The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge Volume I Part 117

A CHRISTMAS CAROL[338:1]

I

The shepherds went their hasty way, And found the lowly stable-shed Where the Virgin-Mother lay: And now they checked their eager tread, For to the Babe, that at her bosom clung, 5 A Mother's song the Virgin-Mother sung.

II

They told her how a glorious light, Streaming from a heavenly throng, Around them shone, suspending night!

While sweeter than a mother's song, 10 Blest Angels heralded the Saviour's birth, Glory to G.o.d on high! and Peace on Earth.

III

She listened to the tale divine, And closer still the Babe she pressed; And while she cried, the Babe is mine! 15 The milk rushed faster to her breast: Joy rose within her, like a summer's morn; Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born.

IV

Thou Mother of the Prince of Peace, Poor, simple, and of low estate! 20 That strife should vanish, battle cease, O why should this thy soul elate?

Sweet Music's loudest note, the Poet's story,-- Didst thou ne'er love to hear of fame and glory?

V

And is not War a youthful king, 25 A stately Hero clad in mail?

Beneath his footsteps laurels spring; Him Earth's majestic monarchs hail Their friend, their playmate! and his bold bright eye Compels the maiden's love-confessing sigh. 30

VI

'Tell this in some more courtly scene, To maids and youths in robes of state!

I am a woman poor and mean, And therefore is my soul elate.

War is a ruffian, all with guilt defiled, 35 That from the aged father tears his child!

VII

'A murderous fiend, by fiends adored, He kills the sire and starves the son; The husband kills, and from her board Steals all his widow's toil had won; 40 Plunders G.o.d's world of beauty; rends away All safety from the night, all comfort from the day.

VIII

'Then wisely is my soul elate, That strife should vanish, battle cease: I'm poor and of a low estate, 45 The Mother of the Prince of Peace.

Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn: Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born.'

1799.

FOOTNOTES:

[338:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, December 25, 1799: included in the _Annual Anthology_, 1800, in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834.

LINENOTES:

_A Christmas Carol_--8: a] an M. P., An. Anth.

[10] While] And M. P.

[35] War is a ruffian Thief, with gore defil'd M. P., An.

Anth.

[37] fiend] Thief M. P., An. Anth.

[41] rends] tears M. P.

[After 49]

Strange prophecy! Could half the screams Of half the men that since have died To realise War's kingly dreams, Have risen at once in one vast tide, The choral music of Heav'n's mult.i.tude Had been o'erpower'd, and lost amid the uproar rude!

ESTEESI.

M. P., An. Anth.

TALLEYRAND TO LORD GRENVILLE[340:1]

A METRICAL EPISTLE

[As printed in _Morning Post_ for January 10, 1800.]

To the Editor of _The Morning Post_.

MR. EDITOR,--An unmetrical letter from Talleyrand to Lord Grenville has already appeared, and from an authority too high to be questioned: otherwise I could adduce some arguments for the exclusive authenticity of the following metrical epistle.

The very epithet which the wise ancients used, '_aurea carmina_,' might have been supposed likely to have determined the choice of the French minister in favour of verse; and the rather when we recollect that this phrase of '_golden verses_'

is applied emphatically to the works of that philosopher who imposed _silence_ on all with whom he had to deal. Besides is it not somewhat improbable that Talleyrand should have preferred prose to rhyme, when the latter alone _has got the c.h.i.n.k_? Is it not likewise curious that in our official answer no notice whatever is taken of the Chief Consul, Bonaparte, as if there had been no such person [man _Essays, &c., 1850_]

existing; notwithstanding that his existence is pretty generally admitted, nay that some have been so rash as to believe that he has created as great a sensation in the world as Lord Grenville, or even the Duke of Portland? But the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Talleyrand, is acknowledged, which, in our opinion, could not have happened had he written only that insignificant prose-letter, which seems to precede Bonaparte's, as in old romances a dwarf always ran before to proclaim the advent or arrival of knight or giant. That Talleyrand's character and practices more resemble those of some _regular_ Governments than Bonaparte's I admit; but this of itself does not appear a satisfactory explanation. However, let the letter speak for itself. The second line is supererogative in syllables, whether from the oscitancy of the transcriber, or from the trepidation which might have overpowered the modest Frenchman, on finding himself in the act of writing to so _great_ a man, I shall not dare to determine. A few Notes are added by Your servant, GNOME.

_P.S._--As mottoes are now fas.h.i.+onable, especially if taken from out of the way books, you may prefix, if you please, the following lines from Sidonius Apollinaris:

'Saxa, et robora, corneasque fibras Mollit dulciloqua canorus arte!'

TALLEYRAND, MINISTER OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS AT PARIS, TO LORD GRENVILLE, SECRETARY OF STATE IN GREAT BRITAIN FOR FOREIGN AFFAIRS, AUDITOR OF THE EXCHEQUER, A LORD OF TRADE, AN ELDER BROTHER OF TRINITY HOUSE, ETC.

My Lord! though your Lords.h.i.+p repel deviation From forms long establish'd, yet with high consideration, I plead for the honour to hope that no blame Will attach, should this letter _begin_ with my name.

I dar'd not presume on your Lords.h.i.+p to bounce, 5 But thought it more _exquisite_ first to _announce_!

My Lord! I've the honour to be Talleyrand, And the letter's from _me_! you'll not draw back your hand Nor yet take it up by the rim in dismay, As boys pick up ha'pence on April fool-day. 10 I'm no Jacobin foul, or red-hot Cordelier That your Lords.h.i.+p's _un_gauntleted fingers need fear An infection or burn! Believe me, 'tis true, With a scorn like another I look down on the crew That bawl and hold up to the mob's detestation 15 The most delicate wish for a _silent persuasion_.

_A form long-establish'd_ these Terrorists call Bribes, perjury, theft, and the devil and all!

And yet spite of all that the Moralist[341:1] prates, 'Tis the keystone and cement of _civilized States_. 20 Those American _Reps_![342:1] And i' faith, they were serious!

It shock'd us at Paris, like something mysterious, That men who've a Congress--But no more of 't! I'm proud To have stood so distinct from the Jacobin crowd.