# Sibylline Leaves (Coleridge)/This Lime Tree Bower My Prison

THIS LIME-TREE BOWER MY PRISON.
ADVERTISEMENT.
In the June of 1797, some long-expected Friends paid a visit to the Author's Cottage; and on the morning of their arrival, he met with an accident, which disabled him from walking during the whole time of their stay. One Evening, when they had left him for a few hours, he composed the following lines in the Garden-Bower.
Well, they are gone, and here must I remain, This Lime-Tree Bower my Prison! I have lost Beauties and Feelings, such as would have been Most sweet to my remembrance, even when age Had dimmed mine eyes to blindness! They, meanwhile, Friends whom I never more may meet again, On springy heath, along the hill-top edge, Wander in gladness, and wind down, perchance, To that still roaring dell, of which I told; The roaring dell, o'erwooded, narrow, deep, And only speckled by the mid-day Sun; Where its slim trunk the Ash from rock to rock Flings arching like a Bridge;—that branchless Ash,
Unsunn'd and damp, whose few poor yellow leaves Ne'er tremble in the gale, yet tremble still, Fann'd by the water-fall! and there my friends Behold the dark green file of longlank Weeds, That all at once (a most fantastic sight!) Still nod and drip beneath the dripping edge Of the blue clay-stone.
Now, my Friends emerge Beneath the wide wide Heaven—and view again The many-steepled track magnificent Of hilly fields and meadows, and the sea, With some fair bark, perhaps, whose Sails light up The slip of smooth clear blue betwixt two Isles Of purple shadow! Yes! they wander on In gladness all; but thou, methinks, most glad, My gentle-hearted Charles! for thou hast pined And hunger'd after Nature, many a year, In the great City pent, winning thy way
With sad yet patient soul, through evil and pain And strange calamity! Ah! slowly sink Behind the western ridge, thou glorious Sun! Shine in the slant beams of the sinking orb Ye purple heath-flowers! richlier burn, ye clouds! Live in the yellow light, ye distant groves! And kindle, thou blue Ocean! So my Friend Struck with deep joy may stand, as I have stood, Silent with swimming sense; yea, gazing round On the wide landscape, gaze till all doth seem Less gross than bodily: and of such hues
As veil the Almighty Spirit As cloath the Almighty Spirit, when he makes Spirits perceive his presence.
A delight Comes sudden on my heart, and I am glad As I myself were there! Nor in this bower, This little lime-tree bower, have I not mark'd Much that has sooth'd me. Pale beneath the blaze Hung the transparent foliage; and I watch'd Some broad and sunny leaf, and lov'd to see The shadow of the leaf and stem above
Dappling its sunshine! And that Walnut-tree Was richly ting'd, and a deep radiance lay Full on the ancient Ivy, which usurps Those fronting elms, and now, with blackest mass Makes their dark branches gleam a lighter hue Through the late twilight: and though now the Bat Wheels silent by, and not a Swallow twitters, Yet still the solitary humble Bee Sings in the bean-flower! Henceforth I shall know That Nature ne'er deserts the wise and pure, No Plot so narrow, be but Nature there, No waste so vacant, but may well employ Each faculty of sense, and keep the heart Awake to Love and Beauty! and sometimes 'Tis well to be bereft of promised good, That we may lift the Soul, and contemplate With lively joy the joys we cannot share. My gentle-hearted Charles! when the last Rook Beat its straight path along the dusky air Homewards, I blest it! deeming, its black wing {Now a dim speck, now vanishing in light) Had cross'd the mighty Orb's dilated glory, While thou stood'st gazing; or when all was still,
Flew creeking o'er thy head, and had a charm
For thee, my gentle-hearted Charles, to whom
No Sound is dissonant which tells of Life.
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* ↑ Of long lank Weeds.] The Asplenium Scolopendrium, called in some countries the Adder's Tongue, in others the Hart's Tongue: but Withering gives the Adder's Tongue as the trivial name of the Ophioglossum only.
* ↑ Flew creeking.] Some months after I had written this line, it gave me pleasure to observe that Bartram had observed the same circumstance of the Savanna Crane. "When these Birds move their wings in flight, their strokes are slow, moderate and regular; and even when at a considerable distance or high above us, we plainly hear the quill-feathers; their shafts and webs upon one another creek as the joints, or working of a vessel in a tempestuous sea."
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Errata
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