The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge Volume I Part 118

My Lord! though the vulgar in wonder be lost at 25 My transfigurations, and name me _Apostate_, Such a meaningless nickname, which never incens'd me, _Cannot_ prejudice you or your Cousin against me: I'm Ex-bishop. What then? Burke himself would agree That I left not the Church--'twas the Church that left me.

My t.i.tles prelatic I lov'd and retain'd, 31 As long as what _I_ meant by Prelate remain'd: And tho' Mitres no longer will _pa.s.s_ in our mart, I'm _episcopal_ still to the core of my heart.

No time from my name this my motto shall sever: 35 'Twill be _Non sine pulvere palma_[342:2] for ever!

Your goodness, my Lord, I conceive as excessive, Or I dar'd not present you a scroll so digressive; And in truth with my pen thro' and thro' I should strike it; But I hear that your Lordship's own style is just like it. 40 Dear my Lord, we are right: for what charms can be shew'd In a thing that goes straight like an old Roman road?

The tortoise crawls straight, the hare doubles about; And the true line of beauty still winds in and out.

It argues, my Lord! of fine thoughts such a brood in us 45 To split and divide into heads mult.i.tudinous, While charms that surprise (it can ne'er be denied us) Sprout forth from each head, like the ears from King Midas.

Were a genius of rank, like a commonplace dunce, Compell'd to drive on to the main point at once, 50 What a plentiful vintage of initiations[342:3]

Would n.o.ble Lords lose in your Lordship's orations.

My fancy transports me! As mute as a mouse, And as fleet as a pigeon, I'm borne to the house Where all those who _are_ Lords, from father to son, 55 Discuss the affairs of all those who are none.

I behold you, my Lord! of your feelings quite full, 'Fore the woolsack arise, like a sack full of wool!

You rise on each Anti-Grenvillian Member, Short, thick and bl.u.s.trous, like a day in November![343:1] 60 Short in person, I mean: for the length of your speeches Fame herself, that most famous reporter, ne'er reaches.

Lo! Patience beholds you contemn her brief reign, And Time, that all-panting toil'd after in vain, (Like the Beldam who raced for a smock with her grand-child) 65 Drops and cries: 'Were such lungs e'er a.s.sign'd to a man-child?'

Your strokes at her vitals pale Truth has confess'd, And Zeal unresisted entempests your breast![343:2]

Though some n.o.ble Lords may be wishing to sup, Your merit self-conscious, my Lord, _keeps you up_, 70 Unextinguish'd and swoln, as a balloon of paper Keeps aloft by the smoke of its own farthing taper.

Ye SIXTEENS[343:3] of Scotland, your snuffs ye must trim; Your Geminies, fix'd stars of England! grow dim, And but for _a form long-establish'd_, no doubt 75 Twinkling faster and faster, ye all would _go out_.

_Apropos_, my dear Lord! a ridiculous blunder Of some of our Journalists caused us some wonder: It was said that in aspect malignant and sinister In the Isle of Great Britain a great Foreign Minister 80 Turn'd as pale as a journeyman miller's frock coat is On observing a star that appear'd in BOOTES!

When the whole truth was this (O those ignorant brutes!) Your Lordship had made his appearance in boots.

You, my Lord, with your star, sat in boots, and the Spanish Amba.s.sador thereupon thought fit to vanish. 86

But perhaps, dear my Lord, among other worse crimes, The whole was no more than a lie of _The Times_.

It is monstrous, my Lord! in a civilis'd state That such Newspaper rogues should have license to prate. 90 Indeed printing in general--but for the taxes, Is in theory false and pernicious in praxis!

You and I, and your Cousin, and Abbe Sieyes, And all the great Statesmen that live in these days, Are agreed that no nation secure is from vi'lence 95 Unless all who must think are maintain'd all in silence.

This printing, my Lord--but 'tis useless to mention What we both of us think--'twas a cursed invention, And Germany might have been honestly prouder Had she left it alone, and found out only powder. 100 My Lord! when I think of our labours and cares Who rule the Department of foreign affairs, And how with their libels these journalists bore us, Though Rage I acknowledge than Scorn less decorous; Yet their presses and types I could shiver in splinters, 105 Those Printers' black Devils! those Devils of Printers!

In case of a peace--but perhaps it were better To proceed to the absolute point of my letter: For the deep wounds of France, Bonaparte, my master, Has found out a new sort of _basilicon_ plaister. 110 But your time, my dear Lord! is your nation's best treasure, I've intruded already too long on your leisure; If so, I entreat you with penitent sorrow To pause, and resume the remainder to-morrow.

1800.

FOOTNOTES:

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

[341:1] This sarcasm on the writings of moralists is, in general, extremely just; but had Talleyrand continued long enough in England, he might have found an honourable exception in the second volume of Dr.

Paley's _Moral Philosophy_; in which both Secret Influence, and all the other _Established Forms_, are justified and placed in their true light.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LINENOTES:

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

APOLOGIA PRO VITA SUA[345:1]

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

1800.

FOOTNOTES:

[345:1] Included in the text of _The Historie and Gests of Maxilian_: first published in _Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine_, January, 1822, vol.

xi, p. 12. The lines were taken from a MS. note-book, dated August 28, 1800. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877-80.

LINENOTES:

t.i.tle] The Poet's ken P. W., 1885: Apologia, &c. 1907.

[1-4]

The poet's eye in his tipsy hour Hath a magnifying power Or rather emanc.i.p.ates his eyes Of the accidents of size

MS.

[5] cones] cone MS.

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

[7] His eye can see MS.

THE KEEPSAKE[345:2]

The tedded hay, the first fruits of the soil, The tedded hay and corn-sheaves in one field, Show summer gone, ere come. The foxglove tall Sheds its loose purple bells, or in the gust, Or when it bends beneath the up-springing lark, 5 Or mountain-finch alighting. And the rose (In vain the darling of successful love) Stands, like some boasted beauty of past years, The thorns remaining, and the flowers all gone.

Nor can I find, amid my lonely walk 10 By rivulet, or spring, or wet roadside, That blue and bright-eyed floweret of the brook, Hope's gentle gem, the sweet Forget-me-not![346:1]