'TIS hard on Bagshot Heath to try What tho' around thy drowsy head 90 O'er the tired inmates of the Coach diffuse; And when thou'st charm'd our eyes to rest Our fancies from their steeds unhorse, DEVONSHIRE ROADS THE indignant Bard composed this furious ode, As tired he dragg'd his way thro' Plimtree road! Crusted with filth and stuck in mire Dull sounds the Bard's bemudded lyre; Nathless Revenge and Ire the Poet goad To pour his imprecations on the road. Curst road! whose execrable way When the sad fiends thro' Hell's Took the first survey of their new abodes; Or when the fall'n Archangel fierce What time the Bloodhound lured by Thro' all Confusion's quagmires floundering went. Nor cheering pipe, nor Bird's shrill note AN INVOCATION 1790. Thou mightier Goddess, thou demand'st my lay, Born when earth was seized with Or as more sapient sages say, Compell'd their beings to enshrine 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! ONCE could the Morn's first beams, the healthful breeze, To Death's dark house did grief-worn All Nature charm, and gay was every Anna haste, hour : 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! ? 1790. ON A LADY WEEPING LOVELY gems of radiance meek Tears which Friendship taught to flow, When spring-clouds shed their treasures soft Joyous tricks his plumes anew, Receive the fervent Jove, and yield him all thy charms! How low the mighty sink by Fate opprest!— 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 chear'd my | My woes, my joys unshared ! ere then Ah! long 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 Meek were her manners as a vernal Knowledge, that frequent lifts the 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, should have found admirers so few and From the centre A. at the distance A. B. At the distance B. A. from B. the centre The round A. C. E. to describe boldly venture. (Third postulate see.) In which the circles make a pother 20 Bid the straight lines a journeying C. A. C. B. those lines will show. so languid. Frequent consideration and And postulate the second A. B. C. 30 And because the point B. is the centre A. C. to A. B. and B. C. to B. A. |