Poems of Coleridge

THE VISIONARY HOPE

 
  Sad lot, to have no Hope! Though lowly kneeling
  He fain would frame a prayer within his breast,
  Would fain entreat for some sweet breath of healing,
  That his sick body might have ease and rest;
  He strove in vain! the dull sighs from his chest
  Against his will the stifling load revealing,
  Though Nature forced; though like some captive guest,
  Some royal prisoner at his conqueror's feast,
  An alien's restless mood but half concealing,
  The sternness on his gentle brow confessed,
  Sickness within and miserable feeling:
  Though obscure pangs made curses of his dreams,
  And dreaded sleep, each night repelled in vain,
  Each night was scattered by its own loud screams:
  Yet never could his heart command, though fain,
  One deep full wish to be no more in pain.
 
 
    That Hope, which was his inward bliss and boast,
  Which waned and died, yet ever near him stood,
  Though changed in nature, wander where he would—
  For Love's Despair is but Hope's pining Ghost!
  For this one hope he makes his hourly moan,
  He wishes and can wish for this alone!
  Pierced, as with light from Heaven, before its gleams
  (So the love-stricken visionary deems)
  Disease would vanish, like a summer shower,
  Whose dews fling sunshine from the noon-tide bower!
  Or let it stay! yet this one Hope should give
  Such strength that he would bless his pains and live.
 

?1807 ?181O.

THE PAINS OF SLEEP

 
  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,
  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
  That I am weak, yet not unblest,
  Since in me, round me, everywhere
  Eternal Strength and Wisdom are.
 
 
  But yester-night I pray'd aloud
  In anguish and in agony,
  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!
  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!
  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 seem'd guilt, remorse or woe,
  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
  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;
  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
  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?
  To be beloved is all I need,
  And whom I love, I love indeed.
 

1803.

LOVE'S BURIAL-PLACE

 
    Lady. If Love be dead—
    Poet. And I aver it!
    Lady. Tell me, Bard! where Love lies buried
    Poet. Love lies buried where 'twas born:
  Oh, gentle dame! think it no scorn
  If, in my fancy, I presume
  To call thy bosom poor Love's Tomb.
  And on that tomb to read the line:—
  "Here lies a Love that once seem'd mine.
  But took a chill, as I divine,
  And died at length of a decline."
 

1833.

LOVE, A SWORD

 
  Though veiled in spires of myrtle-wreath,
  Love is a sword which cuts its sheath,
  And through the clefts itself has made,
  We spy the flashes of the blade!
 
 
  But through the clefts itself has made,
  We likewise see Love's flashing blade
  By rust consumed, or snapt in twain:
  And only hilt and stump remain.
 

?1825.

THE KISS

 
  One kiss, dear Maid! I said and sighed—
  Your scorn the little boon denied.
  Ah why refuse the blameless bliss?
  Can danger lurk within a kiss?
 
 
  Yon viewless wanderer of the vale,
  The Spirit of the Western Gale,
  At Morning's break, at Evening's close
  Inhales the sweetness of the Rose,
  And hovers o'er the uninjured bloom
  Sighing back the soft perfume.
  Vigour to the Zephyr's wing
  Her nectar-breathing kisses fling;
  And He the glitter of the Dew
  Scatters on the Rose's hue.
  Bashful lo! she bends her head,
  And darts a blush of deeper Red!
 
 
  Too well those lovely lips disclose
  The triumphs of the opening Rose;
  O fair! O graceful! bid them prove
  As passive to the breath of Love.
  In tender accents, faint and low,
  Well-pleased I hear the whispered "No!"
  The whispered "No"—how little meant!
  Sweet Falsehood that endears Consent!
  For on those lovely lips the while
  Dawns the soft relenting smile,
  And tempts with feigned dissuasion coy
  The gentle violence of Joy.
 

?1794.

