Chapter XXXVII: Canto II (3)

MR. EDITOR,--An unmetrical letter from Talleyrand to Lord
Grenville has already appeared, and from an authority too high
to be questioned: otherwise I could adduce some arguments for
the exclusive authenticity of the following metrical epistle.
The very epithet which the wise ancients used, '_aurea
carmina_,' might have been supposed likely to have determined
the choice of the French minister in favour of verse; and the
rather when we recollect that this phrase of '_golden verses_'
is applied emphatically to the works of that philosopher who
imposed _silence_ on all with whom he had to deal. Besides is
it not somewhat improbable that Talleyrand should have
preferred prose to rhyme, when the latter alone _has got the
chink_? Is it not likewise curious that in our official answer
no notice whatever is taken of the Chief Consul, Bonaparte, as
if there had been no such person [man _Essays, &c., 1850_]
existing; notwithstanding that his existence is pretty
generally admitted, nay that some have been so rash as to
believe that he has created as great a sensation in the world
as Lord Grenville, or even the Duke of Portland? But the
Minister of Foreign Affairs, Talleyrand, is acknowledged,
which, in our opinion, could not have happened had he written
only that insignificant prose-letter, which seems to precede
Bonaparte's, as in old romances a dwarf always ran before to
proclaim the advent or arrival of knight or giant. That
Talleyrand's character and practices more resemble those of
some _regular_ Governments than Bonaparte's I admit; but this
of itself does not appear a satisfactory explanation. However,
let the letter speak for itself. The second line is
supererogative in syllables, whether from the oscitancy of the
transcriber, or from the trepidation which might have
overpowered the modest Frenchman, on finding himself in the
act of writing to so _great_ a man, I shall not dare to
determine. A few Notes are added by
Your servant,
GNOME.

_P.S._--As mottoes are now fashionable, especially if taken
from out of the way books, you may prefix, if you please, the
following lines from Sidonius Apollinaris:

'Saxa, et robora, corneasque fibras
Mollit dulciloquâ canorus arte!'

TALLEYRAND, MINISTER OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS AT PARIS, TO LORD GRENVILLE, SECRETARY OF STATE IN GREAT BRITAIN FOR FOREIGN AFFAIRS, AUDITOR OF THE EXCHEQUER, A LORD OF TRADE, AN ELDER BROTHER OF TRINITY HOUSE, ETC.

My Lord! though your Lordship repel deviation
From forms long establish'd, yet with high consideration,
I plead for the honour to hope that no blame
Will attach, should this letter _begin_ with my name.
I dar'd not presume on your Lordship to bounce, 5
But thought it more _exquisite_ first to _announce_!

My Lord! I've the honour to be Talleyrand,
And the letter's from _me_! you'll not draw back your hand
Nor yet take it up by the rim in dismay,
As boys pick up ha'pence on April fool-day. 10
I'm no Jacobin foul, or red-hot Cordelier
That your Lordship's _un_gauntleted fingers need fear
An infection or burn! Believe me, 'tis true,
With a scorn like another I look down on the crew
That bawl and hold up to the mob's detestation 15
The most delicate wish for a _silent persuasion_.
_A form long-establish'd_ these Terrorists call
Bribes, perjury, theft, and the devil and all!
And yet spite of all that the Moralist[341:1] prates,
'Tis the keystone and cement of _civilized States_. 20
Those American _Reps_![342:1] And i' faith, they were serious!
It shock'd us at Paris, like something mysterious,
That men who've a Congress--But no more of 't! I'm proud
To have stood so distinct from the Jacobin crowd.

My Lord! though the vulgar in wonder be lost at 25
My transfigurations, and name me _Apostate_,
Such a meaningless nickname, which never incens'd me,
_Cannot_ prejudice you or your Cousin against me:
I'm Ex-bishop. What then? Burke himself would agree
That I left not the Church--'twas the Church that left me.
My titles prelatic I lov'd and retain'd, 31
As long as what _I_ meant by Prelate remain'd:
And tho' Mitres no longer will _pass_ in our mart,
I'm _episcopal_ still to the core of my heart.
No time from my name this my motto shall sever: 35
'Twill be _Non sine pulvere palma_[342:2] for ever!

Your goodness, my Lord, I conceive as excessive,
Or I dar'd not present you a scroll so digressive;
And in truth with my pen thro' and thro' I should strike it;
But I hear that your Lordship's own style is just like it. 40
Dear my Lord, we are right: for what charms can be shew'd
In a thing that goes straight like an old Roman road?
The tortoise crawls straight, the hare doubles about;
And the true line of beauty still winds in and out.
It argues, my Lord! of fine thoughts such a brood in us 45
To split and divide into heads multitudinous,
While charms that surprise (it can ne'er be denied us)
Sprout forth from each head, like the ears from King Midas.
Were a genius of rank, like a commonplace dunce,
Compell'd to drive on to the main point at once, 50
What a plentiful vintage of initiations[342:3]
Would Noble Lords lose in your Lordship's orations.
My fancy transports me! As mute as a mouse,
And as fleet as a pigeon, I'm borne to the house
Where all those who _are_ Lords, from father to son, 55
Discuss the affairs of all those who are none.
I behold you, my Lord! of your feelings quite full,
'Fore the woolsack arise, like a sack full of wool!
You rise on each Anti-Grenvillian Member,
Short, thick and blustrous, like a day in November![343:1] 60
Short in person, I mean: for the length of your speeches
Fame herself, that most famous reporter, ne'er reaches.
Lo! Patience beholds you contemn her brief reign,
And Time, that all-panting toil'd after in vain,
(Like the Beldam who raced for a smock with her grand-child) 65
Drops and cries: 'Were such lungs e'er assign'd to a man-child?'
Your strokes at her vitals pale Truth has confess'd,
And Zeal unresisted entempests your breast![343:2]
Though some noble Lords may be wishing to sup,
Your merit self-conscious, my Lord, _keeps you up_, 70
Unextinguish'd and swoln, as a balloon of paper
Keeps aloft by the smoke of its own farthing taper.
Ye SIXTEENS[343:3] of Scotland, your snuffs ye must trim;
Your Geminies, fix'd stars of England! grow dim,
And but for _a form long-establish'd_, no doubt 75
Twinkling faster and faster, ye all would _go out_.

_Apropos_, my dear Lord! a ridiculous blunder
Of some of our Journalists caused us some wonder:
It was said that in aspect malignant and sinister
In the Isle of Great Britain a great Foreign Minister 80
Turn'd as pale as a journeyman miller's frock coat is
On observing a star that appear'd in BOOTES!
When the whole truth was this (O those ignorant brutes!)
Your Lordship had made his appearance in boots.
You, my Lord, with your star, sat in boots, and the Spanish
Ambassador thereupon thought fit to vanish. 86

But perhaps, dear my Lord, among other worse crimes,
The whole was no more than a lie of _The Times_.
It is monstrous, my Lord! in a civilis'd state
That such Newspaper rogues should have license to prate. 90
Indeed printing in general--but for the taxes,
Is in theory false and pernicious in praxis!
You and I, and your Cousin, and Abbé Sieyes,
And all the great Statesmen that live in these days,
Are agreed that no nation secure is from vi'lence 95
Unless all who must think are maintain'd all in silence.
This printing, my Lord--but 'tis useless to mention
What we both of us think--'twas a curséd invention,
And Germany might have been honestly prouder
Had she left it alone, and found out only powder. 100
My Lord! when I think of our labours and cares
Who rule the Department of foreign affairs,
And how with their libels these journalists bore us,
Though Rage I acknowledge than Scorn less decorous;
Yet their presses and types I could shiver in splinters, 105
Those Printers' black Devils! those Devils of Printers!
In case of a peace--but perhaps it were better
To proceed to the absolute point of my letter:
For the deep wounds of France, Bonaparte, my master,
Has found out a new sort of _basilicon_ plaister. 110
But your time, my dear Lord! is your nation's best treasure,
I've intruded already too long on your leisure;
If so, I entreat you with penitent sorrow
To pause, and resume the remainder to-morrow.

1800.

FOOTNOTES:

[340:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, January 10, 1800: reprinted in _Essays on His Own Times_, 1850, i. 233-7. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, 1880.

[341:1] This sarcasm on the writings of moralists is, in general, extremely just; but had Talleyrand continued long enough in England, he might have found an honourable exception in the second volume of Dr. Paley's _Moral Philosophy_; in which both Secret Influence, and all the other _Established Forms_, are justified and placed in their true light.

[342:1] A fashionable abbreviation in the higher circles for Republicans. Thus _Mob_ was originally the Mobility.

[342:2] _Palma non sine pulvere_ In plain English, an itching palm, not without the yellow dust.

[342:3] The word _Initiations_ is borrowed from the new Constitution, and can only mean, in plain English, introductory matter. If the manuscript would bear us out, we should propose to read the line thus: 'What a plentiful _Verbage_, what Initiations!' inasmuch as Vintage must necessarily refer to wine, really or figuratively; and we cannot guess what species Lord Grenville's eloquence may be supposed to resemble, unless, indeed, it be _Cowslip_ wine. A slashing critic to whom we read the manuscript, proposed to read, 'What a plenty of Flowers--what initiations!' and supposes it may allude indiscriminately to Poppy Flowers, or Flour of Brimstone. The most modest emendation, perhaps, would be this--for Vintage read Ventage.

[343:1] We cannot sufficiently admire the accuracy of this simile. For as Lord Grenville, though short, is certainly not the shortest man in the House, even so is it with the days in November.

[343:2] An evident plagiarism of the Ex-Bishop's from Dr. Johnson:--

'Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign,
And panting Time toil'd after him in vain:
His pow'rful strokes presiding Truth confess'd,
And unresisting Passion storm'd the breast.'

[343:3] This line and the following are involved in an almost Lycophrontic tenebricosity. On repeating them, however, to an _Illuminant_, whose confidence I possess, he informed me (and he ought to know, for he is a Tallow-chandler by trade) that certain candles go by the name of _sixteens_. This explains the whole, the Scotch Peers are destined to burn out--and so are candles! The English are perpetual, and are therefore styled Fixed Stars! The word _Geminies_ is, we confess, still obscure to us; though we venture to suggest that it may perhaps be a metaphor (daringly sublime) for the two eyes which noble Lords do in general possess. It is certainly used by the poet Fletcher in this sense, in the 31st stanza of his _Purple Island_:--

'What! shall I then need seek a patron out,
Or beg a favour from a mistress' eyes,
To fence my song against the vulgar rout,
And shine upon me with her _geminies_?'

LINENOTES:

[14] With a scorn, like your own Essay, &c., 1850.

APOLOGIA PRO VITA SUA[345:1]

The poet in his lone yet genial hour
Gives to his eyes a magnifying power:
Or rather he emancipates his eyes
From the black shapeless accidents of size--
In unctuous cones of kindling coal, 5
Or smoke upwreathing from the pipe's trim hole,
His gifted ken can see
Phantoms of sublimity.

1800.

FOOTNOTES:

[345:1] Included in the text of _The Historie and Gests of Maxilian_: first published in _Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine_, January, 1822, vol. xi, p. 12. The lines were taken from a MS. note-book, dated August 28, 1800. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877-80.

LINENOTES:

Title] The Poet's ken P. W., 1885: Apologia, &c. 1907.

[1-4]

The poet's eye in his tipsy hour
Hath a magnifying power
Or rather emancipates his eyes
Of the accidents of size

MS.

[5] cones] cone MS.

[6] Or smoke from his pipe's bole MS.

[7] His eye can see MS.

THE KEEPSAKE[345:2]

The tedded hay, the first fruits of the soil,
The tedded hay and corn-sheaves in one field,
Show summer gone, ere come. The foxglove tall
Sheds its loose purple bells, or in the gust,
Or when it bends beneath the up-springing lark, 5
Or mountain-finch alighting. And the rose
(In vain the darling of successful love)
Stands, like some boasted beauty of past years,
The thorns remaining, and the flowers all gone.
Nor can I find, amid my lonely walk 10
By rivulet, or spring, or wet roadside,
That blue and bright-eyed floweret of the brook,
Hope's gentle gem, the sweet Forget-me-not![346:1]
So will not fade the flowers which Emmeline
With delicate fingers on the snow-white silk 15
Has worked (the flowers which most she knew I loved),
And, more beloved than they, her auburn hair.

In the cool morning twilight, early waked
By her full bosom's joyous restlessness,
Softly she rose, and lightly stole along, 20
Down the slope coppice to the woodbine bower,
Whose rich flowers, swinging in the morning breeze,
Over their dim fast-moving shadows hung,
Making a quiet image of disquiet
In the smooth, scarcely moving river-pool. 25
There, in that bower where first she owned her love,
And let me kiss my own warm tear of joy
From off her glowing cheek, she sate and stretched
The silk upon the frame, and worked her name
Between the Moss-Rose and Forget-me-not-- 30
Her own dear name, with her own auburn hair!
That forced to wander till sweet spring return,
I yet might ne'er forget her smile, her look,
Her voice, (that even in her mirthful mood
Has made me wish to steal away and weep,) 35
Nor yet the enhancement of that maiden kiss
With which she promised, that when spring returned,
She would resign one half of that dear name,
And own thenceforth no other name but mine!

? 1800.

FOOTNOTES:

[345:2] First published in the _Morning Post_, September 17, 1802 (signed, ΕΣΤΗΣΕ): included in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, 1834. 'It had been composed two years before' (1802), _Note_, 1893, p. 624. Mr. Campbell may have seen a dated MS. Internal evidence would point to the autumn of 1802, when it was published in the _Morning Post_.

[346:1] One of the names (and meriting to be the only one) of the _Myosotis Scorpioides Palustris_, a flower from six to twelve inches high, with blue blossom and bright yellow eye. It has the same name over the whole Empire of Germany (_Vergissmeinnicht_) and, we believe, in Denmark and Sweden.

LINENOTES:

[1] om. M. P.

[2] one] _one_ M. P.

[12] Line 13 precedes line 12 M. P.

[17] they] all M. P.

[19] joyous] joyless S. L. 1828.

[19-21]

joyous restlessness,
Leaving the soft bed to her sister,
Softly she rose, and lightly stole along,
Her fair face flushing in the purple dawn,
Adown the meadow to the woodbine bower

M. P.

[Between 19-20] Leaving the soft bed to her sleeping sister S. L. 1817.

[25] scarcely moving] scarcely-flowing M. P.

[39] thenceforth] henceforth M. P.

A THOUGHT SUGGESTED BY A VIEW[347:1]

OF SADDLEBACK IN CUMBERLAND

On stern Blencartha's perilous height
The winds are tyrannous and strong;
And flashing forth unsteady light
From stern Blencartha's skiey height,
As loud the torrents throng! 5
Beneath the moon, in gentle weather,
They bind the earth and sky together.
But oh! the sky and all its forms, how quiet!
The things that seek the earth, how full of noise and riot!

1800.

FOOTNOTES:

[347:1] First published in the _Amulet_, 1833, reprinted in _Friendship's Offering_, 1834: included in _Essays on His Own Times_, 1850, iii. 997. First collected in _P. and D. W._, 1877-80. These lines are inserted in one of the Malta Notebooks, and appear from the context to have been written at Olevano in 1806; but it is almost certain that they belong to the autumn of 1800 when Coleridge made a first acquaintance of 'Blencathara's rugged coves'. The first line is an adaptation of a line in a poem of Isaac Ritson, quoted in Hutchinson's _History of Cumberland_, a work which supplied him with some of the place-names in the Second Part of _Christabel_. Compare, too, a sentence in a letter to Sir H. Davy of Oct. 18, 1800:--'At the bottom of the Carrock Man . . . the wind became so fearful and _tyrannous_, etc.'

LINENOTES:

Title] A Versified Reflection F. O. 1834. In F. O. 1834, the lines were prefaced by a note:--[A Force is the provincial term in Cumberland for any narrow fall of water from the summit of a mountain precipice. The following stanza (it may not arrogate the name of poem) or versified reflection was composed while the author was gazing on three parallel _Forces_ on a moonlight night, at the foot of the Saddleback Fell. _S. T. C._] A ---- by the view of Saddleback, near Threlkeld in Cumberland, Essays, &c.

[1] Blencartha's] Blenkarthur's MS.: Blencarthur's F. O.: Blenharthur's Essays, &c., 1850.

[2] The wind is F. O.

[4] Blencartha's] Blenkarthur's MS.: Blencarthur's F. O.: Blenharthur's Essays, &c., 1850.

[8] oh!] ah! Essays, &c.

THE MAD MONK[347:2]

I heard a voice from Etna's side;
Where o'er a cavern's mouth
That fronted to the south
A chesnut spread its umbrage wide:
A hermit or a monk the man might be; 5
But him I could not see:
And thus the music flow'd along,
In melody most like to old Sicilian song:

'There was a time when earth, and sea, and skies,
The bright green vale, and forest's dark recess, 10
With all things, lay before mine eyes
In steady loveliness:
But now I feel, on earth's uneasy scene,
Such sorrows as will never cease;--
I only ask for peace; 15
If I must live to know that such a time has been!'
A silence then ensued:
Till from the cavern came
A voice;--it was the same!
And thus, in mournful tone, its dreary plaint renew'd: 20

'Last night, as o'er the sloping turf I trod,
The smooth green turf, to me a vision gave
Beneath mine eyes, the sod--
The roof of Rosa's grave!

My heart has need with dreams like these to strive, 25
For, when I woke, beneath mine eyes I found
The plot of mossy ground,
On which we oft have sat when Rosa was alive.--
Why must the rock, and margin of the flood,
Why must the hills so many flow'rets bear, 30
Whose colours to a _murder'd_ maiden's blood,
Such sad resemblance wear?--

'_I struck the wound_,--this hand of mine!
For Oh, thou maid divine,
I lov'd to agony! 35
The youth whom thou call'd'st thine
Did never love like me!

'Is it the stormy clouds above
That flash'd so red a gleam?
On yonder downward trickling stream?-- 40
'Tis not the blood of her I love.--
The sun torments me from his western bed,
Oh, let him cease for ever to diffuse
Those crimson spectre hues!
Oh, let me lie in peace, and be for ever dead!' 45

Here ceas'd the voice. In deep dismay,
Down thro' the forest I pursu'd my way.

1800.

FOOTNOTES:

[347:2] First published in the _Morning Post_, October 13, 1800 (signed _Cassiani junior_): reprinted in _Wild Wreath_ (By M. E. Robinson), 1804, pp. 141-4. First collected in _P. W._, 1880 (ii, Supplement, p. 362).

LINENOTES:

Title] 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 classed under the title 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.

[17] sunny] sunshine 1801.

[32] in] by 1801.

[38] on] now 1801.

[57] Now to the maniac while he raves 1801.

ALCAEUS TO SAPPHO[353:1]

How sweet, when crimson colours dart
Across a breast of snow,
To see that you are in the heart
That beats and throbs below.

All Heaven is in a maiden's blush, 5
In which the soul doth speak,
That it was you who sent the flush
Into the maiden's cheek.

Large steadfast eyes! eyes gently rolled
In shades of changing blue, 10
How sweet are they, if they behold
No dearer sight than you.

And, can a lip more richly glow,
Or be more fair than this?
The world will surely answer, No! 15
I, SAPPHO, answer, Yes!

Then grant one smile, tho' it should mean
A thing of doubtful birth;
That I may say these eyes have seen
The fairest face on earth! 20

1800.

FOOTNOTES:

[353:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, November 24, 1800: reprinted in _Letters from the Lake Poets_, 1889, p. 16. It is probable that these lines, sent in a letter to Daniel Stuart (Editor of the _Morning Post_), dated October 7, 1800, were addressed to Mrs. Robinson, who was a frequent contributor of verses signed 'Sappho'. A sequence of Sonnets entitled 'Sappho to Phaon' is included in the collected edition of her _Poems_, 1806, iii. 63-107.

THE TWO ROUND SPACES ON THE TOMBSTONE[353:2]

The Devil believes that the Lord will come,
Stealing a march without beat of drum,
About the same time that he came last,
On an Old Christmas-day in a snowy blast:
Till he bids the trump sound neither body nor soul stirs, 5
For the dead men's heads have slipt under their bolsters.

Oh! ho! brother Bard, in our churchyard,
Both beds and bolsters are soft and green;
Save one alone, and that's of stone,
And under it lies a Counsellor keen. 10
'Twould be a square tomb, if it were not too long;
And 'tis fenced round with irons sharp, spear-like, and strong.

This fellow from Aberdeen hither did skip
With a waxy face and a blubber lip,
And a black tooth in front, to show in part 15
What was the colour of his whole heart.
This Counsellor sweet,
This Scotchman complete,
(The Devil scotch him for a snake!)
I trust he lies in his grave awake. 20
On the sixth of January,
When all around is white with snow,
As a Cheshire yeoman's dairy,
Brother Bard, ho! ho! believe it, or no,
On that stone tomb to you I'll show 25
Two round spaces void of snow.
I swear by our Knight, and his forefathers' souls,
That in size and shape they are just like the holes
In the house of privity
Of that ancient family. 30
On those two places void of snow,
There have sat in the night for an hour or so,
Before sunrise, and after cock-crow,
He kicking his heels, she cursing her corns,
All to the tune of the wind in their horns, 35
The Devil and his Grannam,
With a snow-blast to fan 'em;
Expecting and hoping the trumpet to blow,
For they are cock-sure of the fellow below!

