wm I It ill THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES <^ K ^ -N Ni \ "V RICHMOND: AND OTHER POEMS. BY CHARLES ELLIS. EXCEPT IN TEIE ELYSIAN SHADES OF UlllIMONU, THERE'S NO SUCH THlN(i AS LdVR ANU PI.E ASl; l!K.", I.AKV M IV' MONTAfJU. LONDON : MADDEN AND MALCOLM, LEADENHALL STREET. 1845. ?R TO MY BROTHER J0SP:PH, THESE VERSES AT?E AFFFX'TIOXATKLY INSCRIBED. ;'^,« IV SONNET DEDICATOEY. Tlie recreations of a toih&me day — TJie sportive fancy of a leisure hour — The love, overflowing, caught in verses stray — The heart's misgivings, in a lyric shower — The olive branch of reassurance' ray — Ecstatic Joy'' s intcnsest gloioing flower — TJie greensward of repose and cjleesome play — Tlie cooling river, and the shady bower. With speed, my brother, I convey to thee — An exile from those woods and meads which share Largely thy love of nature' s poetry ; And if so rendered, they shoidcl hciply bear Some likeness to themselves and pleasing be. My spirit shcdl inhcde a more delicious air. March, 1845. C. E. PREFACE. 55 } " There are," says Colton, in his Preface to '' Lacon " three difficulties in authorship — to write anything worth the pubhshing — to find honest men to publish it — and to get sensible men to read it." An author cannot know that the first of these difficulties is overcome until his work is gone forth to the world; he himself cannot judge, his friends are too apt to praise withoiit discrimination, biassed in his favour by those good qualities they believe him to possess for which they (tre liis friends, but which may indeed have no reference to his talent as an author, so that the third difficulty must be surmounted to prove indisputably that the labours of the first are overpast. The second has not been VI PREFACE. encountered in the sense intended in tlie present instance. Scarce daring to hope, yet hoping, that his work is not wholly unworthy of perusal, the author presents his small book of verses to the notice of those who, loving poetry, in the warmth of their hearts, are patient to seek for it in humble walks, and regret not the time thus spent, should they find a few wild flowers. "When a man prints he should hope for criticism, nor deem it over harsh if an unpleasant truth be told : it may save further folly in that du-ection, or awakening in his mind the knowledge of an untried strength, may fit him for the achievement of nobler things. If we are to grant fidl credence to anecdotes of the labours of genius in pursuit of perfection, and though seeming wonderful, our own humble experience with objects of less loftiness would urge belief, too much patient and careful correction cannot be bestowed on a poem or essay, or indeed on any literary work designed to benefit the mind usefully or pleasurably. The leading piece of this volume was written at the pleading of the deep love and admiration felt by the author for the place it seeks to describe — as regards its PREFACE. VU natural beauties — that one scene of peculiar and perfect loveliness, and its wide, delightful neighbourhood : not without some kiiowlcdge of much other enchantmg scenery with which our island is blessed, but with that fresh in his recollection, clear and beautiful to his mind's eye, his admiration of Richmond is only more strenuous and firm. Although the human mind can, with delight, be full to overflowing, there is soon a pause in search of others who may share equally in the sweets enjoyed, and if in the plcntitude of its own, it arrogates to itself a keener sense of that excellence than others feel, and thus is prompted to a deed of poetry, it may perhaps be forgiven. Would that a worthier pen had written on this subject with more reflection, and to the extent it merits, exciting thereby a powerful consciousness of its uncommon beauty, in the breasts of those who may forget to claim for it the rightful praise of being one of the choicest localities of their native land : which should be referred to as a proof of that country's luxuriance, where desolation has no footing, decay is not, and devastation has not dared to lay his hand. May, 1845. IX ^ CONTENTS. i-AGJ; KiciiMOND : — A Poem 1 Notes 81IORT POEJIS: — " Ah, once I knew a Gentle Chikr' ... SI Sonnet — On First Seeing Mrs. N ... 86 Sonnet — To Spring , 87 Sonnet — The First Hour of the Morning . 88 Sonnet — On One who was Proof against the Allurements of the World . . s<) Distrust 90 To Dante 91 To Lady H 92 The Monthly Rose 94 CONTENTS, Shokt Poems, (^continued) : — i-age Ode to Simplicity 95 The Parting 99 Ode to Hope 102 Elegy on a Stranger 109 Flowers 119 To Delta 121 A Sketch 123 The Christian Religion 130 RICHMOND. ARGUMENT. Stanzas 1 to 16: Introduction — General description of the clia- racter of the View, and the effect it produces on tlie mind. 17 to 20 : Appearance of the Landscape at sunrise — Grand effect of the River in the View. 2 1 to 24 : The Village of Petersham described as seen from the Park Terrace — The Cedars. 2.5 to 27 : Walk to the May Valley — Distant prospect from an cnfinence in the road leading from Robinhood Gate to Kingston Gate, looking over Kingston and Hampton Court — Herded doer. 28 to 33 : Return toward Richmond — Distant prospect over London — Highgate and Hampstead — Recollections of Poets who have lived there — .lolin Keats, Shelley, Leigh Hunt — General beauty of Richmond Park — Attempt to deprive the public of their right of entrance — Magna- nimity of John Lewis. 34 to 36 : Sunday morning supposed — B 2 ' ARGUMENT. General tranquillity — Peculiar charm of the country on a Sunday. 37 to 44 : Day of pleasure supposed — Noon described — Universal life and gaiety of the scene from Richmond Hill on a summer's day at noon — Children at play in the meadows — Boats on the water — The pleasure barge — Strains of music from the water, singing of birds, beauty, and cheerful buz of insects. 45, 46 : Recollections of Richmond in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, then the Royal Residence — The Palace — Tournaments — May-day — Morris- dancers. 47 to 57 : Road to Petersham — Vista through the trees over Kingston to the horizon — The dragon-fly described — Walk from the foot of Petersham Hill to the Dysart Avenues — Recollections of Collins, Thomson, Dryden — Ham House, Argyle, Cromwell, Henry Prince of Wales. 58 to 63 : The Thames — Excursion by water to Twickenham — Pope's Villa — Pope — Boling- broke — Lady M. W. Montagu — Gay — Swift — Strawberry Hill — Horace Walpole — George Selwyn — Gray — Gay's siuTimer-house — Residence of the late Archdeacon Cambridge, his character — 64 to 73 : Evening described — Windsor Castle — Setting sun — Twilight — Meeting of lovers. 74 to 83 : Night — The landscape as it appears by moonlight from the hill summit, and from the bank of the Thames near the Bridge — The nightingale — Her song described — The Duke of Buccleuch's grounds — Peculiarity of the View seen from within them. 84 to 86 : Night after the moon is down — Conclusion. RICHMOND. Ml^^GIVl^"GLY I touch the lyre, and sweep With half-affrighted hand, the yielding strings Until the thoughts within me fain would creep Back to my silent soul, ere upward springs One note, confessing v.hat fond fancy sings Enraptured to itself. — Near lurks Despair, Restraining still the energetic wings On which with earnest speed I Mould repair To my inspiring theme, in bliss to revel there. D r*- RICHMOND. n. Faint-heart and Self-distrust coequal reign — Yet insecurely throned — with wretched breast E'en now they fall before the excited brain — My spirit's transports claim to be express'd ; And thou, my love, the brightest and the best, Forgive th' ambitious burning to portray That beauty which doth all thy form invest — Smile on, though too presumptuous, my lay Urged by thy magic charms cast every bond away. ni. Blight daughter of the mighty haunt of men, The loveliest cliild of modern Babylon — Thou shalt be prosperous, clad with verdui-e, when The fast decaying works of man are gone ; By nature formed to flourish and live on. . Unhurt amidst the stern assaults of time — Without one antiquated line upon Thy ever pleasing face — still in thy prime. The sun shall yet for thee, the sapphire heavens climb. RICHMOND. IV. I love to people, briglitest Arcady ! The bowers and alleys cool which thee adorn, With graceful forms, ethereal, not to die. With foot -elastic, countenance unworn. — The blest immortals of perpetual morn ! Their joyous faces splendid in the sim ; Here blithely dancing, as on wings they're borne ; Here sauntering on the uplands ; here stretched on The river's flowery bank to watch its waters run. V. Its silvery waters, smooth, and pure, and bright. When summer breathes around her gentle winds. And not a cloud is seen to veil the light, While every tributary streamlet finds Pellucid offering only, that all kinds Of turbid things are kept secure away. So through the emerald meads the river winds, Where Fancy's unrestrained cliildren play And walk in smiling talk, or sing, or dance the day. 6 RICHMOND. VI. Thus, Richmond, on thy beauty I have hung Wrapt in a strange enchantment of repose. Feasting my eyes thy foliage, green, among, With that deep interest he only knows Who watches Nature where she doth disclose Her richest store of lovely, tranquil glory. Where cultivation o'er her features throws A freshness told of in romantic story. So rarely to be seen in this world, transitory. VII. Oft too, have I, with love, much overdu>e. Far wandered early in the young May morn (3'er thy delightful tree-girt fields, and through Thy deep lanes, odorous with the sweet white- thorn — Greeted by flowers on mossy banks aborne, ■ Scarce open-eyed, so sleep bound by the night ; And too much tempted cruelly have torn The loveliest of them, when the clusters bright Shed a rich shower of tears, lamenting their sad plight. RICHMOND. VIII. Thou hast been called the fair by many a voice IN'Iore fit to sing thy praises, far, than mine, Thy beauty has made genius' sons rejoice Whose fancied happiness had known decline ; They have extolled thee in poetic line. But brief has been their praise in that high art ; Nor have they loved thee so as to entwine Thy name with love around th' affectionate heart So that, established there, they felt how dear thou Mvvt. IX. Or, as the jasmine, which in sweet excess Extends its arms, round porches, warm, to cling, Which seem to love its delicate caress, The poet, here, had been inspired to sing. And nourish'd at the fresh Castalian spring, Would not have curbed his flight till, from his lyre, The sounds he drew exhausted every string — But souls have kindled with too slow a fire ! I know not how it is, O scene of bright attii-e ! ! ^' * See Note. 8 RICHMOND. Or have thy softly undulating lines Defeated all their confidence in song ? Haply, their very speech, it thus, confines. As when with glowing rapture borne along. Words seeming harsh, inelegantly strong. The voice sinks to a murmur low and weak. The hand fast trembling, frames each feature wrong, And renders insignificant, the meek — [speak. So pens have failed to write — the tongue has feared to XI. The poet's eloquent award of praise — He pauses yet to sing its virtues well — How oft 'mong womanldnd, on one we gaze With admiration and can warmly tell The attractive charms which in her features dwell — While to another fair, oxu- glances go. Whose beauty may the first maid's far excel — But vain the attempt to pamt our inward glow. The fascinating spell forbids the word to flow. RICHMOND. 9 XII. The weak will dare what fear the strong to do ; The ignorant essay what daunts the wise ; Where cowards crowd, the brave refuse to go ; The mean mind ventures, when the nobler flies ; So I attempt impossibilities ; * Which, no alarming dangers, can repress. For oh, my heart drinks in from my glad eyes Thy constant smiles, yet not with such excess But that I frilly taste thy passing loveliness- XIII. Thou hast so much of gentleness and love That rudest hearts grow tender when with thee ; Thy green haunts, wheresoever eye can rove. Breathe o'er the soul a pure serenity. These are thy charms ! and they, the simplest be — Lawn, tree, and water — crave ye nothing more — Look thankfrd, eyes — heart, beat contentedly — They are the best of bounteous nature's store. Harmoniously combined, ne'er so combined before. * " Description must not be attempted, for poets have made it their theme and failed." — Hone, May. B 3 10 RICHMOND. XIV. TTiou hast indeed the very mien of youth, Th' eternal freshness and the living grace. The smiling power of purity and truth — " Strong without rage" to fright distrust, and chase Deceit from out its secret dwelling place. The world is far behind — it cannot spoil The joy of rapturous love's endeared embrace ; For we have fled its terrible turmoil And now by fancy's aid, put off the bonds of toil. XV. Whate'er imagination can conceive To paint the picture of a peaceful home. Where meekest hearts in happiest ease woidd live,. And in the present, see the time to come ; Without the thought, 't were possible to roam Beyond thy leafy limits — so all fair And beautiful thou art — 'neath heaven's high dome Few spots there are of loveliness, so rare ; * But peace is not for man, his heart's the seat of care. * See Note. RICHMOND. 11 XVI. Awhile tliy wdtcliery scares tlie fiend away^ And young spring-joy conies tripping in his stead— The cypress yields to the luxuriant bay Fair is tlie broAv — erect the drooping head — Oh care indeed a little -while is fled ! And then the heart gains strength to baffle >;till The sad distress of his dominion dread ; But by an effort of recovered will, He chains it up again in dungeon dark and chill. XVII. I cannot take thee in a happier mood, Than at the siui's first greeting — when sweet >le(')i Has just escaped the far-spread, varied wood. Flying before the adoration deep, That opens with the glorious orb's first peep. Now on the summit of the swcllino' mound. Where the wild rose and prickly bramble creep, Gazing, we stand — the dew-bathed trees around Seem with a golden veil of finest tissue bouiul. 12 RICHMOND. XVIII. In just variety of tint and form Th' unbroken foliage clothes the happy plain. Gigantic oaks screen off the raging storm And give protection to the chesnuts' train, Here elm and beech stretch out, a lengthened chain. Here groves of limes — here poplars lone are seen ; Nor lacks there fir or cedar to sustain A bold relief amidst the fresher green : Yet hidden glades are marked, where vapours intervene, XIX. Mists, snow white — and as stringed pearls entwine With the long linglets of a maiden's hair. To trace each tress distinct — so they define The numerous parts, which, separate so rare. Combined arc beautiful beyond compare. And glistening mid these parks of forest green. Like diamonds in their setting, every where Most sweet abodes eidiven the rich scene. Reflecting, as in joy, the sun's excessive sheen.* * See Note. 'i' s^ilfi^"^' o Pi o o (3 RICHMOND. IS XX. The light- wing'd breeze has swept the reeking Thames, Which gently glides adown its pebbly bed, Where verdant meadows dip their garment hems And many a willow droops its graceful head ; White are the sails upon its bosom spread. Far up the vale, majestic, does it wind. Traced full in view, then all at once is led Deep in luxuriance of the loveliest kind, To Mystery, silent maid, and sweet Romance, resigned.* XXI. A village, happy in its chosen site,t Its dwellings half shut in by mantling leaves ; With orchards clad in pale green, pink, and white. Stretched atmy feet, where grace with grace inweaves, An unpretending interest achieves — There's not a finger rude upon it laid, There's not a flaw for which aflc'ction grieves ; It seems for peace and heart-whole joyance made, Where truth might e'en abide, nor ever feel afraid. * " Though deep, yet clear — though gentle, yet not dull, Strong without rage, without o'erflowing, full." — Dlmiam. t See Note. 14 RICHMOND. XXIT. There peeps the small neat churchy of red brick built, With wooden belfry, simple, to accord ; The homely alehouse white, with sign-board gilt In honour of the manor's wealthy lord — While chesnnt trees in front their shade afford To seats beneath, for weary labour set; Where after toil is done, the fi'ugal board Is spread on summer's eve — and near are met Villas recluse, well fit for silent anchoret. XXIII. Deep in the vale, outstretch their mighty arms A giant group of sable foresters,* Like noble strangers gazing on the charms Of a less during race — the light air stirs No fold of their dark robes. Proud foreigners, . Or like high princes seem they, captive made By the soft smiles on just absorbed tears Of the fair forms around them, bright arrayed — Called suddenly to life by magic's marvellous aid. * See Note. d o to ■qo > o l-t o I o RICHMOND. 