Poems by Hartley Coleridge With a Memoir of his Life by his Brother. In Two Volumes |
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TO MY UNKNOWN SISTER-IN-LAW. |
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 | Poems by Hartley Coleridge |  |
TO MY UNKNOWN SISTER-IN-LAW.
Mary, our eyes are strangers, but our hearts
Are knit in active sympathy of love
For one, whom love of thee hath sanctified.
The lawless wanderings of his youthful thought
For thee he curbed—for thee assumed the yoke
Of humble duty—bade the world farewell,
With all its vanities of prose and rhyme—
The secular pride of startling eloquence,
The victory of wordy warfare—all
That charm'd his soul in academic bowers.
Are knit in active sympathy of love
For one, whom love of thee hath sanctified.
The lawless wanderings of his youthful thought
For thee he curbed—for thee assumed the yoke
Of humble duty—bade the world farewell,
With all its vanities of prose and rhyme—
The secular pride of startling eloquence,
The victory of wordy warfare—all
That charm'd his soul in academic bowers.
Not small the struggle and the sacrifice,
When men of many fancies, daring minds,
That for the substance and the form of truth
Delight to fathom their own bottomless deeps,
Submit to authorised creeds and positive laws—
Appointed rites and ceremonial duty—
And he, the pastor of a christian flock,
That is no hireling drudging at a task
Ungenial, nor intruder, bold and proud,
Unhallow'd, unanointed, self-inspired,
Of all men hath the greatest need of love,
To keep his thoughts, his hopes, his heart at home.—
If human speech have aught of holiness,
'Tis all comprised in three thrice-holy names
Of Father, Husband, Minister of Christ:—
Or if a holier title yet there be,
That name is Mother.
When men of many fancies, daring minds,
That for the substance and the form of truth
Delight to fathom their own bottomless deeps,
Submit to authorised creeds and positive laws—
Appointed rites and ceremonial duty—
115
That is no hireling drudging at a task
Ungenial, nor intruder, bold and proud,
Unhallow'd, unanointed, self-inspired,
Of all men hath the greatest need of love,
To keep his thoughts, his hopes, his heart at home.—
If human speech have aught of holiness,
'Tis all comprised in three thrice-holy names
Of Father, Husband, Minister of Christ:—
Or if a holier title yet there be,
That name is Mother.
Dearest sister, I
Am one of whom thou doubtless hast heard much—
Not always well.—My name too oft pronounced
With sighs, despondent sorrow, and reproach,
By lips that fain would praise, and ever bless me.
Yet deem not hardly of me: who best know
Most gently censure me,—and who believes
The dark inherent mystery of sin
Doubts not the will and potency of God
To change, invigorate, and purify
The self-condemning heart.
Am one of whom thou doubtless hast heard much—
Not always well.—My name too oft pronounced
With sighs, despondent sorrow, and reproach,
By lips that fain would praise, and ever bless me.
Yet deem not hardly of me: who best know
Most gently censure me,—and who believes
The dark inherent mystery of sin
Doubts not the will and potency of God
To change, invigorate, and purify
The self-condemning heart.
Good night:—e'en now
Perhaps thou art sleeping by my brother's side,
Or listening gladly to the soft, sweet breath
Of thy dear babe—while I must seek a couch
Lonely, and haunted much by visions strange,
And sore perplexity of roving dreams,
The spectres manifold of murdered hours:—
But yet, good night—good be the night to thee,
And bright the morrow:—Once again, good night.
Perhaps thou art sleeping by my brother's side,
Or listening gladly to the soft, sweet breath
Of thy dear babe—while I must seek a couch
Lonely, and haunted much by visions strange,
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The spectres manifold of murdered hours:—
But yet, good night—good be the night to thee,
And bright the morrow:—Once again, good night.
| Poems by Hartley Coleridge | |