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.

ON RECEIVING AN ACCOUNT

THAT HIS ONLY SISTER'S DEATH WAS INEVITABLE.

THE HE tear which mourn'd a brother's 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!

I

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, th' unutterable distress. Yet wherefore grieve I that her sorrows cease, For Life was misery, and the Grave is Peace!

PAIN.

ONCE could the Morn's first beams, the healthful

breeze,

All Nature charm, and gay was every 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 limbAh 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.

AS 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 ! New scenes of wisdom may each step display,

And knowledge open as my days advance! Till what time Death shall pour the undarken'd ray, My eye shall dart thro' infinite expanse,

And thought suspended lie in rapture's blissful

trance.

SONNET.

ON QUITTING SCHOOL FOR COLLEGE.

FAREWELL parental scenes! a sad farewell!
To you my grateful heart still fondly clings,
Tho' fluttering round on Fancy's burnish'd wings
Her tales of future Joy Hope loves to tell.
Adieu, adieu! ye much-loved cloisters pale!
Ah! would those happy days return again,
When 'neath your arches, free from every stain,
I heard of guilt and wonder'd at the tale!
Dear haunts! where oft my simple lays I sang,
Listening meanwhile the echoings of my feet,
Lingering I quit you, with as great a pang,
As when erewhile, my weeping childhood, torn
By early sorrow from my native seat,
Mingled its tears with hers-my widow'd Parent
lorn.

A MATHEMATICAL POEM.

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