Chapter XL: Canto II (4)

[362:3] First published in the _Morning Post_, October 4, 1802. Included in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. The Ode was sent in a letter to W. Sotheby, dated Keswick, July 19, 1802 (_Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i. 379-84). Two other MS. versions are preserved at Coleorton (_P. W. of W. Wordsworth_, ed. by William Knight, 1896, iii. App., pp. 400, 401). Lines 37, 38 were quoted by Coleridge in the _Historie and Gests of Maxilian_ (first published in _Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine_ for January, 1822, and reprinted in _Miscellanies, &c._, ed. by T. Ashe, 1885, p. 282): l. 38 by Wordsworth in his pamphlet on _The Convention of Cintra_, 1809, p. 135: lines 47-75, followed by lines 29-38, were quoted by Coleridge in _Essays on the Fine Arts_, No. III (which were first published in _Felix Farley's Bristol Journal_, Sept. 10, 1814, and reprinted by Cottle, _E. R._, 1837, ii. 201-40); and lines 21-28, _ibid._, in illustration of the following _Scholium_:--'We have sufficiently distinguished the beautiful from the agreeable, by the sure criterion, that when we find an object agreeable, the _sensation_ of pleasure always precedes the judgment, and is its determining cause. We _find_ it agreeable. But when we declare an object beautiful, the contemplation or intuition of its beauty precedes the _feeling_ of complacency, in order of nature at least: nay in great depression of spirits may even exist without sensibly producing it.' Lines 76-93 are quoted in a letter to Southey of July 29, 1802; lines 76-83 are quoted in a letter to Allsop, September 30, 1819, _Letters, &c._, 1836, i. 17. Lines 80, 81 are quoted in the _Biographia Literaria_, 1817, ii. 182, and lines 87-93 in a letter to Josiah Wedgwood, dated October 20, 1802: see Cottle's _Rem._, 1848, p. 44, and _Tom Wedgwood_ by R. B. Litchfield, 1903, pp. 114, 115.

[367:1] Tairn is a small lake, generally if not always applied to the lakes up in the mountains and which are the feeders of those in the valleys. This address to the Storm-wind [wind _S. L._], will not appear extravagant to those who have heard it at night and in a mountainous country.

LINENOTES:

Title] Dejection, &c., written April 4, 1802 M. P.

[2] grand] dear Letter to Sotheby, July 19, 1802.

[5] Than that which moulds yon clouds Letter, July 19, 1802. cloud] clouds M. P., S. L.

[6] moans] drones Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.

[12] by] with Letter, July 19, 1802.

[17-20] om. Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.

[21-8] Quoted as illustrative of a 'Scholium' in Felix Farley's Journal, 1814.

[22] stifled] stifling Letter, July 19, 1802.

[23] Which] That Letter, July 19, 1802, F. F.

[Between 24-7]

This, William, well thou knowst
Is the sore evil which I dread the most
And oft'nest suffer. In this heartless mood
To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd
That pipes within the larch-tree, not unseen,
The larch, that pushes out in tassels green
Its bundled leafits, woo'd to mild delights
By all the tender sounds and gentle sights
Of this sweet primrose-month and vainly woo'd!
O dearest Poet in this heartless mood.

Letter, July 19, 1802.

[25] O Edmund M. P.: O William Coleorton MS.: O dearest Lady in this heartless mood F. F.

[26] by yon sweet throstle woo'd F. F.

[28] on] at F. F.

[29] peculiar] celestial F. F. yellow green] yellow-green Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.

[30] blank] black Cottle, 1837.

[35-6]

Yon crescent moon that seems as if it grew
In its own starless, cloudless

F. F.

[Between 36-7] A boat becalm'd! thy own sweet sky-canoe Letter, July 19, 1802: A boat becalm'd! a lovely sky-canoe M. P.

[38] I _see_ not _feel_ M. P., Letter, July 19, 1802: _I see . . . they are_ F. F.

[45-6] Quoted in the _Gests of Maxilian_, Jan. 1822, and _Convention of Cintra_, 1809, p. 135.

[47] Lady] Wordsworth Letter, July 19, 1802: William Coleorton MS.: Edmund M. P., F. F. we _receive_ but what we _give_ Coleorton MS., F. F.

[48] our] _our_ M. P., F. F.

[51] allowed] _allow'd_ Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.

[57] potent] powerful Letter, July 19, 1802, F. F.

V] Stanza v is included in stanza iv in M. P.

[60] What] _What_ Letter, July 19, 1802.

[61] exist] subsist F. F.

[64] virtuous Lady] blameless Poet Letter, July 19, 1802: virtuous Edmund M. P. Joy, O belovéd, Joy that F. F.

[66] om. Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.: Life of our life the parent and the birth F. F. effluence] effulgence S. L. Corr. in _Errata_ p. [xii], and in text by S. T. C. (MS.).

[67] Lady] William Letter, July 19, 1802: Edmund M. P.: om. F. F.

[68] Which] That Letter, July 19, 1802.

[69] A new heaven and new earth F. F.

[71] om. Letter, July 19, 1802: _This_ is the strong voice, this the luminous cloud F. F.

[72] We, we ourselves Letter,July 19, 1802, M. P.: Our inmost selves F. F.

[73] flows] comes Letter, July 19, 1802. charms] glads F. F.

[74] the echoes] an echo Letter, July 19, 1802.

[After 75]

Calm steadfast Spirit, guided from above,
O Wordsworth! friend of my devoutest choice,
Great son of genius! full of light and love
Thus, thus dost thou rejoice.
To thee do all things live from pole to pole,
Their life the eddying of thy living soul
Brother and friend of my devoutest choice
Thus may'st thou ever, evermore rejoice!

Letter, July 19, 1802.

[Before 76] Yes, dearest poet, yes Letter, July 19, 1802: Yes, dearest William! Yes! Coleorton MS. [Stanza v] Yes, dearest Edmund, yes M. P.

[76] The time when Letter, Sept. 30, 1819.

