 | Poems (1797) |  |
152
“I wrap me in the mantle of distress,
And tell my poor heart this is happiness.”
Bowles.
And tell my poor heart this is happiness.”
Bowles.
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THE MELANCHOLY MAN.
I
What means this tumult of thy soul,Those feelings words could ne'er define;
Those languid eyes that vacant roll,
Those cherish'd thoughts that inly pine?
Why dost thou wildly love to stray
Where dimly gleams the doubtful day,
And all-unconscious muse with pensive pace?
Or why in lorn dejected mood
Bend o'er the melancholy flood,
And with unmeaning gaze the heedless current trace?
II
Ah! why, thou poor, distracted thing!Those muttered accents, broken, low;
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From unintelligible woe?
Why does the rose that deck'd thy cheek
Pal'd o'er with care, no more bespeak
The lovely flush of life's luxuriant morn?
Or o'er thy shrunk, ambiguous face
Bereft of youth's untutor'd grace
Thy locks all wildly hang, neglected and forlorn?
III
Should eve's meek star with paly eyePeep lonely o'er the mountain's head,
While on the blue translucent sky
Some feathery clouds are lightly spread;
Why wilt thou seek the rushy heath,
And listen as the gale's low breath
Murmurs forlorn the moss-clad waste along?
When from the white-thorn's blossom'd spray
The red-breast sings his latest lay,
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IV
Why does the tear unbidden start,And why those sighs that wildly swell?
Why flutters thy tumultuous heart,
Thy looks unspoken feelings tell,
If chance beneath thy devious feet
Thou see'st the lover's last retreat,
The cold and unblest grave of pale despair?
Why dost thou drop a feeling tear
Upon the flowret lurking near,
And bid it ever droop, a meek memento there?
V
Why with unwonted longings yearnO'er this, the last resource of man,
And with mysterious envy turn
Thy only shelter, Worth! to scan?
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When April sheds her chilly dew,
Bend o'er the spot, ere peeps the weeping day?
When Eve's unrealizing gleam
Confounds the gaze in visual dream,
Why dost thou love to hear the curfew die away?
VI
Where (monument of past delight,And truer type of joy's brief reign)
The Ruin gleams, and dim Affright
Shivers the homeward-plodding swain;
Why dost thou love alone to tread
Fragments with ivy overspread,
And mark the grey-tower half enshrin'd in trees;
Or listen, as in vaults beneath
From viewless forms deep murmurs breathe,
And sighs on mossy walls the melancholy breeze?
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VII
Why dost thou loiter on the beachWhere rippling dies the bright-blue wave,
And often with fantastic speech
To the deaf ocean idly rave?
Why dost thou bid the billow bear
Thy frame unnerv'd by fancied care
To realms more pure, where genial souls inspire?
Why dost thou view the little skiff,
Which flutters near the frowning cliff,
With many an “aching wish” and impotent desire?
VIII
When in the crowded walks of men,'Mid festive scenes thou'rt doom'd to mix,
Why on some distant lonely glen
Thy ill-attuned spirit fix?
Why dost thou spurn alluring mirth,
And bend unconscious to the earth,
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Why dost thou frown on every sport,
And curse indignant those that court
The motley phantom Joy, on Folly's tinsel throne?
IX
And wherefore, when the trump of fameInflames the soul to glory's deed,
Such deed with cynic sternness blame,
And quaintly mock th' ephemeral meed?
Why now with misanthropic eye
The springs of action keenly try
Through the pure medium of eternal truth?
Now rais'd above this nether sphere
A mere spectator, judge severe,
Nor chill'd by fears of age, nor warm'd by hopes of youth?
X
Is it because each tie is goneThat bound thee to this fragile state?
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No friend to love!—no foe to hate?
Has keen affection often brought
The pleasures of a tender thought,
And is such thought for ever now bereft?
Say, hast thou felt an ardent flame
Which not eternity could tame,
And are its joys expir'd, and all its vigour left?
XI
Has fancy to thy madden'd gazeDisplay'd th' elysian dells of bliss,
Say, did her secret wonders raise
A wish for happier worlds than this?
