Chapter LII: Act I

SCENE I. _A cultivated Plain, skirted on the Left by a Wood. The Pyrenees are visible in the distance. Small knots of Soldiers all in the military Dress of the middle Ages are seen passing across the Stage. Then_

_Enter EARL HENRY and SANDOVAL, both armed._

_Sandoval._ A delightful plain this, and doubly pleasant
after so long and wearisome a descent from the Pyranees
[_sic_]. Did you not observe how our poor over wearied horses
mended their pace as soon as they reached it?

_Earl Henry._ I must entreat your forgiveness, gallant 5
Castilian! I ought ere this to have bade you welcome to my
native Navarre.

_Sandoval._ Cheerily, General! Navarre has indeed but ill
repaid your services, in thus recalling you from the head of
an army which you yourself had collected and disciplined. 10
But the wrongs and insults which you have suffered----

_Earl Henry._ Deserve my thanks, Friend! In the sunshine
of Court-favor I could only _believe_ that I loved my Queen and
my Country: now I _know_ it. But why name I my Country or
my Sovereign? I owe all my Wrongs to the private enmity of 15
the Chancellor.

_Sandoval._ Heaven be praised, you have atchieved [_sic_]
a delicious revenge upon him!--that the same Courier who
brought the orders for your recall carried back with him the
first tidings of your Victory--it was exquisite good fortune! 20

_Earl Henry._ Sandoval! my gallant Friend! Let me not
deceive you. To you I have vowed an undisguised openness.
The gloom which overcast me, was occasioned by causes of less
public import.

_Sandoval._ Connected, I presume, with that Mansion, the 25
spacious pleasure grounds of which we noticed as we were
descending from the mountain. Lawn and Grove, River and
Hillock--it looked within these high walls, like a World of
itself.

_Earl Henry._ This Wood scarcely conceals these high walls 30
from us. Alas! I know the place too well. . . . Nay, why too
well?--But wherefore spake you, Sandoval, of this Mansion?
What know you?

_Sandoval._ Nothing. Therefore I spake of it. On our descent
from the mountain I pointed it out to you and asked to whom 35
it belonged--you became suddenly absent, and answered me
only by looks of Disturbance and Anxiety.

_Earl Henry._ That Mansion once belonged to Manric [_sic_],
Lord of Valdez.

_Sandoval._ Alas, poor Man! the same, who had dangerous 40
claims to the Throne of Navarre.

_Earl Henry._ Claims?--Say rather, pretensions--plausible
only to the unreasoning Multitude.

_Sandoval._ Pretensions then (_with bitterness_).

_Earl Henry._ Bad as these were, the means he employed to 45
give effect to them were still worse. He trafficked with France
against the independence of his Country. He was a traitor,
my Friend! and died a traitor's death. His two sons suffered
with him, and many, (I fear, too many) of his adherents.

_Sandoval._ Earl Henry! (_a pause_) If the sentence were just, 50
why was not the execution of it public. . . . It is reported, that
they were--but no! I will not believe it--the honest soul of
my friend would not justify so foul a deed.

_Earl Henry._ Speak plainly--what is reported?

_Sandoval._ That they were all assassinated by order of the 55
new Queen.

_Earl Henry._ Accursed be the hearts that framed and
the tongues that scattered the Calumny!--The Queen was
scarcely seated on her throne; the Chancellor, who had been
her Guardian, exerted a pernicious influence over her 60
judgement--she was taught to fear dangerous commotions in the
Capital, she was intreated to prevent the bloodshed of the
deluded citizens, and thus overawed she reluctantly consented
to permit the reinforcement of an obsolete law, and----

_Sandoval._ They were not assassinated then?---- 65

_Earl Henry._ Why these bitter tones to me, Sandoval? Can
a law assassinate? Don Manrique [_sic_] and his accomplices
drank the sleepy poison adjudged by that law in the State
Prison at Pampilona. At that time I was with the army on
the frontiers of France. 70

_Sandoval._ Had you been in the Capital----

_Earl Henry._ I would have pledged my life on the safety of
a public Trial and a public Punishment.

_Sandoval._ Poisoned! The Father and his Sons!--And this,
Earl Henry, was the first act of that Queen, whom you idolize! 75

_Earl Henry._ No, Sandoval, No! This was not _her_ act. She
roused herself from the stupor of alarm, she suspended _in
opposition to the advice of her council_, all proceedings against
the inferior partisans of the Conspiracy; she facilitated the
escape of Don Manrique's brother, and to Donna Oropeza, his 80
daughter and only surviving child, she restored all her father's
possessions, nay became herself her Protectress and Friend.
These were the acts, these the first acts of my royal Mistress.

_Sandoval._ And how did Donna Oropeza receive these favors?

_Earl Henry._ Why ask you that? Did they not fall on her, 85
like heavenly dews?

_Sandoval._ And will they not rise again, like an earthly mist?
What is Gratitude opposed to Ambition, filial revenge, and
Woman's rivalry--what is it but a cruel Curb in the mouth of
a fiery Horse, maddening the fierce animal whom it cannot 90
restrain? Forgive me, Earl Henry! I meant not to move
you so deeply.

_Earl Henry._ Sandoval, you have uttered that in a waking
hour which having once dreamt, I feared the return of sleep
lest I should dream it over again. My Friend (_his Voice 95
trembling_) I woo'd the daughter of Don Manrique, _but_ we are
interrupted.

_Sandoval._ It is Fernandez.

_Earl Henry (struggling with his emotions)._ A true-hearted old
fellow---- 100

_Sandoval._ As splenetic as he is brave.

_Enter_ FERNANDEZ.

_Earl Henry._ Well, my ancient! how did you like our tour
through the mountains. (_EARL HENRY sits down on the seat by
the woodside._)

_Fernandez._ But little, General! and my faithful charger 105
Liked it still less.
The field of battle in the level plain
By Fontarabia was more to our taste.

_Earl Henry._ Where is my brother, Don Curio! Have you
Seen him of late?

_Fernandez._ Scarcely, dear General! 110
For by my troth I have been laughing at him
Even till the merry tears so filled my eyes
That I lost sight of him.

_Sandoval._ But wherefore, Captain.

