]

Upon the mountain's edge with light touch resting, There a brief while the globe of splendour sits And seems a creature of the earth; but soon More changeful than the Moon, To wane fantastic his great orb submits, 5 Or cone or mow of fire: till sinking slowly Even to a star at length he lessens wholly.

Abrupt, as Spirits vanish, he is sunk! A soul-like breeze possesses all the wood. The boughs, the sprays have stood 10 As motionless as stands the ancient trunk! But every leaf through all the forest flutters, And deep the cavern of the fountain mutters.

1805.

FOOTNOTES:

[393:2] First published in 1893. The title 'A Sunset' was prefixed by the Editor. These lines are inscribed in one of Coleridge's Malta Notebooks. The following note or comment is attached:—'These lines I wrote as nonsense verses merely to try a metre; but they are by no means contemptible; at least in reading them I am surprised at finding them so good. 16 Aug., 1805, Malta.

'Now will it be a more English music if the first and fourth are double rhymes and the 5th and 6th single? or all single, or the 2nd and 3rd double? Try.' They were afterwards sent to William Worship, Esq., Yarmouth, in a letter dated April 22, 1819, as an unpublished autograph.

LINENOTES:

[1] with light touch] all lightly MS.

[4] the] this MS.

[6] A distant Hiss of fire MS. alternative reading.

[7] lessens] lessened MS.

[12] flutters] fluttered MS.

[13] mutters] muttered MS.



WHAT IS LIFE?[394:1]

Resembles life what once was deem'd of light, Too ample in itself for human sight? An absolute self—an element ungrounded— All that we see, all colours of all shade By encroach of darkness made?— 5 Is very life by consciousness unbounded? And all the thoughts, pains, joys of mortal breath, A war-embrace of wrestling life and death?

1805.

FOOTNOTES:

[394:1] First published in Literary Souvenir, 1829: included in Literary Remains, 1836, i. 60. First collected in 1844. These lines, 'written in the same manner, and for the same purpose, but of course with more conscious effort than the two stanzas on the preceding leaf,' are dated '16 August, 1805, the day of the Valetta Horse-racing—bells jangling, and stupefying music playing all day'. Afterwards, in 1819, Coleridge maintained that they were written 'between the age of 15 and 16'.

LINENOTES:

[1] deem'd] held Lit. Souvenir, 1829.

[2] ample] simple MS.

[6]

{ [*per se*] (in its own Nature) { Is Life itself

MS.



THE BLOSSOMING OF THE SOLITARY DATE-TREE[395:1]

A LAMENT

I seem to have an indistinct recollection of having read either in one of the ponderous tomes of George of Venice, or in some other compilation from the uninspired Hebrew writers, an apologue or Rabbinical tradition to the following purpose:

While our first parents stood before their offended Maker, and the last 5 words of the sentence were yet sounding in Adam's ear, the guileful false serpent, a counterfeit and a usurper from the beginning, presumptuously took on himself the character of advocate or mediator, and pretending to intercede for Adam, exclaimed: 'Nay, Lord, in thy justice, not so! for the man was the least in fault. Rather let the Woman return at once to 10 the dust, and let Adam remain in this thy Paradise.' And the word of the Most High answered Satan: 'The tender mercies of the wicked are cruel. Treacherous Fiend! if with guilt like thine, it had been possible for thee to have the heart of a Man, and to feel the yearning of a human soul for its counterpart, the sentence, which thou now counsellest, should have 15 been inflicted on thyself.'

The title of the following poem was suggested by a fact mentioned by Linnaeus, of a date-tree in a nobleman's garden which year after year had put forth a full show of blossoms, but never produced fruit, till a branch from another date-tree had been conveyed from a distance of 20 some hundred leagues. The first leaf of the MS. from which the poem has been transcribed, and which contained the two or three introductory stanzas, is wanting: and the author has in vain taxed his memory to repair the loss. But a rude draught of the poem contains the substance of the stanzas, and the reader is requested to receive it as the substitute. 25 It is not impossible, that some congenial spirit, whose years do not exceed those of the Author at the time the poem was written, may find a pleasure in restoring the Lament to its original integrity by a reduction of the thoughts to the requisite metre. S. T. C.