And is the wanton faery flown,
And left thee chill'd to conscious stone,
At this cold prospect of unmeaning care?
And is Hope's lustre fled afar,
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Gleams one congenial ray, repellent of despair?
XII
Is it that thou didst love mankindWith ardour warm as angels feel;
And did they spurn thy generous mind,
And wanton wound—nor wish to heal?
—If causes dark as these have wrought
The puzzling wreck of splendid thought,
I weep!—and meekly turn from this low earth;
Yet sometimes muse, why miscreants bloom,
While Sorrow's bleak untimely gloom
Blights, ere his powers expand, the trembling child of Worth!
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THE MANIAC.
Those gestures so wild and forlorn,
Those looks uninform'd by the soul,
Those laughters of objectless scorn,
Those eye-balls that vacantly roll,
Those looks uninform'd by the soul,
Those laughters of objectless scorn,
Those eye-balls that vacantly roll,
Those garments that negligent hang,
That pace so unequal and slow—
They tell of a past-suffer'd pang,
Yet of feelings now callous to woe!
That pace so unequal and slow—
They tell of a past-suffer'd pang,
Yet of feelings now callous to woe!
Those sighs that so piteously swell
Heave a breast all unconscious of strife!
Those tears that unwittingly fell
They drain not the sluices of life!
Heave a breast all unconscious of strife!
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They drain not the sluices of life!
That bosom exposed and bare
It solicits the pitiless blast!
That form unprotected by care
On the cold earth is heedlessly cast!
It solicits the pitiless blast!
That form unprotected by care
On the cold earth is heedlessly cast!
Yet that form so neglected and wan
Which no friend shall assiduously nurse,
It forgets that its title—is Man!
And cancels Humanity's curse!
Which no friend shall assiduously nurse,
It forgets that its title—is Man!
And cancels Humanity's curse!
Poor Maniac, I envy thy state
When with sorrow and anguish I shrink;
When shall I be wise—and forget!
For 'tis madness to feel and to think!
When with sorrow and anguish I shrink;
When shall I be wise—and forget!
For 'tis madness to feel and to think!
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These throbs of emotion 'tis true
They appear all enchanting and fair;
But how soon shall we piteously rue
That the charm was in league with despair.
They appear all enchanting and fair;
But how soon shall we piteously rue
That the charm was in league with despair.
And Hope, that disease of the mind,
Which wakes the keen throb of desire,
Alas! what a blank shall it find
When its fondly-shap'd transports expire!
Which wakes the keen throb of desire,
Alas! what a blank shall it find
When its fondly-shap'd transports expire!
What a blank shall it find!—When in Youth
The credulous feelings can bless,
We wish, and imagine it truth,
We dream, and believe we possess.
The credulous feelings can bless,
We wish, and imagine it truth,
We dream, and believe we possess.
But the tears that voluptuously start,
The charm of th' unspeakable sigh,
The rapture that seizes the heart
When a kindred companion is nigh,
The charm of th' unspeakable sigh,
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When a kindred companion is nigh,
The immortal aspirings of worth,
Are feelings all fruitlessly given!
These feelings must perish on earth!
And they scarcely are fabled in heaven!
Are feelings all fruitlessly given!
These feelings must perish on earth!
And they scarcely are fabled in heaven!
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LINES ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.
The languid notes of lonesome bird
From yonder coppice sweetly wind,
And thro' the scene are faintly heard
Sounds that are silence to the mind.
From yonder coppice sweetly wind,
And thro' the scene are faintly heard
Sounds that are silence to the mind.
As slow my devious feet advance
Thro' Eve's unrealizing gloom,
Mine eyes peruse with eager glance
An Infant's solitary tomb.
Thro' Eve's unrealizing gloom,
Mine eyes peruse with eager glance
An Infant's solitary tomb.
'Tis simple! yet the green sod here
That seems to court no stranger's eye,
Than marble claims a tenderer tear,
Than sculpture moves a softer sigh!
