Proud Swede, the Sun hath risen

That on thy shame shall set!

In the days of my youth, Father William replied,

I remember'd that youth could not last; I thought of the future whatever I did,

That I never might grieve for the past.

Now bend thine head from heaven,

Now l'atkul be revenged !
For o'er that bloody Swede
Ruin hatlı raised his arm;
For ere the night desccods,

His veteran host subdued,
His laurels blasted to revive no more,

le tlies before the foe!

You are old, Father William, the young man cried,

And life must be liastening away;
You are cheerful, and love to converse upon

death! Now tell me the reason I pray.

I am cheerful, young man, Father William replied,

Let the cause thy attention engage;
In the days of my youth I remember'd my

God! And He hath not forgotten my age.

1799

Long years of hope deceived That conquered Swede must prove;

Paikul, thou art avenged !

Long years of idleness
That restless soul must bear;

Paikul, thou art avenged !
The Despot's savage anger took thy life,
Thy death has stabb'd his fame.

1798.

TRANSLATION OF A GREEK ODE ON

ASTRONOMY,

THE TRAVELLER'S RETURN.

Sweet to the morning traveller

The song amid the sky, Where (winkling in the dewy light

The skylark soars ou bighi.

And cheering to the traveller

The gales that round him play, Wlien faint and heavily lie drags

Along his noon-tide way.

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 dying beam of light.
The eldest and the latest thou,

Hail, venerable Night!

Around thinc ebon brow,
Glittering plays with lightning rays

A wreath of flowers of Gre.
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 congue 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 Nigut!

And when bencath the unclouded sun

Full wearily toils he,
The flowing water makes to him

A soothing melody

And when the evening light decays,

And all is calm around, There is sweet music to his ear

In the distant shecp-bell's sound.

But oh! of all delightful sounds

Of evening or of morn The sweciest 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,

Tlie few locks which are left you are grey; You are bale, Father William, a hearty old man,

Now tell me the reason, pray.

For then to the celestial Palaces

Urania leads, Urania, she

The Goddess who alone
Stands by the blazing throne,

Effulgent with the light of Deity. Whom Wisdom, the Creatrix, by her side

Placed on the heights of yonder sky, And smiling with ambrosial love, unlock'd

The depths of Nature to her piercing eye. Angelic myriads struck their harps around,

And with triumphant song
The host of Stars, a beauteous throng,

Around the ever-living Miod
In Jubilee their mystic dance begun;
When at thy leaping-forth, O Sun!

The Morning started in affright, Astonishi'd at tlıy birth, her Child of Light!

In the days of my youth, Father William replied,

I remember d that youth would fly fast, And abused not my licalth and my vigour at first,

That I never might need them at last.

You are old, Father William, the young man cried,

And pleasures with youll pass away,
And yet you lament not the days that are gone,

Now tell me the reason, I pray.

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 wreatlıd thy hair with roses, The flower that in the immortal bower

Its deathless bloom discloses.
Before thine awful mien, compelled to shrink,
Fled Ignorance abas d with all her brood ;

Dragons, and lays of baleful breath,
Fierce Dreams, that wont to drink
The Sepulchre's black blood;
Or on the wings of storms

Riding in fury forms,
Shriek'd to the mariner the shriek of Death.

I

may not call thee mortal then, my soul ! Immortal Jongings lift thee to the skies : Love of thy native bome inflames clice now

With pious madness wise.
Know then thyself! expand thy wings divine !
Soon mingled with thy fathers thou shalt shinc

A star amid the starry throng,
A God the Gods

among

So1.

GOOSEBERRY-PIE.

A PINDARIC ODE.

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.

GOOSEBERRY-Pie is best. Full of the theme, O Muse, begin the song! What though the sunbeams of the West

Mature within the Turtle's breast Blood glutinous and fat of verdant hue? What though the Deer bound sportivcly along O'er springey turf, the Park's clastic vest?

Give them their honours due,

But Gooseberry-Pic is best.

Chariots of happy Gods! Fountains of Light!

Ye Angel-Temples bright! May I upblamed your flamy thresholds tread ?

I leave Earth's lowly scene;

I leave the Moon serene,
The lovely Queen of Night;

I leave the wide domains,
Beyond wliere Mars liis fiercer light can fling,

And Jupiter's vast plaius,

(The many-belted King ;)
Even to the solitude where Saturn reigns,
Like some stera tyranı 10 just exile driven ;

Dim-seen the sullen power appears
In that cold solitude of Heaven,

And slow he dragi along
The mighty circle of long-liogering years.