1

Beneath the blaze of a tropical sun the mountain peaks are 30 the Thrones of Frost, through the absence of objects to reflect the rays. 'What no one with us shares, seems scarce our own.' The presence of a ONE,

The best belov'd, who loveth me the best,

is for the heart, what the supporting air from within is for the 35 hollow globe with its suspended car. Deprive it of this, and all without, that would have buoyed it aloft even to the seat of the gods, becomes a burthen and crushes it into flatness.

2

The finer the sense for the beautiful and the lovely, and the fairer and lovelier the object presented to the sense; the more 40 exquisite the individual's capacity of joy, and the more ample his means and opportunities of enjoyment, the more heavily will he feel the ache of solitariness, the more unsubstantial becomes the feast spread around him. What matters it, whether in fact the viands and the ministering graces are 45 shadowy or real, to him who has not hand to grasp nor arms to embrace them?

3

Imagination; honourable aims; Free commune with the choir that cannot die; Science and song; delight in little things, 50 The buoyant child surviving in the man; Fields, forests, ancient mountains, ocean, sky, With all their voices—O dare I accuse My earthly lot as guilty of my spleen, Or call my destiny niggard! O no! no! 55 It is her largeness, and her overflow, Which being incomplete, disquieteth me so!

4

For never touch of gladness stirs my heart, But tim'rously beginning to rejoice Like a blind Arab, that from sleep doth start 60 In lonesome tent, I listen for thy voice. Belovd! 'tis not thine; thou art not there! Then melts the bubble into idle air, And wishing without hope I restlessly despair.

5

The mother with anticipated glee 65 Smiles o'er the child, that, standing by her chair And flatt'ning its round cheek upon her knee, Looks up, and doth its rosy lips prepare To mock the coming sounds. At that sweet sight She hears her own voice with a new delight; 70 And if the babe perchance should lisp the notes aright,

6

Then is she tenfold gladder than before! But should disease or chance the darling take, What then avail those songs, which sweet of yore Were only sweet for their sweet echo's sake? 75 Dear maid! no prattler at a mother's knee Was e'er so dearly prized as I prize thee: Why was I made for Love and Love denied to me?

1805.

FOOTNOTES:

[395:1] First published in 1828: included in 1829 and 1834.

LINENOTES:

[5] stood] were yet standing 1828.

[8] mediator] moderator 1828.

[9] The words 'not so' are omitted in 1828.

[11] remain here all the days of his now mortal life, and enjoy the respite thou mayest grant him, in this thy Paradise which thou gavest to him, and hast planted with every tree pleasant to the sight of man and of delicious fruitage. 1828.

[13 foll.] Treacherous Fiend! guilt deep as thine could not be, yet the love of kind not extinguished. But if having done what thou hast done, thou hadst yet the heart of man within thee, and the yearning of the soul for its answering image and completing counterpart, O spirit, desperately wicked! the sentence thou counsellest had been thy own! 1828.

[20] from a Date tree 1828, 1839.

[48] Hope, Imagination, &c. 1828.

[53] With all their voices mute—O dare I accuse 1838.

[55] Or call my niggard destiny! No! No! 1838.

[61] thy] thy 1828, 1829.

[77] thee] thee 1828, 1829.



SEPARATION[397:1]

A sworded man whose trade is blood, In grief, in anger, and in fear, Thro' jungle, swamp, and torrent flood, I seek the wealth you hold so dear!

The dazzling charm of outward form, 5 The power of gold, the pride of birth, Have taken Woman's heart by storm— Usurp'd the place of inward worth.