_Fernandez._ He hath been studying speeches with fierce gestures;
Speeches brimfull of wrath and indignation, 115
The which he hopes to vent in open council:
And, in the heat and fury of this fancy
He grasp'd your groom of the Chamber by the throat
Who squeaking piteously, Ey! quoth your brother,
I cry you Mercy, Fool! Hadst been indeed 120
The Chancellor, I should have strangled thee.

_Sandoval._ Ha, ha! poor Barnard!

_Fernandez._ What you know my Gentleman,
My Groom of the Chamber, my Sieur Barnard, hey?

_Sandoval._ I know him for a barren-pated coxcomb.

_Fernandez._ But very weedy, Sir! in worthless phrases, 125
A sedulous eschewer of the popular
And the colloquial--one who seeketh dignity
I' th' paths of circumlocution! It would have
Surpris'd you tho', to hear how nat'rally
He squeak'd when Curio had him by the throat. 130

_Sandoval._ I know him too for an habitual scorner
Of Truth.

_Fernandez._ And one that lies more dully than
Old Women dream, without pretence of fancy,
Humour or mirth, a most disinterested,
Gratuitous Liar.

_Earl Henry._ Ho! enough, enough! 135
Spare him, I pray you, were't but from respect
To the presence of his Lord.

_Sandoval._ I stand reprov'd.

_Fernandez._ I too, but that I know our noble General
Maintains him near his person, only that
If he should ever go in jeopardy 140
Of being damn'd (as he's now persecuted)
For his virtue and fair sense, he may be sav'd
By the supererogation of this Fellow's
Folly and Worthlessness.----

_Earl Henry._ Hold, hold, good Ancient!
Do you not know that this Barnard saved my life? 145
Well, but my brother----

_Fernandez._ He will soon be here.
I swear by this, my sword, dear General.
I swear he has a Hero's soul--I only
Wish I could communicate to him
My gift of governing the spleen.--Then he 150
Has had his colors, the drums too of the Regiment
All put in cases--O, that stirs the Soldiery.

_Earl Henry._ Impetuous Boy!

_Fernandez._ Nay, Fear not for them, General.
The Chancellor, no doubt, will take good care
To let their blood grow cool on garrison duty. 155

_Sandoval._ Earl Henry! Frown not thus upon Fernandez;
'Tis said, and all the Soldiery believe it,
That the five Regiments who return with you
Will be dispers'd in garrisons and castles,
And other Jails of honourable name. 160
So great a crime it is to have been present
In duty and devotion to a Hero!

_Fernandez._ What now? What now? The politic Chancellor is
The Soldier's friend, and rather than not give
Snug pensions to brave Men, he'll overlook 165
All small disqualifying circumstances
Of youth and health, keen eye and muscular limb,
He'll count our scars, and set them down for maims.
And gain us thus all privileges and profits
Of Invalids and superannuate veterans. 170

_Earl Henry._ 'Tis but an idle rumour--See! they come.

_Enter_ BARNARD _and a number of_ Soldiers, _their Colours wound up, and the Drums in Cases, and after them_ DON CURIO. _All pay the military Honors to the General. During this time_ FERNANDEZ _has hurried up in front of the Stage_.

_Enter DON CURIO._

_Don Curio (advancing to EARL HENRY)._ Has Barnard told you?
Insult on insult! by mine honor, Brother!
(_BARNARD goes beside CURIO._) And by our Father's soul they mean
to saint you,
Having first prov'd your Patience more than mortal. 175

_Earl Henry._ Take heed, Don Curio! lest with greater right
They scoff my Brother for a choleric boy.
What insult then?

_Don Curio._ Our Friend, the Chancellor,
Welcomes you home, and shares the common joy
In the most happy tidings of your Victory: 180
But as to your demand of instant audience
From the Queen's Royal Person,--'tis rejected!

_Sandoval._ Rejected?

_Barnard (making a deep obeisance)._ May it please the Earl!

_Earl Henry._ Speak,
Barnard.

_Barnard._ The noble Youth, your very valiant brother,
And wise as valiant (_bowing to DON CURIO who puffs at him_)
rightly doth insinuate 185
Fortune deals nothing singly--whether Honors
Or Insults, whether it be Joys or Sorrows,
They crowd together on us, or at best
Drop in in quick succession.

_Fernandez (mocking him)._ 'Ne'er rains it, but it pours,' or, at
the best, 190
'More sacks upon the mill.' This fellow's a
Perpetual plagiarist from his Grandmother, and
How slily in the parcel wraps [he] up
The stolen goods!

_Earl Henry._ Be somewhat briefer, Barnard.

_Barnard._ But could I dare insinuate to your Brother 195
A fearless Truth, Earl Henry--it were this:
Even Lucifer, Prince of the Air, hath claims
Upon our justice.

_Fernandez._ Give the Devil his Due!
Why, thou base Lacquerer of worm-eaten proverbs,
[And] wherefore dost thou not tell us at once 200
What the Chancellor said to thee?

_Barnard_ (_looking round superciliously at_ FERNANDEZ).
The Queen hath left the Capital affecting
Rural retirement, but 'I will hasten'
(Thus said the Chancellor) 'I myself will hasten
And lay before her Majesty the Tidings 205
Both of Earl Henry's Victory and return.
She will vouchsafe, I doubt not, to re-enter
Her Capital, without delay, and grant
The wish'd for Audience with all public honour.'

_Don Curio._ A mere Device, I say, to pass a slight on us. 210

_Fernandez (to himself)._ To think on't. Pshaw! A fellow, that must
needs
Have been decreed an Ass by acclamation,
Had he not looked so very like an Owl.
And he to---- (_turns suddenly round, and faces BARNARD who had
even then come close beside him_).
Boo!----Ah! is it you, Sieur Barnard!

_Barnard._ No other, Sir!

_Fernandez._ And is it not reported, 215
That you once sav'd the General's life?

_Barnard._ 'Tis certain!

_Fernandez._ Was he asleep? And were the hunters coming
And did you bite him on the nose?

_Barnard._ What mean you?

_Fernandez._ That was the way in which the Flea i' th' Fable
Once sav'd the Lion's life.

_Earl Henry._ 'Tis well. 220
The Sun hath almost finish'd his Day's Travels;
We too will finish ours. Go, gallant Comrades,
And at the neighbouring Mansion, for us all,
Claim entertainment in your General's name.