NOT AT HOME

 
  That Jealousy may rule a mind
    Where Love could never be
  I know; but ne'er expect to find
    Love without Jealousy.
 
 
  She has a strange cast in her ee,
    A swart sour-visaged maid—
  But yet Love's own twin-sister she,
    His house-mate and his shade.
 
 
  Ask for her and she'll be denied:—
    What then? they only mean
  Their mistress has lain down to sleep,
    And can't just then be seen.
 

?183O.

NAMES

[FROM LESSING]

 
  I ask'd my fair one happy day,
  What I should call her in my lay;
    By what sweet name from Rome or Greece;
  Lalage, Nesera, Chloris,
  Sappho, Lesbia, or Doris,
    Arethusa or Lucrece.
 
 
  "Ah!" replied my gentle fair,
  "Beloved, what are names but air?
   Choose thou whatever suits the line;
  Call me Sappho, call me Chloris,
  Call me Lalage or Doris,
    Only, only call me Thine."
 

Morning Post, August 27,1799.

TO LESBIA

Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus.—CATULLUS.

 
  My Lesbia, let us love and live,
  And to the winds, my Lesbia, give
  Each cold restraint, each boding fear
  Of age and all her saws severe.
  Yon sun now posting to the main
  Will set,—but 'tis to rise again;—
  But we, when once our mortal light
  Is set, must sleep in endless night.
  Then come, with whom alone I'll live,
  A thousand kisses take and give!
  Another thousand!—to the store
  Add hundreds—then a thousand more!
  And when they to a million mount,
  Let confusion take the account,—
  That you, the number never knowing,
  May continue still bestowing—
  That I for joys may never pine,
  Which never can again be mine!
 

Morning Post, April 11, 1798.

THE DEATH OF THE STARLING

Lugete, O Veneres, Cupidinesque.—CATULLUS.

 
  Pity! mourn in plaintive tone
  The lovely starling dead and gone!
    Pity mourns in plaintive tone
  The lovely starling dead and gone.
  Weep, ye Loves! and Venus! weep
  The lovely starling fall'n asleep!
  Venus sees with tearful eyes—
  In her lap the starling lies!
  While the Loves all in a ring
  Softly stroke the stiffen'd wing.
 

?1794.

ON A CATARACT

FROM A CAVERN NEAR THE SUMMIT OF A MOUNTAIN PRECIPICE [AFTER STOLBERG'S UNSTERBLICHER JÜNGLING]

STROPHE

 
  Unperishing youth!
  Thou leapest from forth
  The cell of thy hidden nativity;
  Never mortal saw
  The cradle of the strong one;
  Never mortal heard
  The gathering of his voices;
  The deep-murmur'd charm of the son of the rock,
  That is lisp'd evermore at his slumberless fountain.
  There's a cloud at the portal, a spray-woven veil
  At the shrine of his ceaseless renewing;
  It embosoms the roses of dawn,
  It entangles the shafts of the noon,
  And into the bed of its stillness
  The moonshine sinks down as in slumber,
  That the son of the rock, that the nursling of heaven
  May be born in a holy twilight!
 

ANTISTROPHE

 
  The wild goat in awe
  Looks up and beholds
  Above thee the cliff inaccessible;—
  Thou at once full-born
  Madd'nest in thy joyance,
  Whirlest, shatter'st, splitt'st,
  Life invulnerable.
 

?1799.

HYMN TO THE EARTH

[IMITATED FROM STOLBERG'S HYMNE AN DIE EKDE]

HEXAMETERS

 
  Earth! thou mother of numberless children, the nurse and the mother,
  Hail! O Goddess, thrice hail! Blest be thou! and, blessing, I hymn thee!
  Forth, ye sweet sounds! from my harp, and my voice shall float on your surges—
  Soar thou aloft, O my soul! and bear up my song on thy pinions.
 
