The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge - LightNovelsOnl.com
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TO THE EDITOR OF THE 'MORNING CHRONICLE'
SIR,--The following poem you may perhaps deem admissible into your journal--if not, you will commit it e?? ?e??? ????
?fa?st???.--I am, with more respect and grat.i.tude than I ordinarily feel for Editors of Papers, your obliged, &c., CANTAB.--S. T. C.
TO FORTUNE
_On buying a Ticket in the Irish Lottery_
Composed during a walk to and from the Queen's Head, Gray's Inn Lane, Holborn, and Hornsby's and Co., Cornhill.
Promptress of unnumber'd sighs, O s.n.a.t.c.h that circling bandage from thine eyes!
O look, and smile! No common prayer Solicits, Fortune! thy propitious care!
For, not a silken son of dress, 5 I clink the gilded chains of _politesse_, Nor ask thy boon what time I scheme Unholy Pleasure's frail and feverish dream; Nor yet my view life's _dazzle_ blinds-- Pomp!--Grandeur! Power!--I give you to the winds! 10 Let the little bosom cold Melt only at the sunbeam ray of gold-- My pale cheeks glow--the big drops start-- The rebel _Feeling_ riots at my heart!
And if in lonely durance pent, 15 Thy poor mite mourn a brief imprisonment-- That mite at Sorrow's faintest sound Leaps from its scrip with an elastic bound!
But oh! if ever song thine ear Might soothe, O haste with fost'ring hand to rear 20 One Flower of Hope! At Love's behest, Trembling, I plac'd it in my secret breast: And thrice I've view'd the vernal gleam, Since oft mine eye, with Joy's electric beam, Illum'd it--and its sadder hue 25 Oft moisten'd with the Tear's ambrosial dew!
Poor wither'd floweret! on its head Has dark Despair his sickly mildew shed!
But thou, O Fortune! canst relume Its deaden'd tints--and thou with hardier bloom 30 May'st haply tinge its beauties pale, And yield the unsunn'd stranger to the western gale!
1793.
FOOTNOTES:
[54:1] First published, _Morning Chronicle_, Nov. 7, 1793. First collected 1893.
PERSPIRATION. A TRAVELLING ECLOGUE[56:1]
The dust flies smothering, as on clatt'ring wheel Loath'd Aristocracy careers along; The distant track quick vibrates to the eye, And white and dazzling undulates with heat, Where scorching to the unwary traveller's touch, 5 The stone fence flings its narrow slip of shade; Or, where the worn sides of the chalky road Yield their scant excavations (sultry grots!), Emblem of languid patience, we behold The fleecy files faint-ruminating lie. 10
1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[56:1] First published, _Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge_, 1895, i.
73, 74. The lines were sent in a letter to Southey, dated July 6, 1794.
[AVE, ATQUE VALE!][56:2]
Vivit sed mihi non vivit--nova forte marita, Ah dolor! alterius cara a cervice pependit.
Vos, malefida valete accensae insomnia mentis, Littora amata valete! Vale, ah! formosa Maria!
1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[56:2] First published, _Biog. Lit._ 1847, Biog. Supplement, ii. 340.
This Latin quatrain was sent in a letter to Southey, dated July 13, 1794.
ON BALA HILL[56:3]
With many a weary step at length I gain Thy summit, Bala! and the cool breeze plays Cheerily round my brow--as hence the gaze Returns to dwell upon the journey'd plain.
'Twas a long way and tedious!--to the eye 5 Tho' fair th' extended Vale, and fair to view The falling leaves of many a faded hue That eddy in the wild gust moaning by!
Ev'n so it far'd with Life! in discontent Restless thro' Fortune's mingled scenes I went, 10 Yet wept to think they would return no more!
O cease fond heart! in such sad thoughts to roam, For surely thou ere long shalt reach thy home, And pleasant is the way that lies before.
1794.
FOOTNOTES:
[56:3] First published (as Coleridge's) in 1893, from an unsigned autograph MS. found among the Evans Papers. The lines are all but identical with Southey's Sonnet to Lansdown Hill (Sonnet viii), dated 1794, and first published in 1797, and were, probably, his composition.
See _Athenaeum_, January 11, 1896.
LINENOTES:
[2] Bala] Lansdown Poems, 1797.
[3] Cheerily] Gratefully Poems, 1797.
[12] O] But Poems, 1797.
LINES[57:1]
WRITTEN AT THE KING'S ARMS, ROSS, FORMERLY THE HOUSE OF THE 'MAN OF ROSS'
Richer than Miser o'er his countless h.o.a.rds, n.o.bler than Kings, or king-polluted Lords, Here dwelt the MAN OF ROSS! O Traveller, hear!
