Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 36, Page 801
VII.
ON READING COLERIDGE'S EPITAPH, WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.
Spirit! so oft in radiant freedom soaring
High through seraphic mysteries unconfined,
And oft a diver through the deeps of mind,
Its caverns, far below its waves, exploring;
And oft such strains of breezy music pouring,
As, with the floating sweetness of their sighs,
Could still all fevers of the heart, restoring
Awhile that freshness left in Paradise;
Say, of these glorious wanderings what the goal?
What the rich fruitage, to man’s kindred soul
From toil of thine bequeathed?—O strong, and high,
And sceptred intellect! thy goal confest
Was the Redeemer's cross—thy last bequest,
One lesson, breathing thence profound humility!
