VERSE 6TH
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hile steady Virtue guides his mindHeav'n-born Content he still shall findThat never sheds a tear:Without respect to any tideHis hours away in bliss shall glide 35Like Easter all the year. 1787. FOOTNOTES: [1:1] From a hitherto unpublished MS. The lines were sent in a letter toLuke Coleridge, dated May 12, 1787. DURA NAVIS[2:1] To tempt the dangerous deep, too venturous youth,Why does thy breast with fondest wishes glow?No tender parent there thy cares shall sooth,No much-lov'd Friend shall share thy every woe.Why does thy mind with hopes delusive burn? 5Vain are thy Schemes by heated Fancy plann'd:Thy promis'd joy thou'lt see to Sorrow turnExil'd from Bliss, and from thy native land. Hast thou foreseen the Storm's impending rage,When to the Clouds the Waves ambitious rise, 10And seem with Heaven a doubtful war to wage,Whilst total darkness overspreads the skies;Save when the lightnings darting wingéd FateQuick bursting from the pitchy clouds betweenIn forkéd Terror, and destructive state[2:2] 15Shall shew with double gloom the horrid scene? Shalt thou be at this hour from danger free?Perhaps with fearful force some falling WaveShall wash thee in the wild tempestuous Sea,And in some monster's belly fix thy grave; 20Or (woful hap!) against some wave-worn rockWhich long a Terror to each Bark had stoodShall dash thy mangled limbs with furious shockAnd stain its craggy sides with human blood. Yet not the Tempest, or the Whirlwind's roar 25Equal the horrors of a Naval Fight,When thundering Cannons spread a sea of GoreAnd varied deaths now fire and now affright:The impatient shout, that longs for closer war,Reaches from either side the distant shores; 30Whilst frighten'd at His streams ensanguin'd farLoud on his troubled bed huge Ocean roars.[3:1] What dreadful scenes appear before my eyes!Ah! see how each with frequent slaughter red,Regardless of his dying fellows' cries 35O'er their fresh wounds with impious order tread!From the dread place does soft Compassion fly!The Furies fell each alter'd breast command;Whilst Vengeance drunk with human blood stands byAnd smiling fires each heart and arms each hand. 40 Should'st thou escape the fury of that dayA fate more cruel still, unhappy, view.Opposing winds may stop thy luckless way,And spread fell famine through the suffering crew,Canst thou endure th' extreme of raging Thirst 45Which soon may scorch thy throat, ah! thoughtless Youth!Or ravening hunger canst thou bear which erstOn its own flesh hath fix'd the deadly tooth? Dubious and fluttering 'twixt hope and fearWith trembling hands the lot I see thee draw, 50Which shall, or sentence thee a victim drear,To that ghaunt Plague which savage knows no law:Or, deep thy dagger in the friendly heart,Whilst each strong passion agitates thy breast,Though oft with Horror back I see thee start, 55Lo! Hunger _drives_ thee to th' inhuman feast. These are the ills, that may the course attend--Then with the joys of home contented rest--Here, meek-eyed Peace with humble Plenty lendTheir aid united still, to make thee blest. 60To ease each pain, and to increase each joy--Here mutual Love shall fix thy tender wife,Whose offspring shall thy youthful care employAnd gild with brightest rays the evening of thy Life. 1787. FOOTNOTES: [2:1] First published in 1893. The autograph MS. is in the BritishMuseum. [2:2] _State_, Grandeur [1792]. This school exercise, written in the15th year of my age, does not contain a line that any clever schoolboymight not have written, and like most school poetry is a _Putting ofThought into Verse_; for such Verses as _strivings_ of mind andstruggles after the Intense and Vivid are a fair Promise of betterthings.--S. T. C. _aetat. suae_ 51. [1823.] [3:1] I well remember old Jemmy Bowyer, the plagose Orbilius of Christ'sHospital, but an admirable educer no less than Educator of theIntellect, bade me leave out as many epithets as would turn the wholeinto eight-syllable lines, and then ask myself if the exercise would notbe greatly improved. How often have I thought of the proposal sincethen, and how many thousand bloated and puffing lines have I read, that,by this process, would have tripped over the tongue excellently.Likewise, I remember that he told me on the same occasion--'Coleridge!the connections of a Declamation are not the transitions of Poetry--bad,however, as they are, they are better than "Apostrophes" and "O thou's",for at the worst they are something like common sense. The others arethe grimaces of Lunacy.'--S. T. COLERIDGE. NIL PEJUS EST CAELIBE VITÂ[4:1] [IN CHRIST'S HOSPITAL BOOK] I What pleasures shall he ever find?What joys shall ever glad his heart?Or who shall heal his wounded mind,If tortur'd by Misfortune's smart?Who Hymeneal bliss will never prove, 5That more than friendship, friendship mix'd with love.
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