Page:Sibylline Leaves (Coleridge).djvu/271



! thou better name Than all the family of Fame! Thou ne'er wilt leave my riper age To low intrigue, or factious rage: For oh! dear child of thoughtful Truth, To thee I gave my early youth, And left the bark, and blest the stedfast shore, Ere yet the Tempest rose and scar'd me with its roar.

Who late and lingering seeks thy shrine, On him but seldom, power divine, Thy spirit rests! Satiety And sloth, poor counterfeits of thee, Mock the tired worldling. Idle Hope And dire Remembrance interlope, To vex the feverish slumbers of the mind: The bubble floats before, the spectre stalks behind.