THE TRAVELLER'S RETURN. Where twinkling in the dewy light And cheering to the traveller The gales that round him play, When faint and heavily he drags Along his noon-tide way. And when beneath the unclouded sun The flowing water makes to him And when the evening light decays, There is sweet music to his ear But oh! of all delightful sounds 1798. Of evening or of morn The sweetest is the voice of Love, That welcomes his return. 1798 THE OLD MAN'S COMFORTS, AND HOW HE GAINED THEM. You are old, Father William, the young man cried, In the days of my youth, Father William replied, You are old, Father William, the young man cried, TRANSLATION OF A GREEK ODE ON ASTRONOMY, WRITTEN BY S. T. COLERIDGE, FOR THE PRIZE AT CAMBRIDGE, 1793. HAIL, venerable NIGHT! O first-created, hail! Thou who art doom'd in thy dark breast to veil The eldest and the latest thou, Glittering plays with lightning rays A wreath of flowers of fire. The varying clouds with many a hue attire Thy many-tinted veil. Holy are the blue graces of thy zone! But who is he whose tongue can tell The dewy lustres which thine eyes adorn? Lovely to some the blushes of the Morn; To some the glory of the Day, When, blazing with meridian ray, The gorgeous Sun ascends his highest throne; But I with solemn and severe delight Still watch thy constant car, immortal NIGHT! For then to the celestial Palaces The Goddess who alone Hail, O Urania, hail! Queen of the Muses! Mistress of the Song! For thou didst deign to leave the heavenly throng. As earthward thou thy steps wert bending, A ray went forth and harbinger'd thy way: All Ether laugh'd with thy descending. Thou hadst wreath'd thy hair with roses, The flower that in the immortal bower Its deathless bloom discloses. Or on the wings of storms Shriek'd to the mariner the shriek of Death. I boast, O Goddess, to thy name That I have raised the pile of fame! Therefore to me be given To roam the starry path of Heaven, To charioteer with wings on high, And to rein in the Tempests of the sky. Chariots of happy Gods! Fountains of Light! Ye Angel-Temples bright! May I unblamed your flamy thresholds tread? I leave the Moon serene, I leave the wide domains, Beyond where Mars his fiercer light can fling, Even to the solitude where Saturn reigns, The mighty circle of long-lingering years. Nor shalt thou escape my sight, Who at the threshold of the sun-trod domes Art trembling,-youngest Daughter of the Night! And you, ye fiery-tressed strangers! you, Comets who wander wide, Will I along your pathless way pursue, The Worlds whom elder Suns have vivified. For Hope with loveliest visions soothes my mind, Thou vegetable Porcupine! And didst thou scratch thy tender arms, O Jane! that I should dine! The flour, the sugar, and the fruit, Commingled well, how well they suit, And they were well bestow'd. O Jane, with truth I praise your Pie, And will not you in just reply Praise my Pindaric Ode? TO A BEE. THOU wert out betimes, thou busy, busy Bee! Thou wert working late, thou busy, busy Bee! When the Primrose of evening was ready to burst, Thou art a miser, thou busy, busy Bee! When Betty's busy eye runs round the room, Spider! of old thy flimsy webs were thought, To emblem laws in which the weak are caught, And if a victim in thy toils is ta'en, Like some poor client is that wretched fly; And is not thy weak work like human schemes Such are young hopes and Love's delightful dreams So does the Statesman, whilst the Avengers sleep, Self-deem'd secure, his wiles in secret lay, Soon shall Destruction sweep THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM. THE rage of Babylon is roused, The King puts forth his strength; And Judah bends the bow And points her arrows for the coming war. Her walls are firm, her gates are strong, High are her chiefs in hope, For Egypt soon will send the promised aid. But who is he whose voice of woe Is heard amid the streets? Whose ominous voice proclaims Her strength and arms and promised succours vain! His meagre cheek is pale and sunk, Yet fearful its strong glance; And who could bear the anger of his frown? PROPHET OF GOD! in vain thy lips In vain thy warning voice Summon'd her rulers timely to repent! The Ethiop changes not his skin. The rulers spurn thy voice, And now the measure of their crimes is full. And now around Jerusalem The countless foes appear; Far as the eye can reach Spreads the wide horror of the circling siege. 1 Along the ocean's echoing verge, Along the mountain range of rocks, The clustering multitudes behold their pomp, And raise the votive prayer. Commingling with the ocean's roar Ceaseless and hoarse their murmurs rise, And soon they trust to see the winged bark That bears good tidings home. The watch-tower now in distance sinks, And now Galicia's mountain rocks Faint as the far-off clouds of evening lie, And now they fade away. Each like some moving citadel, On through the waves they sail sublime; And now the Spaniards see the silvery cliffs, Behold the sea-girt land! O fools! to think that ever foe Should triumph o'er the sea-girt land! O fools! to think that ever Britain's sons Should wear the stranger's yoke! For not in vain hath Nature rear'd Around her coast those silvery cliffs; For not in vain old Ocean spreads his waves To guard his favourite isle! On come her gallant mariners! What now avail Rome's boasted charms? Where are the Spaniard's vaunts of eager wrath? His hopes of conquest now ? Till the smooth temper of my age should be Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree. And as when all the summer trees are seen So bright and green, The Holly leaves their fadeless hues display Less bright than they; But when the bare and wintry woods we see, What then so cheerful as the Holly Tree? So serious should my youth appear among So would I seem amid the young and gay That in my age as cheerful I might be THE EBB TIDE. SLOWLY thy flowing tide 1798. |