Nor shalt thou escape my sight,
Who at the threshold of the sun-trod domes
Ari trembling, --youngest Daughter of the Night!
And you, ye fiery-tressed strangers ! you,

Comets who wander wide,
Will I along your pathless way pursue,

Whence bending I may view
The Worlds whom elder Sups have vivified.

Beliind his oxen slow The patient Ploughman plods, And as the Sower followed by the clods Earthi's genial womb received the living seed. The rains descend, the grains they grow;

Saw ye the vegetable ocean Roll its green ripple to the April gale ? The golden waves willi multitudinous motion

Swell o'er the summer vale?

It flows through Alder baoks along
Beneath the copse that hides the hill;
The gentle stream you cannot see,

You only bear its melody,
The stream that turns the mill.

Pass on a little way, pass on,
And you shall catch its gleam anon;
And hark! the loud and agonizing groan

That makes its anguish known, Where tortured by the Tyrant Lord of Meal

The brook is broken on the Wheel!

For Hope with loveliest visions soothes my mind,

That even in Man, Life's winged power,
When comes again the natal hour,
Shall on heaven-wandering feet,

In undecaying youth,
Spring to the blessed seat;
Where round the fields of Truth
The fiery Essences for ever feed;
And o'er the ambrosial mcad,

The breezes of serenity
Silent and soothing glide for ever by.

Blow fair, blow fair, thou orient cale!

On the white bosom of the sail
Ye winds enamour'd, lingering lie!
Ye waves of ocean spare the bark,

Ye tempests of the sky!
From distant realms she comes to bring

for
my

Pie.
For this on Gambia's arid side
The Vulture's feet are scaled with blood,
Apd Beelzebub beholds with pride,

His darling planter brood.

The sugar

There, l'riest of Nature! dost thou shine,
Newton! a King among the Kings divine.
Whether with harmony's mild force,

He guides along its course,
The axle of

some

beauteous star on high ; Or gazing in the spring

Ebullient with creative energy, Feels his pure breast with rapturous joy possest,

Inebriate in the holy ecstasy!

First in the spring thy leaves were seen,

Thou beauteous bush, so early green!. Soon ceased thy blossoms liule life of love.

O safer than Alcides-conquerd tree That grew the pride of that Hesperian grove

No Dragon does there need for thee With quintessential sting to work alarms,

And guard thy fruit so fine,

Thou vegetable Porcupine! And didst thou scratch thy tender arms,

O Jane! that I should dine!

When Betty's busy eye runs round the room, Woe to that nice geometry

if seen! But where is he whose broom

The earth shall clean!

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!

As abroad I took my early way,
Before the Cow from her resting place

Had risen up and left her trace
On the meadow, with dew so grey,
Saw / thee, thou busy, busy Bee.

Spider! of old thy flimsy webs were thought,

and 't was a likeness true,
To emblem laws in which the weak are caught,

But which the strong break through.
And if a victim in thy toils is ta'en,
Like some poor client is that wretched fly;
I'll warrant thee thou 'lt drain

His life-blood dry.
And is not thy weak work like human schemes

And care on earth employ'd ?
Such are young hopes and Love's delightful dreams

So easily destroyed !
So does the Statesman, whilst the Avengers sleep,
Self-deemd

secure,

his wiles in secret lay,
Soon shall Destruction sweep

His work away.
Thou busy labourer! one resemblauce more

Shall

yet the verse prolong, For, Spider, thou art, like the Poet, poor

Whom thou hast help'd in song. Both busily our needful food to win, We work, as Nature laught, with ceaseless pains, Thy bowels thou dost spin,

I spin my brains.

Thou wert working late, thou busy, busy Bee !

After the fall of the Cistus flower, When the Primrose of evening was ready to burst,

I heard thee last, as I saw thee first;

In the silence of the evening hour,
Heard I thee, thou busy, busy Bee.

Thou art a miser, thou busy, busy Bee !

Late and early at employ;

Still on thy golden stores jotent, Thy summer in heaping and hoarding is spent

What thy winter will never enjoy; Wise lesson this for me, thou busy, busy Bee !

The rage

Little dost thou think, thou busy, busy Bee!