[77] This] The Letters, July 19, 1802, Sept. 30, 1819. I had a heart that dallied Letter to Southey, July 29, 1802.

[80] For] When Biog. Lit., Letter, Sept. 30, 1819. twining] climbing Letters, July 19, 29, 1802, Biog. Lit.

[80-1] Quoted in Biog. Lit., 1817, ii. 180.

[81] fruits] fruit Letter, July 19, 1802.

[82] But seared thoughts now Letter, Sept. 30, 1819.

[83] care] car'd Letter, July 19, 1802.

[86] In M. P. the words 'The sixth and seventh stanzas omitted' preceded three rows of four asterisks, lines 87-93 (quoted in Letter to Josiah Wedgwood, Oct. 20, 1802) being omitted. The Coleorton MS. ends with line 86.

[87] think] _think_ Letters, July 19, 29, 1802.

[91] was] is Letter, Sept. 30, 1819. only] wisest Letters, July 19, 29, 1802.

[92] Till] And Letters, July 19, 29, 1802.

[93] habit] temper Letters, July 19, 29, Oct. 20, 1802.

[94-5]

Nay [O M. P.] wherefore did I let it haunt my mind
This dark distressful dream.

Letter, July 19, 1802.

[96] you] it Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.

[99] That lute sent out! O thou wild storm without Letter, July 19, 1802. O Wind M. P.

[104] who] that Letter, July 19, 1802.

[112] With many groans from men Letter, July 19, 1802: With many groans of men M. P.

[115] Again! but all that noise Letter, July 19, 1802.

[117] And it has other sounds less fearful and less loud Letter, July 19, 1802.

[120] Otway's self] thou thyself Letter, July 19, 1802: Edmund's self M. P.

[122] lonesome] heath Letter, July 19, 1802.

[124] bitter] utter Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.

[125] hear] _hear_ Letter, July 19, 1802, M. P.

VIII] om. Letter, July 19, 1802.

[126] but] and M. P.

[128] her] him M. P.

[130] her] his M. P.

[131] watched] _watch'd_ M. P.

[132] she] he M. P.

[After 133]

And sing his lofty song and teach me to rejoice!
O Edmund, friend of my devoutest choice,
O rais'd from anxious dread and busy care,
By the immenseness of the good and fair
Which thou see'st everywhere, 5
Joy lifts thy spirit, joy attunes thy voice,
To thee do all things live from pole to pole,
Their life the eddying of thy living soul!
O simple Spirit, guided from above,
O lofty Poet, full of life and love, 10
Brother and Friend of my devoutest choice,
Thus may'st thou ever, evermore rejoice!
ΕΣΤΗΣΕ.

M. P.

[_Note._--For lines 7, 8, 11, 12 of this variant, vide _ante_, variant of lines 75 foll.]

THE PICTURE[369:1]

OR THE LOVER'S RESOLUTION

Through weeds and thorns, and matted underwood
I force my way; now climb, and now descend
O'er rocks, or bare or mossy, with wild foot
Crushing the purple whorts;[369:2] while oft unseen,
Hurrying along the drifted forest-leaves, 5
The scared snake rustles. Onward still I toil,
I know not, ask not whither! A new joy,
Lovely as light, sudden as summer gust,
And gladsome as the first-born of the spring,
Beckons me on, or follows from behind, 10
Playmate, or guide! The master-passion quelled,
I feel that I am free. With dun-red bark
The fir-trees, and the unfrequent slender oak,
Forth from this tangle wild of bush and brake
Soar up, and form a melancholy vault 15
High o'er me, murmuring like a distant sea.

Here Wisdom might resort, and here Remorse;
Here too the love-lorn man, who, sick in soul,
And of this busy human heart aweary,
Worships the spirit of unconscious life 20
In tree or wild-flower.--Gentle lunatic!
If so he might not wholly cease to be,
He would far rather not be that he is;
But would be something that he knows not of,
In winds or waters, or among the rocks! 25

But hence, fond wretch! breathe not contagion here!
No myrtle-walks are these: these are no groves
Where Love dare loiter! If in sullen mood
He should stray hither, the low stumps shall gore
His dainty feet, the briar and the thorn 30
Make his plumes haggard. Like a wounded bird
Easily caught, ensnare him, O ye Nymphs,
Ye Oreads chaste, ye dusky Dryades!
And you, ye Earth-winds! you that make at morn
The dew-drops quiver on the spiders' webs! 35
You, O ye wingless Airs! that creep between
The rigid stems of heath and bitten furze,
Within whose scanty shade, at summer-noon,
The mother-sheep hath worn a hollow bed--
Ye, that now cool her fleece with dropless damp, 40
Now pant and murmur with her feeding lamb.
Chase, chase him, all ye Fays, and elfin Gnomes!
With prickles sharper than his darts bemock
His little Godship, making him perforce
Creep through a thorn-bush on yon hedgehog's back. 45

This is my hour of triumph! I can now
With my own fancies play the merry fool,
And laugh away worse folly, being free.
Here will I seat myself, beside this old,
Hollow, and weedy oak, which ivy-twine 50
Clothes as with net-work: here will I couch my limbs,
Close by this river, in this silent shade,
As safe and sacred from the step of man
As an invisible world--unheard, unseen,
And listening only to the pebbly brook 55
That murmurs with a dead, yet tinkling sound;
Or to the bees, that in the neighbouring trunk
Make honey-hoards. The breeze, that visits me,
Was never Love's accomplice, never raised
The tendril ringlets from the maiden's brow, 60
And the blue, delicate veins above her cheek;
Ne'er played the wanton--never half disclosed
The maiden's snowy bosom, scattering thence
Eye-poisons for some love-distempered youth,
Who ne'er henceforth may see an aspen-grove 65
Shiver in sunshine, but his feeble heart
Shall flow away like a dissolving thing.

