Page:Essays and Studies - Swinburne (1875).pdf/287

 It is noticeable that only his supreme gift of lyrical power could sustain Coleridge on political ground. His attempts of the kind in blank verse are poor indeed:—

Compare the nerveless and hysterical verses headed "Fears in Solitude" (exquisite as is the overture, faultless in tone and colour, and worthy of a better sequel) with the majestic and masculine sonnet of Wordsworth, written at the same time on the same subject: the lesser poet—for, great as he is, I at least cannot hold Wordsworth, though so much the stronger and more admirable man, equal to Coleridge as mere poet—speaks with a calm force of thought and resolution; Coleridge wails, appeals, deprecates, objurgates in a flaccid and querulous fashion without heart or spirit. This debility of mind and manner is set off in strong relief by the loveliness of landscape touches in the same poem. The

What statesmen scheme, and soldiers work; Whether the Pontiff or the Turk Will e'er renew th' expiring lease Of empire; whether war or peace Will best play off the Consul's game; What fancy-figures, and what name, Half-thoughted, sensual France, a natural slave, On those ne'er-broken chains, her self-forg'd chains, will grave;

Disturb[s] not me! Some tears I shed When bow'd the Swiss his noble head; Since then, with quiet heart have view'd Both distant fights and treaties crude, Whose heap'd-up terms, which fear compels, (Live Discord's green combustibles, And future fuel of the funeral pyre) Now hide, and soon, alas! will feed the low-burnt fire."