Samuel Taylor Coleridgeâs life revolved mainly around writing and opium
or some mixture of the two. Towards the end of his life, opium was
his chief occupation. During his early years at Cambridge, women,
alcohol, and opium landed him in £150 of debt. To pay it off
he joined the army. However, since Coleridge was inept when it came
to riding a horse he never fought. His brother had Coleridge discharged
from the army by reason of insanity. From there, Coleridge returned
to Cambridge. He went on to pretty much kick off the Romantic Movement
with his friend William Wodsworth. During his day, he was known as
a critic, though today we remember him mostly for his poetry. Titles
like ãKublai Kahnä and ãThe Rime of the Ancient Marinerä should ring bells.
| Well, - they are gone: and here must I remain,
Lam'd by the scathe of fire, lonely & faint This lime-tree bower my prison. They, meantime, My friends, whom I never more may meet again, On springy(*) heath, along the hill-top edge, Wander delighted, and look down, perchance, On that same rifted Dell, where many an Ash Twists it's wild limbs beside the ferny rock, Whose plumy ferns* for ever nod and drip Spray'd by the waterfall. But chiefly Thou, My gentle-hearted CHARLES! thou, who hast pin'd And hunger'd after Nature many a year In the great City pent, winning thy way With sad yet bowed soul, thro' evil and pain And strange calamity. - Ah slowly sink Behind the western ridge; thou glorious Sun! Shine in the slant beams of the sinking orb, Ye purple Heath-flowers! Richlier burn, ye Clouds! Live in the yellow Light, ye distant Groves! And kindle, thou blue Ocean! So my friend Struck with joy's deepest calm, and gazing round On the wide view,(**) may gaze till all doth seem Less gross than bodily, a living Thing That acts upon the mind, and with such hues As cloathe the Almighty Spirit, when yet he makes Spirits perceive His presence! A Delight Comes sudden on my heart, and I am glad As I myself were there! Nor in this bower Want I sweet sound or pleasing shapes. I watch'd The sunshine of each broad transparent Leaf Broke by the shadows of the Leaf or Stem, Which hung above it: and that Wall-nut Tree Was richly ting'd: and a deep radiance lay Full on the ancient ivy which usurps Those fronting elms, and now with blackest mass Makes their dark foliage gleam a lighter hue Thro' the last twilight. - And tho' the rapid bat Wheels silent by, and not a swallow twitters, Yet still the solitary humble-bee Sings in the bean flower. Henceforth I shall know That nature ne'er deserts the wise & pure, No scene so narrow, but may well employ Each faculty of sense, and keep the heart Awake to Love and Beauty: and sometimes 'Tis well to be bereav'd of promis'd good, That we may lift the soul, & contemplate With lively joy the joys, we cannot share. My sister & my Friends! when the last Rook Beat it's straight path along the dusky air Homewards, I bless'd it; deeming, it's black wing Cross'd, like a speck, the blaze of setting day, While ye stood gazing; or when all was still, Flew creaking o'er your heads, and had a charm(*) For you, my Sister & my Friends! to whom No sound is dissonant, which tells of Life! * elastic, I mean (S.T.C.). * The ferns that grow in moist places, grow five or six together & form a complete "Prince of Wales's Feather" - i.e. plumy. (S.T.C.). ** You remember, I am a Berkleian. (S.T.C.). |
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Well, they are gone, and here must I remain,
This lime-tree bower my prison! I have lost Beauties and feelings, such as would have been Most sweet to my remembrance even when age Had dimm'd mine eyes to blindness! They, meanwhile, Friends, whom I never more may meet again, On springy heath, along the hill-top edge, Wander in gladness, and wind down, perchance, To that still roaring dell, of which I told; The roaring dell, o'erwooded, narrow, deep, And only speckled by the mid-day sun; Where its slim trunk the ash from rock to rock Flings arching like a bridge; - that branchless ash, Unsunn'd and damp, whose few poor yellow leaves Ne'er tremble in the gale, yet tremble still, Fann'd by the water-fall! and there my friends Behold the dark green file of long lank weeds,(*) That all at once (a most fantastic sight!) Still nod and drip beneath the dripping edge Of the blue clay-stone. Now, my friends emerge Beneath the wide wide Heaven - and view again The many-steepled tract magnificent Of hilly fields and meadows, and the sea, With some fair bark, perhaps, whose sails light up The slip of smooth clear blue betwixt two Isles Of purple shadow! Yes! they wander on In gladness all; but thou, methinks, most glad, My gentle-hearted Charles! for thou hast pined And hunger'd after Nature, many a year, In the great City pent, winning thy way With sad yet patient soul, through evil and pain And strange calamity! Ah! slowly sink Behind the western ridge, thou glorious Sun! Shine in the slant beams of the sinking orb, Ye purple heath-flowers! richlier burn, ye clouds! Live in the yellow light, ye distant groves! And kindle, thou blue Ocean! So my friend Struck with deep joy may stand, as I have stood, Silent with swimming sense; yea, gazing round On the wide landscape, gaze till all doth seem Less gross than bodily; and of such hues As veil the Almighty Spirit, when yet he makes Spirits perceive his presence. A delight Comes sudden on my heart, and I am glad As I myself were there! Nor in this bower, This little lime-tree bower, have I not mark'd Much that has sooth'd me. Pale beneath the blaze Hung the transparent foliage; and I watch'd Some broad and sunny leaf, and lov'd to see The shadow of the leaf and stem above Dappling its sunshine! And that walnut-tree Was richly ting'd, and a deep radiance lay Full on the ancient ivy, which usurps Those fronting elms, and now, with blackest mass Makes their dark branches gleam a lighter hue Through the late twilight: and though now the bat Wheels silent by, and not a swallow twitters, Yet still the solitary humble-bee Sings in the bean-flower! Henceforth I shall know That Nature ne'er deserts the wise and pure; No plot so narrow, be but Nature there, No waste so vacant, but may well employ Each faculty of sense, and keep the heart Awake to Love and Beauty! and sometimes 'Tis well to be bereft of promis'd good, That we may lift the soul, and contemplate With lively joy the joys we cannot share. My gentle-hearted Charles! when the last rook Beat its straight path along the dusky air Homewards, I blest it! deeming its black wing (Now a dim speck, now vanishing in light) Had cross'd the mighty Orb's dilated glory, While thou stood'st gazing; or, when all was still, Flew creeking o'er thy head, and had a charm(**) For thee, my gentle-hearted Charles, to whom No sound is dissonant which tells of Life. * The Asplenium Scolopendrium, called in some countries the Adder's Tongue, in others the Hart's Tongue, but Withering gives the Adder's Tongue as the trivial name of the Ophioglossum only. ** Some months after I had written this line, it gave me pleasure to find that Bartram had observed the same circumstance of the Savanna Crane, "When these Birds move their wings in flight, their strokes are slow, moderate and regular; and even when at a considerable distance or high above us, we plainly hear the quill-feathers: their shafts and webs upon one another creek as the joints or working of a vessel in a tempestuous sea." |
The original "This Lime Tree Bower My Prison" was not a published poem, but rather a part of a letter addressed to Robert Southey. The revised version appeared in Robert Southey's "Annual Anthology of Febuary 1800."