“To Kosciusko” is the name shared by three sonnets written by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Leigh Hunt, and John Keats. Coleridge’s, the original, was written in December 1794 and published in the 16 December 1794 Morning Chronicle as the fifth of his Sonnets on Eminent Characters series. Hunt and Keats were inspired to follow his poem with their own versions (under the same title) in November 1815 and December 1816, respectively. The sonnets were dedicated to heroism of Tadeusz Ko\u015bciuszko, leader of the 1794 Polish rebellion against Prussian and Russian control.<\/p>\n
The 1796 edition of the poem reads:<\/sup><\/p>\n O what a loud and fearful shriek was there, Coleridge’s uncertainty of Kosciusko’s state after the defeat of the Polish rebellion is shown in the original 3rd and 4th line:<\/sup><\/p>\n Great KOSCIUSKO, ‘neath an Hireling’s sword, For the 1828 edition and later printings of the poem, the final lines read:<\/sup><\/p>\n That ever on a Patriot’s furrowed cheek Hunt, like Coleridge, saw Kosciusko as a hero, and Hunt admired Kosciusko for his character during the Polish rebellion and, as the subtitle suggests, his having “never fought either for Buonaparte or the allies”.<\/sup>Hunt’s version reads:<\/p>\n ‘Tis like thy patient valour thus to keep, Following Coleridge’s poem, Keats wrote his own sonnet called “To Kosciusko”. Keats’s version reads:<\/sup><\/p>\n Good Kosciusko, thy great name alone Wikipedia<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" “To Kosciusko” is the name shared by three sonnets written by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Leigh Hunt, and John Keats. Coleridge’s, the original, was written in December 1794 and published in the 16 December 1794 Morning Chronicle as the fifth of his Sonnets on Eminent Characters series. Hunt and Keats were inspired to follow his poem … Continue reading “To Kosciuszko – poems”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":131,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[3],"tags":[8],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/tadeuszkosciuszko.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/130"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/tadeuszkosciuszko.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/tadeuszkosciuszko.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tadeuszkosciuszko.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tadeuszkosciuszko.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=130"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/tadeuszkosciuszko.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/130\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":134,"href":"https:\/\/tadeuszkosciuszko.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/130\/revisions\/134"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tadeuszkosciuszko.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/131"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/tadeuszkosciuszko.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=130"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tadeuszkosciuszko.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=130"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tadeuszkosciuszko.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=130"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}\n
\nAs tho’ a thousand souls one death-groan pour’d!
\nAh me! they view’d beneath an hireling’s sword
\nFall’n KOSCIUSKO! Thro’ the burthen’d air
\n(As pauses the tir’d Cossac’s barb’rous yell
\nOf Triumph) on the chill and midnight gale
\nRises with frantic burst or sadder swell
\nThe dirge of murder’d Hope! while Freedom pale
\nBends in such<\/i> anguish o’er her destin’d bier,
\nAs if from eldest time some Spirit meek
\nHad gather’d in a mystic urn each tear
\nThat ever furrow’d a sad Patriot’s cheek;
\nAnd she had drain’d the sorrows of the bowl
\nEv’n till she reel’d, intoxicate of soul!<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n
\nHis Country view’d.\u2014Hark! thro’ the list’ning air,<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n
\nFit channel found; and she had drained the bowl
\nIn the mere wilfulness, and sick despair of soul!<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n
\nGreat Kosciusko, to the rural shade,
\nWhile Freedom’s ill-found amulet still is made
\nPretence for old aggression, and a heap
\nOf selfish mockeries. There, as in the sweep
\nOf stormier fields, thou earnest with thy blade,
\nTransform’d, not inly alter’d, to the spade,
\nThy never yielding right to a calm sleep.
\nThere came a wanderer, borne from land to land
\nUpon a couch, pale, many-wounded, mild,
\nHis brow with patient pain dulcetly sour.
\nMen stoop’d with awful sweetness on his hand,
\nAnd kiss’d it; and collected Virtue smiled,
\nTo think how sovereign her enduring hour.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n
\nIs a full harvest whence to reap high feeling:
\nIt comes upon us like the glorious pealing
\nOf the wide spheres-an everlasting tone.
\nAnd now it tells me, that in the worlds unknown,
\nThe names of heroes, burst from clouds concealing,
\nAnd changed to harmonies, for ever stealing
\nThrough cloudless blue, and round each silver throne.
\nIt tells me too, that on a happy day,
\nWhen some good spirit walks upon the earth,
\nThy name with Alfred’s, and the great of yore
\nGently commingling, gives tremendous birth
\nTo a loud hymn, that sounds far, far away
\nTo where the great God lives for evermore.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n