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!
[20:1] First published in 1834. The 'brother' (line 1) was Luke Herman Coleridge who died at Thorverton in 1790. Anne Coleridge, the poet's sister (the only daughter of his father's second marriage), died in March 1791.
[4] O my sweet sister must _thou_ die MS. O.
ON SEEING A YOUTH AFFECTIONATELY WELCOMED BY A SISTER[21:1]
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!
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.
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.