The only daughter of the poet, was born at Keswick, and lived for many years with her uncle, Robert Southey. In 1829 she married her cousin, Henry Nelson Coleridge, who was the chief editor of the poet’s “Table Talk” and “Literary Remains” (1836). She herself gave much assistance to this task, and was sole editor of the “Aids to Reflection.” In 1837 she published her only original work, “Phantasmion,” a long, romantic fairy story, that met with little appreciation at the time, but has since (in 1847) been re-issued by Lord Coleridge.

Personal

  She was one of those whose thoughts are growing while they are in the act of speaking, and who never speak to surprise. Her intellectual fervour was not that which runs over in excitement; a quietude belonged to it, and it was ever modulated by a womanly instinct of reserve and dignity. She never thought for effect, as many do. She never found it difficult to conceive how others should differ from her in their conclusions. She was more a woman than those who had not a tenth part of her intellectual energy. The seriousness and softness of her nature raised her far above vanity, its coldness and its contortions. Her mind could move at once and be at rest.

  Of his [Hartley] sister Sara, it has been said that “her father looked down into her eyes, and left in them the light of his own.” Her beauty and grace were as remarkable as her talents, her learning, and her accomplishments; but her chief characteristic was “the radiant spirituality of her intellectual and imaginative being.” This, with other rare qualities of mind and spirit, is indicated in Wordsworth’s affectionate appreciation in “The Triad,” and conspicuous in her fairy-tale “Phantasmion,” and in the letters which compose the bulk of her “Memoirs.”

General

  Sterling remarked that she shows the limited nature of a woman’s mind in her “Phantasmion;” she does not make Ariel an element, but the whole thing is Ariel, and therefore very wearisome and unsubstantial.

  With an imagination like a prism shedding rainbow changes on her thoughts, she shows study without the affectation of it, and a Greek-like closeness of expression.

  Sara Coleridge’s chief claim to remembrance in connection with literature lies in the essays and notes, mainly on controverted topics of theology and metaphysics, with which she illustrated the editions of her father’s works that she superintended. They display learning rare in a woman, as well as a considerable power of speculation and of skill in dealing with the terms and propositions of metaphysics. But she had inherited from her father the tendency to over-refinement and subtlety rather than clearness of thought, and she had adopted from him his mode of speculation, in which baseless assumptions are often made to do the duty of sound arguments, and to serve as substructure for the most lofty but unsubstantial edifices of fancy…. The chief impression left by the letters is that Sara Coleridge’s existence was far too much intellectualized. The sweet feminine soul was starved by the claims of the restless and dissatisfied intelligence. Her letters, even those to her husband, take the form of essays; they want the grace of easy friendly communication. She is always a little conscious of being seated in a lecturer’s chair, and what she has to say must, to our regret, turn out at times, if not tedious, at least commonplace.

  Great and various as were your mother’s talents, it was not from them that she derived what was special to her. It was from the degree in which she had inherited the feminine portion of genius. She had a keener appreciation of what was highest and most original in thought than of subjects nearer the range of ordinary intellects. She moved with the lightest step when she moved over the loftiest ground. Her “feet were beautiful on the mountain tops” of ideal thought…. In this respect, I should suppose she must have differed from almost all women whom we associate with literature. I remember hearing her say that she hardly considered herself to be a woman “of letters.” She felt herself more at ease when musing on the mysteries of the soul, or discussing the most arduous speculations of philosophy and theology, than when dealing with the humbler topics of literature.

  The helpful, loving, and unselfish spirit which made her a willing and affectionate partner in her husband’s labors, after his death took a more commanding form, and led her to dedicate the whole of her intellectual existence to the great object of carrying out a husband’s wishes, of doing justice to a father’s name. In the fulfillment of this sacred trust she found occasion to illustrate and adorn the works which fell under her editorship with several compositions of no inconsiderable extent, and displaying powers of critical analysis, and of doctrinal, political, and historical research and discussion, of no common order.

  Sara Coleridge had not less genius than her brother Hartley, but she had nothing like the same gift of expression. She resembled her famous father in her tendency to lyric music, while Hartley’s genius was distinctly inclined to express itself in more monumental forms.

  After George Eliot’s, we should pronounce Sara Coleridge’s the most powerful female mind which has as yet addressed itself to English literature. While deficient in no feminine grace, she is intellectually distinguished by a quality for which we can find no better name than manliness. She displays the strongest, massiest common sense, goes direct to the root of a matter, sweeps antagonism from her path in a twinkling, and exhibits a refreshing liberality, despite a burden of hereditary and conventional prejudice. Circumstances forced her learning and her reasoning faculty into prominence, her pious labours as her father’s editor and annotator leaving her but little opportunity for the exercise of the imaginative gift which she had equally inherited from him. “Phantasmion,” though too unsubstantial a work to create a permanent impression, shows that she possessed this endowment in rich measure, and the little lyrics scattered through its pages confer upon her a secure though a modest place among English poetesses.

  His sister Sara likewise inherited intellectual and imaginative gifts probably little if at all inferior to his; but circumstances prevented her from making a great name…. Her only book is “Phantasmion,” a fairy tale, whose lyric snatches prove her worthy of remembrance among English poetesses.