Lines - By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

SUGGESTED BY THE LAST WORDS OF BERENGARIUS
OB. ANNO DOM. 1O88


  No more 'twixt conscience staggering and the Pope
  Soon shall I now before my God appear,
  By him to be acquitted, as I hope;
  By him to be condemned, as I fear.--

REFLECTION ON THE ABOVE

  Lynx amid moles! had I stood by thy bed,
  Be of good cheer, meek soul! I would have said:
  I see a hope spring from that humble fear.
  All are not strong alike through storms to steer
  Right onward. What though dread of threatened death
  And dungeon torture made thy hand and breath
  Inconstant to the truth within thy heart?
  That truth, from which, through fear, thou twice didst start,
  Fear haply told thee, was a learned strife,
  Or not so vital as to claim thy life:
  And myriads had reached Heaven, who never knew
  Where lay the difference 'twixt the false and true!

  Ye, who secure 'mid trophies not your own,
  Judge him who won them when he stood alone,
  And proudly talk of _recreant_ Berengare--
  O first the age, and then the man compare!
  That age how dark! congenial minds how rare!
  No host of friends with kindred zeal did burn!
  No throbbing hearts awaited his return!
  Prostrate alike when prince and peasant fell,
  He only disenchanted from the spell,
  Like the weak worm that gems the starless night,
  Moved in the scanty circlet of his light:
  And was it strange if he withdrew the ray
  That did but guide the night-birds to their prey?

  The ascending day-star with a bolder eye
  Hath lit each dew-drop on our trimmer lawn!
  Yet not for this, if wise, will we decry
  The spots and struggles of the timid Dawn;
  Lest so we tempt the approaching Noon to scorn
  The mists and painted vapours of our Morn.

1826.