• The "stranger" is "presageful" (able to tell the future), since it was believed to predict the arrival of an unexpected guest. Coleridge is hoping someone will arrive to rupture his boredom—he loved to daydream and zone out.
• Notice that this stanza begins with an apostrophe, "But O! how oft," before repeating "How oft." It breaks the blank verse meter, before jumping right back into it.
Lines 27-31
[…] and as oft
With unclosed lids, already had I dreamt
Of my sweet birth-place, and the old church-tower,
Whose bells, the poor man's only music, rang
From morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day,
• As a kid in school, Coleridge says that he would imagine his birthplace—Ottery St. Mary, in southwest England, far away from the hustle-and-bustle of London's metropolis—where he used to listen to the church bells on Fair Days.
• The church bells—described as "the poor man's only music," since the music they make is totally free—are similar to the "stranger" in that they're a harbinger of a better time to come.
• Also, Coleridge's lids are "unclosed" because he's daydreaming—he's not actually sleeping in school.
Lines 32-34
So sweetly, that they stirred and haunted me
With a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear
Most like articulate sounds of things to come!
• Even though church bells don't actually speak in any language, their sounds are like "articulate sounds"—they seem to be saying something, maybe better than words could. They talk about "things to come"—which might refer to the afterlife, the Kingdom of God, or simply a more spiritual life.
• They're similar to the "stranger," since the bells are also predicting some unknown and probably welcome event.
• Coleridge, as he remembers himself, feels overjoyed at this point.
Lines 35-36
So gazed I, till the soothing things, I dreamt,
Lulled me to sleep, and sleep prolonged my dreams!
• Coleridge ends up getting carried away by this reverie—soothed and comforted—until he falls asleep later in the evening. (This is still the child Coleridge, not the adult Coleridge, who is sitting up at night and remembering this.) Sleep helps him continue to have these pleasant dreams about his past in the countryside and about nice things that might happen in the future.
• This all feeds into Coleridge's reputation as a dreamer with his head in the clouds (which might not be entirely justified, though he's playing right into it).
Lines 37-39
And so I brooded all the following morn,
Awed by the stern preceptor's face, mine eye
Fixed with mock study on my swimming book:
• Kid Coleridge zones out the next day in class, too. He pretends to read, to avoid getting into trouble with his "stern preceptor" (that would be the headmaster, James Boyer, who apparently loved to beat kids).
• The book itself isn't actually "swimming"—Coleridge's vision is, because he's still sleepy and dazed.
• Is it just us, or does this seem like a pretty long time to be fantasizing about unexpected good things, brought by church bells and films of soot?
Lines 40-44
Save if the door half opened, and I snatched
A hasty glance, and still my heart leaped up,
For still I hoped to see the stranger's face,
Townsman, or aunt, or sister more beloved,
My play-mate when we both were clothed alike!
• Interestingly, the "stranger" Coleridge is waiting for isn't a genuine stranger—it's someone he knows, like a person from his hometown, an aunt, or his sister.
• He's showing some nostalgia for the good old days, before he was toiling away at this lousy school. The fact that he and his sister "were clothed alike" indicates that these days were simple. They hadn't yet been differentiated into different roles, and could experience life in a more unified way.
• In a sense, this suggests that the promises made by the church bells—of some coming good—are also heralding the arrival of a presence that might be strangely familiar. Could it be… God? (Coleridge might have something to say on that question, later in the poem. We'll just have to keep reading…)
Lines 45-48
Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side,
Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm,
Fill up the intersperséd vacancies
And momentary pauses of the thought!
• Coleridge, as he pauses his thinking, becomes aware of his baby's breathing. This changes his train of thought, again (which is why we're in a new stanza).
• Now, he stops addressing the reader (this isn't really a "conversation," it turns out—it's more of a monologue) and starts speaking to his baby.
Lines 49-52
My babe so beautiful! it thrills my heart
With tender gladness, thus to look at thee,
And think that thou shalt learn far other lore,
And in far other scenes!
• Coleridge is going to make sure that his son will enjoy a life lived close to Nature, not one stuck in a school like Christ's Hospital in London, where Coleridge went, and where the headmaster loved beating kids. (Christ's Hospital still exists, by the way, though it isn't full of sadistic teachers with the license to hit you, anymore.)
• He's excited, glad that his baby will lead a more natural and peaceful kind of life. He'll learn "far other lore" from "far other scenes"—since Nature teaches different lessons than the city.
• But what are those lessons? It looks like Coleridge is about to explain…
• There's some alliteration here too, with all the Th sounds in "thus to look at thee/ And think that thou." Check out "Sound Check" for more.
Lines 52-54
[…] For I was reared
In the great city, pent 'mid cloisters dim,
And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars.
• Coleridge further explains what he implied in the last set of lines: he was stuck in the dim "cloisters" (confines) of an urban school, and the only association he had with nature was through the sky. Everything on earth had been built over by humanity. Hopefully, he's saying, his son will have a much different experience…
Lines 55-59
But thou, my babe! shalt wander like a breeze
By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags
Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds,
Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores
And mountain crags:
• Coleridge predicts that his son will have the freedom to wander in Nature and learn from it.
• "Wander like a breeze" is a pretty simple simile—like a breeze, his son Hartley will go wherever he feels like going.
• The clouds in the sky, according to Coleridge, mirror the shapes of the things on earth ("image in their bulk")—like mountains, lakes, and shores.
• This fits with the use of reflection imagery in the poem. The same way the fluttering film reflects the thoughts moving in Coleridge's mind (which themselves reflect the Spirit), so the clouds reflect the earth.
Lines 59-63
[…] so shalt thou see and hear
The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible
Of that eternal language, which thy God
Utters, who from eternity doth teach
Himself in all, and all things in himself.
• This continues the reflection image from the last lines, in a way. Just as the shapes of the clouds reflect shapes on earth, Coleridge's son will come to see that Nature reflects God. Its shapes and sounds are like God's "eternal language"—they testify to him and reveal his existence. (So maybe God was the "stranger" whom Coleridge couldn't find in the city, and whom the church bells prophesied.)
• God uses all things to reveal himself, since he contains all things within himself, as well. This is sort of pantheistic (pantheism is the belief that God is present in everything, or even is everything).
• The structure "Himself in all, and all things in himself" is called achiasmus. It's made of two statements, which invert each other. (For another example: "The squirrel was in the hamster's heart, and the hamster was in the squirrel's heart.")
Lines 64-65
Great universal Teacher! he shall mould
Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask.
• Since God instructs humanity through Nature, Coleridge calls him a "Great universal Teacher"—"universal" in the sense that God instructs everybody. He's not leaving anyone out.
• God, according to Coleridge, will mold little Hartley's spirit by giving him the gift of Nature, since it shows that there's a greater creative process behind everything. By giving Coleridge's baby this gift, God will make Hartley "ask"—ask to know God, or enter into a closer relationship with him.
Lines 66-71
Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch
Smokes in the sun-thaw;
• Since God instructs humans through Nature, says Coleridge, every season has something to say. You can't say that winter is totally horrible, by these rules—even if you're not an ice-skater or a snowman fan.
• The summer clothing the "general earth/ With greenness," just means that it's covering most or all of the earth.
• The robin arrives to signal the end of winter, as smoke comes from a nearby cottage's thatched roof ("nigh thatch") and the sun thaws the earth.
• Additionally, there's some mild S sound alliteration here in "all seasons shall be sweet." ("Shall" isn't really part of the alliteration though—Sh is a different sound from S.)
Lines 71-75
[…] whether the eave-drops fall
Heard only in the trances of the blast,
Or if the secret ministry of frost
Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
Quietly shining to the quiet Moon.
• After mentioning spring and summer in the lines just before these, Coleridge finds value in the winter, too. It's got its place in the order of things and testifies to God in its own way.
• The "eave-drops" are drops of water falling from the eave (the overhanging part) of a roof.
• The frost is going to turn them into icicles.
• Also, the "trances in the blast" are pauses in the wind. Coleridge calls them "trances" because it's like the wind is getting distracted and g