The unanimous three

C. A. and B. C. and A. B.

All are equal, each to his brother,

Preserving the balance of power so true:
Ah! the like would the proud Autocratix* do !
At taxes impending not Britain would tremble,
Nor Prussia struggle her fear to dissemble;
Nor the Mah'met-sprung wight

The great Mussulman

Would stain his Divan

With Urine the soft-flowing daughter of Fright.

IV.

But rein your stallion in, too daring Nine!
Should Empires bloat the scientific line?
Or with dishevell’d hair all madly do ye run
For transport that your task is done?
For done it is--the cause is tried!

And Proposition, gentle maid,

Who soothly ask'd stern Demonstration's aid,
Has prov'd her right, and A. B. C.

Of Angles three

Is shown to be of equal side;

And now our weary steed to rest in fine,

'Tis raised upon A. B. the straight, the given line.

THE NOSE.

YE souls unus'd to lofty verse,

Who sweep the earth with lowly wing,
Like sand before the blast disperse-
A Nose a mighty Nose I sing!

As erst Prometheus stole from heaven the fire
To animate the wonder of his hand;
Thus, with unhallow'd hands, O muse, aspire,
And from my subject snatch a burning brand!
So like the Nose I sing-my verse shall glow-
Like Phlegethon my verse in waves of fire shall flow!

* Empress of Russia.

B*

Light of this once all darksome spot

Where now their glad course mortals run, First-born of Sirius begot

Upon the focus of the sun

I'll call thee

- for such thy earthly name

What name so high, but what too low must be? Comets, when most they drink the solar flame

Are but faint types and images of thee! Burn madly Fire! o'er earth in ravage run, Then blush for shame more red by fiercer

I saw when from the turtle feast

The thick dark smoke in volumes rose ! I saw the darkness of the mist

Encircle thee, O Nose!

Shorn of thy rays thou shott'st a fearful gleam (The turtle quiver'd with prophetic fright) Gloomy and sullen thro' the night of steam :

outdone!

So Satan's Nose when Dunstan urg'd to flight
Glowing from gripe of red-hot pincers dread
Athwart the smokes of Hell disastrous twilight shed!

The furies to madness my brain devote

In robes of ice my body wrap!

On billowy flames of fire I float,

Hear ye, my entrails how they snap ?

Some power unseen forbids my lungs to breathe!
What fire-clad meteors round me whizzing fly!
I vitrify thy torrid zone beneath

Proboscis fierce! I am calcin'd! I die !

Thus, like great Pliny, in Vesuvius' fire,

I perish in the blaze while I the blaze admire.

MONODY ON A TEA-KETTLE.

O MUSE who sangest late another's pain,
To griefs domestic turn thy coal-black steed!
With slowest steps thy funeral steed must go,
Nodding his head in all the pomp of woe :
Wide scatter round each dark and deadly weed,

1789.

And let the melancholy dirge complain

(While Bats shall shriek and Dogs shall howling run)
The tea-kettle is spoilt and Coleridge is undone !
Your cheerful songs, yè unseen crickets cease!
Let songs of grief your alter'd minds engage!
For he who sang responsive to your lay,
What time the joyous bubbles 'gan to play,
The sooty swain has felt the fire's fierce rage ;-
Yes, he is gone, and all my woes increase;

I heard the Water issuing from the Wound-
No more the Tea shall pour its flagrant steams around!

O Goddess best beloved, delightful Tea!
With thee compar'd what yields the madd'ning 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 urg'd t' ignoble place with plaintive din,
May'st rust obscure midst heaps of vulgar tin;—

As if no joy had ever seiz'd my breast

When from thy spout the streams did arching fly,---
As if infus'd thou ne'er hadst known t' inspire

All the warm raptures of poetic fire!

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.

ABSENCE.

A FAREWELL ODE ON QUITTING SCHOOL FOR JESUS COLLEGE,

CAMBRIDGE.

WHERE graced with many a classic spoil

Cam rolls his reverend stream along,

I haste to urge the learned toil

That sternly chides my love-lorn song:
Ah me! too mindful of the days

Illumed by Passion's orient rays,

When peace, and Cheerfulness, and Health
Enriched me with the best of wealth.

Ah fair Delights! that o'er my soul

On Memory's wing, like shadows fly!
Ah Flowers! which Joy from Eden stole
While Innocence stood smiling by!-
But cease, fond Heart! this bootless moan:
Those Hours on rapid Pinions flown
Shall yet return, by Absence crowned,
And scatter livelier roses round.

The Sun who ne'er remits his fires

On heedless eyes may pour the day :

The Moon, that oft from Heaven retires,
Endears her renovated ray.

What though she leaves the sky unblest

To mourn awhile in murky vest ?

When she relumes her lovely Light,
We bless the Wanderer of the Night.

SONNET.

ON THE SAME.

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 lov'd 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.

TO THE MUSE.

THO' no bold flights to thee belong;
And tho' thy lays with conscious fear,
Shrink from Judgment's eye severe,
Yet much I thank thee, Spirit of my song!
For, lovely Muse! thy sweet employ
Exalts my soul, refines my breast,
Gives each pure pleasure keener zest,
And softens sorrow into pensive Joy.
From thee I learn'd the wish to bless,
From thee to commune with my heart;
From thee, dear Muse! the gayer part,
To laugh with Pity at the crowds, that press
Where Fashion flaunts her robes by Folly spun,
Whose hues gay varying wanton in the sun.

1789.

WITH FIELDING'S AMELIA.

VIRTUES 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 coloring portray'd

What every wife should be, what many are.