Class _> Qt K4470 i ru. 4^ I'UKSKNTKI) BY THE POEMS OF SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. THE POEMS SAMUEL TAYLOR, COLERIDGE ; WITH AN NTRODUCTORY ESSAY ON HIS LIFE AND WHITINGS. NEW YORK: C. S. FRANCIS & CO., 2 52 BROADWAY. boston: J. H.FRANCIS, 128 WASHINGTON STREET. 1848. E.NTEiiKD, according to Act of Congress, iu the year 18-18, BY C. S. FRANCiy & CO. Ill tlie Clerk's Office of the Di-trict Cc irf for the Southern District of New York. Olll. W. L. Shoemaker 7 S '06 Printed by MUNROE AND FRANCIS, Boston. CONTENTS Introductory Essay Preface - - - JuvENJLE Poems. Genevieve -13 Sonnet To the Autumnal Moon - ... * 13 Anthem for the Children of Christ's Hospital ... 14 Time, Real and Imaginary -IS Monody on the death of Chatterton 16 Songs of the Pixies 21 The Raven 26 Absence. A Farewell Ode .27 Sonnet. On the same ........ 28 To the Muse 29 With Fielding's Amelia 29 On hearing that his only Sister's death was inevitable - 30 On seeing a Youth welcomed by a Sister - . - . 30 Pain .31 Lines on an Autumnal Evening 31 The Rose 35 The Kiss 36 Kisses 37 To the Nightingale 37 To a Young Ass 38 To Charles Lamb 39 Domestic Peace 41 The Sigh 41 Epitaph on an Infant ........ 42 Lines written at the King's Arms, Ross .... 42 Epigram --. ...43 Lines to a beautiful Spring in a Village .... 43 Lines on a Friend who died of a Frenzy Fever - - 45 To a Young Lady, with a Poem on the French Revolution 46 Sonnet I. " My heart has thanked thee, Bowles !" - - 48 — — II. "As late I lay in slumber's shadowy vale '' - 49 • TIL "Though roused by that dark Vizier Riot rude" 50 IV. "When British Freedom for a happier land" 50 - V. "It was some Spirit, Sheridan I" - . . 50 VI. " O what a loud and fearful shriek " - *«• 51 VII. "As when far off " - VIII. "Thou gentle look" IX. " Pale Reamer through the night !" - - 53 X. " Sweet Mercy !" 53 XI. " Thou bleedest, my poor Heart !" - - - 54 XII. To the Author of the "Robbers" - - - 64 55 Lines composed while climbing Brockley Coomb J-,0' VI CONTENTS. JuvKNiLE Poems. page Lines in the manner of Spencer ----- • 56 Imitated from Ossian ...---.-57 The .Complaint of Ninathoma .---.- 58 Casimir ad Lyrani - - - 59 Imitated from the Welsh 60 Uarwiniana -----.--•-61 To an Infant 61 On the Christening of a Friend's ("hild • - - - 62 Lines written at Shiirton Bars, near Bridgewater - • 64 Lines to a Friend, in answer to a Melancholy Letter - 67 Keligious Musings -68 The Destiny of Nations, a Vision ----- 83 Sibylline Leaves. Ode to the Departing Year 101 France: an Ode 108 Fears in Solitude 112 Fire, Famine, and Slaughter 113 Love 122 itroduction to the Tale of the Dark Ladie - - - 126 :'he Ballad of the Dark Ladie. A Fragment - - - 127 Lewti, or the Circasssian Love-channt .... 129 The Picture; or the Lover's Resolution . - - . 132 The Night Scene. A Dramatic Fragment .... 138 To an Unfortunate Woman ---..-- 141 To an Uufortunate Woman at the Theatre ... J42 Lines composed in a Concert Room 143 The Keepsake 144 To a Lady, with Falconer's Shipwreck .... 146 To a Young Lady on her Recovery from a Fever - - 147 Something Childish, but very Natural . - - - 143 Home-sick -- 148 Answer to a Child's Question 149 A Child's Evening Prayer 149 The Visiouary Hope - 150 The Happy Husband 151 Recollections of Love -...---- 152 On Revisiting the Sea-shore 153 The Exchange - 154 Hymn before Sun-rise, in the Vale of Chamouni - - 155 Lines written in the Album at Elbingerode - - - 158 On observing a Blossom in February • - - - - 160 The iEolian Harp 161 Reflections on having left a place of Retirement - - 163 To the Rev. George Coleridge --..-. 165 Inscription for a Fountain on a Heath . - - • 168 A Tombless Epitaph 169 This Lime-tree Bower my Prison ... - - 170 To a Friend - - - - 173 To William Wordsworth 175 The Nightingale. A Conversation Poem ... - 179 Frost at Midnight 183 4 he Three Graves ..-..-.- 185 Ejection. An Ode 199 Ode to Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire - - - - 204 Ode to Tranquillity - - 207 To a Young Friend - - 208 Lines to W. L. - 210 Addressed to a Young Man of Fortune - - - - 211 Sonnet. To the River Otter 212 On the Birth of a Son - - 212 CONTENTS. VH Sibylline Leaves. page Sonnet to a Friend 213 The Virgin's Cradle Hymn - - 214 Epitaph on an Infant - - • 214 Melancholy. A Fragment -•..--. 215 Tell's Birth Place 215 A Christmas Carol 217 Human Life 219 Moles 220 The Visit of the Gods 220 Elegy, imitated from Akenside 221 Separation .......... 2-!2 On taking Leave of ....... 223 The Pang more sharp than all - - • - - - 223 Kubla Khan - - 226 The Pains of Sleep 229 What is Life 330 Limbo 231 Ne plus ultra 232 The Ancient Mariner - . 233 Chkistabel 257 Miscellaneous Poems. _41ice du Clos ; or, the Forked Tongue. A Ballad - 2S0 The Knighfs Tomb 287 ^Bymn to the Earth 287 Written during a temporary Blindness, 1799 . - . 289 Mahomet 290 Catullian Hendecasyllables 291 Duty surviving Self Love • - - « - - .291 Phantom or Fact? A Dialogue in Verse .... 292 Phantom .......... 293 Work without Hope 293 Youth and Age 294 A Day Dream 295 First Advent of Love - 297 Names 297 Desire 298 Love and Friendship opposite 298 Not at Home - - 298 To a Lady, offended by a sportive observation - - - 299 " I have heard of reasons manifold " 299 An Invocation. From " Kemorse "..... 