_Exeunt_ Soldiers, &c. _As they are leaving the Stage._

_Fernandez_ (_to_ BARNARD). A word with you! You act the
Chancellor 225
Incomparably well.

_Barnard._ Most valiant Captain,
Vouchsafe a manual union.

_Fernandez_ (_griping_ [sic] _his hand with affected fervor_). 'Tis
no wonder,
Don Curio should mistook [_sic_] you for him.

_Barnard._ Truly,
The Chancellor, and I, it hath been notic'd
Are of one stature.

_Fernandez._ And Don Curio's _Gripe_ too 230
Had lent a guttural Music to your voice,
A sort of bagpipe Buz, that suited well
Your dignity of utterance.

_Barnard (simpering courteously)._ Don Fernandez,
Few are the storms that bring unmingled evil.

_Fernandez (mocking him)._ 'Tis an ill wind, that blows no good,
Sieur Barnard! [_Exeunt._ 235

_DON CURIO lingering behind._

_Don Curio._ I have offended you, my brother.

_Earl H._ Yes!
For you've not learnt the noblest part of valour,
To suffer and obey. Drums put in cases,
Colours wound up--what means this Mummery?
We are sunk low indeed, if wrongs like our's 240
Must seek redress in impotent Freaks of Anger.
(This way, Don Sandoval) of boyish anger----

(_Walks with SANDOVAL to the back of the Stage._)

_Don Curio (to himself)._ Freaks! freaks! But what if they have
sav'd from bursting
The swelling heart of one, whose Cup of Hope
Was savagely dash'd down--even from his lips?-- 245
Permitted just to see the face of War,
Then like a truant boy, scourgd home again
One Field my whole Campaign! One glorious Battle
To madden one with Hope!--Did he not pause
Twice in the fight, and press me to his breastplate, 250
And cry, that all might hear him, Well done, brother!
No blessed Soul, just naturalized in Heaven,
Pac'd ever by the side of an Immortal
More proudly, Henry! than I fought by thine--
Shame on these tears!--this, too, is boyish anger! [_Exit._ 255

_EARL HENRY and SANDOVAL return to the front of the stage._

_Earl Henry._ I spake more harshly to him, than need was.

_Sandoval._ Observ'd you how he pull'd his beaver down--
Doubtless to hide the tears, he could not check.

_Earl Henry._ Go, sooth [_sic_] him, Friend!--And having reach'd
the Castle
Gain Oropeza's private ear, and tell her 260
Where you have left me.

(_As SANDOVAL is going_)

Nay, stay awhile with me.
I am too full of dreams to meet her now.

_Sandoval._ You lov'd the daughter of Don Manrique?

_Earl Henry._ Loved?

_Sandoval._ Did you not say, you woo'd her?

_Earl Henry._ Once I lov'd
Her whom I dar'd not woo!----

_Sandoval._ And woo'd perchance 265
One whom you lov'd not!

_Earl Henry._ O I were most base
Not loving Oropeza. True, I woo'd her
Hoping to heal a deeper wound: but she
Met my advances with an empassion'd Pride
That kindled Love with Love. And when her Sire 270
Who in his dream of Hope already grasp'd
The golden circlet in his hand, rejected
My suit, with Insult, and in memory
Of ancient Feuds, pour'd Curses on my head,
Her Blessings overtook and baffled them. 275
But thou art stern, and with unkindling Countenance
Art inly reasoning whilst thou listenest to me.

_Sandoval._ Anxiously, Henry! reasoning anxiously.
But Oropeza--

_Earl Henry._ Blessings gather round her!
Within this wood there winds a secret passage, 280
Beneath the walls, which open out at length
Into the gloomiest covert of the Garden.--
The night ere my departure to the Army,
She, nothing trembling, led me through that gloom,
And to the covert by a silent stream, 285
Which, with one star reflected near its marge,
Was the sole object visible around me.
The night so dark, so close, the umbrage o'er us!
No leaflet stirr'd;--yet pleasure hung upon us,
The gloom and stillness of the balmy night-air. 290
A little further on an arbor stood,
Fragrant with flowering Trees--I well remember
What an uncertain glimmer in the Darkness
Their snow-white Blossoms made--thither she led me,
To that sweet bower! Then Oropeza trembled-- 295
I heard her heart beat--if 'twere not my own.

_Sandoval._ A rude and searing note, my friend!

_Earl Henry._ Oh! no!
I have small memory of aught but pleasure.
The inquietudes of fear, like lesser Streams
Still flowing, still were lost in those of Love: 300
So Love grew mightier from the Pear, and Nature,
Fleeing from Pain, shelter'd herself in Joy.
The stars above our heads were dim and steady,
Like eyes suffus'd with rapture. Life was in us:
We were all life, each atom of our Frames 305
A living soul--I vow'd to die for her:
With the faint voice of one who, having spoken,
Relapses into blessedness, I vow'd it:
That solemn Vow, a whisper scarcely heard,
A murmur breath'd against a lady's Cheek. 310
Oh! there is Joy above the name of Pleasure,
Deep self-possession, an intense Repose.
No other than as Eastern Sages feign,
The God, who floats upon a Lotos Leaf,
Dreams for a thousand ages; then awaking, 315
Creates a world, and smiling at the bubble,
Relapses into bliss. Ah! was that bliss
Fear'd as an alien, and too vast for man?
For suddenly, intolerant of its silence,
Did Oropeza, starting, grasp my forehead. 320
I caught her arms; the veins were swelling on them.
Thro' the dark Bower she sent a hollow voice;--
'Oh! what if all betray me? what if thou?'
I swore, and with an inward thought that seemed
The unity and substance of my Being, 325
I swore to her, that were she red with guilt,
I would exchange my unblench'd state with hers.--
Friend! by that winding passage, to the Bower
I now will go--all objects there will teach me
Unwavering Love, and singleness of Heart. 330
Go, Sandoval! I am prepar'd to meet her--
Say nothing of me--I myself will seek her--
Nay, leave me, friend! I cannot bear the torment
And Inquisition of that scanning eye.--

[_Earl Henry retires into the wood._

_Sandoval (alone)._ O Henry! always striv'st thou to be great 335
By thine own act--yet art thou never great
But by the Inspiration of great Passion.
The Whirl-blast comes, the desert-sands rise up
And shape themselves; from Heaven to Earth they stand,
As though they were the Pillars of a Temple, 340
Built by Omnipotence in its own honour!
But the Blast pauses, and their shaping spirit
Is fled: the mighty Columns were but sand,
And lazy Snakes trail o'er the level ruins!
I know, he loves the Queen. I know she is 345
His Soul's first love, and this is ever his nature--
To his first purpose, his soul toiling back
Like the poor storm-wreck'd [sailor] to his Boat,
Still swept away, still struggling to regain it. [_Exit._

* * * * *

_Herreras._ He dies, that stirs! Follow me this instant. 350

(First Conspirator _takes his arrow, snaps it, and throws it on the ground. The two others do the same._)

_Herreras._ Accursed cowards! I'll go myself, and make sure work
(_drawing his Dagger_).

