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As water-lilies ripple thy slow stream! Dear native haunts! where Virtue still
So shines my Lewti's forehead fair, Gleaming through her sable hair, Image of Lewti I from my mind Depart; for Lewti is not kind.
Where Friendship’s fixed star sheds a
mellowed ray, Where Love a crown of thornless Roses
wears, Where soften'd Sorrow smiles within her
tears ; And Memory, with a Vestal's chaste
employ, Unceasing feeds the lambent flame of
joy! No more your sky-larks melting from the
sight Shall thrill the attuned heart-string with
delightNo more shall deck your pensive Pleas
ures sweet With wreaths of sober hue my evening
seat. Yet dear to Fancy's eye your varied
I saw a cloud of palest hue,
Onward to the moon it passed;
Till it reach'd the moon at last:
And with such joy I find my Lewti; And even so my pale wan cheek
Drinks in as deep a flush of beauty ! Nay, treacherous image! leave my
mind, If Lewti never will be kind,
Of wood, hill, dale, and sparkling brook
between ! Yet sweet to Fancy's ear the warbled
song, That soars on Morning's wing your vales
among. Scenes of my Hope! the aching eye ye
leave Like yon bright hues that paint the
clouds of eve ! Tearful and saddening with the saddened
blaze Mine eye the gleam pursues with wistful
gaze: Sees shades on shades with deeper tint
impend, Till chill and damp the moonless night descend.
The little cloud-it floats away,
Away it goes; away so soon?
Away it passes from the moon!
Ever fading more and more,
When, Lewti! on my couch I lie,
mindAnd yet, thou didst not look unkind.
I saw a vapor in the sky.
Thia, and white, and very high ; I ne'er beheld so thin a cloud:
Perbaps the breezes that can fly
Now below and row above,
Of Lady fair-that died for love.
perished From fruitless love too fondly cherished. Nay, treacherous image! leave my
mindFor Lewti nerer will be kind.
OR THE CIRCASSIAN LOVE-CHANT
At midnight by the stream I roved,
But the rock shone brighter far, The rock half sheltered from my view By pendent boughs of tressy yew.
Hush ! my heedless feet from under
Slip the crumbling banks for ever: Like echoes to a distant thunder,
They plunge into the gentle river. The river-swans have heard my tread,
Ind startle from their reedy ed. O beauteous birds ! methinks ye measure Your movements to some heavenly O beauteous birds ! 'tis such a pleasure
To see you move beneath the moon,
It is a breezy jasmine-bower,
Voice of the Night! had I the power
And dreamt that I had died for care ; All pale and wasted I would seem
Yet fair witbal, as spirits are ! I'd die indeed, if I might see Her bosom heave, and heave for me! Soothe, gentle image! soothe my mind! To-morrow Lewti may be kind.
1794. April 13, 1798.
REFLECTIONS ON HAVING LEFT
A PLACE OF RETIREMENT
Sermoni propriora.-HOR. Low was our pretty Cot: our tallest rose Peeped at the chamber-window, We
could hear At silent noon, and eve, and early morn, The sea's faint murmur.
In the open air Our myrtles blossom’d; and across the
porch Thick jasmines twined: the little landWas green and woody, and refreshed It was a spot which you might aptly
call The Valley of Seclusion! Once I saw (Hallowing his Sabbath-day by quietness) A wealthy son of commerce saunter by, Bristowa's citizen: methought, it calmed His thirst of idle gold, and made him
With wiser feelings: for he paused, and
looked With a pleased sadness, and gazed all
around, Then eyed our Cottage, and gazed round
again, And sighed, and said, it was a Blessed
Place. And we were blessed. Oft with patient
As when far off the warbled strains are
heard That soar on Morning's wing the vales
among ; Within his cage the imprisoned matin
bird Swells the full chorus with a generous
song : He bathes no pinion in the dewy light, No Father's joy, no Lover's bliss he
shares, Yet still the rising radiance cheers
his sightHis fellows' freedom soothes the cap
tive's cares! Thou, FAYETTE! who didst wake with
startling voice Life's better sun from that long win
try night, Thus in thy Country's triumphs shalt
rejoice And mock with raptures high the dun.
geon's might: For lo ! the morning struggles into day, And Slavery's spectres shriek and vanish from the ray!
