Light as a dream your days their circlets ran, Far, far removed! from want, from hope, from fear! Were yours unearned by toil; nor could you see And yet, free Nature's uncorrupted child, You hailed the Chapel and the Platform wild, Beneath the shaft of Tell! O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure! There crowd your finely-fibred frame And Genius to your cradle came, 10 15 20 25 His forehead wreathed with lambent flame, But boasts not many a fair compeer A heart as sensitive to joy and fear? And some, perchance, might wage an equal strife, Corrivals in the nobler gift of thought. Yet these delight to celebrate 7 your years their courses M. P. 30 35 9 Ah! far remov'd from want and hope and fear M. P. II Obeisant praises M. P. 14 stately gorgeous 15 om. An. Anth. M. P. 31 foll. But many of your many fair compeers [But many of thy many fair compeers M. P.] Have frames as sensible of joys and fears; And some might wage an equal strife An. Anth. (Some few perchance to nobler being wrought), Corrivals in the plastic powers of thought. M. P. 35 Corrivals] co-rivals An. Anth., S. L. 1828. 1828, 1829. 34-5 36 these these S. L. Pernicious tales! insidious strains! The sordid vices and the abject pains, 40 The doom of ignorance and penury! 45 But you, free Nature's uncorrupted child, You hailed the Chapel and the Platform wild, Each twilight-thought, each nascent feeling read, Beneath the shaft of Tell! O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure! You were a Mother! That most holy name, I may not vilely prostitute to those Its gaudy parent fly. You were a mother! at your bosom fed 50 55 The babes that loved you. You, with laughing eye, Which you yourself created. Oh! delight! A second time to be a mother, Without the mother's bitter groans: 60 Another thought, and yet another, By touch, or taste, by looks or tones, 65 O'er the growing sense to roll, The mother of your infant's soul! The Angel of the Earth, who, while he guides' His chariot-planet round the goal of day, All trembling gazes on the eye of God 70 A moment turned his awful face away; And as he viewed you, from his aspect sweet Blest intuitions and communions fleet 75 In a copy of the Annual Anthology Coleridge drew his pen through 11. 68-77, but the lines appeared in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, and in all later editions (see P. W., 1893, p. 624). 40 insidious] insulting M. P. 45 penury] poverty M. P., An. Anth. 51 Whence] Where An. Anth., S. L. 1828, 1829. 56 caterpillar] Reptile M.P., An. Anth. 60 each] and M. P. 72 you] thee M. P. 73 your] thy M. P. 47 Hail'd the low Chapel M. P., An. Anth. 1799. Thenceforth your soul rejoiced to see O beautiful! O Nature's child! 'Twas thence you hailed the Platform wild, Beneath the shaft of Tell! O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure! A CHRISTMAS CAROL1 80 I THE shepherds went their hasty way, And now they checked their eager tread, II They told her how a glorious light, Blest Angels heralded the Saviour's birth, III She listened to the tale divine, ༔ 10 15 And closer still the Babe she pressed; First published in the Morning Post, December 25, 1799: included in the Annual Anthology, 1800, in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. 76 O Lady thence ye joy'd to see M. P. 10 While] And M. P. IV Thou Mother of the Prince of Peace, O why should this thy soul elate? 20 V And is not War a youthful king, Him Earth's majestic monarchs hail 25 Their friend, their playmate! and his bold bright eye 30 VI 'Tell this in some more courtly scene, To maids and youths in robes of state! And therefore is my soul elate. War is a ruffian, all with guilt defiled, 35 That from the agéd father tears his child! VII 'A murderous fiend, by fiends adored, 40 Plunders God's world of beauty; rends away VIII 'Then wisely is my soul elate, That strife should vanish, battle cease: 35 War is a ruffian Thief, with gore defil'd M. P., An. Anth. Thief M. P., An. Anth. 41 rends] tears M. P. 37 fiend] I'm poor and of a low estate, The Mother of the Prince of Peace. Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn: 45 Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born.' 1799. TALLEYRAND TO LORD GRENVILLE1 A METRICAL EPISTLE [As printed in Morning Post for January 10, 1800.] To the Editor of The Morning Post. MR. EDITOR,-An unmetrical letter from Talleyrand to Lord Grenville has already appeared, and from an authority too high to be questioned: otherwise I could adduce some arguments for the exclusive authenticity of the following metrical epistle. The very epithet which the wise ancients used, aurea carmina,' might have been supposed likely to have determined the choice of the French minister in favour of verse; and the rather when we recollect that this phrase of 'golden verses' is applied emphatically to the works of that philosopher who imposed silence on all with whom he had to deal. Besides is it not somewhat improbable that Talleyrand should have preferred prose to rhyme, when the latter alone has got the chink? Is it not likewise curious that in our official answer no notice whatever is taken of the Chief Consul, Bonaparte, as if there had been no such person [man Essays, &c., 1850] existing; notwithstanding that his existence is pretty generally admitted, nay that some have been so rash as to believe that he has created as great a sensation in the world as Lord Grenville, or even the Duke of Portland? But the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Talleyrand, is acknowledged, which, in our opinion, could not have happened had he written only that insignificant prose-letter, which seems to precede Bonaparte's, as in old romances a dwarf always ran before to proclaim the advent or arrival of knight or giant. That Talleyrand's character and practices more resemble those of some regular First published in the Morning Post, January 10, 1800: reprinted in Essays on His Own Times, 1850, i. 233-7. First collected P. and D. W., 1877, 1880. After 49 Strange prophecy! Could half the screams Of half the men that since have died To realise War's kingly dreams, The choral music of Heav'n's multitude Had been o'erpower'd, and lost amid the uproar rude! ESTEESI. |