Monody on a Tea-kettle

Samuel Taylor Coleridge * Track #19 On The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Vol I

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Album The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Vol I

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Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Monody on a Tea-kettle by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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A parodic poem that Coleridge wrote for his brother, the Reverend George Coleridge, in 1791. Traditionally, a monody is a lament for someone who has died. Here, Coleridge laments the destruction of a tea-kettle.

Monody on a Tea-kettle Annotated

&nbspO Muse who sangest late another's pain,
&nbspTo griefs domestic turn thy coal-black steed!
&nbspWith slowest steps thy funeral steed must go,
&nbspNodding his head in all the pomp of woe:
&nbspWide scatter round each dark and deadly weed,
&nbspAnd let the melancholy dirge complain,
&nbsp(Whilst Bats shall shriek and Dogs shall howling run)
The tea-kettle is spoilt and Coleridge is undone!

&nbspYour cheerful songs, ye unseen crickets, cease!
&nbspLet songs of grief your alter'd minds engage!
&nbspFor he who sang responsive to your lay,
&nbspWhat time the joyous bubbles 'gan to play,
&nbspThe sooty swain has felt the fire's fierce rage;—
&nbspYes, he is gone, and all my woes increase;
&nbspI heard the water issuing from the wound—
No more the Tea shall pour its fragrant steams around!

&nbspO Goddess best belov'd! Delightful Tea!
&nbspWith thee compar'd what yields the madd'ning Vine?
&nbspSweet power! who know'st to spread the calm delight,
&nbspAnd the pure joy prolong to midmost night!
&nbspAh! must I all thy varied sweets resign?
&nbspEnfolded 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!

&nbspHow sink the mighty low by Fate opprest!—
&nbspPerhaps, O Kettle! thou by scornful toe
&nbspRude urg'd t' ignoble place with plaintive din.
&nbspMay'st rust obscure midst heaps of vulgar tin;—
&nbspAs if no joy had ever seiz'd my breast
&nbspWhen from thy spout the streams did arching fly,—
&nbspAs if, infus'd, thou ne'er hadst known t' inspire
&nbspAll the warm raptures of poetic fire!

&nbspBut hark! or do I fancy the glad voice—
&nbsp'What tho' the swain did wondrous charms disclose—
&nbsp(Not such did Memnon's sister sable drest)
&nbspTake these bright arms with royal face imprest,
&nbspA better Kettle shall thy soul rejoice,
&nbspAnd with Oblivion's wings o'erspread thy woes!'
&nbspThus Fairy Hope can soothe distress and toil;
On empty Trivets she bids fancied Kettles boil!

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