Is not true Love of higher price Than outward Form, though fair to see, 10 Wealth's glittering fairy-dome of ice, Or echo of proud ancestry?—

O! Asra, Asra! couldst thou see Into the bottom of my heart, There's such a mine of Love for thee, 15 As almost might supply desert!

(This separation is, alas! Too great a punishment to bear; O! take my life, or let me pass That life, that happy life, with her!) 20

The perils, erst with steadfast eye Encounter'd, now I shrink to see— Oh! I have heart enough to die— Not half enough to part from Thee!

? 1805.

FOOTNOTES:

[397:1] First published in 1834. In Pickering's one-volume edition of the issue of 1848 the following note is printed on p. 372:—

'The fourth and last stanzas are adapted from the twelfth and last of Cotton's Chlorinda [Ode]:—

'O my Chlorinda! could'st thou see Into the bottom of my heart, There's such a Mine of Love for thee, The Treasure would supply desert.

Meanwhile my Exit now draws nigh, When, sweet Chlorinda, thou shalt see That I have heart enough to die, Not half enough to part with thee.

'The fifth stanza is the eleventh of Cotton's poem.'

In 1852 (p. 385) the note reads: 'The fourth and last stanzas are from Cotton's Chlorinda, with very slight alteration.'

A first draft of this adaptation is contained in one of Coleridge's Malta Notebooks:—

[I]

Made worthy by excess of Love A wretch thro' power of Happiness, And poor from wealth I dare not use.

[II]

This separation etc.

[III]

[*The Pomp of Wealth*] [*Stores of Gold, the pomp of Wealth*] [*Nor less the Pride of Noble Birth*] The dazzling charm etc. (l. 4) Supplied the place etc.

[IV]

Is not true Love etc.

[V]

O ASRA! ASRA could'st thou see Into the bottom of my Heart! There's such a Mine of Love for Thee— The Treasure would supply desert.

[VI]

Death erst contemn'd—O ASRA! why Now terror-stricken do I see— Oh! I have etc.



THE RASH CONJURER[399:1]

Strong spirit-bidding sounds! With deep and hollow voice, 'Twixt Hope and Dread, Seven Times I said Iohva Mitzoveh 5 Vohoeen![399:2] And up came an imp in the shape of a Pea-hen! I saw, I doubted, And seven times spouted 10 Johva Mitzoveh Yahevohāen! When Anti-Christ starting up, butting and bāing, In the shape of a mischievous curly 15 black Lamb— With a vast flock of Devils behind and beside, And before 'em their Shepherdess Lucifer's Dam, 20 Riding astride On an old black Ram, With Tartary stirrups, knees up to her chin. And a sleek chrysom imp to her Dugs muzzled in,— 'Gee-up, my old Belzy! (she cried, 25 As she sung to her suckling cub) Trit-a-trot, trot! we'll go far and wide Trot, Ram-Devil! Trot! Belzebub!' Her petticoat fine was of scarlet Brocade, And soft in her lap her Baby she lay'd 30 With his pretty Nubs of Horns a- sprouting, And his pretty little Tail all curly-twirly— St. Dunstan! and this comes of spouting— Of Devils what a Hurly-Burly! 35 'Behold we are up! what want'st thou then?' 'Sirs! only that'—'Say when and what'— You'd be so good'—'Say what and when' 'This moment to get down again!' 'We do it! we do it! we all get down! 40 But we take you with us to swim or drown! Down a down to the grim Engulpher!' 'O me! I am floundering in Fire and Sulphur! That the Dragon had scrounched you, squeal 45 and squall— Cabbalists! Conjurers! great and small, Johva Mitzoveh Evohāen and all! Had I never uttered your jaw-breaking words, I might now have been sloshing down Junket and Curds, Like a Devonshire Christian: 51 But now a Philistine!

Ye Earthmen! be warned by a judgement so tragic, And wipe yourselves cleanly with all books of magic— Hark! hark! it is Dives! 'Hold your Bother, you Booby! I am burnt ashy white, and you yet are but ruby.' 56

Epilogue.