Sweet breeze! thou only, if I guess aright,
Liftest the feathers of the robin's breast,
That swells its little breast, so full of song, 70
Singing above me, on the mountain-ash.
And thou too, desert stream! no pool of thine,
Though clear as lake in latest summer-eve,
Did e'er reflect the stately virgin's robe,
The face, the form divine, the downcast look 75
Contemplative! Behold! her open palm
Presses her cheek and brow! her elbow rests
On the bare branch of half-uprooted tree,
That leans towards its mirror! Who erewhile
Had from her countenance turned, or looked by stealth,
(For Fear is true-love's cruel nurse), he now 81
With steadfast gaze and unoffending eye,
Worships the watery idol, dreaming hopes
Delicious to the soul, but fleeting, vain,
E'en as that phantom-world on which he gazed, 85
But not unheeded gazed: for see, ah! see,
The sportive tyrant with her left hand plucks
The heads of tall flowers that behind her grow,
Lychnis, and willow-herb, and fox-glove bells:
And suddenly, as one that toys with time, 90
Scatters them on the pool! Then all the charm
Is broken--all that phantom world so fair
Vanishes, and a thousand circlets spread,
And each mis-shape the other. Stay awhile,
Poor youth, who scarcely dar'st lift up thine eyes! 95
The stream will soon renew its smoothness, soon
The visions will return! And lo! he stays:
And soon the fragments dim of lovely forms
Come trembling back, unite, and now once more
The pool becomes a mirror; and behold 100
Each wildflower on the marge inverted there,
And there the half-uprooted tree--but where,
O where the virgin's snowy arm, that leaned
On its bare branch? He turns, and she is gone!
Homeward she steals through many a woodland maze 105
Which he shall seek in vain. Ill-fated youth!
Go, day by day, and waste thy manly prime
In mad love-yearning by the vacant brook,
Till sickly thoughts bewitch thine eyes, and thou
Behold'st her shadow still abiding there, 110
The Naiad of the mirror!
Not to thee,
O wild and desert stream! belongs this tale:
Gloomy and dark art thou--the crowded firs
Spire from thy shores, and stretch across thy bed,
Making thee doleful as a cavern-well: 115
Save when the shy king-fishers build their nest
On thy steep banks, no loves hast thou, wild stream!

This be my chosen haunt--emancipate
From Passion's dreams, a freeman, and alone,
I rise and trace its devious course. O lead, 120
Lead me to deeper shades and lonelier glooms.
Lo! stealing through the canopy of firs,
How fair the sunshine spots that mossy rock,
Isle of the river, whose disparted waves
Dart off asunder with an angry sound, 125
How soon to re-unite! And see! they meet,
Each in the other lost and found: and see
Placeless, as spirits, one soft water-sun
Throbbing within them, heart at once and eye!
With its soft neighbourhood of filmy clouds, 130
The stains and shadings of forgotten tears,
Dimness o'erswum with lustre! Such the hour
Of deep enjoyment, following love's brief feuds;
And hark, the noise of a near waterfall!
I pass forth into light--I find myself 135
Beneath a weeping birch (most beautiful
Of forest trees, the Lady of the Woods),
Hard by the brink of a tall weedy rock
That overbrows the cataract. How bursts
The landscape on my sight! Two crescent hills 140
Fold in behind each other, and so make
A circular vale, and land-locked, as might seem,
With brook and bridge, and grey stone cottages,
Half hid by rocks and fruit-trees. At my feet,
The whortle-berries are bedewed with spray, 145
Dashed upwards by the furious waterfall.
How solemnly the pendent ivy-mass
Swings in its winnow: All the air is calm.
The smoke from cottage-chimneys, tinged with light,
Rises in columns; from this house alone, 150
Close by the water-fall, the column slants,
And feels its ceaseless breeze. But what is this?
That cottage, with its slanting chimney-smoke,
And close beside its porch a sleeping child,
His dear head pillowed on a sleeping dog-- 155
One arm between its fore-legs, and the hand
Holds loosely its small handful of wild-flowers,
Unfilletted, and of unequal lengths.
A curious picture, with a master's haste
Sketched on a strip of pinky-silver skin, 160
Peeled from the birchen bark! Divinest maid!
Yon bark her canvas, and those purple berries
Her pencil! See, the juice is scarcely dried
On the fine skin! She has been newly here;
And lo! yon patch of heath has been her couch-- 165
The pressure still remains! O blesséd couch!
For this may'st thou flower early, and the sun,
Slanting at eve, rest bright, and linger long
Upon thy purple bells! O Isabel!
Daughter of genius! stateliest of our maids! 170
More beautiful than whom Alcaeus wooed,
The Lesbian woman of immortal song!
O child of genius! stately, beautiful,
And full of love to all, save only me,
And not ungentle e'en to me! My heart, 175
Why beats it thus? Through yonder coppice-wood
Needs must the pathway turn, that leads straightway
On to her father's house. She is alone!
The night draws on--such ways are hard to hit--
And fit it is I should restore this sketch, 180
Dropt unawares, no doubt. Why should I yearn
To keep the relique? 'twill but idly feed
The passion that consumes me. Let me haste!
The picture in my hand which she has left;
She cannot blame me that I followed her: 185
And I may be her guide the long wood through.

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[369:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, September 6, 1802: included in the _Poetical Register_ for 1802 (1804), in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834.

It has been pointed out to me (by Mr. Arthur Turnbull) that the conception of the 'Resolution' that failed was suggested by Gessner's Idyll _Der feste Vorsatz_ ('The Fixed Resolution'):--_S. Gessner's Schriften_, i. 104-7; _Works_, 1802, ii. 219-21.

[369:2] _Vaccinium Myrtillus_, known by the different names of Whorts, Whortle-berries, Bilberries; and in the North of England, Blea-berries and Bloom-berries. [_Note by S. T. C._ 1802.]

LINENOTES:

[3] wild] blind M. P., P. R.

[17-26] om. M. P., P. R.

[17-25] Quoted in Letter to Cottle, May 27, 1814.

[18] love-lorn] woe-worn (heart-sick _erased_) Letter, 1814.

