The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge Volume I Part 40

[8-11]

Or rouse thy screams, or wake thy young desire: Yet art thou wise, for mid thy brief alarms

1797.

[9-10] om. 1797.

[14] Whose kindly Heavings lull thy cares to Rest MS. E.

[19] tetchy] fretful 1797.

TO THE REV. W. J. HORT[92:1]

WHILE TEACHING A YOUNG LADY SOME SONG-TUNES ON HIS FLUTE

I

Hush! ye clamorous Cares! be mute!

Again, dear Harmonist! again Thro' the hollow of thy flute Breathe that pa.s.sion-warbled strain: Till Memory each form shall bring 5 The loveliest of her shadowy throng; And Hope, that soars on sky-lark wing, Carol wild her gladdest song!

II

O skill'd with magic spell to roll The thrilling tones, that concentrate the soul! 10 Breathe thro' thy flute those tender notes again, While near thee sits the chaste-eyed Maiden mild; And bid her raise the Poet's kindred strain In soft impa.s.sion'd voice, correctly wild.

III

In Freedom's UNDIVIDED dell, 15 Where _Toil_ and _Health_ with mellow'd _Love_ shall dwell, Far from folly, far from men, In the rude romantic glen, Up the cliff, and thro' the glade, Wandering with the dear-lov'd maid, 20 I shall listen to the lay, And ponder on thee far away Still, as she bids those thrilling notes aspire ('Making my fond attuned heart her lyre'), Thy honour'd form, my Friend! shall reappear, 25 And I will thank thee with a raptur'd tear.

1795.

FOOTNOTES:

[92:1] First published in 1796, and again in 1863.

LINENOTES:

t.i.tle] To the Rev. W. J. H. while Teaching, &c. 1796, 1863.

[24] her] his 1863.

PITY[93:1]

Sweet Mercy! how my very heart has bled To see thee, poor Old Man! and thy grey hairs h.o.a.r with the snowy blast: while no one cares To clothe thy shrivell'd limbs and palsied head.

My Father! throw away this tatter'd vest 5 That mocks thy shivering! take my garment--use A young man's arm! I'll melt these frozen dews That hang from thy white beard and numb thy breast.

My Sara too shall tend thee, like a child: And thou shalt talk, in our fireside's recess, 10 Of purple Pride, that scowls on Wretchedness-- He did not so, the Galilaean mild, Who met the Lazars turn'd from rich men's doors And call'd them Friends, and heal'd their noisome sores!

? 1795.

FOOTNOTES:

[93:1] First published in 1796: included in _Selection of Sonnets_, _Poems_ 1796, in 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829, and 1834.

LINENOTES:

t.i.tle] Effusion xvi. 1796 (_Contents_--To an Old Man): Sonnet vi. 1797: Sonnet v. 1803: Sonnet x. 1828, 1829, 1834: Charity 1893.

[7] arm] arms 1796, 1828.

[12-14]

He did not scowl, the Galilaean mild, Who met the Lazar turn'd from rich man's doors, And call'd him Friend, and wept upon his sores.

1797, 1803.

[13] men's] man's 1796, Selection of Sonnets, 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829.

TO THE NIGHTINGALE[93:2]

Sister of love-lorn Poets, Philomel!

How many Bards in city garret pent, While at their window they with downward eye Mark the faint lamp-beam on the kennell'd mud, And listen to the drowsy cry of Watchmen 5 (Those hoa.r.s.e unfeather'd Nightingales of Time!), How many wretched Bards address _thy_ name, And hers, the full-orb'd Queen that shines above.

But I _do_ hear thee, and the high bough mark, Within whose mild moon-mellow'd foliage hid 10 Thou warblest sad thy pity-pleading strains.

O! I have listened, till my working soul, Waked by those strains to thousand phantasies, Absorb'd hath ceas'd to listen! Therefore oft, I hymn thy name: and with a proud delight 15 Oft will I tell thee, Minstrel of the Moon!

'Most musical, most melancholy' Bird!

That all thy soft diversities of tone, Tho' sweeter far than the delicious airs That vibrate from a white-arm'd Lady's harp, 20 What time the languishment of lonely love Melts in her eye, and heaves her breast of snow, Are not so sweet as is the voice of her, My Sara--best beloved of human kind!

When breathing the pure soul of tenderness, 25 She thrills me with the Husband's promis'd name!

1795.

FOOTNOTES:

[93:2] First published in 1796: included in 1803 and in _Lit. Rem._, i.