We ask and urge (here ends the story) All Christian Papishes to pray That this unhappy Conjurer may Instead of Hell, be but in Purgatory— 60 For then there's Hope,— Long live the Pope! Catholicus.

? 1805, ? 1814.

FOOTNOTES:

[399:1] Now first printed from one of Coleridge's Notebooks. The last stanza—the Epilogue—was first published by H. N. Coleridge as part of an 'Uncomposed Poem', in Literary Remains, 1836, i. 52: first collected in Appendix to P. and D. W., 1877-80, ii. 366. There is no conclusive evidence as to the date of composition. The handwriting, and the contents of the Notebook might suggest a date between 1813 and 1816. The verses are almost immediately preceded by a detached note printed at the close of an essay entitled 'Self-love in Religion' which is included among the 'Omniana of 1809', Literary Remains, 1834, i. 354-6: 'O magical, sympathetic, anima! [Archeus, MS.] principium hylarchichum! rationes spermatic! logoi poitikoi! O formidable words! And O Man! thou marvellous beast-angel! thou ambitious beggar! How pompously dost thou trick out thy very ignorance with such glorious disguises, that thou mayest seem to hide in order to worship it.'

With this piece as a whole compare Southey's 'Ballad of a Young Man that would read unlawful Books, and how he was punished'.

[399:2] A cabbalistic invocation of Jehovah, obscure in the original Hebrew. I am informed that the second word Mitzoveh may stand for 'from Sabaoth'.



A CHILD'S EVENING PRAYER[401:1]

Ere on my bed my limbs I lay, God grant me grace my prayers to say: O God! preserve my mother dear In strength and health for many a year; And, O! preserve my father too, 5 And may I pay him reverence due; And may I my best thoughts employ To be my parents' hope and joy; And O! preserve my brothers both From evil doings and from sloth, 10 And may we always love each other Our friends, our father, and our mother: And still, O Lord, to me impart An innocent and grateful heart, That after my great sleep I may 15 Awake to thy eternal day! Amen.

1806.

FOOTNOTES:

[401:1] First published in 1852. A transcript in the handwriting of Mrs. S. T. Coleridge is in the possession of the Editor.

LINENOTES:

[3] mother] father MS.

[5] father] mother MS.

[6] him] her MS.

[7-8]

And may I still my thoughts employ To be her comfort and her joy

MS.

[9] O likewise keep MS.

[13] But chiefly, Lord MS.

[15] great] last P. W. 1877-80, 1893.

[After 16] Our father, &c. MS.



METRICAL FEET[401:2]

LESSON FOR A BOY

Trōchĕe trīps frŏm lōng tŏ shōrt; From long to long in solemn sort Slōw Spōndēe stālks; strōng f[=oo]t! yet ill able Ēvĕr tŏ cōme ŭp wĭth Dāctyl trĭsȳllăblĕ. Ĭāmbĭcs mārch frŏm shōrt tŏ lōng;— 5 Wĭth ă l[=ea]p ănd ă b[=ou]nd thĕ swĭft Ānăp[)]sts thrōng; One syllable long, with one short at each side, Ămphībrăchys hāstes wĭth ă stātely stride;— Fīrst ănd lāst bēĭng lōng, mīddlĕ shōrt, Amphĭmācer Strīkes hĭs thūndērĭng h[=oo]fs līke ă pr[=ou]d hīgh-brĕd Rācer. 10 If Derwent be innocent, steady, and wise, And delight in the things of earth, water, and skies; Tender warmth at his heart, with these metres to show it, With sound sense in his brains, may make Derwent a poet,— May crown him with fame, and must win him the love 15 Of his father on earth and his Father above. My dear, dear child! Could you stand upon Skiddaw, you would not from its whole ridge See a man who so loves you as your fond S. T. COLERIDGE.

1806.