(HERRERAS _strides towards the arbor, before he reaches it, stops and listens and then returns hastily to the front of the stage, as he turns his Back to the Arbor_, EARL HENRY _appears, watching the_ Conspirators, _and enters the Arbor unseen_.)

_First Conspirator._ Has she _seen_ us think you?

_The Mask._ No! she has not _seen_ us; but she heard us
distinctly.

_Herreras._ There was a rustling in the wood--go, all of 355
you, stand on the watch--towards the passage.

_A Voice from the Arbor._ Mercy! Mercy! Tell me, why
you murder me.

_Herreras._ I'll do it first. (_Strides towards the Arbor, EARL
HENRY rushes out of it._) 360

_The Mask._ Jesu Maria. (_They all three fly, EARL HENRY
attempts to seize HERRERAS, who defending himself retreats
into the Covert follow'd by the EARL. THE QUEEN comes
from out the arbor, veiled--stands listening a moment, then
lifts up her veil, with folded hands assumes the attitude of
Prayer, and after a momentary silence breaks into audible
soliloquy._)

_The Queen._ I pray'd to thee, All-wonderful! And thou
Didst make my very Prayer the Instrument,
By which thy Providence sav'd me. Th' armed Murderer
Who with suspended breath stood listening to me,
Groan'd as I spake thy name. In that same moment, 365
O God! thy Mercy shot the swift Remorse
That pierc'd his Heart. And like an Elephant
Gor'd as he rushes to the first assault,
He turn'd at once and trampled his Employers.
But hark! (_drops her veil_)--O God in Heaven! they come again. 370

(_EARL HENRY returns with the Dagger in his hand._)

_Earl Henry (as he is entering)._ The violent pull with which I
seiz'd his Dagger
Unpois'd me and I fell.

[END OF THE FRAGMENT.]

LINENOTES:

[After 88] in which all her wrongs will appear twofold--(or) in a mist of which her Wrongs will wander, magnified into giant shapes. MS. erased.

[110] After General! And yet I have not stirred from his side. That is to say-- MS. erased.

[Before 211]

Fortune! Plague take her for a blind old Baggage!
That such a patch as Barnard should have had
The Honour to have sav'd our General's life.
That Barnard! that mock-man! that clumsy forgery
Of Heaven's Image. Any other heart
But mine own would have turn'd splenetic to think of it.

MS. erased.

[269] an empassion'd S. L.: empassioned 1834.

[276] unkindling] unkindly S. L., 1834.

[281] open] opens S. L.

[285] the] that. a] that S. L. (corr. in Errata, p. [xi]) S. L.

[288] o'er] near S. L. (corr. in Errata, p. [xi]) S. L.

[289-290]

No leaflet stirr'd; the air was almost sultry;
So deep, so dark, so close, the umbrage o'er us!
No leaflet stirr'd, yet pleasure hung upon

S. L.

[310] Cheek] Ear S. L.

[After 312]

Deep repose of bliss we lay
No other than as Eastern Sages gloss,
The God who floats upon a Lotos leaf
Dreams for a thousand ages, then awaking
Creates a World, then loathing the dull task
Relapses into blessedness, when an omen
Screamed from the Watch-tower--'twas the Watchman's cry,
And Oropeza starting.

MS. (alternative reading).

[313] feign] paint S. L.

[Before 314] Sandoval (_with a sarcastic smile_) S. L.

[314-16] Compare Letter to Thelwall, Oct. 16, 1797, Letters of S. T. C., 1895, i. 229.]

[317]

bliss.--

_Earl Henry._ Ah! was that bliss

S. L.

[319] intolerant] impatient S. L.

[325] unity and] purpose and the S. L.

[After 327]

Even as a Herdsboy mutely plighting troth
Gives his true Love a Lily for a Rose.

MS. erased.

[334] Inquisition] keen inquiry S. L.

[Before 335]

Earl Henry thou art dear to me--perchance
For these follies; since the Health of Reason,
Our would-be Sages teach, engenders not
The Whelks and Tumours of particular Friendship.

MS. erased.

[339] Heaven to Earth] Earth to Heaven S. L.

J

CHAMOUNY; THE HOUR BEFORE SUNRISE

A HYMN

[Vide _ante_, p. 376.]

[As published in _The Morning Post_, Sept. 11, 1802]

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 Chamouny!
The Arvè and Arveiron at thy base
Eave ceaselessly; but thou, dread mountain form, 5
Resist from forth thy silent sea of pines
How silently! Around thee, and above,
Deep is the sky, and black: transpicuous, deep,
An ebon mass! Methinks thou piercest it
As with a wedge! But when I look again, 10
It seems thy own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Thy habitation from eternity.
O dread and silent form! I gaz'd upon thee,
Till thou, still present to my bodily eye,
Did'st vanish from my thought. Entranc'd in pray'r, 15
I worshipp'd the INVISIBLE alone.
Yet thou, meantime, wast working on my soul,
E'en like some deep enchanting melody,
So sweet, we know not, we are list'ning to it.
But I awoke, and with a busier mind, 20
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! 25
Green fields, and icy cliffs! All join my hymn!
And thou, O silent mountain, sole and bare,
O blacker, than the darkness, all the night,
And visited, all night, by troops of stars,
Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink-- 30
Companion of the morning star at dawn,
Thyself Earth's rosy star, and of the dawn
Co-herald! Wake, O wake, and utter praise!
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth?
Who fill'd thy countenance with rosy light? 35
Who made thee father of perpetual streams?
And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad,
Who call'd you forth from Night and utter Death?
From darkness let you loose, and icy dens,
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks 40
For ever shatter'd, and the same for ever!
Who gave you your invulnerable life,
Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy,
Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam!
And who commanded, and the silence came-- 45
'Here shall the billows stiffen, and have rest?'

