The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge Volume I Part 7

The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge Volume I Part 7

[5] To her cold grave did woe-worn C. I.

[6] stay] stray C. I.

[7] the] a C. I.

[9] dark] dank C. I.

[10] Then] There C. I.

[11] tales] forms C. I.

[14] Like Heaven's bright bow reflected on the stream. C. I.

TO THE EVENING STAR[16:3]

O meek attendant of Sol's setting blaze, I hail, sweet star, thy chaste effulgent glow; On thee full oft with fixed eye I gaze Till I, methinks, all spirit seem to grow.

O first and fairest of the starry choir, 5 O loveliest 'mid the daughters of the night, Must not the maid I love like thee inspire _Pure_ joy and _calm_ Delight?

Must she not be, as is thy placid sphere Serenely brilliant? Whilst to gaze a while 10 Be all my wish 'mid Fancy's high career E'en till she quit this scene of earthly toil; Then Hope perchance might fondly sigh to join Her spirit in thy kindred orb, O Star benign!

? 1790.

FOOTNOTES:

[16:3] First published in _P. and D. W._, 1880, _Supplement_, ii. 359, from _MS. O_.

PAIN[17:1]

Once could the Morn's first beams, the healthful breeze, All Nature charm, and gay was every hour:-- But ah! not Music's self, nor fragrant bower Can glad the trembling sense of wan Disease.

Now that the frequent pangs my frame a.s.sail, 5 Now that my sleepless eyes are sunk and dim, And seas of Pain seem waving through each limb-- Ah what can all Life's gilded scenes avail?

I view the crowd, whom Youth and Health inspire, Hear the loud laugh, and catch the sportive lay, 10 Then sigh and think--I too could laugh and play And gaily sport it on the Muse's lyre, Ere Tyrant Pain had chas'd away delight, Ere the wild pulse throbb'd anguish thro' the night!

? 1790.

FOOTNOTES:

[17:1] First published in 1834.

LINENOTES:

t.i.tle] Pain, a Sonnet MS. O: Sonnet Composed in Sickness MS.

[3] But ah! nor splendid feasts MS. O (c).

[12] Muse's] festive MS. O, MS. O (c).

ON A LADY WEEPING[17:2]

IMITATION FROM THE LATIN OF NICOLAUS ARCHIUS

Lovely gems of radiance meek Trembling down my Laura's cheek, As the streamlets silent glide Thro' the Mead's enamell'd pride, Pledges sweet of pious woe, 5 Tears which Friendship taught to flow, Sparkling in yon humid light Love embathes his pinions bright: There amid the glitt'ring show'r Smiling sits th' insidious Power; 10 As some winged Warbler oft When Spring-clouds shed their treasures soft Joyous tricks his plumes anew, And flutters in the fost'ring dew.

? 1790.

FOOTNOTES:

[17:2] First published in 1893. From _MS. O (c)_.

MONODY ON A TEA-KETTLE[18:1]

O Muse who sangest late another's pain, To griefs domestic turn thy coal-black steed!

With slowest steps thy funeral steed must go, Nodding his head in all the pomp of woe: Wide scatter round each dark and deadly weed, 5 And let the melancholy dirge complain, (Whilst Bats shall shriek and Dogs shall howling run) The tea-kettle is spoilt and Coleridge is undone!

Your cheerful songs, ye unseen crickets, cease!

Let songs of grief your alter'd minds engage! 10 For he who sang responsive to your lay, What time the joyous bubbles 'gan to play, The _sooty swain_ has felt the fire's fierce rage;-- Yes, he is gone, and all my woes increase; I heard the water issuing from the wound-- 15 No more the Tea shall pour its fragrant steams around!

O G.o.ddess best belov'd! Delightful Tea!

With thee compar'd what yields the madd'ning Vine?

Sweet power! who know'st to spread the calm delight, And the pure joy prolong to midmost night! 20 Ah! must I all thy varied sweets resign?

Enfolded close in grief thy form I see; No more wilt thou extend thy willing arms, Receive the _fervent Jove_, and yield him all thy charms!

How sink the mighty low by Fate opprest!-- 25 Perhaps, O Kettle! thou by scornful toe Rude urg'd t' ign.o.ble place with plaintive din.

May'st rust obscure midst heaps of vulgar tin;-- As if no joy had ever seiz'd my breast When from thy spout the streams did arching fly,-- 30 As if, infus'd, thou ne'er hadst known t' inspire All the warm raptures of poetic fire!

But hark! or do I fancy the glad voice-- 'What tho' the swain did wondrous charms disclose-- (Not such did Memnon's sister sable drest) 35 Take these bright arms with royal face imprest, A better Kettle shall thy soul rejoice, And with Oblivion's wings o'erspread thy woes!'

Thus Fairy Hope can soothe distress and toil; On empty Trivets she bids fancied Kettles boil! 40

1790.