[20] _unconscious life_ Letter, 1814.

[22] _wholly cease_ to BE Letter, 1814.

[27] these] here M. P.

[28] For Love to dwell in; the low stumps would gore M. P., P. R.

[31-3]

till, like wounded bird
Easily caught, the dusky Dryades
With prickles sharper than his darts would mock.
_His little Godship_

M. P., P. R.

[34-42, 44] om. M.P., P.R.

[51] here will couch M. P., P. R., S. L.

[55] brook] stream M. P., P. R., S. L. (for _stream_ read _brook_ _Errata_, S. L., p. [xi]).

[56-7]

yet bell-like sound
Tinkling, or bees

M. P., P. R., S. L. 1828.

[58] The] This M. P., P. R., S. L.

[70] That swells its] Who swells his M. P., P. R., S. L.

[75] the] her downcast M. P., P. R. Her face, her form divine, her downcast look S. L.

[76-7]

Contemplative, her cheek upon her palm
Supported; the white arm and elbow rest

M. P., P. R.

Contemplative! Ah see! her open palm
Presses

S. L.

[79-80]

He, meanwhile,
Who from

M. P., P. R., S. L.

[86] om. M. P., P. R., S. L.

[87] The] She M. P., P. R., S. L.

[91-100] These lines are quoted in the prefatory note to _Kubla Khan_.

[94] mis-shape] mis-shapes M. P.

[108] love-yearning by] love-gazing on M. P., P. R.

[114] Spire] Tow'r M. P., P. R., S. L.

[118] my] thy S. L. (for _thy_ read _my_ _Errata_, S. L., p. [xi]).

[121] and] to M. P., P. R.

[124] waves] waters P. R., S. L.

[126-32]

_How soon to re-unite!_ They meet, they join
In deep embrace, and open to the sun
Lie calm and smooth. Such the delicious hour

M. P., P. R., S. L.

[133] Of deep enjoyment, foll'wing Love's brief quarrels M. P., P. R. Lines 126-33 are supplied in the _Errata_, S. L. 1817 (p. xi).

[134] And] But _Errata_, S. L. (p. xi).

[135] I come out into light M. P., P. R.: I came out into light S. L. For _came_ read _come_ _Errata_, S. L. (p. xi).

[144] At] Beneath M. P., P. R., S. L. (for _Beneath_ read _At_ _Errata_, S. L., p. [xi]).

[152] this] _this_ M. P., P. R.: THIS S. L. 1828, 1829.

[162] those] these P. R.

[174] me] one M. P., P. R.

[177] straightway] away M. P., P. R.

[184] The] This M. P., P. R.

TO MATILDA BETHAM FROM A STRANGER[374:1]

['One of our most celebrated poets, who had, I was told, picked out and praised the little piece 'On a Cloud,' another had quoted (saying it would have been faultless if I had not used the word _Phoebus_ in it, which he thought inadmissible in modern poetry), sent me some verses inscribed "To Matilda Betham, from a Stranger"; and dated "Keswick, Sept. 9, 1802, S. T. C." I should have guessed whence they came, but dared not flatter myself so highly as satisfactorily to believe it, before I obtained the avowal of the lady who had transmitted them. _Excerpt from 'Autobiographical Sketch'._]

Matilda! I have heard a sweet tune played
On a sweet instrument--thy Poesie--
Sent to my soul by Boughton's pleading voice,
Where friendship's zealous wish inspirited,
Deepened and filled the subtle tones of _taste_: 5
(So have I heard a Nightingale's fine notes
Blend with the murmur of a hidden stream!)
And now the fair, wild offspring of thy genius,
Those wanderers whom thy fancy had sent forth
To seek their fortune in this motley world, 10
Have found a little home within _my_ heart,
And brought me, as the quit-rent of their lodging,
Rose-buds, and fruit-blossoms, and pretty weeds,
And timorous laurel leaflets half-disclosed,
Engarlanded with gadding woodbine tendrils! 15
A coronal, which, with undoubting hand,
I twine around the brows of patriot HOPE!

The Almighty, having first composed a Man,
Set him to music, framing Woman for him,
And fitted each to each, and made them one! 20
And 'tis my faith, that there's a natural bond
Between the female mind and measured sounds,
Nor do I know a sweeter Hope than this,
That this sweet Hope, by judgment unreproved,
That our own Britain, our dear mother Isle, 25
May boast one Maid, a poetess _indeed_,
Great as th' impassioned Lesbian, in sweet song,
And O! of holier mind, and happier fate.

Matilda! I dare twine _thy_ vernal wreath
Around the brows of patriot Hope! But thou 30
Be wise! be bold! fulfil my auspices!
Tho' sweet thy measures, stern must be thy thought,
Patient thy study, watchful thy mild eye!
Poetic feelings, like the stretching boughs
Of mighty oaks, pay homage to the gales, 35
Toss in the strong winds, drive before the gust,
Themselves one giddy storm of fluttering leaves;
Yet, all the while self-limited, remain
Equally near the fixed and solid trunk
Of Truth and Nature in the howling storm, 40
As in the calm that stills the aspen grove.
Be bold, meek Woman! but be wisely bold!
Fly, ostrich-like, firm land beneath thy feet,
Yet hurried onward by thy wings of fancy
Swift as the whirlwind, singing in their quills. 45
Look round thee! look within thee! think and feel!
What nobler meed, Matilda! canst thou win,
Than tears of gladness in a BOUGHTON'S[376:1] eyes,
And exultation even in strangers' hearts?

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[374:1] First printed in a 'privately printed autobiographical sketch of Miss Matilda Betham', preserved in a volume of tracts arranged and bound up by Southey, now in the Forster Collection in the Victoria and Albert Museum: reprinted (by J. Dykes Campbell) in the _Athenaeum_ (March 15, 1890): and, again, in _A House of Letters_, by Ernest Betham [1905], pp. 76-7. First collected in 1893 (see Editor's _Note_, p. 630). Lines 33-41 are quoted in a Letter to Sotheby, September 10, 1802. See _Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i. 404.

