LINES

WRITTEN AT THE KING'S ARMS, ROSS, FORMERLY THE HOUSE OF THE MAN OF ROSS. *

ICHER than miser o'er his countless hoards,

Nobler than kings, or king-polluted

lords,

Here dwelt the Man of Ross! O traveller, hear!

Departed merit claims a reverent tear.

Friend' to the friendless, to the sick man health, With generous joy he view'd his modest wealth; He heard the widow's heaven-breathed prayer of praise,

He mark'd the shelter'd orphan's tearful gaze,2 Or where the sorrow-shrivell'd captive lay, Pour'd the bright blaze of freedom's noon-tide ray.

Written during a pedestrian tour in Wales, in July, 1794. "The King's Arms," as Coleridge observes in a letter,―July 22, 1794-was once the house of Mr. Kyle, the celebrated man of Ross."

66

1 Friend, &c.] See Monody on the Death of Chatterton. 2 Gaze.] Cottle was instructed to add here,—

"And o'er the portion'd maiden's snowy cheek
Bade bridal love suffuse its blushes meek ;"

and to alter the next line but two to

"If near this roof thy wine-cheer'd moments pass."

The alterations "came too late for admission."

Beneath this roof if thy cheer'd moments pass,
Fill to the good man's name one grateful glass:
To higher zest shall memory wake thy soul,
And virtue mingle in the ennobled bowl.
But if, like me, through life's distressful scene
Lonely and sad thy pilgrimage hath been;
And if, thy breast with heart-sick anguish
fraught,

Thou journeyest onward tempest-toss'd in thought;

1

Here cheat thy cares! in generous visions melt, And dream of goodness thou hast never felt!

LINES

TO A BEAUTIFUL SPRING IN A VILLAGE.

NCE more, sweet Stream! with slow foot wandering near,

I bless thy milky waters cold and clear.

Escaped the flashing of the noontide hours, With one fresh garland of Pierian flowers (Ere from thy zephyr-haunted brink I turn) My languid hand shall wreathe thy mossy urn. For not through pathless grove with murmur rude

Thou soothest the sad wood-nymph, Solitude;

1 Thought.] Coleridge, when he wrote these lines, had been discharged only a few weeks from the 15th Light Dragoons.

Nor thine unseen in cavern depths to well,
The hermit-fountain of some dripping cell!
Pride of the vale! thy useful streams supply
The scatter'd cots and peaceful hamlet nigh.
The elfin tribe around thy friendly banks
With infant uproar and soul-soothing pranks,
Released from school, their little hearts at rest,
Launch paper navies on thy waveless breast.
The rustic here at eve, with pensive look,
Whistling lorn ditties leans upon his crook,
Or starting pauses with hope-mingled dread
To list the much-loved maid's accustom'd
tread:

She, vainly mindful of her dame's command,
Loiters, the long-fill'd pitcher in her hand.

1

Unboastful Stream; thy fount with pebbled falls

The faded form of past delight recalls,
What time the morning sun of hope arose,
And all was joy; save when another's woes
A transient gloom upon my soul imprest,
Like passing clouds impictured on thy breast.
Life's current then ran sparkling to the noon,
Or silvery stole beneath the pensive moon :
Ah! now it works rude brakes and thorns

among,

Or o'er the rough rock bursts and foams along!

Unboastful.] See Songs of the Pixies.

Some safer toy will soon arrest thine eye,
And to quick laughter change this peevish cry!
Poor stumbler on the rocky coast of woe,
Tutor'd by pain each source of pain to know!
Alike the foodful fruit and scorching fire
Awake thy eager grasp and young desire;
Alike the good, the ill, offend thy sight,
And rouse the stormy sense of shrill affright!
Untaught, yet wise! mid all thy brief alarms
Thou closely clingest to thy mother's arms,
Nestling thy little face in that fond breast,
Whose anxious heavings lull thee to thy rest!
Man's breathing miniature! thou mak'st me
sigh-

A babe art thou-and such a thing am I!
To anger rapid and as soon appeased,
For trifles mourning and by trifles pleased,
Break' friendship's mirror with a tetchy blow,
Yet snatch what coals of fire on pleasure's altar
glow.

O thou that rearest with celestial aim
The future Seraph in my mortal frame,

1 Break, &c.] Cottle describes a brief quarrel Coleridge had with his friend Lovell, afterwards his brotherin-law, who disapproved of marrying, with nothing but love to live upon.

Thrice holy Faith! whatever thorns I meet,
As on I totter with unpractised feet,

Still let me stretch my arms and cling to thee, Meek nurse of souls through their long infancy!

EPITAPH ON AN INFANT.*

RE sin could blight or sorrow fade,
Death came with friendly care;
The opening bud to heaven convey'd,
And bade it blossom there.

THE KISS.+

NE kiss, dear maid, I said and
sigh'd-

Your scorn the little boon denied.
Ah why refuse the blameless bliss?

Can danger lurk within a kiss ?

Yon viewless wanderer of the vale,
The Spirit of the western gale,
At morning's break, at evening's close,
Inhales the sweetness of the rose,
And hovers o'er the uninjured bloom
Sighing back the soft perfume.

Another epitaph on an infant will be found later on.
The title was originally To Sara.

Coleridge was

introduced to his future wife in August, 1794.