The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge Volume I Part 59

[????? ?? ?p' ??????? ???a ???

??d?? ??t? fa??t?a?

F????ta s??et??s??.]

Pind. _Olymp._ ii. 149, ?. t. ?.

[159:2] Verbatim from Burns's Dedication of his Poems to the n.o.bility and Gentry of the Caledonian Hunt.

LINENOTES:

[1] whilst] while An. Anth.

[3] of] for S. S., An. Anth.

[25] gauge] guard S. L., 1817 (For 'guard' read 'guage'. _Errata_, p.

[xii]).

[33] stinking hensbane S. S., An. Anth.: hensbane S. L., 1817.

[35] Those with stopped nostrils MS. correction in printed slip of the newspaper. See P. and D. W., 1877, ii. 379.

[After 37] E S T E E S I 1796, An. Anth.

ODE TO THE DEPARTING YEAR[160:1]

??? ???, ? ? ?a??.

?p' a? e de???? ????a?te?a? p????

St??e?, ta??ss?? f??????? d?sf???????.

?? ????? ??e?. ?a? s? ' t??e? pa???

??a? ?????a?t?? ???te??a? ??e??.

Aeschyl. _Agam._ 1173-75; 1199-1200.

ARGUMENT

The Ode[160:2] commences with an address to the Divine Providence that regulates into one vast harmony all the events of time, however calamitous some of them may appear to mortals. The second Strophe calls on men to suspend their private joys and sorrows, and devote them for a while to the cause of human nature in general. The first Epode speaks of the Empress of Russia, who died of an apoplexy on the 17th of November 1796; having just concluded a subsidiary treaty with the Kings combined against France. The first and second Antistrophe describe the Image of the Departing Year, etc., as in a vision. The second Epode prophesies, in anguish of spirit, the downfall of this country.

I

Spirit who sweepest the wild Harp of Time!

It is most hard, with an untroubled ear Thy dark inwoven harmonies to hear!

Yet, mine eye fix'd on Heaven's unchanging clime Long had I listen'd, free from mortal fear, 5 With inward stillness, and a bowed mind; When lo! its folds far waving on the wind, I saw the train of the Departing Year!

Starting from my silent sadness Then with no unholy madness, 10 Ere yet the enter'd cloud foreclos'd my sight, I rais'd the impetuous song, and solemnis'd his flight.

II[161:1]

Hither, from the recent tomb, From the prison's direr gloom, From Distemper's midnight anguish; 15 And thence, where Poverty doth waste and languish; Or where, his two bright torches blending, Love illumines Manhood's maze; Or where o'er cradled infants bending, Hope has fix'd her wishful gaze; 20 Hither, in perplexed dance, Ye Woes! ye young-eyed Joys! advance!

By Time's wild harp, and by the hand Whose indefatigable sweep Raises its fateful strings from sleep, 25 I bid you haste, a mix'd tumultuous band!

From every private bower, And each domestic hearth, Haste for one solemn hour; And with a loud and yet a louder voice, 30 O'er Nature struggling in portentous birth, Weep and rejoice!

Still echoes the dread Name that o'er the earth[161:2]

Let slip the storm, and woke the brood of h.e.l.l: And now advance in saintly Jubilee 35 Justice and Truth! They too have heard thy spell, They too obey thy name, divinest Liberty!

III[162:1]

I mark'd Ambition in his war-array!

I heard the mailed Monarch's troublous cry-- 'Ah! wherefore does the Northern Conqueress stay![162:2] 40 Groans not her chariot on its onward way?'

Fly, mailed Monarch, fly!

Stunn'd by Death's twice mortal mace, No more on Murder's lurid face The insatiate Hag shall gloat with drunken eye! 45 Manes of the unnumber'd slain!

Ye that gasp'd on Warsaw's plain!

Ye that erst at Ismail's tower, When human ruin choked the streams, Fell in Conquest's glutted hour, 50 Mid women's shrieks and infants' screams!

Spirits of the uncoffin'd slain, Sudden blasts of triumph swelling, Oft, at night, in misty train, Rush around her narrow dwelling! 55 The exterminating Fiend is fled-- (Foul her life, and dark her doom) Mighty armies of the dead Dance, like death-fires, round her tomb!

Then with prophetic song relate, 60 Each some Tyrant-Murderer's fate!

IV[164:1]

Departing Year! 'twas on no earthly sh.o.r.e My soul beheld thy Vision![164:2] Where alone, Voiceless and stern, before the cloudy throne, Aye Memory sits: thy robe inscrib'd with gore, 65 With many an unimaginable groan Thou storied'st thy sad hours! Silence ensued, Deep silence o'er the ethereal mult.i.tude, Whose locks with wreaths, whose wreaths with glories shone.

Then, his eye wild ardours glancing, 70 From the choired G.o.ds advancing, The Spirit of the Earth made reverence meet, And stood up, beautiful, before the cloudy seat.

V

Throughout the blissful throng, Hush'd were harp and song: 75 Till wheeling round the throne the Lampads seven, (The mystic Words of Heaven) Permissive signal make: The fervent Spirit bow'd, then spread his wings and spake!

'Thou in stormy blackness throning 80 Love and uncreated Light, By the Earth's unsolaced groaning, Seize thy terrors, Arm of might!

By Peace with proffer'd insult scared, Masked Hate and envying Scorn! 85 By years of Havoc yet unborn!

And Hunger's bosom to the frost-winds bared!

But chief by Afric's wrongs, Strange, horrible, and foul!

By what deep guilt belongs 90 To the deaf Synod, 'full of gifts and lies!'[165:1]

By Wealth's insensate laugh! by Torture's howl!

Avenger, rise!

For ever shall the thankless Island scowl, Her quiver full, and with unbroken bow? 95 Speak! from thy storm-black Heaven O speak aloud!

And on the darkling foe Open thine eye of fire from some uncertain cloud!

O dart the flas.h.!.+ O rise and deal the blow!

The Past to thee, to thee the Future cries! 100 Hark! how wide Nature joins her groans below!

Rise, G.o.d of Nature! rise.'

VI[166:1]

The voice had ceas'd, the Vision fled; Yet still I gasp'd and reel'd with dread.

And ever, when the dream of night 105 Renews the phantom to my sight, Cold sweat-drops gather on my limbs; My ears throb hot; my eye-b.a.l.l.s start; My brain with horrid tumult swims; Wild is the tempest of my heart; 110 And my thick and struggling breath Imitates the toil of death!

No stranger agony confounds The Soldier on the war-field spread, When all foredone with toil and wounds, 115 Death-like he dozes among heaps of dead!

(The strife is o'er, the day-light fled, And the night-wind clamours hoa.r.s.e!

See! the starting wretch's head Lies pillow'd on a brother's corse!) 120

VII