The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Chapter 107 : LINENOTES: [1] called] _call'd_ MS. Letter, 1799.[3] its] the MS. letter, 1799.[4

LINENOTES:

[1] called] _call'd_ MS. Letter, 1799.

[3] its] the MS. letter, 1799.

[4] bow'd and went without demur MS. Letter, 1799.

SOMETHING CHILDISH, BUT VERY NATURAL[313:1]

WRITTEN IN GERMANY

If I had but two little wings And were a little feathery bird, To you I'd fly, my dear!

But thoughts like these are idle things, And I stay here. 5

But in my sleep to you I fly: I'm always with you in my sleep!

The world is all one's own.

But then one wakes, and where am I?

All, all alone. 10

Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids: So I love to wake ere break of day: For though my sleep be gone, Yet while 'tis dark, one shuts one's lids, And still dreams on. 15

_April_ 23, 1799.

FOOTNOTES:

[313:1] First published in the Annual Anthology (1800), with the signature 'Cordomi': included in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. The lines, without t.i.tle or heading, were sent in a letter from Coleridge to his wife, dated Gottingen, April 23, 1799 (Letters of S. T.

C., 1895, i. 294-5). They are an imitation (see F. Freiligrath's Biographical Memoir to the Tauchnitz edition of 1852) of the German Folk-song Wenn ich ein Voglein war. For the original see Appendices of this edition. The t.i.tle 'Something Childish', &c., was prefixed in the Annual Anthology, 1800.

LINENOTES:

[3] you] _you_ MS. Letter, 1799.

[6] you] _you_ MS. Letter, 1799.

HOME-SICK[314:1]

WRITTEN IN GERMANY

'Tis sweet to him who all the week Through city-crowds must push his way, To stroll alone through fields and woods, And hallow thus the Sabbath-day.

And sweet it is, in summer bower, 5 Sincere, affectionate and gay, One's own dear children feasting round, To celebrate one's marriage-day.

But what is all to his delight, Who having long been doomed to roam, 10 Throws off the bundle from his back, Before the door of his own home?

Home-sickness is a wasting pang; This feel I hourly more and more: There's healing only in thy wings, 15 Thou breeze that play'st on Albion's sh.o.r.e!

_May_ 6, 1799.

FOOTNOTES:

[314:1] First published in the _Annual Anthology_ (1800), with the signature 'Cordomi': included in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, 1834. The lines, without t.i.tle or heading, were sent in a letter from Coleridge to Poole, dated May 6, 1799 (_Letters of S. T.C._, 1895, i.

298). Dr. Carlyon in his _Early Years_, &c. (1856, i. 66), prints stanzas 1, 3, and 4. He says that they were written from Coleridge's dictation, in the Brockenstammbuch at the little inn on the Brocken. The t.i.tle 'Home-Sick', &c., was prefixed in the _Annual Anthology_, 1800.

LINENOTES:

[13] a wasting pang] no baby-pang MS. Letter, 1799, An.

Anth.

[15] There's only music in thy wings MS. Letter, 1799.

LINES[315:1]

WRITTEN IN THE ALb.u.m AT ELBINGERODE, IN THE HARTZ FOREST

I stood on Brocken's[315:2] sovran height, and saw Woods crowding upon woods, hills over hills, A surging scene, and only limited By the blue distance. Heavily my way Downward I dragged through fir groves evermore, 5 Where bright green moss heaves in sepulchral forms Speckled with suns.h.i.+ne; and, but seldom heard, The sweet bird's song became a hollow sound; And the breeze, murmuring indivisibly, Preserved its solemn murmur most distinct 10 From many a note of many a waterfall, And the brook's chatter; 'mid whose islet-stones The dingy kidling with its tinkling bell Leaped frolicsome, or old romantic goat Sat, his white beard slow waving. I moved on 15 In low and languid mood:[315:3] for I had found That outward forms, the loftiest, still receive Their finer influence from the Life within;-- Fair cyphers else: fair, but of import vague Or unconcerning, where the heart not finds 20 History or prophecy of friend, or child, Or gentle maid, our first and early love, Or father, or the venerable name Of our adored country! O thou Queen, Thou delegated Deity of Earth, 25 O dear, dear England! how my longing eye Turned westward, shaping in the steady clouds Thy sands and high white cliffs!

My native Land!

Filled with the thought of thee this heart was proud, Yea, mine eye swam with tears: that all the view 30 From sovran Brocken, woods and woody hills, Floated away, like a departing dream, Feeble and dim! Stranger, these impulses Blame thou not lightly; nor will I profane, With hasty judgment or injurious doubt, 35 That man's sublimer spirit, who can feel That G.o.d is everywhere! the G.o.d who framed Mankind to be one mighty family, Himself our Father, and the World our Home.

_May_ 17, 1799.

FOOTNOTES:

[315:1] First published in the _Morning Post_, September 17, 1799: included in the _Annual Anthology_ (1800) [signed C.], in _Sibylline Leaves_, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. The lines were sent in a letter from Coleridge to his wife, dated May 17, 1799. Part of the letter was printed in the _Amulet_, 1829, and the whole in the _Monthly Magazine_ for October, 1835. A long extract is given in Gillman's _Life of S. T.

C._, 1838, pp. 125-38.

[315:2] The highest Mountain in the Harz, and indeed in North Germany.

[315:3]

----When I have gaz'd From some high eminence on goodly vales, And cots and villages embower'd below, The thought would rise that all to me was strange Amid the scenes so fair, nor one small spot Where my tired mind might rest and call it home.