But lo your Henderson[103:3] awakes the Muse---- His Spirit beckon'd from the mountain's height!

You left the plain and soar'd mid richer views!

So Nature mourn'd when sunk the First Day's light, 35 With stars, unseen before, spangling her robe of night!

Still soar, my Friend, those richer views among, Strong, rapid, fervent, flashing Fancy's beam!

Virtue and Truth shall love your gentler song; But Poesy demands th' impa.s.sion'd theme: 40 Waked by Heaven's silent dews at Eve's mild gleam What balmy sweets Pomona breathes around!

But if the vext air rush a stormy stream Or Autumn's shrill gust moan in plaintive sound, With fruits and flowers she loads the tempest-honor'd ground.

1795.

FOOTNOTES:

[102:2] First published in 1796: included in 1797 (_Supplement_), 1803, and 1852.

'The first in order of the verses which I have thus endeavoured to reprieve from immediate oblivion was originally addressed "To the Author of Poems published anonymously at Bristol". A second edition of these poems has lately appeared with the Author's name prefixed: and I could not refuse myself the gratification of seeing the name of that man among my poems without whose kindness they would probably have remained unpublished; and to whom I know myself greatly and variously obliged, as a Poet, a man, and a Christian.' 'Advertis.e.m.e.nt' to _Supplement_, 1797, pp. 243, 244.

[103:1] 'War,' a Fragment.

[103:2] 'John Baptist,' a poem.

[103:3] 'Monody on John Henderson.'

LINENOTES:

t.i.tle] Epistle iv. To the Author, &c. 1796: Lines to Joseph Cottle 1797: To the Author, &c., _with footnote_, 'Mr. Joseph Cottle' 1803.

[1] Unboastful Bard] My honor'd friend 1797.

[35] sunk] sank 1797.

THE SILVER THIMBLE[104:1]

THE PRODUCTION OF A YOUNG LADY, ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR OF THE POEMS ALLUDED TO IN THE PRECEDING EPISTLE

_She had lost her Silver Thimble, and her complaint being accidentally overheard by him, her Friend, he immediately sent her four others to take her choice of._

As oft mine eye with careless glance Has gallop'd thro' some old romance, Of speaking Birds and Steeds with wings, Giants and Dwarfs, and Fiends and Kings; Beyond the rest with more attentive care 5 I've lov'd to read of elfin-favour'd Fair---- How if she long'd for aught beneath the sky And suffer'd to escape one votive sigh, Wafted along on viewless pinions aery It laid itself obsequious at her feet: 10 Such things, I thought, one might not hope to meet Save in the dear delicious land of Faery!

But now (by proof I know it well) There's still some peril in free wishing---- _Politeness_ is a licensed _spell_, 15 And _you_, dear Sir! the Arch-magician.

You much perplex'd me by the various set: They were indeed an elegant quartette!

My mind went to and fro, and waver'd long; At length I've chosen (Samuel thinks me wrong) 20 _That_, around whose azure rim Silver figures seem to swim, Like fleece-white clouds, that on the skiey Blue, Waked by no breeze, the self-same shapes retain; Or ocean-Nymphs with limbs of snowy hue 25 Slow-floating o'er the calm cerulean plain.

Just such a one, _mon cher ami_, (The finger shield of industry) Th' inventive G.o.ds, I deem, to Pallas gave What time the vain Arachne, madly brave, 30 Challeng'd the blue-eyed Virgin of the sky A duel in embroider'd work to try.

And hence the thimbled Finger of grave Pallas To th' erring Needle's point was more than callous.

But ah the poor Arachne! She unarm'd 35 Blundering thro' hasty eagerness, alarm'd With all a _Rival's_ hopes, a _Mortal's_ fears, Still miss'd the st.i.tch, and stain'd the web with tears.

Unnumber'd punctures small yet sore Full fretfully the maiden bore, 40 Till she her lily finger found Crimson'd with many a tiny wound; And to her eyes, suffus'd with watery woe, Her flower-embroider'd web danc'd dim, I wist, Like blossom'd shrubs in a quick-moving mist: 45 Till vanquish'd the despairing Maid sunk low.

O Bard! whom sure no common Muse inspires, I heard your Verse that glows with vestal fires!

