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POEMS
ANB
LETTERS,
BT THE LATE
WILLIAM ISAAC ROBERTS,
OF BRISTOL, DECEASED.
WITH SOME ACCOUNT OP HIS LIFE.
LIKE BEAUTEOUS DREAMS TO SLEEPING LOVERS BORNE,
THAT FADE AND VANISH AT THE BEAM OF MORN."
LONDON,
PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN,
ar xworT asd llotd, bisjuhgham.
1811.
Q.I! ^ ^>^f
LIFE
W. I. MOBERTSc
Jl HE attempt to introduce to puMic notice
the posthumous remains of an individual, who was
scarcely known beyond the social circle in which he
moved, is a task which, properly to execute, requires
the aid of established literary reputation. Unassisted,
however, by such an auxiliary, the publication of the
present volume has proceeded from a desire to fulfil
the affectionate wishes of the deceased, as well as to
preserve some traces of an amiable and interesting'
character.
In a life that extended*only to the brief period of
twenty years, and which in it's course was neither dis-
a2
IV
turbed by the aberrations, nor distinguished by the
eccentricities, that too often obscure the lustre of
genius, little scope is afforded to the biographical nar-
rator. The simple record of such a life may, perhaps
by many, be regarded as tleficient inthe alluFeraent
of novelty, and too little diversified by variety of in-
cident: but surely it can neither be deemed useless
nor uninteresting to contemplate the developement of
a mind of exquisite sensibility and of unusual vigour
to mark the first dawn of intellectual radiance to
observe it's approach towards meridian splendour, and
then to witness it's sudden and untimely departure.
William Isaac Roberts, the subject of the present
memoir, was born at Bristol on the 5th of May, 1786.
He was the third child and only son of William and
Anne Roberts, who, at the time of his birth, resided in
Horfield Road, in that city. During his childhood, no
striking indications of extraordinary talents were ob-
served, and when he arrived at a suitable age, he was
placed at a respectable academy on Kingsdown Parade.
Here his superiority over most of his school-fellows soon
became conspicuous; for he now began to display an
unusual firmness of character, and an insatiable
spirit of enquiry. The common routine of a com-
mercial education occupied at this time the greater
portion of his attention. Classical acquirements, how-
ever, were not entirely neglected, although, as he was
designed for trade, these were A'ery naturally con-
sidered as of secondary miportance. His assiduity and
*ettei"*l attention to scholastic duties, were unvarying
-and exemplary; and his progress, which was propor-
tionably rapid, was at once flattering to his preceptor,
and gratifying to his parents. He repeatedly received,
whilst at school, public marks of approbation, and the
excellence of his themes frequently attracted particular
.atteQtton. In one instance, a task of this kind that he
secretly performed for a friend, " on the advantages of
education," was read aloud for the general benefit of
the pupils, while the real author remained concealed
from all but the youth whom he had thus assisted.
An unceasing emulation to excel his companions, as
well in useful attainments as in juvenile recreations,
was early called into action by the competition that
usually exists in establishments for instructiou. On
his being first introduced into a class, he began to look
forward with anxious anticipation to the time when he
should tand at it's head. On one occasion the object
of his wishes being accomplished, he hastened home
at his dinner hour, flushed with success, to impaift to
his father the joyful intelligence. DisAp]f)ointed by
finding him absent, and unwilling to trust the recital
even to his mother, he exultingly wrote on a slip of
paper, " / have succeeded, and am now at the top of my
class."
While yet very young he evinced a taste for draw-
ing, and in this art he afterwards made considerable
proficiency, unaided by instruction. Even the child-
ish productions of his pencil possessed cpnsiderable
VI
correctness of delineation and boldness of outline; and
it was a common observation among his companions,
that in their frequent attempts to draw animals, faces,
&c. " their success never equalled his." To this
pleasing amusement he was always fondly attached,
and previously to his introduction into business, he
devoted to it much of his leisure. Before the age of
fifteen he had executed numerous pictures, both in oil
and water-colours, with a skill and judgment far be-
yond his years. Many beautiful designs from Shake-
speare and other distinguished authors remain as
melancholy proofs of the superiority of his talents.
Le Brun's battles of Alexander he also began copying,
as studies in oil-colours, and his various sketches from
nature possessed great spirit and eflect.
As a boy he was active and animated,' nor was it ob-
served that he discovered any unusual partiality for
liieraiure until he had entered upon his eleventh year;
and he then began to read tvith avidity suqh books as
he was able to procure. He spoke of an antiquated
prose narrative of the siege of Troy as one of the first
volumes with vthich he was delighted. The next
work that excited his attention was Pope's Homer, and
from the moment of perusing it, the love of poetry
seemed to take entire possession of his soul.
" Thence his days
Commenced harmonious, then began his skill
To vanquish care by the sweet sounding string."
Vll
His earliest poetical attempt was excited by the
rtaval victory obtained by Lord Duncan on the 11th of
October, 1797. While the family were engaged in
preparing for the celebration of this achievement, he
surprised them with some appropriate lines, to which
the animating occasion had given birth.
From this period he frequently exercised himself in
poetical composition, although in the lapse of time
many of his first productions have perished. Versions
of some of the psalms*, and of some episodes from
Ossian, as well as a few original pieces of inconsider-
able length, were successively produced prior to the
This may not be an improper place for the insertion of two
of Roberts's poetical pieces, that were written in his fourteentli
year.
The 137th PSALM PARAPHRASED.
WHERE proud Euphrates' waters flow.
We silent roam the banks among,
Our hearts oppress'd with heaviest woe,
No more we raise the tuneful song;
But pensive memory's ever busy hand,
Paints the lost raptures of our native land.
Our foes with taunts our grief deride.
And triumph in our slavish wrongs;
" Come tune your idle harps," they cry'd,
" Come sing us one of Sion's songs ;"
But ne'er while shameful bonds our race con&ne,
Shall Israel's harp in grateful concert join.
Vlll
yeai- 1 ^02, when the incitements held out by the edi-
tors of the " Monthly Preceptor," stimulated our young
poet to a more strenuous exertion of that talent which
his occasional practice had- been gradually improving.
For a translation from Horace, and an Ode to Science,
Jerusalem, source of all our joy,
To thee our souls still fondly cling ;
Thy loss alone our thoughts employ,
Thy cruel woes alone we'll sing ;
When mirth ev'n bids the choral rapture swell,
lOur constant thought shall on Jerusalem dwell.
When o'er that favour'd city, Lord,
Thy mighty wrath indignant hung.
With gladness Edoni grasp'd his sword.
And quick his vengeful bow he strung;
Then shouting, cry'd, Her stately towers lay low.
Nor let one stone her former greatness shew.
And thou, proud *city, too must fall.
Thy vaunted glories soon shall fade ;
I bear the avenging spirit call,
I see hlni wave his flaming blade ;
Then blest is he who deaf to Pity's voice.
Shall sternly o'er thy slaughter'd babes rejoice.
Still where Euphrates' waters flow.
We silent roam the banks among
Our hearts oppress'd with heiviest woe,
No more we raise the tuneful ong ;
While pensive memory's ever busy hand,
Paints the lost raptures of our native land.
Babylon.
IX
prizes were awarded by the conductors of that wor.k,
and highly would they have been gratified, could they
have witnessed the delight which their commendation
afforded him. He had hitherto received only the
jjraise of his preceptor and of his parents, but he now
began to experience that exalted feeling of pleasure
which arises from intellectual exertion, and' which
must be allowed to be one of the purest that the
human mind is capable of enjoying. This success
increased his assiduity, and he pursued his studies.
with invisrorated ardour and redoubled diligence..
MOZAMBA.
SHRILL roars the blast, and thro' the skie^
The sweeping whirlwind howh,
In vivid streams the light'ning flies,
The deep'ning thunder rolls;
While on the surf-beat shore Mozamba standj,
Rolls his wild phrensied eye and clasps his hands.
" Inhuman wretches ! who for gain
Our hapless race to slavery doom,
My soul indignant spurns your chain,
And flies for refuge to the tomb;
Pants for that world of bliss beyoiid the grave,
Where neijtoes rest and whites no more enslive.
Your tortures laid my Mora low ;-
For her alone your taunts I bore;
I hear her spirit bid me go,
To where we meet to part no more:"
He said, and plunging in the stormy deep,
Buried his sorrows in eternal sleep.
On leaving school, he found that the duties of life,
and the circumstances of his situation, called for appli-
cation to other than the favourite pursuits of science
and of song. The learned professions were unhappily
beyond his reach, and as he had always manifested
a disinclination to endure the bondage of an indenture,
he was induced to accept of a situation in a banker's
office. There are few occupations less congenial than
this to an indulgence in the fond visions of a poetical
imagination. The hurry of employment, the monotony
of the ledger, and the cold calculation of interest, are
in general proved by the young enthusiast to be " the
leaven that leaveneth the whole lump." Such were
Roberts's fears when he entered into the employment
of the respectable house of Messrs. Worrall, Blatchley
and Co. in Bristol. But this apprehension never de-
terred him from persevering in the duties of his station;
for his mind, although naturally disposed to melan-
choly, was too well endued with strong sense and just
principles to allow the intrusion of morbid feeling, or
to permit him for a moment to hesitate in the course
\(-hich he considered it his duty to pursue. In a letter
to a friend he writes, " I have found that the cultiva-
tion of poetry is not compatible with the study of
pounds^ shillings, and pence, for we cannot serve God
and Mammon. I have trembled and wept for the
sacrifice. But this sacrifice is not yet made, nor shall
it be. The feelings which Heaven has given me shall
not be checked by interest. That independence of
raind which I value as mv birthrisfht, shall never be
XI
sold for a mess of pottage." Thus did Roberts decide
that the literary spirit was not to be depressed bj' ad-
verse circumstances, nor to be subdued by inimical
occupation. Difficulty only served as a stimulus to
exertion, and contrast increased the enjoyment of
leisure. Days of labour were compensated by nights
of study, and seclusion from the beauties of nature
only rendered the renewed vow of her votary more
ardent and sincere.
The following account of him at about this period of
his life, is a transcript from the letter of an intimate
friend, addressed to the Editors: " It was in the
winter of 1801, that Roberts was first known to me.
On the first evening of our acquaintance, he enter-
tained me by repeating from memory several hun-
dred lines from Glover's Leonidas. I knew little of
the poem before, and certainly deiived more pleasure
from it at that time, than I have been able to find in it
sipce; for R.'s manner was energetic, and his taste
manifest in the selecti.ons which he made from the
poem. This passed as we perambulated Kingsdown
parade in a dark December night, and I was so struck
with the superiority of his conversation, that I returned
home with a resolution to cultivate his further acquaint-
ance.
" Roberts had exercised himself in poetical numbers
by versifying some tales from Ossian, and succeeded
as indifferently well as others have done on the same
Jtn
ubject. He then attempted translations from Horace?
and some English somiets, and at last determined to
write a didactic poem of some length on the subject of
" Sensibility." In this he made rapid progress, and
xjften- surprised his two friends, who visited him oir
Sunday evenings, with the copiousness of the week's
addition to his poem. His attendance at St. Michael's
church was regular, and proceeded as well from a prin-
ciple of duty as from an anxiety to please his father.
I remember but one instance of his willingly absenting
himself, and that was at my persuasion, to accompany
me to some beautiful woods a few miles from Bristol.
He Avas anxious to return in time for afternoon service,
which he attended. On Sunday evenings, however,
he indulged himself in literary recreation, reading to
us his own poems, or hearing any thing we h&A to
communicate. In mutual criticisms and in discussions
of literature, he forgot the troubles of the world and
the inimical eniployment of tlic bank.
" At this time he was engaged as clerk to Messrs.
Worrall and Co. and conducted himself with such
steadiness and fidelity, as gained him their approbation.
He would gladly have exchanged this employment for
one more congenial to his inclination for literature;
4}uk was withheld from any attempt at change by the
opinion, that in his present situation he was promoting
<4he comfort of his parents and sister more than he
-could do in any other.
" When opportunity was afforded him, he would
wander with a chosen conpanion along the banks of
the Avon. It was then that his poetical dispositioa
would slvew itself in the most animated matter. He
would repeat witib enthusiasm the fm,est poems of oar
bards, form subjects for his own composition, or point
out from the surrounding scenery of clouds, rocks, and
woodlands, whatever was appropriate for poetic inoa-
gery."
His talents aad his poetical taste introduced him to
the acquaintance and the friendship of the late Mr.
Charles Fox*, from whom he experienced continual
Mr. Charles Fox, formerly a landscape and minUture painter
f Bristol, Wis born in the year 1749, at Falmouth, where he
afterwards engaged in business as a bookseller. But the
greater part of his property being consumed by fire, he was in-
duced to follow the bent of his inclination for the art of landscape
and portrait painting. The better to qualify himself for his profes-
tion , and to divert his mind from the painful recollection of his
misfortune, he accompanied his brother, who was the master of a
merchant vessel, in a voyage to the Baltic, impelled by that enthu-
siasm which is the characteristic of a superior mind, he made a
tour, alone and on foot, through Sweden, Norway, and part of
Russia, taking views of the wild and sublime scenery which the
Norwegian mountains, the Kol of Sweden, and the lakes and forests
to the north of the Neva, offer to the eye of the enthusiast of
Nature :
Pine cover'd rocks,
And mountain forests of eternal shade.
And glens and vales, on whose green quietness
The lingering eye reposes, and fair lakes
That image the light foliage of the beech.
S0THE7,
xiv
kindness and encouragement in his literary pursuits.
His attachment to this gentleman, and the advantage
which he derived from his society and his books, he
ever felt and acknowledged in the warmest manner.
He h.id ahvaj's expressed a strong desire to become
Many of Mr. Fox's acquaintance will remember the pleasure
they once felt in beholding these beautiful productions of bis pencil.
He possessed great facility in the acquirement of languages, and
pursued with much success the study of oriental literature. His
collection of oriental manuscripts was a considerable one, and his
translation of the poems of Hafiz, Sadi, Jami, Anvari, Ferdusi, and
others: " Shirazian gardens, prodigal of blooms," would fill several
volumes. About six years ago, he had prepared for the press
two volumes of poems from the Persian. But increasing debility of
constitution, disqualiiied him for the labour cf publication, and he
continued to add to the number of bis former translations until
within a short period of his death. In 1797, he published a volume
ef poems, " containing the Plaints, Consolations, and Delights of
Achmed Ardebeili, i Persian Exile," which was well received.
This work evinces vigour of thought, beauty of expression, and
elegance of sentiment. The notes afford much inforn}ation on
orintaI subjects. In 1792, Mr. Fox married Miss Ferriers, the
daughter of a Dutch merchant, who survives him. To young per-
ons of a literary taste, he was particularly friendly; his fire-side
and instructive conversation ever welcomed them. He encouraged
them in their pursuits, and directed their studies. For several
years prior to his decease he had retired from business, and passed
his retirement in the cultivation of that talent for poetry, which
be ever valued as the companion of bis solitude, the ornament
and solace of active life. His heart was warm and benevolent,
bis conduct virtuous and unoiTending, and his fortitude and resig-
nation under loD^-continued bodily iudisposition, were manly and
exemplary.
XV
acquainted with the learned languages. Already had
he begun to augment the little stock of Latin which he
had brought Avith him from school, by devoting to it
the valuable portion of his leisure which intervened
between the hour of rising and that of breakfast.
After adverting in one of his letters to this intention of
resuming his classical studies, he observes, " Should I
fortunately obtain time for the acquisition of Greek,
I mean afterwards to attack the Hebrew and Arabic.
The treasures of eastern literature ar(* great, and the
key of them would be valuable." By the assistance
of Mr. Fox, whose favourite object was the translation
of Persian poetry, he also made sonae progress in the
acquisition of that language.
The value of Roberts's application to his intellectual
improvement, can only be duly appreciated by con-
sidering that it never detained him from severer duties,
and that his attendance at the bank was uniform, and
generally from nine in the morning until eight or nine
at night. He would then come home faint and weary
with his daily labour, and after the refreshment of
tea, which was his favourite beverage, he would retire
to his chamber, and there recruit his spirits by com-
positiou or reading. Late, however, as he might be
thus employed, he never failed during the summer to
resume his studies at an early hour in the morning. A
walk before breakfast with one or two select friends,
was nevertheless an indulgence that he occasionally
allowed himself, and he was always prepared to enliven.
XVI
this little period of relaxation with those varied stores
of instruction and entertainment with which his mind
Tvas richly fraught. In literary conversation he was
eminently calculated to excel, for the uumbtr of books
that he had perused was truly astonishing, and his
memory quick and tenacious, was amply furnished
with judicious selections from our most admired poets.
During these walks his mind seemed to expand, and
he oflen discussed with great energy and freedom such
literary or othet topics cis happened then to engage his
attention.
His poetical disposition accompanied him even into
the recesses of the bank, and several fragments of his
poems have been discovered upon scraps of paper,
bearing on their reverse memoranda of bank exchanges.
" I now scribble (he observes in one of his letters) in
the solitude of the bank, while the pendulum of the
dial continually urges me to haste." In another letter
he has recorded an instance of his rapidity in poetical
composition: " I saw Mr. L. yesterday, who begged
hard for some introductory lines for his lecture, but I
had my hands full of business, and he was to begin at
six o'clock. I wished to befriend him; and I promised
to try what I could do. At my dinner hour I left
about thirty *lines for him."
With a mind such as he has himself described, " too
susceptible to the melting ray of loveliness," and
See page ,79.
XVil
acutely sensible to the perception of intteUectual excel-
lence. It is hardly to be expected that Eoberts could,
pass through even the little span of exiitence tijat was
allotted him, without discovering some kindred female
mind to which he would feel permanently attached.
That such was the fact, many of his letters clearly
prove. An interesting yoiing lady, into, whose society
he was introduced during an excursion that he made
so early as the year 1803, appears to have awakened
in his bosom such emotions of tenderness and affection
as death only could extinguish.' Her subsequent ill-
ness and decease, on which he so feelingly expatiates
in some of his letters, put a melancholy termination to
his fondly cherished hopes. This event seems to have
preyed much both upon his health and his spirits, and
he has frequently alluded to it in such of his poems as
w^ere written about that period ; but it was remarked,
that after her death he scarcely ever mentioned her
name, or adverted to the cause of his affliction. The
sorrow that he had experienced for the loss of a most
amiable and promising "^sister, who fell a victim to
consumption at the age of 18, in the year 1798, seem*
to have been again revived on this trying occasion.
In his friendships he was ardent and sincere, return-
ing the attachment of his friends with reciprocal
affection. He seemed to possess an innate contempt
* He ha.s pathetically Uaaented her untimely fatejp bis Elegy
wfitten at Clifton."
XTlll
for unmeaning folly, and an indignation for current
vices, the expression of which he was not always dis-
posed to repress. He was alike ready to forgive an
injury and to confer a benefit, and the warmth of his
heart was equal to the soundness of his judgment;*'
The following lines were left by him in the apartment
of one of his friends, who was about to remove to a-
distant residence.
TO
FRIEND of my soul! when far awaj'.
To distant realms of joy thou'rt gone;
Our friendship still, like Echo's lay.
Shall vibrate with as sweet a tone.
If o'er thy cheek a tear should rove,
- If thro' thy breast a pang should dart;
That tear shall nurse a flower for Love,
That pang it must not pain thy heart I
And when Regret shall trace thy name.
And Memory prompt my soul to weep;
Hope shall unfold thy future fame.
And hush each throbbing pulse to sleep !
1804. W. I. R-
Roberts's appearance was manly, his complexion
dark, his eyes black and vivid, and his couoteoanct
intelligent;
XIX
" Yet in his cheek there was the sickliness
Which thought and feeling leave, wearing away
The hue of youth."
His constitution, indeed, was naturally delicate, and
he was frequently so much oppressed by violent head-
achs, as to be rendered silent from suffering for days
together. These warnings of the disease, which ulti-
mately carried him to the grave, united with the
amiable qualities of his mind and heart, endeared hirai
the more to his relations and friends. For although hs
early displayed a spirit of independence and a decision
of character that, uncontrouled by reason and unattem-
pered by feeling, might have degenerated into obsti-
nacy, yet to his parents was he uniformly kind and
affectionate, and to all their wishes ever tractable and
obedient. With a passion for literature, that naturally
made him wish to devote to it his whole time, he
shrunk not from the irksome duties of his employment,
and however he mightly secretly repine, the murmur*
of discontent never escaped from his lips. In, the
circle of his family he always sought to add to its por-
tion of happiness, and was ever ready to sacrifice hi*
own gratification when he could promote the comfort
of his friends. One instance may be recorded of the
disinterestedness and affection of his conduct. He had
been invited to join a friend who was then on an
excursion to Oxford, and had obtained a week's leave
of absence for that purpose. Oxford was perhaps the
place that above all others he would have pref^ed
a2
XX
tisiting, and he had vpritten to his friend to 6x the day
of his meeting him; but this letter was followed by
another, in which he lamented that an unforeseen
occurrence had prevented his journey. A disappoint-
ment s(/ unexpected, drew from his friend a request
for an explanation. Roberts replieil, " To you I may
confide my reason. The sum I had set aside forth*
expences of my journey is wanted at home;"
The apprehensions which his friends had entertained
/or his health, were too fatally confirmed by a violent
attack of disease which he has described in his letter
dated Feb. 10, 1806.* This haBraorrhage was the
precursor of a decided consumption, under which he
for some tirtie lingered, experiencing those fluctuations
of deceitful hope that generally mark the progress of
that destructive malady. In the summer of the same
year he sought, by an excursion into the country, to
obtain some temporary relief; but his disease had long
been insidiously gaining ground before he appeared to
be aware of his danger. On his return to Bristol, he
amused himself with collecting together his various
poems, having at that time some prospect of future
publication. But this occupation was finally inter-
rupted by renewed attacks, and the progress of hi
disorder convinced him of the fallacy of his expecta-
tion that he should surmount his illness, " I must
strive hard," he exclaims, * for the day shortens before
Page 211,
XXI
me. What exertion can do shall be fairly attempted.
The result is above human controul; but whatever it
may be, I will ask of Heaven one blessing more, and
that shall be resignation, I have caught but a tran-
sient view of this world, and yet my heart-strings are
firmly tied to some of its objects. For them I would
pray to live, and to live with ability for exertion.
This prayer," he adds, "may still be granted; for
though weakened, I am not subdued. The spirit has
drooped, but may it not again revive ? The " gloamin"
of hope is beautiful, and the night may be forced t9
wrestle ere she be victor."
The period at length arrived when the remotest
expectation of his recovery could no longer be
entertained, and ft was then resolved that the hope-
lessness of his state should be candidly disclosed
to him. He received the awful intelligence with
his characteristic magnanimity, and expressed a deep
sense of obligation to the friend who had felt it his
duty to perform this painful office. The tone and
temper of his mind, however, remained still un-
changed. His spirits suffered no depression, his
tranquillity no abatement. Every action, every word
breathed a spirit of calmness and resignation, while
long and deep musings often proved that his approach-
ing dissolution was a subject of serious and solemn
reflection. If sadness for a moment clouded his brow,
it was when the bursting heart of his mother, or the
jgtitled tears of his sister, could no longer be concealed^
a3
XXll
" For them" he had indeed " prayed to live, and to live
with ability for exertion." How then could he leave
them desolate and defenceless without a pang?
Before his strength was completely exhausted, he
directed his voluminous papers to be assorted, and ar-
ranged and consigned many of them to the flames.
One morning, when sleep had somewhat more thau
usually recruited him, he summoned to his chamber
the whole circle of his relatives, whom he had con-
siderately prepared for this melancholy interview. He
then addressed them individually in language at once
consoling and energetic. To those who would feel his
loss most deeply, he spoke of the uncertain tenure of
all sublunary connexions, and insisted on the duty of
resignation to the wisdom of Providence. He entered
largely into the subject of his former views and wishes,
adverted to his own present happy frame of mind, and
cautioned all against the indulgence of unavailing sor-
row. A scene more affecting and more impressive
can hardly be conceived. The superiority of his mind
shone forth for a moment with unwonted brilliance.
He was now struggling with the last distressing symp-
toms of his complaint. His strength was hourly sink-
ing, but he betrayed no impatience his protracted
sufferings extorted not a murmur. Worn to the last
thread of existence, he at length quietly resigned his
breath unperceived even by the eye of maternal
afiection, that with unwearied solicitude watched over
his couch.
XXUl
During the course of his iHness, he experienced
from his friends all those soothing sympathies and
affectionate attentions, that bespeak warmth of feeling
and sincerity of attachment. One of these, to whom
many of the following letters were addressed, relin-
quished for St, while the professional studies in which
he was then engaged, and hastened to Bristol on being
apprized of his danger. He scarcely left him till his
death, and the poignancy of his grief was then softened
by the melancholy satisfaction, that he had fulfilled
one of the most arduous and painful duties of friend-
ship.