299 Song. From " Zapolya " 300 Choral Song From "Zapolya" 301 Song of Thekla 301 Lines suggested by the Last Words of Berengarius ■ 302 Sancti Dominici Pallium - - - ■ . . -303 The Devil's Thoughts 306 An Ode to the Rain 310 Lines to a Comic Author . 312 Constancy to an Ideal Object 313 The Suicide's Argument -..,... 314 The Blossoming of the Solitary Date-Tree - - - 315 From the German 318 Fancy in Nubibus - - 318 The Two Founts 319 The Wanderings of Cain 321 Allegoric Vision 329 The Improvisatore • - 336 The Garde'n of Boccaccio . 344 On a Cataract .348 CONTENTS. Miscellaneous Poems page Love's Apparition and Evanisliment ..... 349 Morning Invitation to a Child 350 Consolation to a Maniac .-....- 351 A Character 353 The Reproof and Reply 356 Cologne 358 On my joyful Departure from the same City - - - 3o9 Written in an Album - 359 To the Autlior of the Ancient Mariner - - - - 359 Metrical Feet. Lesson for a Boy 360 Translation from Schiller 361 I. The Homeric Hexameter described and exemplified 361 II. The Ovidian Elegiac Metre described and exemplified 361 To the Young Artist, Kayser of Kayserworih - - - 361 Job's Luck ----- . - - . - 362 On a Volunteer Singer - - 362 On an Insignificant 362 Profuse Kindness 363 Charity in Thought 363 Humility the Mother of Charity 363 On an Infant which died before Baptism - . - - 363 On Berkeley and Florence Coleridge 364 Psyche _ 364 Love, Hope, and Patience in Education .... 365 '' VvojOi aeavTOv V &c. - - • - - -*-• 356 '■ Gently I took," &c. 366 Complaint 367 Inscription for a Time- Piece 3B8 My Baptismal Birth-Day 368 'E-mTapiop avToypairrov ------- 368 Epitaph -^69 Apologetic Preface to "Fire, Famine, and Slaughter" - 370 Notes - - 383 ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF COLERIDGE, BY H. T. TUCEERMAN.* Coleridge appears to have excelled all his contempo- raries in personal impressiveness. Men of the highest talent and cultivation have recorded, in the most enthu- siastic terms, the intellectual treat his conversation afforded. The fancy is captivated by the mere descrip- tion of his fluent and emphatic, yet gentle and inspired language. We are haunted with these vivid pictures of the " old man eloquent," as by those of the sages of antiquity, and the renowned improvisatores of modern times. Hazlitt and Lamb seem never weary of the theme. They make us reahze, as far as description can, the affectionate temper, the simple bearing, and earnest intelligence of their friend. We feel the might and interest of a living soul, and sigh that it was not our lot to partake directly of its overflowing gifts. Though so invaluable as a friend and companion, un- fortunately for posterity, Coleridge loved to talk and read far more than to write. Hence the records of his mind bear no propoition to its endowments and activity. Ill health early drew him from " life in motion, to life * Taken, by permission of the Author, from " Thoughts on the Poets." X INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. in thought and sensation." Necessity drove him to literary labor. He was too unambitious, and found too much enjoyment in the spontaneous exercise of his mind, to assume willingly the toils of authorship. His mental tastes were not of a popular cast. In boyhood he " waxed not pale at philosophic draughts," and there was in his soul an aspiration after Iruth — an interest in the deep things of life — a " hungering for eternity," essential!}' opposed to success as a miscellaneous writer. One of the most irrational complaints against Coleridge, was his dislike of the French. Never was there a more honest prejudice. In literature, he deemed that nation responsible for having introduced the artificial school of poetry, which he detested ; in politics, their inhuman atrocities, during the revolution, blighted his dearest theory of man; in life, their frivolity could not but awaken disgust in a mind so serious, and a heart so ten- der, where faith and love were cherished in the very depths of reflection and sensibility. It is indeed easy to discover in his works ample confirmation of the testi- mony of his friends, but they afford but au unfinished monument to his genius. We must be content with the few memorials he has left of a powerful imagination and a good heart. Of these his poems furnish the most beautiful. They are the sweetest echo of his marvel- lous spirit : — A song divine, of high and passionate thoughts, To their own music chaunted. The eye of the Ancient Mariner holds us, in its wild spell, as it did the wedding-guest, while we feel the truth that He pra3'eth best, who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all. The charm of regretful tenderness is upon us with as Bweet a mystery, as the beauty of " the lady of a far INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XI countrie," when we read these among other musical lines of Christabel : Alas ! they had been friends in youth •, And whispering tongues can poison truth ; And constancy lives in realms above ; And life is thorny ; and youth is vain, And to be wroth with one ice love, Doth work like inacbiess in the hrain. " No man was ever yet a great poet, without being at the same time a profound philosopher." True as this may be in one sense, we hold it an unfortunate rule for a poetical mind to act upon. It was part of the creed of Coleridge, and