1800.

FOOTNOTES:

[353:2] First published in the _Morning Post_, December 4, 1800: reprinted in _Fraser's Magazine_ both in February and in May, 1833, and in Payne Collier's _Old Man's Diary_, i. 35. First collected in _P. W._, 1834, with the following Prefatory Note:--'See the apology for the "Fire, Famine, and Slaughter", in first volume. This is the first time the author ever published these lines. He would have been glad, had they perished; but they have now been printed repeatedly in magazines, and he is told that the verses will not perish. Here, therefore, they are owned, with a hope that they will be taken--as assuredly they were composed--in mere sport.' These lines, which were directed against Sir James Mackintosh, were included in a letter to [Sir] Humphry Davy, dated October 9, 1800. There is a MS. version in the British Museum in the handwriting of R. Heber, presented by him to J. Mitford. Mr. Campbell questions the accuracy of Coleridge's statement with regard to his never having published the poem on his own account. But it is possible that Davy may have sent the lines to the Press without Coleridge's authority. Daniel Stuart, the Editor of the _Morning Post_, in the _Gentleman's Magazine_ for May, 1838, says that 'Coleridge sent one [poem] attacking Mackintosh, too obviously for me not to understand it, and of course it was not published. Mackintosh had had one of his front teeth broken and the stump was black'. Stuart remembered that the lines attacking his brother-in-law had been suppressed, but forgot that he had inserted the rest of the poem. The poem as printed in 1893, despite the heading, does not follow the text of the _Morning Post_.

LINENOTES:

Title] Skeltoniad (To be read in the Recitative Lilt) MS. Letter: The Two Round Spaces; A Skeltoniad M. P.

[1] The Devil believes the Fraser (1).

[3] time] hour MS. Letter, M. P., Fraser (1), Collier. At the same hour MS. H.

[4] an Old] a cold Fraser (1): On Old MS. H.

[5] neither] nor MS. Letter, M. P.: Till he bids the trump blow nor Fraser (2): Till the trump then shall sound no Collier: Until that time not a body or MS. H.

[6] their] the Collier.

[7] Oh! ho!] Ho! Ho! M. P., MS. H.: Oho Fraser (1). Brother Collier. our] _our_ MS. Letter.

[8] Both bed and bolster Fraser (2). The graves and bolsters MS. H.

[9] Except one alone MS. H.

[10] under] in Fraser (2).

[11] This tomb would be square M. P.: 'Twould be a square stone if it were not so long Fraser (1). It would be square MS. H. tomb] grave Collier.

[12] And 'tis railed round with iron tall M. P.: And 'tis edg'd round with iron Fraser (1): 'Tis fenc'd round with irons tall Fraser (2): And 'tis fenc'd round with iron tall Collier. 'tis] its MS. H.

[13-20] om. M. P.

[13] From Aberdeen hither this fellow MS. Letter. hither] here Fraser (2).

[14] blubber] blabber MS. Letter, Fraser (1), (2), MS. H.

[15] in front] before MS. H.

[17] Counsellor] lawyer so MS. H.

[19] The Devil] Apollyon MS. Letter. scotch] _scotch_ Collier.

[20] trust] hope Collier.] (A humane wish) Note in MS. Letter.

[21] sixth] seventh M. P., Collier: fifth MS. H.

[22] When all is white both high and low MS. Letter, M. P., Fraser (2), Collier, MS. H.: When the ground All around Is as white as snow Fraser (1).

[23] As] Or Fraser (1): Like MS. H.

[24] ho! ho!] oho! Fraser (1). it] me M. P.

[25] stone] tall MS. Letter, M. P., Fraser (2), Collier. On the stone to you MS. H.

[25-6] om. Fraser (1).

[Between 25-6] After sunset and before cockcrow M. P. Before sunrise and after cockcrow Fraser (2).

[26] void] clear M. P.

[27] I swear by the might Of the darkness of night, I swear by the sleep of our forefathers' souls Fraser (1). souls] soul MS. H.

[26-8] om. Fraser (2).

[28] Both in shape and size MS. Letter: Both in shape and in size M. P.: That in shape and size they resembled Fraser (1), Collier: That in shape and size they are just like the Hole MS. H.

[29] In the large house M. P.

[29-30]

In mansions not seen by the general eye
Of that right ancient family.

Fraser (1).

[31] two] round MS. Letter. places] spaces Collier, MS. H. void] clear M. P.

[32] Have sat Fraser (1), (2): There have sat for an hour MS. H.

[33] om. MS. Letter, M. P.

[36] Devil] De'il M. P.

[37] With the snow-drift M. P.: With a snow-blast to fan MS. Letter.

[38] Expecting and wishing the trumpet would blow Collier.

THE SNOW-DROP[356:1]

1

Fear no more, thou timid Flower!
Fear thou no more the winter's might,
The whelming thaw, the ponderous shower,
The silence of the freezing night!
Since Laura murmur'd o'er thy leaves 5
The potent sorceries of song,
To thee, meek Flowret! gentler gales
And cloudless skies belong.

