Samuel Taylor Coleridge
A Tombless Epitaph
Coleridge's note
'Tis true, Idoloclastes Satyrane !
(So call him, for so mingling blame with praise,
And smiles with anxious looks, his earliest friends,
Masking his birth-name, wont to character
His wild-wood fancy and
impetuous zeal,)
'Tis true that, passionate for ancient truths,
And honouring with religious love the Great
Of elder times, he hated to excess,
With an unquiet and intolerant scorn,
The hollow
Puppets of an hollow Age,
Ever idolatrous, and changing ever
Its worthless Idols !
Learning, Power, and Time,
(Too much of all) thus wasting in vain war
Of fervid
colloquy.
Sickness, 'tis true,
Whole years of weary days, besieged him close,
Even to the gates and inlets of his life !
But it is true, no less, that strenuous, firm,
And with a natural gladness,
he maintained
The citadel unconquered, and in joy
Was strong to follow the delightful Muse.
For not a hidden path, that to the shades
Of the beloved Parnassian forest leads,
Lurked undiscovered by him ; not a rill
There issues from the fount
of Hippocrene,
But he had traced it upward to its source,
Through open glade, dark glen, and secret
dell,
Knew the gay wild flowers on its banks, and culled
Its med'cinable herbs. Yea, oft alone,
Piercing the long-neglected holy cave,
The haunt obscure of old Philosophy,
He bade with lifted torch its starry walls
Sparkle, as erst they sparkled to the flame
Of odorous lamps tended by Saint and Sage.
O framed for calmer times and nobler hearts !
O studious Poet, eloquent for truth !
Philosopher ! contemning wealth and death,
Yet docile, childlike, full of
Life and Love !
Here, rather than on monumental stone,
This record of thy worth thy Friend inscribes,
Thoughtful, with quiet tears upon his cheek.
1809?, published
1809, 1817, 1828, 1829, 1834
(proofed against E. H. Coleridge's 1927 edition of STC's poems
and a ca. 1898 edition of STC's Poetical Works, ``reprinted
from the early editions'')
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