his works illustrate its unfavorable in- fluence. His prose, generally speaking, is truly satis- factory only when it is poetical. The human mind is so constituted as to desire completeness. The desultory character of Coleridge's prose writings is often weari- some and disturbing. He does not carry us on to a given point by a regular road, but is ever wandering from the end proposed. We are provoked at this way- wardness the more, because, ever and anon, we catch glimpses of beautiful localities, and look down most in- viting vistas. At these promising fields of thought, and vestibules of truth, we are only permitted to glance, and then are unceremoniously hurried off in the direction that happens to please our guide's vagrant humor. This desultory style essentially mars the interest of nearty all the prose of this distinguished man. Not only the com- positions, but the opinions, habits, and experience of Coleridge, partake of the same erratic character. His classical studies at Christ's hospital were interwoven with the reading of a circulating library. He proposed to become a shoemaker while he was studying medicine. He excited the wonder of every casual acquaintance by his schoolboy discourse, while he provoked his masters by starting an argument instead of repeating a rule. He incurred a chronic rheumatism by swimming with his clothes on, and left the sick ward to enlist in a regi- ment of dragoons. Hp laid mngnificent plans of | rimi-r Xll INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. tive felicity to be realized on the banks of the Susque- hanna, while he wandered penniless in the streets of London. He was at different times a zealous Unitarian, and a high Churchman — a political lecturer — a metaphy- sical essayist — a preacher — a translator — a traveller — a foreign secretary — a philosopher — an editor — a poet. We cannot wonder that his productions, particularly those that profess to be elaborate, should, in a measure, partake of the variableness of his mood. His works, like his life, are fragmentary. He is, too, frequently prolix, labors upon topics of secondary interest, and ex- cites only to disappoint expectation. By many sensible readers his metaphysical views are pronounced unintel- ligible, and by some German scholars declared arrant plagiarisms. These considerations are the more painful from our sense of the superiority of the man He pro- poses to awaken thought, to address and call forth the higher faculties, and to vindicate the claims of important truth. Such designs claim respect. We honor the author who conscientiously entertains them. We seat ourselves reverently at the feet of a teacher whose aim is so exalted. We listen with curiosity and hope. Musical are many of the periods, beautiful the images, and here and there comes a single idea of striking value ; but for these we are obliged to hear many discursive ex- ordiums, irrelevant episodes, and random speculations. We are constantly reminded of Charles Lamb's reply to the poet's inquiry if he had ever heard him preach — "I never knew you do anything else," said Elia. It is highly desirable that the prose-writings of Coleridge should be thoroughly winnowed. A volume of delight- ful aphorisms might thus be easily gleaned. Long after we have forgotten the general train of his observations, isolated remarks, full of meaning and truth, hnger in our memories. Scattered through his works are many say- ings, referring to literature and human nature, which would serve as maxims in philosophy and criticism. Their effect is often lost from the position they occupy, I N T R O D U' C TO R Y ESSAY. XV Mid the wild rack and rain that slant below Stands — As though the spirits of all lovely Jtov^ers Inweaving each its uneath and dewy crown, And ere they sujik to earth in vernal showers, Hud built a. bridge to tempt the angels down. Remorse is as the heart in which it grotvs : If that be gentle, it drops balmy dews Of true repentance ; but if proud and gloomy, It is a poison-tree, that, pierced to the inmost. Weeps only tears of poison. The more elaborate poetical compositions of Coleridge display much talent and a rare command of language. His dramatic attempts, however, are decidedly inferior in interest and power to many of his fugitive pieces. Wallenstein, indeed, is allowed to be a master-piece of translation — and, although others have improved upon certain passages, as a whole it is acknowledged to be an unequalled specimen of its kind. But to realize the true elements of the poet's genius, we must have re- course to his minor poems. In these, his genuine senti- ments found genial development. They are beautiful emblems of his personal history, and admit us to the secret chambers of his heart. We recognise, as we ponder them, the native fire of his muse, " unmixed with baser matter." Of the juvenile poems, the Mono- dy on Chatterton strikes us as the most remarkable. It overflows with youthful sympathy, and contains pas- sages of singular power for the eff'usions of so inexpe- rienced a bard. Take, for instance, the following lines, where an identity of fate is suggested from the con- sciousness of error and disappointment : Poor Chatterton! he sorrows for thy fate Who would have praised and loved thee, ere too late. Poor Chatterton! farewell! of darkest hues This