2

Her eye with tearful meanings fraught,
She gaz'd till all the body mov'd 10
Interpreting the Spirit's thought--
The Spirit's eager sympathy
Now trembled with thy trembling stem,
And while thou droopedst o'er thy bed,
With sweet unconscious sympathy 15
Inclin'd the drooping head.[357:1]

3

She droop'd her head, she stretch'd her arm,
She whisper'd low her witching rhymes,
Fame unreluctant heard the charm,
And bore thee to Pierian climes! 20
Fear thou no more the Matin Frost
That sparkled on thy bed of snow;
For there, mid laurels ever green,
Immortal thou shalt blow.

4

Thy petals boast a white more soft, 25
The spell hath so perfuméd thee,
That careless Love shall deem thee oft
A blossom from his Myrtle tree.
Then, laughing at the fair deceit,
Shall race with some Etesian wind 30
To seek the woven arboret
Where Laura lies reclin'd.

5

All them whom Love and Fancy grace,
When grosser eyes are clos'd in sleep,
The gentle spirits of the place 35
Waft up the insuperable steep,
On whose vast summit broad and smooth
Her nest the Phœnix Bird conceals,
And where by cypresses o'erhung
The heavenly Lethe steals. 40

6

A sea-like sound the branches breathe,
Stirr'd by the Breeze that loiters there;
And all that stretch their limbs beneath,
Forget the coil of mortal care.
Strange mists along the margins rise, 45
To heal the guests who thither come,
And fit the soul to re-endure
Its earthly martyrdom.

7*

The margin dear to moonlight elves
Where Zephyr-trembling Lilies grow, 50
And bend to kiss their softer selves
That tremble in the stream below:--
There nightly borne does Laura lie
A magic Slumber heaves her breast:
Her arm, white wanderer of the Harp, 55
Beneath her cheek is prest.

8*

The Harp uphung by golden chains
Of that low wind which whispers round,
With coy reproachfulness complains,
In snatches of reluctant sound: 60
The music hovers half-perceiv'd,
And only moulds the slumberer's dreams;
Remember'd LOVES relume her cheek
With Youth's returning gleams.

1800.

FOOTNOTES:

[356:1] First published in _P. W._, 1893. The two last stanzas[*] were omitted as 'too imperfect to print'. The MS. bears the following heading: LINES WRITTEN IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE PERUSAL OF MRS. ROBINSON'S SNOW DROP.

_To the Editor of the Morning Post._

Sir,

I am one of your many readers who have been highly gratified
by some extracts from Mrs. Robinson's 'Walsingham': you will
oblige me by inserting the following lines [_sic_] immediately
on the perusal of her beautiful poem 'The Snow Drop'.--ZAGRI.

The 'Lines' were never sent or never appeared in the _Morning Post_.

To the Snow Drop.

1

Fear thou no more the wintry storm,
Sweet Flowret, blest by LAURA'S song:
She gaz'd upon thy slender form,
The mild Enchantress gaz'd so long;
That trembling as she saw thee droop,
Poor Trembler! o'er thy snowy bed,
With imitation's sympathy
She too inclin'd her head.

2

She droop'd her head, she stretch'd her arm,
She whisper'd low her witching rhymes:
A gentle Sylphid heard the charm,
And bore thee to Pierian climes!
Fear thou no more the sparkling Frost,
The Tempest's Howl, the Fog-damp's gloom:
For thus mid laurels evergreen
Immortal thou shalt bloom!

3 [Stanza 2]

With eager [*feelings*] unreprov'd
With [*steady eye and brooding thought*]
Her eye with tearful meanings fraught,
[*My Fancy saw her gaze at thee*]
She gaz'd till all the body mov'd
[*Till all the moving body caught,*]
Interpreting, the Spirit's sympathy--
The Spirit's eager sympathy
Now trembled with thy trembling stem,
And while thou drooped'st o'er thy bed,
With sweet unconscious sympathy
Inclin'd { her [*portraiture*]
{ the drooping head.
First draft of Stanzas 1-3. _MS. S. T. C._

[357:1] The second stanza of Mrs. Robinson's ('Perdita') 'Ode to the Snow-drop' runs thus:

All weak and wan, with head inclin'd,
Its parent-breast the drifted snow,
It trembles, while the ruthless wind
Bends its slim form; the tempest lowers,
Its em'rald eye drops crystal show'rs
On its cold bed below.

_The Poetical Works of the late Mrs. Mary Robinson_, 1806, i. 123.

LINENOTES:

[36] insuperable] unvoyageable MS. erased.

[53-4]

Along that marge does Laura lie
Full oft where Slumber heaves her breast

MS. erased.

[64] With Beauty's morning gleams MS. erased.

ON REVISITING THE SEA-SHORE[359:1]

AFTER LONG ABSENCE, UNDER STRONG MEDICAL RECOMMENDATION NOT TO BATHE

God be with thee, gladsome Ocean!
How gladly greet I thee once more!
Ships and waves, and ceaseless motion,
And men rejoicing on thy shore.

Dissuading spake the mild Physician, 5
'Those briny waves for thee are Death!'
But my soul fulfilled her mission,
And lo! I breathe untroubled breath!

Fashion's pining sons and daughters,
That seek the crowd they seem to fly, 10
Trembling they approach thy waters;
And what cares Nature, if they die?

