Part iii
. xliii. Inside of King's Chapel, Cambridge._
Or shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.
_To the Lady Fleming._
But hushed be every thought that springs From out the bitterness of things.
_Elegiac Stanzas. Addressed to Sir G. H. B._
To the solid ground Of Nature trusts the mind that builds for aye.
_A Volant Tribe of Bards on Earth._
Soft is the music that would charm forever; The flower of sweetest smell is shy and lowly.
_Not Love, not War._
True beauty dwells in deep retreats, Whose veil is unremoved Till heart with heart in concord beats, And the lover is beloved.
_To ----. Let other Bards of Angels sing._
Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.
_To a Skylark._
A Briton even in love should be A subject, not a slave!
_Ere with Cold Beads of Midnight Dew._
Scorn not the sonnet. Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honours; with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart.[485-1]
_Scorn not the Sonnet._
And when a damp Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet; whence he blew Soul-animating strains,--alas! too few.
_Scorn not the Sonnet._
But he is risen, a later star of dawn.
_A Morning Exercise._
Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark.
_A Morning Exercise._
When his veering gait And every motion of his starry train Seem governed by a strain Of music, audible to him alone.
_The Triad._
Alas! how little can a moment show Of an eye where feeling plays In ten thousand dewy rays: A face o'er which a thousand shadows go!
_The Triad._
Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.
_On the Power of Sound. xii._
The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.
_Presentiments._
Nature's old felicities.
_The Trosachs._
Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Have passed away; less happy than the one That by the unwilling ploughshare died to prove The tender charm of poetry and love.
_Poems composed during a Tour in the Summer of 1833. xxxvii._
Small service is true service while it lasts. Of humblest friends, bright creature! scorn not one: The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
_To a Child. Written in her Album._
Since every mortal power of Coleridge Was frozen at its marvellous source, The rapt one, of the godlike forehead, The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth: And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle, Has vanished from his lonely hearth.
_Extempore Effusion upon the Death of James Hogg._
How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land!
_Extempore Effusion upon the Death of James Hogg._
Those old credulities, to Nature dear, Shall they no longer bloom upon the stock Of history?
_Memorials of a Tour in Italy. iv._
How does the meadow-flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free Down to its root, and in that freedom bold.
_A Poet! He hath put his Heart to School._
Minds that have nothing to confer Find little to perceive.
_Yes, Thou art Fair._
FOOTNOTES:
[465-1] Coleridge said to Wordsworth ("Memoirs" by his nephew, vol. ii. p. 74), "Since Milton, I know of no poet with so many _felicities_ and unforgettable lines and stanzas as you."
[465-2] The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on a dim and perilous way!
_The Excursion, book iii ._
[468-1] The original edition (London, 1819, 8vo) had the following as the fourth stanza from the end of