And I from unwatch'd needle's erring point Had surely suffer'd on each finger-joint 50 Those wounds, which erst did poor Arachne meet; While he, the much-lov'd Object of my choice (My bosom thrilling with enthusiast heat), Pour'd on mine ear with deep impressive voice, How the great Prophet of the Desart stood 55 And preach'd of Penitence by Jordan's Flood; On War; or else the legendary lays In simplest measures hymn'd to Alla's praise; Or what the Bard from his heart's inmost stores O'er his _Friend's_ grave in loftier numbers pours: 60 Yes, Bard polite! you but obey'd the laws Of Justice, when the thimble you had sent; What wounds your thought-bewildering Muse might cause 'Tis well your finger-shielding gifts prevent.

SARA.

1795.

FOOTNOTES:

[104:1] First published in 1796: included for the first time in Appendix to 1863. Mrs. Coleridge told her daughter (_Biog. Lit._, 1847, ii. 411) that she wrote but little of these verses.

LINENOTES:

t.i.tle] Epistle v. The Production of a Young Lady, &c. 1796: From a Young Lady Appendix, 1863.

REFLECTIONS ON HAVING LEFT A PLACE OF RETIREMENT[106:1]

Sermoni propriora.--HOR.

Low was our pretty Cot: our tallest Rose Peep'd 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 5 Thick Jasmins twined: the little landscape round Was green and woody, and refresh'd the eye.

It was a spot which you might aptly call The Valley of Seclusion! Once I saw (Hallowing his Sabbath-day by quietness) 10 A wealthy son of Commerce saunter by, Bristowa's citizen: methought, it calm'd His thirst of idle gold, and made him muse With wiser feelings: for he paus'd, and look'd With a pleas'd sadness, and gaz'd all around, 15 Then eyed our Cottage, and gaz'd round again, And sigh'd, and said, it was a Blessed Place.

And we _were_ bless'd. Oft with patient ear Long-listening to the viewless sky-lark's note (Viewless, or haply for a moment seen 20 Gleaming on sunny wings) in whisper'd tones I've said to my Beloved, 'Such, sweet Girl!

The in.o.btrusive song of Happiness, Unearthly minstrelsy! then only heard When the Soul seeks to hear; when all is hush'd, 25 And the Heart listens!'

But the time, when first From that low Dell, steep up the stony Mount I climb'd with perilous toil and reach'd the top, Oh! what a goodly scene! _Here_ the bleak mount, The bare bleak mountain speckled thin with sheep; 30 Grey clouds, that shadowing spot the sunny fields; And river, now with bushy rocks o'er-brow'd, 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; 35 The Channel _there_, the Islands and white sails, Dim coasts, and cloud-like hills, and sh.o.r.eless Ocean-- It seem'd like Omnipresence! G.o.d, methought, Had built him there a Temple: the whole World Seem'd _imag'd_ in its vast circ.u.mference: 40 No _wish_ profan'd my overwhelmed heart.

Blest hour! It was a luxury,--to be!

Ah! quiet Dell! dear Cot, and Mount sublime!

I was constrain'd to quit you. Was it right, While my unnumber'd brethren toil'd and bled, 45 That I should dream away the entrusted hours On rose-leaf beds, pampering the coward heart With feelings all too delicate for use?

Sweet is the tear that from some Howard's eye Drops on the cheek of one he lifts from earth: 50 And he that works me good with unmov'd face, Does it but half: he chills me while he aids, My benefactor, not my brother man!

Yet even this, this cold beneficence Praise, praise it, O my Soul! oft as thou scann'st 55 The sluggard Pity's vision-weaving tribe!

Who sigh for Wretchedness, yet shun the Wretched, Nursing in some delicious solitude Their slothful loves and dainty sympathies!

I therefore go, and join head, heart, and hand, 60 Active and firm, to fight the bloodless fight Of Science, Freedom, and the Truth in Christ.

Yet oft when after honourable toil Bests the tir'd mind, and waking loves to dream, My spirit shall revisit thee, dear Cot! 65 Thy Jasmin 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. 70 Speed it, O Father! Let thy Kingdom come!

1795.

FOOTNOTES: