TO ROBERT SOUTHEY,*

OF BALLIOL COLLEGE, OXFORD, AUTHOR OF THE "RETROSPECT," AND OTHER POEMS.

OUTHEY! thy melodies steal o'er mine ear

Like far-off joyance, or the mur

muring

1

Of wild bees in the sunny showers of Spring: Sounds of such mingled import as may cheer The lonely breast, yet rouse a mindful tear. Waked by the song doth hope-born Fancy fling Rich showers of dewy fragrance from her wing, Till sickly passion's drooping myrtles sere Blossom anew! But O! more thrill'd, I prize Thy sadder strains, that bid in Memory's dream The faded forms of past delight arise;

Then soft, on Love's pale cheek, the tearful gleam

Of pleasure smiles, as faint yet beauteous lies. The imaged rainbow on a willowy stream.

The note to the previous sonnet holds true also for this one.

1 The murmuring, &c.] See the sonnet To Bowles.

"TO MRS. MERRY."

A TRANSLATION OF F. WRANGHAM'S

Hendecasyllabi ad Bruntonam e Granta Exi

turam.*

AID of unboastful1 charms! whom white-robed Truth

M

Right onward guiding through the
maze of youth,

Forbade the Circe Praise to witch thy soul,
And dash'd to earth the intoxicating bowl;
The meek-eyed Pity, eloquently fair,
Clasp'd to a bosom with a mother's care;
And, as she loved thy kindred form to trace,
The slow smile wander'd o'er her pallid face.

For never yet did mortal voice impart Tones more congenial to the sadden'd heart:

* Printed in "Poems by Francis Wrangham, M. A., Member of Trinity College, Cambridge, Lond., 1795." First included among Coleridge's poems by the editor of Macmillan's edition. See his note in the Athenæum, Jan. 29, 1881. The Latin lines were "addressed to Mrs. Merry, a well known tragic actress of that time." Coleridge sent his translation of them, with some original verses, to her "more famous sister, Miss Brunton, afterwards Countess of Craven."

Coleridge, in a letter to Cottle, in 1796, describes Wrangham as "a college acquaintance of mine, an admirer of me, and a pitier of my principles."

1 Unboastful.] See note, p. 9.

Whether, to rouse the sympathetic glow,
Thou pourest lone Monimia's tale of woe;
Or haply clothest with funereal vest

The bridal loves that wept in Juliet's breast. O'er our chill limbs the thrilling Terrors creep, The entranced Passions their still vigil keep ; While the deep sighs, responsive to the song, Sound through the silence of the trembling throng.

But purer raptures lighten'd from thy face, And spread o'er all thy form a holier grace, When from the daughter's breast the father drew

The life he gave, and mix'd the big tear's dew.
Nor was it thine the heroic strain to roll
With mimic feelings foreign from the soul:
Bright in thy parent's eye we mark'd the tear;
Methought he said, "Thou art no Actress
here!

A semblance of thyself the Grecian dame,
And Brunton and Euphrasia still the same!"

O soon to seek the city's busier scene, Pause thee a while, thou chaste-eyed maid serene,

Till Granta's sons from all her sacred bowers With grateful hand shall weave Pierian flowers, To twine a fragrant chaplet round thy brow, Enchanting ministress of virtuous woe!

TO MISS BRUNTON.*

HAT darling of the Tragic Muse-
When Wrangham sung her praise,
Thalia lost her rosy hues

And sicken'd at his lays :

But transient was the unwonted sigh;

For soon the Goddess spied

A sister form of mirthful eye,
And danced for joy and cried:

"Meek Pity's sweetest child, proud dame,
The fates have given to you!
Still bid your Poet boast her name;
I have my Brunton too."

豳

"FAITH." +

HE early year's fast-flying vapours stray

In shadowy trains across the orb of

day;

* The original verses, which accompanied the translation of the lines To Mrs. Merry,-also from Wrangham's volume.

+ The fragmentary poem which follows is taken from the "Remains," vol. i. 44, where it is introduced by these words of Coleridge :-" In my calmer moments I have the firmest faith that all things work together for good. But, alas! it seems a long and a dark process!"

And we, poor insects of a few short hours,
Deem it a world of gloom.

Were it not better hope, a nobler doom,
Proud to believe,' that with more active powers
On rapid many-colour'd wing

We thro' one bright perpetual Spring

Shall hover round the fruits and flowers, Screen'd by those clouds and cherish'd by those showers!

1796.

COUNT RUMFORD'S ESSAYS.*

HESE, Virtue, are thy triumphs, that adorn

Fitliest our nature, and bespeak us
born

For loftiest action;-not to gaze and run
From clime to clime; or batten in the sun,
Dragging a drony flight from flower to flower,
Like summer insects in a gaudy hour;
Nor yet o'er love-sick tales with fancy range,
And cry, ""Tis pitiful, 'tis passing strange!"
But on life's varied views to look around,
And raise expiring sorrow from the ground:

1 Hope....believe.] We print this poem as we find it in the "Remains." The editor of Macmillan's edition omits the commas after "hope" and "believe." He may be right, but the modification of sense is considerable.

*This sonnet (so Coleridge would have called it,—see Introduction, § 3) accompanied a Review of the Essays.