Poems Of Coleridge Part 18

A Sunny shaft did I behold, From sky to earth it slanted: And poised therein a bird so bold-- Sweet bird, thou wert enchanted!

He sunk, he rose, he twinkled, he trolled Within that shaft of sunny mist; His eyes of fire, his beak of gold, All else of amethyst!

And thus he sang: "Adieu! adieu!

Love's dreams prove seldom true.

The blossoms they make no delay: The sparkling dew-drops will not stay.

Sweet month of May, We must away; Far, far away!

To-day! to-day!"

1815.

HUNTING SONG

[_ZAPOLYA_, ACT IV. SCENE 2]

Up, up! ye dames, and la.s.ses gay!

To the meadows trip away.

'Tis you must tend the flocks this morn, And scare the small birds from the corn.

Not a soul at home may stay: For the shepherds must go With lance and bow To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.

Leave the hearth and leave the house To the cricket and the mouse: Find grannam out a sunny seat, With babe and lambkin at her feet.

Not a soul at home may stay: For the shepherds must go With lance and bow To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.

1815.

WESTPHALIAN SONG

[The following is an almost literal translation of a very old and very favourite song among the Westphalian Boors. The turn at the end is the same with one of Mr. Dibdin's excellent songs, and the air to which it is sung by the Boors is remarkably sweet and lively.]

When thou to my true-love com'st Greet her from me kindly; When she asks thee how I fare?

Say, folks in Heaven fare finely.

When she asks, "What! Is he sick?"

Say, dead!--and when for sorrow She begins to sob and cry, Say, I come to-morrow.

?1799.

YOUTH AND AGE

Verse, a breeze mid blossoms straying, Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee-- Both were mine! Life went a-maying With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, When I was young!

_When_ I was young?--Ah, woeful When!

Ah! for the change 'twixt Now and Then!

This breathing house not built with hands, This body that does me grievous wrong, O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands, How lightly _then_ it flashed along:-- Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, On winding lakes and rivers wide, That ask no aid of sail or oar, That fear no spite of wind or tide!

Nought cared this body for wind or weather When Youth and I lived in't together.

Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like; Friends.h.i.+p is a sheltering tree; O! the joys, that came down shower-like, Of Friends.h.i.+p, Love, and Liberty, Ere I was old!

_Ere_ I was old? Ah woeful Ere, Which tells me, Youth's no longer here!

O Youth! for years so many and sweet, 'Tis known, that Thou and I were one, I'll think it but a fond conceit-- It cannot be that Thou art gone!

Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd:- And thou wert aye a masker bold!

What strange disguise hast now put on, To _make believe_, that thou art gone?

I see these locks in silvery slips, This drooping gait, this altered size: But Spring-tide blossoms on thy lips, And tears take suns.h.i.+ne from thine eyes!

Life is but thought: so think I will That Youth and I are house-mates still.

Dew-drops are the gems of morning, But the tears of mournful eve!

Where no hope is, life's a warning That only serves to make us grieve, When we are old: That only serves to make us grieve With oft and tedious taking-leave, Like some poor nigh-related guest, That may not rudely be dismist; Yet hath outstay'd his welcome while, And tells the jest without the smile.

1823-1832.

WORK WITHOUT HOPE

LINES COMPOSED 2IST FEBRUARY 1827

All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair-- The bees are stirring--birds are on the wing-- And Winter, slumbering in the open air, Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!

And I the while, the sole unbusy thing, Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.

Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow, Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.

Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may, For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!

With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll: And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?

Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve, And Hope without an object cannot live.

1827.

TIME, REAL AND IMAGINARY

AN ALLEGORY