1794. Recamber 15, 1794.
Long-listening to the viewless sky-lark's (Viewless, or haply for a moment seen Gleaming on sunny wings) in whispered
tones I've said to my beloved, “Suchi, sweet
girl! The inobtrusive song of Happiness, Unearthly minstrelsy! then only heard When the soul seeks to hear; when all
is hushed, And the heart listens !"
But the time, when first From that low dell, steep up the stony
mount I climbed with perilous toil and reached Oh! what a goodly scene! Here the
bleak mount, The bare bleak mountain speckled thin
with sheep; Gray clouds, that shadowing spot the
sunny fields: And river, now with bushy rocks o'er
Now winding bright and full, with naked
banks : And seats, and lawns, the abbey and the
wood, And cots, and hamlets, and faint city
spire ; The Channel there, the Islands and white
sails, Dim coasts, and cloud-like hills and
shoreless Ocean It seem like Omnipresence! God, me
thought, Had built him there a Temple: the
whole World Stemed imaged in its vast circumfer
Thy jasmine and thy window-peeping
rose, And myrtles fearless of the mild sea-air. And I shall sigh fond wishes--sweet
abode! Ah !-had none greater ! And that all
had such ! It might be so-but the time is not yet. Speed it, O Father! Let thy Kingdom
come ! 1795. October, 1796.
TIME REAL AND IMAGINARY
Nowish profaned my overwhelmed heart. Blest hour! It was a luxury,--to be!
Ali! quiet dell! dear cot, and mount
sublime! I was constrained to quit you. Was it
right, While my umnumbered brethren toiled
and bled, That I should dream away the entrusted
hours On rose-leaf beds, pampering the coward
beart With feelings all too delicate for use? Sweet is the tear that from some How
On the wide level of a mountain's head, (I knew not where, but itsvas some
faery place) Their pinions, ostrich-like, for sails out
spread, Two lovely children run an endless race,
A sister and a brother!
This far outstript the other ; Yet ever runs she with reverted face, And looks and listens for the boy be
For he, alas! is blind! O'er rough and smooth with even ster he
passed, And knows not whether he be first og last.
TIIIS LIME-TREE BOWER MY
Drops on the cheek of one he lifts from
earth: And he that works me good with un
moved face, Does it but half: he chills me while he
aids, My benefactor, not my brother man! Yet even this, thus cold beneficence Praise, praise it, O my Soul ! oft as thou
scann'st The sluggard Pity's vision-weaving tribe! Who sigh for wretchedness, yet shun
the wretchell, Nursing in some delicious solitude Their slothful loves and dainty sym
pathies! I therefore go, and join head, heart, and
hand, Active and firm, to fight the bloodless
fight Of science, freedom, and the truth in
Yet oft when after honorable toil
* Included by Coleridge among his “ Juvenile Poems." There is no other evidence to indicate at what date it was written. See, however, a man. uscript note of 1811 on the same subject. given in inima Poetae at the beginning of Chapter VIII.
Had dimmed mine eyes to blindness!
They, meanwhile, Friends, whom I never more may meet
again, On springy heath, along the hill-top
edge, Wander in gladness, and wind down,
perchance, To that still roaring dell, of which I told ; The roaring dell, o'erwooded, narrow,
deep, And only speckled by the mid-day sun; Where its slim trunk the ash from rock
to rock Flings arching like a bridge ;-that
branchless ash, Unsunned and damp, whose few poor
yellow leaves Ne'er tremble in the gale, yet tremble
still, Fanned by the water-fall! and there my
friends Behold the dark green file of long lank
weeds, That all at once (a most fantastic sight!) Still nod and drip beneath the dripping
edge Of the blue clay-stone.
Now, my friends emerge Beneath the wide wide Heaven--and
view again The many-steepled tract magnificent Of hilly fields and meadows, and the
sea, With some fair bark, perhaps, whose
sails light up The slip of smooth clear blue betwixt
two Isles Of purple shadow! Yes! they wander
And kindle, thou blue Ocean! So my
friend Struck with deep joy may stand, as I
have stood, Silent with swimming sense; yea, gazing
round On the wide landscape, gaze till all doth
seem Less gross than bodily ; and of such
hues As veil the Almighty Spirit, when yet
he makes Spirits perceive his presence.