Me a thousand hopes and pleasures
A thousand recollections bland,
Thoughts sublime, and stately measures, 15
Revisit on thy echoing strand:

Dreams (the Soul herself forsaking),
Tearful raptures, boyish mirth;
Silent adorations, making
A blessed shadow of this Earth! 20

O ye hopes, that stir within me,
Health comes with you from above!
God is with me, God is in me!
I cannot die, if Life be Love.

_August_, 1801.

FOOTNOTES:

[359:1] First published in the _Morning Post_ (signed Εστησε), September 15, 1801: included in the _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. The lines were sent in an unpublished letter to Southey dated August 15, 1801. An autograph MS. is in the possession of Miss Arnold of Foxhow.

LINENOTES:

Title] A flowering weed on the sweet Hill of Poesy MS. Letter, 1801: Ode After Bathing in the Sea, Contrary to Medical Advice M. P. After bathing in the Sea at Scarborough in company with T. Hutchinson. Aug. 1801 MS. A.

[3] ceaseless] endless MS. Letter, M. P., MS. A.

[4] men] life MS. Letter, M. P., MS. A.

[5]

{ mild MS. A.
Gravely said the { sage Physician MS. Letter:

Mildly said the mild Physician M. P.

[6] To bathe me on thy shores were death MS. Letter, M. P., MS. A.

[10] That love the city's gilded sty MS. Letter, M. P., MS. A.

[13] hopes] loves MS. Letter, MS. A.

[16] echoing] sounding MS. Letter, M. P., MS. A.

[18] Grief-like transports MS. Letter, M. P., MS. A.

ODE TO TRANQUILLITY[360:1]

Tranquillity! thou better name
Than all the family of Fame!
Thou ne'er wilt leave my riper age
To low intrigue, or factious rage;
For oh! dear child of thoughtful Truth, 5
To thee I gave my early youth,
And left the bark, and blest the steadfast shore,
Ere yet the tempest rose and scared me with its roar.

Who late and lingering seeks thy shrine,
On him but seldom, Power divine, 10
Thy spirit rests! Satiety
And Sloth, poor counterfeits of thee,
Mock the tired worldling. Idle Hope
And dire Remembrance interlope,
To vex the feverish slumbers of the mind: 15
The bubble floats before, the spectre stalks behind.

But me thy gentle hand will lead
At morning through the accustomed mead;
And in the sultry summer's heat
Will build me up a mossy seat; 20
And when the gust of Autumn crowds,
And breaks the busy moonlight clouds,
Thou best the thought canst raise, the heart attune,
Light as the busy clouds, calm as the gliding moon.

The feeling heart, the searching soul, 25
To thee I dedicate the whole!
And while within myself I trace
The greatness of some future race,
Aloof with hermit-eye I scan
The present works of present man-- 30
A wild and dream-like trade of blood and guile,
Too foolish for a tear, too wicked for a smile!

1801.

FOOTNOTES:

[360:1] First published in the _Morning Post_ (with two additional stanzas at the commencement of the poem), December 4, 1801: reprinted in _The Friend_ (without heading or title), No. 1, Thursday, June 1, 1809: included in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. The stanzas were not indented in the _Morning Post_ or _The Friend_.

LINENOTES:

Title] _Vix ea nostra voco_ M. P.

[Before 1]

What Statesmen scheme and Soldiers work,
Whether the Pontiff or the Turk,
Will e'er renew th' expiring lease
Of Empire; whether War or Peace
Will best play off the CONSUL'S game;
What fancy-figures, and what name
Half-thinking, sensual France, a natural Slave,
On those ne'er-broken Chains, her self-forg'd Chains, will grave;

Disturb not me! Some tears I shed
When bow'd the Swiss his noble head;
Since then, with quiet heart have view'd
Both distant Fights and Treaties crude,
Whose heap'd up terms, which Fear compels,
(Live Discord's green Combustibles,
And future Fuel of the funeral Pyre)
Now hide, and soon, alas! will feed the low-burnt Fire.

M. P.

[8] tempest] storm-wind M. P.

[15] To] And The Friend, 1809. slumbers] slumber M. P., The Friend.

[17] thy gentle hand] the power Divine M. P.

[21] Autumn] Summer M. P.

[23] The best the thoughts will lift M. P.

[26] thee] her M. P.

[28] some] a M. P.

[29] hermit] hermit's M. P.

TO ASRA[361:1]

Are there two things, of all which men possess,
That are so like each other and so near,
As mutual Love seems like to Happiness?
Dear Asra, woman beyond utterance dear!
This Love which ever welling at my heart, 5
Now in its living fount doth heave and fall,
Now overflowing pours thro' every part
Of all my frame, and fills and changes all,
Like vernal waters springing up through snow,
This Love that seeming great beyond the power 10
Of growth, yet seemeth ever more to grow,
Could I transmute the whole to one rich Dower
Of Happy Life, and give it all to Thee,
Thy lot, methinks, were Heaven, thy age, Eternity!

1801.

FOOTNOTES:

[361:1] First published in 1893. The Sonnet to 'Asra' was prefixed to the MS. of _Christabel_ which Coleridge presented to Miss Sarah Hutchinson in 1804.

THE SECOND BIRTH[362:1]

There are two births, the one when Light
First strikes the new-awaken'd sense--
The other when two souls unite,
And we must count our life from then.

When you lov'd me, and I lov'd you, 5
Then both of us were born anew.

? 1801.

FOOTNOTES:

[362:1] First published from a MS. in 1893.

LOVE'S SANCTUARY[362:2]

This yearning heart (Love! witness what I say)
Enshrines thy form as purely as it may,
Round which, as to some spirit uttering bliss,
My thoughts all stand ministrant night and day
Like saintly Priests, that dare not think amiss.

? 1801.

FOOTNOTES:

[362:2] First published from a MS. in 1893.

DEJECTION: AN ODE[362:3]

[WRITTEN APRIL 4, 1802]

Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon,
With the old Moon in her arms;
And I fear, I fear, my Master dear!
We shall have a deadly storm.
_Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence._

I

Well! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made
The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,
This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence
Unroused by winds, that ply a busier trade
Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes, 5
Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes
Upon the strings of this Æolian lute,
Which better far were mute.
For lo! the New-moon winter-bright!
And overspread with phantom light, 10
(With swimming phantom light o'erspread
But rimmed and circled by a silver thread)
I see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling
The coming-on of rain and squally blast.
And oh! that even now the gust were swelling, 15
And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast!
Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed,
And sent my soul abroad,
Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give,
Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live! 20

II

A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief,
Which finds no natural outlet, no relief,
In word, or sigh, or tear--
O Lady! in this wan and heartless mood, 25
To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd,
All this long eve, so balmy and serene,
Have I been gazing on the western sky,
And its peculiar tint of yellow green:
And still I gaze--and with how blank an eye! 30
And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars,
That give away their motion to the stars;
Those stars, that glide behind them or between,
Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen:
Yon crescent Moon, as fixed as if it grew 35
In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue;
I see them all so excellently fair,
I see, not feel, how beautiful they are!

III

My genial spirits fail;
And what can these avail 40
To lift the smothering weight from off my breast?
It were a vain endeavour,
Though I should gaze for ever
On that green light that lingers in the west:
I may not hope from outward forms to win 45
The passion and the Life, whose fountains are within.

IV

O Lady! we receive but what we give,
And in our life alone does Nature live:
Ours is her wedding garment, ours her shroud!
And would we aught behold, of higher worth, 50
Than that inanimate cold world allowed
To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd,
Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth
A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud
Enveloping the Earth-- 55
And from the soul itself must there be sent
A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth,
Of all sweet sounds the life and element!

V

O pure of heart! thou need'st not ask of me
What this strong music in the soul may be! 60
What, and wherein it doth exist,
This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist,
This beautiful and beauty-making power.
Joy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne'er was given,
Save to the pure, and in their purest hour, 65
Life, and Life's effluence, cloud at once and shower,
Joy, Lady! is the spirit and the power,
Which wedding Nature to us gives in dower
A new Earth and new Heaven,
Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud-- 70
Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud--
We in ourselves rejoice!
And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight,
All melodies the echoes of that voice,
All colours a suffusion from that light. 75

VI

There was a time when, though my path was rough,
This joy within me dallied with distress,
And all misfortunes were but as the stuff
Whence Fancy made me dreams of happiness:
For hope grew round me, like the twining vine, 80
And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seemed mine.
But now afflictions bow me down to earth:
Nor care I that they rob me of my mirth;
But oh! each visitation
Suspends what nature gave me at my birth, 85
My shaping spirit of Imagination.
For not to think of what I needs must feel,
But to be still and patient, all I can;
And haply by abstruse research to steal
From my own nature all the natural man-- 90
This was my sole resource, my only plan:
Till that which suits a part infects the whole,
And now is almost grown the habit of my soul.

VII

Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind,
Reality's dark dream! 95
I turn from you, and listen to the wind,
Which long has raved unnoticed. What a scream
Of agony by torture lengthened out
That lute sent forth! Thou Wind, that rav'st without,
Bare crag, or mountain-tairn,[367:1] or blasted tree, 100
Or pine-grove whither woodman never clomb,
Or lonely house, long held the witches' home,
Methinks were fitter instruments for thee,
Mad Lutanist! who in this month of showers,
Of dark-brown gardens, and of peeping flowers, 105
Mak'st Devils' yule, with worse than wintry song,
The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves among.
Thou Actor, perfect in all tragic sounds!
Thou mighty Poet, e'en to frenzy bold!
What tell'st thou now about? 110
'Tis of the rushing of an host in rout,
With groans, of trampled men, with smarting wounds--
At once they groan with pain, and shudder with the cold!
But hush! there is a pause of deepest silence!
And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd, 115
With groans, and tremulous shudderings--all is over--
It tells another tale, with sounds less deep and loud!
A tale, of less affright,
And tempered with delight,
As Otway's self had framed the tender lay,-- 120
'Tis of a little child
Upon a lonesome wild,
Not far from home, but she hath lost her way:
And now moans low in bitter grief and fear,
And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother hear.

VIII

'Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep: 126
Full seldom may my friend such vigils keep!
Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing,
And may this storm be but a mountain-birth,
May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling, 130
Silent as though they watched the sleeping Earth!
With light heart may she rise,
Gay fancy, cheerful eyes,
Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice;
To her may all things live, from pole to pole, 135
Their life the eddying of her living soul!
O simple spirit, guided from above,
Dear Lady! friend devoutest of my choice,
Thus mayest thou ever, evermore rejoice.

1802.

FOOTNOTES: