Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The Eolian Harp

composed at clevedon, somersetshire

My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined

Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is

To sit beside our Cot, our Cot o’ergrown

With white-flowered Jasmin, and the broad-leaved Myrtle,

(Meet emblems they of Innocence and Love!)

And watch the clouds, that late were rich with light,

Slow saddening round, and mark the star of eve

Serenely brilliant (such would Wisdom be)

Shine opposite! How exquisite the scents

Snatched from yon bean-field! and the world so hushed!

The stilly murmur of the distant Sea

Tells us of silence.

                            And that simplest Lute,

Placed length-ways in the clasping casement, hark!

How by the desultory breeze caressed,

Like some coy maid half yielding to her lover,

It pours such sweet upbraiding, as must needs

Tempt to repeat the wrong! And now, its strings

Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes

Over delicious surges sink and rise,

Such a soft floating witchery of sound

As twilight Elfins make, when they at eve

Voyage on gentle gales from Fairy-Land,

Where Melodies round honey-dropping flowers,

Footless and wild, like birds of Paradise,

Nor pause, nor perch, hovering on untamed wing!

O! the one Life within us and abroad,

Which meets all motion and becomes its soul,

A light in sound, a sound-like power in light,

Rhythm in all thought, and joyance everywhere—

Methinks, it should have been impossible

Not to love all things in a world so filled;

Where the breeze warbles, and the mute still air

Is Music slumbering on her instrument.

    And thus, my Love! as on the midway slope

Of yonder hill I stretch my limbs at noon,

Whilst through my half-closed eyelids I behold

The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the main,

And tranquil muse upon tranquility:

Full many a thought uncalled and undetained,

And many idle flitting phantasies,

Traverse my indolent and passive brain,

As wild and various as the random gales

That swell and flutter on this subject Lute!

    And what if all of animated nature

Be but organic Harps diversely framed,

That tremble into thought, as o’er them sweeps

Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze,

At once the Soul of each, and God of all?

    But thy more serious eye a mild reproof

Darts, O beloved Woman! nor such thoughts

Dim and unhallowed dost thou not reject,

And biddest me walk humbly with my God.

Meek Daughter in the family of Christ!

Well hast thou said and holily dispraised

These shapings of the unregenerate mind;

Bubbles that glitter as they rise and break

On vain Philosophy’s aye-babbling spring.

For never guiltless may I speak of him,

The Incomprehensible! save when with awe

I praise him, and with Faith that inly feels;

Who with his saving mercies healèd me,

A sinful and most miserable man,

Wildered and dark, and gave me to possess

Peace, and this Cot, and thee, heart-honored Maid!

Kubla Kahn

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree:

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

Through caverns measureless to man

Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground

With walls and towers were girdled round:

And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,

Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;

And here were forests ancient as the hills,

Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted

Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!

A savage place! as holy and enchanted

As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted

By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,

As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,

A mighty fountain momently was forced:

Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst

Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,

Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:

And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever

It flung up momently the sacred river.

Five miles meandering with a mazy motion

Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,

Then reached the caverns measureless to man,

And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:

And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far

Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The shadow of the dome of pleasure

Floated midway on the waves;

Where was heard the mingled measure

From the fountain and the caves.

It was a miracle of rare device,

A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer

In a vision once I saw:

It was an Abyssinian maid,

And on her dulcimer she played,

Singing of Mount Abora.

Could I revive within me

Her symphony and song,

To such a deep delight 'twould win me

That with music loud and long

I would build that dome in air,

That sunny dome! those caves of ice!

And all who heard should see them there,

And all should cry, Beware! Beware!

His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

Weave a circle round him thrice,

And close your eyes with holy dread,

For he on honey-dew hath fed

And drunk the milk of Paradise.

I have always enjoyed Coleridge’s poetry. I like the imagery that Coleridge used in these two poems. Coleridge paints a beautiful picture. There is a dark undertone to his poetry as well. From what I have read, all Romantics have that particular element.

Coleridge sees himself as a priest-like visionary with a connection to God. Coleridge feels it is his responsibility to share the vision of God to the people. Like Wordsworth, Coleridge’s vision of God comes from nature.

“And that simplest lute,….Is Music slumbering on her instrument.” (lines 13-33)

Coleridge sees the poet as the lute, and the breeze is his muse. She gives him songs of beauty and God. These songs were meant to uplift the soul of man. The poet must translate these songs for the rest of us to hear, so that we all see the light. If the poet does not translate the “Music” or the message, then the message will never be heard.

“And what if all of animated nature….At once the Soul of each, and God of All?” (lines 44-48)

If we all were poets, our words would mean little. The rational or “intellectual breeze,” would change the meaning of nature, the meaning of God.

“On vain Philosophy’s aye-babbling spring….Peace, and this cot, and the, heart-honored Maid!” (lines 57-64)

Coleridge tells us that while he is in nature, down by the spring, he is with God. Coleridge goes on to say that he was “a sinful and most miserable man,” but because he found peace in his God, he has peace and beauty in his life.

“A damsel with a dulcimer…That sunny dome! those caves of ice!” (lines 37-47)

The narrator saw a woman in a vision. She sang a song that filled him with peace and happiness. Her song told the narrator that he must help to rebuild a paradise. The paradise should be well balanced.

Unlike Blake, Coleridge sees himself as more of a translator or priest-like visionary than a god-like prophet. Blake says, “Hear the voice of the bard! Who Present, Past, & Future sees;…” In other words, Blake is saying, I am all knowing and all seeing. Coleridge is more subtle with his message. In “The Eolin Harp” he says, “And the simplest lute…” This can be translated as I am just a simple instrument which nature uses to spread her message.

William Blake

Garden of Love

I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And "Thou shalt not" writ over the door;
So I turned to the Garden of Love,
That so many sweet flowers bore;

And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tombstones where flowers should be;
And Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briers my joys and desires.

London

I wander thro' each charter'd street,
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every Man,
In every Infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.

How the Chimney-sweeper's cry
Every blackning Church appalls,
And the hapless Soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls.

But most thro' midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlot's curse
Blasts the new-born Infant's tear,
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.

Songs of Experience

Infant Joy

I have no name
I am but two days old.—
What shall I call thee?
I happy am
Joy is my name,—
Sweet joy befall thee!

Pretty joy!
Sweet joy but two days old,
Sweet joy I call thee;
Thou dost smile.
I sing the while
Sweet joy befall thee.

Infant Sorrow

My mother groand! my father wept.
Into the dangerous world I leapt:
Helpless, naked, piping loud;
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.

Struggling in my fathers hands:
Striving against my swaddling bands:
Bound and weary I thought best
To sulk upon my mothers breast.

And did those feet

And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon Englands mountains green:
And was the holy Lamb of God,
On Englands pleasant pastures seen!

And did the Countenance Divine,
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here,
Among these dark Satanic Mills?

Bring me my Bow of burning gold:
Bring me my arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariot of fire!

I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand:
Till we have built Jerusalem,
In Englands green & pleasant Land.

Blake shows contempt for society and the church. Blake must have felt that living within society’s boundaries restricted spirituality and individuality.

Struggling in my father’s hands, / Striving against my swaddling bands,” (“Infant Sorrow;” p. 95; lines 5-6) 

Although Blake’s father raised him to conform to society, he found it too constricting. Blake will strive if he breaks free from his rearing.

“I will not cease from Mental Fight, / Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand, / Till we have built Jerusalem / In England’s green and pleasant Land.” (“And did those feet;” p. 124; lines 13-16) 

Blake warns that no one can stop his mind. Blake’s “Sword” is his pen. He will continue to fight with words. Blake will not end his battle  until the views of England’s society changes.

“I went to the Garden of Love, / And saw what I never had seen: / A Chapel was built in the midst, / Where I used to play on the green. / And the gates of this Chapel were shut, / And “Thou shalt not” writ over the door; / So I turn’d to the Garden of Love, / That so many sweet flowers bore, / And I saw it was filled with graves, And tomb-stones where flowers should be; / And Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds, And binding with briars my joys & desires.” 

The Garden of Love was once a beautiful, peaceful place where one could find God. The church has, now, turned its back on its people and  restricted them to the point of spiritual death.

“O Earth, O Earth, Return! / Arise from out the dewy grass; / Night is worn / And the morn / Rises from the slumberous mass.” (“From Songs of Experience;” p. 88; lines 11-15) 

Blake’s use of symbolism is rich in this verse. Blake calls for spiritual awakening throughout the land. He tells the reader to turn on their inner light. The time for dark times is over. Your inner light will aid in awakening others.

In our media-driven society, it is difficult for a person to show individuality. If a person acts different, doctors are quick to medicate them so they are like everyone else. People far too often use plastic surgery and bariatric surgery to change what makes them different. The media pushes conformity in similar ways Blake’s society pushed conformity.