That seems to court no stranger's eye,
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Than sculpture moves a softer sigh!
A lonely primrose lifts its head,
And here and there pale violets peep,
And if no venal tears are shed
The dews from many a daisy weep.
And here and there pale violets peep,
And if no venal tears are shed
The dews from many a daisy weep.
And Pity here is often seen
To prompt the nameless pilgrim's sighs,
For Pity loves to haunt the scene
Where Grief is stript of Art's disguise.
To prompt the nameless pilgrim's sighs,
For Pity loves to haunt the scene
Where Grief is stript of Art's disguise.
Farewell sweet spot! my soul I feel
Entranc'd in sorrow's softest mood,
These pensive shades that o'er me steal
They shall not lightly be withstood.
Entranc'd in sorrow's softest mood,
These pensive shades that o'er me steal
They shall not lightly be withstood.
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Sonnets.
169
SONNET III. To NOVEMBER.
Dismal November! me it soothes to viewAt parting day, the scanty foliage fall
From the wet fruit tree; or the grey stone wall
Whose cold films glisten with unwholesome dew;
To watch the sweepy mists from the dank earth
Enfold the neighbouring copse; while, as they pass,
The silent rain-drop bends the long rank grass,
Which wraps some blossom's unmatured birth.
And thro' my Cot's lone lattice glimmering grey
Thy damp chill evenings have a charm for me,
Dismal November! for strange vacancy
Summoneth then my very heart away!
'Till from mist-hidden spire comes the slow knell
And says, that in the still air Death doth dwell!
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SONNET IV. To a FRIEND.
Congiunte eran gl' alberghi,
Ma più congiunti i cori:
Conforme era l'etate,
Ma'l pensier più conforme.
Ma più congiunti i cori:
Conforme era l'etate,
Ma'l pensier più conforme.
Oft when I sit me down musing on those
Whom I should love in a low cot to greet;
Whose quiet spirits make retirement sweet,
And simple souls: Fancy, my Thomas! goes
To thee most cheerily; for kindliness,
Yea, all that my heart seeks for, when I bend
O'er the warm hearth imagining a Friend,
Endear Thee to me! Yet Thou wilt not bless
The healthsome board of meek equality!
Still when my heart is fullest, and I brood
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Thy name with feelings not to be withstood
Shall tremble on my tongue; and I will send
Many kind wishes to my purest friend!
174
SONNET V.
[I had been sad, and droop'd like one forlorn]
I had been sad, and droop'd like one forlorn,When, as it might befall, I threw mine eye
Athwart the sunny plain; a breeze past by
Pure and inspiriting, as newly born,
The viewless messenger of some far glen!
It breath'd methought faint tones of distant peace!
Sighing I turn'd me from the haunts of men,
And bodied forth some dell, where care might cease
I gaz'd (a lone tear stealing down my cheek)
And wish'd that I knew One whom I could throw
Mine arms around, and snatching Her from woe
Yield Her my heart; and in some simple cell
Where I might win the solace of the meek,
Pray for the hard world where I once did dwell!
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SONNET VI.
[When witching evening wove her shadows dim]
When witching evening wove her shadows dim,Those big-swoln broodings oft I sought to wake
Which made my lone-heart fancifully ache;
And wayward tears unnotic'd still would swim
Filling each “idle orb!” And I have lov'd
This mystic transport; me the wildering hour
Sooth'd; and dim-vested Silence seem'd to pour
Balm, such as might befit a wretch that rov'd
Sicklied with thought. Nor was not this my lot!
Now was I maz'd with strange perplexities,
And now to my tranc'd spright such dreams would rise
That when I wak'd, I wept “to find them not!”
Wept that stern Reason chaced with blasting eye
The feverish mind's fantastic imagery!
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SONNET VII.
['Twere well methinks in an indignant mood]
'Twere well methinks in an indignant mood,When the heart droops unfriended, when mankind
With their cold smiles have dup'd thy honest mind,
On the wet heath to stray, while dimly brood
The gather'd grey-mists on the distant hill:
Drear should the prospect be, dreary and wide,
No second living one be there espied,
None save thyself; then would thy soul be still,
Curbing its sorrows with a proud despair!