The following is a copy of his last will, which he
wrote, but a short time before he died, with a firm
and steady hand, although unable to leave his bed :
" Life and death have been the subject of specula-
tion in every age by every writer. They have been
anxious to invent plausible excuses to avoid the evil
of death ; or soften by arguments that evil they know
to be unavoidable. Life and death are here no matter
for speculation. I come to the mention of them, with the
possibility of one, the probability of the other. With
a prospect of dissolution before him, everj'^ man feels
anxious to quit his station free from cares. To me,
indeed, appertains but little of this world^s benefit a.
few sparks struck from the flint of Sorrow (I have
called them Poems) is all I have that may be produc-
tive.
a 4
XXIV
" These poems, with all profit, &c. which may
accrue from them, I bequeath to my dear sister Eliza.
And I earnestly request my friends and
will superintend such arrangement and correction of
them as will best enhance my wish, that they may be
profitable. Would that 1 could die with the idea that
their publication would produce some little of that
independence it has been my heart's first and fondest
wish to bestow on her ! She must not take it as a gift,
but the disposition of duty.
" Respecting my books: My prize volumes I leave
to my Eliza's boys, when she has them; they may
serve as emulative stimulants. The rest, exceptiftg
those my family may retain, is to be submitted to my
dear friends and 's inspection, and their
acceptance of what tbey approve.
" A little trifle of remembrance to , Miss K.
C. W. &c. All cash or money is my mother's.
*' These little things are finished. Through God I
shall die in peace. 1 smile on the parting scenes of
this world they lead to a better !
" William I. Roberts.
"Dec. 11, 1806."
SUPERSCRIBED,
*; To be opened after William's decease by his mother,''
XXV
Roberts was burled at Bristol, in the church-yard of
St. Michael, and on his tomb is engraved the follow-
ing inscription:
To the Memory
OF
WILLIAM ISAAC ROBERTS,
Son of
William and Anne Roberts,
Bom May 5th, 1786,
and died
December 26th, 1806.
His amiable and friendly disposition,
steady character, and powers of genius,
displayed themselves at a very
early period of life,
and continued till it's final close,
endearing him to his disconsolate
Parents, Relatives, and Friends,
who will long lament his loss.
XXVI
TRIBUTARY POEMS.
THE FOLLOWING
LINES
WEBE WRITTEN ON VISITING A GROVE, TO WHICH THE
AUTHOK AND HIS FRIEND, THE LATE W. 1. KOBKRTS^
OCCASIONALLY RESORTED DURING HIS iAST VISIT AT
i'AJNSWlCK, 1807.
5dlAIL, sacred shades! I seek your deepest gloom.
To pour my sorrows o'er the silent tomb;
To mourn, alas ! the hapless early end
Of one 1 loved, a dear, a valued friend j
Who late when autumn's variegated vest.
These beechen groves in gay luxuriance drest.
Sought drooping pale your covert's cooling shade.
And vainly woo'd the zephyr's friendly aid,
For ah ! Consumption, talent's direst foe.
Had at his vitals aim'd th' insidious blow;
And soon displayed with savage joy her power,
" To blast bright genius in his rising hour.'*
Yet to my heart thy name shall still be dear,
ilallow'd with sighs embalra'd with many a tear;
XXVll
And while the fatal wreck I thus deplore.
Of virtues, talents, and of lettered lore,
I fondly think that had thy life been spared.
If pitying heav'n our vows and pray'rs had heard.
We who with grief now linger o'er thy name.
Exultant then had hall'd it dear to fame.
Ah now ! e'en now, by busy fancy shewn,
I see a form with features all thine own ;
Thy bright eye beaming with poetic fire.
Thy head reclining on thy broken lyre;
And as I gaze with wild amazement fraught.
Thy rare endowments burst upon my thought ^
The noble independence of thy mind.
Thy soaring genius and thy taste refin'd ;
The high toned cadence of thy gifted^song.
Thy ardent feeling, thy affection strong;
The manly firmness that thy soul adorn'd.
The pride that envy and that meanness scorn'd :
On these I muse, nor can my tears restrain.
For ah ! I " ne'er shall see thy like again ;"
Yet these, while o'er their wreck I vainly mourn.
Shall spread a deathless halo round thy urn.
H.
xxvni
LINES
TO THE MEMORY OF W. I. ROBERTS.
JLHOU heavenly harp ! whose solemn swell.
Breathed more than mortal minstrelsy;
The echoes of thy potent spell.
In more than earthly silence lie.
Thou master hand! whose fitful mood.
Gave to the lyre it's dulcet breath ;
Thy tuoeful art avails no more.
Thy skill is fled, thy strength is o'er.
Shrunk in the grasp of death !
O youth beloved ! thy grave around.
We pour the deep, despairing sound ;
Due tears we shed, due rites arc paid.
Where thou in silent earth art laid;
The dreams of fame, life's e<irly feari^
The lover's song, affection's tears.
Youth, genius, love, and constancy.
Sleep in the silent grave with thee!
Syren of song! away!
O who shall love thy lyre's soft witchery.
Or give his ardent soul to thee ?
Who to thy favourite haunts shall stray?
XXIX
Since wan disease is in thy train.
An J pale decay and varied pain;
And thro' thy proud pavilion break
The sullen moan of death, and mad d'ning terror's shrieL-!
Yet genius! not in day's broad glare.
When pleasure floats upon the murmuring air.
With smiles of joy, with numbers wild.
You won the soul of passion's child j
'Twas in the midniglit's lonely gloom.
When spirits rule o'er mortals* doom;
'Twas then you burst the bands of sleep.
And roused the child of care to weep;
His sunken eye, his head opprest.
His eager breath, his aching breast,
Ycu mock'd, and bade your visions roll.
With wilder wave upon his struggling soul!
Or did the dews of midnight steep
His wearied lids in balmy sleep.
And win from life's dark cares his mind;
O genius! in what phantom form.
Didst thou not rush with potent charm.
The victim youth to bind !
In pleasure's guise a spectre band.
Fair smiling Love, bright Hope and Fame,
Take by the minstrel's couch their nightly stand
Nor own the fond, dissembling breath.
That chants the while the dirge of death.
But cheat his sanguine soul with " promise of a name !"
XXX
Ye woods and wilds of Avon ! when I flew
To smooth the couch of him whom now I mouri).
No rapture from your tepid gales I drew.
No tear of transport raark'd my fond return.
The wintry storm around me beat.
The wave chafed sullen at my feet;
The dark grove bow'd with mournful sigh.
The raven shriek'd her funeral cry;
I thought upon the fatal bed.
Where death -damps chill'd your poet's head ;
I heard the raven's funeral cry.
And only thought 'twere sweet to die !
O youth beloved ! if mine had been thy doom.
To sink before thee to an early tomb;
Thy faithful harp, attuned to notes of woe.
Had rung it's requiem o'er the dust below;
And fancy's dirge in solemn sweetness play'd.
Had pleased, if ought on earth could please, my shade?
J.
xxxt
ADVERTISEMENT.
jlHE poems in this volume have been selected
from many others which their author had "written,
and but few of the^e had been corrected by his
hand. The last of his poetical productions was
the one entitled " l^ie Judgment y^ and this he
appears to have completed during his illness. He
was in the practice of shewing his compositions to
his literary acquaintance, aiid many of the follow-
ing have been collected from his letters to his
friends. Had lie lived, it is probable that fie
woidd have revised some pieces, and omitted others
which have now been inserted. But the Iiand of
friendship may surely be excused, if it has un-
warily twined a few weeds with the blossoms t/iat
compose this funereal wreath.
XXXIU
SUBSCRIBERS.
A.
BffRS. Abbott, Westerleigh, Gloucestershire
Jam^ Abel, Esq. Hampstead
Mrs. Abel, ditto
A, H. A. Adair, Esq. Oriel College
Mr. Bryan Adams, Bristol
Mrs. Adams, ditto
Mr. Thomas Adams, Bristol
Mrs. Adamson, Hendoa
Miss Louisa Adamson, Hendon
Mr. Richard Aldridge, Bristol, 2 copies
Miss Sarah Allen, Bristol
Mrs. Frances Allyn, Bristol
Mr. Applegarth, London
A. Annand, Esq. Baliol College, 2
James Muncaster Atkinson, Esq. London, 2
Messrs. D. Akenhead and Sons, booksellers, Newcastle-
upon-Tyne
John Adamson, Jisq. ditto, 2
Mrs. Amos, Teignmouth House
Abrahams, Esq. Taunton
Mr. Thomas Ayscough, Charter-house Square
Mr Arthur Ashton, Wood-street
b
XXXIV
B.
Mr. J. Baber, Bristol
Mr. Baillieu, ditto
Miss Baker, Gilstone House, Cowbridge
Rev. Slade Baker, Batcombe, Somerset, 2
Mr. Robert Baker, Bristol
John Bayles, Esq. London
Miss A. Bayb's, Painswick, Gloucestershire
Jesse Barrett, Esq. Bristol
The Misses Barrow, ditto
Benjamin Baugh, Esq. ditto
Mrs. Beard, Londoh
Rev. Mr. Bedford, Bristol
Mrs. Bedford, ditto
Samuel Birch, Esq. Bristol, 2
Mr. Edward Bird, ditto, 2
Miss Mary Bird, ditto
Mrs. Blackburn, London
Mrs. Blake, Bristol
Edward Bliss, Esq. Nailswortb, Gloucestershire
Mr. J. Bliss, London, 2
John Bliss, Esq. Hampstead
Mrs. Bliss, ditto
William Bliss, Esq. Oriel College, 2
Thomas Bliss, Esq. London
Cadwallader Boyd, Esq. Bristol
Mr. Bray, London
Mr. Breach, London
Mr. J. Brettle, Bristol
Samuel Brice, Esq. Frenchay, Gloucestershire
XXXV
Mrs. Beddowe, Clapham
John Booth, Esq. Devonshire-street, Queen's-square,
London
Mr. William Bnrnside, Gutter-lane
Mr. J. B. Banks, Wood-street
Captain Beatty, Royal Bucks Militia
Mr. Wm. Barnes, Liverpool
John Barnett, Esq. London
Mrs. Bristow, London
William Brice, Esq. Clifton
Durbin Brice, Esq. ditto
Miss Brice, ditto
Miss Harriet Brice, ditto
J. A. Bristow, Esq. Hendon
Mr. W. Bristow, London
E. T. Brown, Esq. Winchcomb, Gloucestershire
Mrs. Brown, St. James's Parade, Bristol
W. G. Brown, Esq. London
Mrs. Brown, Horfield Road, Bristol, 2
Mr. Henry Browne, ditto
Rev. Charles Bullock, Clifton
H. V. D. Busch, Esq. Liverpool, 2
J. Burden, Esq. London
Miss Byam, Bristol
Mrs. Bedford, Row, Buckingham Gate
Grosvenor Charles Bedford, Esq. ditto
Dr. Blake, Taunton
W. M. Brent, Esq. Friar's-street, Blackfriar's Road
Captain William Barker, Portsniouth
Mrs. Bramwell, Lincoln's Inn Fields
b 2
Mrs. Benge, Lewes, 2
Rev. John Blackman, Harting, Sussex
James Butler, Esq. Liphook
Charles Butler, Esq. Bramshot
Mrs. W. Butler, Havant
Henry Budd, Esq. ditto
Mrs. Bradford, Chicliester
MissBlagden, ditto
Mrs. Eudd, Ropley
Mr. Bidinead
Wade Browne, Esq. Ludlow, S
Mrs. Browne, Ludlow
Miss Browne, ditto
Miss S. Browne, ditto
Book Society, Painswick
Mr. Isaac Braithwaite, Kendal, 2
Book Society, Highgate
C.
Rev. Dr. Collyer, Black Heath Hill, Kent
William Cam, Esq London
Mr. Samuel Capper, Bristol
Mr. James Henry Capper, ditto
Mrs. Chambers, Ragland, Monmouthshire
Rev. Dr. Chapman, Oxford, 6
J. H. Christie, Esq. Baliol College, Oxford
C. B. Cookes, Esq. Pembroke College
Cooke, Esq. Oriel College
R. Codrington, Esq. Bridge water
William Clayfield, Esq. Bristol
xxxvu
Mr. Thomas Corser, Bristol
Mr. Joseph Cottle, ditto
Mrs. Cox, St. Michael's Hill, Bristol
Miss Cox, ditto
Miss Sarah Cox, ditto
Mrs. Calvert, Greta Bank, Keswick
James Colquhoun, Esq.
J. B. Capon, Esq. Taunton
C. Cookson, Esq,
Michael Castle, Esq. Old Market, Bristol
Thomas' Castle, Esq. Portland Square, ditto
Hinton Castle, Esq. Clifton, ditto
Mrs. Capper, Ely Place
Mr. Thomas Conder, bookseller, Bucklesbury, 6
Rev. James Capper, Wilmington
Mrs, J. Capper, ditto
Miss Catherey, Chichester
Mrs. Cooper, Lewes
Richard Chase, Esq. Little Horster Place, Uckfield
Rev. J. Collinson, Rector of Gateshead
Matthew Culley, Esq, Wark, Northumberland
Mr. Joel Cad bury
D.
Edward Davies, Esq. Eastington, Gloucestershite
John Davies, Esq. ditto
D. G. Davis, Esq. Pembroke College
Mr. John Daniel, Bristol
Mrs. Danson, ditto
Miss E A. Day, ditto
b3
XXXVlll
James Dickenson, Esq. London, 2
Mrs. Dimsdale, Bristol
Mr. James Drew, ditto
Miss Dunlop, Hammersmith
Mr. J. Du Puy, Chelsea
Rev. W. Dennis, Bramshot
Mrs. Dearling, Donnington
Mrs. Drew, Chichester
Richard Duppa, Esq. Great Marlbro'-street
Ducarel, Esq. Taunton
Rev. Philip Dodd, A. M. St. Mary at Hill, London
Charles Danvers, Esq. Bristol
John Davidson, Esq. Clerk of the Peace, Northumber-
land
Thomas Davidson, Esq. Newcastle-upon-Tyne
Mr. J. B. Drayton, Cheltenham
Mr. G. B. Drayton, Gloucester
Rev. W. Davies, Roehampton
E.
Thomas Eagles, Esq, Bristol
John Eagles, Esq. ditto
Mr. Eagles, London
Mr. Peter Eaton, Bristol
Mr. Preston Edgar, 'jun. ditto, 2
J. Edmunds, Esq. Bristol
Samuel Edwards, Esq. Cotham Lodge, Bristol
Mr. Thomas Lyddon Edwards, Bristol
James Edwards, Esq. ditto
Mr. George Edwards, ditto, 6
H. T. EUicombe, Esq. Ong\ College, Oxford
XXXIX
Miss Erskine, Eastbbarne, Sussex
Rev. Dr. Estlin, Bristol
Mr. Joseph Estlin, ditto
Mr. John Evans, Printer of the Bristol Mercury
Mr. William Evill, Bath
James Ewer, Esq. Bristol
Rev. William Edwards, Bedminster Lodge, Bristol
Hon. Frederic Edeii
Miss Eden
Rev. P. Elmsley, St. Mary Cary, Kent
Mrs. W. Eager, Bramley
Mrs. Evanson, Highgate
F.
Mrs. Facey, Bristol, 2
Mr. Fagg, Hackney
H. F. Fell, Esq. Pembroke Cdlege
Mrs, Forsythe, Loudon
Rev. John Fearon, Painswick
Rev. John Fearon, jun.
Mr. Gale Fearon, 2
William Fortescue, Esq. London
Mr, Francis Fowler, Bristol
John Frampton, Esq. Clifton
Mrs. Fox, Bath
Mrs. Freeman, Berkeley Place, Bristol
JEdraund Fry, M. D. London
Mr. William Fry, Bristol, 4
Mr, Thomas Fuidge, Bristol
Mr. Richard Fuidge, ditto
b4.
xl
Mrs. Foote, Brunswick Square, Bristol
MissTox, Plymouth
Mr. Wm. Forest, Bruton-street
Mr. Alfred Fry, London
G.
Samuel Gallon, Esq. F. R.S. Birmingham
Samuel Tertius Gallon, Esq. ditto
Mrs. Guy, Market-street, St. James's
Mr. Anthony Gardiner, jun. Chepstow
Mr. John Gardiner, ditto
Miss Gardinef, ditto
Mr. George Garrard, Bristol, 2
Mr. Thomas Garrard, ditto
Miss Garratt, Clifton
Mr. James Gastrell, Bristol
William George, Esq. Baliol College, Oxford
George Gibbs, Esq. jun. Stapleton
Miss Ginder, London, 6
Mr. Ginder, ditto
Charles Gaunt, Esq. Brasenose College, Oxford
Rev. St. Albyn Gravenor, Bristol
Mrs. Greaves, ditto
Gregory, Esq. ditto
Mr. Bishop Gregory, Yatton, Somerset
Mrs. Griffin, Redcliff Parade, Bristol
Mr. Joseph Grindon, Bristol
Mr. William Gyde, Cheltenham
Rev. Dr. Grey
Frederic Gibson, Esq. Newingtoo
Miss Gordon
Mrs. Gillam, Chichester
H.
Lady Mary Hay, Collipriest House, near Tiverton
J. Hack, Esq. Middlesex
Mrs. Hadlam, London
J. Haines, Esq. Hampstead
Miss Harford, St. Augustine's Place, Bris^l
Miss Elizabeth Harford, ditto
George Harmar, Esq. Burleigh Lodge
Winter Harris, Esq. jun. Bristol
Mr. Thomas Harris, ditto
H. Harvey, Esq. Christ Church College, Oxford, 2
Rev. William ^Hayes, Islington
Rev. P. Hayes, Hendon
William Haynes, Esq. Bristol
Rev. George Hay ward, jun, Froster, Gloucestershire
Mr. Haywood, London
Mr. Heaven, jun. ditto
Rev. Mr. Hensman, Clifton
William Hesketh, Esq. Brasenose College, Oxford
Mrs. Hewer, Preston
Mr. Richard Hill, Bristol
Thomas Haynes, Esq. Wood,-street, London
Mr. George Highfield, Liverpool
Mr. Johnson Holden, ditto
Mr. John Hill, Almondsbury, Gloucestershire
P. L Hinds, Esq. London
Jsaac Hobhouse, Esq. Henbury^ Gloucestershire
Mrs. Hobhouse, ditto
xlii
Mr. Charles Hodges, Bristol
Edward Hogg, Esq. Woodchester, Gloucestershire
Mrs. Hogg, ditto
Rer. T. J. Hogg, Cleeve Hill, Gloucestershire
Mr. Edward Hogg, Hendon, 6
Miss Hogg
Mr. Holder, Bristol
Mr. William Holmes, ditto
George Holmes, Esq. ditto
Mrs. Hook, ditto
Mr. Edward Home, Clapham
Mr. Stephen Hosier, Bristol
John Hughes, Esq. Oriel College, Oxford
Mr. A. Hunt, St. Augustine's Place, Bristol
William Hood, Esq. Brunswick Square, Bristol
J. C. Herries, Rsq.
Mrs. Hammond, Sutton
Mrs. Howard, Chelsea
Miss M. HolJoway, Emsworth
Mrs. Humphrey, Lavant
Miss Hawker, Key Hill, near Birmingham
Miss Ann Howard, Stockwell
Anthony Home, Esq. London
Rev. J. Hodgeson, perpetual Curate of Heworth and
Jarrow
William Harrison, Esq. Notth Shields
Walter Heron, Esq. Newcastle-upon-Tyne
Hanney, Esq. Baliol College, Oxford
Mr. Nathaniel Hurley, Bristol
J. y
Edward Jenner, M. D. F. R. S. ^
E. Jacob, Esq. Lincoln College, Oxford
Mrs. Jacques, St. Michael's Hill, Bristol
Miss James, Prlnce's-street, ditto, 2
Mr. Robert James, Broadmead, ditto
Mr. John Jacques, Bristol
Miss Jelly, Ilendon
Mrs. Jones, Portland Square, Bristol
Miss Jones, ditto
Joseph Jones, Esq. ditto
William Jones, Esq, ditto
Mr. Jones, London
T. O. Jones, Esq. Oriel College, Oxford
Miss Jones, St. Michael's Hill, Bristol
Mr. William Jones, Bristol
Miss Jameson, ditto
Mr. P. M. James, Birmingham, 6
William Jones, Esq. Liverpool
Mrs. S. Jerram, London
K.
Mrs. Kempthorne, Bristol
Miss King, Croydon, Surrey
Mr. John Kirby, Bristol
Thomas Kirkpatrick, Esq. Liverpool
William Knight, Esq. Baliol College, Oxford
Mr. Jeremiah Knight, London
Mr. E. E. Kiddel, Cumberland-street, Bristol
John King, Esq. Dowry Square, Bri^l Hot Wells
Thomas Knowles, Esq. Liverpool
xViv
L.
Charles Lloytl, Esq. Birmingham, 2
Samuel Lloyd, Esq. ditto, 2
Charles Lloyd, jun. Esq. Brathay
tlon. Mrs. Lindsay, Hendoa
Mrs. (John) Laird, Bristol
Mrs. Laird, Park-street, ditto
Mr. John Lane, Stapleton, Gloucestershire, 2
Mr. Lassalle, Bristol
Mr. John Lawrence, ditto
John Lewis, Esq. Park Row, Bristol, 4
Mr. William Lewis, Brimpscombe
Miss Leyson, Bristol
Mr. Andrevv Livett, jnn. ditto
Miss Charlotte Livett, ditto
Miss Mary Livett, Trowbridge
Mr. David Llewellin, Bristol
Mr. Loader, London
Mr. Loader, jun. ditto
Mr. Richard Loader, ditto
The Misses Lockier, Hendon
J. G. Lockhart, Esq. Baliol College, Oxford
Miss Lomax, Bristol
Mr. William Lovegrove, Lyceum Theatre, London
Dr. Lovell, Bristol
Mrs. R. Lowe, ditto
Mis H. E. Lowell, ditto
Mr. Thomas Luce, jun. ditto
Mrs. Lucy, ditto
Miss Lucy, ditto; 2
Mrs. Langton, Downland, Uckfield
James Lost, Esq. Jesmond '
Mrs. Lea, Shrubbery, Worcestershire
Mrs. J. Lea, Red Hill, ditto
Mr. Loveday, Loudon
M.
Rev. B. Maddock, Hemgerton, Leicestershire
Mr. J. M'Causland, Bristol
R. Macfarlane, Esq. Baliol College, Oxford
N. M'Leod, Esq. Hendon
Mr, Joseph Marsh, London
Mr. Josiah Marsh, ditto
Mr. Henry Marshall
Mis Martin, London
Miss Mawe, Bristol
Mr. Matthews, London
Mr. Robert Meaby, Bristol, 2
Mr. Merrick, ditto
Mr. John Miller, King's Parade, Durham Down
Mrs. Mills, Denton House, Oxford, 10
John Moore, Esq. Dover
Miss ]VIoore, Bristol
Miss S. Moore, ditto
Mrs. Moray, Gilston House, near Cowbridge
Miss Morgan, Chepstow
Mr. Thomas Morgan, Bristol
Miss Morrell, London, 2
Mr. Morris, ditto
J. Mounsher, Esq. Bristol
Mr. Mullet, Londou
llvi ,
Mynors, Esq. liOndan
Mowbray, Esq. Durham
John Meacock, Esq. Liverpool
Mr. Millward, jun. London
Mrs. Mowbray, Durham
Miss Mowbray, ditto
J. J. Morgan, Esq. Portland Place, Hammersmith, 2
James Moore, Esq. Conduit-street,^ 2
John Sutton Merritt, Esq. Portsmouth
Mrs. Mant, Emsworth
Miss Miller, Buckland Cottage
Admiral Murray, Chichester
Richard Murray, Esq. ditto
Miss Murray, ditto
Miss Elizabeth Manson, Stockwell
N.
Miss Naish, Bristol
John Nash, Esq. Old Park, Bristol
Mrs. Nash, ditto
J. Nash, Esq. Pembroke College, Oxford
Mr. JohQ Narraway, jun. Bristol
Rev. James New, ditto
Miss New, ditto
Miss Newsom, London
Miss M. Newsom, ditto
John Nicholas, Esq. London
Mr. James Norton, Bristol
Mrs. J. Newland, Chichester
Mrs. G. Newland, ditto
xlvii
Neal, Esq. Eramshot . I/i
Major Newhouse, Royal Artillery
William Nicol, Esq.
Rev. Mark Noble, F. A. S. L. & E. Barming, Kent
O,
Mr. H. C. O'Donoghue, Bristol
Mrs. Oldham, Wine-street, ditto
Mr. George Oldham, Bristol
Miss Otway, London
Stephen Olding, Esq. Cornhili
Rev. H. Orre, Liverpool
P.
Thomas Park, Esq. F.A.S. Hampstead
Mrs. Park, ditto
Mr. J. Park, ditto
Miss Palmer, London
Mr. W. H. Palmer, Bristol
Mr. Arthur Palmer, jun, Bristol
William Patteson, Esq. Baliol College, Oxford
Mrs. Peach, Tockington, Gloucestershire
Mr. Thomas Pole, jun. Bristol
Mr. Pineger, Cain, Wilts, 6
Mr. Thomas Pollard, Bristol
Mr, John Polglase, ditto
Rev. J. Pons, ditto
Andrew Pope, Esq. ditt
Mr. Popell, Surgeon, ditto
Mrs. Poston, ditto
ilviri
Mr. Charles Powell, Bristol
Mr. Rich. Price, jun. ditto
Miss Price, ditto
Edw. Pritchard, Esq. ditto
Mr. William Prideaux, Plymouth
Philip Purcel, Esq. Cork
Mrs. Pugh, Bristol
The Miss Pennys, Ambleside, 2
Miss Mary Page, Pimlico
Colonel Peachy
Mrs. Powell, Taunton
Mrs. Parry, King's Road, Chelsea
Thomas Peckham Phipps, Esq. Little Green
Mrs. Harriet Phipps, ditto
James Pigot, Esq. Fitzhall
Mr. Postlethwaite, Harting
Mrs. Postlethwaite, ditto
Mr. Henry Postlethwaite, Chedhara
Mrs. Postlethwaite, ditto
Mrs. Pope, Chichester
a.