chaplet cast I on thy unshapen tomb; But dare no longer on the sad theme muse, Lest kindred woes persuade a kindred doom: For oh! big gall drops shook from Folly's wing, Have blackened the f;iir promise of my spring ; And the stern Fates transpierced with viewless dart The last pale Hope tliut shivered at my heart. XVI I N T li O D U C T O R Y E S S A V . Few young poets of English origin, have written more beautiful amatory poetry than this : O (hare I sighed) were mine the wizard's rod, Or mine the power of Proteus, changeful god ! A flower-entangled arbor I would seem To shield my love from noontide's sultry beam : Or bloom a mj'rtle, from whose odorous boughs My love might weave gaj^ garlands for her brows. When twilight stole across the fading vale To fan my love I'd be the evening gale ; Mourn in the soft folds of her swelling vest, And flutter my faint pinions on her breast! On seraph wing Pd float a dream by night, To soothe my love with shadows of delight : Or soar aloft to be the spangled skies, And gaze upon her with a thousand eyes! Nor Avere religious sentiments unawakened : Fair the vernal mead, Fair the high grove, the sea, the sun, the stars; True impress each of their creating Sire! Yet nor high grove, nor many colored mead, Nor the green Ocean, with his thousand isles, Nor the starred azure, nor the sovran sun. E'er with such majesty of portraiture Imaged the supreme being uncreate, As thou, meek Saviour ! at the fearless hour When thy insulted anguish winged the prayer Harped by archangels, when they sing of mercy! Which when the Almighty heard from forth his throne Diviner light filled heaven with ecstasy! Heaven's hymuings paused : and hell her yawning mouth Closed a brief moment. It is delightful to dwell upon these early outpourings of an ardent and gifted soul. They lay bare the real characteristics of Coleridge. Without them our sense of his genius would be far more obscure. When these juvenile poems were written, " existence was all a feel- ing, not yet shaped into a thought." Here is no mys- ticism or party feeling, but the simplicity and fervor of a fresh heart, touched by the beauty of the visible world, by the sufferings of genius, and the appeals of love and religion. The natural and the sincere here predominate over the studied and artificial. Time enlarged the bard's I N T R O D U C T O K V ESSAY. XVll views, increased his stores of knowledge, and matured his mental powers; but his genius, as pictured in his writings, though strengthened and fertilized, thenceforth loses much of its unity. Its emanations are frequently more gi'and and startling, but less simple and direct. There is more machinery, and often a confusion of ap- pliances. We feel that it is the same mind in an ad- vanced state ; the same noble instrument breathing deeper strains, but with a melody more intricate and sad. In the Sibylline Leaves we have depicted a later' stage of the poet's life. Language is now a more eflfective expedient. It follows the thought with a clearer echo. It is woven with a firmer hand. The subtle intellect is evidently at work in the very rush of emotion. The poet has discovered that he cannot hope "from outward forms to win The passion and the life, whose fountains are within." A new sentiment, the most solemn that visits the breast of humanity, is aroused by this reflective process — the sentiment of duty. Upon the sunny landscape of youth falls the twilight of thought. A conviction has entered the bosom of the minstrel that he is not free to wander at will to the sound of his own music. His life cannot be a mere revel in the embrace of beauty. He too is a man, born to suffer and to act. He cannot throw off the responsibility of life. He must sustain relations to his fellows. The scenery that delights him assumes a new aspect. It appeals not only to his love of nature, but his sense of patriotism : O divine And beauteous island! thou hast been my sole And most magnificent temple, in the which 1 walk with awe, and sing my stately songa Loving the God that made me! More tender ties bind the poet-soul to his native isle — A pledge of more than passing life- Yea, in the very name of wife. * ♦ * ♦ 2* XVlll INTRODUCTORY' ESSAY. Then was I thrilled and melted, and most warm Impressed a father's kiss. Tims gather tlie many-tinted hues of human destiny around the life of the young bard. To a mind of philo- sophical cast, the ti'ansition is most interesting. It is the distinguishing merit of Coleridge, that in his verse we find these epochs warmly chronicled. Most just is his vindication of himself from the charge of egotism. To what end are beings peculiarly sensitive, and capable of rare expression, sent into the world, if not to make us feel the mysteries of our nature, by faithful delineations, drawn from their own consciousness ? It is the lot, not of the individual, but of man in general, to feel the sub- limity of the mountain — the loveliness of the flower — the awe of devotion — and the ecstasy of love ; and we should bless those who truly set forth the traits and triumphs of our nature — the consolations and anguish of our human life. We are thus assured of the universality of Na- ture's laws — of the sympathy of all genuine hearts. Something of a new dignity invests the existence, whose common experience is susceptible