15 XXIV. The sun has kissed the night-clew from the boughs Long since ; and now is drinking from the flowers The o'er abundant nourishment that flows Full in their veins, poiu-'d there in darkened hours, And froni'the stream, to give it back in showers — The dimpling, laughing stream, that willing yields Its life-preserving moisture for the bowers Ample and cool, and those delightful fields [shields.* Which make its beauty known, and are its beauty's XXV. Now on the Park's forbidden lawn we stray, Beneath the shade of flower-bossed chesnuts high ; The thorns, as it were nature's wedding day. Are hung with white and breathing fragrantly. A fitting haunt for fiiries by and by When silvered by the moon — sequester'd grove ! f Confessional for lover's constancy To be declared at ! Forward let us rove — Look up ! Oh, such a scene ! — lovers, forget your love. * " Thy beauty's shield, heart shaped and vermeil dyed." John Keats. f See Note. 16 RICHMOND. XXVI. A thousand gardens open to your sight,* Unnuniber'd cottages and villas peep — Now red — now dusky brown — now grey — now white — There Kingston's dwellings rise, a numerous heap Thus gazed upon, though still the church- towers keep Their full distinction — then far onward still, E'en quite unto the clear horizon, sweep. In groups subhme, luxiuiant trees, with hill And swelHng mound inwove by nature's faultless skiU. XXVII. Quite near, at heart retreating, cui'ious still. Close herding, stand the dapple-sided deer — Their eyes are fixed on us with dread of ill, In evident mistrust — in too much fear Of human form, which, doubtless, has been near When terrible events have come to pass ! ■ When at the rifle's bidding sharp and clear The noblest there has fallen, and, alas ! [grass.f Has closed his wild bright eyes, snuffing the oft-cropp'd * See Note. f "One cropp'd the meek gi-ass ere it died." — Leigh Hunt. RICHMOND. 17 XXVIII. The love of nature has allured us on A lengthened distance from thy sweetest view O Richmond, and we nigh had further gone ; But justice wliispered " bid ye these adieu " — Ye gentle' antler'd deer, adieu to you. With trees companion'd quickly we return ; For on our right extreme, arise the two Fair sisters,* at whose feet we may discern [stern. Through lingering mist, the domes of London, darkly XXIX. Ah, sister hills, what names do ye recall In fond remembrance, although far away ! Thi'ee, dear to poets,t and before them all The priceless Keats ; who at too soon a day For England's glory, died — nor craved delay ; But he has left a splendour fixed and svocc, A dazzling sun in his unfinish'd lay — Hyperion bright ! — in mid career secure ; For ever blazing forth — for ever to endure. * Hampstead and Higligate — " Now to the sister hills that skirt her plain." — Thomson. t See Note. 18 ' RICHMOND. XXX. Next, deathless Shelley — as the lark shall live While man enjoys existence temporal. And with unwearied energy shall give, Unbidden, his celestial madrigal — So, Shelley, in his tribute, prodigal To that sweet bird,* shall be immortal here — Hereafter too, for his impassion'd call To every spirit that, on earth, is dear To liberate mankind from pride, and hate, and fear.f XXXI. Then turn we to the ever cheerful Hunt — Like magic arc we in the midst of spring ! Such hope is his ! though he has borne the brunt Of many an anxious care in buifetting The waves of this poor life, to which we cling So strenuously, through pleasure and through pain. He wearies not in the imagining Of sunny days — the very gloom and rain, To him, are harbingers of light and joy again.J * Ode to the Skylark. t See Note. I See Note. RICHMOND. XXXII. U) Richmond ! tliy Park's the artist's own gold mine* — A hall hnng roimd with matchless pictures vast — Thence, science taught, may genius' hand, divine For ever snatch them, and the very last That enters there shall gather quite as fast A folio rich, nor rob one landscape still. The tyrants would have closed the gate, and cast Chains for the frantic wlio had bent their skill To force its bars in twain, in spite of covetous will : XXXIII. But at the cruel moment there was found A champion for his fcllow-menf — their right He, singly firm, asserted — and while bound, Afraid, or paralyzed was all the might Of those around him, his shone full and bright — So face to face, he dared them to the deed, And raised his nervous voice for Justice' light — Her light was not withheld ; she heard him plead And with an awful frown, the ungracious act forbade. * See Note. t See Note. 20 RICHMOND. xxxrv. Is't Sunday morn ? — 'tis quiet Sunday morn ! For oft the southern zephyrs passing by, Pour in our ears, upon their hght wings borne. The eloquent though simple harmony Of the church bell — inviting cheerfully, Alike old age, and warm and blushing youth — Alike the Noblesse, and the peasantry To congregate with hearts of love and truth. To raise one common voice for mercy and for ruth. XXXV. Poets have said " my church-roof is earth's dome — " jNIy knee shaU press the turf which God has made; " My warning preacher is the thunder's boom, " And lightning flashes in the deep wood shade, " My ray of hope lives in the forest glade." 'Tis well, oh Poet, with attentive soul. In awe, to love all nature's works display'd ; But wisdom teaches that to reach the goal We should united pray submissive to control. RICHMOND. 21 XXXVI. Is't Sunday morn ? — the air is filled with sounds Most musical, and rich in cheerfulness — Full-strained rejoicing every where abounds — Nature's united thi-ong the Almighty bless And seek, theii- utmost gladness, to express. And is it Sunday morn .'' O doubt it not, In Heaven grief never can sweet song depress, Where radiant day flows on without a spot Of least existing sin, and all the past's forgot. XXXVII. It is a peaceful Sunday morn I wot — How light the air through field and arched wood ! The noise, confused, of toil oppresses not — All space seems purified, to let the flood Of harmony pour on as fain it would. The very voice appears to be set free That what it speaketh good may seem more good : Life opens now, and as a tranquil sea .Toy sparkles in a flood of pure transparency. 22 RICHMOND. XXXVIII. So, ill the calm enjopnent of all things That nature here has beautifully spread, Passeth the day of God — the day which brings Rest and relief to men whose daily bread Is earned where ne'er the genial sun has shed Its gladdening smile ; and now in twilight sweet Their hearts are thankful for the hours just fled ; Renewed in spirit — again prepared to meet Fresh cares, fresh labours — ah, their near approach they greet. ********* XXXIX. 'Tis noAv a day of pleasure * — noontide bright — When all the promis'd charms of earlier time Shine out mature beneath the glowing light Of May-month clear, in its cxtremest prime — Shook is the resolution of dark crime. Affrighted into self-reproach awhile — ' Rememb'ring long-lost mnocence's time. He sees a moment what a fiend is guile Exposed to glorious noon's mcomparablc smile. » See Note. RIC-HMONl). 23 XL. All life is busy in the clear noonday * — The meads are peopled with giad boys and girls, Too fleetly letting pleasure pass away In their bnght merriment — theii* skips and wdiirls — Their buoyant laughter — sunning even churls Into a momentary warmth of heart. Now they go rolhng down — their silken curls jNIingling — now up they leap and riui apart — So cheerily they play without the help of art. XLI. Now o'er the river's dazzling surflice dart The light boats of the skilful — proud are they To shoAv theii" easy mastery of their art — While others glide more gently on their way : The gilded pleasure barge, with streamers gay Now cuts the giitt'ring waters — giving birth To sounds of sweetest music — throusfh the daA' Laughter and song flow on — oh scarce of earth Seems this un thoughtful throng, so warmly bent on mirth ! * See Note. 24 RICHMOND. XLIL Here, parted from the many, well-matcli'd pairs Of elder youth are sauntering quietly Along the path, where the meek daisy shares With buttercups the winding way — close by, The numerous orchard trees a shade supply — Arm crosses arm, and o'er their shoulders falls Each drooping hand, while each head thoughtfully Is forward bent — sweet talk, the ear enthrals — The future's airy dreams, or what the past recalls. XLIII. All life is busy in the full noonday — Each tree, each bush is musical — the air Pours out a rivalling melodious lay — A chorus vast of larks is straining there — The small grey linnet's gentle song sounds near — , The yellow-hammer's oft-repeated note — The twittering tit's — the wren's fond ditty clear — Nor is the nightingale, sweet warbler, mute — Though loAv her tender song — e'en as a wind-swept lute. RICHMOND. 25 XLIV. And equal with these songs of perfect love, Lives the incessant buz, and chirp, and hum, Of the wing'd insect world — from field and grove. From every green spot nigh, sound seems to come As though nor leaf, nor blade of grass were duml). Cricket, grasshopper, locust and field-fly — Bee, hornet, wasp, and gnat with heavy plume, Innumerable each, with cheerful cry Hail the life-blessing sun, and azui-e canopy. XLV. Nor is that delicate and various class Of insects, marvellous in their splendid wings, Unseen or scarce — bright butterflies ! — thev pass, And oft repass in idle wanderings. — The Sulphur now skims by, now upward springs 4 Afar into the dazzling firmament — The Peacock's-eye brings near his loiterings — While Blue and Copper, on wikl pleasure bent, "Weave their fantastic rounds in high divertiscment,* * See Note. C 26 RICHMOND. XL VI. Such, sucli is noon upon this chosen spot ; So full of joy — of Nature's love-warm mine — So full of life — of life that 'wearies not — The poet's fancy of a scene divine — Without one mortal melancholy line — One rent by war or tempest left, and clear Of Time's sure work, afflicting to the eyne — The sun has wrought Elysium's aspect here. For where its glances faU delight and gladness cheer. XLVII. Look back, my muse — ^look back to times agone, AA^hen Sheen blush'd crimson to a royal smile At morn and eve * — and not to one alone. Nor only for a narrow spaced while ; For tlii'ough successive years did Sheen beguile The hearts of kings ; and noise of Toui-ney proud Rang to the palace gates. The noble pile Rose in the vale to an astonish'd crowd, [loud. Where King and Court reposed, or called on pleasure * See Note. RICHMOND, 2 XLVIII. Aj^propriate spot ! and was it not at Sheen May-day was welcomed to the Land again,* With all its blossoms warm, its buds of green And early spreaded leaves ? and the long train Of Flora's youth ; and morris-dancers' chain Formed on the greensward ? — Yes, they hastened here To sing of field and wood and flow'r stored lane Rehabited — to brush away the tear Last shed in AjDril fresh, the freshest of the year. XLIX. Still strolling onward,t wc descend the hill — Our heads rich canopied with forest trees, Which bend on either side with kindly will Then- ample branches, meeting to give ease Unto the spuit, uplaying there increase Of confidence in love ; like good men's hands Raised over us hi blessing — Prithee cease Your steps, for lo, 'Tis loveliness commands — The branches gathered back as though by wood-nymphs' wands. * See Note. f See Note. r ^ 28 RICHMO>rD. L. The boughs are parted like the long bright hair Of some fair village maiden, slmnbering on A spring deck'd bank, whei-e violets' breaths so rare Exchange ambrosial greeting with her own — Her tresses free from thi-alling tie, anon The zephyrs have divided from her face, Softly, its beauty, to repose upon — So let us gaze on this stiU scene, and trace Its timid features o'er — each individual place. LI. Skimming the air on swdft and glossy wings, Of rambow dyes beneath the magic sun. Watch ye the dragon-fly.* — Now vip he springs Above our heads afar — now lost — now won— Quick darting 'mongst the leaves to seize upon Some victim fly and di-ag him to the ground. — He comes ! — intent, for he has captui-ed one, . And 'lights with rustling noise— nor glancing round. Tears fiercely, limb from limb, gorging like ravenous hound. * See Note. RICHMOND. 2^ LII. Is't not SO brotliers ? — if we would pass through The passages of life without a drear And desert- weariness withm, Ave view Minutely, "and with loving eyes, most clear. Those works of God which, as they small appear Might seem less worthy ? — but we quickly find An inexhaustible enjoyment here ; So that we quite forget the storm and wind. As in a calm retreat, where sheltering boughs are twin'd. LIII. And now, almost unconscious, we have gain'd Ham's arching bowers, which all too well beguile Our patient steps ; by long-tried love detain'd For Nature's gothic fane, th' unlabour'd pile, And meditative thread each lengthening aisle. For 'ncath its clasped branches has not sung The gentle Collins, Lyric Bard, erewhile ? Were not his thrilling measui'es here first rung. Loud echoing thi"ough the wood, as his sweet lyre he strung ? 30 KICHMOND. LIV. O haply liere awoke that tender lay- In mem'ry warm of one whose worth he knew * — Who raised his rich song at an earlier day. And from all listeners, admiration di'ew, — The Bard, it was who sang the Seasons through : Thomson ! — how oft must he have Imgered here In rapturous thought, as inspii-ation grew — Alone, or heedless of all wanderers near. This temple's Druid then, throughout the changing year. LV. While ruddy Spring in spirit form approached And sung ecstatic songs unto his soul — While Summer, grown luxuriant, softly touched His love-fuU heart, and o'er his senses stole — Or while mature, ripe Autumn held control ; And too, when Winter, grave, sLiblimely came. And slowly uttered his affecting dole ; Or when to brdld his Castle f was his aim, O siu-ely here he sung to his immortal fame ! * See Note. t The " Castle of Indolence." o a RICHMOND. 31 LVI. And yet again, — did not the lanrell'd Bard, The nervous Drydeu, here invoke repose, Protected by as green a forest-guard Of antecedent growth ? — p'rhaps here arose His brightest thought, which still as ardent glows As when it first came fresh to fill its throne — Here rapture sprung to banishment of woes — The marvellous splendour of the soul outshone In glorious pride to be to kindred spirits known. « LVIL So pass we through these mighty avenues — * Still reverenced more that they our steps incline Unto then- parent greatness f wdiich renews Rich thought of such as now immortal shine — Cromwell, Ai'gyle, Young Henry ; a long line Of high nobihty, whose earthly light Burn'd for their country's glory — let us twine Bays for its sons who fought for Britain's right, And for its daughters, flowers imperishably bright. * See Note. t Ham House. 'i~ RICHMOND. LVIII. Our feet creep nfgli unto the river's edge Whilst yet the fresh delightful woods are near. The water makes low munniu- 'mongst the sedge Inviting to its bosom, pure, and clear As Truth's fair daughters ever more appear — As iresh and full of life, and cherishing As many leafed boughs and posies dear- Of sweet and blushing flowers of sprightly Spring — There to recline awhile, doth mildest rapture bring. LIX. Our harque now breasts the water — to oui- right. Mansions and cots from their- seclusion peep — And now the lawny bank we touch, so bright, [deep Where Pope once trod — the Bard whose utterance Struck with a force that broke the slumberer's sleep — Yet what is here ? — sad ruin of the past ! * The j:)roud St. Jolinf can scarce his presence keep — And for thee Montagu, ^ in vain we cast The eye of Fancy round, we see not where thou wast ! * See Note. t Henry St. John, Lord Bolingbroke. X Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. RICHMOND. 33 LX. Retiring Twickenham ! — shall the mnse leave thee Without once more rememb'ring names renown'd ! For Strawberry's frail fabric yet we see Which trees of varied hue and shape surround — With points and pinnacles decaying, crown'd — The toy that fr-om the hall of playthings greAv * — There rose the mystic Castle f — 'neath unsound And feverish slumbers pressed on mental view — O gaze ye on the spot and forms wake up anew. LXI. Accomplished Walpole's there — Avith all his store Of curious trifles, lately torn apart, Beauty from beauty, classic lore fr-om lore — The desolate halls once more delight impart — George Selwyn's wit again illumes the heart * — And hark ! — the smooth though vigorous tones arc near Of a most pleasing lyre — it doth not start The sense with lawless raptures — even and clear Its sounding measures flow — 'tis he — 'tis Gray Ave hear! — * See Note. f Castle of Otranto. f See Note. c 3 34 RICHMOND. LXII. Away, away — borne on the silent flood, Retiu-n, my muse, toward Sheen's enchanting hill Where all looks lovely screened by waving wood. Fresh vigour mantling in those features still. So leave we Twick'nham, at the water's will. And ghding by the summer-house of Gay,* Row gently to the bank with easy skill. And press again the greensward, ere decay, A^^ith dim, corrupting fingers, has o'ercome the day. LXm. Just opposite to where we stand, secure In care of those sweet sentinels, green trees — Safe fi-om the violence of the winds unsure. But here and there discovered, dwelt at ease The Venerable Cambridge ; f and I seize AA ith thrilhng rapture the appropriate theme — To tell of one whose mental energies Strove on for meekness' sake ; and as a stream Of milk and honey, flowed his full domestic dream. • See Note. i See Note. KICHMONT). LXIV. Now Eve draws nigh, to fix her guileful charms On every feature^ beautiful and bright ; With soothing softness staying all alarms — Peace smiles by iirfluence of her mellow light, — With golden glitter the horizon's dight, In contrast to the darkened lulls beneath — Against its glory rises the proud height Of Windsor's towers,* where many a regal breath Has sigh'd into this world, and flutter 'd on to death, LXV. The sununit high regained, take rest awhile ; The sun now lingering in his western car Athwart the landscape spreads Iris richest smile. As loth to leave all to one lonely star. Ere night with wondrous eyes f has come afar — - And we will mark the radiant-browed repose That rests upon the meads, the foliage rare — On all that in the sight's encompass grows, Faint with the heat of day, yet glowing at its close : * See Note. t " Heaven wakes with all his eyes." — Milton, B. 5. 35 o6 RICHMOND. LXVI. A\'ith that ripe lustre which precedes decay — The glorious luxury of lavished gold — (jiving to graceful elegance full sway Before gTay twilight ckaws her mystic fold Around this scene of perfect beauty's mould. The air is high perfumed — oppressed with song Of cadence sweet, in measures manifold : The vigour of the morning, fresh and strong, Lies partially subdued, trees, shrubs, and flowers among. LXVII. Even as a city, when its blaze of day Has past meridian power, but all before Pleasure's fierce punishment has swept away The sflorv of extreme refinement's store — E'en as Avas Rome — that city, now no more. Whose splendour and high luxury did surpass Intensest di'eams of such, and ventured o'er The just mean of mortahty — alas ! For oh, the setting sun of all the world she was. RICHMOND. LXVIII. 31 Alas ! how soon that setting sun was gone — Then gloom and wild disorder grew apace. And robbery and murder hurried on With plagiie and famine, eager to deface The monuments of merit, when disgrace Had justly struck them prostrate — ignorance, And apathy then sped their slothful race ; Night came, and sleep — but, Rome, no passing trance Was thine — thou didst recede, ah, when again t' advance i LXIX. That night is past — long, long ago it fled To other gloom-hung times mankind had seen — The sun again its splendid light has shed Upon the world of mind — and the bright mien Of morning has given place to noon serene. Once on a land it rises, once alone — Sublimely passing to another scene : Long over Asia's beauteous lands it shone, [groAvn . But now o'er Europe's plains its influence vast, has 38 RICHMOND. LXX. Its glittering throne adorns our native isle — Its central care is Britain's broider'd land ; And, liberty preserved, this sun may smile. Oh for a time unwitted of, unspann'd — So flowers of mind will yet the more expand And yield their seed unto the soft south wind. This sun, attracting to increased command. Until, to clime and people luiconfin'd. The mental world shall be one lustrous noon combin'd. LXXI. Athletic day is down — fidl vanqiiished And sunk into the arms of meekest eve * — The cawing rooks go weary o'er my head Unto their home hard bv — the song-birds leave Their day-haunts, while the flowers have short reprieve From riflmg of the bee and butterfly. Voices are husliing fast — the vessels cleave The river noiselessly — their dark sails high Outspread to woo the breeze, reflected perfectly. * " And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve." — Collins. RICHMOND. 39 LXXII. A gentle breeze, tkrice gently doth, it blow — No ripple stii's tlie water — ii" indeed One moment there's a furrow, 'tis the brow Of calmest peace o'er which a smile doth speed, — The loud contentions of the day recede. The blackbii'd and the robin sing alone ; Xow is eternal space from bondage freed. For the rich sky, transparent, leadeth on Unutterably far, till sight, not space, is gone. LXXUI. Few minutes — and the world is dusk and grey, A pleasant, friendly time for lovers sly — A rustic youth, with hat and kerchief gay. All smart attired, has just past hurriedly — Down to the silent meadow doth he hie. Nor long time is alone — "vvith welcome glow, A lass from the sweet shrinking village nigh Receives the happy boy — we may not know, [flow. Ah, woidd we might ! the warm, the honey'd words that 40 RICHMOND. LXXIV. Fair vale ! fair spot — the gilding of the dawn Is lost — the universal life of noon, Its penetrating blaze, intense, is gone. And evening's tender light is sunk in SAVoon, Yielding all space unto the silent moon. Majestical she rides — and with an eye Of soft benignity, upclosed too soon. Illuminates the landscape which doth He In sleep so passionless, the sleep of infancy. LXXV. The sight entranced as with a magic spell. The landscape seems divinely perfect — now. On fault or flaw, the eye can no where dwell — Sublimity with broad expanded brow Commands each feature of the world beloAv. The trees umbrageous in assembhes vast Are crowned with a cold light and seem to grow Beneath the gaze, and their huge shadows cast Deep on the river's surface, by no glass surpass'd — RICHMOND. 41 LXXVI. There mirror'd back by its reflective power Is every hill and widely branching tree — There every cot that's cradled in a bower Again is present, pencill'd perfectly, As thongh an artist had been there — then see The twinkling lights that tlii-ongh the windows shine, How brilliant in that distant home they be ! They make the heart feel warm — to love incline, For life is moving there — with hopes and fears like mine. LXXVII. The air shakes off its customary weight, As solemn night advances to its height. And sounds arc heard, defined and separate. The tramp of horse — the dip of oars, more light — For the mixed hum of men seems sunken qiiite. Perhaps a slow cart is heard ; and by and by Some late SAvain wliistling— or, with fond delight, Some skill'd musician wakes melodiously The bugle's swelling notes that soft in echo die. 42 RICHMOND. Lxxvni. There is peculiar glory in this hour — Midnight approaches — p'rhaps the radiant moon Is at her zenith, while the big clouds lower. On Thames's bank, beneath us, at this noon 'Tis sweet to watch the silver Hght commune In unheard language* with the wavelets free ; When majesty, extended in soft swoon Gives massiveness to fabric, hiR and tree. And wakes the enamour'd heart to night's deep mystery. LXXIX. Hark, on the silence bm-sts the nightingalef — Hark, hark to her sublime, soul-hfting lay — ■ Hark to the grand outpouring through the vale. At noon so tremulous — in glare of day Low, low, Hke sea-shell mru-mui"ing, hushed away — Fii'st melody of earth's creation, hark ! — Night's Bu-d-of-Paradise — ^its rich array Lives in the fancy warmer 'neath this dark Than ever nature painted for the eyes to mark. * " Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter." — John Keats. t See Note. RICHMOND. 43 LXXX. Now softly falling on the ear, as 'light The dews on delicatest flowers — oh bliss ! — Tender as flute- strains — song of love's delight — Now like a rapidly repeated kiss — A mother's greeting to her child it is — Now Hke a river deep it onward flows, Sublhnely coursing to the sea's abyss ; Then softly, smoothly melting to a close In sounds more sweet than e'er from Sappho's lyre arose. LXXXI. Whence came that music :* from a grove of trees. Felicitous in form and varied dye, Which overhang the spot where now at case I sit to feel and know night's glory nigh. And taste a moment, pure serenity. Enticing bowers of green — but ah, denied Enjoyment — to theii" cool shades would I fly. Yet through the latticed branches spreading wide, Oft woukl peep out upon the landscape, unespicd. 44 RICHMOND. Lxxxn. The picture there is alter'd — still tliine own Sweet features, Eichinond, undefaced we see — But scarce may thy admirer hope, alone. To pass the barrier of this secrecy And in thy simplest mood contemplate thee. The powerful voice of wealth has pleased to say " I covet this fair spot "*^ — and perfectly Art has secured the charming scene away ; [day. Though tliis same wealth, I ween, ne'er lingers there a LXXXIII. Oh, the full eye by such attraction's aid Can soothe the mind to tranquil happiness — Here silent paths, leaf-arched, and flower array'd, Lead on to scenes of beaut}^ wliich impress The enraptured heart with deep devotedness. All that delights is from seclusion seen, And so is blended every loveliness With that seclusion's self, each bough of green — Each glimpse of water greets the soul with love's soft sheen. * See Note. RICHMOND. 45 . LXXXIV. Now rest, my striving muse, the moon has past Behind the far grey hills — the stars regain Theii* wonted kistre, seeming overcast In the surpassing Hght of that orb's reign — The glow-worm's love-attracting flame * again Ilkimines the green hedge-row — all is still — Mine eyes have wandered over hill and plain — This pageantry of nature, to their fill — Yet, here too feebly told — expression, where 's thy skill ? LXXXV. Those most rare images, which to the mind Appeared so rich, so exquisitely AArought, Stretched on the page in words, are so confin'd So wanting the exuberance of thought f — Like things, are they, which, far off seen, seem fraught With beauty — or beneath the light of lamps Of high, unblemished worth — in clear day sought And close examined, when 1,0 medium cramps The arrows of the sight, are mildews, wasting damps. * The light of the glow-worin is from the female only, and irs supposed to direct the search of its mate, t See Note. 46 RICHMOND. LXXXVI. Or unliarmoiiious colourings of paint — Poor surface things, unpleasing to the eye, Which soon becometh ■wearisome and faint, In nothing gratified — oh reader, fly- E'en to the beautiful reality — Thy joy will pardon then the feeble praise My muse has wakened up in poesy — This gorgeous landscape did the passion raise, Which still within my soul, exhaustless charms displays. 1842. C. E. N OT E S. Stanza IX. " Oh scene of hrujlit attire .'"— Richmond is well pictured to the mind by the epithet bright — for the sun, full shining on the broad masses of luxuriant foliage, and on the glossy surfaced river, seen from the height, the whole landscape appears as though bathed in liquid gold. It is a blaze of compact and glittering beauty. Mention is thus made of this usual feature in a landscape when the weather is fair, only because it does seem that this spot possesses the characteristic in a peculiar degree, and because the word is often used in the poem from the feeling that with every thought of Richmond the word " bright " Avill be pi'esent. All is bright and fresh and light and joyous. Its ancient name Avas appropriate and poetical, being, as is generally known, " Sheen," an obsolete Saxon word for shining ; an adjoining parish retains the name as East Sheen. Richmond Avas AVest Sheen. 48 RICHMOND. Stanza XV. " ^ Neath Heaven^s high dome Few spots there are in loveliness so rare." Nothing in nature can be more free from melancholy expression than this scene. Its ever newness and most garden-like order, untainted by formality, proclaim it the haunt of gladness and content. " For ever warm and still to be enjoyed. For ever planting and for ever yoimg ! " — JoHX Keats. Lady jMary AVortley Montagu says, as quoted on the title-page, in a letter to her sister the Countess of Mai-, dated 1723, " Except in the Elysian shades of Richmond, there's no such thing as love and pleasure." Hone has not forgotten Richmond, and in the month of j\lay withal pays his tribute to its loveliness, he says : — "" Hither come ye whose hearts are saddened, or whose nerves are shattered by the sti'ife of life, or the distiu-bances of the world ; inhale the pm-e air, and gaze aMhile on a prospect more redolent of beauty than Claude or Poussin ever painted or saw." Stanza XIX. " Reelecting, as in joy, the sun's excessive sheen." The slant rays of the sun, soon after the rising, burnish the fronts of the villas and mansions, and reflect on the windows their richest gold, giving a gorgeous and striking effect to the whole landscape. Many a sylvan retreat is unveiled to observation, which at other times can be distinguished only by the long- attentive and inquisitive e)e. NOTES. 49 , Stanza XXI. " A village happy in its chosen site." Petersham, seen from the Terrace in llichmond Park. The situation of this village is remarkably advantageous to the foreground of the view, it associates human peace and quiet and pleasant seclusion with its enchanting features, and the orchards attached to the dwellings, placed there with no design of the picturesque, give when in blossom an additional and most valuable character to the exquisite scenery around — richness, depth, variety — and convoy to the mind the confidence of plenty — of tlie wealth and productiveness of Nature. St.uxza XXIII. " A giant group of sahle forester's." The gi'oup of cedars at the bottom of the dell immediately below the upper end of the Park Terrace is very noble. This space from the Terrace to the Petersham Road was the estate of the late Lord Huntingtower, purchased after his .death by Govern- ment, and throAvn into the Park, when the view from this point was fii'st exposed under the tUrection of Mr. Jesse. Two of the cedars are remarkable — one for its sj-mmetrical form, the other for its great size. The former stands a little apart from the rest. These cedars stood in fi-ont of the mansion, which was called " Petersham Lodge." Lysons gives the following account of it : — " James the Second granted the lease of a mansion here to Viscount Cornbury. This house, Ijeing then the property of tlie Earl of Rochester, was burnt down by accident. 1st October, 1721. William, First Earl of Harrington, rebuilt it after a design of the Earl of Burlington. On the death of the late Earl it was sold to Lord Camelford, who in the year 1784 purchasjd the fee-sim])le of the Crown, an Act of Parliament being procured for that purjjose. D 50 RICHMOND. His Royal Highness the Duke of Clarence bought it of Lord Camelford in the year, 1790, and resided there for some years during the summer season. He has since disposed of it to Sii* "V^lUiam Manners, Bart." It -was called by Thomson " Harrington's Retreat." ST.\JfZA XXV. " Sequestered grove " — Leaving the Park Terrace, we pass Pembroke Lodge, the residence of the Earl of Errol, and advancing in the dii'ection of Kingston, reach the grove of whitethorns commonly called the " May valley," the beauty of which when the trees are in blossom, together with their delicious perfume, make this spot worthy of a pilgrimage oft repeated by every lover of nature — by every one who delights in sweet-smelling odom's, or whose eyes find pleasure in a sight that is lovely. Stanza XXVL " A thmisand gardens open to your sights Beyond the whitethorn grove the wanderer's way is on elevated ground, and ever and anon he is surprised with exquisite peeps of the distant prospect between the branches of the beautiful oaks, until he arrives at an eminence in the camage-road from Robin- hood Gate to Kingston Gate, where he comes full upon the far- reaching and magnificent view, Kingston being the distinctive feature, supported by the noble avenues of Bushy Park and Hampton Court. We must always remember in seeing Kingston, that it is endeared to us as the place where the fii'st King of all England was crowned, as well as many of his successors. Stanza XXIX. " Three, dear to poets" — Shelley, Keats, and Leigh Hunt. Keats and Leigh Hunt lived at Hampstead at the same time, and there Shelley visited them. NOTES. 51 The cherished names of Lamb and Coleridge must also occur to us in looking toward Hampstead. " Hyperion bright, in mid career secure.'' Keats's unjinished poem of " Hyperion," is perhaps the most sublime production since the " Paradise Lost," which it rivals when the age of the respective authors is considered. These lines are a specimen of the " verses Jit to live " which he hopes for in his preface to " End}inion." Stanza XXX. " To liberate mankind from joride, and hate, and fear." The introduction here of a stanza from Shelley's " llevolt of Islam," may perhaps be pardoned, as while it is one beautiful example of his earnestness for the pure and the good, it contains a fine moral, in forcible language, and is comjilete in itself. " What call ye Justice ? Is there one who ne'er In secret thought has wished another's ill ? Are ye all pure ? Let those stand forth who hear And tremble not. Shall they insult and kill. If such they be ? their mild eyes shall they fill With the false anger of the hypocrite ? Alas ! such were not pure — the chastened will Of virtue sees that justice is the light Of love, and not revenge, and terror and despite." Canto v., s. -U. And in an earlier stanza he says — " Join then your hands and hearts, and let the past Be as a grave which gives not up its dead To evil thoughts." Stanza XXXI. " 27ie very gloom and rain To him foe harbingers of light and Joy again." U 2 52 RICHMOND. tjm '• Yet now the first announcing voice of Spring is heard in the delightful note of the woodlark ; and we have only to look about us and consider a little, to feel almost assured that " In nature there is nothing melancholy." * — " February." The Poets, whom we have quoted in February, can speak for November. There are many pleasures in it, if we lift up our matter-of-fact eyes, and find that there are matters of fact we seldom dream of. It is a pleasant thing to meet the gentle fine days that come to contradict our sayings for us ; it is a pleasant thing to see the primrose come back again in woods and meadows ; it is a pleasant thing to catch the whistle of the green plover, and to see the greenfinches congregate ; it is a pleasant thing to listen to the deep amorous note of the wood pigeons, who now come back again : and it is a pleasant thing to hear the deeper voice of the stags, making their triumphant love amidst the falling leaves. " November." — " The Months," by Leigh Hunt. Stanza XXXIL " Richmond! thy Park's the artisi's own gold mine" Kichmond Park abounds in beautiful scenery, whether we look toward the north on Hampstead and Highgate, toward the east over AVimbledon and Tooting, toward the south over "Esher's groves" and Hampton Court, or toward the west over Ealing to Harrow ; independent of those lovely sylvan scenes presented amidst the undulations within its own boundary. It is styled the " New Park," because at the time of its enclosure by King Charles I. Richmond Park adjoined the l^alace on the bank of the Thames, now " The Green," " Kew Gardens," and the various intermediate plots of ground attached to the mansions in the vicinity, which, on the demolition of the * " Sybilline Leaves," by Mr. Coleridge, p. 205. NOTES. 53 Palace, Avas granted in portions to several noble individuals. The whole or chief part of the present beautiful park was then a waste — commons belonging to the parishes of Ham and Peters- ham, parts of which still remain. The agreement di-awn up between the King and the parishioners was as follows : — ( From Latin ^ " Ciiaeles, by the Grace of God, of England, ( Translation. ) Scotland, France, and Ireland, King. Defender of the Faith, Sec, to all whom these presents shall come. We have seen the Inrollment of a certain Indenture between us of the one j^art, and William Mm'ray, Esq., one of the grooms of our bedchamber, of the other part, and Inrolled in our Court of Chancery in these words : — " This Indexture, made the two-and-twentieth day of December, in the Eleventh Year of the Reign of our Sovereign Lord Charles, by the Grace of God, King of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, tSjc, between our Sovereign Lord the King, of the one part, and William Murray, Esq., one of the grooms of his Majesty's bedchamber; Gregory Cole, of Petersham, in the county of Surrey, Esq. ; Isaac Jones, of London, merchant ; heirs of William Clifton, Gent., deceased ; Thomas Moore, of Ham, in the parish of Kingston-on-Thames, in the said county of Surrey, Gent. ; James Grace, citizen and cook, of London ; Thomas Smyth and Ephraim Smyth, of Ham, afore- said, yeomen; John Smyth, yeoman; Thomas Harvey, husband- man ; Henry Collins, yeoman, and Elizabeth his wife ; Kichard Chapman, yeoman ; Thomas Prettis, Gent., and his wife ; Joana FoAvles, widow; Thomas Beckct, carpenter, and Mary his wife; Edward Becker, an infant, by Christopher Cewkner, Esq., his guardian ; Henry Dowell, Gent. ; Philip Greenwood, citizen and grocer, of London ; Ilichard Cabard, yeoman ; Kichard Sew ell, yeoman, and Mary his wife; William Hampton, yeoman, and Jane his wife ; Katherine Lord, widow ; James Mitchell, weaver ; Ilichard Bowling, husbandman ; Henry Lane, yeoman ; Samuel 54 ' RICHMOND. Buckley, Gent. ; Thomas Cole, Gent. ; Thomas Garth, citizen of London ; John Scott, husbandman ; Thomas Fitzwater ; Thomas Coles, husbandman ; Ralph Welles "Waver ; Thomas Paul, citizen and cloth- worker, of London; Simon How, of London, merchant; John Yates, yeoman, and Mary his wife ; Richard Turner, yeoman ; William Perkins, fisherman ; John Crookes, waterman, and Alice his wife ; Henry Perkins, fisherman, and Henry his son ; James Cooke, thatcher; Alexander Cooke, thatcher ; John Blaekwell, joyner; George Smyth, yeoman; Margaret Scott, widow, and James Scott, her son ; Christiana Jenkins, widow, Jackman, her grandchild, an infant; John Cheeseman, husbandman, and Lydia his wife, and Elizabeth Garrett, an infant, daughter of John Garrett, deceased, freeholders and copyholders of inheritance and tenants for lives or years respectively of several lands, tenements, and hereditaments of, in, or belonging to the several manors of Ham and Petersham, in the said county of Sun-ey, on the other part. " Whereas our said Sovereign Lord the King is seized in his demeasne as of fee in right of his Crown of England, of and in the several manors of Ham and Petersham, with then- several respective waste and commons thereunto belonging, and with all other right, members, and appurtenance. And whereas his Majesty hath determined shortly to inclose or take in within his Majesty's intended new Park, near Richmond, in the county of Surrey, two huncbed and sixty-five acres, or thereabouts by estimation, be they more or less, being parcel of the commons or waste grounds of or belonging to the said Manor of Petersham, and also four hundred and eighty-three acres, or thereabouts, by estimation, be they more or less, being parcel of the commons or waste grounds of or belonging to the said Manor of Ham. To which said intended new Park and inclosure of his Majesty the several parties before named have and do willingly consent and agree by these presents. ^' Now, this Indenture witnesseth that in consideration of the NOTES. 55 sum of four thousand pounds of lawful money of England, paid before the msealing by his Majesty, to the persons aforenamed (that is to say) a proportionable part thereof to each several person, according to his several interest, which said money tlie said persons do hereby acknowledge to have received of his said Majesty, and to be therewith fully satisfied, contented, and paid, and thereof do acquit and discharge his said Majesty and his heirs and successors. By these presents the said William Murray, Gregory Cole, Isaac Jones, &c., where all the freeholders, and copyholders, tenants, &c., before-mentioned, are again repeated, have granted, remised, released, and quit claimed, and by these presents do for them and every of them severally, and for their and every of their several and respective heii's, remise, release, and quit claim unto om- said Sovereign Lord the King, his heirs, and successors. As well all their and every of their several I'espective right of common as all other their right, title, interest, claims, or demand whatsoever, of, in, or to the said 265 acres by estimation, be they more or less, of or belonging to the said Manor of Petersham, and of in or to the said 483 acres by estimation, be they more or less, of or belonging to the said Manor of Ham, by his INIajesty taken in and inclosed or intended to be taken in and inclosed within his Majesty's new intended Park, at Richmond, as aforesaid. Saving and reserving always to the said several persons, their heirs and assigns, all their right and interest of common in all and every the ivaste ground of or belonging to the said several Manors of Petersham, and Ham, that are not to he inclosed within his 3IaJesty's said neu: Park, his Majesty being tcell j'l^'csed that neither his Majesty, his heirs, or successors, nor any of his, or their farmers of the said manors or either of thon, shall from henceforth have, make, or tahe any benefit or 2>roflt in or out of the residue of the said waste ground of the said manors, or either of them so left out of the said intended new Park. Hut that the said tenants respectively have the sole benefit and profit of the same. And the said William Murray, Gregory Cole, and the other persons before named, do for themselves 56 RICHMOND. severally, and not jointly and for their several heirs, executors, and administrators and assigns, and every of them respectively covenant and grant to and with his said Majesty, his heirs, and successors by these presents, that his INIajesty, his heirs, and successors shall and may peaceably and quietly have, hold, and enjoy the said premises with their apj^urtenances, freed and discharged of and from all and all manner of estates, rights, titles, charges, troubles, and incumberances, severally and respectively had, made, committed, or done, or hereafter to be had, made, committed, or done by them or any of them, or any person or persons severally and respectively, laM'fully claiming by them or under them or any of them. And that they and every of them severally and respectively, their, and every of their several lieu's, executors, administrators, and assigns respectively, at and upon the reasonable request of the Lord Treasurer and Chancellor of the Exchequer, or either of them, for the time being, for and on the behalf of his Majesty, his heirs, and successors, and at the proper cost and charges in the law of his said Majesty, his heii's, and successors, shall and will at all times hereafter, and fi'om time to time make, perform, and execute all such further and other acts and act, thing and things, assurance and assurances in the law whatsoever, for the better and more perfect assuring, conveying, settling, and sure making of the said premises with the appur- tenances unto his Majesty, his heirs, and successors, according to the true meaning and intent of these presents, be it fine or fines, feoffment, grant, bargain, sale, release, confirmation, warran tie, or by any other lawful ways and means whatsoever, as by his Majesty's heirs and successors, or by his or their council learned in the laws, shall be reasonably devised, advised, and requii-ed ; which said assurance hereafter to be made and executed of the said premises, it is agreed by and between all the said parties shall and be enure to, and for the only use and behalf of his said Majesty, his heirs, and successors, and to and for none other use, intent, and purpose Avhatsoever. In witness whereof to the one KOTES. 57 part of these presents, indentures remaining with the said Gregory Cole, our said Sovereign Lord the King's Majesty hath caused the Great Seal of England to be affixed; and to the other part thereof, remaining with our said Sovereign Lord the King, tlie parties to these presents have put to their hands and seals, the day and year fii-st above written. ( From Latin \ " Memoraxdum, the day and year above ( Translation. ] written, the said Gregory Cole, Isaac Jones, Thomas Moore, James Grace, and Simon Howe, came before the said Lord the King in Chancery and acknowledged the said Indenture, and all and singular in the same conveyed and specihed in form aforesaid, the twenty-thu-d day of December, in the year afore- said. And we, the tenure of the said inroUment, at the requestof the inhabitants of the village of Petersham and Ham aforesaid, do agree to be exemplified by these presents. In witness whereof, Ave have caused these oui- letters to be made patents. Witness ourself at Westminster, the seventeenth day of May, in the Seventeenth Year of our reign. " Examinat \ " Edward Salter, per Nos. j " John Page. " Indorsed. "An exemplihcation at the request of tlie inhabitants of Petersham and Ham." The Park if? now thrown open unreservedly to us all, beautified by nature with the help of patient Time, and being restored to us in such loveliness, we should indeed rejoice that we live to enjoy what was denied to our forefathers. Stanza XXXIII. " But at the crncl moment tlicrc teas funnel, A champion for Ids fellow-men.'''' It is well-known that the Princess Amelia, when Ranger of Richmond Park, attempted to close the gates to the public, and tht- carriage-way was pretty generally denied, as ajjpears in a letter D 3 58 RICHMOND. from Horace Walpole to George Montagu, Esq., dated 1752, where he says, " Discontents of the nature of those about "Windsor Park are spreading about Richmond. Lord Brook, who has taken the late Duchess of Rutland's at Petersham, asked for a key ; the answer was, (mind it, for it was tolerably mortifying to an Earl,) ' that the Princess had already refused one to my Lord Ulian- ceUor: " The footway had become a privilege when John Lewis, a brewer of Richmond, commenced unaided a suit at law against this injustice, and secui'ed the possession of that which the multi- tude would have permitted to be WTested fi-om them with scarce a murmm-. The same injustice was attempted at Bushy Park, and was again defended by the bold energy of an individual in the person of a shoemaker named Bennett. Speaking of Riclimond Park, Lysons says, " WTiilst it was in her (the Princess Amelia's) hands, a lawsuit was commenced relating to the right of a footway through the Park, which was tried at the Assizes at Kingston, April 3, 1758, when the right was established." Stanza XXXIX. " 'TVs now a day of pleasrire " — The position here changes; the picture may be taken from the garden of the Star and Garter, or from the Terrace leading from it toward the town of Richmond, the eyes directed to the meadows on either bank of the Thames. Stanza XL. "All life is busy in the clear noonday." We insensibly steal upon the common, sloping from the Hill Terrace to the meadows below, where among its thickly woven bushes, enjoying the full power of the noon-day sun, the birds NOTES. 59 sing lovingly, and the insects sport and buzz. There is a wild luxuriance in this common land, harmonizing so agreeably with the general character of the view, that any change would be the cause of an endless regret. Nature unassisted by toil is thus present everj-where, the only gardens distincth^ in view being orchards. The pleasant habitations of man can scarcely be said to disturb this ; at any rate we would not be without tliem. tliey are something to talk to, something human. This absence of the apparent efforts of toil has been often remai-ked by thpse who know the landscape well. Thomson sang — " Beyond whate'er the muse Has of Achaia or Hesijeria sung " — hut continues — " On which the power of cultivation lies. And joys to see the wonders of his toil." Which is true to say of it, but does not add to the poetry of the t5cene. Staxza XLV. " Weave their fantastic rounds in luijlt divertisenicnt." The butterflies mentioned are common to the locality, and appear at this time. May. The Peacock's-eye or Vancssn lu appears at this time, but more abundantly at the end of August, when the thistles are in bloom, on which it may be easily captured. The red admu-al is also very plentiful here, but does not emerge from the chrysalis state until the end of August and beginning of September, The sulphur is the common yellow butterfly : the others are the Common Blue and Common Copper, both very beau- tiful in the bright sunsliine. 