Progress of Vice (1790) (1790) by Samuel Taylor Coleridge COMPLIMENTS OF WIKISOURCE Nemo repente turpissimus Deep in the gulph of Vice and Woe Leaps Man at once with headlong throw? Him inborn Truth and Virtue guide, Whose guards are Shame and conscious Pride. In some gay hour Vice steals into the breast; Perchance she wears some softer Virtue’s vest. By unperceiv’d degrees she tempts to stray, Till far from Virtue’s path she leads the feet away. Then swift the soul to disenthrall Will Memory the past recall, And Fear before the Victim’s eyes Bid future ills and dangers rise. But hark! the Voice, the Lyre, their charms combine — Gay sparkles in the cup the generous Wine — Th’ inebriate dance, the fair frail Nymph inspires, And Virtue vanquish’d — scorn’d — with hasty flight retires. But soon to tempt the Pleasures cease; Yet Shame forbids return to peace. And stern Necessity will force Still to urge on the desperate course. The drear black paths of Vice the wretch must try, Where Conscience flashes horror on each eye, Where Hate — where Murder scowl — where starts Affright! Ah! close the scene — ah! close — for dreadful is the sight. On a Lady Weeping: Imitation from the Latin of Nicolaus Archius(1790) (1790) by Samuel Taylor Coleridge Lovely gems of radiance meek Trembling down my Laura’s cheek, As the streamlets silent glide Thro’ the Mead’s enamell’d pride, Pledges sweet of pious woe, Tears which Friendship taught to flow, Sparkling in yon humid light Love embathes his pinions bright: There amid the glitt’ring show’r Smiling sits th’ insidious Power; As some wingéd Warbler oft When Spring-clouds shed their treasures soft Joyous tricks his plumes anew, And flutters in the fost’ring dew. Monody on a Tea-kettle(1790) (1790) by Samuel Taylor Coleridge O Muse who sangest late another’s pain, To griefs domestic turn thy coal-black steed! With slowest steps thy funeral steed must go, Nodding his head in all the pomp of woe: Wide scatter round each dark and deadly weed, And let the melancholy dirge complain, (Whilst Bats shall shriek and Dogs shall howling run) The tea-kettle is spoilt and Coleridge is undone! Your cheerful songs, ye unseen crickets, cease! Let songs of grief your alter’d minds engage! 10 For he who sang responsive to your lay, What time the joyous bubbles ’gan to play, The sooty swain has felt the fire’s fierce rage; — Yes, he is gone, and all my woes increase; I heard the water issuing from the wound — No more the Tea shall pour its fragrant steams around! O Goddess best belov’d! Delightful Tea! With thee compar’d what yields the madd’ning Vine? Sweet power! who know’st to spread the calm delight, And the pure joy prolong to midmost night! 20 Ah! must I all thy varied sweets resign? Enfolded close in grief thy form I see; No more wilt thou extend thy willing arms, Receive the fervent Jove, and yield him all thy charms! How sink the mighty low by Fate opprest! — Perhaps, O Kettle! thou by scornful toe Rude urg’d t’ ignoble place with plaintive din, May’st rust obscure midst heaps of vulgar tin; — As if no joy had ever seiz’d my breast When from thy spout the streams did arching fly, — 30 As if, infus’d, thou ne’er hadst known t’ inspire All the warm raptures of poetic fire! But hark! or do I fancy the glad voice — What tho’ the swain did wondrous charms disclose — (Not such did Memnon’s sister sable drest) Take these bright arms with royal face imprest, A better Kettle shall thy soul rejoice, And with Oblivion’s wings o’erspread thy woes! Thus Fairy Hope can soothe distress and toil; On empty Trivets she bids fancied Kettles boil!
Posted on: Fri, 07 Mar 2014 16:32:53 +0000
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