[1023:1] First published in The Watchman, No. V, April 2, 1796: reprinted in Note 39 (p. 566) of P. W., 1892. The Editor (J. D. Campbell) points out that this poem as printed in The Watchman is made up of lines 71-86 of Lines on an Autumnal Evening (vide ante, p. 53), of lines 2-11 of Sonnet to the River Otter, and of lines 13, 14 of The Gentle Look, and Anna and Harland.
C
THE DESTINY OF NATIONS
[Add. (MSS.) 34,225. f. 5. Vide ante, p. 131.]
[Draft I]
Till we the deep prelusive strain have pour'd
To the Great Father, only Rightful King,
Eternal Father! king omnipotent;
Beneath whose shadowing banners wide-unfurl'd 5
Justice leads forth her tyrant-quelling Hosts.
Such Symphony demands best Instrument.
The harp which hanging high between the shields
Of Brutus and Leonidas, oft gives 10
A fitful music, when with breeze-like Touch
Great Spirits passing thrill its wings: the Bard
Listens and knows, thy will to work by Fame.
For what is Freedom, but the unfetter'd use
Of all the powers which God for use had given? 15
But chiefly this, him first to view, him last,
Thro' shapes, and sounds, and all the world of sense,
The change of empires, and the deeds of Man
Translucent, as thro' clouds that veil the Light.
But most, O Man! in thine in wasted Sense 20
And the still growth of Immortality
[1025] Image of God, and his Eternity.
But some there are who deem themselves most wise
When they within this gross and visible sphere
Chain down the winged thought, scoffing ascent 25
Proud in their meanness—and themselves they mock
With noisy emptiness of learned phrase
Their subtle fluids, impacts, essences,
Self-working tools, uncaused effects, and all
Those blind Omniscients, those Almighty Slaves, 30
Untenanting Creation of its God!
(If Mass there be, at best a guess obscure,)
Acts only by its inactivity.
Here we pause humbly. Others boldlier dream, 35
That as one body is the Aggregate
Of Atoms numberless, each organiz'd,
So by a strange and dim similitude
Infinite myriads of self-conscious minds
Form one all-conscious Spirit, who controlls 40
With absolute ubiquity of Thought
All his component Monads: linked Minds,
Each in his own sphere evermore evolving
Its own entrusted powers—Howe'er this be,
Whether a dream presumptious, caught from earth 45
And earthly form, or vision veiling Truth,
Yet the Omnific Father of all Worlds
God in God immanent, the eternal Word,
That gives forth, yet remains—Sun, that at once
Dawns, rises, sets and crowns the Height of Heaven, 50
Great general Agent in all finite souls,
Doth in that action put on finiteness,
For all his Thoughts are acts, and every act
A Being of Substance; God impersonal,
Yet in all worlds impersonate in all, 55
Absolute Infinite, whose dazzling robe
Flows in rich folds, and darts in shooting Hues
Of infinite Finiteness! he rolls each orb
Matures each planet, and Tree, and spread thro' all
Wields all the Universe of Life and Thought, 60
[Yet leaves to all the Creatures meanest, highest,
Angelic Right, self-conscious Agency—]
[Note. The last two lines of Draft I are erased.]
[Draft II]
Ere we the deep prelusive strain have pour'd
To the Great Father, only Rightful king
All-gracious Father, king Omnipotent!
Mind! co-eternal Word! forth-breathing Sound! 5
Aye unconfounded: undivided Trine—
Birth and Procession; ever re-incircling Act!
God in God immanent, distinct yet one!
Omnific, Omniform. The Immoveable,
That goes forth and remains, eke——and at once 10
Dawns, rises, and sets and crowns the height of Heaven!
[Cf. Anima Poetæ, 1895, p. 162.]
Seize then, my soul! from Freedom's trophied dome.
The harp which hanging high between the shields
Of Brutus and Leonidas, gives oft 15
A fateful Music, when with breeze-like Touch
Pure spirits thrill its strings: the Poet's heart
Listens, and smiling knows that Poets demand
Once more to live for Man and work by Fame:
For what is Freedom, but th' unfetter'd use 20
Of all the Powers, which God for use had given!