'ft' Stanza XLVII. " Wlien Sheen blushed crimson to a Itoi/a/ snii/f. At morn and eve " — (>0 RICHMOND. Although probably the scenery of Richmond is now infinitely superior to what it was, three, four, and five centuries ago ; yet from 1300 to 1640 it was the favoured retreat of the monarch, and there is every reason to believe his palace here was vast and mag- nificent. " It is not certain," says Lysons, " when the Manor House at Sheen ih-st became a Royal Palace. A manuscript record in the British Museum mentions it as having been the house of Henry the Fii'st, who granted it, with the manor, to the Belets. From that time till the close of the reign of Edward the First it w-as the property of subjects. Edward the First and Second are known to have resided there. Edward the Third closed a long and victorious reign at his palace at Sheen, June 21, 1377. " Queen Elizabeth ended her days at Richmond- Palace on the 24th of March, 1603." Richmond Palace continued to be the favourite residence of royalty until the Commonwealth, when it appears to have been neglected, and although set in order for the reception of the King on the Restoration, was not inhabited by him, and from this time began to fall into dilapidation. It tAvice suffered by fire, and the second time Avas burnt to the ground; "when," says Lysons, "it was rebuilt with great magnificence," by Henry the Seventh, who calling the place after himself, changed the name from "Sheen" to " Richmond." " And noise of tourney jrroiid Banc/ to the Palace gates" ' s " Henry the Seventh held a grand tournament at his manor at Richmond in 1492." " A tournament was held here on the 12th of January, when the King (Henry the Eighth), for the fu'st time took a part in those exercises." — Lysons. Richmond was the scene of all the gaieties of tlie fom-teenth. XOTES. G 1 fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries. Christmas was there kept with great rejoicings. ]May-day was celebrated with equal spirit and magnificence. " In the year 1636, a masque Avas performed before the King and Queen at Richmond, by Lord Buckhurst and Edward Sack- ville." — Lysons. It appears at first thought, surprising that the hill should not have been chosen rather than the plain for the site of the Palace, but probably the difficulty of obtaining water was considered a sufficient reason for its being built where it was, that also being Crown property whereas the hill Avas not. Nothing remains of the glory of past days, an old archway of the most ordinary construction, being a part of the offices attached to the Palace, is all that can be seen. Of the monastery, Avhich was a large one, nothing is left to denote that it ever existed, but the lane called Friar's-lane. Stow, in relating of a riot in the reign of Henry the Eighth, on May-day, 1517, says, — "The Cardinall Avas advertised by Sir Thomas Parre, whom in all haste he sent to Richmond to inform the King." Staxza XLVIII. " Ajjpropriate spot ! and ivas it not at Sheen May-day teas icelcuined to the land ayain ? " Independent of the fitness of the locality it may well be sup- posed that the may-pole was here raised with energetic delight, and May-day celebrated with enthusiasm where the King resided, and when the first in the land took u lively interest in its " Genial, loved, return." May-day is Avith us often a day for cloaks and even umbrellas, and the floAvers and forest trees have scarcely spread their beauties to the skies. Leigh Himt says, — " It is to be recollected, hoAvever, that by the idteration of the style, the first of May (so renoAvned in th£ poetical calendar) was 62 RICHMOND. throAvn back twelve days into April ; and it may be added, that the climate of this country may really have been finer in the times of our ancestors. Either this must have been the case, or they must have been an infinitely robuster people from their out-of- door habits, and not so sensitive to early chills ; otherwise they could not have agreed with one accord to go forth as they used to do on May mornings, and encounter the dewy leaves." Hear what is said by the most rural of IjtIc poets, who passed his life like a bird, in singing and making love : — " Get u]), get up ! for shame ; the blooming morn Upon her wings, presents the God unshorn ; See how Aurora throws her fair Fresh-quilted colours through the air : Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see The dew-bespangling herb and tree, Each flower has wept, and bow'd toward the east Above an hour since ; yet you not drest ; Nay not so much as out of bed, l^Tien all the bii'ds have matins said, And sung their thankful hymns ; 'tis sin. Nay, profanation, to keep in ; When as a thousand virgins on this day Spring sooner than the lark to fetch in ^lay ! " Herrick. The poets of Elizabeth's time abound with similar instances. The door-keeper in Shakspeare's " Henry the Eighth," at the chi'istening of Elizabeth, says of liis inability to keep out the crowd, — " 'Tis as much impossible (Unless we sweep them from the door with cannon) To scatter them, as 'tis to make them sleep On May-day morning, which will never be." Alas ! the honest porter knew nothing of what would become of his country's sportiveness. Bank notes and sordid cares are not to NOTES. 63 be found in the fields ; and so the personification of May-day is left to the chimney-sweeper, like the smoke on the lamps when the bright festival is over. However, now that our poetry is come back, something like the love of nature must return with it ; and every one who contributes a word of admiration towards it, helps to restore England its generosity, health and enjoyment." " And morrifs-danccrs' chain Formed on the greensward.'''' The morrice-dance was known throughout England before Queen Elizabeth's time, probably long previous. It is of Moorish origin, more properly " Moresque ; " ^Moresque and Arabesque, are Moorish terms for grotesque paintings. " After that came a morrice-dance, finely deckt with purple scarfs in their half-shirts, with a tabor and pi])e, the ancient musick, and danced round about the may-pole, and after that danced the rounds of their liberty.'"— City Loyalties displayed, 1661. 4to. So given by Hone, in his " Every-day Book." — May. Stanza XLIX. " Still strolling onward''^ — Descending Petersham hill beneath the shade of the tall oaks, and about half-way down, we catch a charming peep of the distant country, looking over the heads of the cedars and oaks in the valley. Stanza LI. " Watch ye the dragon-Jig'' — The insect here referred to, is the lihcllula grandis of Linn;eus and Donovan ; he may be observed in the neighbourhood of oaks or beeches, or on the borders of any wood or shaw near to Mater or marshy ground, through the summer months, 'ihe lihellula ^4 RICHMOND. puella, a beautiful variety, is very abundant on the banks of the Thames, neither so large nor so strong, and active on the wing as the former. The Avings and body are of a dark blue. Stanza LIV. " Oh, haply here awoke that tender lay." Collins's ode on the death of Thomson. It may be excused to take this o^iportunity of introducing the name of Collins, aiding the introduction of Thomson, and thus giving a deep and pleasing interest to these noble avenues. It is perhaps enough that Collins was acquainted with Richmond, and therefore might have walked beneath these trees. The scene of the poem referred to " is supposed " says the title, " to lie on the Thames near Richmond." Thus he writes: — " The friend shall view yon whitening spire, And 'mid the varied landscape weep." The spire of Richmond church is intended, although there is no spire now, probably was not then. Thomson was buried in this church. Thomson lived at Richmond, but by no means in the most desirable situation. The Earl of Shaftesbury now resides there. The residence is called " Rosedale House." Thomson's summer-house is still shown where he wrote his poem of " The Seasons." There are very few private residences really deUyhtfully situated at Richmond, with retired and appropriate grounds attached. Miss Roberts's, the Marquis of Lansdowne's, and the Duke of Buccleuch's are so ; the Ladies Ashburnham's may also be so distinguished. " This tenure's Druid then." — This appellation is appropriate and effective in Collins's pathetic and elegant little poem : — Notes. 05 " Oh ! vales and wild woods, shall he say, In yonder grave your Druid lies," and is now introduced to harmonize the scene, Staxza LVII. ^^ Still reverenced more that theij our steins incline Unto their parent greatness ichich reneios Rich thought of such as note immortal shine — Cromwell, Argyle, Young Henry; a long line Of high nobility, whose earthly light Burned for their country's glory." " The Manor House at Ham," says Lysons, " Avas buili hi the year 1610," seventh year of James the First's reign, " and was intended, as it is said, for the residence of Henry, Prince of "Wales. It underwent considerable alterations in the reign of Charles the Second, when it was completely furnished by the Duke and Duchess of Lauderdale, and it now remains a very curious specimen of that age." John, the celebrated Duke of Argyle, was born there ; being the eldest son of the Duchess of Lauderdale's daughter, the issue of her fii-st marriage with Sir Lionel Tollemache. She married the fii'st Duke of Argyle. The Duchess of Lauderdale was the first possessor from the Crown of this noble and interesting house and estate, and being the Countess of Dysart in her own right, it descended to her son as second Earl of Dysart. The record of this place being intended for the residence of Pi'ince Henry, eldest son of James the First, adds something of interest, as he was a youth of such l)rilliant promise, equally as regarded moral and intellectual worth. His short life was chiefly spent at Richmond, and, indeed, it is related that his riding from Richmond to London, when the sickness which caused his death was upon him, greatly contributed to its fatal termination. He died in his nineteenth vear. 66 RICHMOND. Cromwell is said to have A-isited the house when the Duchess of Lauderdale resided there, for he respected and admired the Duchess for her talent, dignity, and personal beauty. The Tollemache family is of Saxon descent. Sii- Lionel Tollemache about 1660 married the Lady Elizabeth Murray, afterwards Countess of Dysart in her owti right on the death of her father, and Duchess of, Lauderdale by her second marriage. She was a reputed beauty. Thomas, her son, Avas a brave and eminent soldier. William, another son, was a naval officer. Her daughter. Duchess of Ai-gyle, was beautiful. Of the third Earl's sons, Wilbraham, fifth Earl, was fu-st a naval and afterwards a military officer. George, also in the navy, was killed by a fall from the mast-head of the " Modest," man-of-war, in his sixteenth jear. John, a captain in the naxy ; whose son, Lionel Robert, a military officer, was killed before Valenciennes. William, also in the navy, was shipwrecked. Of the third Earl's daughters, Louisa, the late Countess, was a beautiful and good woman. Jane, also beautiful. St.\nza LVIIL " Our feet creej) tiic/h unto the river's edge." Passing through the avenues we arrive on the bank of the Thames, and taking a boat proceed as far as the house where Pope's villa stood, and which is still called after the Poet. Stanza LIX. " Sad ruin of the past! " This pretty spot on Avhich Pope spent much of his time and genius to adorn, and make it a fit residence for such a Poet, was soon destroyed by the " Goths and Vandals " Avho fol- lowed. Pope died in 1744 and in 1760 Horace Walpole thus writes to Sir Horace Mann : — NOTES. 67 " I must tell you a private woe that has happened to me in my neighbourhood — Sir Y\"illiam Stanhope bought Pope's house and garden. The former was so small and bad, one could not avoid pardoning his hollowing out that fragment of the rock Parnassus into habitable chambers; but, would you believe it, he has cut down the sacred groves themselves ! In short, it was a little bit of ground of five acres enclosed Avith thi-ee lanes and seeing nothing. Pope had twisted and twirled, and rhpned and harmonized this, till it appeared two or three sweet little lawns opening and opening beyond one another, and the whole sur- rounded with thick inpenetrable Avoods. Sir AYilliam, by advice of his son-in-law, Mr. Ellis, has hacked and hewed these groves, wriggled a winding gravel-walk through them, Avith an edging of shrubs, in what they call the modern taste, and in short, has desired the three lanes to walk in again ; and noAV is forced to shut them out again by a Avall, for there was not a muse could walk there but she was spied by every country felloAV that Avcnt by with a pipe in his mouth." Lysons' description of the change does not at all agree with this, but, perhaps, Walpole is most correct " After Pope's death," says Lysons, '• Avhich happened at Twickenham, May 30, 1744, his house was sold to Sir William Stanhope, Avho added the wings and enlarged the gardens by laying out a piece of ground on the opposite side of a lane, connected by a subterraneous passage, in which is placed the following inscription : — " The humble roof, the garden's scanty line 111 suit the genius of the bard divine ; But fancy now displays a fairer scope And Stanhope's plans unfold the soul of Po])e." So much for opinion — these lines sound like vanity. " Every memorial," says Lysons, " of the celebrated bard by whom it was once inhabited is preserved with singular care." The house and grounds, long retaining some resemblance to theii" former 68 RICHMOND. selves, notwithstanding the rude incursions of the barbarians, have been lately murdered outright. The gardens are thus described by Pope himself, in a letter to Mr. Edward Blount, in 1725: — " I have just put the last hand to my works of this kind in happily finishing the subterraneous way and grotto. I there found a spring of the clearest water, which falls in a perpetual rill that echoes thi-ough the cavern day and night. From the river Thames you see through my arch up a walk of the wilderness, to a kind of open temple, wholly composed of shells in the rustic manner; and from that distance, under the temple, you look down through a sloping arcade of trees, and see the sails on the river passing suddenly and vanishing as tlu'ough a perspective glass. When you shut the doors of this grotto it becomes on the instant, from a luminous room, a camera obscura, on the walls of which all the objects of the river, hills, woods, and boats are forming a moving pictm-e in their visible radiations ; and when you have a mind to light it up, it affords you a very different scene ; it is finished with shells interspersed with pieces of looking-glass in angular forms, and in the ceiling is a star of the same material, at which when a lamp (of an orbicular figure of thin alabaster) is hung in the middle, a thousand pointed rays glitter and are reflected over the place. There are connected to this grotto by a narrow passage, two porches : one towards the river of smooth stones, full of light and open; the other toward the garden shadowed with trees, rough with shells, flints, and ii-on ore. The bottom is paved with simple pebble, as is also the adjoining walk up the wilderness to the temple, in the natural taste, agreeing not ill with the little clipping murmur and the aquatic idea of the whole place." Lady Mary AVortley Montagu lived at Twickenham, and no doubt fii-st went there by Pope's wish. In a letter to her he says, " I find there is a pretty good house in the town (Twickenham) opposite to that which Lord William Paulett has taken; 'tis the eamc that Lord Coventry lately had. If Mr. Wortley would come NOTES. 