Poems on Various Subjects (Coleridge)/Epistle 1, written at Shurton Bars
Poetical Epistles.
Good verse most good, and bad verse then seems better
Received from absent friend by way of Letter.
For what so sweet can labor'd lays impart
As one rude rhyme warm from a friendly heart?
Anon.
EPISTLE I.
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WRITTEN AT
SHURTON BARS, NEAR BRIDGEWATER,
SEPTEMBER. 1795,
IN ANSWER TO
A LETTER FROM BRISTOL.
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NOR travels my meand'ring eye
The starry wilderness on high;
Nor now with curious sight
I mark the glow-worm, as I pass,
Move with "green[1] radiance" thro' the grass.
An Emerald of Light.
O ever-present to my view!
My wafted spirit is with you,
And soothes your boding fears:
I see you all opprest with gloom
Sit lonely in that cheerless room
Ah me! You are in tears!
Beloved Woman! did you fly
Chill'd Friendship's dark disliking eye,
Or Mirth's untimely din?
With cruel weight these trifles press
A temper sore with Tenderness,
When akes the Void within.
But why with sable wand unblest
Should Fancy rouse within my breast
Dim-visag'd shapes of Dread?
Untenanting it's beauteous clay
My Sara's soul has wing'd it's way,
And hovers round my head!
I felt it prompt the tender Dream,
When slowly sunk the day's last gleam;
You rous'd each gentler sense
As sighing o'er the Blossom's bloom
Meek Evening wakes it's soft perfume
With viewless influence.
And hark, my Love! The sea-breeze moans
Thro' yon rest house! O'er rolling stones
In bold ambitious sweep
The onward-surging tides supply
The silence of the cloudless sky
With mimic thunders deep.
Dark-red'ning from the channel'd[2] Isle
(Where stands one solitary pile
Unslated by the blast)
The Watchfire, like a sullen star
Twinkles to many a dozing Tar
Rude cradled on the mast.
Ev'n there—beneath that light-house tower—
In the tumultuous evil hour
Ere Peace with Sara came,
Time was, I should have thought it sweet
To count the echoings of my feet,
And watch the storm-vex'd flame.
And there in black soul-jaundic'd fit
A sad gloom-pamper'd Man to sit,
And listen to the roar:
When mountain Surges bellowing deep
With an uncouth monster leap
Plung'd foaming on the shore.
Then by the Lightning's blaze to mark
Some toiling tempest-shatter'd bark:
Her vain distress-guns hear:
And when a second sheet of light
Flash'd o'er the blackness of the night—
To see no Vessel there!
But Fancy now more gaily sings;
Or if awhile she droop her wings,
As sky-larks mid the corn,
On summer fields she grounds her breast:
Th' oblivious Poppy o'er her nest
Nods, till returning morn.
O mark those smiling tears, that swell
The open'd Rose! From heaven they fell,
And with the sun-beam blend.
Blest visitations from above,
Such arc the tender woes of Love
Fost'ring the heart, they bend!
When stormy Midnight howling round
Beats on our roof with clatt'ring sound,
To me your arms you'll stretch:
Great God! you'll say—To us so kind,
O shelter from this loud bleak wind
The houseless, friendless wretch!
The tears that tremble down your cheek,
Shall bathe my kisses chaste and meek
In Pity's dew divine;
And from your heart the sighs that steal
Shall make your rising bosom feel
The answ'ring swell of mine!
How oft, my Love! with shapings sweet
I paint the moment, we shall meet!
With eager speed I dart
I seize you in the vacant air,
And fancy, with a Husband's care
I press you to my heart!
'Tis said, on Summer's evening hour
Flashes the[3] golden-colour'd flower
A fair electric flame.
And so shall flash my love-charg'd eye
When all the heart's big ecstasy
Shoots rapid thro' the frame!
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