 
  Travelling the vale with mine eyes—green meadows and lake with green island,
  Dark in its basin of rock, and the bare stream flowing in brightness,
 
 
  Thrill'd with thy beauty and love in the wooded slope of the mountain,
  Here, great mother, I lie, thy child, with his head on thy bosom!
  Playful the spirits of noon, that rushing soft through thy tresses,
  Green-hair'd goddess! refresh me; and hark! as they hurry or linger,
  Fill the pause of my harp, or sustain it with musical murmurs.
  Into my being thou murmurest joy, and tenderest sadness
  Shedd'st thou, like dew, on my heart, till the joy and the heavenly sadness
  Pour themselves forth from my heart in tears, and the hymn of thanksgiving.
 
 
  Earth! thou mother of numberless children, the nurse and the mother,
  Sister thou of the stars, and beloved by the Sun, the rejoicer!
  Guardian and friend of the moon, O Earth, whom the comets forget not,
  Yea, in the measureless distance wheel round and again they behold thee!
  Fadeless and young (and what if the latest birth of creation?)
  Bride and consort of Heaven, that looks down upon thee enamour'd!
 
 
  Say, mysterious Earth! O say, great mother and goddess,
  Was it not well with thee then, when first thy lap was ungirdled,
  Thy lap to the genial Heaven, the day that he woo'd thee and won thee!
  Fair was thy blush, the fairest and first of the blushes of morning!
  Deep was the shudder, O Earth! the throe of thy self-retention:
  Inly thou strovest to flee, and didst seek thyself at thy centre!
  Mightier far was the joy of thy sudden resilience; and forthwith
  Myriad myriads of lives teem'd forth from the mighty embracement.
  Thousand-fold tribes of dwellers, impell'd by thousand-fold instincts,
  Fill'd, as a dream, the wide waters; the rivers sang on their channels;
  Laugh'd on their shores the hoarse seas; the yearning ocean swell'd upward;
  Young life low'd through the meadows, the woods, and the echoing mountains,
  Wander'd bleating in valleys, and warbled on blossoming branches.
 

?1799.

THE VISIT OF THE GODS

IMITATED FROM SCHILLER

 
          Never, believe me,
          Appear the Immortals,
            Never alone:
  Scarce had I welcomed the Sorrow-beguiler,
  Iacchus! but in came Boy Cupid the Smiler;
  Lo! Phoebus the Glorious descends from his throne!
  They advance, they float in, the Olympians all!
        With Divinities fills my
            Terrestrial hall!
 
 
          How shall I yield you
          Due entertainment,
            Celestial quire?
  Me rather, bright guests! with your wings of upbuoyance
  Bear aloft to your homes, to your banquets of joyance,
  That the roofs of Olympus may echo my lyre!
  Hah! we mount! on their pinions they waft up my soul!
          O give me the nectar!
            O fill me the bowl!
 
 
          Give him the nectar!
          Pour out for the poet,
               Hebe! pour free!
  Quicken his eyes with celestial dew,
  That Styx the detested no more he may view,
  And like one of us Gods may conceit him to be!
  Thanks, Hebe! I quaff it! Io Pæan, I cry!
          The wine of the Immortals
            Forbids me to die!
 

? 1799.

TRANSLATION OF A PASSAGE IN OTTFRIED'S METRICAL PARAPHRASE OF THE GOSPEL

 
  She gave with joy her virgin breast;
  She hid it not, she bared the breast
  Which suckled that divinest babe!
  Blessed, blessed were the breasts
  Which the Saviour infant kiss'd;
  And blessed, blessed was the mother
  Who wrapp'd his limbs in swaddling clothes,
  Singing placed him on her lap,
  Hung o'er him with her looks of love,
  And soothed him with a lulling motion.
  Blessed! for she shelter'd him
  From the damp and chilling air;
  Blessed, blessed! for she lay
  With such a bade in one blest bed,
  Close as babes and mothers lie!
  Blessed, blessed evermore,
  With her virgin lips she kiss'd,
  With her arms, and to her breast,
  She embraced the babe divine,
  Her babe divine the virgin mother!
  There lives not on this ring of earth
  A mortal that can sing her praise.
  Mighty mother, virgin pure,
  In the darkness and the night
  For us she bore the heavenly Lord!
 

