eet sense of Home
Is sweetest! Moments, for their own sake hail'd,
And more desired, more precious for thy Song!
In silence listening, like a devout child,
My soul lay passive, by the various strain 110
Driven as in surges now, beneath the stars
With momentary [B] stars of her [C] own birth,
Fair constellated Foam, still darting off
Into the Darkness; now a tranquil Sea,
Outspread and bright, yet swelling to the Moon. 115

And when--O Friend! my Comforter! my [D] Guide!
Strong in thyself and powerful to give strength!--
Thy long sustained Song finally clos'd,
And thy deep voice had ceas'd--yet thou thyself
Wert still before mine eyes, and round us both 120
That happy Vision of beloved Faces--
(All whom, I deepliest love--in one room all!)
Scarce conscious and yet conscious of its close
I sate, my Being blended in one Thought,
(Thought was it? or aspiration? or resolve?) 125
Absorb'd; yet hanging still upon the Sound--
And when I rose, I found myself in Prayer.

S. T. COLERIDGE.

'Jany'. 1807.

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: Different reading on same MS.:

'To one cast forth, whose Hope had seem'd to die.'

Ed.]

[Footnote B: Compare, as an illustrative note, the descriptive passage
in Satyrane's first Letter in 'Biographia Literaria', beginning, "A
beautiful white cloud of foam," etc.--S.T.C.]

[Footnote C: Different reading on same MS., "'my'."--Ed.]

[Footnote D: Different reading on same MS., "'and'."--Ed.]

In a MS. copy of 'Dejection, An Ode', transcribed for Sir George
Beaumont on the 4th of April 1802--and sent to him, when living with
Lord Lowther at Lowther Hall--there is evidence that the poem was
originally addressed to Wordsworth.

The following lines in this copy can be compared with those finally
adopted:

'O dearest William! in this heartless mood,
To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd
All this long eve so balmy and serene
Have I been gazing on the western sky,'

...

'O William, we _receive_ but what we _give_:
And in our life alone does Nature live.'

...

'Yes, dearest William! Yes!
There was a time when though my Path was rough
This Joy within me dallied with distress.'

The MS. copy is described by Coleridge as "imperfect"; and it breaks off
abruptly at the lin