FOOTNOTES:

[401:2] First published in 1834. The metrical lesson was begun for Hartley Coleridge in 1806 and, afterwards, finished or adapted for the use of his brother Derwent. The Editor possesses the autograph of a metrical rendering of the Greek alphabet, entitled 'A Greek Song set to Music, and sung by Hartley Coleridge, Esq., Graecologian, philometrist and philomelist'.

LINENOTES:

Title] The chief and most usual Metrical Feet expressed in metre and addressed to Hartley Coleridge MS. of Lines 1-7.



FAREWELL TO LOVE[402:1]

Farewell, sweet Love! yet blame you not my truth; More fondly ne'er did mother eye her child Than I your form: yours were my hopes of youth, And as you shaped my thoughts I sighed or smiled.

While most were wooing wealth, or gaily swerving 5 To pleasure's secret haunts, and some apart Stood strong in pride, self-conscious of deserving, To you I gave my whole weak wishing heart.

And when I met the maid that realised Your fair creations, and had won her kindness, 10 Say, but for her if aught on earth I prized! Your dreams alone I dreamt, and caught your blindness.

O grief!—but farewell, Love! I will go play me With thoughts that please me less, and less betray me.

1806.

FOOTNOTES:

[402:1] First published in the Courier, September 27, 1806, and reprinted in the Morning Herald, October 11, 1806, and in the Gentleman's Magazine for November, 1815, vol. lxxxv, p. 448: included in Literary Remains, 1836, i. 280, and in Letters, Conversations, &c., [by T. Allsop], 1836, i. 143. First collected, appendix, 1863. This sonnet is modelled upon and in part borrowed from Lord Brooke's (Fulke Greville) Sonnet LXXIV of Coelica: and was inscribed on the margin of Charles Lamb's copy of Certain Learned and Elegant Works of the Right Honourable Fulke Lord Brooke . . . 1633, p. 284.

'Clica'. Sonnet lxxiv.

Farewell sweet Boy, complaine not of my truth; Thy Mother lov'd thee not with more devotion; For to thy Boyes play I gave all my youth Yong Master, I did hope for your promotion.

While some sought Honours, Princes thoughts observing, Many woo'd Fame, the child of paine and anguish, Others judg'd inward good a chiefe deserving, I in thy wanton Visions joy'd to languish.

I bow'd not to thy image for succession, Nor bound thy bow to shoot reformed kindnesse, The playes of hope and feare were my confession The spectacles to my life was thy blindnesse:

But Cupid now farewell, I will goe play me, With thoughts that please me lesse, and lesse betray me.

For an adaptation of Sonnet XCIV, entitled 'Lines on a King-and- Emperor-Making King—altered from the 93rd Sonnet of Fulke Greville', vide Appendices of this edition.

LINENOTES:

[1-2]

Farewell my Love! yet blame ye not my Truth; More fondly never mother ey'd her child

MS. 1806.

Sweet power of Love, farewell! nor blame my truth, More fondly never Mother ey'd her Child

Courier, M. H.

[4] And as you wove the dream I sigh'd or smil'd MS. 1806: And as you wove my thoughts, I sigh'd or smil'd Courier, M. H.

[5-7]

While some sought Wealth; others to Pleasure swerving, Many woo'd Fame: and some stood firm apart In joy of pride, self-conscious of deserving

MS. 1806, Courier, M. H.

[6] haunts] haunt L. R., Letters, &c., 1836, 1863.

[8] weak wishing] weak-wishing Courier, M. H.

[9] that] who Courier, M. H.

[13] will] must Courier, M. H.



TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH[403:1]

COMPOSED ON THE NIGHT AFTER HIS RECITATION OF A POEM ON THE GROWTH OF AN INDIVIDUAL MIND

Friend of the wise! and Teacher of the Good! Into my heart have I received that Lay More than historic, that prophetic Lay Wherein (high theme by thee first sung aright) Of the foundations and the building up 5 Of a Human Spirit thou hast dared to tell What may be told, to the understanding mind Revealable; and what within the mind By vital breathings secret as the soul Of vernal growth, oft quickens in the heart 10 Thoughts all too deep for words!— Theme hard as high! Of smiles spontaneous, and mysterious fears (The first-born they of Reason and twin-birth), Of tides obedient to external force, And currents self-determined, as might seem, 15 Or by some inner Power; of moments awful, Now in thy inner life, and now abroad, When power streamed from thee, and thy soul received The light reflected, as a light bestowed— Of fancies fair, and milder hours of youth, 20 Hyblean murmurs of poetic thought Industrious in its joy, in vales and glens Native or outland, lakes and famous hills! Or on the lonely high-road, when the stars Were rising; or by secret mountain-streams, 25 The guides and the companions of thy way!

Of more than Fancy, of the Social Sense Distending wide, and man beloved as man, Where France in all her towns lay vibrating Like some becalmd bark beneath the burst 30 Of Heaven's immediate thunder, when no cloud Is visible, or shadow on the main. For thou wert there, thine own brows garlanded, Amid the tremor of a realm aglow, Amid a mighty nation jubilant, 35 When from the general heart of human kind Hope sprang forth like a full-born Deity! ——Of that dear Hope afflicted and struck down, So summoned homeward, thenceforth calm and sure From the dread watch-tower of man's absolute self, 40 With light unwaning on her eyes, to look Far on—herself a glory to behold, The Angel of the vision! Then (last strain) Of Duty, chosen Laws controlling choice, Action and joy!—An Orphic song indeed, 45 A song divine of high and passionate thoughts To their own music chaunted!

O great Bard! Ere yet that last strain dying awed the air, With stedfast eye I viewed thee in the choir Of ever-enduring men. The truly great 50 Have all one age, and from one visible space Shed influence! They, both in power and act, Are permanent, and Time is not with them, Save as it worketh for them, they in it. Nor less a sacred Roll, than those of old, 55 And to be placed, as they, with gradual fame Among the archives of mankind, thy work Makes audible a linkd lay of Truth, Of Truth profound a sweet continuous lay, Not learnt, but native, her own natural notes! 60 Ah! as I listened with a heart forlorn, The pulses of my being beat anew: And even as Life returns upon the drowned, Life's joy rekindling roused a throng of pains— Keen pangs of Love, awakening as a babe 65 Turbulent, with an outcry in the heart; And fears self-willed, that shunned the eye of Hope; And Hope that scarce would know itself from Fear; Sense of past Youth, and Manhood come in vain, And Genius given, and Knowledge won in vain; 70 And all which I had culled in wood-walks wild, And all which patient toil had reared, and all, Commune with thee had opened out—but flowers Strewed on my corse, and borne upon my bier, In the same coffin, for the self-same grave! 75

That way no more! and ill beseems it me, Who came a welcomer in herald's guise, Singing of Glory, and Futurity, To wander back on such unhealthful road, Plucking the poisons of self-harm! And ill 80 Such intertwine beseems triumphal wreaths Strew'd before thy advancing!

Nor do thou, Sage Bard! impair the memory of that hour Of thy communion with my nobler mind By pity or grief, already felt too long! 85 Nor let my words import more blame than needs. The tumult rose and ceased: for Peace is nigh Where Wisdom's voice has found a listening heart. Amid the howl of more than wintry storms, The Halcyon hears the voice of vernal hours 90 Already on the wing.

Eve following eve, Dear tranquil time, when the sweet sense of Home Is sweetest! moments for their own sake hailed And more desired, more precious, for thy song, In silence listening, like a devout child, 95 My soul lay passive, by thy various strain Driven as in surges now beneath the stars, With momentary stars of my own birth, Fair constellated foam,[408:1] still darting off Into the darkness; now a tranquil sea, 100 Outspread and bright, yet swelling to the moon.