? 1799.

THE VIRGIN'S CRADLE-HYMN

COPIED FROM A PRINT OF THE VIRGIN IN A CATHOLIC VILLAGE IN GERMANY

 
  Dormi, Jesu! Mater ridet
  Quæ tarn dulcem somnum videt,
    Dormi, Jesu! blandule!
  Si non dormis, Mater plorat,
  Inter fila cantans orat,
  Blande, veni, somnule.
 

ENGLISH

 
  Sleep, sweet babe! my cares beguiling:
  Mother sits beside thee smiling;
   Sleep, my darling, tenderly!
  If thou sleep not, mother mourneth,
  Singing as her wheel she turneth:
    Come, soft slumber, balmily!
 

1811.

EPITAPH ON AN INFANT

 
  Ere Sin could blight or Sorrow fade,
    Death came with friendly care;
  The opening bud to Heaven conveyed,
    And bade it blossom there.
 

1794.

ON AN INFANT WHICH DIED BEFORE BAPTISM

 
  "Be, rather than be call'd, a child of God,"
  Death whisper'd!—with assenting nod,
  Its head upon its mother's breast,
    The Baby bow'd, without demur—
  Of the kingdom of the Blest
    Possessor, not inheritor.
 

April 8th, 1799.

EPITAPH ON AN INFANT

 
  Its balmy lips the infant blest
  Relaxing from its mother's breast,
  How sweet it heaves the happy sigh
  Of innocent satiety!
 
 
  And such my infant's latest sigh!
  Oh tell, rude stone! the passer by,
  That here the pretty babe doth lie,
  Death sang to sleep with Lullaby.
 

1799.

AN ODE TO THE RAIN

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 open'd the lids of my eyes,
  But I lie in the dark, as a blind man lies.
  O Rain! that I lie listening to,
  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,
  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,
  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 limp'd on through this vale of tears,
  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,
  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!
 

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. —
  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.
  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
  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;
  So many tears in our eye-corners,
  Sitting like little Jacky Homers—
  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!
  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,
  I'll welcome you with cheerful face;
  And though you stay'd 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;
  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.

ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION

 
  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,
  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!"
 

1802.

SOMETHING CHILDISH, BUT VERY NATURAL

WRITTEN IN GERMANY

 
  If I had but two little wings
    And were a little feathery bird,
      To you I'd fly, my dear!
  But thoughts like these are idle things,
      And I stay here.
 
 
  But in my sleep to you I fly:
     I'm always with you in my sleep!
         The world is all one's own.
  But then one wakes, and where am I?
             All, all alone.
 
 
  Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids:
     So I love to wake ere break of day:
             For though my sleep be gone,
  Yet while 'tis dark, one shuts one's lids,
                And still dreams on.
 

April 23, 1799.

LINES ON A CHILD

 
  Encinctured with a twine of leaves,
  That leafy twine his only dress!
  A lovely Boy was plucking fruits,
  By moonlight, in a wilderness.
  The moon was bright, the air was free,
  And fruits and flowers together grew,
  On many a shrub and many a tree:
  And all put on a gentle hue,
  Hanging in the shadowy air
  Like a picture rich and rare.
  It was a climate where, they say,
  The night is more belov'd than day.
  But who that beauteous Boy beguil'd,
  That beauteous Boy to linger here?
  Alone, by night, a little child,
  In place so silent and so wild-
  Has he no friend, no loving mother near?
 

1798.