[376:1] Catherine Rose, wife of Sir Charles William Rouse-Boughton, Bart. Sir Charles and Lady Boughton visited Greta Hall in September, 1802.

LINENOTES:

[7] murmur] murmurs 1893.

[16] coronal] coronel P. Sketch.

[34] stretching] flexuous MS. Letter, Sept. 10, 1802.

[35] pay] yield MS. Letter, 1802.

[39] solid] parent MS. Letter, 1802.

[40] Of truth in Nature--in the howling blast MS. Letter, 1802.

HYMN BEFORE SUN-RISE, IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI[376:2]

Besides the Rivers, Arve and Arveiron, which have their sources in the foot of Mont Blanc, five conspicuous torrents rush down its sides; and within a few paces of the Glaciers, the Gentiana Major grows in immense numbers, with its 'flowers of loveliest [liveliest _Friend, 1809_] blue.'

Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star
In his steep course? So long he seems to pause
On thy bald awful head, O sovran BLANC,
The Arve and Arveiron at thy base
Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful Form! 5
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines,
How silently! Around thee and above
Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black,
An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it,
As with a wedge! But when I look again, 10
It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Thy habitation from eternity!
O dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon thee,
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense,
Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer 15
I worshipped the Invisible alone.

Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,
So sweet, we know not we are listening to it,
Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my Thought,
Yea, with my Life and Life's own secret joy: 20
Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused,
Into the mighty vision passing--there
As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven!

Awake, my soul! not only passive praise
Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, 25
Mute thanks and secret ecstasy! Awake,
Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake!
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my Hymn.

Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the Vale!
O struggling with the darkness all the night,[378:1] 30
And visited all night by troops of stars,
Or when they climb the sky or when they sink:
Companion of the morning-star at dawn,
Thyself Earth's rosy star, and of the dawn
Co-herald: wake, O wake, and utter praise! 35
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in Earth?
Who filled thy countenance with rosy light?
Who made thee parent of perpetual streams?

And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad!
Who called you forth from night and utter death, 40
From dark and icy caverns called you forth,
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks,
For ever shattered and the same for ever?
Who gave you your invulnerable life,
Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, 45
Unceasing thunder and eternal foam?
And who commanded (and the silence came),
Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest?

Ye Ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow
Adown enormous ravines slope amain-- 50
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge!
Motionless torrents! silent cataracts!
Who made you glorious as the Gates of Heaven
Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun 55
Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers[379:1]
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?--
GOD! let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, GOD!
GOD! sing ye meadow-streams with gladsome voice! 60
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!
And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow,
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, GOD!

Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost!
Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! 65
Ye eagles, play-mates of the mountain-storm!
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!
Ye signs and wonders of the element!
Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise!

Thou too, hoar Mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks,
Oft from whose feet the avalanche,[380:1] unheard, 71
Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene
Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy breast--
Thou too again, stupendous Mountain! thou
That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low 75
In adoration, upward from thy base
Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears,
Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud,
To rise before me--Rise, O ever rise,
Rise like a cloud of incense from the Earth! 80
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, with her thousand voices, praises GOD. 85

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[376:2] First published in the _Morning Post_, Sept. 11, 1802: reprinted in the _Poetical Register_ for 1802 (1803), ii. 308, 311, and in _The Friend_, No. XI, Oct. 26, 1809: included in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. Three MSS. are extant: (1) _MS. A_, sent to Sir George Beaumont, Oct. 1803 (see _Coleorton Letters_, 1886, i. 26); (2) _MS. B_, the MS. of the version as printed in _The Friend_, Oct. 26, 1809 (now in the Forster Collection in the Victoria and Albert Museum); (3) _MS. C_, presented to Mrs. Brabant in 1815 (now in the British Museum). The _Hymn before Sunrise, &c._, 'Hymn in the manner of the Psalms,' is an expansion, in part, of a translation of Friederika Brun's 'Ode to Chamouny', addressed to Klopstock, which numbers some twenty lines. The German original (see the Appendices of this edition) was first appended to Coleridge's _Poetical Works_ in 1844 (p. 372). A translation was given in a footnote, _P. W._ (ed. by T. Ashe), 1885, ii. 86, 87. In the _Morning Post_ and _Poetical Register_ the following explanatory note preceded the poem:--

'CHAMOUNI, THE HOUR BEFORE SUNRISE.

'[Chamouni is one of the highest mountain valleys of the
Barony of Faucigny in the Savoy Alps; and exhibits a kind of
fairy world, in which the wildest appearances (I had almost
said horrors) of Nature alternate with the softest and most
beautiful. The chain of Mont Blanc is its boundary; and
besides the Arve it is filled with sounds from the Arveiron,
which rushes from the melted glaciers, like a giant, mad with
joy, from a dungeon, and forms other torrents of snow-water,
having their rise in the glaciers which slope down into the
valley. The beautiful _Gentiana major_, or greater gentian,
with blossoms of the brightest blue, grows in large companies
a few steps from the never-melted ice of the glaciers. I
thought it an affecting emblem of the boldness of human hope,
venturing near, and, as it were, leaning over the brink of the
grave. Indeed, the whole vale, its every light, its every
sound, must needs impress every mind not utterly callous with
the thought--Who _would_ be, who _could_ be an Atheist in this
valley of wonders! If any of the readers of the MORNING POST
[Those who have _P. R._] have visited this vale in their
journeys among the Alps, I am confident that they [that they
_om. P. R._] will not find the sentiments and feelings
expressed, or attempted to be expressed, in the following
poem, extravagant.]'

[378:1] I had written a much finer line when Sca' Fell was in my thoughts, viz.:--

O blacker than the darkness all the night
And visited
_Note to MS. A._

[379:1] The _Gentiana major_ grows in large companies a stride's distance from the foot of several of the glaciers. Its _blue_ flower, the colour of Hope: is it not a pretty emblem of Hope creeping onward even to the edge of the grave, to the very verge of utter desolation? _Note to MS. A._

[380:1] The fall of vast masses of snow, so called. _Note MS. (C)._

LINENOTES:

Title] Chamouny The Hour before Sunrise A Hymn M. P., P. R.: Mount Blanc, The Summit of the Vale of Chamouny, An Hour before Sunrise: A Hymn MS. A.

