The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge Volume I Part 120

The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge Volume I Part 120

FOOTNOTES:

[347:2] First published in the _Morning Post_, October 13, 1800 (signed _Ca.s.siani junior_): reprinted in _Wild Wreath_ (By M. E. Robinson), 1804, pp. 141-4. First collected in _P. W._, 1880 (ii, Supplement, p.

362).

LINENOTES:

t.i.tle] The Voice from the Side of Etna; or the Mad Monk: An Ode in Mrs.

Ratcliff's Manner M. P.

[8] to] an M. P.

[14] sorrows] motions M. P.

[16] Then wherefore must I know M. P.

[23] I saw the sod M. P.

[26] woke] wak'd M. P.

[27] The] That M. P.

[28] On which so oft we sat M. P.

[31] a wounded woman's blood M. P.

[38-9]

It is the stormy clouds above That flash

M. P.

[After 47]

The twilight fays came forth in dewy shoon Ere I within the Cabin had withdrawn The goatherd's tent upon the open lawn-- That night there was no moon.

M. P.

INSCRIPTION FOR A SEAT BY THE ROAD SIDE HALF-WAY UP A STEEP HILL FACING SOUTH[349:1]

Thou who in youthful vigour rich, and light With youthful thoughts dost need no rest! O thou, To whom alike the valley and the hill Present a path of ease! Should e'er thine eye Glance on this sod, and this rude tablet, stop! 5 'Tis a rude spot, yet here, with thankful hearts, The foot-worn soldier and his family Have rested, wife and babe, and boy, perchance Some eight years old or less, and scantly fed, Garbed like his father, and already bound 10 To his poor father's trade. Or think of him Who, laden with his implements of toil, Returns at night to some far distant home, And having plodded on through rain and mire With limbs o'erlaboured, weak from feverish heat, 15 And chafed and fretted by December blasts, Here pauses, thankful he hath reached so far, And 'mid the sheltering warmth of these bleak trees Finds restoration--or reflect on those Who in the spring to meet the warmer sun 20 Crawl up this steep hill-side, that needlessly Bends double their weak frames, already bowed By age or malady, and when, at last, They gain this wished-for turf, this seat of sods, Repose--and, well-admonished, ponder here 25 On final rest. And if a serious thought Should come uncalled--how soon _thy_ motions high, Thy balmy spirits and thy fervid blood Must change to feeble, withered, cold and dry, Cherish the wholesome sadness! And where'er 30 The tide of Life impel thee, O be prompt To make thy present strength the staff of all, Their staff and resting-place--so shalt thou give To Youth the sweetest joy that Youth can know; And for thy future self thou shalt provide 35 Through every change of various life, a seat, Not built by hands, on which thy inner part, Imperishable, many a grievous hour, Or bleak or sultry may repose--yea, sleep The sleep of Death, and dream of blissful worlds, 40 Then wake in Heaven, and find the dream all true.

1800.

FOOTNOTES:

[349:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, October 21, 1800 (Coleridge's birthday) under the signature VENTIFRONS: reprinted in the _Lake Herald_, November 2, 1906. Now first included in Coleridge's _Poetical Works_. Venti Frons is dog-Latin for Windy Brow, a point of view immediately above the River Greta, on the lower slope of Latrigg.

Here it was that on Wednesday, August 13, 1800, Wordsworth, his sister Dorothy, and Coleridge 'made the Windy Brow seat'--a 'seat of sods'. In a letter to his printers, Biggs and Cottle, of October 10, 1800, Wordsworth says that 'a friend [the author of the _Ancient Mariner_, &c.] has also furnished me with a few of these Poems in the second volume [of the _Lyrical Ballads_] which are cla.s.sed under the t.i.tle of "Poems on the Naming of Places"' (_Wordsworth and Coleridge MSS._, Ed.

W. Hale White, 1897, pp. 27, 28). No such poems or poem appeared, and it has been taken for granted that none were ever written. At any rate _one_ 'Inscription', now at last forthcoming, was something more than a 'story from the land of dreams'!

A STRANGER MINSTREL[350:1]

WRITTEN [TO MRS. ROBINSON,] A FEW WEEKS BEFORE HER DEATH

As late on Skiddaw's mount I lay supine, Midway th' ascent, in that repose divine When the soul centred in the heart's recess Hath quaff'd its fill of Nature's loveliness, Yet still beside the fountain's marge will stay 5 And fain would thirst again, again to quaff; Then when the tear, slow travelling on its way, Fills up the wrinkles of a silent laugh-- In that sweet mood of sad and humorous thought A form within me rose, within me wrought 10 With such strong magic, that I cried aloud, 'Thou ancient Skiddaw by thy helm of cloud, And by thy many-colour'd chasms deep, And by their shadows that for ever sleep, By yon small flaky mists that love to creep 15 Along the edges of those spots of light, Those sunny islands on thy smooth green height, And by yon shepherds with their sheep, And dogs and boys, a gladsome crowd, That rush e'en now with clamour loud 20 Sudden from forth thy topmost cloud, And by this laugh, and by this tear, I would, old Skiddaw, she were here!

A lady of sweet song is she, Her soft blue eye was made for thee! 25 O ancient Skiddaw, by this tear, I would, I would that she were here!'

Then ancient Skiddaw, stern and proud, In sullen majesty replying, Thus spake from out his helm of cloud 30 (His voice was like an echo dying!):-- 'She dwells belike in scenes more fair, And scorns a mount so bleak and bare.'

I only sigh'd when this I heard, Such mournful thoughts within me stirr'd 35 That all my heart was faint and weak, So sorely was I troubled!

No laughter wrinkled on my cheek, But O the tears were doubled!

But ancient Skiddaw green and high 40 Heard and understood my sigh; And now, in tones less stern and rude, As if he wish'd to end the feud, Spake he, the proud response renewing (His voice was like a monarch wooing):-- 45 'Nay, but thou dost not know her might, The pinions of her soul how strong!

But many a stranger in my height Hath sung to me her magic song, Sending forth his ecstasy 50 In her divinest melody, And hence I know her soul is free, She is where'er she wills to be, Unfetter'd by mortality!

Now to the "haunted beach" can fly,[352:1] 55 Beside the threshold scourged with waves, Now where the maniac wildly raves, "_Pale moon, thou spectre of the sky!_"[352:2]

No wind that hurries o'er my height Can travel with so swift a flight. 60 I too, methinks, might merit The presence of her spirit!

To me too might belong The honour of her song and witching melody, Which most resembles me, 65 Soft, various, and sublime, Exempt from wrongs of Time!'

Thus spake the mighty Mount, and I Made answer, with a deep-drawn sigh:-- Thou ancient Skiddaw, by this tear, 70 I would, I would that she were here!'

_November_, 1800.

FOOTNOTES:

[350:1] First published in _Memoirs of the late Mrs. Robinson_, Written by herself. With some Posthumous Pieces, 1801, iv. 141: reprinted in _Poetical Works of the late Mrs. Mary Robinson_, 1806, i. xlviii, li.

First collected in _P. W._, 1877-80.

[352:1] 'The Haunted Beach,' by Mrs. Robinson, was included in the _Annual Anthology_ for 1800.

[352:2] From 'Jasper', a ballad by Mrs. Robinson, included in the _Annual Anthology_ for 1800.

LINENOTES:

[1] Skiddaw's] Skiddaw 1801.

[8] wrinkles] wrinkle 1801.

[13] chasms so deep 1801.