69 and see it he would know all the particulars, which I am not able to give an exact account of, having sent you this note the moment I heard of it. Though still, that which I believe you both would like best is the house in the field I spoke to him about, and which I think the prettiest situated thing imaginable." " I am at Twickenham," says Lady Mary, writing to the Countess of Mar, 1723, "where there is, at this time, more com- pany than at London." Many other illustrious characters honoured Twickenham with their presence at this period. " At this Villa," says Lysons, "Pope received visits from the most eminent of his literary contem- poraries. Swift, Gay, and himself frequently made an illustrious triumvirate of genius." Lady M. W. Montagu, writing to the Countess of Mar, says, " Doctor Swift and Johnny Gay are at Pope's." Stanza LX. " For Strawhemfs frail fdhric yet toe see Jfliich trees of varied hue and sluij)e surround — JFith points and pinnacles decay iny crowned — 27ie toy tliatfriun the Itall of playthinys yreu' — There rose the mystic castle — ^neath unsound And feverish slundwrs pressed on nwnttd vieiv." Strawberry Hill, the residence and the delight of Horace Walpole. Until lately the Earl of Waldegrave resided there. In 1842, the furniture and curiosities collected by Walpole were sold by public auction. While the collection was on view the visitors were very numerous, so much so, that for a whole month the house was each day crowded to excess. The attendance at the sale was small ; many articles realized great prices, fully as liigh as was expected, Init many much less. Being built of very perishable materials, wood, and lath-and-plaster, the house is fast going to decay: Tt does not ajipcar that Walpole first called it 70 RICHMOND. Strawberry Hill, although he begs his friend, Sir Horace Mann, to call his little estate by that title, in a letter, dated 1748, being the year following that in which he bought the property. He says, * You shall hear from'me from Strmvbcrry Hill, which I have found out in my lease is the old name of my house; so pray never call it Twickenham again." By this, it does not appear he was so well acquainted with the history of his place as Lysons was, who says, " The Earl of Orford's well-known villa standing on a piece of ground called in old writings, Strawbeny Hill Shot, was originally a small tenement built in 1698, by the Earl of Bradford's coachman and let as a lodging-house. CoUey Cibber was one of its fii-st tenants, and wrote there his comedy called, ' The Refusal, or Ladies' Philosophy.' " The beauties of its situation afterwards tempted persons whose rank and estabHshments Avere such as seem to have demanded a larger mansion, to take it as a simimer residence. Talbot, Bishop of Durham, lived in it -eight years; after him, Henry, Marquis of Carnarvon. " It was next hii-ed by ]\Irs. Chevenix, the toywoman, who let a part of it to the celebrated French divine, Pere Courayer. Lord John Philip Sackville afterwards took the house of Mrs. Chevenix and kept it about two years. In 1747, the Earl of Orford (then the Hon. Horace Walpole) bought the remainder of Mrs. Chevenix's lease, and the next year pm-chased the fee-sicdple, by Act of Parliament, it being then the property of three minors." Built, room by room, as it was, it must have been, as it now appears, an inconvenient and uncomfortable house, independent of its miniature size. Of the latter, "Walpole was sensible, of the former probably not. In a letter to Sir Horace Mann, 1747, he says plaj-fuUy, " The house is so small that I can send it you in a letter to look at ; the prospect is as delightful as possible, commanding the river, the town, and Richmond Park, and being situated on a hiU descends to the Thames through two or three little meadows, wliere I have NOTES. 71 some Turkish sheep and two cows, all studied in their colours for becoming the view. This little rm-al bijou was Mrs. Chevenix's, the topvoman a la mode." This was, of course, before he had added to it, yet it was at last but a many small things in connexion with each other. He says again, writing to Mr. Conway, " It is a little plaji:hing-house that I got out of Mrs. Chevenix's shop, and is the prettiest bauble you ever saw." And again to Sir Horace Mann : — " As my castle is so diminutive, I give myself a Burling- ton air, and say, that as Chiswick is a model of Grecian architecture. Strawberry Hill is to be so of Gothic." And in another letter, " Little enough, but very sv.eet." He soon added to his domain as well as to his domicile. Writing to Sir Horace Mann, he says, " I have now about fourteen acres, and am making a terrace the whole breadth of my garden on the brow of a natural hill, with the meadows at the foot and commanding the river, the village, Richmond Hill, and the Park and ])art of Kingston." 26th of December 1748, speaking of its pleasant situation in another letter, he says, " You never saw so tranquil a scene, without the least air of melancholy. I should hate it if it was dashed with that." For full description of Strawberry Hill, see letter 247 in Lord Dover's collection of letters to Sir Horace ]\Linn. The origin of Horace Walpole's romance of " The Castle of Otranto," is thus described by liim in a letter to the Kcverend William Cole, " You will even have found some traits to put you in mind of this place. When you read of the picture quitting its panel, did not you recollect the portrait of Lord Falkland all in white, in my gallery p " ♦ * * ♦ " I Avaked one morning in the beginning of last June from a dream, of which all I could recover was, that I had thought myself in an ancient castle, (a very natural ckeam for a head filled like mine with Gothic story,) and that on the uppermost bannister of a great staircase I saw a gigantic hand in armour. In the evening I sat down and began to write." 72 RICHMOND. Stanza LXI. " Oeorge Selwi/n's tvi't again illumes the heart" — As is well knoMU, George Sel^yn was the first wit of his day, and associated with all the literati, amongst whom Mas Horace "Walpole ; he had a particular predilection for criminals, and loved to see a man hung, if he was a criminal of th.ejirst water. Walpole, writing from Strawberry HiU to Sir Horace Mann, says, " there had been an alarm the previous night that some thieves had broken into a house at TM-ickenham, and having secured one of the delinquents, he told his servant to run to Mr. Selwpi, and tell him thev had ' causrht a housebreaker for him.' " " 'Tis he — 'tis Gray tve hear ! " — Thomas Gray, the poet, was an intimate friend of Horace Walpole's, and frequently visited at Strawberry Hill. In a letter to the Rev. Wm. Cole, he writes, " I expect Mr. Gray and Mr. Mason to pass the day with me here to-morrow." At the time of Gray's death, Walpole was in Paris, and on learning of the event he thus writes to Mr. Cole, " Our long, very long friendship and his genius must endear to me everything that relates of him." Dr. Johnson saj'S of Gray, his " Elegy" and " Ode to Adversity" Mere then known to the Avorld, " Gray's reputation was noAV so high, that, after the death of Cibber, he had the honour of refusing the laurel, which Mas then bestoMcd on ]\Ir. WHiitehead." Stanza LXH. " The summcr-Jiouse of Gay" — The little ornamental temple called " Gay's Summer-house," is in the grounds of Henry Cornfoot, Esq., possibly, M'hen Gay lived, NOTES. ( O the property of the Duke of Queensbury, Gay's friend and benefactor. Referring to Richmond, Thomson says in " The Seasons," " The worthy Queensbury yet laments his Gay." " And press again the greensward" — To regain the hill we cross the meadows which are immediately beneath the terrace at its summit, and all around which the scenery is extremely beautiful ; it is an amphithcatral area, with the encircling trees, at once for walls and spectators — " Those green-rob 'd senators of mighty woods I" Stanza LXIII. " The Venerable Cambridge ; " — George Owen, Archdeacon Cambridge, who died in 1839, was a man of most amiable disposition and of some literary eminence. His father, Richard Owen Cambridge, the autlior of the " Scribleriad," also lived at Richmond, in the mansion near the bridge, now called Cambridge House, the residence of Henry Bevan, Esq., at which place Johnson and Reynolds frequently visited. Reynolds also had a house at Richmond, on the hill, at the Richmond extremity of Petersham-common, the one nearest to the Star and Garter : it has been much altered of late, and is now the property of George Ball, Esq. Stanza LXIV. " Against its glory rises the proud height Of Windsors totcers," — In clear weather Windsor Castle is plainly visible to the naked eye ; generally on the extreme line of the horizon, but occasionally, when the sun sets quite or nearly behind it, E 74 RICHMOND. hills may be distinguished beyond : probably Maidenhead thicket. There are, perhaps, few places so agreeably, and scarce one so conveniently situated from which sunset is seen to the same advantage as from Richmond-hill. With such a scene below, its often almost overwhelming splendour is a sight which might justly attract the earnest attention of admiring multitudes, but even here, it comes and departs in silent majesty, by few observed — by still fewer appreciated — it hath not the trump of bold-faced advertisement; to have witnessed it, affords no help to the conver- sation of polite society. Stanza LXXIX. " Hark, on the silence hursts the nightingale" — Although nightingales may be heard in the west of England in most parts favourable to their love of seclusion, at few places will there be so many observed singing at one time as at Richmond Hill ; on a mild, calm, and dewy night in eai'ly May, the air is filled with their spirit-stirring music. They seem to emulate each other in the clearness, richness, and variety of their melodious song. For the enjojTiient of the high treats of Nature at Richmond, May is the month to be preferred. The thorns in Richmond ' Park being profusely covered with blossom ; the chestnut groves of Bushy Park, so lavishly adorned, seem like the oppressive orna- ment of man's handiwork endeavouring to outvie nature in magnificence ; the fields are full of wild flowers ; ever near, yet sufficiently far away, hover the earnest rooks, who, having restored theii- storm-shook colonies, are constantly engaged in feeding their callow young ; the warblers are strong in song, while night is made glad with the voice of nightingales. In a letter to Mr. Digby, 1720, Pope describes Twickenham in May with more poetical and playful elegance than is often found in his metrical NOTES. i poems. " No ideas," he says, " yon could form in the winter can make you imagine what Twickenham is in this warmer season. Our river gHtters beneath an unclouded sun, at the same time that its banks retain the verdure of flowers ; our gardens are offering their fost nosegays, our trees, like new acquaintance brought happily together, are stretching their ai'ms to meet each other and growing nearer and nearer every hour. The birds are paying their thanksgiving songs for the new habitations I have made them. " My building rises high enough to attract the eye and curiosity of the passenger from the river where, upon beholding a mixture of beauty and ruin, he inquires what house is falling or what church is rising ? " In support of the belief that Richmond is favoured with the presence of nightingales beyond what most other localities in England are, it is needless for a weak voice to speak — the muse of Wordsworth has espoused the cause in the following beautiful and interesting sonnet. " Fame tells of groves — fi-om England far away — * Groves that inspire the Nightingale to trill And modulate with subtle reach of skill Elsewhere unmatched, her ever- varying lay ; Such bold report I venture to gainsay : For I have heard the choir of llichmond Hill Chanting, with indefatigable bill. Strains that recalled to mind a distant day ; When, haply under shade of that same wood, And scarcely conscious of the dashing oars Plied steadily between those Avillowy shores, The sweet-souled Poet of the Seasons stood — Listening, and listening long, in rapturous mood. Ye heavenly birds ! to your progenitors." June, 1820. Sonnet 34, ])art 2, vol. 3. * Wallacliia is the country alluded to. E 2 76 RICHMOND. Stanza LXXXII. ^^ I covet this fair apot" — The Duke of Buccleuch's grounds. There are many places, the great fame of which, for natural beauty, is dependent on the scenery viewed from within the ^Jrecincts of private grounds, and in the gardens here referred to are beauties which alone would attach the admirer of natui'e to Richmond, but unfortunately for him its gates are closed. The view is seen from an apparently far-extending forest of trees whose broad outspreading branches hide all connexion with the busy world, secui'ing to it a peculiar charm — the pleasant fascination of romance. And yet again, by another misfortune, the real attributes of Richmond are concealed from those who seek its beauties. From the foot of the hill to the terrace the wanderer must toil, with an unusually frightful brick wall screening every atom of jn'ospect from his sight, although he is following the course of the glorious river the whole distance. The sacrifice is here as great as it would be in placing a beautiful statue in a deep I'ecess, by which contrivance it should only be possible to see the figure in standing exactly vis-a-vis; and lastly, on reaching the most favourable point of view, Ave find that portion of the hill left, wholly bare of foliage, to preserve the distant prospect to the houses there situated, but retired fi-om the brow ; so that this lovely scene is unsupported by any foreground, which, if of a grand and pictui-esque nature, as it might well be, would supply the want it only needs to realize an Elysium to the mind. Stanza LXXXV. " So wanting the exuberance of thought" — However extravagant the glowing descrijDtion of a true poet NOTES. 77 may appear to the unimpassioned mind, there is no doubt, in most, if not in all cases, that his impression of the scene eulogized is by far more glorious than his exjyression ; and that although he may be -well satisfied with the performance at the moment of its accomplishment, such satisfaction is indeed of brief duration, and is succeeded by disappointment at its feebleness, to his own astonished soul full mightily inadequate to the merit of his subject. SHORT POEMS. SHORT POEMS. " " A spirit that strove For truth, and like the Preacher found it not." Shelley, Ah ! once I knew a gentle child, And she was fah, supremely fair ! Her blue eyes were so softly mild. With nothing can I them compare ; Her long and silken tresses hung ado^vn Without adornment of a bow, Or plait, or tie of any kind, — It curled most charmingly, and so By natm-e, without art, inclined — And in the sun it very brightly shone. E 3 82 SHOKT POEMS. 11. Her cheek was like the blossom peach ; Her brow was broad and amply full ; So calm, her voice ! — melodious, rich — O she was passing beautiful ! Nor should I fail to say how purely well — With what just taste she chose to di'ess, She wished, and none dared say her nay — 'Twas stainless white, in simpleness; A flowing robe, with ghdled stay. That o'er her form in graceful drooping fell. III. She was not timid, even a blush Ne'er swept athwart her placid brow. But oft, too oft, hot tears would rush Up to her eyes and overflow. Heedless, and die upon her beauteous cheek ; She hung not down her head whene'er A strange and unfamihar voice Addressed inquiring words to her — Yet rarely did she then rejoice. But sobbed, and wept as though her heart would break. SHORT POEMS. 83 IV. In few she any fondness knew — Too seldomly the smile beguiled That filled her eye, serenely blue ; And yet she very sweetly smiled. Her mother loved another child — she said Laura was sad, she knew not why — Quite grave, when all around was glee ; Her frequent answer was a sigh — Heaved meekly, yet reproachfidly, And oh, they said she was an artful maid ! V. From few she any fondness drew — Too watchfully she fixed her eyes On all who came within her view, Whom hoodwinked fortune, worldly wise, Had placed her nigh — for soon each brow betrayed To her clear vision, aims unsure — At which she tiu-ned from them and cried Afresh — to see none really pure ; Then sneeringly, they turned aside. And whispered loud, " She is an artful maid." 84 SHORT POEMS. VI. Thus idly did they pass her by. To gaze on others, far less fair, Though in bright vests most heedfully Attii-ed, who even laughed with care. An artful maid ? — ah, why the inference ? — 'Twas e'en because she check'd her smile In shock'd distress where'er it fell — Because she looked on them longwhile, But her sweet musings failed to tell — Hope lost in all, poor child of innocence ! — VII. Alas ! she died — and willingly : She wither'd — slowly, slowly changing As does the young and blooming tree. When the vile worm has long been ranging In secret at the root, devoui'ing it : The lovely words she spoke were truth. Yet when she spoke, they doubted her — Believed her old in guile, in youth. And aU in all mistrusted her ; So shunn'd she would in pensive sadness sit. SHORT POEMS. 85 VIII. She spoke the truth, I said — alas ! How coiild she rest on this false earth ? How could she, gay, unwotmded, pass Through life, — go hand in hand Avith mirth '. The heart, unnourished, clings to weird distress — But she is gone where He will bless. Who sent her here to softly shine. As Truth's forlorn ambassadress — And not again, I fear, these epre Shall witness such transcendent loveliness. 1840. 86 SONNET. ON FIRST SEEING MRS. N- She came — O she was charming to behold — Smiling, not archly — neither mournfully — It was a radiance like the sun's rich gold Upon the banks, and o'er the surface free Of a calm river, which arrayed her lips And floated in her eye. — She was not fair, If fairness her soft pencU only dips In strength of light, for darkness dyed her hair, And daintiest twilight bathed her countenance. Her voice was sweet, and oh, jEolian-like, Rose murmiu'ing — just as it were by chance ; Each motion did with admii-ation strike — As perfect Roses bending in reply. When the young Zephyi's fondly whisper nigh. 87 SONNET. TO SPRING. FoRtliy sweet eyes, dear Spring, this sonnet's framed — For thy sweet eyes, unworthy though it be, When thou art quite alone, in privacy. And at thy bright perfections it is aimed. "When morning first salutes thy brow unblamed. And chides thy sleep with his soft radiancy, Thy smile 's so fresh, thou'rt gemmed so brilliantly My heart leaps up and banished joy's reclaimed. Thy fair young crisped hair entwined with flowers — The flight ecstatic of thy tunefid voice — Thine eyes illuming thine own fragrant showers — And still, the promise deej), of charms more choice — Rich in the strength of unawakened powers — O Spring, these move my soul to loud rejoice. 1842. 88 SONNET. The fiest hour of the moening, 21st of novembee, 1844. — The moon -was up, the arch of heaven serene, the wind hushed perfectly — the flame of a candle was motionless in the open air. The atmosphere was clear unto the very grass, and even the river was as free from mist as on a summer's noon ; then withal, so mild that at this hour Fahrenheit's thermometer marked 48". 'TwAS niglit, and softly through the fields I strayed, Invited by much seeming loveliness — Expecting it were false I dare confess, Like Spenser's hags as damsels fair arrayed ; For 'twas November — flowers and leaves afl^rayed By fast approaching winter — ne'ertheless. And be it uttered with all fearlessness. Not fondest summer ever gentler played. Blue sky and flashing star, and moon unveil 'd — . Uninterrupted in theh purity — Nor thinnest mist the dreaming earth assail 'd. Repose supreme reign'd universally — About, a balmy atmosphere prevail 'd — E'en the night-watcher, rarely such a night shall see. 89 . SONNET, On one who was proof against the allurements of the WORLD, so far as they might affect humility, love, and piety, although in the full light of its attractions. A cheerful spirit and a fu-m and virtuous heart were impregnable, alike to artful persuasion and to bitter scorn. Thou art awakened worthily, my muse, Long, in a stony sleep, enfolded fast — Thou art aroused tenderly to use Thy ablest strength for sweetness unsurpass'd. Sing of a maiden who hath dared refuse Homage to flattery, pride, and riclies vast, Though linked to their adorers — though she rues A spring, most winterly ! — quite overcast. Yet as a caged bird that singeth still To prince or peasant, friend or jailer base, Love ruling absolute, repulsing chill — So this bright woman, with peculiar grace Of form and feature — of most patient will, Hath made her pure, large heart, love's dwelling-place. 18—. 90 DISTRUST. Distrust, twin sister of Suspicion base. That e'en in kindly bosoms dares to lie. And in the sweetest work of love will trace Imaginary schemes of devHry, Wounding the heart exultant in desire. And diligent t' achieve an enterprise. To which the worthiest might with pride aspire, Untn it sickens, and convulsive dies ; 'Tis Hke a mildew on a painting bright — Or like a moth in well-wrought tapestry — Slowly, but with an aim most exquisite. Destroying aU their worth and brilliancy. So that in time, there nothing else remains But scraps of one, — of th' other, blots and stains. 1841. 91 TO DANTE. Surely, oh Dante, thou could 'st ill have known The horrors of an ^sculapian draught — Or m thy dread Inferno thou hads't shewn Wretches, who constantly vile bev'rage quaff 'd Offer'd by devils who, exulting, laugh'd While oft they mouthed and clutched their tangled hair. And cried for Death again to wing his shaft, If only for the joyless respite, bare, While through the vale they passed, to torture and despaii". 1841. 92 TO LADY H- ON RECEIVING SOME BOOKS FROM HER. Most honour'd lady, unto thee I cannot tell The sentiments that in my fiiU heart dwell — They beat there all tumultuously. And rise, and swell Too big to be pour'd out in utt 'ranee free. A revel, exquisite, is there, Called up to-day — I would you could be witness to its play, "^VTiile I, unconscious of youi* care. Looked far away. Subduing not the spirit's freedom rare. SHORT POEMS. 93 Good God! — I thank him for that great — That most dear gift — The sweet and generous love, which so doth lift The soul to pleasui-e delicate, Above all shift Aiming to make another's heart elate ; To make it bound, and leap and sing. E'en as my own Does now, with pride and happiness full blown — E 'en as my own does hum and spring, Nigh overthrown. Dear lady, thou hast touch 'd so fine a string. 94 THE JklONTHLY ROSE. The monthly rose ! A fair, frail excellence Whose soft cheek glows With hectic — di'iven hence Ere we have time to mark its beauty well- Sweet form — sweet breath t' allure, And daring to be pure. Too feebly does it, cruel death repel. 1842. 95 ODE TO SIMPLICITY. In the measure of Collinses " Ode to Evening." O THOU of modest presence, wearying not Where'er thou may'st perchance inviolate be, In lowly peasant hut Or high imperial hall, — In temjjerate power of nature's rustic mind, Or swaying influence of a spii'it, set With all the dazzling gems Experience can supply, — O guileless maid, whose hair ungathered flows O'er bosom ignorant of other dress Than that unbounden hair Of softest sunny hue — Whose forehead faii-, and eyes of deepest blue. Call naught to aid of art's deceiving grace — Who, with unsandall 'd feet Dost trip the evening air. 96 SHORT POEMS. Diffusing the perfumes of sweetest flowers Through green vales freshened with the falling dew- By zephyrs fondly wooed — Young zephyrs of the west — Be thou our faithful sure-inspiring guide In every act calm thought has first approved, While on this beauteous earth We breathe the breath of life ; Teach us to use an unsophistic speech, Whose echo shall not chequer thy repose While in a maiden's joy Thou liest fast asleep ; Or, as reclining full of easeful health, With generous love and unsuspicious peace Within the kindly heart Of some confidinsr friend : "O While nature loves thy softly sounding name. And greets thee in her alleys with a kiss ; And leads thee tlii'ough her works Of costliest, choicest kind ; ODE TO SIMPLICITY. :' Attentive all to thy primeval voice Directing every featiu'e of her flowers — Their petals and their stems — Theu" gradual life and death — May we be emulous to comprehend Thy charming excellence, and seek each hour, In every fitting way. To show thee our true love : Where rocks and mountains, and majestic trees. And yawning gulphs, and deep secluded vales, In awfid grandeur meet, To chasten self-esteem — Where undiscovered ocean swells and foams, And lovully bids defiance to control — Where lucid streams glide on To thine own witching strains — Mid gloom — mid splendour — mid mysterious scenes More wonderful than man may hope to kno^^' — Upon the mountain's brow. Or in the chasm's deep delves — F 98 SHORT POEMS. Or on the perilous shelving of a rock "W^hose rough and giddy overhanging side Confounds the human eye. And makes it shuddering shrink — Blending thy emblems with sublimest things, Pure nature teaches us how much thou 'rt worth. And by example bright Woidd lu'ge us to thy feet : Yet while she thus, thy pleasing name reveres In all her works, the loftiest and the least — Where hill-tops seek the stars — Or where the daisy peeps — Mysterious man, midst luxury and ease. The more accompHshed and refined his state. In thought, in word, in deed The less admits thy ride. 1841. SHOE.T POEMS. ^^^ THE PARTING, Adieu, adieu ! — a last adieu — No, not a last adieu, For surely we shall meet again In realms of brighter hue. I. What days of joy — of happiest joy — Calm — cloudless — robed in quietude Are whelm'd in all eternity ; And circumstances must destroy. By separation chill and rude, Sweet intercourse and unity. Adieu, adieu ! — a last adieu, No, not a last adieu, For surely we shall meet again In realms of brighter hue. 100 SHORT POEMS. n. Last moments of companionship ! How much more excellent they seem Than many abundant years have done — For then the ever laughing lip Betokened how the pleasant dream. Expected endless-noonday sun. Too false ! — adieu, a last adieu — No, not a last adieu. For surely we shall meet again In realms of brighter hue. in. Yes, brother, we must part e'en now, No longer may we roam together Contending for each other's weal. And looking an eternal vow Of love through life's tempestuous weather, Well kno^dng how we ever feel — Ah, no ! — adieu, a last adieu — Nay, not a last adieu. For surely we shall meet again In realms of brighter hue. THE PARTING, 101 IV. Once more, once more — once only more Come lock thine hand in mine, dear friend. — This, this is happy peace again ! — Yet go — else Agony will pour Her poison out, nor fail to rend Our undefended hearts in twain. Then fare thee well, away — adieu — 'Tis not a last adieu. For siu*ely we shall meet again In realms of brighter hue. V. Gone — gone ? — yes, yes — there's nothing left Save endless space, void, objectless — There are no voices in the air. This is true sadness — to be reft Of pleasant scene and sound. — Distress, Come thou, our only mutual care. We have bade adieu — a last adieu ! — No, not a last adieu. For we shall surehj meet again In realms of brighter hue. 1841, 102 SHORT POEMS. ODE TO HOPE. Oh Hope, for ever, Hope Unto thy love I'll cling While death avoids me in his harvest toil, If only thou wilt drop Thine eyes, when wavering, Oppressed with strife, and faint with fierce turmoil. One hurried glance I dare At streaming hair'd Despair. n. Else, pride and love o'erthro^vn By thine observant eye. My heart might yield to pale Despondency, Where fix'dly looking down. And wand 'ring listlessly. The bruised in spirit beat their breasts and sigh,. Too easily subdued By life's inquietude. ODE TO HOPE. 103 m. Does then this world afford But slight encouragement To cheerful, patient, even happy minds ? Speak ! — shout with one accord. Ye powers intelligent — Nature's accomplishments of various kinds- Ye scenes that lovehest be — Ye sounds of melody ! IV. Hark to that heavenward song ! — Whence springs that psalmody ? Filled full are the wide regions of the air- A lyiic vnld and strong — A choir of minstrelsy. In glad, impassioned energy so rare. My soul doth loud reply. In fervid sympathy. 1(J4 SHORT POEMS. It is the lark's delight — That high-aspiring bird's — " Banish your fears — look up, look up/' he cries, With such prevailing might ! In such persuasive words ! And, by example, calls us to the skies. Conveying to the heart A balm for every smart. VI. Most animated scene I A storm has past away, And every leaf of foliage rich and rare. And every meadow green. And every cot-roof grey. And every ripple of the river clear. In frolic with the breeze. The laughing sunbeams seize. ODE TO HOPE. 105 VII. Now gazing to tlie skies At the cool hour of night, When earth's dear objects can no more be seen. In heaven's concave, bright eyes Shed so sublime a light Of faultless harmony and peace serene, That all unhappy thought To cheerfulness is wrought. VIII. Now o'er the horizon deep Rides high the queen of night Reclaiming nature to our charmed view- As in a tranquil sleep Is seen the beauty bright Of lovely woman — then a honey dew Descending on the soul Sore wounded, makes it whole. Y 3 106 SHORT POEMS. IX. These everlasting joys. These admirable smiles. Though they be gentle monitors of woe. Repel all dark annoys Of plots, and chills, and guiles Which strive, with envious hate, to overthrow. To trample and deface The sacred haunts of peace. What are thy pleasures, earth '{ What are thy daintiest charms i What do thy proud temptations realize f Pain — grief — regret, thy mirth. And Hell's extended arms Enclasp the fools who snatch thy luxuries- Fierce venom in fair dress Of unmixed bitterness. ODE TO HOPE. 107 XL O Hope, love's life serene — Thou art supremely blest ! Deservedly — of that sweet arbour, free Where fear has never been, Nor weak suspicion prest — The timid maiden's breast of purity Just spreading forth its leaves, And blossoms as it heaves. XII. Hope, high Ambition's Queen — Thou art supremely blest ! — Deservedly — of that proud palace free Where craft has not yet been, Nor disappointment prest — The mind of boyhood raised enchantingly On manhood's south-hill side, AVhere all things bright abide. 108 SHORT POEMSv XIII. And I will bless thee still, Hope, harbinger of peace — E'en though the icy chill of many a sneer Fix on my heart until Its beatings almost cease — Though fondest speculations which appear- In reasonable dress. Fade into nothingness i 1843- 109 ELEGY ON A STRANGER, WHO WAS KILLED BY THE CONCUSSION OF TWO RATLAVAY TEAIXS, AUTUMN, 1839. It apjjeared by the articles belonging to him, that he had been on a shooting excursion (none knew where), and, at the time of the catastrophe, was returning to the centre of attraction — London. He was foreign in the land — he had no friend — no attendant — his name and condition in life were unknown; and under these circumstances the body was removed to a village near the spot where the accident happened. To the honour of the Railway Company, by whom he Avas buried, it should be recorded that his obsequies were performed with an attention befitting the remains of one who had, apparently, occui)ied a superior station in society. This was one of the many instances ol' serious casualties which, it is to be feared, have been occasioned through an insufficient estimate of the consequences likely to result from the premature use of any new scheme; and much must we lament the present defects and the evils thereby of this surprising invention. But it is what must characterize all human contrivances, however grand, not enough considered ; and not well understood by experimental practice. 110 SHORT POEMS. What do I liear ? Sounds coming at quick intervals, each one Successive, louder than the last — Sounds bloodhounds might produce when they have run A chase for prey both long and fast. I pale with fear ! For oh, they issue from a thing of speed — Impetuous, huge, direct of course — Like a wild dragon of infernal breed. The devil's chosen chariot horse. Conveying as he rushes on his way. Pain, motionless despair, distraction, and dismay. II. Protecting heaven ! — What dreadful roar — what crash — what mingling yell Of horror bursts upon the ear ? As though the lofty vaulted roof of hell — No more to arise, no more to appear. Had just been riven — ELEGY ON A STRANGER, 111 Two engines which with speed of lightning fly- Have met, Hke arrows, head to head ; And now with vans and human bodies He, Crushing the dying, p'rhaps the dead ; While groans, extreme, of mortal agony Pour from the blood-bespattered pile distractingly. in. O shocking sight ! Crouched in a ruin-cave, a man is found Robbed of the \ital spark — of breath — His godlike face in reeking blood is di'own'd — His eyes, wide open, fixed in death, Are dark as night — A needless victim bowed at Science' shrine — A sacrifice to her is he — Offered by those, who, vain of a design. Pause not, imperfect though it be — Reclvless of life — of honour, and true fame, Raise curses, strife, and death, and thwart great Science' aim. 112 SHORT POEMS. IV. So triumphed Death ! This was the painful conquest that he won — His prey, without a warning, fell — Dragged ruthless do"^Ti "o-ithin his morning sun — His heart's flowers bright, and fresh, and well — A precious wreath ! Formed of the faii'est blossoms eye coidd choose — The Violet sweet, blest Hehotrope — Rich Hyacmth, and fascinating Rose, — Oh emblems beautiful of hope. Seized by Annihilation's \dewless hand Not even withered leaves confess their late command. V. Have ye no tears O men ? — no aching anguish at your hearts ? — Look on that unillumined form Which like the fire-fly when the night departs Is but a dark and dull-drowsed worm — In pride of years, ELEGY ON A STRANGER. 113 Soul beaming from those then expressive eyes — Life panting on those rose-red cheeks — That bosom heaving with deep sjanpathies, Blasted — a prey for carrion beaks. He was a stranger in a foreign land. His last breath fled away without a friend at hand ! VI. Men do not weep, Although a form so marvellous to behold, With many a year of anxious care Reared healthily to manhood's matcliless mould, In active power beyond compare Is lain to sleep — Untimely and with violence most unmeet ! — Why should they weep in tears of grief? AVhy should then- hearts then sympathetic beat ? Men are too busy for a brief, A passing sorrow o'er a wanderer's death — Weep only can they, when the wealthy yield their breath. 