Thro' the sweet Influence of harmonious Word——
| * * * * * | |||
| The zephyr-travell'd Harp, that flashes forth Jets and low wooings of wild melody That sally forth and seek the meeting Ear, 25 Then start away, half-wanton, half-afraid Like the red-breast forced by wintry snows, In the first visits by the genial Hearth, From the fair Hand, that tempts it to— Or like a course of flame, from the deep sigh 30 Of the idly-musing Lover dreaming of his Love |
|||
| With thoughts and hopes and fears, |
|
sinking, snatching, as warily, upward |
|
| Bending, recoiling, fluttering as itself | |||
| * * * * * | |||
LINENOTES:
i. e. jure suo, by any inherent Right.
[Draft III]
Till we the deep prelusive strain have pour'd
To the Great Father, only Rightful king,
All Gracious Father, king Omnipotent!
To Him, the inseparate, unconfounded Trine, 5
Mind! Co-eternal Word! Forth-breathing Sound!
Birth! and Procession! Ever-circling Act!
GOD in GOD immanent, distinct yet one!
Sole Rest, true Substance of all finite Being!
Omnific! Omniform! The Immoveable, 10
That goes forth and remaineth: and at once
Dawns, rises, sets and crowns the height of Heaven!
Seize then, my Soul! from Freedom's trophied dome
The Harp, that hanging high between the Shields 15
Of Brutus and Leonidas, flashes forth
Starts of shrill-music, when with breeze-like Touch
Departed Patriots thrill the——
D
Passages in Southey's Joan of Arc (First Edition, 1796)
contributed by S. T. Coleridge[1027:1].
[Vide ante, p. 131]
Book I, ll. 33-51.
When soft as breeze that curls the summer clouds
At close of day, stole on his ear a voice 35
Seraphic.
"Son of Orleans! grieve no more.
His eye not slept, tho' long the All-just endured
[1028] The woes of France; at length his bar'd right arm
Volleys red thunder. From his veiling clouds
Rushes the storm, Ruin and Fear and Death. 40
Take Son of Orleans the relief of Heaven:
Nor thou the wintry hours of adverse fate
Dream useless: tho' unhous'd thou roam awhile,
The keen and icy wind that shivers thee
Shall brace thine arm, and with stern discipline 45
Firm thy strong heart for fearless enterprise
As who, through many a summer night serene
Had hover'd round the fold with coward wish;
Horrid with brumal ice, the fiercer wolf
From his bleak mountain and his den of snows 50
Leaps terrible and mocks the shepherd's spears."
ll. 57-59.
Erictho mingled on Pharsalia's field,
Making the soul retenant its cold corse.
ll. 220-222.
Gave their mild echoes to the choral songs
Of new-born beings.—
ll. 267-280.
He dried; mindful of fertile fields laid waste,
Dispeopled hamlets, the lorn widow's groan,
And the pale orphan's feeble cry for bread. 270
But when he told of those fierce sons of guilt
That o'er this earth which God had fram'd so fair—
Spread desolation, and its wood-crown'd hills
Make echo to the merciless war-dog's howl;
And how himself from such foul savagery 275
Had scarce escap'd with life, then his stretch'd arm
Seem'd, as it wielded the resistless sword
Of Vengeance: in his eager eye the soul
Was eloquent; warm glow'd his manly cheek;
And beat against his side the indignant heart. 280
From a dark lowering cloud, the womb of tempests, 455
A giant arm burst forth and dropt a sword
That pierc'd like lightning thro' the midnight air.
Then was there heard a voice, which in mine ear
Shall echo, at that hour of dreadful joy
When the pale foe shall wither in my rage. 460
ll. 484-496[1029:1]
Down in the dingle's depth there is a brook 485
That makes its way between the craggy stones,
Murmuring hoarse murmurs. On an aged oak
Whose root uptorn by tempests overhangs
The stream, I sat, and mark'd the deep red clouds
Gather before the wind, while the rude dash 490
Of waters rock'd my senses, and the mists
Rose round: there as I gazed, a form dim-seen
Descended, like the dark and moving clouds
That in the moonbeam change their shadowy shapes.
