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Title: Ode [Ye Gales, That Of The Lark's Repose]
Author: Samuel Taylor Coleridge [
More Titles by Coleridge]
Ye Gales, that of the Lark's repose
The impatient Silence break,
To yon poor Pilgrim's wearying Woes
Your gentle Comfort speak!
He heard the midnight whirlwind die,
He saw the sun-awaken'd Sky
Resume its slowly-purpling Blue:
And ah! he sigh'd--that I might find
The cloudless Azure of the Mind
And Fortune's brightning Hue!
Where'er in waving Foliage hid
The Bird's gay Charm ascends,
Or by the fretful current chid
Some giant Rock impends--
There let the lonely Cares respire
As small airs thrill the mourning Lyre
And teach the Soul her native Calm;
While Passion with a languid Eye
Hangs o'er the fall of Harmony
And drinks the sacred Balm.
Slow as the fragrant whisper creeps
Along the lilied Vale,
The alter'd Eye of Conquest weeps,
And ruthless War grows pale
Relenting that his Heart forsook
Soft Concord of auspicious Look,
And Love, and social Poverty;
The Family of tender Fears,
The Sigh, that saddens and endears,
And Cares, that sweeten Joy.
Then cease, thy frantic Tumults cease,
Ambition, Sire of War!
Nor o'er the mangled Corse of Peace
Urge on thy scythéd Car.
And oh! that Reason's voice might swell
With whisper'd Airs and holy Spell
To rouse thy gentler Sense,
As bending o'er the chilly bloom
The Morning wakes its soft Perfume
With breezy Influence.
1792.
[The end]
Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poem: Ode [Ye Gales, That Of The Lark's Repose]
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