And when—O Friend! my comforter and guide! Strong in thyself, and powerful to give strength!— Thy long sustaind Song finally closed, And thy deep voice had ceased—yet thou thyself 105 Wert still before my eyes, and round us both That happy vision of belovd faces— Scarce conscious, and yet conscious of its close I sate, my being blended in one thought (Thought was it? or aspiration? or resolve?) 110 Absorbed, yet hanging still upon the sound— And when I rose, I found myself in prayer.

January, 1807.

FOOTNOTES:

[403:1] First published in Sibylline Leaves, 1817: included in 1828, 1829, 1834. The poem was sent in a Letter to Sir G. Beaumont dated January, 1807, and in this shape was first printed by Professor Knight in Coleorton Letters, 1887, i. 213-18; and as Appendix H, pp. 525-6, of P. W., 1893 (MS. B.). An earlier version of about the same date was given to Wordsworth, and is now in the possession of his grandson, Mr. Gordon Wordsworth (MS. W.). The text of Sibylline Leaves differs widely from that of the original MSS. Lines 11-47 are quoted in a Letter to Wordsworth, dated May 30, 1815 (Letters of S. T. C., 1895, i. 646-7), and lines 65-75 at the end of Chapter X of the Biographia Literaria, 1817, i. 220.

[408:1] 'A beautiful white cloud of Foam at momentary intervals coursed by the side of the Vessel with a Roar, and little stars of flame danced and sparkled and went out in it: and every now and then light detachments of this white cloud-like foam dashed off from the vessel's side, each with its own small constellation, over the Sea, and scoured out of sight like a Tartar Troop over a wilderness.' The Friend, p. 220. [From Satyrane's First Letter, published in The Friend, No. 14, Nov. 23, 1809.]

LINENOTES:

Title] To W. Wordsworth. Lines Composed, for the greater part on the Night, on which he finished the recitation of his Poem (in thirteen Books) concerning the growth and history of his own Mind, Jan. 7, 1807, Cole-orton, near Ashby de la Zouch MS. W.: To William Wordsworth. Composed for the greater part on the same night after the finishing of his recitation of the Poem in thirteen Books, on the Growth of his own Mind MS. B.: To a Gentleman, &c. S. L. 1828, 1829.

[1] O Friend! O Teacher! God's great gift to me! MSS. W., B.

[Between 5-13]

Of thy own Spirit, thou hast lov'd to tell What may be told, to th' understanding mind Revealable; and what within the mind May rise enkindled. Theme as hard as high! Of Smiles spontaneous and mysterious Fear.

MS. W.

Of thy own spirit thou hast loved to tell What may be told, by words revealable; With heavenly breathings, like the secret soul Of vernal growth, oft quickening in the heart, Thoughts that obey no mastery of words, Pure self-beholdings! theme as hard as high, Of smiles spontaneous and mysterious fear.

MS. B.

[9] By vital breathings like the secret soul S. L. 1828.

[16] Or by interior power MS. W: Or by some central breath MS. Letter, 1815.

[17] inner] hidden MSS. W., B.

[Between 17-41]

Mid festive crowds, thy Brows too garlanded, A Brother of the Feast: of Fancies fair, Hyblaean murmurs of poetic Thought, Industrious in its Joy, by lilied Streams Native or outland, Lakes and famous Hills! Of more than Fancy, of the Hope of Man Amid the tremor of a Realm aglow— Where France in all her Towns lay vibrating Ev'n as a Bark becalm'd on sultry seas Beneath the voice from Heav'n, the bursting crash Of Heaven's immediate thunder! when no cloud Is visible, or Shadow on the Main! Ah! soon night roll'd on night, and every Cloud Open'd its eye of Fire: and Hope aloft Now flutter'd, and now toss'd upon the storm Floating! Of Hope afflicted and struck down Thence summoned homeward—homeward to thy Heart, Oft from the Watch-tower of Man's absolute self, With light, &c.

MS. W.

[27] social sense MS. B.

[28] Distending, and of man MS. B.

