[2:2] _State_, Grandeur [1792]. This school exercise, written in the 15th year of my age, does not contain a line that any clever schoolboy might not have written, and like most school poetry is a _Putting of Thought into Verse_; for such Verses as _strivings_ of mind and struggles after the Intense and Vivid are a fair Promise of better things.--S. T. C. _aetat. suae_ 51. [1823.] [3:1] I well remember old Jemmy Bowyer, the plagose Orbilius of Christ's Hospital, but an admirable educer no less than Educator of the Intellect, bade me leave out as many epithets as would turn the whole into eight-syllable lines, and then ask myself if the exercise would not be greatly improved. How often have I thought of the proposal since then, 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 are the 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, 5 That more than friendship, friendship mix'd with love. II Then without child or tender wife, To drive away each care, each sigh, Lonely he treads the paths of life A stranger to Affection's tye: 10 And when from Death he meets his final doom No mourning wife with tears of love shall wet his tomb. III Tho' Fortune, Riches, Honours, Pow'r, Had giv'n with every other toy, Those gilded trifles of the hour, 15 Those painted nothings sure to cloy: He dies forgot, his name no son shall bear To shew the man so blest once breath'd the vital air. 1787. FOOTNOTES: [4:1] First published in 1893. SONNET[5:1] TO THE AUTUMNAL MOON Mild Splendour of the various-vested Night! Mother of wildly-working visions! hail! I watch thy gliding, while with watery light Thy weak eye glimmers through a fleecy veil; And when thou lovest thy pale orb to shroud 5 Behind the gather'd blackness lost on high; And when thou dartest from the wind-rent cloud Thy placid lightning o'er the awaken'd sky. Ah such is Hope! as changeful and as fair! Now dimly peering on the wistful sight; 10 Now hid behind the dragon-wing'd Despair: But soon emerging in her radiant might She o'er the sorrow-clouded breast of Care Sails, like a meteor kindling in its flight. 1788. FOOTNOTES: