When, with a frown, “Vile caitiff, come not here,”
Abrupt cried Death; “shall flatt’ry soothe my ear?”
“Hence, or thou feel’st my dart!” the Monarch said. 
Wild terror seiz’d me, & the vision fled.

POEMS IN COLERIDGE’S POEMS ON
VARIOUS SUBJECTS, 1796

(Written late in 1794.  Text of 1797)

As when a child on some long winter’s night
Affrighted clinging to its Grandam’s knees
With eager wond’ring and perturb’d delight
Listens strange tales of fearful dark decrees
Mutter’d to wretch by necromantic spell;
Or of those hags, who at the witching time
Of murky midnight ride the air sublime,
And mingle foul embrace with fiends of Hell: 
Cold Horror drinks its blood!  Anon the tear
More gentle starts, to hear the Beldame tell
Of pretty babes, that lov’d each other dear,
Murder’d by cruel Uncle’s mandate fell: 
Ev’n such the shiv’ring joys thy tones impart,
Ev’n so thou, SIDDONS! meltest my sad heart!

        (Probably 1795.  Text of 1818)

        Was it some sweet device of Faery
        That mocked my steps with many a lonely glade,
        And fancied wanderings with a fair-hair’d maid? 
        Have these things been? or what rare witchery,
        Impregning with delights the charmed air,
        Enlighted up the semblance of a smile
        In those fine eyes? methought they spake the while
        Soft soothing things, which might enforce despair
        To drop the murdering knife, and let go by
        His foul resolve.  And does the lonely glade
        Still court the foot-steps of the fair-hair’d maid? 
        Still in her locks the gales of summer sigh? 
        While I forlorn do wander reckless where,
        And ’mid my wanderings meet no Anna there.

        (Probably 1795. Text of 1818)

        Methinks how dainty sweet it were, reclin’d
        Beneath the vast out-stretching branches high
        Of some old wood, in careless sort to lie,
        Nor of the busier scenes we left behind
        Aught envying.  And, O Anna! mild-eyed maid! 
        Beloved!  I were well content to play
        With thy free tresses all a summer’s day,
        Losing the time beneath the greenwood shade. 
        Or we might sit and tell some tender tale
        Of faithful vows repaid by cruel scorn,
        A tale of true love, or of friend forgot;
        And I would teach thee, lady, how to rail
        In gentle sort, on those who practise not
        Or love or pity, though of woman born.

        (1794. Text of 1818)