That shrinking back, like one that had
mistook!
Coleridge - Poems
not one of all that shining swarm
Will breathe on _thee_ with life-enkindling breath,
Till when, like strangers shelt'ring from a storm,
Hope and Despair meet in the porch of Death!
Yet still thou haunt'st me; and though well I see,
She is not thou, and only thou art she,
Still, still as though some dear _embodied_ Good,
Some _living_ Love before my eyes there stood
With answering look a ready ear to lend,
I mourn to thee and say--"Ah! loveliest friend!
That this the meed of all my toils might be,
To have a home, an English home, and thee! "
Vain repetition! Home and Thou are one.
The peacefull'st cot, the moon shall shine upon,
Lulled by the thrush and wakened by the lark,
Without thee were but a becalmed bark,
Whose helmsman on an ocean waste and wide
Sits mute and pale his mouldering helm beside.
And art thou nothing? Such thou art, as when
The woodman winding westward up the glen
At wintry dawn, where o'er the sheep-track's maze
The viewless snow-mist weaves a glist'ning haze,
Sees full before him, gliding without tread,
An image with a glory round its head;
The enamoured rustic worships its fair hues,
Nor knows he _makes_ the shadow, he pursues!
? 1805.
PHANTOM OR FACT
A DIALOGUE IN VERSE
AUTHOR
A Lovely form there sate beside my bed,
And such a feeding calm its presence shed,
A tender love so pure from earthly leaven,
That I unnethe the fancy might control,
'Twas my own spirit newly come from heaven,
Wooing its gentle way into my soul!
But ah! the change--It had not stirr'd, and yet--
Alas! that change how fain would I forget!
That shrinking back, like one that had mistook!
That weary, wandering, disavowing look!
'Twas all another, feature, look, and frame,
And still, methought, I knew, it was the same!
FRIEND
This riddling tale, to what does it belong?
Is't history? vision? or an idle song?
Or rather say at once, within what space
Of time this wild disastrous change took place?
AUTHOR
Call it a _moment's_ work (and such it seems)
This tale's a fragment from the life of dreams;
But say, that years matur'd the silent strife,
And 'tis a record from the dream of life.
? 183O.
LINES
SUGGESTED BY THE LAST WORDS OF BERENGARIUS
OB. ANNO DOM. 1O88
No more 'twixt conscience staggering and the Pope
Soon shall I now before my God appear,
By him to be acquitted, as I hope;
By him to be condemned, as I fear. --
REFLECTION ON THE ABOVE
Lynx amid moles! had I stood by thy bed,
Be of good cheer, meek soul!
Will breathe on _thee_ with life-enkindling breath,
Till when, like strangers shelt'ring from a storm,
Hope and Despair meet in the porch of Death!
Yet still thou haunt'st me; and though well I see,
She is not thou, and only thou art she,
Still, still as though some dear _embodied_ Good,
Some _living_ Love before my eyes there stood
With answering look a ready ear to lend,
I mourn to thee and say--"Ah! loveliest friend!
That this the meed of all my toils might be,
To have a home, an English home, and thee! "
Vain repetition! Home and Thou are one.
The peacefull'st cot, the moon shall shine upon,
Lulled by the thrush and wakened by the lark,
Without thee were but a becalmed bark,
Whose helmsman on an ocean waste and wide
Sits mute and pale his mouldering helm beside.
And art thou nothing? Such thou art, as when
The woodman winding westward up the glen
At wintry dawn, where o'er the sheep-track's maze
The viewless snow-mist weaves a glist'ning haze,
Sees full before him, gliding without tread,
An image with a glory round its head;
The enamoured rustic worships its fair hues,
Nor knows he _makes_ the shadow, he pursues!
? 1805.
PHANTOM OR FACT
A DIALOGUE IN VERSE
AUTHOR
A Lovely form there sate beside my bed,
And such a feeding calm its presence shed,
A tender love so pure from earthly leaven,
That I unnethe the fancy might control,
'Twas my own spirit newly come from heaven,
Wooing its gentle way into my soul!
But ah! the change--It had not stirr'd, and yet--
Alas! that change how fain would I forget!
That shrinking back, like one that had mistook!
That weary, wandering, disavowing look!
'Twas all another, feature, look, and frame,
And still, methought, I knew, it was the same!
FRIEND
This riddling tale, to what does it belong?
Is't history? vision? or an idle song?
Or rather say at once, within what space
Of time this wild disastrous change took place?
AUTHOR
Call it a _moment's_ work (and such it seems)
This tale's a fragment from the life of dreams;
But say, that years matur'd the silent strife,
And 'tis a record from the dream of life.
? 183O.
LINES
SUGGESTED BY THE LAST WORDS OF BERENGARIUS
OB. ANNO DOM. 1O88
No more 'twixt conscience staggering and the Pope
Soon shall I now before my God appear,
By him to be acquitted, as I hope;
By him to be condemned, as I fear. --
REFLECTION ON THE ABOVE
Lynx amid moles! had I stood by thy bed,
Be of good cheer, meek soul!
