The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge Volume I Part 66

While others wish thee wise and fair, 5 A maid of spotless fame, I'll breathe this more compendious prayer-- May'st thou deserve thy name!

Thy mother's name, a potent spell, That bids the Virtues hie 10 From mystic grove and living cell, Confess'd to Fancy's eye;

Meek Quietness without offence; Content in homespun kirtle; True Love; and True Love's Innocence, 15 White Blossom of the Myrtle!

a.s.sociates of thy name, sweet Child!

These Virtues may'st thou win; With face as eloquently mild To say, they lodge within. 20

So, when her tale of days all flown, Thy mother shall be miss'd here; When Heaven at length shall claim its own And Angels s.n.a.t.c.h their Sister;

Some h.o.a.ry-headed friend, perchance, 25 May gaze with stifled breath; And oft, in momentary trance, Forget the waste of death.

Even thus a lovely rose I've view'd In summer-swelling pride; 30 Nor mark'd the bud, that green and rude Peep'd at the rose's side.

It chanc'd I pa.s.s'd again that way In Autumn's latest hour, And wond'ring saw the selfsame spray 35 Rich with the selfsame flower.

Ah fond deceit! the rude green bud Alike in shape, place, name, Had bloom'd where bloom'd its parent stud, Another and the same! 40

1797.

FOOTNOTES:

[176:1] First published in the Supplement to _Poems_, 1797: reprinted in _Literary Remains_, 1836, i. 48, 49: included in 1844 and 1852. The lines were addressed to Anna Cruickshank, the wife of John Cruickshank, who was a neighbour of Coleridge at Nether-Stowey.

TRANSLATION[177:1]

OF A LATIN INSCRIPTION BY THE REV. W. L. BOWLES IN NETHER-STOWEY CHURCH

Depart in joy from this world's noise and strife To the deep quiet of celestial life!

Depart!--Affection's self reproves the tear Which falls, O honour'd Parent! on thy bier;-- Yet Nature will be heard, the heart will swell, 5 And the voice tremble with a last Farewell!

1797.

[_The Tablet is erected to the Memory of Richard Camplin, who died Jan.

20, 1792._

'Laetus abi! mundi strepitu curisque remotus; Laetus abi! caeli qua vocat alma Quies.

Ipsa fides loquitur lacrymamque incusat inanem, Quae cadit in vestros, care Pater, Cineres.

Heu! tantum liceat meritos hos solvere Ritus, 5 Naturae et tremula dicere Voce, Vale!']

FOOTNOTES:

[177:1] First published in _Literary Remains_, 1836, i. 50. First collected in _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 365.

LINENOTES:

[6] Et longum tremula L. R. 1836.

THIS LIME-TREE BOWER MY PRISON[178:1]

[ADDRESSED TO CHARLES LAMB, OF THE INDIA HOUSE, LONDON]

In the June of 1797 some long-expected friends paid a visit to the author's cottage; and on the morning of their arrival, he met with an accident, which disabled him from walking during the whole time of their stay. One evening, when they had left him for a few hours, he composed the following lines in the garden-bower.[178:2]

Well, they are gone, and here must I remain, This lime-tree bower my prison! I have lost Beauties and feelings, such as would have been Most sweet to my remembrance even when age Had dimm'd mine eyes to blindness! They, meanwhile, 5 Friends, whom I never more may meet again, On springy[179:1] 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, 10 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, Unsunn'd and damp, whose few poor yellow leaves Ne'er tremble in the gale, yet tremble still, 15 Fann'd by the water-fall! and there my friends Behold the dark green file of long lank weeds,[179:2]

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 20 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 25 Of purple shadow! Yes! they wander on In gladness all; but thou, methinks, most glad, My gentle-hearted Charles! for thou hast pined And hunger'd after Nature, many a year, In the great City pent, winning thy way 30 With sad yet patient soul, through evil and pain And strange calamity! Ah! slowly sink Behind the western ridge, thou glorious Sun!

s.h.i.+ne in the slant beams of the sinking orb, Ye purple heath-flowers! richlier burn, ye clouds! 35 Live in the yellow light, ye distant groves!

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 40 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, 45 This little lime-tree bower, have I not mark'd Much that has sooth'd me. Pale beneath the blaze Hung the transparent foliage; and I watch'd Some broad and sunny leaf, and lov'd to see The shadow of the leaf and stem above 50 Dappling its suns.h.i.+ne! And that walnut-tree Was richly ting'd, and a deep radiance lay Full on the ancient ivy, which usurps Those fronting elms, and now, with blackest ma.s.s Makes their dark branches gleam a lighter hue 55 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; 60 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 sometimes 'Tis well to be bereft of promis'd good, 65 That we may lift the soul, and contemplate With lively joy the joys we cannot share.

My gentle-hearted Charles! when the last rook Beat its straight path along the dusky air Homewards, I blest it! deeming its black wing 70 (Now a dim speck, now vanis.h.i.+ng 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[181:1]

For thee, my gentle-hearted Charles, to whom 75 No sound is dissonant which tells of Life.

1797.

FOOTNOTES:

[178:1] First published in the _Annual Anthology_, 1800, reprinted in Mylius' _Poetical Cla.s.sbook_, 1810: included in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, in 1828, 1829, and 1834. The poem was sent in a letter to Southey, July 9, 1797, and in a letter to C. Lloyd, [July, 1797]. See _Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i. 225-7 and _P. W._, 1893, p. 591.

[178:2] 'Ch. and Mary Lamb--dear to my heart, yea, as it were my Heart.--S. T. C. aet. 63; 1834--1797-1834 = 37 years!' (Marginal note written by S. T. Coleridge over against the introductory note to 'This Lime-Tree Bower my Prison', in a copy of the _Poetical Works_, 1834.)

[179:1] 'Elastic, I mean.' _MS. Letter to Southey._

[179:2] The _Asplenium Scolopendrium_, called in some countries the Adder's Tongue, in others the Hart's Tongue, but Withering gives the Adder's Tongue as the trivial name of the _Ophioglossum_ only.

[181:1] Some months after I had written this line, it gave me pleasure to find [to observe _An. Anth._, _S. L. 1828_] that Bartram had observed the same circ.u.mstance of the Savanna Crane. 'When these Birds move their wings in flight, their strokes are slow, moderate and regular; and even when at a considerable distance or high above us, we plainly hear the quill-feathers: their shafts and webs upon one another creek as the joints or working of a vessel in a tempestuous sea.'

LINENOTES:

t.i.tle] This Lime-Tree Bower my Prison. A Poem Addressed, &c. An. Anth.: the words 'Addressed to', &c., are omitted in Sibylline Leaves, 1828, 1829, and 1834.

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