114 SHORT POEMS. VII. No voice was nigh. To say, "God help thee friend — God bless thy soul !" When the poor stranger struggling died — No law-versed scribe with open parchment scroll, Watched with attention by his side While tremblingly Life lingered in his lax and feeble frame. No brethi-en cherished of his heart. In sweet affection's sorrow breathed his name. And in soft accents, free of art. Told, for the first time how all dear to them He was, while he, all love, tenfold returned the same. VIII. None, none of this ! Haply his eyes were gathering for the mind From nature or fr-om man's skilled book — Perhaps his thoughts, to worldly strifes confin'd, Required them to an inward look — Not e'en such bliss. ELEGY ON A STRANGER, 115 Such melancholy pleasure as is given To the pent soul when this life's cares Are settled — ere it wings its flight to heaven. His mind was on the world's affairs — He breathed no prayer, beseechmg, ere he died — Death with appalling haste, or word, or thought denied. IX. He bade farewell To nothing he so long had learned to love : The beauteous earth o'ergrown with flowers — The sweet blue sky — the sun, and stars above — Spots wisely chosen — glades and bowers — Soft hill and dell — Where all his primest hours of thought had past — His garden where his fancy shone, Filled with rare plants in tastcfid order cast. From which luxurious scents were blown — His home — dear faces there — his books select — He whispered no farewell when he, on life, Avas wreck 'd. 116 SHORT POEMS. Alas, for Mm ! — They coffin'd his unrecognised remains On which no scalding tear-drop fell. His loss gave none heart-desolated pains — None lingered by his narrow cell — No eyes were dim — His tenderest mourner was the solemn bell Whose sound hung sadly in the air. Which called on many gossip dames to tell How all discomfited they were ; Unable his life's history to propound. Wrapt, as it safely was, in mystery's veil profound. XI. I weep for him, Who drew no tears upon his burial day — No sobs from soft-eyed Sympathy — I would I had been dwellmg where he lay. There to have raised a willow tree Just over him — ELEGY ON A STKANGER, IIT Thence heav'n'sprofuser tear-drops would have hung — Its leaves had soon a covering spread — The robhi in its branches would have sung As plaintive ditty o'er his head. Still, bounteous heaven, jicrniit your tears to fall — Oh, pensive robin, sing — oh, sere leaves, make a pall. xn. For him I weep — Of whom no record of a life remains, Who Hke an unseen beauty, fled — As fleet to die as modesty's sweet stains. Be these the words writ o'er his head, " Weep, memory, weep ! — Wrapt in oblivion's shroud here sleepeth one Who has escaped detraction's blight. Death was thus far victorious, that he won Every memorial dim or bright — Great — good — small — evil, of a brief career, Race — form — name — cii-cumstance — they all lie buried here." 118 SHORT POEMS. XIII. Hail, Science, hail ! — For well I love thy intellectual rule — Man, raising, to a high estate — He reaches marvellous knowledge in thy school, And, humble, hastens to be great. Hail, Science, hail ! — Secrets, long hidden with the God of all. For man's good are by thee explained — Yet may not he, half learned, pause, and call His measures thine — which are attained By labour, infinite : — so with deep fear, Nice care, and modesty should he thy banner bear. 119 FLOWERS. ON RECEIVING A GERANIUM FROM LADY Flowers are precious gifts — Precious as nature's handiwork are they, Enriching in their exquisite array Landscapes and gardens, halls and bowers — Fair offspring of sunshine and showers, Oh flow'rs are precious gifts ! Flowers are precious things — Making the pathway of the blushing bride As if it were to Paradise she hied ; Confessing she is fairer fir — Of far more value than they are. Yet flow'rs are precious things. 120 SHORT POEMS. Flowers are precious gifts — Emblems of all things excellent on earth — Of truth, grace, beauty — peace and love, andmirth- They can make dreariest deserts fair — E'en woman's loveliness more rare ; Oh flow'rs are precious gifts ! Flowers are favoured ever — The haughtiest lady takes them to her bosom- The noblest poet loves their tender blossom — They make mankind each other love. And lovers more intensely love ; Flowers are favoured ever. Flowers are changeless gifts — . The. labour of the artisan can make Rich gold, for which so many warm hearts ache, A glittering thing, but soon it changes. Tarnish its dazzling face estranges ; Flowers arc changeless gifts. SHORT POEMS. 121 Flowers are clianiyeless srifts — The frailest blossoms whicli allure the eye, And, idly culled, hang down their heads and die. Are still deeii-rootcd fresh and growings With time more wealth and beauty shoM-ing ; Flowers are changeless gifts. Flowers are priceless gifts — Day after day, still putting forth fresh buds Indicative of love not born of moods Ecstatic — heedless — soon repented ; But calm, reposing, fast cemented; Flowers are priceless gifts. 1841. TO DELTA.* In poetry's vast treasimes we roam Collecting sweets, and culling flowers of song- Which kind is wanting in our bosom's home — ■ Joy, melancholy, or the bahn of wrong. * " Domestic Verses," by " Delta." G 1^2 SHORT POEMS, Here lies tlie blushing ruby, joy imparting — The sunny topaz here — and here we find Refreshing emeralds — and here, tear starting. The pallid pearl to suit the pensive mind. True poets have their own peculiar treasure — Though oft, enamour'd of some moving sound, They make sweet music in a borrow'd measure — In Shakespeare only every wealth is found. Thine, Delta, is pale pearls — set deep in shade Wliich, the fond hearts of many, shall array. Awakening thoughts, though exquisitely sad. They scarce can wish were ever cast away : For with the tears that trickle as they read Must mix meek Piety's refulgent ray. Before which dim complainings fast recede. And love, triumphant, lights the darken'd day. March, 1845. [23 A SKETCH. Oh yes it was a liappy family, Loving each other and by others loved. A father with two daughters and two soiis — For the meek wife and mother long had fled The sufferings of this sublunary world, And was enjoying in high heaven, the sweets Of an eternity Mdiere grief is not. So hoped and trusted those blest girls and boys, And that firm-hearted, philosophic man — " In manner gentle, vigorous in the deed" — Such was the parent object of my song. He loved the tender partner of his cares. Nor failed deep, silent floods of parting tears. Feeling the desolation of his hearth Robbed of those sixnny smiles, those starry eyes. And sounds, mellifluent to his willing ear. 124 SHORT POEMS. When his blythe-hearted mate should be no more. Bnt e'en this agony, her voice cotild soothe, Reminding him how their bright offspring would Assuage his sorrow with endearing love. And shine his living honour — his bold sons. Anxious to prove a father's pillar'd strength. Him dignifying in the sight of men In aiming to be worthy men themselves. His daughters, dehcate flowers ! with modest looks, And gentle presence, patterns of their sex. " His wife's, their mother's glass, when he, in them. Called back the lovely April of her prime." Just such he found those precious gifts of heaven- His home's bright ornaments, beyond whate'er A lonely man could for himself secure. Though thrice he were a Croesus. — Evermore Those images were present to his sight Despite of the locality he trod Obedient to the world's sedate command. Were not the beaming eyes of those dear maids More lovely than the gems of diadems ? — AVas not the honest bearing of his sons A nobler greeting than the crafty smiles Of sycophants who throng a court and frame A SKETCH. 125 Raiik flattery to tlieir patron's pelding ear ? They were indeed ! — Thank God^ who so allowed The enjoyment of the inestimable wealth. Sweet girls, the grace of every changing scene — Proud boys, the public honour of his name. Beautiful tokens of the love of years That gave old memories a double charm. So his lost wife, beloved, with fervent heart, He thanked for her last admonition, sound : Which heeding with devotion and respect. His soul-fed eye reached forward eagerly For the expression of his children's love. He watched, as oft we stare upon the heavens. And sweep the azure concave o'er and o'er. When Night reigns high in majesty serene, To see the flashing meteors as they foil — Yes, so he watched, that not a sparkling trait. Nor sign of their affection might be lost- Yes, so he watched, that not an instance bright Of their prime excellencies might shine out But he should witness it for his delight. And they, c[uitc conscious of his mighty care, Gave boundless liberty to their fond breasts. They could not strive to make him full return — 12fi SHORT POEMS. A fountain, inexhaustible, of love Flowed deep witliin, and gushed, responsive, forth ; Enough to satisfy two j)arents' hearts. But by the will of heaven deprived of one While yet intelligence half slumbering lay, For one, the heaving tide, its volume, poured. Blest man ! thus blest, to feel how blest he was. Music, to him, was his sweet daughters' song — Painting, their silent beauty — full of life — And Poetry, the language of theii* eyes. His vigour now was in his sons' right arms — His joy clung fast in their loud echoing laugh — In their activity was his repose. How dear those sisters to their brothers were ! — How dear those loving brothers in return ! Not that the placid level of their brows Was proof against the intrusion of a frown — Not that the mellow accents of their speech Defied all effort of a jarring tone ; But as a summer cloud athwart the sun — The owl's dull hoot before the lark's rich song — As Fear upon the unmeasured reach of Hope — As War upon the mightiness of Peace — So unsubstantial was an angry look — A SKETCH. 121 So died the utterance of intemperate thought Before the fu'mncss of imperial love. And waked a glory that were else unknown. So the blythe Isabel and Laura loved. Sweet heart ! fair Isabel ! her wakeful eyes Bathed in emotion's lubricating spring, Clear heralded the parting of her lips — Her fuU voice followed their diffused light As on the sun's appeal upsprings the lark ; And frost would hurt her as the tender spring. She lived to be beloved, and love, repay : Not less discovered in acknowledged fault, Haply reproved for slight forgetfulness. Than in the eager proffer of her aid When Laiu'a, dear domestic gii'l, had need ; In whom was nature's wisdom soft displayed — AVho in the joy of others sought her own, Nor found a startUng, but a rich reward. Hence a calm morning-quietness was hers — The past cool-thoughted, and the present glad — The future happy in the past's serene. — If Arthur, with impatience manifest, Perchance, to Alfred, used ungentle speech, There was a goodly object in his words 128 SHORT POEMS. So to remove svich errors^ trivial all^ As he liimself, unconscious miglit commit. Small diiFerence could there be, their sire at hand. Glad to outpour the riches of his mind. With whom years, happily, were wisdom's steps — Triumphant over unbecoming ire, His tongue remember'd not rebellious sound — His heart's liigh sentinel, his arms, forgot. The frantic daring to relate his joy In this great victory for human good. But oh, especially for those most dear. Who rendered him the happy man he was. Indeed, I have not ! — No ! it has not been Within the far-reach of those marvellous minds Which teach us how sublime a thing is man. He, then, superior was to passionate words. And with a calm serenity of tone. Made musical by reason of that joy Ineffable, which glowed within his breast. Talked tenderly of errors, great or small. Of youth, all confident, in hoping all ; Jealous of that young buoyancy, unseared — Susceptible — to rijicn it, unbruiscd. Which often hurt, too soon is callous made : A SKETCH. 129 Preserving 'so J mtli admii'able skill, Not only mutual love, but that respect Which renders impotent the arms of strife. What noble aim ! — What enviable thought ! — To make the mellow autumn of this life As richly laden with harmonious love As that glad hour " 'twdxt spring and summer-time." Oh was not this a happy family ;* — Loving each other and by others loved. 130 THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION. There rose in the blind darkness, bright and beautiful, An emblem meek yet nothing frail. Of sweet Humility. It was the Christian faith, for man's redemption sent. Oh let me liken it to a flower of tender growth Sprung from a curiously small seed In uncongenial soil — [prehend. A flower, whose matchless worth few men could com- Some few perceived the marvel with discernment clear — They understood the radiant flame That shone around the flower. For with its life came unextinguishable light ; Exultant yet, and lustrous when through many storms This pui-e and spotless flower, wild swayed Like to a lone-left reed. And bowed its head with closed petals to the earth. SHORT POEMS. 131 Pierced oft by witlierins; winds and chill destructive Oft by hot missiles and fierce flames — [hail — The victim still of sin Until it shrunk beneath amassed calamities. Oh there is heaviness extreme upon the soul When musing o'er those patient spirits, Largx-heartcd champions they. Who fell a sacrifice in its most dear defence. But now rejoicing greatly in its freshened leaves We will not linger o'er the past — Much have its tendrils spread, [prevailed. And sought, and found a home where thorns had long- Sweet is the contemplation of its perfect form. Constructed of such faultless parts — Most sweet, by gazing deep, And searching far into the secrets of its heart. Then find we ever-healing balm for the sick soul — Hopes that had pale and languid grown, Leap up with glowing warmth, And fill the anxious breast with comfortable peace. 132 SHORT POEMS. Planted in meekness by that meek one among men. Who having circled it Avith light. Departed whence he came ; Serenely there to watch it reach his blest abode. Since then, how many gard'ners have professed its care- With what a vain ambition, some — Some humbly — yet how weak ! — A few with mighty arm and most ennobled soul. Great is the number that may yet adorn our sphere, Advancing high its sacred power — Again its head may droop ; But light vnll still protect the fair and tender flower ; Nor dare Death smite it with his utterly cold hand — Yet when some day it hath attained. Beyond the heave of tides, To that pre-eminence Christ certified it will — Perchance, a fleeting moment, man shall not perceive The lovely form so long his own — But oh, th' adoring soul Shall not have given a shape to one profound lament. SHORT POEMS. It net OO When a transcendent light perpetually glad Shall beam ecstatic on the world. Revealing to all eyes The flower entwined around the eternal tlu'one of Grace. 1843. MAflNTOSII, PnlXTEU. GREAT NEW-STREET, LONDON. MADDEN AND MALCOLM'S LIST OF RECENT PUBLICATIONS. 8, Leadenhall Street, London. May, 1845. MADDEN AND MALCOLM BEG LEAVE TO ANNOUNCE TO GENTLE- MEN INTERESTED IN THE EAST, THAT THEY ESPECIALLY DE- VOTE THEIR ATTENTION TO THE PUBLIC A.TION AND SALE OF WORKS CONNECTED WITH THE ilEDITERRANEAN, ARCHIPELAGO, TURKEY, EGYPT, PERSIA, AND INDIA, &C. AUTHORS DESIROUS OF PUBLISHING WORKS REFERRING TO THE ABOVE NAMED COUNTRIES, OR TO THE EAST IN GENERAL, WILL FIND MADDEN AND MALCOLM AT ALL TIMES READY TO ENTER INTO ARRANGEMENTS FOR EFFECTIVE PUBLICATION. PUBLIC LIBRARIES AND LITERARY SOCIETIES MAY HAVE ON APPLICATION, FORWARDED ONCE A MONTH, FREE OF EXPENSE, A LIST OF THE NEW WORKS PUBLISHED IN ENGLAND AND FRANCE. MISCELLANEOUS ORDERS EXECUTED WITH PUNCTUALITY AND DESPATCH. 8, Leadenhall Street. May, 1845, NEW AND IMPORTANT WORKS JUST PUBLISHED BY MADDEN AND MALCOLM. In two vols, post 8vo. cloth, THE TIARA AND THE TURBAN; OB, Impressions and Observations on Character within the Dominions of the Pope and the Sultan. By S. S. HILL, Esq. 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It remains, and would be likely long to remain, without a competitor, even if it wore not to appear with the numerous corrections and illustrative notes, and a continuation by the cele- brated Oriental scholar, Professor H. H. Wilson." — Westminster Review. In two vols. 8vo., with Maps and numerous Illustrations, price 28s., TRAVELS IN LURISTAN AND ARABISTAN, Being a Tour through South-Western Persia in the Years 1840 and 1841. By the Baron CLEMENT AUGUSTUS DE BODE, &c. EoUowed by an Essay on the Marches of Alexander the Great and Amir Timur. " Simple and unaffected in his style, he avoids all details that are not new and in- teresting, while he is full and distinct when on new ground ; and thus his work is a really valuable addition to geographical, antiquarian, and historical knowledge." — Literary Gazette, Dec. 21. 4 WORKS PUBLISHED BT In one vol. 8vo., with Illustrations, 14s., A JOURNEY FROM NAPLES TO JERUSALEM, By the way of Athens, Egypt, and the Peninsula of Sinai ; including a Trip to the Valley of Fayoum, together with a Translation of M. Linant de Bellefond's " Memoire sur le Lac Mceris." By DAWSON BORRER, Esq. *' It is not only a pleasant but an attractive narrative from beginning to end, with whicli the reader never tires. 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