Then would'st thou tread thy path with firmer pace,
Nor let one scowl on thy resolved face
Blab to the elements thy puny care,
But sooth'd to think, that solitude can bless,
Muse on the world with lofty quietness.
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LINES Addressed to S. T. COLERIDGE.
My Coleridge! oft I muse upon the cot
To which our footsteps bend; I envy not
The enrobed son of wealth, the heir of fame,
Or the more happy youth whose ardent flame
The yielding maid returns, when I can dwell
On the pure pleasures of our simple cell!
For tho' mine eye with no keen rapture swim,
Nor fervent Passion thrill each nerveless limb,
Yet I shall love where love alone can bless,
And learn to steep mine heart in quietness;
Shall taste the sweetness of a temperate choice,
And list, Oh Conscience! thy most healing voice,
Which steals to him who sanctifies his lot,
Whispering meek comforts that the earth owns not!
Where from the beaten pathway to recede
Reason had taught, Folly's fantastic weed
To rend indignant, and the impassion'd swell
Of Pleasure's voice (bidding the bosom dwell
On softest themes) to scorn with deafen'd ear—
Where I this perform'd—yet dropt a tear!
I now shall gird me cheerily to part
From these disarmed tempters of the heart!
For Truth might e'en the coldest breast surprise
Wafted in Friendship's gentle melodies.
To which our footsteps bend; I envy not
The enrobed son of wealth, the heir of fame,
Or the more happy youth whose ardent flame
The yielding maid returns, when I can dwell
On the pure pleasures of our simple cell!
For tho' mine eye with no keen rapture swim,
Nor fervent Passion thrill each nerveless limb,
Yet I shall love where love alone can bless,
And learn to steep mine heart in quietness;
Shall taste the sweetness of a temperate choice,
And list, Oh Conscience! thy most healing voice,
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Whispering meek comforts that the earth owns not!
Where from the beaten pathway to recede
Reason had taught, Folly's fantastic weed
To rend indignant, and the impassion'd swell
Of Pleasure's voice (bidding the bosom dwell
On softest themes) to scorn with deafen'd ear—
Where I this perform'd—yet dropt a tear!
I now shall gird me cheerily to part
From these disarmed tempters of the heart!
For Truth might e'en the coldest breast surprise
Wafted in Friendship's gentle melodies.
I well remember when (on life afar
Seen like the radiance of a trembling star
Thro' eve's grey dimness) I was wont to fly
To weak similitudes of extasy!
When I did bring howe'er the scene were bleak
The deep-wrought burnings to mine eager cheek
Dwelling on Passion's most convulsed thrill;
And shap'd each object with a wayward skill,
Till I had given strange potency to bless
E'en to the dismal uncouth wilderness!
I found a tongue in every passing wind:
The mist that swept along to my full mind
Was dimly character'd, and seem'd to bring
Mysterious portents on its silent wing.
But all is fled! My dreams have had their scope!
I seek for Comfort on the grave of Hope!
Seen like the radiance of a trembling star
Thro' eve's grey dimness) I was wont to fly
To weak similitudes of extasy!
When I did bring howe'er the scene were bleak
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Dwelling on Passion's most convulsed thrill;
And shap'd each object with a wayward skill,
Till I had given strange potency to bless
E'en to the dismal uncouth wilderness!
I found a tongue in every passing wind:
The mist that swept along to my full mind
Was dimly character'd, and seem'd to bring
Mysterious portents on its silent wing.
But all is fled! My dreams have had their scope!
I seek for Comfort on the grave of Hope!
My Coleridge! take the wanderer to thy breast,
The youth who loves thee, and who faint would rest
(Oft rack'd by hopes that frensy and expire)
In the long sabbath of subdued desire!
The youth who loves thee, and who faint would rest
(Oft rack'd by hopes that frensy and expire)
In the long sabbath of subdued desire!
| Poems (1797) | |