[3] On thy bald awful head O Chamouny M. P., P. R.: On thy bald awful top O Chamouny MS. A: On thy bald awful top O Sovran Blanc Friend, 1809.

[4] Arve] Arvè M. P., P. R., MS. (C).

[5] dread mountain form M. P., P. R., MS. A. most] dread Friend, 1809.

[6] forth] out MS. A.

[8] Deep is the sky, and black: transpicuous, deep M. P., P. R.: Deep is the sky, and black! transpicuous, black. MS. A.

[11] is thine] seems thy M. P., P. R.

[13] Mount] form M. P., P. R., MS. A.

[14] the bodily sense] my bodily eye M. P., P. R.: my bodily sense MS. A.

[16] Invisible] INVISIBLE M. P., P. R., Friend, 1809, MS. A.

[17]

Yet thou meantime, wast working on my soul,
E'en like some deep enchanting melody

M. P., P. R., MS. A.

[19 foll.]

But [Now MS. A] I awake, and with a busier mind,
And active will self-conscious, offer now
Not as before, involuntary pray'r
And passive adoration!
Hand and voice,
Awake, awake! and thou, my heart, awake!
Awake ye rocks! Ye forest pines awake! (Not in MS. A.)
Green fields

M. P., P. R., MS. A.

[29-30]

And thou, O silent Mountain, sole and bare
O blacker than the darkness all the night

M. P., P. R.

[29] And thou, thou silent mountain, lone and bare MS. A. The first and chief, stern Monarch of the Vale _Errata to 'Hymn', &c._, The Friend, No. XIII, Nov. 16, 1809.

[38] parent] father M. P., P. R., MS. A.

[41] From darkness let you loose and icy dens M. P., P. R., MS. A.

[46] Eternal thunder and unceasing foam MS. A.

[48] 'Here shall the billows . . .' M. P., P. R.: Here shall your billows MS. A.

[49] the mountain's brow] yon dizzy heights M. P., P. R.

[50] Adown enormous ravines steeply slope M. P., P. R., MS. A. [A _bad_ line; but I hope to be able to alter it Note to MS. A].

[56]

with lovely flowers
Of living blue

M. P., P. R., MS. A.

[Between 58-64]

GOD! GOD! the torrents like a shout of nations
Utter! the ice-plain bursts and answers GOD!
GOD, sing the meadow-streams with gladsome voice,
And pine-groves with their soft and soul-like sound,
The silent snow-mass, loos'ning thunders God!

M. P., P. R.

These lines were omitted in MS. A.

[64] Ye dreadless flow'rs that fringe M. P., P. R. living] azure MS. A. livery S. L. (corrected in _Errata_, p. [xi]).

[65] sporting round] bounding by M. P., P. R., MS. A.

[66] mountain-storm] mountain blast M. P., P. R.

[69] God] GOD. M. P., P. R.

[Between 70-80]

And thou, O silent Form, alone and bare
Whom, as I lift again my head bow'd low
In adoration, I again behold,
And to thy summit upward from thy base
Sweep slowly with dim eyes suffus'd by tears,
Awake thou mountain form! rise, like a cloud

M. P., P. R.

And thou thou silent mountain, lone and bare
Whom as I lift again my head bow'd low
In adoration, I again behold!
And from thy summit upward to the base
Sweep slowly, with dim eyes suffus'd with tears
Rise, mighty form! even as thou _seem'st_ to rise.

MS. A.

[70] Thou too] And thou, Errata, Friend, No. XIII. Once more, hoar Mount MS. (C), S. L. (For _once more_, read _Thou too_ _Errata_, S. L., p. [xi]).

[72] through] in Friend, 1809. In the blue serene MS. (C).

[74] again] once more MS. (C).

[75] That as once more I raise my Head bow'd low Friend, No. XI, 1809 (see the _Errata_, No. XIII).

[83-4] Tell the blue sky MS. A.

[84] yon] the M. P., P. R., MS. A.

[85] praises] calls on M. P., P. R., MS. A.

THE GOOD, GREAT MAN[381:1]

'How seldom, friend! a good great man inherits
Honour or wealth with all his worth and pains!
It sounds like stories from the land of spirits
If any man obtain that which he merits
Or any merit that which he obtains.' 5

REPLY TO THE ABOVE

For shame, dear friend, renounce this canting strain!
What would'st thou have a good great man obtain?
Place? titles? salary? a gilded chain?
Or throne of corses which his sword had slain? 10
Greatness and goodness are not _means_, but _ends_!
Hath he not always treasures, always friends,
The good great man? _three_ treasures, LOVE, and LIGHT,
And CALM THOUGHTS, regular as infant's breath:
And three firm friends, more sure than day and night, 15
HIMSELF, his MAKER, and the ANGEL DEATH!

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[381:1] First published in the _Morning Post_ (as an 'Epigram', signed ΕΣΤΗΣΕ), September 23, 1802: reprinted in the _Poetical Register_ for 1802 (1803, p. 246): included in _The Friend_, No. XIX, December 28, 1809, and in _Literary Remains_, 1836, i. 53. First collected in 1844.

LINENOTES:

Title] Epigram M. P.: Epigrams P. R.: Complaint Lit. Rem., 1844, 1852: The Good, &c. 1893.

[6] Reply to the above M. P.: Reply The Friend, 1809: Reproof Lit. Rem., 1844.

