The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Chapter 56 : Britons! when last ye met, with distant streak So faintly promis'd the pale Dawn t

Britons! when last ye met, with distant streak So faintly promis'd the pale Dawn to break: So dim it stain'd the precincts of the Sky E'en _Expectation_ gaz'd with doubtful Eye.

But now such fair Varieties of Light 5 O'ertake the heavy sailing Clouds of Night; Th' Horizon kindles with so rich a red, That tho' the _Sun still hides_ his glorious head Th' impatient Matin-bird, _a.s.sur'd of Day_, Leaves his low nest to meet its earliest ray; 10 Loud the sweet song of Gratulation sings, And high in air claps his rejoicing wings!

Patriot and Sage! whose breeze-like Spirit first The lazy mists of Pedantry dispers'd (Mists in which Superst.i.tion's _pigmy_ band 15 Seem'd Giant Forms, the Genii of the Land!), Thy struggles soon shall wak'ning Britain bless, And Truth and Freedom hail thy wish'd success.

Yes _Tooke!_ tho' foul Corruption's wolfish throng Outmalice Calumny's imposthum'd Tongue, 20 Thy Country's n.o.blest and _determin'd_ Choice, Soon shalt thou thrill the Senate with thy voice; With gradual Dawn bid Error's phantoms flit, Or wither with the lightning's flash of Wit; Or with sublimer mien and tones more deep, 25 Charm sworded Justice from mysterious Sleep, 'By violated Freedom's loud Lament, Her Lamps extinguish'd and her Temple rent; By the forc'd tears her captive Martyrs shed; By each pale Orphan's feeble cry for bread; 30 By ravag'd Belgium's corse-impeded Flood, And Vendee steaming still with brothers' blood!'

And if amid the strong impa.s.sion'd Tale, Thy Tongue should falter and thy Lips turn pale; If transient Darkness film thy aweful Eye, 35 And thy tir'd Bosom struggle with a sigh: Science and Freedom shall demand to hear Who practis'd on a Life so doubly dear; Infus'd the unwholesome anguish drop by drop, Pois'ning the sacred stream they could not stop! 40 Shall bid thee with recover'd strength relate How dark and deadly is a Coward's Hate: What seeds of death by wan Confinement sown, When Prison-echoes mock'd Disease's groan!

Shall bid th' indignant Father flash dismay, 45 And drag the unnatural Villain into Day Who[151:1] to the sports of his flesh'd Ruffians left Two lovely Mourners of their Sire bereft!

'Twas wrong, like this, which Rome's _first Consul_ bore, So by th' insulted Female's name _he_ swore 50 Ruin (and rais'd her reeking dagger high) Not to the _Tyrants_ but the Tyranny!

1796.

FOOTNOTES:

[150:1] First printed in the _Transactions_ of the Philobiblon Society.

First published in _P. W._, 1893. The verses (without the t.i.tle) were sent by Coleridge in a letter to the Rev. J. P. Estlin, dated July 4, [1796].

[151:1] 'Dundas left thief-takers in Horne Tooke's House for three days, with his two Daughters _alone_: for Horne Tooke keeps no servant.' _S.

T. C. to Estlin._

LINENOTES:

[31, 32] These lines are borrowed from the first edition (4{o}) of the _Ode to the Departing Year_.]

ON A LATE CONNUBIAL RUPTURE IN HIGH LIFE[152:1]

[PRINCE AND PRINCESS OF WALES]

I sigh, fair injur'd stranger! for thy fate; But what shall sighs avail thee? thy poor heart, 'Mid all the 'pomp and circ.u.mstance' of state, s.h.i.+vers in nakedness. Unbidden, start

Sad recollections of Hope's garish dream, 5 That shaped a seraph form, and named it Love, Its hues gay-varying, as the orient beam Varies the neck of Cytherea's dove.

To one soft accent of domestic joy Poor are the shouts that shake the high-arch'd dome; 10 Those plaudits that thy _public_ path annoy, Alas! they tell thee--Thou'rt a wretch _at home_!

O then retire, and weep! _Their very woes Solace the guiltless._ Drop the pearly flood On thy sweet infant, as the full-blown rose, 15 Surcharg'd with dew, bends o'er its neighbouring bud.

And ah! that Truth some holy spell might lend To lure thy Wanderer from the Syren's power; Then bid your souls inseparably blend Like two bright dew-drops meeting in a flower. 20

1796.

FOOTNOTES:

[152:1] First published in the _Monthly Magazine_, September 1796, vol.

ii, pp. 64-7, reprinted in _Felix Farley's Bristol Journal_, Sat.u.r.day, Oct. 8, 1796, and in the _Poetical Register_, 1806-7 [1811, vol. vi, p.

365]. First collected in _P. and D. W._, 1877, i. 187. The lines were sent in a letter to Estlin, dated July 4, 1796.

LINENOTES:

t.i.tle] To an Unfortunate Princess MS. Letter, July 4, 1796.

[17] might] could MS. Letter, 1796.

[18] thy] the Felix Farley's, &c.

[20] meeting] bosomed MS. Letter, 1796.

SONNET[152:2]

ON RECEIVING A LETTER INFORMING ME OF THE BIRTH OF A SON

When they did greet me father, sudden awe Weigh'd down my spirit: I retired and knelt Seeking the throne of grace, but inly felt No heavenly visitation upwards draw My feeble mind, nor cheering ray impart. 5 Ah me! before the Eternal Sire I brought Th' unquiet silence of confused thought And shapeless feelings: my o'erwhelmed heart Trembled, and vacant tears stream'd down my face.

And now once more, O Lord! to thee I bend, 10 Lover of souls! and groan for future grace, That ere my babe youth's perilous maze have trod, Thy overshadowing Spirit may descend, And he be born again, a child of G.o.d.

_Sept._ 20, 1796.

FOOTNOTES:

[152:2] First published in the 'Biographical Supplement' to the _Biographia Literaria_, 1847, ii. 379. First collected in _P. and D.

W._, 1877-80. This and the two succeeding sonnets were enclosed in a letter to Poole, dated November 1, 1796. A note was affixed to the sonnet 'On Receiving', &c.: 'This sonnet puts in no claim to poetry (indeed as a composition I think so little of them that I neglected to repeat them to you) but it is a most faithful picture of my feelings on a very interesting event. When I was with you they were, indeed, excepting the first, in a rude and undrest shape.'

LINENOTES:

t.i.tle] Sonnet written on receiving letter informing me of the birth of a son, I being at Birmingham MS. Letter, Nov. 1, 1796.

[8] shapeless] hopeless B. L.

SONNET[153:1]

COMPOSED ON A JOURNEY HOMEWARD; THE AUTHOR HAVING RECEIVED INTELLIGENCE OF THE BIRTH OF A SON, SEPT. 20, 1796

Oft o'er my brain does that strange fancy roll Which makes the present (while the flash doth last) Seem a mere semblance of some unknown past, Mixed with such feelings, as perplex the soul Self-questioned in her sleep; and some have said[153:2] 5 We liv'd, ere yet this robe of flesh we wore.[154:1]

O my sweet baby! when I reach my door, If heavy looks should tell me thou art dead, (As sometimes, through excess of hope, I fear) I think that I should struggle to believe 10 Thou wert a spirit, to this nether sphere Sentenc'd for some more venial crime to grieve; Did'st scream, then spring to meet Heaven's quick reprieve, While we wept idly o'er thy little bier!

1796.