Ye ice-falls! ye that from yon dizzy heights
Adown enormous ravines steeply slope,
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopp'd at once amid their maddest plunge! 50
Motionless torrents! silent cataracts!
Who made you glorious, as the gates of Heav'n,
Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun
Clothe you with rainbows? Who with lovely flow'rs
Of living blue spread garlands at your feet? 55
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! 60
Ye dreadless flow'rs! that fringe th' eternal frost!
Ye wild goats, bounding by the eagle's nest!
Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain blast!
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!
Ye signs and wonders of the element, 65
Utter forth, GOD! and fill the hills with praise!

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 70
Sweep slowly with dim eyes suffus'd by tears,
Awake, thou mountain form! rise, like a cloud!
Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth!
Thou kingly spirit thron'd among the hills,
Thou dread ambassador from Earth to Heav'n-- 75
Great hierarch, tell thou the silent sky,
And tell the stars, and tell the rising sun,
Earth with her thousand voices calls on God!
+ESTÊSE.+

K

DEJECTION: AN ODE[1076:1]

[Vide _ante_, p. 362.]

[As first printed in the _Morning Post_, October 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."[1076:2]
BALLAD OF SIR PATRICK SPENCE.

LINENOTES:

Motto_--2 Moon] one Letter to S.

[4] There will be, &c. Letter to S.

DEJECTION:

AN ODE, WRITTEN APRIL 4, 1802.

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
Unrous'd by winds, that ply a busier trade
Than those, which mould yon cloud, in lazy flakes, 5
Or the dull sobbing draft, that drones and rakes
Upon the strings of this Oeolian 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 rimm'd and circled by a silver thread)
I see the Old Moon in her lap, foretelling
The coming on of rain and squally blast:
And O! that even now the gust were swelling, 15
And the slant night-show'r driving loud and fast!
Those sounds which oft have rais'd me, while they aw'd,
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, unimpassion'd grief,
Which finds no nat'ral outlet, no relief,
In word, or sigh, or tear--
O EDMUND! 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 bedimm'd, but always seen;
Yon crescent moon, as fix'd as if it grew, 35
In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue,
A boat becalm'd! a lovely sky-canoe!
I see them all so excellently fair--
I _see_, not _feel_ how beautiful they are!

III

My genial spirits fail; 40
And what can these avail,
To lift the smoth'ring 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: 45
I may not hope from outward forms to win
The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.

IV

O EDMUND! we receive but what we give,
And in _our_ life alone does Nature live:
Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her shroud! 50
And would we aught behold, of higher worth,
Than that inanimate cold world, _allow'd_
To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd,
Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth,
A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud 55
Enveloping the earth--
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!
O pure of heart! Thou need'st not ask of me 60
What this strong music in the soul may be?
What, and wherein it doth exist,
This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist,
This beautiful and beauty-making pow'r?
Joy, virtuous EDMUND! joy that ne'er was given, 65
Save to the pure, and in their purest hour,
Joy, EDMUND! is the spirit and the pow'r,
Which wedding Nature to us gives in dow'r,
A new Earth and new Heaven,
Undream'd of by the sensual and the proud-- 70
JOY is the sweet voice, JOY the luminous cloud--
We, we 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

Yes, dearest EDMUND, yes!
There was a time that, tho' 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: 80
For hope grew round me, like the twining vine,
And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seem'd mine.
But now afflictions bow me down to earth:
Nor care I, that they rob me of my mirth,
But oh! each visitation 85
Suspends what nature gave me at my birth,
My shaping spirit of imagination.

[The Sixth and Seventh Stanzas omitted.]

* * * * * *
* * * * * *
* * * * * *

VIII

O wherefore did I let it haunt my mind
This dark distressful dream?
I turn from it, and listen to the wind 90
Which long has rav'd unnotic'd. What a scream
Of agony, by torture, lengthen'd out,
That lute sent forth! O wind, that rav'st without,
Bare crag, or mountain-tairn[1079:1], or blasted tree,
Or pine-grove, whither woodman never clomb, 95
Or lonely house, long held the witches' home,
Methinks were fitter instruments for thee,
Mad Lutanist! who, in this month of show'rs,
Of dark-brown gardens, and of peeping flow'rs,
Mak'st devil's yule, with worse than wintry song, 100
The blossoms, buds, and tim'rous leaves among.
Thou Actor, perfect in all tragic sounds!
Thou mighty Poet, ev'n to frenzy bold!
What tell'st thou now about?
'Tis of the rushing of a host in rout, 105
With many groans of 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,
With groans, and tremulous shudderings--all is over! 110
It tells another tale, with sounds less deep and loud--
A tale of less affright.
And temper'd with delight,
As EDMUND'S self had fram'd the tender lay--
'Tis of a little child, 115
Upon a lonesome wild
Not far from home; but she hath lost her way--
And now moans low, in utter grief and fear;
And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother _hear_!

IX

'Tis midnight, and small thoughts have I of sleep; 120
Full seldom may my friend such vigils keep!
Visit him, gentle Sleep, with wings of healing,
And may this storm be but a mountain-birth,
May all the stars hang bright above his dwelling,
Silent, as though they _watch'd_ the sleeping Earth! 125
With light heart may he rise,
Gay fancy, cheerful eyes,
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, 130
By the immenseness of the good and fair
Which thou see'st everywhere,
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! 135
O simple spirit, guided from above,
O lofty Poet, full of life and love,
Brother and friend of my devoutest choice,
Thus may'st thou ever, evermore rejoice!
+ESTÊSE.+

FOOTNOTES:

[1076:1] Collated with the text of the poem as sent to W. Sotheby in a letter dated July 19, 1802 (_Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i. 379-84).

