Page:Poems on Various Subjects - Coleridge (1796).djvu/66



S late I lay in slumber's shadowy vale, With wetted cheek and in a mourner's guise I saw the fainted form of rise: She spake! not sadder moans the autumnal gale. "Great Son of Genius! sweet to me thy name, Ere in an evil hour with alter'd voice Thou badst Oppression's hireling crew rejoice Blasting with wizard spell my laurell'd fame. Yet never, ! thou drank'st Corruption's bowl! Thee stormy Pity and the cherish'd lure Of Pomp, and proud Precipitance of soul Wilder'd with meteor fires. Ah Spirit pure! That error's mist had left thy purged eye: So might I clasp thee with a Mother's joy!"