What is the end of thy toil. When the latest flowers of the ivy are gone, And all thy work for the year is done,

Thy master comes for the spoil. Woe then for thee, thou busy, busy Bee !

1799

THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM.

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,

Her youth gird on the sword;

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 ller strength and arms and promised succours vain! His meacre cheek is pale and sunk,

Wild is his hollow eye,

Yet fearful its strong glance;
And who could bear the anger of his frown?

PROPHET of God! in vain thy lips

Proclaim the woe to come!

In vain thy warning voice Summon'd her rulers timely to repent! The Ethiop changes not his skin.

Impious and idiot still

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.

Weaver of snares, thou emblemest the ways

Of Satan, Sire of lies; Hell's huge black Spider, for mankind he lays

His toils, as thou for tlies.

And hark! the angry winds arise,

Old Ocean lieaves lois angry waves; The winds and waves against the invaders fight

To guard the sea-girt land.

And like a giant from his sleep

Ye saw when France awoke;
Ye saw the people burst their double chain,
And
ye had joy in Heaven!

1798.

THE HOLLY TREL.

Howling around his palace-towers

The Spanish Despot hears the storm; He thinks upou his navies far away,

And bouing doubts arise.

Long, over Biscay's boisterous surge

The watchman's aching eye shall strain! Long shall he gaze, but never winged bark Shall bear good tidings home.

1798.

ST BARTHOLOMEW'S DAY. The night is come, no fears disturb

The dreams of innocence;
They trust in kingly faith and kingly oaths,

They sleep,-alas! they sleep!
Go to the palace, wouldst thou know

How hideous night can be;
Eye is not closed in those accursed walls,

Nor heart al quiet there.

O READER! hast thou ever stood to see

The Holly Tree?
The eye that contemplates it well perceives

Its glossy leaves
Order'd by an intelligence so wise,
As might confound the Atheist's sophistries.
Below, a circling fence, its leaves are scen

Wrinkled and keen;
No grazing cattle through their prickly round

Can reach to wound;
But as they grow where nothing is to fear,
Smooth and unarm'd ihe poindess leaves appear.
I love to view these things with curious eyes,

And moralize:
And in this wisdom of the Holly Tree

Can emblems see
Wherewith perchance to make a pleasant rhyme,
One which may profil in the after-time.
Thus, though abroad perchance I might appear

larsh and austere, To those who on my leisure would intrude

Reserved and rude, Gentle at liome amid my friends I'd be Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree. And should my youtlı, as youth is apt, I know,

Some harshness show,
All vain asperities 1 day by day

Would wear away,
Till the smooth icmper of my age should be
Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree.

The Monarch from the window leans,

He listens to the night,
And with a horrible and cager hope

Awaits the midnight bell.

Oh he has hell within him now!

Goul, always art thou just! For innocence can never know such pangs

As pierce successful guilt.

He looks abroad, and all is still.

Hark!-now the midnight bell Sounds through the silence of the night alone,

And now ile signal-guu!

Thy hand is on liim, righteous God!

He bears the frantic shriek, He hears the glorying yells of massacre,

And he repents too late.

And as when all the summer trees are seca

So bright and green, The lolly leaves their fadeless hues display

Less brighit than they; But when the bare and wintry woods we see, What then so cheerful as the ilolly Tree? So serious should my youth appear among

The thoughtless throng,
So would I seem amid the

young
More grave than they,
That in my age as cheerful I might be
As the green winter of the Holly Tree.

He hears the murderer's savage shout,

He lears the groan of death ; In vain they fly, -soldiers defenceless now,

Women, old men, and babes.

and gay

Righteous and just art thou, O God!

For at his dying hour Those shrieks and groans re-echoed in his ear,

He heard that murderous yell!

1798.

They throng'd around his midnight couch,

The phantoms of the slain ! Il prey'd like poison on his powers of life!

Righteous art thou, O God!

THE EBB TIDE. Slowly thy tlowing lide Came in, Old Avon! scarcely did mine eyes, As watchfully I roam'd thy green-wood side,

Behold the gentle rise.

Spirits! who suffer'd at that hour

For freedom and for faith, Ye saw your country bent beneath the yoke,

Her faith and freedom crush'd!

With many a stroke and strong The labouring boatmen upward plied their oars, And yet the eye beheld them labouring long

Between thy winding shores.