[29-30]

Even as a bark becalm'd on sultry seas Quivers beneath the voice from Heaven, the burst

MS. B.

[30]

Ev'n as a bark becalm'd beneath the burst

MS. Letter, 1815, S. L. 1828.

[33] thine] thy MS. B., MS. Letter, 1815.

[37] a full-born] an armd MS. B.

[38] Of that dear hope afflicted and amazed MS. Letter, 1815.

[39] So homeward summoned MS. Letter, 1815.

[40] As from the watch-tower MS. B.

[44] controlling] ? impelling, ? directing MS. W.

[45-6]

Virtue and Love—an Orphic Tale indeed A Tale divine

MS. W.

[45] song] tale MS. B.

[46] song] tale MS. B. thoughts] truths MS. Letter, 1815.

[47-9]

Ah! great Bard Ere yet that last swell dying aw'd the air With stedfast ken I viewed thee in the choir

MS. W.

[48] that] the MS. B.

[49] With steadfast eyes I saw thee MS. B.

[52] for they, both power and act MS. B.

[53] them] them S. L. 1828, 1829.

[54] for them, they in it S. L. 1828, 1829.

[58] lay] song MSS. W., B.

[59] lay] song MSS. W., B.

[61 foll.]

Dear shall it be to every human heart, To me how more than dearest! me, on whom Comfort from thee, and utterance of thy love, Came with such heights and depths of harmony, Such sense of wings uplifting, that the storm 5 Scatter'd and whirl'd me, till my thoughts became A bodily tumult; and thy faithful hopes, Thy hopes of me, dear Friend! by me unfelt! Were troublous to me, almost as a voice, Familiar once, and more than musical; 10 To one cast forth, whose hope had seem'd to die A wanderer with a worn-out heart Mid strangers pining with untended wounds. O Friend, too well thou know'st, of what sad years The long suppression had benumb'd my soul, 15 That even as life returns upon the drown'd, The unusual joy awoke a throng of pains— Keen pangs, &c.

MSS. B, W

with the following variants:—

ll. 5-6

Such sense of wings uplifting, that its might Scatter'd and quell'd me—

MS. B.

ll. 11, 12

As a dear woman's voice to one cast forth A wanderer with a worn-out heart forlorn.

[73] thee] thee S. L. 1828, 1829.

[74] Strewed] Strewn MS. B., 1828, 1829.

[82] thy] thy S. L. 1828, 1829.

[82-3]

Thou too, Friend! O injure not the memory of that hour

MS. W.

Thou too, Friend! Impair thou not the memory of that Hour

MS. B.

[93] Becomes most sweet! hours for their own sake hail'd MS. W.

[96] thy] the MS. B.

[98] my] her MS. B.

[102] and] my MSS. W., B.

[104] Song] lay MS. W.

[106] my] mine MSS. W., B.

[Between 107-8] (All whom I deepliest love—in one room all!) MSS. W., B.



AN ANGEL VISITANT[409:1]

Within these circling hollies woodbine-clad— Beneath this small blue roof of vernal sky— How warm, how still! Tho' tears should dim mine eye, Yet will my heart for days continue glad, For here, my love, thou art, and here am I!

? 1801.

FOOTNOTES:

[409:1] First published in Literary Remains, 1836, i. 280. First collected in P. and D. W., 1877-80. The title was prefixed to the Poems of Coleridge (illustrated edition), 1907. This 'exquisite fragment . . . was probably composed as the opening of Recollections of Love, and abandoned on account of a change of metre.'—Editor's Note, 1893 (p. 635). It is in no way a translation, but the thought or idea was suggested by one of the German stanzas which Coleridge selected and copied into one of his Notebooks as models or specimens of various metres. For the original, vide Appendices of this edition.



RECOLLECTIONS OF LOVE[409:2]

I

How warm this woodland wild Recess! Love surely hath been breathing here; And this sweet bed of heath, my dear! Swells up, then sinks with faint caress, As if to have you yet more near. 5