Thomas De Quincey, Esq.
R.
"William Roscoe, Esq. Liverpool
Mrs. Raymond, Bristol
Dr. Reid, Loudon
Mr. Richards, ditto, 6
Mr. Henry Riekman, ditto
xlix
Miss Mary Ring, Bristol
Miss Martha Ring, ditto
Miss Roberts, ditto
Mr. John Roberts, ditto
Miss Rogers, Bath
Mr. W. D. Rolfe, Bristol
Mr. John Ryland, Plymouth Dock
Mrs. Reed, Durham
Miss Richardson, Liverpool
Rev. A. Read, Hackney
Miss Reed, Durham
Mrs. Raper, Chichester
Mrs. Rickman, Palace-yardj 2
Edward Roberts, Esq. Ealing
S.
T, W. Smith, Esq. Stockwell, 2
Miss A. W. Smith, ditto, 2
Miss M. W. Smith, ditto, 2
Miss Salmon, Bristol
Mr. Salmon, Surgeon, ditto
Mr, P. Sansom, ditto
Mr. Sarvier, dttto
Mrs. Schimmelpenning, Bristol
Miss Sbeppard, Cirencester
Mrs. Sims, Bristol
Miss Sims, ditto
Mr. C. Simpson, London
Mr. Skinner, ditto
Mr, John Skinner, Finsbury Place, London
c
; 1 -
Mrs. Slade, Hendon
William Slater, Esq, London .
Miss Smart, Chepstow
Mr. Charles Smith, Bristol
Mr. J. C. Smith, ditto
Mrs. Smith, Kingsdown, ditto
Mr. John Smith, Bristol
Mr. Wm. Smith, ditto
Smyth, Esq. Baliol College, Oxford
Rev. R. Snelsou, Hendon
Mrs. Snook, Bristol
Mr. Peter Staunton, ditto ;^/r
Mr. Edward Stephens, ditio ti,
Miss Storey, London, 6
Mr. J. C. Stuart, Bristol
Rev. Thomas Sockett
Henry Stan dart, Esq. Taunton
Mrs. Silvertop
Dr. Sanden, Chichester
Mrs. Seward, Romsey
John Sutton Shugar, Esq. Portsmouth
Joseph Smith, Esq. Sion Hill, Worcestershire
Mrs. Smith
Mrs. Stevenson, Clapham
Charles Scudamore, Esq. Highgate
T.
Countess of Temple
Mr. Thomas Tanner, Bristol
Sidenham Teast, jun. Esq. ditto
li
Mr. Benjamin Thomas, Bristol
Mrs. Thomas, ditto
Mr. Tommas, ditto
Dr. Trinder, Rowley Green
Philip Tuckett, Esq. Bristol
Tyson, Esq. Droff House
Mrs. Tyson
Mrs, Tourle, Land port, 2
Rev. William Tyner, Corapton
Paul Tatlock, Esq. London
Messrs. Taylor and Hessey, booksellers, Fleet-street, 12
Mr. Taggart, Liverpool
Mr. Tanner, Leicester
V.
Vale, Esq. Pembroke College, Oxford
Mrs. Spencer Vassall, Clifton
Mrs, Vivian, London
Mrs. Vizer, Bristol
Miss Vizer, ditto
Dr. Vetch, Bognor
Rev. W. Vyse, LL.D. Lambeth
W.
Paul Wathen, Esq. Lypiatt Park, 2
Mrs. Wathen, ditto, 2
Mrs, Watson, Calgrath Park, Westmoreland
Miss Watson, ditto
John Wilson, Esq. Elleray
Mr. James Wright, Bristol
Mr, MattheviT Wright, jun. ditto
c 2
Henry Wilmot, Esq. London
Mr. John Wadham, Bristol
Mrs. Warn, Owen Place, London
Mr. J, Walter, Bristol
Mr. James Warren, London
Mr. Warton, Long Ashton, Somerset
Mr. James S. Webb, Bristol
W. Wedderbourne, Esq. Baliol College, Oxford
T. J. Welles, Esq. Cheltenham
Mr. Charles Westwood, Bristol, 2
G. White, Esq. Oriel College, Oxford
Miss Elizabeth Whiting, Bristol
Miss Wight, Tetbury
Joseph Wight, Esq. Painswicfc
Rev. George Wilkins, Bristol
J. Ward, Esq. London
Mr. Williams, Bristol
Thomas Williams, Esq. University College
D. Willoughby, Esq. Hampsiead
Mrs. Willoughby, ditto
John Wintle, Esq. Bristol
Mr. Woods, Hackney, 2
Mrs. George Worrall, Clifton
Samuel Worrall, E^q. ditto
Waldron, Esq. Taunton
Mrs. Wiiham, Durham
Mrs. Wilde, Palace Yard
Mi^s Wilie, ditto
Mrs. Woods, Aldsworth, 2
Mr. Woods, Woodmancot
liii
Mrs. Wyatt, Chidham
Rev. William Walker, Chichester
Mrs. West, Stratford-upon-Avon
Mrs. West, Alscot Park, near Stratford
Mr. J. N. White, Wood-street
Rev. Philip Wren, Rector of Ipsley, Warwickshire
Christopher Wren, Esq. Perry Barr, Staffordshire
Miss Wallace, Liverpool
C. B. Warner, Esq. Cirencester
Y.
Mrs. Yeatman, Bristol
Mrs. Young, ditto
Miss H, Young, Taunton,
POEMS.
(rjv
POEMS,
THE
TOMB OF ELLEN.
O STRANGER ! if by worldly views.
Thy heart is dead to Love's controul;
If feeling never nursed with dews.
The rose of passion in thy soul :
Turn from this grave thy sullen tread.
For this is Pity's holiest shrine;
The lilies that surround the dead.
Would shrink from such a touch as thine!
But if thy breast with ardour warm.
Beats to the thrilling glance of Beauty;
If thou hast knelt to woman's charm.
With all of Love's delighted duty ;
Then stranger pause and linger here,
(For Love and Pity seldom sever)
And pour the sighs to passion dear.
Where ELLEN-sleeps alas, for ever!
Sweet maid ! within thjf^ gentle breast,
Aflection bloom'd, oh, how sincerely!
And why di^ Fate, with frown unblest.
Break a fond heart that loved so dearly ?
Cold, cold beneath the western wave.
Thy lover found an icy pillow;
No flower to mark his lonely grave.
No death-shroud but the foaming billow!
The spirit of the morn had sigh'd.
Delighted o'er the rose's bloom ;
But Sorrow came with withering stride,
And swept its- beauty to the tomb !
Stranger ! if Love awakes your sighs,
(And Love arid Pity seldom sever)
Pause where the- rose of beauty lies.
Where Ellen sleeps alas, for ever !
uESCHYLUS,
-Swell the notes of sorrow high.
'' Mourn our bravest warriors slain ; ' '
" Gored with wounds and pale they lie,
" Cold in death, on yonder plain !
" Them the flame of freedom fired,
" They disdained from fight to fly;
" By glory's living voice inspired,
" Firm they stood, nor fear'd to die.
" Spirits of the mighty dead !
" Wake to rage my burning soul;
" Hov'ring o'er ray grief-struck head,
" Bid the sounds of vengeance roll!' "
Where wild Oeta's rugged brow,
Frowns o'er the winding path below,
*Twas thus, responsive to his lyre.
The bard pour'd forth the ardour of his mind;
His tear-dimm'd eye still gleam'd with martial fire.
As the slow, solemn tones, flow'd mournful on the wind.
B 2
Sudden he starts his dark locks stream.
The sounds of sorrow cease to flow;
His eyes dart wild a withering beam.
Of ruin on the Persian foe!
With rising fire.
He sweeps the lyre.
His soul with inspiration glowsf-
The caves around.
Prolong the sounds - -
While strong the strain impassion'd flows.
