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After his marriage, Coleridge settled at Clevedon, near Bristol, and projected many plans of industrious occupation in the fields of literature; but he soon became tired of this retreat, and removed to Bristol, where he was materially aided in his designs of publication by that very generous and sympathizing publisher, Joseph Cottle. He first started a weekly political paper, called the Watchman, most of which he wrote himself; but, from his indolent irregularity, the work stopped at the tenth number. Failing in this, he retired, in the latter part of 1796, to a cottage in Nether Stowey, in Somersetshire, on the grounds of his friend and benefactor, Mr. Poole, and near Mr. Wordsworth. He was at this time in the habit of contributing verses to one of the London papers, as a means of subsistence; and it was while residing here that the greater part of his poems were composed, though many were not published till later: these were his Lyrical Ballads, Christabel, the Ancient Mariner, and his tragedy of Remorse.

In 1798 he was enabled, through the munificence of Mr. Thomas Wedgewood, to travel in Germany and to study at some of its famed universities. He was very industrious in the study of the literature and philosophy of that country, and may be considered as the introducer of German philosophy to the notice of British scholars. After his return from Germany, Coleridge settled with his family at Keswick, in Cumberland, near the "lakes," in which region Wordsworth and Southey resided; and hence the appellation of "Lake Poets," given to these three individuals. In the mean time, his habit of opium-eating, into which he had been seduced from its apparent medicinal effects, had gained tremendously upon him, and had undermined his health. There is no portion of literary history more sad than that which reveals the tyrannical power which that dreadful habit had over him, and his repeated but vain struggles to overcome it. It made him its victim, and held him, bound hand and foot, with a giant's strength. In consequence of his enfeebled health, he went to Malta in 1804, and returned in 1806.2 From this period till about 1816 he led a sort of wandering life, sometimes with one friend and sometimes with another, and much of the time separated from his family, supporting himself by lecturing, publishing, and writing for the London papers. The great defect in his character was the want of resoluteness of will. He saw that his pernicious habit was destroying his own happiness and that of those dearest to him; entangling him in meanness, deceit, and dishonesty; and yet he had not the strength of will to break it off.3

In 1816 he placed himself under the care of Mr. Gilman, a physician in Highgate, London, and with his generous family he resided till his death.

band's intellectual powers. De Quincey, in his Literary Reminiscences, thus speaks :-" Coleridge assured me that his marriage was not his own deliberate act, but was in a manner forced upon his sense of honor by the scrupulons Southey, who insisted he had gone too far in his attentions to Miss F. for any honorable retreat."

1 Read the painfully interesting account in Cattle's Reminiscences, and the most faithful Christian letter of Cottle to Coleridge, together with the answer of the latter. Read, also, an able article in the North British Review, December, 1865. See, too, some fine remarks on Coleridge by Talfourd, in his edition of Lamb's Works, vol. i. p. 274.

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2"It was in the year 1807 that I first saw this illustrious man, the largest and most spacious intellect, the subtlest and most comprehensive, in my judgment, that has yet existed amongst men."-DE QUINCEY.

The fine saying of Addison is familiar to most readers.-that Babylon in ruins is not so affecting a spectacle, or so solemn, as a human mind overthrown by lunacy. How much more awful, then, and more magnificent a wreck, when a mind so regal as that of Coleridge is overthrown or threatened with overthrow, not by a visitation of Providence, but by the treachery of his own will, and the conspiracy, as it were, of himself against himself!"-DE QUINCEY.

Most of his prose works he published between the years 1817 and 1825,-th two Lay Sermons, the Biographia Literaria, the Friend, in three volumes, th Aids to Reflection, and the Constitution of the Church and State. After his death which took place on the 25th of July, 1834, collections were made of his Table Talk, and other Literary Remains.1

Few men have exerted a greater influence upon the thinking mind of th nineteenth century than Samuel Taylor Coleridge, whether we regard hi poetry or his prose writings. He wrote, however, for the scholastic few rathe than for the reading many. Hence he has never become what may be calle a popular writer, and never will be. But if he exerted not so great an in fluence upon the popular mind directly, he did indirectly through those wh have studied and admired his works, and have themselves popularized hi own recondite conceptions. His Aids to Reflection in the Formation of a Manh Character is a book full of wisdom, of sound Christian morality, and of the most just observations on life and duty; and from his series of essays, Th Friend, might be culled gems of rich and beautiful and profound thought that would make a volume of priceless worth. His poetry unites great vividness of fancy to a lofty elevation of moral feeling and unsurpassed melody of versification; but then much of it must be said to be obscure. He himself. in fact, admits this, when he says, in a later edition of one of his poems, that where he appears unintelligible "the deficiency is in the reader." Still. enough that is clear remains to delight, instruct, and exalt the mind; and few authors have left to the world, both in prose and poetry, so much delicious and invigorating food on which the worn spirit may feed with pleasure and profit, and gain renewed strength for the conflicts of the world, as this philosophic poet and poetic philosopher.3

In conversation, Coleridge particularly shone. Here, probably, he never had his equal: so that he gained the title of the "Great Conversationalist." "It is deeply to be regretted," says an admiring critic, "that his noble genius was, to a great extent, frittered away in conversation, which he could pour forth, unpremeditatedly, for hours, in uninterrupted streams of vivid, dazzling, original thinking." "Did you ever hear me preach?" said Coleridge to Lamb. "I never heard you do any thing else," was his friend's reply. Certainly through this medium he watered with his instructions a large circle of disci

1 A few months before his death, Mr. Coleridge wrote his own humble and affecting epitaph :

Stop, Christian passer-by! Stop, child of God,
And read with gentle breast. Beneath this sod
A poet lies, or that which once seem'd he;-
Oh, lift a thought and prayer for S. T. C.!
That he, who many a year with toil of breath
Found death in life, may here find life in death!
Mercy for praise, to be forgiven for fame,

He ask'd, and hoped in Christ. Do thou the same.

In reference to that singularly wild and to have written the following epigram, adstriking poem, The Ancient Mariner, he is said dressed to himself:

"Your poem must eternal be,

Dear sir! it cannot fail!
For 'tis incomprehensible,
And without head or tail."

ledge, in so many points at least, of particular facts."-ARNOLD: Letter to W. W. Hull, Esq.

"I think, with all his faults, old Sam was | philosophy and poetry with so full a know more of a great man than any one who has lived within the four seas, in my memory. It is refreshing to see such a union of the highest

-pleship; but what treasures of thought has the world lost by his unwillingness es make his pen the mouth-piece of his mind!1

HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI.

[Besides the rivers Arvé and Arveiron, which have their sources in the foot of Mont Blanc, fe conspicuous torrents rush down its sides; and within a few paces of the glaciers the GenDane Major grows in immense numbers, with its "flowers of loveliest blue."]

Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star
In his steep course? So long he seems to pause
On thy bald awful head, O sovran Blanc!
The Arvé and Arveiron at thy base

Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form!
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines,
How silently! Around thee and above
Deep is the air, and dark, substantial, black,
An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it,
As with a wedge! But when I look again,
It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Thy habitation from eternity!

O dread and silent mount! I gazed upon thee,

Till thou, still present to the bodily sense,

Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer,
I worshipp'd the Invisible alone.

Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,

So sweet, we know not we are listening to it,

Thou the meanwhile wast blending with my thoughts,
Yea, with my life, and life's own secret joy,
Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused,
Into the mighty vision passing,-there,
As in her natural form, swell'd vast to heaven.

Awake, my soul! not only passive praise
Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears,
Mute thanks and secret ecstasy! Awake,
Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake!
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn.

Thou first and chief, sole Sovran of the Vale!
Oh, struggling with the darkness all the night,
And visited all night by troops of stars,
Or when they climb the sky or when they sink:

pious and eloquent periods did it flow! The auditors seemed to be wrapt in wonder and delight, as one conversation, more profound or clothed in more forcible language than another, fell from his tongue. He spoke nearly for two hours with unhesitating and uninterrupted fluency. As I returned homeward to Kensington, I thought a second Johnson had visited the earth to make wise the sons of men; and regretted that I could not exercise the powers of a second Boswell to record the wisdom and the eloquence that fell from the orator's lips."

1 The following is the testimony of Dr. Dib-| din to Coleridge's conversational powers: "I shall never forget the effect his conversation made upon me at the first meeting, at a dinnerparty. It struck me as something not only quite out of the ordinary course of things, but an intellectual exhibition altogether matchless. The viands were unusually costly, and the banquet was at once rich and varied; but there seemed to be no dish like Coleridge's conversation to feed upon, and no information so instructive as his own. The orator rolled himself up, as it were, in his chair, and gave the most unrestrained indulgence to his Read Edinburgh Review, xxvii. 58, xxviii. speech; and bow fraught with acuteness and 448, lxi. 129; London Quarterly, xi. 173, lii. 1, originality was that speech, and in what co-liii. 79, lix. 1; and American Quarterly, xix. 1.

Companion of the morning star at dawn,
Thyself earth's ROSY STAR,1 and of the dawn
Co-herald! wake, oh, wake, and utter praise!
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth?
Who fill'd thy countenance with rosy light?
Who made thee parent of perpetual streams?

And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad!
Who call'd you forth from night and utter death,
From dark and icy caverns call'd you forth,
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks,
Forever shatter'd, and the same forever?
Who gave you your invulnerable life,

Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy,
Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam?

And who commanded (and the silence came), "Here let the billows stiffen and have rest?"

Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow
Adown enormous ravines slope amain,-
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopp'd at once amid their maddest plunge!
Motionless torrents! silent cataracts!

Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven
Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun
Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet!
God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God!

God! sing, ye meadow-streams with gladsome voice!
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!
And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow,
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!

Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost!
Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest!
Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain storm!
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!
Ye signs and wonders of the elements!

Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise!

Thou too, hoar Mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks, Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard,

Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene,
Into the depth of clouds that vail thy breast,-
Thou too, again, stupendous mountain! thou,
That as I raise my head, awhile bow'd low
In adoration, upward from thy base

Slow-travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears,
Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud,
To rise before me,-rise, oh, ever rise,
Rise like a cloud of incense from the earth!
Thou kingly spirit throned among the hills,

1 The glaciers assume in the sunshine all manner of colors.

Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven,
Great hierarch! tell thou the silent sky,
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun,
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.1

QUALITIES ESSENTIAL TO THE TEACHER.

O'er wayward childhood wouldst thou hold firm rule,
And sun thee in the light of happy faces;
Love, Hope, and Patience, these must be thy graces,
And in thine own heart let them first keep school.
For as old Atlas on his broad neck places
Heaven's starry globe, and there sustains it, so
Do these upbear the little world below
Of education,-Patience, Love, and Hope.
Methinks I see them group'd in seemly show,
The straiten'd arms upraised, the palms aslope,
And robes that touching as adown they flow,
Distinctly blend, like snow emboss'd in snow.
Oh, part them never! If Hope prostrate lie,
Love, too, will sink and die.

But Love is subtle, and doth proof derive
From her own life that Hope is yet alive;
And bending o'er, with soul-transfusing eyes,

And the soft murmurs of the mother dove,

Woos back the fleeting spirit, and half supplies;

Thus Love repays to Hope what Hope first gave to Love.
Yet haply there will come a weary day,

When, overtask'd at length,

Both Love and Hope beneath the load give way;
Then with a statue's smile, a statue's strength,
Stands the mute sister, Patience, nothing loath,
And, both supporting, does the work of both.

ΤΟ ΑΝ ΙΝFANT.

Ah, cease thy tears and sobs, my little life!
I did but snatch away the unclasp'd knife:
Some safer toy will soon arrest thine eye,
And to quick laughter change this peevish cry.
Poor stumbler on the rocky coast of wo,
Tutor'd by pain each source of pain to know!
Alike the foodful fruit and scorching fire
Awake thy eager grasp and young desire:
Alike the good, the ill offend thy sight,
And rouse the stormy sense of shrill affright!
Untaught, yet wise, 'mid all thy brief alarms
Thou closely clingest to thy mother's arms,
Nestling thy little face in that fond breast
Whose anxious heavings lull thee to thy rest!

The structure of this hymn is extremely Doble; it commences and concludes with the idea of the mount in its oneness, while the mind is allowed in its intervening strains to

mingle with the individualities of its scenery. it constitutes a picture as unique in its grandeur as any that poetry presents."-SCRYM

GEOUR.

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