A delight Comes sudden on my heart, and I am
glad As I myself were there! Nor in this
bower, This little lime-tree bower, have I not
marked Much that has soothed me. Pale beneath
the blaze Hung the transparent foliage; and I
watched Some broad and sunny leaf, and loved to
In gladness all ; but thou, methinks,
most glad, My gentle-hearted Charles ! for thou hast
pined And hungered after Nature, many a
year, In the great City pent, winning thy way With sad yet patient soul, through evil
and pain And strange calamity! Ah! slowly sink Behind the western ridge, thou glorious
Sun! Shine in the slant beams of the sinking
orb, Ye purple heath-flowers! richlier burn,
ye clouds! Live in the yellow light, ye distant
The shadow of the leaf and stem above, Dappling its sunshine! And that wal
nut-tree Was richly tinged, and a deep radiance
lay Full on the ancient ivy, which usurps Those fronting elms, and now, with
blackest mass Makes their dark branches gleama lighter
hue Through the late twilight: and though
now the bat Wheels silent by, and not a swallow
twitters, Yet still the solitary humble-bee Sings in the bean-flower! Henceforth I
shall know That Nature ne'er deserts the wise and
pure ; No plot so narrow, be but Nature there. No waste so vacant, but may well
employ Each faculty of sense, and keep the
heart Awake to Love and Beauty! and some.
times "Tis well to be bereft of promised good, That we may lift the soul, and contem
plate With lively joy the joys we cannot
share. My gentle-hearted Charles ! when the mind, the Author has frequently purposed to finish for himself what had been originally, as it were, given to him, Auplov ädlov áow, but the to-morrow is yet to come. (Coleridge's note, 1816.)
Beat its straight path along the dusky
air Homewards, I blest it! deeming, its
black wing (Now a dim speck, now vanishing in
light) Had cross'd the mighty orb's dilated
glory, While thou stood'st gazing; or when all
was still, Flew creeking o'er thy head, and had a
charm For thee, my gentle-hearted Charles, to
whom No sound is dissonant which tells of Life.
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
stately pleasure-dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled
round: And here were gardens bright with
sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bear
ing tree; And here were forests ancient as the
hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. But oh! that deep romantic chasm
whiclı slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn
cover ! A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon
hauntej By woman wailing for her demon-lover! And from this chasm, with ceaseless
turmoil seething, As if this earth in fast thick pants were
breathing, A mighty fountain momently
forced : Amid whoseswift half-intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding
hail, Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's
flail: And 'mid these dancing rocks at once
and ever It flung up inomently the sacred river. Five miles meandering with a mazy
motion Through wood and dale the sacred river
lan, Then reached the caverns measureless to
man, And savk in tumult to a lifeless ocean : And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
In the summer of the year 1797, the Author, then in ill health, had retired to a lonely farm. house between Porlock and Linton, on the Ex!noor confines of Somerset and Devonshire. In consequence of a slight indisposition, an anodyne had been prescribed, from the effects of which he fell asleep in his chair at the moment that he was reading the following sentence, or words of the same substance, in Purchas's" Pilgrimage": “ Here the Khan Kubla commanded a palace to be built, and a stately garden thereunto. And thus ten miles of fertile ground were inclosed with a wall." The Author continued for about three hours in a profound sleep, at least of the external senses, during which time he has the most vivid confidence, that he could not have composed less than from two to three hundred lines; if that indeed can be called composition in which all the images rose up before him as things, with a parallel production of the corre. spondent expressions, without any sensation or consciousness of effort. On awaking he appeared to himself to have a distinct recollection of the whole, and taking his pen, ink, and paper, instantly and eagerly wrote down the lines that are here preserved. At this moment he was unfortunately called out by a person on business from Porlock, and detained by him above an hour, and on his return to his room, found, to his no sinall surprise and mortification, that though he still retained some vague and dim recollection of the general purport of the vision, yet, with the exception of some eight or ten scattered lines and images, all the rest had passed away, like the images on the surface of a stream into which a stone has been cast, but, alas! without the after restoration of the latter,
Then all the charm Is broken-all that phantom-world so fair Vanishes, cad a thousand circlets spread, And each mis-shapes the other. Stay awhile, Poor youth! who scarcely dar'st lift up thine
eyes-The stream will soon renew its smoothness, soon The visions will return! And lo, he stays, And soon the fragments dim of lovely forms Come trembling back, unite, and now once The pool becomes a mirror.
(From The Picture ; or, the Lover's Resolution)
Yet from the still surviving recollections in his