'Tis hard on Bagshot Heath to try What tho' around thy drowsy head 90 O'er the tired inmates of the Coach Curst road! whose execrable way Was darkly shadow'd out in Milton's lay, (When the sad fiends thro' Hell's sulphureous roads Took the first survey of their new abodes; Or when the fall'n Archangel fierce Dared through the realms of Night to pierce, That lead'st th' oblivious soul astrayThough thou sphere-descended be→→ Hence away! Thou mightier Goddess, thou demand'st my lay, Born when earth was seized with cholic ; Or as more sapient sages say, With hideous rout were plunging And hog and devil mingling grunt and yell Seized on the ear with horrible obtrusion ; Then if aright old legendaries tell, Wert thou begot by Discord on Confusion! What though no name's sonorous power Sable clerk of Tiverton. 'Tis thou who pour'st the scritch-owl note ! Transported hear'st thy children all Scrape and blow and squeak and squall, And while old Otter's steeple rings, Clappest hoarse thy raven wings! As if no joy had ever chear'd my My woes, my joys unshared! Ah! long Is my heart destined for another blow? O my sweet sister! and must thou too die? Ah! how has Disappointment pour'd the tear O'er infant Hope destroy'd by early frost! How are ye gone, whom most my soul held dear! Scarce had I loved you ere I mourn'd you lost; Say, is this hollow eye, this heartless pain, Fated to rove thro' Life's wide cheerless ere then On me thy icy dart, stern Death, be proved ; Better to die, than live and not be loved! 1790. 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, 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! 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! ? 1792. 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, Nor father, brother, sister meet its ken- should have found admirers so few and plain II From the centre A. at the distance A. B. At the distance B. A. from B. the centre venture. (Third postulate see.) 20 Bid the straight lines a journeying go. C. A. C. B. those lines will show. so languid. Frequent consideration and And postulate the second. A. B. C. III Because the point A. is the centre 30 And because the point B. is the centre A. C. to A. B. and B. C. to B. A. Both extend the kind hand |