Around thee as the darkness stole, Thine infancy had loved. "Then o'er the silent, sleeping land, Thy fancy, like a magic wand, Forth call'd the elfin race: And now around the fountain's brim And water-spiders chase; "Each circumstance of sight or sound For if amid a thicket stirr'd, "Now, in the passing beetle's hum To pigmy battle sound; And now, where dripping dew-drops plash On waving grass, their bucklers clash, And now their quivering lances flash, Wide-dealing death around: "Or if the moon's effulgent form The passing clouds of sudden storm In quick succession veil ; Vast serpents now, their shadows glide, And, coursing now the mountain's side, A band of giants huge, they stride O'er hill, and wood, and dale. "And still on many a service rare My firmer claim to bind. The vigour of the mind." And now, in accents deep and low, The Sylph of Autumn sad: "Yet still may I in hope aspire For I with vision high and holy, First raised to worlds above. "What though be mine the treasures fair Of purple grape and yellow pear, And fruits of various hue, Beneath the welkin blue; "With these I may not urge my suit, That mock the bow of heaven. "But, know, 't was mine the secret power "T was I the spell around thee cast, "And led thee, when the storm was o'er, To hear the sullen ocean roar, By dreadful calm oppress'd; Which still, though not a breeze was there, Its mountain-billows heav'd in air, As if a living thing it were, That strove in vain for rest. ""T was I, when thou, subdued by wo, And as they moved in mournful train, "And then, upraised thy streaming eye, I met thee in the western sky In pomp of evening cloud; "And last, as sunk the setting sun, Of Death must fall at last. "O, then with what aspiring gaze Didst thou thy tranced vision raise To yonder orbs on high, And think how wondrous, how sublime "T were upwards to their spheres to climb, And live, beyond the reach of Time, Child of Eternity!" And last the Sylph of Winter spake; "O, youth, if thou, with soul refin'd, "If e'er with fearful ear at eve The while it conjured o'er thy brain Of Death's untimely call: "Then, glancing to the angry sky, The lurid moon athwart; "O, then to me thy heart be given, Thy nobler powers to wake. And O! if thou, with poet's soul, High brooding o'er the frozen pole, Hast felt beneath my stern control The desert region quake; "Or from old Hecla's cloudy height, "Or heard adown the mountain's steep The never-ending crash: "If thus, with terror's mighty spell Thy soul inspired, was wont to swell, Thy heaving frame expand; O, then to me thy heart incline; For know, the wondrous charm was mine, That fear and joy did thus combine In magic union bland. Nor think confined my native sphere To horrors gaunt, or ghastly fear, Or desolation wild: For I of pleasures fair could sing, That steal from life its sharpest sting, And man have made around it cling, Like mother to her child. "When thou, beneath the clear blue sky, So calm, no cloud was seen to fly, Hast gazed on snowy plain, Where Nature slept so pure and sweet, She seem'd a corse in winding-sheet, Whose happy soul had gone to meet The blest, angelic train; "Or mark'd the sun's declining ray In gleams of orange now, and green, Most lovely when in death; "Or seen, at dawn of eastern light On pane of casement clear, "'T was I on each enchanting scene "Though Autumn grave, and Summer fair, And joyous Spring demand a share Of Fancy's hallow'd power, "But mine, of purer nature still, "That o'er thy teeming brain did raise Through all the varying year; And sounds that long had ceased to float, As living now they were: "And taught thee from the motley mass Each harmonizing part to class, (Like Nature's self employ'd;) And then, as work'd thy wayward will, From these, with rare combining skill, With new-created worlds to fill Of space the mighty void. "O then to me thy heart incline; She ceased-And now, in doubtful mood, Like one by charm oppress'd: By turns from each to each I roved, And each by turns again I loved; For ages ne'er could one have proved More lovely than the rest. "O blessed band, of birth divine, What mortal task is like to mine!" And further had I spoke, When, lo! there pour'd a flood of light So fiercely on my aching sight, I fell beneath the vision bright, And with the pain awoke. AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN.* ALL hail! thou noble land, Our fathers' native soil! Gigantic grown by toil, O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore; The world o'er! The genius of our clime, From his pine-embattled steep, Shall hail the great sublime; While the Tritons of the deep With their conchs the kindred league shall proclaim. Then let the world combine O'er the main our naval line, Though ages long have pass'd Since our fathers left their home, Their pilot in the blast, O'er untravell'd seas to roam, Yet lives the blood of England in our veins! And shall we not proclaim While the language free and bold Which the bard of Avon sung, In which our MILTON told How the vault of heaven rung, When Satan, blasted, fell with his host; Round our coast; While the manners, while the arts, Between let ocean roll, Our joint communion breaking with the sun: Yet, still, from either beach, The voice of blood shall reach, More audible than speech, "We are one!" *This poem was first published in COLERIDGE'S "Sybilline Leaves," in 1810. THE SPANISH MAID. FIVE weary months sweet Inez number'd That never to her heart has slumber'd; She hears it now, and sees, far bending And hears the drum and screaming fife O, should he should he fall in battle! Thus Inez thought, and pluck'd the flower Where first her ear bewilder'd drank But now the sun is westward sinking; Then hope, with all its crowd of fancies, And, deck'd in victory's glorious gear, Then how her heart mid sadness dances! Yet little thought she, thus forestalling The foe is slain. His sable charger All fleck'd with foam comes bounding on; The wild Morena rings anon, And on its brow the gallant Don, And gallant steed grow larger, larger; And now he nears the mountain-hollow; But no he surely is not dreaming. By turns from each to each I roved, And each by turns again I loved; For ages ne'er could one have proved More lovely than the rest. "O blessed band, of birth divine, What mortal task is like to mine!" And further had I spoke, When, lo! there pour'd a flood of light So fiercely on my aching sight, I fell beneath the vision bright, And with the pain awoke. AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN.* ALL hail! thou noble land, Our fathers' native soil! Gigantic grown by toil, O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore; The world o'er! The genius of our clime, From his pine-embattled steep, Shall hail the great sublime; While the Tritons of the deep With their conchs the kindred league shall proclaim. Then let the world combine O'er the main our naval line, Though ages long have pass'd Since our fathers left their home, Their pilot in the blast, O'er untravell'd seas to roam, Yet lives the blood of England in our veins! While the language free and bold How the vault of heaven rung, When Satan, blasted, fell with his host; Round our coast; While the manners, while the arts, Between let ocean roll, Our joint communion breaking with the sun: Yet, still, from either beach, The voice of blood shall reach, More audible than speech, "We are one!" This poem was first published in COLERIDGE's "Sybilline Leaves," in 1810. THE SPANISH MAID. FIVE weary months sweet Inez number'd That never to her heart has slumber'd; She hears it now, and sees, far bending And hears the drum and screaming fife O, should he should he fall in battle! Thus Inez thought, and pluck'd the flower Where first her ear bewilder'd drank But now the sun is westward sinking; Then hope, with all its crowd of fancies, And, deck'd in victory's glorious gear, Then how her heart mid sadness dances! Yet little thought she, thus forestalling The foe is slain. His sable charger All fleck'd with foam comes bounding on; The wild Morena rings anon, And on its brow the gallant Don, And gallant steed grow larger, larger; And now he nears the mountain-hollow; But no he surely is not dreaming. |