His voice was on the breeze; he bade me hail 495
The missioned Maid! for lo! the hour was come.
Book III, ll. 73-82.
Wept by the good ye fell! Yet still survives
Sow'd by your toil and by your blood manur'd 75
Th' imperishable seed, soon to become
The Tree, beneath whose vast and mighty shade
The sons of men shall pitch their tents in peace,
And in the unity of truth preserve
The bond of love. For by the eye of God 80
Hath Virtue sworn, that never one good act
Was work'd in vain.
Book IV, ll. 328-336.
Lull'd her, and many a pensive pleasing dream
Rose in sad shadowy trains at Memory's call. 330
She thought of Arc, and of the dingled brook,
[1030] Whose waves oft leaping on their craggy course
Made dance the low-hung willow's dripping twigs;
And where it spread into a glassy lake,
Of the old oak which on the smooth expanse, 335
Imag'd its hoary mossy-mantled boughs.
FOOTNOTES:
[1027:1] Over and above the contributions to the Second Book of the Joan of Arc, which Southey acknowledged, and which were afterwards embodied in the Destiny of Nations, Coleridge claimed a number of passages in Books I, III, and IV. The passages are marked by S. T. C. in an annotated copy of the First Edition 4o, at one time the property of Coleridge's friend W. Hood of Bristol, and afterwards of John Taylor Brown. See North British Review, January, 1864.
[1029:1] Suggested and in part written by S. T. C.
LINENOTES:
not slept] slept not MS. corr. by Southey.
red] S. T. C. notes this word as Southey's.
Firm] S. T. C. writes against this word Not English.
E
[Vide ante, p. 186.]
THE RIME OF THE ANCYENT MARINERE,[1030:1] IN SEVEN PARTS.
ARGUMENT
How a Ship having passed the Line was driven by Storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole; and how from thence she made her course to the Tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific Ocean; and of the strange things that befell; and in what manner the Ancyent Marinere came back to his own Country.
I.
And he stoppeth one of three:
"By thy long grey beard and thy glittering eye
"Now wherefore stoppest me?
"And I am next of kin;
"The Guests are met, the Feast is set,—
"May'st hear the merry din.
There was a Ship, quoth he— 10
"Nay, if thou'st got a laughsome tale,
"Marinere! come with me."
Quoth he, there was a Ship—
"Now get thee hence, thou grey-beard Loon! 15
"Or my Staff shall make thee skip.
The wedding guest stood still
And listens like a three year's child;
The Marinere hath his will. 20
He cannot chuse but hear:
And thus spake on that ancyent man,
The bright-eyed Marinere.
Merrily did we drop
Below the Kirk, below the Hill,
Below the Light-house top.
Out of the Sea came he: 30
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the Sea.
Till over the mast at noon—
The wedding-guest here beat his breast, 35
For he heard the loud bassoon.
Red as a rose is she;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry Minstralsy. 40
Yet he cannot chuse but hear:
And thus spake on that ancyent Man,
The bright-eyed Marinere.
A Wind and Tempest strong!
For days and weeks it play'd us freaks—
Like Chaff we drove along.
And it grew wond'rous cauld: 50
And Ice mast-high came floating by
As green as Emerauld.
Did send a dismal sheen;
Ne shapes of men ne beasts we ken— 55
The Ice was all between.
The Ice was all around:
It crack'd and growl'd, and roar'd and howl'd—
Like noises of a swound. 60
Thorough the Fog it came;
And an it were a Christian Soul,
We hail'd it in God's name.
And round and round it flew:
The Ice did split with a Thunder-fit,
The Helmsman steer'd us thro'.
The Albatross did follow; 70
And every day for food or play
Came to the Marinere's hollo!
It perch'd for vespers nine,
Whiles all the night thro' fog smoke-white, 75
Glimmer'd the white moon-shine.
"From the fiends that plague thee thus—
"Why look'st thou so?"—with my cross bow
I shot the Albatross. 80
II.
Out of the Sea came he;
And broad as a weft upon the left
Went down into the Sea.
But no sweet Bird did follow
Ne any day for food or play
Came to the Marinere's hollo!
And it would work 'em woe: 90
For all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird
That made the Breeze to blow.
The glorious Sun uprist:
Then all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird 95
That brought the fog and mist.
'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay
That bring the fog and mist.
The furrow follow'd free: 100
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent Sea.
'Twas sad as sad could be
And we did speak only to break 105
The silence of the Sea.
The bloody sun at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the moon. 110
We stuck, ne breath ne motion.
As idle as a painted Ship
Upon a painted Ocean.
And all the boards did shrink:
Water, water, everywhere,
Ne any drop to drink.
That ever this should be! 120
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy Sea.
The Death-fires danc'd at night;
The water, like a witch's oils, 125
burnt green and blue and white.
Of the Spirit that plagued us so:
Nine fathom deep he had follow'd us
From the Land of Mist and Snow. 130
Was wither'd at the root;
We could not speak no more than if
We had been choked with soot.
Had I from old and young;
Instead of the Cross the Albatross
About my neck was hung.
III.
No bigger than my fist; 140
At first it seem'd a little speck
And then it seem'd a mist:
It mov'd and mov'd, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.
And still it ner'd and ner'd;
And, an it dodg'd a water-sprite,
It plung'd and tack'd and veer'd.
Ne could we laugh, ne wail: 150
Then while thro' drouth all dumb they stood
I bit my arm and suck'd the blood
And cry'd, A sail! a sail!
Agape they hear'd me call: 155
Gramercy! they for joy did grin
And all at once their breath drew in
As they were drinking all.
Hither to work us weal 160
Withouten wind, withouten tide
She steddies with upright keel.
The day was well nigh done!
Almost upon the western wave 165
Rested the broad bright Sun;
When that strange shape drove suddenly
Betwixt us and the Sun.
(Heaven's mother send us grace) 170
As if thro' a dungeon grate he peer'd
With broad and burning face.
How fast she neres and neres!
Are those her Sails that glance in the Sun 175
Like restless gossameres?
The sun that did behind them peer?
And are those two all, all the crew,
That woman and her fleshless Pheere? 180
All black and bare, I ween;
Jet-black and bare, save where with rust
Of mouldy damps and charnel crust
They're patch'd with purple and green. 185
Her locks are yellow as gold:
Her skin is as white as leprosy,
And she is far liker Death than he;
Her flesh makes the still air cold. 190
And the Twain were playing dice;
"The Game is done! I've won, I've won!"
Quoth she, and whistled thrice.
And whistled thro' his bones;
Thro' the holes of his eyes and the hole of his mouth
Half-whistles and half-groans.
Off darts the Spectre-ship; 200
While clombe above the Eastern bar
The horned Moon, with one bright Star
Almost atween the tips.
(Listen, O Stranger! to me) 205
Each turn'd his face with a ghastly pang
And curs'd me with his ee.
With never a sigh or groan,
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump 210
They dropp'd down one by one.
They fled to bliss or woe;
And every soul it pass'd me by,
Like the whiz of my Cross-bow. 215
IV.
"I fear thy skinny hand;
"And thou art long, and lank, and brown,
"As is the ribb'd Sea-sand.
"And thy skinny hand so brown—
Fear not, fear not, thou wedding guest!
This body dropt not down.
Alone on the wide wide Sea; 225
And Christ would take no pity on
My soul in agony.
And they all dead did lie!
And a million million slimy things 230
Liv'd on—and so did I.
And drew my eyes away;
I look'd upon the eldritch deck,
And there the dead men lay. 235
But or ever a prayer had gusht,
A wicked whisper came and made
My heart as dry as dust.
Till the balls like pulses beat;
For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky
Lay like a load on my weary eye,
And the dead were at my feet.
Ne rot, ne reek did they;
The look with which they look'd on me,
Had never pass'd away.
A spirit from on high: 250
But O! more horrible than that
Is the curse in a dead man's eye!
Seven days, seven nights I saw that curse,
And yet I could not die.
And no where did abide:
Softly she was going up
And a star or two beside—
Like morning frosts yspread; 260
But where the ship's huge shadow lay,
The charmed water burnt alway
A still and awful red.
I watch'd the water-snakes: 265
They mov'd in tracks of shining white;
And when they rear'd, the elfish light
Fell off in hoary flakes.
I watch'd their rich attire: 270
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black
They coil'd and swam; and every track
Was a flash of golden fire.
Their beauty might declare: 275
A spring of love gusht from my heart,
And I bless'd them unaware!
Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
And I bless'd them unaware.
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea.
V.
Belov'd from pole to pole! 285
To Mary-queen the praise be yeven
She sent the gentle sleep from heaven
That slid into my soul.
That had so long remain'd, 290
I dreamt that they were fill'd with dew
And when I awoke it rain'd.
My garments all were dank;
Sure I had drunken in my dreams 295
And still my body drank.
I was so light, almost
I thought that I had died in sleep,
And was a blessed Ghost. 300
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the sails
That were so thin and sere.
And a hundred fire-flags sheen
To and fro they are hurried about;
And to and fro, and in and out
The stars dance on between.
The sails do sigh, like sedge:
The rain pours down from one black cloud
And the Moon is at its edge.
And the Moon is at its side: 315
Like waters shot from some high crag,
The lightning falls with never a jag
A river steep and wide.
And dropp'd down, like a stone! 320
Beneath the lightning and the moon
The dead men gave a groan.
Ne spake, ne mov'd their eyes:
It had been strange, even in a dream 325
To have seen those dead men rise.
Yet never a breeze up-blew;
The Marineres all 'gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do: 330
They rais'd their limbs like lifeless tools—
We were a ghastly crew.
Stood by me knee to knee:
The body and I pull'd at one rope, 335
But he said nought to me—
And I quak'd to think of my own voice
How frightful it would be!
And cluster'd round the mast: 340
Sweet sounds rose slowly thro' their mouths
And from their bodies pass'd.
Then darted to the sun:
Slowly the sounds came back again 345
Now mix'd, now one by one.
I heard the Lavrock sing;
Sometimes all little birds that are
How they seem'd to fill the sea and air 350
With their sweet jargoning.
Now like a lonely flute;
And now it is an angel's song
That makes the heavens be mute. 355
A pleasant noise till noon,
A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping woods all night 360
Singeth a quiet tune.
"Marinere! thou hast thy will:
"For that, which comes out of thine eye, doth make
"My body and soul to be still." 365
To a man of woman born:
Sadder and wiser thou wedding-guest!
Thou'lt rise to-morrow morn.
By a man of woman born:
The Marineres all return'd to work
As silent as beforne.
But look at me they n'old: 375
Thought I, I am as thin as air—
They cannot me behold.
Yet never a breeze did breathe:
Slowly and smoothly went the ship 380
Mov'd onward from beneath.
From the land of mist and snow
The spirit slid: and it was He
That made the Ship to go. 385
The sails at noon left off their tune
And the Ship stood still also.
Had fix'd her to the ocean:
But in a minute she 'gan stir 390
With a short uneasy motion—
Backwards and forwards half her length
With a short uneasy motion.
She made a sudden bound: 395
It flung the blood into my head,
And I fell into a swound.
I have not to declare;
But ere my living life return'd, 400
I heard and in my soul discern'd
Two voices in the air,
"By him who died on cross,
"With his cruel bow he lay'd full low 405
"The harmless Albatross.
"In the land of mist and snow,
"He lov'd the bird that lov'd the man
"Who shot him with his bow. 410
As soft as honey-dew:
Quoth he the man hath penance done,
And penance more will do.
VI.
First Voice.