INSCRIPTION FOR A FOUNTAIN ON A HEATH[381:2]

This Sycamore, oft musical with bees,--
Such tents the Patriarchs loved! O long unharmed
May all its agéd boughs o'er-canopy
The small round basin, which this jutting stone
Keeps pure from falling leaves! Long may the Spring, 5
Quietly as a sleeping infant's breath,
Send up cold waters to the traveller
With soft and even pulse! Nor ever cease
Yon tiny cone of sand its soundless dance,[382:1]
Which at the bottom, like a Fairy's Page, 10
As merry and no taller, dances still,
Nor wrinkles the smooth surface of the Fount.
Here Twilight is and Coolness: here is moss,
A soft seat, and a deep and ample shade.
Thou may'st toil far and find no second tree. 15
Drink, Pilgrim, here; Here rest! and if thy heart
Be innocent, here too shalt thou refresh
Thy spirit, listening to some gentle sound,
Or passing gale or hum of murmuring bees!

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[381:2] First published in the _Morning Post_, September 24, 1802: reprinted in the _Poetical Register_ for 1802 (1803, p. 338): included in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1828, 1829, and 1834.

[382:1] Compare _Anima Poetae_, 1895, p. 17: 'The spring with the little tiny cone of loose sand ever rising and sinking to the bottom, but its surface without a wrinkle.'

LINENOTES:

Title] Inscription on a Jutting Stone, over a Spring M. P., P. R.

[3] agéd] darksome M. P., P. R.

[5] Still may this spring M. P., P. R.

[7] waters] water P. R. to] for M. P., P. R.

[9] soundless] noiseless M. P., P. R.

[10] Which] That M. P., P. R.

[13] Here coolness dwell, and twilight M. P., P. R.

[16 foll.]

Here, stranger, drink! Here rest! And if thy heart
Be innocent, here too may'st thou renew
Thy spirits, listening to these gentle sounds,
The passing gale, or ever-murm'ring bees.

M. P., P. R.

AN ODE TO THE RAIN[382:2]

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 opened the lids of my eyes,
But I lie in the dark, as a blind man lies.
O Rain! that I lie listening to, 5
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, 10
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, 15
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 limped on through this vale of tears, 20
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, 25
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! 30

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.-- 35
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. 40
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 45
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; 50
So many tears in our eye-corners,
Sitting like little Jacky Horners--
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! 55
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, 60
I'll welcome you with cheerful face;
And though you stayed 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; 65
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.

FOOTNOTES:

[382:2] First published in the _Morning Post_ (?), Oct. 7, 1802: included in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817: in _Literary Remains_, 1836, i. 54-6. First collected in 1844. In _Literary Remains_ the poem is dated 1809, but in a letter to J. Wedgwood, Oct. 20, 1802, Coleridge seems to imply that the _Ode to the Rain_ had appeared recently in the _Morning Post_. A MS. note of Mrs. H. N. Coleridge, included in other memoranda intended for publication in _Essays on His Own Times_, gives the date, 'Ode to Rain, October 7'. The issue for October 7 is missing in the volume for 1802 preserved in the British Museum, and it may be presumed that it was in that number the _Ode to the Rain_ first appeared. It is possible that the 'Ode' was written on the morning after the unexpected arrival of Charles and Mary Lamb at Greta Hall in August, 1802.

LINENOTES:

[45] We] With L. R, 1844, 1852. [The text was amended in P. W., 1877-80.]

A DAY-DREAM[385:1]

My eyes make pictures, when they are shut:
I see a fountain, large and fair,
A willow and a ruined hut,
And thee, and me and Mary there.
O Mary! make thy gentle lap our pillow! 5
Bend o'er us, like a bower, my beautiful green willow!

A wild-rose roofs the ruined shed,
And that and summer well agree:
And lo! where Mary leans her head,
Two dear names carved upon the tree! 10
And Mary's tears, they are not tears of sorrow:
Our sister and our friend will both be here to-morrow.

'Twas day! but now few, large, and bright,
The stars are round the crescent moon!
And now it is a dark warm night, 15
The balmiest of the month of June!
A glow-worm fall'n, and on the marge remounting
Shines, and its shadow shines, fit stars for our sweet fountain.

O ever--ever be thou blest!
For dearly, Asra! love I thee! 20
This brooding warmth across my breast,
This depth of tranquil bliss--ah, me!
Fount, tree and shed are gone, I know not whither,
But in one quiet room we three are still together.

The shadows dance upon the wall, 25
By the still dancing fire-flames made;
And now they slumber, moveless all!
And now they melt to one deep shade!
But not from me shall this mild darkness steal thee:
I dream thee with mine eyes, and at my heart I feel thee! 30

Thine eyelash on my cheek doth play--
'Tis Mary's hand upon my brow!
But let me check this tender lay
Which none may hear but she and thou!
Like the still hive at quiet midnight humming. 35
Murmur it to yourselves, ye two beloved women!

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[385:1] First published in the _Bijou_ for 1828: included in 1828, 1829, and 1834. Asra is Miss Sarah Hutchinson; 'Our Sister and our Friend,' William and Dorothy Wordsworth. There can be little doubt that these lines were written in 1801 or 1802.

LINENOTES:

[8] well] will Bijou, 1828.

[17] on] in Bijou, 1828.

[20] For Asra, dearly Bijou, 1828.

[28] one] me Bijou, 1828.

ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION[386:1]

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, 5
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!' 10

1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[386:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, October 16, 1802: included in _Sibylline Leaves_, in 1828, 1829, and 1834.

LINENOTES:

Title] The Language of Birds: Lines spoken extempore, to a little child, in early spring M. P.

[Between 6-7]

'I love, and I love,' almost all the birds say
From sunrise to star-rise, so gladsome are they.

M. P.

[After 10]

'Tis no wonder that he's full of joy to the brim,
When He loves his Love, and his Love loves him.

M. P.

Line 10 is adapted from the refrain of Prior's _Song_ ('One morning very early, one morning in the spring'):--'I love my love, because I know my love loves me.'

THE DAY-DREAM[386:2]

FROM AN EMIGRANT TO HIS ABSENT WIFE

If thou wert here, these tears were tears of light!
But from as sweet a vision did I start
As ever made these eyes grow idly bright!
And though I weep, yet still around my heart
A sweet and playful tenderness doth linger, 5
Touching my heart as with an infant's finger.

My mouth half open, like a witless man,
I saw our couch, I saw our quiet room,
Its shadows heaving by the fire-light gloom;
And o'er my lips a subtle feeling ran, 10
All o'er my lips a soft and breeze-like feeling--
I know not what--but had the same been stealing

Upon a sleeping mother's lips, I guess
It would have made the loving mother dream
That she was softly bending down to kiss 15
Her babe, that something more than babe did seem,
A floating presence of its darling father,
And yet its own dear baby self far rather!

Across my chest there lay a weight, so warm!
As if some bird had taken shelter there; 20
And lo! I seemed to see a woman's form--
Thine, Sara, thine? O joy, if thine it were!
I gazed with stifled breath, and feared to stir it,
No deeper trance e'er wrapt a yearning spirit!

And now, when I seemed sure thy face to see, 25
Thy own dear self in our own quiet home;
There came an elfish laugh, and wakened me:
'Twas Frederic, who behind my chair had clomb,
And with his bright eyes at my face was peeping.
I blessed him, tried to laugh, and fell a-weeping! 30

1801-2.

FOOTNOTES:

[386:2] First published in the _Morning Post_, October 19, 1802. First collected in _Poems_, 1852. A note (p. 384), was affixed:--'This little poem first appeared in the _Morning Post_ in 1802, but was doubtless composed in Germany. It seems to have been forgotten by its author, for this was the only occasion on which it saw the light through him. The Editors think that it will plead against parental neglect in the mind of most readers.' Internal evidence seems to point to 1801 or 1802 as the most probable date of composition.

LINENOTES:

[Below line 30] ΕΣΤΗΣΕ.

THE HAPPY HUSBAND[388:1]

A FRAGMENT

Oft, oft methinks, the while with thee,
I breathe, as from the heart, thy dear
And dedicated name, I hear
A promise and a mystery,
A pledge of more than passing life, 5
Yea, in that very name of Wife!

A pulse of love, that ne'er can sleep!
A feeling that upbraids the heart
With happiness beyond desert,
That gladness half requests to weep! 10
Nor bless I not the keener sense
And unalarming turbulence

Of transient joys, that ask no sting
From jealous fears, or coy denying;
But born beneath Love's brooding wing, 15
And into tenderness soon dying,
Wheel out their giddy moment, then
Resign the soul to love again;--

A more precipitated vein
Of notes, that eddy in the flow 20
Of smoothest song, they come, they go,
And leave their sweeter understrain,
Its own sweet self--a love of Thee
That seems, yet cannot greater be!

? 1802.

FOOTNOTES:

[388:1] First published in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817: included in 1828, 1829, 1834. There is no evidence as to the date of composition.

LINENOTES:

[13] ask] fear S. L. (for _fear_ no sting read _ask_ no sting _Errata_, p. [xi]).

THE PAINS OF SLEEP[389:1]

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, 5
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 10
That I am weak, yet not unblest,
Since in me, round me, every where
Eternal Strength and Wisdom are.

But yester-night I prayed aloud
In anguish and in agony, 15
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! 20
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! 25
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 seemed guilt, remorse or woe, 30
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 35
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; 40
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 45
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? 50
To be beloved is all I need,
And whom I love, I love indeed.

1803.

FOOTNOTES:

[389:1] First published, together with _Christabel_, in 1816: included in 1828, 1829, i. 334-6 (but not in _Contents_), and 1834. A first draft of these lines was sent in a Letter to Southey, Sept. 11, 1803 (_Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i. 435-7), An amended version of lines 18-32 was included in an unpublished Letter to Poole, dated Oct. 3, 1803.

LINENOTES:

[1] Ere] When MS. Letter to Southey, Sept. 11, 1803.

[9] sense] _sense_ MS. Letter to Southey, 1816, 1828, 1829.

[10] sense] _sense_ MS. Letter to Southey.

[12] Since round me, in me, everywhere MS. Letter to Southey.

[13] Wisdom] Goodness MS. Letter to Southey.

[16] Up-starting] Awaking MS. Letter to Southey.

[Between 18-26]

Desire with loathing strangely mixt,
On wild or hateful objects fixt.
Sense of revenge, the powerless will,
Still baffled and consuming still;
Sense of intolerable wrong,
And men whom I despis'd made strong!
Vain-glorious threats, unmanly vaunting,
Bad men my boasts and fury taunting:
Rage, sensual passion, mad'ning Brawl,

MS. Letter to Southey.

[18] trampling] ghastly MS. Letter to Poole, Oct. 3, 1803.

[19] intolerable] insufferable MS. Letter to Poole.

[20] those] they MS. Letter to Poole.

[Between 22-4]

Tempestuous pride, vain-glorious vaunting
Base men my vices justly taunting

MS. Letter to Poole.

[27] which] that MS. Letters to Southey and Poole.

[28] could] might MS. Letters to Southey and Poole.

[30] For all was Horror, Guilt, and Woe MS. Letter to Southey: For all was Guilt, and Shame, and Woe MS. Letter to Poole.

[33] So] Thus MS. Letter to Southey.

[34] coming] boding MS. Letter to Southey.

[35-6]

I fear'd to sleep: sleep seem'd to be
Disease's worst malignity

MS. Letter to Southey.

[38] waked] freed MS. Letter to Southey.

[39] O'ercome by sufferings dark and wild MS. Letter to Southey.

[42] anguish] Trouble MS. Letter to Southey.

[43] said] thought MS. Letter to Southey.

[45-6]

Still to be stirring up anew
The self-created Hell within

MS. Letter to Southey.

[47] their deeds] the crimes MS. Letter to Southey.

[48] and] to MS. Letter to Southey.

[Between 48-51]

With such let fiends make mockery--
But I--Oh, wherefore this _on me_?
Frail is my soul, yea, strengthless wholly,
Unequal, restless, melancholy.
But free from Hate and sensual Folly.