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Religious Musings; a Desultory Poem .. 13
The Destiny of Nations; a Vision ..... 17
The Raven, a Christmas Tale, told by a
Fears in Solitude ; written in April, 1798
Epitaph on an Infant. ............
To an Unfortunate Woman, whom the Au
thor had known in the days of her inno-
breathed”.................. On Revisiting the Sea-shore after long ab-
sence .... ..... ......
_" Thou gentle look, that didst my Hymn before Sun-rise, in the Vale of Char
- To the Author of the “Robbers". ib. Reflections on having left a Place of Retire-
ment .......... ..:
Lines, imitated from the Welsh .....
To a Friend, who had declared his intention
of writing no more Poetry ........ ib.
after his Recitation of a Poem on the
The Nightingale; a Conversation Poem.. 42 Part II. THE SEQUEL, ENTITLED “THE
To a Friend, together with an unfinished
Poem .................. ib. THE PICCOLOMINI, OR THE FIRST PART
Ode to Tranquillity .............
mesticate with the Author .......
Tell's Birth-place-imitated from Stolberg
The Suicide's Argument, and Nature's An-
swer ....... ............
The Blossoming of the Solitary Date-tree;
The Pains of Sleep ............. 55
looks, from a severe attack of pain . . ik
ZAPOLYA; a Christmas Tale.
The Improvisatore, or “ John Anderson, my
USURPER'S FORTUNE" .......
SAMUEL T. COLERIDGE.
impelled to seck for sympathy; but a Poet's feelings
are all strong. Quicquid amet valde amal. Akenside COMPOSITIONS resembling those here collected are h
therefore speaks with philosophical accuracy when not unfrequently condemned for their querulous
he classes Love and Poetry, as producing the same
effects : Exotism. But Egotism is to be condemned then only 1 when it offends against time and place, as in a llis
Love and the wish of Poets when their tongue
Would teach to others' bosoms, what so charms sory or an Epic Poem. To censure it in a Monody
Their own. of Sorinet is almost as absurd as to dislike a circle
Pleasures of Imagination. for being round. Why then write Sonnets or Mono- There is one species of Egotism which is truly die? Because they give me pleasure when perhaps disgusting ; not that which leads us to communicate nothing else could. Afier the more violent emotions our feelings to others but that which would reduce of Sorrow, the inind demands amusement, and can the feelings of others to an identity with our own End it in employment alone: but, full of its late suf The Atheist, who exclaims “pshaw!" when he krings, it can endure no employment not in some glances his eye on the praises of Deity, is an Egotist:
-astire connected with them. Forcibly to turn an old man, when he speaks contemptuously of Loveaway our attention to general subjects is a painful verses, is an Egotist: and the sleek Favorites of etd most often an unavailing effort.
Fortune are Egotists, when they condemn all “ mel:10how grateful to a wounded heart
ancholy, discontented” verses. Surely, it would be The tale of Misery to impart
candid not merely to ask whether the poem pleases From others' eyes bid artless sorrows flow,
ourselves, but to consider whether or no there may And raise esteem upon the base of Woe!
not be others, to whom it is well calculated to give The communicativeness of our Nature leads us to an innocent pleasure. describe our own sorrows; in the endeavor to del I shall only add, that each of my readers will, i Beribe them, intellectual activity is exerted; and hope, remember, that these Poems on various subtua intellectual activity there results a pleasure, ljects, which he reads at one time and under the inmuch is gradually associated, and mingles as a cor- Mence oi one set oi ieeungs, wer
pfluence of one set of feelings, were written at differmettive, with the painful subject of the description. ent times and prompted by very different feelingy ; " True!" it may be answered) « but how are the and therefore that the supposed inferiority of one Halic interested in your sorrows or your Descrip- Poem to another may sometimes be owing to the un?" We are for ever attributing personal Unities
w Unities temper of mind in which he happens to peruse it. to imaginary Aggregates. What is the Public, but a tra for a number of scattered individuals ? of whom My poems have been rightly charged with a pru as many will be interested in these sorrows, as have fusion of double-epithets, and a general turgidness experienced the same or similar.
I have pruned the double-epithets with no sparing Holy be the lay
hand ; and used my best efforts to tame the swell Which mourning soothes the mourner on bis way. and glitter both of thought and diction.* This latter I could judge of others by myself, I should not Dr. late to affirm, that the most interesting passages
Without any feeling of anger, I may yet be allowed to at these in which the Author develops his own ex
express some degree of surprise, that after having run the
critical gauntlet for a certain class of faults, which I had, viz. betalings? The sweet voice of Cona* never sounds
a too ornate and elaborately poetic diction, and nothing havSeetly, as when it speaks of itself; and I should ing come before the judgment-seat of the Reviewers during deski suspect that man of an unkindly heart, who the long interval, I should for at least seventeen years, quarter Mula read the opening of the third book of the Para after quarter, have been placed by them in the foremost rank
of the proscribed, and made to abide the brunt of abuse and use lant without peculiar emotion. By a Law of our ridicule for faults directly opposite, viz. bald and prosaic lanwature, he, who labory under a strong feeling, is guage, and an affected simplicity both of matter and manner
-faults which assuredly did not enter into the character of • Ossian.
my compositious.-Literary Life, i 51. Published 1817
fault however had insinuated itself into my Religious And when thou lovest thy pale orb to shroud Musings with such intricacy of union, that some Behind the gather'd blackness lost on high; times I have omitted to disentangle the weed from And when thou dartest from the wind-rent cloud the fear of snapping the flower. A third and heavier! Thy placid lightning o'er the awaken'd sky accusation has been brought against me, that of ob Ah such is Hope' as changeful and as fair! scurity ; but not, I think, with equal justice. An Now dimly peering on the wistful sight; Author is obscure, when his conceptions are dim Now hid behind the dragon-wing'd Despair and irnperfect, and his language incorrect, or unap But soon emerging in her radiant might, propriate, or involved. A poem that abounds in She o'er the sorrow-clouded breast of Care allusions, like the Bard of Gray, or one that imper. Sails, like a meteor kindling in its flight sonates high and abstract truths, like Collins's Ode on the poetical character, claims not to be popularbut should be acquitted of obscurity. The deficiency is in the Reader. But this is a charge which every poet, whose imagination is warm and rapid, must
TIME, REAL AND IMAGINARY. expect from his contemporaries. Milton did not
AN ALLEGORY. escape it; and it was adduced with virulence against Gray and Collins. We now hear no more of it: On the wide level of a mountain's head not that their poems are better understood at present, (I knew not where, but 't was some faery place than they were at their first publication ; but their Their pinions, ostrich-like, for sails outspread, fame is established ; and a critic would accuse him Two lovely children run an endless race, self of frigidity or inattention, who should profess
A sister and a brother! not to understand them. But a living writer is yet
This far outstript the other; sub judice ; and if we cannot follow his conceptions Yet ever runs she with reverted face, or enter into his feelings, it is more consoling to our And looks and listens for the boy behind : pride to consider him as lost beneath, than as soaring For he, alas! is blind ! above us. If any man expect from my poems the O'er rough and smooth with even step he pass'do same easiness of style which he admires in a drink. And knows not whether he be first or last. ing-song, for him I have not wrillen. Intelligibilia, non intellectum alfero.
I expect neither profit nor general fame by my writings ; and I consider myself as having been
MONODY ON THE DEATH OF amply repaid without either. Poetry has been to me its own “ exceeding great reward :" it has soothed
CHATTERTON. my alicuions; it has multiplied and refined my enjoymenis; it has endeared solitude: and it has given O What a wonder seems the fear of death, me the habit of wishing to discover the Good and Seeing how gladly we all sink to sleep, the Beautiful in all that meets and surrounds me. Babes, Children, Youths and Men,
S. T. C.
Night following night for threescore years and ter
To sigh and pant with, up Want's rugged steep
Away, Grim Phantom! Scorpion King, away
For coward Wealth and Guilt in robes of state
Lo! by the grave I stand of one, for whom Maid of my Love, sweet Genevieve!
A prodigal Nature and a niggard Doom In beauty's light you glide along :
(That all bestowing, this withholding all) Your eye is like the star of eve,
Made each chance knell from distant spire or conse And sweet your voice, as seraph's song. Sound like a seeking Mother's anxious call, Yet not your heavenly beauty gives
Return, poor Child! Home, weary Truant, home! This heart with passion soft to glow : Within your soul a voice there lives!
Thee, Chatterton! these unblest stones protect It bids you hear the tale of woe.
From want, and the bleak freezings of neglect. When sinking low the sufferer wan
Too long before the vexing Storm-blast driven, Beholds no hand outstretch'd to save,
Here hast thou found repose! beneath this sod! Fair, as "he bosom of the swan
| Thou! O vain word! thou dwell'st not with the clod That rises graceful o'er the wave,
Amid the shining Host of the Forgiven
(Believe it, O my soul!) to harps of Seraphim.
TO THE AUTUMNAL MOON.
Yet oft, perforce ('t is suffering Nature's call,)
Thy corse of livid hue ;
Is this the land of song-ennobled line ?
But that Despair and Indignation rose,
And told again the story of thy woes;
Told the keen insult of the unfeeling heart;
The dread dependence on the low-born mind; Beneath chill Disappointment's shade
Told every pang, with which thy soul must smarı, His weary limbs in lonely anguish laid.
Neglect, and grinning Scorn, and Want combined ! And o'er her darling dead
Recoiling quick, thou bad'st the friend of pain Pity hopeless hurg her head,
Roll the black tide of Death through every freezing While 'mid the pelting of that merciless storm,"
vein! unk to the cold earth Otway's famish'd form!
Ye woods! that wave o'er Avon's rocky steep, Sublime of thought, and confident of fame,
To Fancy's ear sweet is your murmuring deep! From vales where Avon winds, the Minstrel* came. For here she loves the cypress wreath to weave,
Light-hearted youth! ave, as he hastes along, Watching, with wistful eye, the saddening tints of eve
Here, far from men, amid this pathless grove, llow dauntless Ælla fray'd the Dacian foe;
In solemn thought the Minstrel wont to rove,
Like star-beam on the slow sequester'd tide
Lone-glittering, through the high tree branching wide Erulting in the spirits' genial throe,
And here, in Inspiration's eager hour, In tides of power his life-blood seems to flow.
When most the big soul feels the mastering power,
These wilds, these caverns roaming o'er,
Round which the screaming sea-gul's soar, And now his cheeks with deeper ardors flame,
With wild unequal steps he pass'd along, Is eyes have glorious meanings, that declare
Oft pouring on the winds a broken song : More than the light of outward day shines there,
Anon, upon some rough rock's fearful brow A bolier triumph and a sterner aim!
Would pause abrupt—and gaze upon the waves Wings grow within him; and he soars above
Poor Chatterton! he sorrows for thy fate
Who would have praised and loved thee, ere tou
late. And young and old shall now see happy days. On many a waste he bids trim gardens rise,
Poor Chatterton! farewell! of darkest hues Gives the blue sky to many a prisoner's eyes;
This chaplet cast I on thy unshaped tomb; And now in wrath he grasps the patriot steel,
But dare no longer on the sad theme muse,
Lest kindred woes persuade a kindred doom :
Have blacken'd the fur promise of my spring; Sweet Flower of Hope! free Nature's genial child! And the stern Fate transpierced with viewless dari That didst so fair disclose thy early bloom,
The last pale Hope that shiver'd at ray heart!
Hence, gloomy thoughts! no more my soul shni From the hard world brief respite could they win
dwell The frost nipp'd sharp without, the canker prey don joys that were ! No more endure to weigh within!
The shame and anguish of the evil day, Ah! where are fled the charms of vernal Grace,
Wisely forgetful! O'er the ocean swell And Joy's wild gleams that lighten'd o'er thy face?
Sublime of Hope I seek the cottaged dell, Youth of tumultuous soul, and haggard eye!
Where Virtue calm with careless step may stray Tay wasted form, thy hurried steps, I view,
| And, dancing to the moon-light roundelay, Ou thy wan forehead starts the lethal dew,
The wizard Passions weave a holy spell ! And oh! the anguish of that shuddering sigh !
O Chatterton! that thou wert yet alive! Such were the struggles of the gloomy hour,
Sure thou wouldst spread the canvas to the gale When Care, of wither'd brow,
And love with us the tinkling team to drive Prepar'd the poison's death-cold power.
O'er peaceful Freedom's undivided dale ; Already to thy lips was raised the bowl,
And we, at sober eve, would round thee throng. When near thee stood Affection meek
Hanging, enraptured, on thy stately song! (Her bosom bare, and wildly pale her cheek,)
And greet with smiles the young-eyed Poesy
All defily mask’d, as hoar Antiquity.
Alas vain Phantasies' the fleeting brood .ece smiling sate, and listen'd to thy lay;
Of Woe self-solaced in her dreamy mood ! Thy Sister's shrieks she bade thee hear,
Yet will I love to follow the sweet dream, And mark thy Mother's thrilling tear;
Where Susquehannah pours his untamed strean
And on some hill, whose forest-frowning side
Waves o'er the murmurs of his calmer tido
Will raise a solemn Cenotaph to thee, fod thou hadst dash'd it, at her soft command,
Sweet Harper of time-shrouded Minstrelsy!
And there, soothed sadly by the dirgeful wiins, . Avan, a river near Bristol; the birth place of Chatterton. Muse on the sore ills I had left behind.