of such porti'aiture. In the keen regi'ets, the vivid enjoyments, the agonizing remorse, and the glowing aspirations recorded by the poet, we find the truest reflections of our own souls. There is a nobleness in the lineaments thus displayed, which we can scarcely trace in the bustle and strife of the world. Self-respect is nourished by such poetry, and the hope of immortality rekindled at the inmost shrine of the heart. Of recent poets, Coleridge has chiefly added to such obligations. He has directed our gaze to Mont Blanc as to an everlasting altar of praise ; and kindled a perennial flame of devotion amid the snows of its cloudy summit. He has made the icy pillars of the Alps ring with solemn anthems. The pil- grim to the Vale of Chamouni shall not hereafter want a Hymn, by which his admiring soul may " wreak" it- self upon expression. INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XIX Rise, O ever rise, Rise like a cloud of incense, from the earth! 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, and her thousand yoices, praises God. To one other want of the heart has the muse of Cole- ridge given genuine expression. Fashion, selfishness, and the mercenary spirit of the age, have widely and deeply profaned the very name of Love. To poetry it flies as to an ark of safety. The English bard has set apart and consecrated a spot sacred to its meditation — " midway on the mount," " beside the ruined tower ;" and thither may we repair to cool the eye fevered with the glare of art, by gazing on the fresh verdure of na- ture, when The moonshine stealing o'er the scene Has blended with the lights of eve, And she is there, our hope, our joy, Our own dear Genevieve. PREFACE Compositions resembling those of the present volume are not unfrequently condemned for then- querulous egotism. But egotism is to be condemned then only when it offends against time and place, as in a history or an epic poem. To censure it in a monody or sonnet is almost as absurd as to dislike a circle for being round. Wliy then write Sonnets or Monodies ? Because they give me pleasure when perhaps nothing else could. After the more violent emotions of sorrow, the mind demands amusement, and can find it in em- ployment alone : but full of its late sufferings, it can endure no employment not in some measure connected with them. Forcibly to turn away our attention to general subjects is a painful and most often an unavail- ing effort. " But O I how grateful to a wounded heart The tale of misery to impart — From others' eyes bid artless sorrows flow, And raise esteem upon the base of woe !" — shaw. The communicativeness of our nature leads us to de- scribe our own sorrows ; in the endeavor to describe them, intellectual activity is exerted ; and from intellec- tual activity there results a pleasure, which is gradually associated, and mingles as a corrective, with the painful subject of the description. "True!" (it may be an- XXll PREFACE. swered) " but how is the Public interested in your sorrows or your description?" We are for ever attri- buting personal unities to imaginary aggregates. What is the Public, but a term for a number of scattered individuals ? Of whom as many will be interested in these sorrows, as have experienced the same or similar. " Holy be the lay Whioh mourning soothes the mourner on his way." If 1 could judge of others by myself, I should not hesi- tate to affirm, that the most interesting passages in all writings are those in which the author developes his own feelings ? The sweet voice of Cona* never sounds so sweetly, as when it speaks of itself; and I should almost suspect that man of an unkindly heart who could read the opening of the third book of the Paradise Lost without peculiar emotion. By a law of our nature, he, who labors under a strong feeling, is impelled to seek for sympathy : but a poet's feelings are all strong. Quicquid amet valde amat. Akenside therefore speaks with philosophical accuracy when he classes Love and Poetry, as producing the same effects : " Love and the wish of Poets when their tongue Would teach to others' bosoms, what so charms Their own." pleasures of imagination. There is one species of egotism which is truly dis- gusting ; not that which leads us to communicate our feelings to others, but that which would reduce the feelings of others to an identity with our own. The atheist, who exclaims, "pshaw!" when he glances his eye on the praises of Deity, is an egotist : an old man, when he speaks contemptuously of Love-verses, is an egotist ; and the sleek favorites of fortune are egotists, when they condemn all " melancholy, discontented " * Ossian. PREFACE. verses. Surely it would be candid not merely to ask whether the poem pleases ourselves, but to consider whether or no there may not be others to whom it is well calculated to give an innocent pleasure. I shall only add, that each of my readers will, I hope, remember, that these poems on various subjects, which he reads at one time and under the influence of one set of feelino-s, were written at different times and prompted by very different feelings ; and therefore, that the sup- posed inferiority of one poem to another may sometimes be owing to the temper of mind in which he happens to peruse it. My poems have been rightly charged with a profusion of double epithets, and a general turgid ness. I have pruned the double epithets with no sparing hand ; and used my best efforts to tame the swell and glitter both of thought and diction.