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

I heard the water issuing from the wound :No more the tea shall pour its fragrant steams around!

O Goddess best beloved, delightful Tea! With thee compared what yields the maddening vine?

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

And the pure joy prolong to midmost night! 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!Perhaps, O Kettle! thou by scornful toe Rude urged to ignoble place with plaintive din,

May'st rust obscure midst heaps of vulgar tin ;

As if no joy had ever seized my breast

When from thy spout the streams did arching fly;1

1

As if infused thou ne'er hadst known to inspire

All the warm raptures of poetic fire!

1 Fly.] Clearly a misprint for "flow," to rhyme with "toe." It is to be regretted that Coleridge did not live to revise the edition of 1834.

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,) 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!

1790.

WITH FIELDING'S AMELIA.

IRTUES and woes alike too great

for man

In the soft tale oft claim the useless

sigh;

For vain the attempt to realize the plan,—
On Folly's wings must Imitation fly.
With other aim has Fielding here display'd
Each social duty and each social care;
With just yet vivid colouring portray'd
What every wife should be, what many are.
And sure the parent of a race so sweet
With double pleasure on the page shall dwell,
Each scene with sympathising breast shall

meet,

While Reason still with smiles delights to tell Maternal hope, that her loved progeny

In all but sorrows shall Amelias be!

ON RECEIVING AN ACCOUNT

THAT HIS ONLY SISTER'S DEATH WAS INEVITABLE.

康

HE tear which mourn'd a brother's

1

fate scarce dry—

Pain after pain, and woe succeeding

woe

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
plain-

Nor father, brother, sister meet its ken-
My woes, my joys unshared! Ah! long ere

then

On me thy icy dart, stern Death, be proved;Better to die, than live and not be loved!

A brother's fate.] "My only sister, Ann, died at twenty-one, a little after my brother Luke."-C. Luke Herman Coleridge, whose son became Bishop of Barbadoes in 1824, died in 1790. This brother and sister were the nearest to Coleridge in age, except Francis, who died in 1792.

ON SEEING A YOUTH

AFFECTIONATELY WELCOMED BY A SISTER.

!

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, the unutterable distress.
Yet wherefore grieve I that her sorrows cease?
For life was misery, and the grave is peace!

PAIN.

NCE could the morn's first beams, the healthful breeze,

All Nature charm, and gay was every hour:

I too, &c.] See eight lines, beginning with these words, in the verses-To a Friend, together with an unfinished poem. They are printed as a fragment, after the present sonnet, in the edition of 1834, which omitted the poem to Lamb.

But ah! not music's self, nor fragrant bower, Can glad the trembling sense of wan disease. Now that the frequent pangs my frame assail, Now that my sleepless eyes are sunk and dim, And seas of pain seem waving through each limb,

Ah what can all Life's gilded scenes avail? I view the crowd, whom youth and health inspire,

Hear the loud laugh, and catch the sportive lay, Then sigh and think I too could laugh and

play,

And gaily sport it on the Muse's lyre,

Ere Tyrant Pain had chased away delight, Ere the wild pulse throbb'd anguish thro' the night!

LIFE.

S late I journey'd o'er the extensive plain

Where native Otter sports his scanty stream,

Musing in torpid woe a sister's pain,

The glorious prospect woke me from the dream. At every step it widen'd to my sight,

Wood, meadow, verdant hill, and dreary steep, Following in quick succession of delight,

Till all, at once, did my eye ravish'd sweep! May this (I cried) my course through life portray!