A humbler destiny have we retraced, And told of lapse and hesitating choice, And backward wanderings along thorny ways: Yet compassed round by mountain solitudes, Within whose solemn temple I received My earliest visitations, careless then
Of what was given me; and which now I range, A meditative, oft a suffering man-
Do I declare, - in accents which, from truth Deriving cheerful confidence, shall blend Their modulation with these vocal streams, - That, whatsoever falls my better mind, Revolving with the accidents of life,
May have sustained, that, howsoe'er misled, Never did I, in quest of right and wrong, Tamper with conscience from a private aim; Nor was in any public hope the dupe Of selfish passions; nor did ever yield Wilfully to mean cares or low pursuits, But shrunk with apprehensive jealousy From every combination which might aid The tendency, too potent in itself,
Of use and custom to bow down the soul Under a growing weight of vulgar sense, And substitute a universe of death
For that which moves with light and life informed, Actual, divine, and true. To fear and love, To love as prime and chief, for there fear ends, Be this ascribed; to early intercourse,
In presence of sublime or beautiful forms,
With the adverse principles of pain and joy, - Evil as one is rashly named by men
Who know not what they speak. By love subsists All lasting grandeur, by pervading love; That gone, we are as dust. -Behold the fields In balmy spring-time full of rising flowers And joyous creatures; see that pair, the lamb And the lamb's mother, and their tender ways Shall touch thee to the heart; thou callest this love,
And not inaptly so, for love it is,
Far as it carries thee. In some green bower Rest, and be not alone, but have thou there The One who is thy choice of all the world: There linger, listening, gazing, with delight Impassioned, but delight how pitiable! Unless this love by still higher love
Be hallowed, love that breathes not without awe; Love that adores, but on the knees of prayer, By Heaven inspired; that frees from chains the soul,
Lifted, in union with the purest, best,
Of earth-born passions, on the wings of praise Bearing a tribute to the Almighty's Throne.
This spiritual Love acts not nor can exist Without Imagination, which, in truth, Is but another name for absolute power And clearest insight, amplitude of mind, And Reason in her most exalted mood.
This faculty hath been the feeding source Of our long labor: we have traced the stream From the blind cavern whence is faintly heard Its natal murmur; followed it to light And open day; accompanied its course Among the ways of Nature, for a time Lost sight of it bewildered and ingulfed : Then given it greeting as it rose once more In strength, reflecting from its placid breast The works of man and face of human life; And lastly, from its progress have we drawn Faith in life endless, the sustaining thought Of human Being, Eternity, and God.
Imagination having been our theme, So also hath that intellectual Love, For they are each in each, and cannot stand Dividually. Here must thou be, O Man! Power to thyself; no Helper hast thou here; Here keepest thou in singleness thy state : No other can divide with thee this work: No secondary hand can intervene
To fashion this ability; 't is thine, The prime and vital principle is thine In the recesses of thy nature, far From any reach of outward fellowship, Else is not thine at all. But joy to him, O joy to him who here hath sown, hath laid Here, the foundation of his future years! For all that friendship, all that love can do,
All that a darling countenance can look Or dear voice utter, to complete the man, Perfect him, made imperfect in himself,
All shall be his and he whose soul hath risen
Up to the height of feeling intellect
Shall want no humbler tenderness; his heart Be tender as a nursing mother's heart; Of female softness shall his life be full, Of humble cares and delicate desires, Mild interests and gentlest sympathies.
Child of my parents! Sister of my soul! Thanks in sincerest verse have been elsewhere Poured out for all the early tenderness Which I from thee imbibed: and 't is most true That later seasons owed to thee no less; For, spite of thy sweet influence and the touch Of kindred hands that opened out the springs Of genial thought in childhood, and in spite Of all that unassisted I had marked
In life or nature of those charms minute
That win their way into the heart by stealth (Still to the very going-out of youth),
I too exclusively esteemed that love,
And sought that beauty, which, as Milton sings, Hath terror in it. Thou didst soften down This over-sternness; but for thee, dear Friend' My soul, too reckless of mild grace, had stood In her original self too confident,
Retained too long a countenance severe;
A rock with torrents roaring, with the clouds Familiar, and a favorite of the stars:
But thou didst plant its crevices with flowers, Hang it with shrubs that twinkle in the breeze, And teach the little birds to build their nests And warble in its chambers. At a time When Nature, destined to remain so long Foremost in my affections, had fallen back Into a second place, pleased to become A handmaid to a nobler than herself,
When every day brought with it some new sense Of exquisite regard for common things, And all the earth was budding with these gifts Of more refined humanity, thy breath, Dear Sister! was a kind of gentler spring That went before my steps. Thereafter came One whom with thee friendship had early paired; She came, no more a phantom to adorn A moment, but an inmate of the heart, And yet a spirit, there for me enshrined To penetrate the lofty and the low
Even as one essence of pervading light
Shines in the brightest of ten thousand stars, And the meek worm that feeds her lonely lamp Couched in the dewy grass.
With such a theme Coleridge! with this my argument, of thee Shall I be silent? O capacious Soul! Placed on this earth to love and understand, And from thy presence shed the light of love,
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