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Poems by Hartley Coleridge

With a Memoir of his Life by his Brother. In Two Volumes
Coleridge, Hartley (1796-1849)

collapse sectionI. 
VOL. I
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POEMS.
  
DEDICATORY SONNET, TO S. T. COLERIDGE.
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SONNETS.
 I. 
I. TO A FRIEND.
 II. 
II. TO THE SAME.
 III. 
III. TO THE SAME.
 IV. 
IV.
 V. 
V.
 VI. 
VI.
 VII. 
VII.
  
VIII.
 IX. 
IX
 X. 
X.
 XI. 
XI.
 XII. 
XII.
 XIII. 
XIII.
 XIV. 
XIV. On a Picture of the Corpse of Napoleon lying in State.
 XV. 
XV. TO WORDSWORTH.
 XVI. 
XVI. NOVEMBER.
 XVII. 
XVII On parting with a very pretty, but very little Lady.
 XVIII. 
XVIII. NIGHT.
 XIX. 
XIX. THE FIRST BIRTH DAY.
 XX. 
XX.
 XXI. 
XXI.
 XXII. 
XXII.
 XXIII. 
XXIII.
 XXIV. 
XXIV.
 XXV. 
XXV. FROM COUNTRY TO TOWN.
 XXVI. 
XXVI. CONTINUED.
 XXVII. 
XXVII.
 XXVIII. 
XXVIII. TO SHAKSPEARE.
 XXIX. 
XXIX.
 XXX. 
XXX.
 XXXI. 
XXXI.
 XXXII. 
XXXII. FROM PETRARCA.
 XXXIII. 
XXXIII.
 XXXIV. 
XXXIV. TO A LOFTY BEAUTY, FROM HER POOR KINSMAN.
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THOUGHTS AND FANCIES.
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VOL. II.

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370

PRIVILEGES.

Good is it to be born in Christian land,
Within the hearing of sweet Sabbath bells,
To con our letters in the book that tells
How God vouchsafed His creatures to command.
How once He led His chosen by the hand,
Presenting to their young and opening sense
Such pictures of His dread Omnipotence,
We all could see, though none might understand.
Oh! good it is to dwell with Christian folk,
Where even the blind may see, the deaf may hear,
The words that Paul hath wrote, that Jesus spoke,
By book or preacher shown to eye or ear,
Where Gospel truth is rife as song of birds—
“Familiar in our ears as household words.”
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