What temper at the prospect did not wake The play-fellows of fancy, who had made All powers of swiftness, subtilty, and strength Their ministers, who in lordly wise had stirred Among the grandest objects of the sense, And in the region of their peaceful selves;Now was it that both found, the meek and lofty Did both find, helpers to their hearts' desire, And stuff at hand, plastic as they could wish, Were called upon to exercise their skill, But in the very world, which is the world Why should I not confess that Earth was then To me, what an inheritance, new-fallen, Seems, when the first time visited, to one Who thither comes to find in it his home? He walks about and looks upon the spot With cordial transport, molds it and remolds, And is half pleased with things that are amiss, Twill be such joy to see them disappear. An active partisan, I thus convoked From every object pleasant circumstance To suit my ends; I moved among mankind With genial feelings still predominant; When erring, erring on the better part, And in the kinder spirit; placable, Indulgent, as not uninformed that men See as they have been taught-Antiquity Gives rights to error; and aware, no less, That throwing off oppression must be work As well of License as of Liberty; And above all-for this was more than allNot caring if the wind did now and then Blow keen upon an eminence that gave Prospect so large into futurity; In brief, a child of Nature, as at first, In the main outline, such it might be said Was my condition, till with open war Britain opposed the liberties of France. This threw me first out of the pale of love; Soured and corrupted, upwards to the source, My sentiments; was not, as hitherto, Was now a shame; my likings and my loves Into sensations near the heart: meantime, But when events Brought less encouragement, and unto these The immediate proof of principles no more Could be entrusted, while the events themselves, Worn out in greatness, stripped of novelty, Less occupied the mind, and sentiments Could through my understanding's natural growth No longer keep their ground, by faith maintained Of inward consciousness, and hope that laid But not dismayed, nor taking to the shame Of mortified presumption, I adhered Of contest, did opinions every day The very being of the immortal soul. This was the time, when, all things tending fast To depravation, speculative schemes- For Zeal to enter and refresh herself, names. But, speaking more in charity, the dream Flattered the young, pleased with extremes, nor least With that which makes our Reason's naked self The object of its fervor. What delight! How glorious! in self-knowledge and selfrule, To look through all the frailties of the world, And, with a resolutę mastery shaking off Superior, magisterially adopts One guide, the light of circumstances, flashed Upon an independent intellect. Thus expectation rose again; thus hope, From her first ground expelled, grew proud once more. Oft, as my thoughts were turned to human kind, I scorned indifference; but, inflamed with thirst Of a secure intelligence, and sick Of other longing, I pursued what seemed Of ancient Institutions said and done Let loose and goaded. After what hath been Already said of patriotic love, Suffice it here to add, that, somewhat stern In temperament, withal a happy man, And therefore bold to look on painful things, Her titles and her honors; now believing, Of obligation, what the rule and whence This was the crisis of that strong disease, This the soul's last and lowest ebb; I drooped, Deeming our blessèd reason of least use Be little profited, would see, and ask In reconcilement with an utter waste Of intellect; such sloth I could not brook, (Too well I loved, in that my spring of life, Painstaking thoughts, and truth, their dear reward) But turned to abstract science, and there sought Work for the reasoning faculty enthroned Where the disturbances of space and time— Whether in matters various, properties Inherent, or from human will and power Derived-find no admission. Then it wasThanks to the bounteous Giver of all good! That the beloved Sister in whose sight Of sudden admonition-like a brook Companion never lost through many a league Maintained for me a saving intercourse With my true self; for, though bedimmed and changed Much, as it seemed, I was no further changed Than as a clouded and a waning moon: She, in the midst of all, preserved me still Assisted, led me back through opening day To those sweet counsels between head and heart Whence grew that genuine knowledge, fraught with peace, Which, through the later sinkings of this cause, Hath still upheld me, and upholds me now Of clouds-his glory's natural retinue— Hath dropped all functions by the gods bestowed, And, turned into a gewgaw, a machine, Thus, O Friend! 1 Through times of honor and through times of shame Descending, have I faithfully retraced The perturbations of a youthful mind Under a long-lived storm of great eventsA story destined for thy ear, who now, Among the fallen of nations, dost abide Where Etna, over hill and valley, casts His shadow stretching towards Syracuse, The city of Timoleon! Righteous Heaven! How are the mighty prostrated! They first, They first of all that breathe should have awaked When the great voice was heard from out the tombs Of ancient heroes. If I suffered grief 1 Coleridge, to whom the poem is addressed. Have been distressed to think of what she once Promised, now is; a far more sober cause But indignation works where hope is not, And thou, O Friend! wilt be refreshed. There is One great society alone on earth: The noble Living and the noble Dead. [Books X, 221-602; XI, 1-395.] FRANCE: AN ODE 1 SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE I Ye Clouds! that far above me float and pause, Whose pathless march no mortal may con trol! Ye Ocean Waves! that, wheresoe'er ye roll, Midway the smooth and perilous slope reclined, Save when your own imperious branches swinging, Have made a solemn music of the wind! Where, like a man beloved of God, Through glooms, which never woodman trod, How oft, pursuing fancies holy, My moonlight way o'er flowering weeds I wound. Inspired beyond the guess of folly, By each rude shape and wild unconquera ble sound! O ye loud Waves! and O ye Forests high! And O ye Clouds that far above me soared! Written in February, 1798, and entitled The Recantation; an Ode. Observe that there is neither in Coleridge nor in Wordsworth any recantation of their allegiance to the principle of liberty. His disappointment in France has, however, led Coleridge to the conviction "that those feelings and that grand ideal of Freedom which the mind attains by its contemplation of its individual nature, and of the sublime surrounding objects (see first stanza), do not belong to men as a society, nor can possibly be either gratified or realized under any form of human government, but belong to the individual man, so far as he is pure, and inflamed with the adoration of God in Nature." This attitude, the refuge of political idealists in despair, looks forward to the point of view of Shelley and Byron. Thou rising Sun! thou blue rejoicing Sky! Yea, everything that is and will be free! Bear witness for me, wheresoe'er ye be, With what deep worship I have still adored The spirit of divinest Liberty. II When France in wrath her giant-limbs upreared, And with that oath which smote air, earth, and sea, Stamped her strong foot and said she would be free, Bear witness for me, how I hoped and feared! With what a joy my lofty gratulation Unawed I sang, amid a slavish band: And when to whelm the disenchanted nation, Like fiends embattled by a wizard's wand, The Monarchs marched in evil day, And Britain join'd the dire array; Though dear her shores and circling ocean, Though many friendships, many youthful loves Had swoln the patriot emotion And flung a magic light o'er all her hills and groves; Yet still my voice, unaltered, sang defeat To all that braved the tyrant-quelling lance, And shame too long delay'd and vain retreat! For ne'er, O Liberty! with partial aim flame; But blessed the pæans of delivered France, And hung my head and wept at Britain's name. III "And what," I said, "though Blasphemy's loud scream With that sweet music of deliverance strove! Though all the fierce and drunken pas sions wove A dance more wild than e'er was maniac's dream! Ye storms, that round the dawning east assembled, The Sun was rising, though ye hid his light!" And when to soothe my soul, that hoped and trembled, The dissonance ceased, and all seemed calm and bright; |