 | Poems by Hartley Coleridge |  |
26
XXIV. ON READING THE MEMOIR OF MISS GRIZZLE BAILLIE.
Genius, what is't? A motion of the brain.And valour is the toughness of a nerve,
And the strong virtue that will never swerve
Is but the “lazy temperance” of a vein.
And what is pity but a twitching pain,
Seeking its own relief in pious acts?
Thus wisdom, seeking all things to explain,
Out of all good the soul of good detracts.
The simple woman that records the worth
Of the brave saints to whom she owed her birth,
Confutes a doctrine that she never knew.
For goodness, more than ever was perceived
By sense, or in the visible world achieved,
By might of mere believing, she makes true.
| Poems by Hartley Coleridge | |