THE KNIGHT'S TOMB

 
  Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn?
  Where may the grave of that good man be?—
  By the side of a spring, on the breast of Helvellyn,
  Under the twigs of a young birch tree!
  The oak that in summer was sweet to hear,
  And rustled its leaves in the fall of the year,
  And whistled and roar'd in the winter alone,
  Is gone,—and the birch in its stead is grown.—
  The Knight's bones are dust,
  And his good sword rust;—
  His soul is with the saints, I trust.
 

? 1817.

FIRE, FAMINE, AND SLAUGHTER

A WAR ECLOGUE

_The Scene a desolated Tract in La Vendée. FAMINE is discovered lying on the ground; to her enter FIRE and SLAUGHTER.

 
Fam. Sisters! sisters! who sent you here?
 
 
Slau. [to Fire]. I will whisper it in her ear.
 
 
Fire. No! no! no!
  Spirits hear what spirits tell:
  'Twill make an holiday in Hell.
            No! no! no!
  Myself, I named him once below,
  And all the souls, that damned be,
  Leaped up at once in anarchy,
  Clapped their hands and danced for glee.
  They no longer heeded me;
  But laughed to hear Hell's burning rafters
  Unwillingly re-echo laughters!
             No! no! no!
  Spirits hear what spirits tell:
  'Twill make an holiday in Hell!
 
 
    Fam. Whisper it, sister! so and so!
  In the dark hint, soft and slow.
 
 
    Slau. Letters four do form his name-
  And who sent you?
 
 
Both. The same! the same!
 
 
    Slau. He came by stealth, and unlocked my
      den,
  And I have drunk the blood since then
  Of thrice three hundred thousand men.
 
 
Both. Who bade you do't?
 
 
    Slau. The same! the same!
  Letters four do form his name.
  He let me loose, and cried Halloo!
  To him alone the praise is due.
 
 
    Fam. Thanks, sister, thanks! the men have bled,
  Their wives and their children faint for bread.
  I stood in a swampy field of battle;
  With bones and skulls I made a rattle,
  To frighten the wolf and carrion-crow
  And the homeless dog—but they would not go.
  So off I flew: for how could I bear
  To see them gorge their dainty fare?
  I heard a groan and a peevish squall,
  And through the chink of a cottage-wall—
  Can you guess what I saw there?
 
 
Both. Whisper it, sister! in our ear.
 
 
  Fam. A baby beat its dying mother:
  I had starved the one and was starving the other!
 
 
Both. Who bade you do't?
 
 
  Fam. The same! the same!
  Letters four do form his name.
  He let me loose, and cried Halloo!
  To him alone the praise is due.
 
 
  Fire. Sisters! I from Ireland came!
  Hedge and corn-fields all on flame,
  I triumph'd o'er the setting sun!
  And all the while the work was done,
  On as I strode with my huge strides,
  I flung back my head and I held my sides,
  It was so rare a piece of fun
  To see the sweltered cattle run
  With uncouth gallop through the night,
  Scared by the red and noisy light!
  By the light of his own blazing cot
  Was many a naked Rebel shot:
  The house-stream met the flame and hissed,
  While crash! fell in the roof, I wist,
  On some of those old bed-rid nurses,
  That deal in discontent and curses.
 
 
Both. Who bade you do't?
 
 
    Fire. The same! the same!
  Letters four do form his name.
  He let me loose, and cried Halloo!
  To him alone the praise is due.
 
 
    All. He let us loose, and cried Halloo!
  How shall we yield him honour due?
 
 
    Fam. Wisdom comes with lack of food.
  I'll gnaw, I'll gnaw the multitude,
  Till the cup of rage o'erbrim:
  They shall seize him and his brood—
 
 
Slau. They shall tear him limb from limb!
 
 
    Fire. O thankless beldames and untrue!
  And is this all that you can do
  For him, who did so much for you?
  Ninety months he, by my troth!
  Hath richly catered for you both;
  And in an hour would you repay
  An eight years' work?—Away! away!
  I alone am faithful! I
  Cling to him everlastingly.
 

1797.