The southern press. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1850-1852, 1851-04-17
TVS SOUTHERN PRESS.

IA Ss6 11S
TRI-WEEKLY. 90
400
The Unhappy Son Of an Unhappy Father.
The hereditary transmission Of genius is rare
but that of bad habits, uuhappily, too common
The unhappy subject of the subjoined notice,
(Which we extract from the Eusning Post) un-
fortunately inherited at once the intellect and
the errors Of his gifted father Like that great
est and bravest Of the sons of song" his suf
ferings were great as his sins against himself
and others--the expstion strobe fast upon the
offence-the grave also shrouds the guilt
HARTLEY CoLERIDaE.--An edition of the D oct
ical works of Hartley Coleridgs has just appeared
IN London, with memoir by his Brother Der.
went Coleridge.
more beautiful or more sorrowful book, saws
the London Examirer, has not been published in
our day.
Cut is the branch that might have grown full
straight.
And burned il Apollos laurel-bough,
That sometime grew within this learned man.
Hartley Coleridge was the eldest son Of the po-
ct, and, with much Of his fathers genius, (Which
in him, however, took more simple and practi-
mystical expanse of his fathers mind inherited
also the defects Of his organization and tempera-
ment. What would have Lecome of the elder
Coleridge but for the friends in whose home his
later years found refuge, no one can say. With
no such friends or home, poor Hartley became a
castaway.
Amer childhood Of singular genius, manifest
ed in many modes and forms, and described with
charming effect by his brother in the best passages
and anecdotes of the memoir, he was launched
without due discipline preparation, into the
University Of Oxford, where the catastrophe OF
his life befel. He had just fairly shown his pow
ers when the hard doom went forth which con-
demned them to waste and idleness. He obtain
ed feIlowship-elect at Oriel, was dismissed on
the ground of intemperance before his probation
airy year had passed, and wandered for the rest
of his days by the scenes with which his father
most wished to surround his childhood
"By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags
OF ancient mountains, and beneath the clouds
Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores
And mountain crags.'
We have often, says the Examiner, expressed
high opinion Of Hartley Coleridge's poetica
genius. 1t was a part of the sadness Of his life
that he could not concentrate his powers, in this
or any other department of his intellect, to high
and continuous aims--but we were not prepared
for such rich proof Of it's exercise, within the linn
tied field assigned to it, as these volumes offer.
They largely and lastingly contribute to the rare
stores of true poetry. In the sonnet, Hartley
Coleridge was a master, unsurpassed by the great
est To its marrow plot of ground (" his habits,
when applied in tie cultivation OF the muse, most
naturally led him-and here he may claim no un-
deserved companionshp with Shakespeare,
Milton and Wordsworth. We take few-with
affecting personal reference in all of them
Hast thou not seen an aged rifted tower
Meet habitation for the Ghost Of Time,
Where fearful ravage makes decay sublime,
And destitution wears the face Of power?
Yet is the fabric deckd with many flower
Offragrance wild, and many-daPpled hue,
Gold streak d with iron brown and nodding blue,
Making each ruinous chink fairy bower.
Fen such thing methinks fain would be,
Should Heaven appoint me to engthen d age;
So old in look, that Young and Old may see
The record of my closing pilgrimage:
Yet, to the last, rugged wrinkled thing
To which young sweetness may delight to cling !
Pains have known, that cannot be again,
And pleasures too that never can be more:
For loss Of pleasure was never sore,
But worse, far worse 1t is, to feel no pain.
The throes and agonies of heart explain
Its very depth of want at Utmost core;
Prove that it does believe, and would adore,
And doth with i'll for strive and strain.
not lament for happy childish years,
For loves departed, that have had their day,
Or hopes that faded when my head was grey;
For death hath left me last of my compeers
But for the pain felt, the gushing tears
used to shed when had gone astray.
lonely wanderer upon earth am
The waif of nature-like uprooted weed
Borne by the stream, or like a shaken reed,
frail dependent Of the tickle sky.
Far, far away, are all my natural kin
The mother that erewhle hath hush'd my cry,
Almost hath grown a mere fond memory.
whAra ia airfe emile , m hrOt hpr M lst
erous DIM
All nowhere now. matron grave and sage,
A holy mother is that sister sweet.
And that bold brother is pastor meet
To guide, instruct, reprove a sinful age,
Almost fear, and yet fain would greet;
So far astray hath been my pilgrimage.
How shall fore doom d to lone estate,
Untimely old, irreverently grey,
Much like patch Of dusky snow in May,
Dead sleeping in hoow-a too late
How shall poor a thing congratulate
The blest completion of patient wooing,
Or how commend a younger man for doing
What ne'er to do hath been his fault or fate
There is a fable, that once did read,
Ola bad angel, that was some way good,
And therefore the brink Of heaven he stood
Looking each way, and no way could proceed;
Till at the last he purged away his sin
BY loving all the JOY he saw within.
snce to his personal story:
"When received this volume small,
My years were barely seventeen;
When it WAS hoped ! should be all
Which once, alas ! might have been.
And now my years thirty five,
And every mother hopes her lamb
And every happy child alive,
May never be what now am.
But yet should any chance to look
On the strange medley scrubbed here
charge thee, tell them, little book,
am not vile as | appear.
Oh tell them though my purpose lame
In fortune g race, was still behind
Though earthly blos my name defed,
They ne'er abused my better mind
or what men are, and why they are
So weak, so wofully beguiled,
Much have learned, but, better far
know my soul il reconced."
FLAX CorroN IN GREAT BRITAN.-The Lon
don correspondent Of the Commercial advertiser
,savs Of fax cotton