* This latter fault, however, had insinuated itself into my Religious Musings with such intricacy of union that sometimes I have omitted to disentangle the weed from the fear of snapping the flower. A third and heavier accusation has been brought against me, that of obscurity ; but not, I think, with equal justice. An author is obscure, when his concep- tions are dim and imperfect, and his language incorrect, * Without any feeling of anger, I may yet be allowed to express some degree of surprise, that after having run the critical gauntlet for a cer- tain class of faults which I had, viz. a too ornate and elaborately poetic diction, and nothing having come before the judgment-seat of the Re- viewers during the long interval, 1 should for at least seventeen years, quarter after quarter, have been placed by them in the foremost rank of the proscribed, and made to abide the brunt of abuse and ridicule for faults directly opposite, viz. bald and prosaic language, and an affected simplicity both of matter and manner— faults which assuredly did not enter into the character of my compositions. Literurij Life, 1.51. Published 1817. XXIV PREFACE. or inappropriate, or involved. A poem that abounds in allusions, like the Bard of Gray, or one that imperso- nates high and absti-act truths, like Collins's Ode on the poetical character, claims not to be popular ; but 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 expect from his contemporaries. Milton did not escape it ; and it was adduced with virulence against Gray and Collins. We now hear no more of it : not that their poems are better understood at present, than they were at then- first pub- lication ; but their fame is established ; and a critic would accuse himself of frigidity or inattention, who should profess not to understand them. But a living wi'iter is yet sub judice ; and if we cannot follow his conceptions, or enter into his feelings, it is more con- soling to our pride, to consider him as lost beneath, than as soaring above us. If any man expect from my poems the same easiness of style which he admires in a drink- ing-song, for him I have not written. Intelligibilia, noa intellectum adfero. • I expect neither profit nor general fame by my writ- ings ; and I consider myself as having been amply re- paid without either. Poetry has been to me its own " exceeding gi'eat reward :" it has soothed my afiflic- tions ; it has multiplied and refined my enjoyments ; it has endeared solitude ; and it has given me the habit of wishing to discover the Good and the Beautiful in all that meets and surrounds me. s. T. c. jJui)cnile PoetuB GENEVIEVE. "ly/IAID of my Love, sweet Genevieve! In Beauty's light you glide along : Your eye is like the star of eve, And sweet your Voice, as Seraph's song. Yet not your heavenly Beauty gives This heart with passion soft to glow ; "Within your soul a Voice there lives ! It bids you hear the tale of Woe. When sinking low the Sufferer wan Beholds no hand outstretcht to save, Fair, as the bosom of the Swan That rises graceful o'er the wave, I've seen your breast with pity heave, And therefore love I you, sweet Genevieve ! SONNET. TO THE AUTUMNAL MOON. IVTILD Splendor of the various-vested Night ! Mother of wildly-working visions ! hail ! I watch thy gliding, while with watery light Thy weak eye glimmers through a fleecy veil ; 3 14 JUVENILE POEMS. And wlien tliou lovest tliy pale orb to shroud Behind the gathered blackness lost on high ; And when thou dartest from the wind-rent cloud Thy placid lightning o'er the awakened sky. Ah, such is Hope ! as changeful and as fair ! Now dimly peering on the wistful sight ; Now hid behind the Dragon- winged Despair : But soon emerging in her radiant might She o'er the sorrow-clouded breast of Care Sails, like a meteor kindling in its flight. ANTHEM FOR THE CHILDREN OF CHRIST'S HOSPITAL. CERAPHS ! around th' Eternal's seat who throng With tuneful ecstasies of praise : ! teach our feeble tongues like yours the song Of fervent gratitude to raise — Like you, inspired with holy flame To dwell on that Almighty name Who bade the child of woe no longer sigh, And Joy in tears o'erspread the Widow's eye. Th' all-gracious Parent hears the wretch's prayer ; The meek tear strongly pleads on high ; Wan Resignation struggling with despair The Lord beholds with pitying eye ; Sees cheerless want unpitied pine. Disease on earth its head rechne. And bids compassion seek the realms of woe To heal the wounded, and to raise the low. J U V E N I L B P O E M S . 15 She coraes ! she comes ! the meek eyed power I see With libenil hand that loves to bless ; The clouds of sorrow at her presence flee ; Rejoice ! rejoice ! ye children of distress ! The b.eams that plaj?" around her head Through Want's dark vale their radiance spread : The young iincultur'd mind imbibes the ray, And Vice reluctant quits tli' expected prey. Cease, thou lorn mother ! cease thy wailings drear ; Ye babes ! the unconscious sob forego ; Or let full gratitude now prompt the tear Which erst did sorrow force to flow. Unkindly cold and tempest shrill In life's morn oft. the traveller chill, But soon his path the sun of Love shall warm ; And each Qf-lad scene look briafhter for the storm ! 