POETICAL WORKS OF SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE COMPLIMENTS OF PROJECT GUTENBERG EASTER HOLIDAYS[1:1] VERSE 1ST Hail! festal Easter that dost bring Approach of sweetly-smiling spring, When Natures clad in green: When featherd songsters through the grove With beasts confess the power of love 5 And brighten all the scene. VERSE 2ND Now youths the breaking stages load That swiftly rattling oer the road To Greenwich haste away: While some with sounding oars divide 10 Of smoothly-flowing Thames the tide All sing the festive lay. VERSE 3RD With mirthful dance they beat the ground, Their shouts of joy the hills resound And catch the jocund noise: 15 Without a tear, without a sigh Their moments all in transports fly Till evening ends their joys. VERSE 4TH But little think their joyous hearts Of dire Misfortunes varied smarts 20 Which youthful years conceal: Thoughtless of bitter-smiling Woe Which all mankind are born to know And they themselves must feel. VERSE 5TH Yet he who Wisdoms paths shall keep 25 And Virtue firm that scorns to weep At ills in Fortunes power, Through this lifes variegated scene In raging storms or calm serene Shall cheerful spend the hour. 30 VERSE 6TH While steady Virtue guides his mind Heavn-born Content he still shall find That never sheds a tear: Without respect to any tide His hours away in bliss shall glide 35 Like Easter all the year. 1787. FOOTNOTES: [1:1] From a hitherto unpublished MS. The lines were sent in a letter to Luke Coleridge, dated May 12, 1787. DURA NAVIS[2:1] To tempt the dangerous deep, too venturous youth, Why does thy breast with fondest wishes glow? No tender parent there thy cares shall sooth, No much-lovd Friend shall share thy every woe. Why does thy mind with hopes delusive burn? 5 Vain are thy Schemes by heated Fancy plannd: Thy promisd joy thoult see to Sorrow turn Exild from Bliss, and from thy native land. Hast thou foreseen the Storms impending rage, When to the Clouds the Waves ambitious rise, 10 And seem with Heaven a doubtful war to wage, Whilst total darkness overspreads the skies; Save when the lightnings darting wingéd Fate Quick bursting from the pitchy clouds between In forkéd Terror, and destructive state[2:2] 15 Shall shew with double gloom the horrid scene? Shalt thou be at this hour from danger free? Perhaps with fearful force some falling Wave Shall wash thee in the wild tempestuous Sea, And in some monsters belly fix thy grave; 20 Or (woful hap!) against some wave-worn rock Which long a Terror to each Bark had stood Shall dash thy mangled limbs with furious shock And stain its craggy sides with human blood. Yet not the Tempest, or the Whirlwinds roar 25 Equal the horrors of a Naval Fight, When thundering Cannons spread a sea of Gore And varied deaths now fire and now affright: The impatient shout, that longs for closer war, Reaches from either side the distant shores; 30 Whilst frightend at His streams ensanguind far Loud on his troubled bed huge Ocean roars.[3:1] What dreadful scenes appear before my eyes! Ah! see how each with frequent slaughter red, Regardless of his dying fellows cries 35 Oer their fresh wounds with impious order tread! From the dread place does soft Compassion fly! The Furies fell each alterd breast command; Whilst Vengeance drunk with human blood stands by And smiling fires each heart and arms each hand. 40 Shouldst thou escape the fury of that day A fate more cruel still, unhappy, view. Opposing winds may stop thy luckless way, And spread fell famine through the suffering crew, Canst thou endure th extreme of raging Thirst 45 Which soon may scorch thy throat, ah! thoughtless Youth! Or ravening hunger canst thou bear which erst On its own flesh hath fixd the deadly tooth? Dubious and fluttering twixt hope and fear With trembling hands the lot I see thee draw, 50 Which shall, or sentence thee a victim drear, To that ghaunt Plague which savage knows no law: Or, deep thy dagger in the friendly heart, Whilst each strong passion agitates thy breast, Though oft with Horror back I see thee start, 55 Lo! Hunger _drives_ thee to th inhuman feast. These are the ills, that may the course attend-- Then with the joys of home contented rest-- Here, meek-eyed Peace with humble Plenty lend Their aid united still, to make thee blest. 60 To ease each pain, and to increase each joy-- Here mutual Love shall fix thy tender wife, Whose offspring shall thy youthful care employ And gild with brightest rays the evening of thy Life. 1787. FOOTNOTES: [2:1] First published in 1893. The autograph MS. is in the British Museum. [2:2] _State_, Grandeur [1792]. This school exercise, written in the 15th year of my age, does not contain a line that any clever schoolboy might not have written, and like most school poetry is a _Putting of Thought into Verse_; for such Verses as _strivings_ of mind and struggles after the Intense and Vivid are a fair Promise of better things.--S. T. C. _aetat. suae_ 51. [1823.] [3:1] I well remember old Jemmy Bowyer, the plagose Orbilius of Christs Hospital, but an admirable educer no less than Educator of the Intellect, bade me leave out as many epithets as would turn the whole into eight-syllable lines, and then ask myself if the exercise would not be greatly improved. How often have I thought of the proposal since then, and how many thousand bloated and puffing lines have I read, that, by this process, would have tripped over the tongue excellently. Likewise, I remember that he told me on the same occasion--Coleridge! the connections of a Declamation are not the transitions of Poetry--bad, however, as they are, they are better than Apostrophes and O thous, for at the worst they are something like common sense. The others are the grimaces of Lunacy.--S. T. COLERIDGE.
Posted on: Fri, 25 Oct 2013 16:04:13 +0000
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