[1076:2] In the letter of July 19, 1802, the Ode is broken up and quoted in parts or fragments, illustrative of the mind and feelings of the writer. 'Sickness,' he explains, 'first forced me into _downright metaphysics_. For I believe that by nature I have more of the poet in me. In a poem written during that dejection, to Wordsworth, I thus expressed the thought in language more forcible than harmonious.' Then follow lines 76-87 of the text, followed by lines 87-98 of the text first published in _Sibylline Leaves_ ('For not to think of what I needs must feel,' &c.). He then reverts to the 'introduction of the poem':--'The first lines allude to a stanza in the Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence: "Late, late yestreen I saw the new moon with the old one in her arms: and I fear, I fear, my master dear, there will be a deadly Storm."' This serves as a motto to lines 1-75 and 129-39 of the first draft of the text. Finally he 'annexes as a _fragment_ a few lines (ll. 88-119) on the "Oeolian Lute", it having been introduced in its dronings in the first stanzas.'

[1079:1] Tairn, a small lake, generally, if not always, applied to the lakes up in the mountains, and which are the feeders of those in the vallies. This address to the wind will not appear extravagant to those who have heard it at night, in a mountainous country. [Note in _M. P._]

LINENOTES:

[2] grand] dear Letter to S.

[5] those] that Letter to S. cloud] clouds Letter to S.

[12] by] with Letter to S.

[17-20] om. Letter to S.

[22] stifled] stifling Letter to S.

[Between 24 and 25]

This William, well thou knowest,
Is that sore evil which I dread the most,
And oftnest 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 to S.

[37] a lovely sky-canoe] thy own sweet sky-canoe Letter to S. [_Note._ The reference is to the Prologue to 'Peter Bell'.]

[48] Edmund] Wordsworth Letter to S.

[58] potent] powerful Letter to S.

[65] virtuous Edmund] blameless poet Letter to S.

[67] Edmund] William Letter to S.

[71] om. Letter to S.

[74] the echoes] an echo Letter to S.

[76] Edmund] poet Letter to S.

[77] that] when Letter to S.

[78] This] The Letter to S.

[82] fruits] fruit Letter to S.

After 87 six lines 'For not to think', &c., are inserted after a row of asterisks. The direction as to the omission of the Sixth and Seventh Stanzas is only found in the M. P.

[88] O] Nay Letter to S.

[93] That lute sent out! O thou wild storm without Letter to S.

[98] who] that Letter to S.

[106] of] from Letter to S.

[109] Again! but all that noise Letter to S.

[111] And it has other sounds, less fearful and less loud Letter to S.

[114] Edmund's self] thou thyself Letter to S.

[120-8] om. Letter to S.

[129-39]

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 to S.

[_Note._ In the letter these lines follow line 75 of the text of the _M. P._]

L

TO W. WORDSWORTH[1081:1]

(_Vide ante_, p. 403.)

LINES COMPOSED, FOR THE GREATER PART ON THE NIGHT, ON WHICH HE FINISHED THE RECITATION OF HIS POEM (IN THIRTEEN BOOKS) CONCERNING THE GROWTH AND HISTORY OF HIS OWN MIND

JAN{RY}, 1807. COLE-ORTON, NEAR ASHBY DE LA ZOUCH.

O friend! O Teacher! God's great Gift to me!
Into my heart have I receiv'd that Lay,
More than historic, that prophetic Lay,
Wherein (high theme by Thee first sung aright)
Of the Foundations and the Building-up 5
Of thy own Spirit, thou hast lov'd to tell
What may be told, to th' understanding mind
Revealable; and what within the mind
May rise enkindled. Theme as hard as high!
Of Smiles spontaneous, and mysterious Feard; 10
(The First-born they of Reason, and Twin-birth)
Of Tides obedient to external Force,
And _currents_ self-determin'd, as might seem,
Or by interior Power: of Moments aweful,
Now in thy hidden Life; and now abroad, 15
Mid festive Crowds, _thy_ Brows too garlanded,
A Brother of the Feast: of _Fancies_ fair,
Hyblæan Murmurs of poetic Thought,
Industrious in its Joy, by lilied Streams
Native or outland, Lakes and famous Hills! 20
Of more than Fancy, of the Hope of Man
Amid the tremor of a Realm aglow--
Where France in all her Towns lay vibrating,
Ev'n as a Bark becalm'd on sultry seas
Beneath the voice from Heaven, the bursting Crash 25
Of Heaven's immediate thunder! when no Cloud
Is visible, or Shadow on the Main!
Ah! soon night roll'd on night, and every Cloud
Open'd its eye of Fire: and Hope aloft
Now flutter'd, and now toss'd upon the Storm 30
Floating! Of Hope afflicted, and struck down,
Thence summon'd homeward--homeward to thy Heart,
Oft from the Watch-tower of Man's absolute Self,
With Light unwaning on her eyes, to look
Far on--herself a Glory to behold, 35
The Angel of the Vision! Then (last strain!)
Of _Duty_, chosen Laws controlling choice,
Virtue and Love! An Orphic Tale indeed,
A Tale divine of high and passionate Thoughts
To their own music chaunted!

Ah great Bard! 40
Ere yet that last Swell dying aw'd the Air,
With stedfast ken I view'd thee in the Choir
Of ever-enduring Men. The truly Great
Have all one Age, and from one visible space
Shed influence: for they, both power and act, 45
Are permanent, and Time is not with them,
Save as it worketh for them, they in it.
Nor less a sacred Roll, than those of old,
And to be plac'd, as they, with gradual fame
Among the Archives of mankind, thy Work 50
Makes audible a linked Song of Truth,
Of Truth profound a sweet continuous Song
Not learnt, but native, her own natural Notes!
Dear shall it be to every human Heart.
To me how more than dearest! Me, on whom 55
Comfort from Thee and utterance of thy Love
Came with such heights and depths of Harmony
Such sense of Wings uplifting, that the Storm
Scatter'd and whirl'd me, till my Thoughts became
A bodily Tumult! and thy faithful Hopes, 60
Thy Hopes of me, dear Friend! by me unfelt
Were troublous to me, almost as a Voice
Familiar once and more than musical
To one cast forth, whose hope had seem'd to die,
A Wanderer with a worn-out heart, [_sic_] 65
Mid Strangers pining with untended Wounds!

O Friend! too well thou know'st, of what sad years
The long suppression had benumb'd my soul,
That even as Life returns upon the Drown'd,
Th' unusual Joy awoke a throng of Pains-- 70
Keen Pangs of LOVE, awakening, as a Babe,
Turbulent, with an outcry in the Heart:
And Fears self-will'd, that shunn'd the eye of Hope,
And Hope, that would not know itself from Fear:
Sense of pass'd Youth, and Manhood come in vain; 75
And Genius given, and knowledge won in vain;
And all, which I had cull'd in Wood-walks wild,
And all, which patient Toil had rear'd, and all,
Commune with Thee had open'd out, but Flowers
Strew'd on my Corse, and borne upon my Bier, 80
In the same Coffin, for the self-same Grave!

That way no more! and ill beseems it me,
Who came a Welcomer in Herald's guise
Singing of Glory and Futurity,
To wander back on such unhealthful Road 85
Plucking the Poisons of Self-harm! and ill
Such Intertwine beseems triumphal wreaths
Strew'd before thy Advancing! Thou too, Friend!
O injure not the memory of that Hour
Of thy communion with my nobler mind 90
By pity or grief, already felt too long!
Nor let my words import more blame than needs.
The Tumult rose and ceas'd: for Peace is nigh
Where Wisdom's Voice has found a list'ning Heart.
Amid the howl of more than wintry Storms 95
The Halcyon hears the voice of vernal Hours,
Already on the wing!
Eve following eve,
Dear tranquil Time, when the sweet sense of Home
Becomes most sweet! hours for their own sake hail'd,
And more desir'd, more precious, for thy song! 100
In silence list'ning, like a devout Child,
My soul lay passive; by thy various strain
Driven as in surges now, beneath the stars,
With momentary Stars of my own Birth,
Fair constellated Foam still darting off 105
Into the darkness! now a tranquil Sea
Outspread and bright, yet swelling to the Moon!

And when O Friend! my Comforter! my Guide!
Strong in thyself and powerful to give strength!
Thy long sustained Lay finally clos'd, 110
And thy deep Voice had ceas'd (yet thou thyself
Wert still before mine eyes, and round us both
That happy Vision of beloved Faces!
All, whom I deepliest love, in one room all!),
Scarce conscious and yet conscious of it's Close, 115
I sate, my Being blended in one Thought,
(Thought was it? or aspiration? or Resolve?)
Absorb'd, yet hanging still upon the sound:
And when I rose, I found myself in Prayer!
S. T. COLERIDGE.

FOOTNOTES:

[1081:1] Now first printed from an original MS. in the possession of Mr. Gordon Wordsworth.

LINENOTES:

[37] controlling] ? impelling, ? directing.

M

YOUTH AND AGE

[Vide _ante_, p. 439.]

_MS. I_

10 SEPT. 1823. WEDNESDAY MORNING, 10 O'CLOCK

On the Tenth Day of September,
Eighteen hundred Twenty Three,
Wednesday morn, and I remember
Ten on the Clock the Hour to be
[_The Watch and Clock do both agree_] 5

An _Air_ that whizzed +dia enkephalou+ (right across the diameter
of my Brain) exactly like a Hummel Bee, _alias_ Dumbeldore,
the gentleman with Rappee Spenser (_sic_), with bands of Red, and
Orange Plush Breeches, close by my ear, at once sharp and
burry, right over the summit of Quantock [item of Skiddaw 10
(_erased_)] at earliest Dawn just between the Nightingale that
I stopt to hear in the Copse at the Foot of Quantock, and the
first Sky-Lark that was a Song-Fountain, dashing up and
sparkling to the Ear's eye, in full column, or ornamented Shaft of
sound in the order of Gothic Extravaganza, out of Sight, over 15
the Cornfields on the Descent of the Mountain on the other
side--out of sight, tho' twice I beheld its _mute_ shoot downward in
the sunshine like a falling star of silver:--

ARIA SPONTANEA

Flowers are lovely, Love is flower-like,
Friendship is a shelt'ring tree-- 20
O the Joys, that came down shower-like,
Of Beauty, Truth, and Liberty,
When I was young, ere I was old!
[_O Youth that wert so glad, so bold,
What quaint disguise hast thou put on? 25
Would'st make-believe that thou art gone?
O Youth! thy Vesper Bell_] has not yet toll'd.

Thou always were a Masker bold--
What quaint Disguise hast now put on?
To make believe that thou art gone! 30

O Youth, so true, so fair, so free,
Thy Vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd,
Thou always, &c.

* * * * *

Ah! was it not enough, that Thou
In Thy eternal Glory should outgo me? 35
Would'st thou not Grief's sad Victory allow

* * * * *

Hope's a Breeze that robs the Blossoms
Fancy feeds, and murmurs the Bee----

* * * * *

_MS. II_

1

Verse, that Breeze mid blossoms straying
Where Hope clings feeding like a Bee.
Both were mine: Life went a Maying
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
When I was young.
_When_ I was young! ah woeful When!
Ah for the Change twixt now and then!
This House of Life, not built with hands
Where now I sigh, where once I sung.

_Or_ [This snail-like House, not built with hands,
This Body that does me grievous wrong.]

O'er Hill and dale and sounding Sands.
How lightly then it flash'd along--
Like those trim Boats, unknown of yore,
On Winding Lakes and Rivers wide,
That ask no aid of Sail or Oar,
That fear no spite of Wind or Tide.
Pencil { Nought car'd this Body for wind or weather,
{ When youth and I liv'd in't together.

2

Flowers are lovely, Love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering Tree;
O the joys that came down shower-like
Of Beauty, Truth and Liberty
When I was young 5
_When_ I was young, [*ah woeful when*]
[*Ah for the change twixt now and then*]
In Heat or Frost we car'd not whether
Night and day we lodged together
woeful when
When I was young--ah [*words of agony*] 10
Ah for the change 'twixt now and then
[*O youth my Home-Mate dear so long, so long:*]
I thought that thou and I were one
I scarce believe that thou art gone
Thou always wert a Masker bold
I [*mark that change,*] in garb and size 15
heave the Breath
Those grisled Locks I well behold
But still thy Heart is in thine eyes
What strange disguise hast now put on
To make believe that thou art gone

_Or_ [O youth for years so many so sweet 20
It seem'd that Thou and I were one
That still I nurse the fond deceit
And scarce believe that thou art gone]

When I was young--ere I was old
Ah! happy ere, ah! woeful When 25
When I was young, ah woeful when
Which says that Youth and I are twain!
O Youth! for years so many and sweet
'Tis known that Thou and I were one
I'll think it but a false conceit 30
[*Tis but a gloomy*]
It cannot be,
[*I'll not believe*] that thou art gone
Thy Vesper Bell has not yet toll'd
always
[*And*] thou wert [*still*] a masker bold
What hast
[*Some*] strange disguise [*thou'st*] now put on
To make believe that thou art gone? 35
I see these Locks in silvery slips,
This dragging gait, this alter'd size
But spring-tide blossoms on thy Lips
And [*the young Heart*] is in thy eyes
tears take sunshine from
Life is but Thought so think I will 40
That Youth and I are Housemates still.

Ere I was old
Ere I was old! ah woeful ere
Which tells me youth's no longer here!
O Youth, &c. 45
Dewdrops are the Gems of Morning,
But the Tears of mournful Eve:
Where no Hope is Life's a Warning
me
That only serves to make [*us*] grieve,
Now I am old. 50

N

LOVE'S APPARITION AND EVANISHMENT[1087:1]

[Vide _ante_, p. 488.]

[FIRST DRAFT]

In vain I supplicate the Powers above;
There is no Resurrection for the Love
That, nursed with tenderest care, yet fades away
In the chilled heart by inward self-decay.
Like a lorn Arab old and blind 5
Some caravan had left behind
That sits beside a ruined Well,
And hangs his wistful head aslant,
Some sound he fain would catch--
Suspended there, as it befell, 10
O'er my own vacancy,
And while I seemed to watch
The sickly calm, as were of heart
A place where Hope lay dead,
The spirit of departed Love 15
Stood close beside my bed.
She bent methought to kiss my lips
As she was wont to do.
Alas! 'twas with a chilling breath
That awoke just enough of life in death 20
To make it die anew.

FOOTNOTES:

[1087:1] Now first published from an MS.

O

TWO VERSIONS OF THE EPITAPH[1088:1]

INSCRIBED IN A COPY OF GREW'S _Cosmologia Sacra_ (1701)

[Vide _ante_, p. 491.]

1

Epitaph
in Hornsey Church yard
Hic Jacet S. T. C.

Stop, Christian Passer-by! Stop, Child of God!
And read with gentle heart. Beneath this sod
There lies a Poet: or what once was He.
[_Up_] O lift thy soul in prayer for S. T. C.
That He who many a year with toil of breath 5
Found death in life, may here find life in death.
Mercy for praise, to be forgiven for fame
He ask'd, and hoped thro' Christ. Do thou the same.

2

ETESI'S [for Estesi's] Epitaph.

Stop, Christian Visitor! Stop, Child of God,
Here lies a Poet: or what once was He!
[_O_] Pause, Traveller, pause and pray for S. T. C.
That He who many a year with toil of Breath
Found Death in Life, may here find Life in Death. 5

And read with gentle heart! Beneath this sod
There lies a Poet, etc.

'Inscription on the Tomb-stone of one not unknown; yet more commonly known by the Initials of his Name than by the Name itself.'

ESTEESE'S +autoepitaphion+[1089:1]

(From a copy of the _Todten-Tanz_ which belonged to Thomas Poole.)

Here lies a Poet; or what once was he:
Pray, gentle Reader, pray for S. T. C.
That he who threescore years, with toilsome breath,
Found Death in Life, may now find Life in Death.

FOOTNOTES:

[1088:1] First published in _The Athenaeum_, April 7, 1888: included in the _Notes_ to 1893 (p. 645).

[1089:1] First published in the _Notes_ to 1893 (p. 646).

P

[HABENT SUA FATA--POETAE][1089:2]

The Fox, and Statesman subtile wiles ensure,
The Cit, and Polecat stink and are secure;
Toads with their venom, doctors with their drug,
The Priest, and Hedgehog, in their robes are snug!
Oh, Nature! cruel step-mother, and hard, 5
To thy poor, naked, fenceless child the Bard!
No Horns but those by luckless Hymen worn,
And those (alas! alas!) not Plenty's Horn!
With naked feelings, and with aching pride,
He hears th' unbroken blast on every side! 10
Vampire Booksellers drain him to the heart,
And Scorpion Critics cureless venom dart!

FOOTNOTES:

[1089:2] First published in Cottle's _Early Recollections_, 1839, i. 172. Now collected for the first time. These lines, according to Cottle, were included in a letter written from Lichfield in January, 1796. They illustrate the following sentence: 'The present hour I seem in a quickset hedge of embarrassments! For shame! I ought not to mistrust God! but, indeed, to hope is far more difficult than to fear. Bulls have horns, Lions have talons.'--They are signed 'S. T. C.' and are presumably his composition.

Q

TO JOHN THELWALL[1090:1]

Some, Thelwall! to the Patriot's meed aspire,
Who, in safe rage, without or rent or scar,
Bound pictur'd strongholds sketching mimic war
Closet their valour--Thou mid thickest fire
Leapst on the wall: therefore shall Freedom choose 5
Ungaudy flowers that chastest odours breathe,
And weave for thy young locks a Mural wreath;
Nor there my song of grateful praise refuse.
My ill-adventur'd youth by Cam's slow stream
Pin'd for a woman's love in slothful ease: 10
First by thy fair example [taught] to glow
With patriot zeal; from Passion's feverish dream
Starting I tore disdainful from my brow
A Myrtle Crown inwove with Cyprian bough--
Blest if to me in manhood's years belong 15
Thy stern simplicity and vigorous Song.

FOOTNOTES:

[1090:1] Now first published from Cottle's MSS. in the Library of Rugby School.

R[1090:2]

'Relative to a Friend remarkable for Georgoepiscopal Meanderings, and the combination of the _utile dulci_ during his walks to and from any given place, composed, together with a book and a half of an Epic Poem, during one of the _Halts_:--

'Lest after this life it should prove my sad story
That my soul must needs go to the Pope's Purgatory,
Many prayers have I sighed, May T. P. * * * * be my guide,
For so often he'll halt, and so lead me about,
That e'er we get there, thro' earth, sea, or air,
The last Day will have come, and the Fires have burnt out.

'JOB JUNIOR.
'_circumbendiborum patientissimus_.'

FOOTNOTES:

[1090:2] Endorsed by T. P.: 'On my Walks. Written by Coleridge, September, 1807.' First published _Thomas Poole and His Friends_, by Mrs. Henry Sandford, 1888, ii. 196.