Samuel Coleridge - The Complete Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge (Illustrated Edition)

Ere Tyrant Pain had chas’d away delight,

Ere the wild pulse throbb’d anguish thro’ the night!

ON A LADY WEEPING

IMITATION FROM THE LATIN OF NICOLAUS ARCHIUS

Lovely gems of radiance meek

Trembling down my Laura’s cheek,

As the streamlets silent glide

Thro’ the Mead’s enamell’d pride,

Pledges sweet of pious woe, 5

Tears which Friendship taught to flow,

Sparkling in yon humid light

Love embathes his pinions bright:

There amid the glitt’ring show’r

Smiling sits th’ insidious Power; 10

As some wingéd Warbler oft

When Spring-clouds shed their treasures soft

Joyous tricks his plumes anew,

And flutters in the fost’ring dew.

MONODY ON A TEA-KETTLE

O Muse who sangest late another’s pain,

To griefs domestic turn thy coal-black steed!

With slowest steps thy funeral steed must go,

Nodding his head in all the pomp of woe:

Wide scatter round each dark and deadly weed, 5

And let the melancholy dirge complain,

(Whilst Bats shall shriek and Dogs shall howling run)

The tea-kettle is spoilt and Coleridge is undone!

Your cheerful songs, ye unseen crickets, cease!

Let songs of grief your alter’d minds engage! 10

For he who sang responsive to your lay,

What time the joyous bubbles ‘gan to play,

The sooty swain has felt the fire’s fierce rage; —

Yes, he is gone, and all my woes increase;

I heard the water issuing from the wound — 15

No more the Tea shall pour its fragrant steams around!

O Goddess best belov’d! Delightful Tea!

With thee compar’d what yields the madd’ning Vine?

Sweet power! who know’st to spread the calm delight,

And the pure joy prolong to midmost night! 20

Ah! must I all thy varied sweets resign?

Enfolded close in grief thy form I see;

No more wilt thou extend thy willing arms,

Receive the fervent Jove, and yield him all thy charms!

How sink the mighty low by Fate opprest! — 25

Perhaps, O Kettle! thou by scornful toe

Rude urg’d t’ ignoble place with plaintive din.

May’st rust obscure midst heaps of vulgar tin; —

As if no joy had ever seiz’d my breast

When from thy spout the streams did arching fly, — 30

As if, infus’d, thou ne’er hadst known t’ inspire

All the warm raptures of poetic fire!

But hark! or do I fancy the glad voice —

‘What tho’ the swain did wondrous charms disclose —

(Not such did Memnon’s sister sable drest) 35

Take these bright arms with royal face imprest,

A better Kettle shall thy soul rejoice,

And with Oblivion’s wings o’erspread thy woes!’

Thus Fairy Hope can soothe distress and toil;

On empty Trivets she bids fancied Kettles boil! 40

GENEVIEVE

Maid of my Love, sweet Genevieve!

In Beauty’s light you glide along:

Your eye is like the Star of Eve,

And sweet your voice, as Seraph’s song

Yet not your heavenly beauty gives 5

This heart with Passion soft to glow:

Within your soul a voice there lives!

It bids you hear the tale of Woe.

When sinking low the sufferer wan

Beholds no hand outstretch’d to save, 10

Fair, as the bosom of the Swan

That rises graceful o’er the wave,

I’ve seen your breast with pity heave,

And therefore love I you, sweet Genevieve!

Table of Contents

The tear which mourn’d a brother’s fate scarce dry —

Pain after pain, and woe succeeding woe —

Is my heart destin’d for another blow?

O my sweet sister! and must thou too die?

Ah! how has Disappointment pour’d the tear 5

O’er infant Hope destroy’d by early frost!

How are ye gone, whom most my soul held dear!

Scarce had I lov’d you ere I mourn’d you lost;

Say, is this hollow eye, this heartless pain,

Fated to rove thro’ Life’s wide cheerless plain — 10

Nor father, brother, sister meet its ken —

My woes, my joys unshared! Ah! long ere then

On me thy icy dart, stern Death, be prov’d; —

Better to die, than live and not be lov’d!

ON SEEING A YOUTH AFFECTIONATELY WELCOMED BY A SISTER

I too a sister had! too cruel Death!

How sad Remembrance bids my bosom heave!

Tranquil her soul, as sleeping Infant’s breath;

Meek were her manners as a vernal Eve.

Knowledge, that frequent lifts the bloated mind, 5

Gave her the treasure of a lowly breast,

And Wit to venom’d Malice oft assign’d,

Dwelt in her bosom in a Turtle’s nest.

Cease, busy Memory! cease to urge the dart;

Nor on my soul her love to me impress! 10

For oh I mourn in anguish — and my heart

Feels the keen pang, th’ unutterable distress.

Yet wherefore grieve I that her sorrows cease,

For Life was misery, and the Grave is Peace!

A MATHEMATICAL PROBLEM

If Pegasus will let thee only ride him,

Spurning my clumsy efforts to o’erstride him,

Some fresh expedient the Muse will try,

And walk on stilts, although she cannot fly.

TO THE REV. GEORGE COLERIDGE

DEAR BROTHER,

I have often been surprised that Mathematics, the quintessence

of Truth, should have found admirers so few and so languid.

Frequent consideration and minute scrutiny have at length

unravelled the cause; viz. that though Reason is feasted, Imagination is starved; whilst Reason is luxuriating in its proper Paradise, Imagination is wearily travelling on a dreary desert. To assist Reason by the stimulus of Imagination is the design of the following production. In the execution of it much may be objectionable. The verse (particularly in the introduction of the ode) may be accused of unwarrantable liberties, but they are liberties equally homogeneal with the exactness of Mathematical disquisition, and the boldness of Pindaric daring. I have three strong champions to defend me against the attacks of Criticism: the Novelty, the Difficulty, and the Utility of the work. I may justly plume myself that I first have drawn the nymph Mathesis from the visionary caves of abstracted idea, and caused her to unite with Harmony. The first-born of this Union I now present to you; with interested motives indeed — as I expect to receive in return the more valuable offspring of your Muse. Thine ever, S. T. C.

CHRIST’S HOSPITAL

March 31, 1791

This is now — this was erst,

Proposition the first — and Problem the first.

I

On a given finite line

Which must no way incline;

To describe an equi —

— lateral Tri —

— A, N, G, L, E. 5

Now let A. B.

Be the given line

Which must no way incline;

The great Mathematician

Makes this Requisition, 10

That we describe an Equi —

— lateral Tri —

— angle on it:

Aid us, Reason — aid us, Wit!

II

From the centre A. at the distance A. B. 15

Describe the circle B. C. D.

At the distance B. A. from B. the centre

The round A. C. E. to describe boldly venture.

(Third postulate see.)

And from the point C. 20

In which the circles make a pother

Cutting and slashing one another,

Bid the straight lines a journeying go.

C. A. C. B. those lines will show.

To the points, which by A. B. are reckon’d, 25

And postulate the second

For Authority ye know.

A. B. C.

Triumphant shall be

An Equilateral Triangle, 30

Not Peter Pindar carp, nor Zoilus can wrangle.

III

Because the point A. is the centre

Of the circular B. C. D.