Rime of the Ancient Mariner and Other Poems

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• Publisher: Alma Books
• Year: 2018
• Print ISBN:
  9781847497529
• eBook ISBN:
  9780714549262
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Poetry
• Index: Literature

The Rime
of the Ancient Mariner
and Other Poems

Genevieve*

Maid of my love, sweet Genevieve!

In beauty’s light you glide along:

Your eye is like the star of eve,

And sweet your voice, as seraph’s song.

Yet not your heavenly beauty gives

This heart with passion soft to glow:

Within your soul a voice there lives!

It bids you hear the tale of woe.

When sinking low, the sufferer wan

Beholds no hand outstretched to save,

Fair, as the bosom of the swan

That rises graceful o’er the wave,

I’ve seen your breast with pity heave,

And therefore love I you, sweet Genevieve!

Written c.1789–90
First published 1793

Epitaph on an Infant

Ere Sin could blight or Sorrow fade,

Death came with friendly care;

The opening bud to heaven conveyed,

And bade it blossom there.

Written c.1789–92
First published 1794

Monody on the
Death of Chatterton*

Oh, what a wonder seems the fear of death,

Seeing how gladly we all sink to sleep,

Babes, children, youths and men,

Night following night for threescore years and ten!

But doubly strange, where life is but a breath

To sigh and pant with, up Want’s rugged steep.

Away, grim phantom! Scorpion king, away!

Reserve thy terrors, and thy stings display

For coward Wealth and Guilt in robes of state!

Lo! By the grave I stand of one, for whom

A prodigal Nature and a niggard Doom

(That all bestowing, this withholding all)

Made each chance knell from distant spire or dome

Sound like a seeking mother’s anxious call:

Return, poor child! Home, weary truant, home!

Thee, Chatterton! these unblessed stones protect

From want, and the bleak freezings of neglect.

Too long before the vexing storm-blast driven

Here hast thou found repose – beneath this sod!

Thou! Oh, vain word! Thou dwell’st not with the clod!

Amid the shining host of the forgiven,

Thou, at the throne of Mercy and thy God,

The triumph of redeeming love dost hymn

(Believe it, O my soul!) to harps of seraphim.

Yet oft, perforce (’tis suffering Nature’s call),

I weep that heaven-born Genius so should fall.

And oft, in Fancy’s saddest hour, my soul,

Averted, shudders at the poisoned bowl.

Now groans ...

Table of contents

• The Rime of the Ancient Mariner and Other Poems