1789. TIME, REAL AND IMAGINARY. AN ALLEGORY. /^N the wide level of a mountain's head (I knew not where, but 'twas some faery place) Their pinions, ostrich-like, for sails outspread, Two lovely children run an endless race, A sister and a brother ! That far outstripp'd the other ; Yet ever runs she with reverted face. And looks and listens for the boy behind ; For he, alas ! is blind ! O'er rough and smooth with even step he pass'd. And knows not whetlier he be first or last. 16 JUVENILE POEMS MONODY ON THE DEATH OF CHATTERTON. r\ WHAT a wonder seems the fear of death, Seeing how gladly we all smk to sleep, Babes, Children, Youths, and Men, Night following night for threescore years and ten ! But doubly strange, where life is but a breath To sigh and pant with, up Want's rugged steep. Away, Grim Phantom ! Scorpion King, away ! Reserve thy terrors and thy stings display For coward Wealth and Guilt in robes of State ! Lo ! by the grave I stand of one, for whom A prodigal Nature and a niggard Doom (That all bestowing, this withholding all) Made each chance knell from distant spire or dome Sound like a seeking Mother's anxious call, Return, poor Child ! Home, weary Truant, home ! Thee, Chatterton ! these unblest stones protect From want, and the bleak freezings of neglect. Too long before the vexing Storm-blast driven Here hast thou found repose ! beneath this sod ! Thou ! vain word ! thou dwell'st not with the clod ! Amid the shining Host of the Forgiven Thou at the throne of Mercy and thy God The triumph of redeeming Love dost hymn (Believe it, O my soul !) to harps of Seraphim. Yet oft, perforce ('tis suffering Nature's call), I weep, that heaven- born Genius so should fall ; And oft, in Fancy's saddest hour, my soul Averted shudders at the poisoned bowl. J U V E N I L E r O E xM S . 17 Now groans ray sickening heart, as still I view Thy corse of livid hue ; Now indignation checks the feeble sigh, Or flashes through the tear that glistens in mine eye ! Is this the land of song-ennobled line ? Is this the land, where Genius ne'er in vain Poured forth his lofty strain ? Ah me ! yet Spenser, gentlest bard divine, Beneath chill Disappointment's shade, His weary limbs in lonely anguish laid ; And o'er her darling dead Pity hopeless hung her head. While " mid the pelting of that merciless storm," Sunk to the cold earth Gtway's famished form ! SubUme of thought, and confident of fame, From vales where Avon winds the Minstrel* came. Light-hearted youth ! aye, as he hastes along. He meditates the future song. How dauntless ^lla fray 'd the Dacyan foe; And while the numbers flowing strong In eddies whu*l, in surges throng. Exulting in the spirits' genial throe In tides of power his life-blood seems to flow. And now his cheeks with deeper ardors flame. His eyes have glorious meanings, that declare More than the light of outward day shines there, A holier triumph and a sterner aim ! Wings grow within him, and he soars above Or Bard's or Minstrel's lay of war or love. * Avon, a river near Bristol; the birth-place of Chat- ter ton. 3* 18 JUVENILE POEMS. Friend to the friendless, to the Sufferer health, He hears the widow's prayer, the good man's praise ; To scenes of bliss transmutes his fancied wealth, And young and old shall now see happy days. On many a waste he bids trim Gardens rise, Gives the blue sky to many a. prisoner's eyes; And now in wrath he grasps the patriot steel. And her own iron rod he makes Oppression feel. Sweet Flower of Hope ! free Nature's genial child ! That did'st so fair disclose thy early bloom, Filling the wide air with a rich perfume ! For thee in vain all heavenly aspects smiled ; From the hard world brief respite could they win — The frost nipp'd sharp without, the canker prey'd within ! Ah ! where are fled the charms of vernal Grace, And Joy's wild gleams that lightened o'er thy face ? Youth of tumultuous soul, and haggard eye ! Thy wasted form, thy hurried steps I view. On thy wan forehead starts the lethal dew. And oh ! the anguish of that shuddering sigh ! Such were the struggles of the gloomy hour. When Care, of withered brow. Prepared the poison's death-cold power : Already to thy hps was raised the bowl. When near thee stood Affection meek (Her bosom bare, and wildly pale her cheek), Thy sullen gaze she bade thee roll On scenes that well might melt thy soul ; Thy native cot she flashed upon thy view. Thy native cot, where still, at close of day, Peace smiling sate, and listened to thy lay ; J U V E N I L E P O E M S . 19 Thy Sister's shrieks she bade thee hear, And mark thy Mother's thrilUng tear; See, see her breast's convulsive throe, Her silent agony of woe ! Ah ! dash the poisoned chalice from thy hand ! And thou had'st dashed it, at her soft command. 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 ; Told every pang, with which thy soul must smart. Neglect, and grinning Scorn, and Want combined ! Recoiling quick, thou bad'st the friend of pain Roll the black tide of Death through every freezing vein ! Spirit blest ! Whether the Eternal's throne around. Amidst the blaze of Seraphim, Thou pourest forth the grateful hymn ; Or soaring through the blest domain Enrapturest Angels with thy strain, — Grant me, like thee, the lyre to sound. Like thee with fire divine to glow ; — But ah ! when rage the Avaves of woe. Grant me with firmer breast to meet their hate, And soar beyond the storm with upright eye elate ! Ye woods ! that wave o'er Avon's rocky steep, To Fancy's ear sweet is your murmuring deep ! For here she loves the cypress wreath to weave Watching, with wistful eye, the saddening tints of eve. Here, far from men, amid this pathless grove, In solemn thought the Minstrel wont to rove, 20 .1 L' V E X I L E r E M 8 . Like star-beam on the slow sequestered tide Lone-glittering, through the high tree branching wide. And here, in Inspiration's eager hour. When most tlie big soul feels the mastering power. These wilds, these caverns roaming o'er, Round which the screaming sea-gulls soar. With wild unequal steps he passed along, Oft pouring on the winds a broken song : Anon, upon some rough rock's fearful brow Would pause abrupt — and gaze upon the waves below. Poor Chatterton ! he sorrows for thy fate Who would have praised and loved thee, ere too late. Poor Chatterton ! farewell ! of darkest hues This chaplet cast I on thy unshaped tomb ; But dare no longer on the sad theme muse, Lest kindred woes persuade a kindred doom : For oh ! big gall-drops, shook from Folly's wing, Have blackened the fair promise of my spring ; And the stern Fate transpierced with viewless dart The last pale Hope that shivered at my heart ! Hence, gloomy thoughts ! no more my soul shall dwell On joys that were ! No more endure to weigh The shame and anguish of the evil day. Wisely forgetful ! O'er the ocean swell Sublime of Hope I seek the cottaged dell Where Virtue calm with careless step may stray ; And, dancing to the moon-light roundelay, The wizard passions weave a holy spell ! JUVENILE POEMS. 21 Chatterton ! that thou wert yet aUve ! Sure thou would 'st spread the canvass to the gale. And love with us the thikling team to drive O'er peaceful Freedom's undivided dale ; And we, at sober eve, would round thee throng, Would hang, enraptured, on thy stately song. And greet with smiles the young-eyed Poesy All deftly masked, as hoar Antiquity. Alas, vain Phantasies ! the fleeting brood Of Woe self-solaced in her dreamy mood ! Yet will I love to follow the sweet dream Where Susquehanna pours his untamed stream ; And on some hill, whose forest-frowning side Waves o'er the muiTnurs of his calmer tide, Will raise a solemn Cenotaph to thee. Sweet Harper of time-shrouded Minstrelsy ! And there, soothed sadly by the dirgeful wind, Muse on the sore ills I had left behind. SONGS OF THE PIXIES. The Pix[es, in the superstition of Devonshire, are a race of beings invisibly small, and harmless or friendly to man. At a small distance from a village in that county, half way up a w^ood- covered hill, is an excavation called the Pixies' Paiior. The roots of old trees form its ceiling; and on its sides are innumerable cyphers, among which the author discovered his own and those of his brothers, cut by the hand of their childhood. At the foot of the ,hill flows the river Otter. To this place the author, during the summer months of the year 1793, conducted a party of young ladies ; one of whom, of stature elegantly small, and of complexion color- less yet clear, was proclaimed the Faery Queen. On which occasion the following Irregular Ode was written. 22 JUVENILE POEMS. "XTyHOM the untaught Shepherds call Pixies in their madrigal. Fancy's children, here we dwell : Welcome, Ladies ! to our cell. Here the wren of softest note Builds its nest and warbles well ; Here the blackbird strains his throat ; Welcome, Ladies ! to our cell. When fades the moon to shadowy-pale, And scuds the cloud before the gale, Ere the Morn, all gem-bedight, Hath streak'd the East with rosy light, We sip the furze-flower's fragrant dews Clad in robes of rainbow hues : Or sport amid the shooting gleams To the tune of distant-tinkling teams. While lusty Labor scouting sorrow Bids the Dame a glad good-morrow, Who jogs the accustomed road along. And paces cheery to her cheering song. But not our fihny pinion We scorch amid the blaze of day. When jSToontide's fiery-tressed minion Flashes the fervid ray. Aye from the sultry heat We to the cave retreat O'ercanopied by huge roots intertwined With wildest texture, blackened o'er with age JUVENILE POEMS. 23 Round them their mantle green the ivies bind, Beneath whose fohage pale Fanned by the unfrequent gale We shield us from the Tyrant's mid-day rage. IV. Thither, while the murmuring throng Of wild-bees hum their drowsy song, By Indolence and Fancy brought, A youthful Bard, '' unknown to Fame," Wooes the Queen of Solemn Thought, And heaves the gentle misery of a sigh Gazing with tearful eye, As round our sandy grot appear Many a rudely sculptured name To pensive Memory dear ! Weaving gay dreams of sunny -tinctured hue We glance before his view : Oe'r his hush'd soul our soothing witcheries shed And twine the future garland round his head. V, When Evening's dusky car Crowned with her dewy star Steals o'er the fading sky in shadowy fliglit ; On leaves of aspen trees We tremble to the breeze Veiled from the grosser ken of mortal sight. Or, haply, at the visionary hour. Along our wildly-bowered sequestered walk. We listen to the enamored rustic's talk ; Heave with the heavings of the maiden's breast, Where voun