, -;! i ' ",'.- !., .1.1:1 */f^ '^
" Xerxes!, shortly thqu shajt. kpo:yy"^^ muoM ""
" Fate but stays the lifted blow; , . , ,^ ,.
" Thy sun of glory, fierce that gleams^
" Soon in blood shall quench his beams.
" Lo ! I see the sisters dread, .
" Bending weave thy mortal thread ; , ,
" While bands of spectres, sweeping thro' the gloom,
" Glare round thy couchj, and frowning, stamp, thy
doom.
" Those are the shades of heroes slain,
" Fighting in their country's cause;
" Their gore-stain'd limbs that strew the crimson plain,
" Shew thee how Grecians venerate their laws.
" Tyrant' soon thy vaurits shall cease,
" Soon thy boasted millions fail;
'* Fall before the s<Vord of Greece,
" And wide destruction swallow allf
5
" From tent to tent I see thee fly,
" Despair and terror In thine eye;
" Trembling at the shaft of fate,
" Left forlorn and desolate;
" While horror, smiling on thy baffled plan,
" Thunders within thy ear, and tells thee thou art Man !
" Lo ! where bursting from the skies,
" While streams of glory flash a brighter day,
" A *form sublime arrests my wond'ring eve^
" Around whose head the dancing meteors plav.
" His coursers fly,
" He cleaves the sky,
' The bolt of vengeance grasping in his hand;
" Loud thunders foil,' '
" From pole to pole, '
" He comes! th' avenger of his native land I
" O'er Persia's realm his conq'ring host shall goj
" And hurl heif satraps io the shades below !
. f. -. 'j n., .,';.' . /; ' ;:
" Enough^-to Fortune I resign,
" Since now futurity is mine :
" Tyrant! then a little while,
" Wanton in her partial smile;
" Yet ere I perish, thou shalt feel,
" The fury of my patriot steel;
" My country's genius calls I come, I fly,
" Fired at the sacred voice, to conquer or to die V*
* Alexander.
b3
TO
W HEN Fancy with a sujibeam drew
Serena's form in Hay ley's mind.
She smiled upon a work so true.
So fair, so gentle, so resigu'd !
"With pride she view'd the picture o'er.
And as she view'd, she loved it more;
And wish'd that she might one day see.
Such beauty in reality!
The secret pray'r to yielding Nature flew.
Who heard, and breathed Serena's soul in you !
. 7
yn . .1 bah
V -vrO
SENSIBIUTY.
iiil AIL ! sweetest charm that mortals know !
Thou constant source of joy or woe.
Receive thy votary's lay ;
Here, while my breast with passion glows.
While fast the tear of rapture flows.
My humble rite I pay.
By him who own'd thy strongest pow'r,
"Who nightly sought thy hallow'd bovv'r.
Before thy shHne to fall;
Who bade Lefevre's sorrows flow.
And wept Maria's madd'ning woe.
By Yorick's name I call!
O come in snowy vest array'd.
In all thy soften'd charms display'd.
Within my heart to dwell;
There fix thy firm, resistless sway,
'Till death shall bid that heart decay.
And burst thy pensive spell.
B 4
And let us oft together stray,
\yhen evening spreads her mantle grey.
O'er woodlands wild to rove;
And hear, in some sequester'd bow'r.
Thine own sad songstress sweetly pour
Her strain of hapless love.
Or climb some loft}' mountain's brow.
And listen to the waves below.
Wild murmuring 'mid the gloom ;
And haply there at Pity's call.
Thy tear for thoughtless m^u shall fall.
And mourn his fated doom.
Oh ! thus thrice happy, let me Jive,
Possess'd of all thy charms can give.
From Wealth's temptations free ;
Let others join Ambition's throng.
Or yield to Pleasure's syren song,
I ask no joy but thee I
9
EPITAPH.
Pilgrim ! if youth's seductive bloom.
Thy soul in pleasure's vest arrays;
Pause at this sad and silent tomb.
And learn how^ swift thy bliss decays!
But ah ! if woe has stabb'd thy breast,
And. diram'd with tears thy youthful eye;
Mourner, the grave's a house of rest.
And this one teaches how to die!
For she who sleeps this stone beneath,
Tho' many an hour to pain was given;
Smiled at the hovering dart of death.
While Hope display'd the joys of Heaven
lO
WOMAN.
Jl EJRO' all Creation's works we trace.
The living lineaments of grace;
And o'er each wild stupendous scene.
Or simple flow'ret of the green.
Beauty her mellowM light hath shed.
Like halos round the prophet's head.
She wakes within the musing soul.
The echo of her sweet controul ;
Soft as the sound when Zephyr's wing,
Waves lightly o'er th' Eolian string.
The harmonies of grace refined,
W^ill ever charm th' ingenuous mind;
But woman's lovely smiles impart,
A joy that vibrates to the heart.
Yet not because thy form displays
The point where centre beauty's rays;
Nor tho' the azure of thine eye.
Beams sweeter than an April sky.
When sunbeams thro' the transient shower.
Smile warmly on each weeping flower.
Woman ! 'tis not for this alone,
I pour my tributary tone;
n
But 'tis because thy care can still
Affliction's agonizing thrill ;
Because thy hand hath blessings spread
O'er wilds that man is doom'd to tread;
And round the pilgrim's staff hath wove
The flowers of happiness and love !
n
. joiJoitftA
Mult as pet gentesi et multa per arjftctfha ' iectiJt^!^
O'ER many a wild, o'er many a wave.
My solitary path has been ;
Alas ! and is a brother's grave.
My mournful journey's closing scene?
My heart had hoped one joy to prove,
Tho' fate of many has bereft me;
Had fondly hoped a brother's love.
To cheer this drooping heart, was left me.
But hoped in vain! no more renew'd
Is love's embrace or friendship's vow;
The wreath of death in tears bedew'd.
Is all that I can give thee now.
Farewell I farewell! tho* fate denied
To clasp thee living to my breast ;
Still will I kneel thy tomb beside.
And weeping, hail thy peaceful rest I
]3
TO
TT
JLiADY! in ancient song, they say.
That she, whom gods and men pbey,
The queen of ]Beauty's seraph smile,
Reign *d in Idalia's favor 'd isle;
And he, the god of amorous wiles.
Who wins with tears, who wounds with smiles.
Guided her chariot vfhen her eye
Beam'd sweetly o'er the western sky.
But lady, on Idalia's shore.
Her votive temple tow'rs no more:
Nor sprightly dance, nor Cyprian song.
The joyous reign of Love prolong.
"Venus has fled, and with her too,
Cupid, the god of rapture, flew;
Idalia's genius wept to see.
The queen of Beauty fly to thee;
She smiles in every look of thine.
And Love he makes my heart his shrine 1
14
TERRORS OF IMAGINATION.
10 ASH from thy hand that plaintive lyre.
Breathe not those languid notes of love;
Minstrel! to bolder themes aspire.
In thunders bid thy harpings rove I
For lo! upon his sullen cloud.
The spirit of the night has bow'd;
His potent wand of mystic dread.
Unbars the caverns of the dead !
No murmur but the watch-dog's growl.
Disturbs the midnight gloom of fear;
Nor echo dares repeat the howl.
That tells of ghostly footsteps near I
What fear-struck wretch, so wildly pale.
Beneath yon wither'd yew-tree lies?
His groans of terror swell the gale.
Despair is flashing from his eyes I
That wretch is he whose hand unblest,
Stabb'd the benighted traveller's rest;
And now the demons of remorse.
Before him fling the bleeding corse;
J.
15
Chill tremors thro' his bosom dart;
He sees a form beside him stand ;
He feels a spectre's icy hand
Lie cold upon his shrinking heart I
Fancy ! thy spell's creative pow'r.
Glooms upon the midnight hour.
And wakes those darker fiends that dwell
Within the precincts of thy cell.
To chase the soothing balms of rest.
For ever from the guilty breast.
Or hovering in the stormy hour.
Around some abbey's mouldering tower.
They pour those dismal shrieks of fear.
That burst upon the traveller's ear.
Frowns of darkest hue deform
The changeful beauty of thy form ;
When Superstition's stern controul.
Chills the pulses of the soul.
And casts a cloud of eiry night
O'er thy visions of delight.
On Scandinavia's cheerless shore.
Her cavern'd rocks and mountains hoar.
The spirit stretch'd his wings of pow'r;
And still o'er Caledonia's vales.
The twilight of his gloom prevails.
And still the kelpie shrieks amid the stormy hour !
Long o*er the mind the demon held
His wizard reign of gloomy woe,
lO
And Fear, aghast, would oft behold
His mantle-cloud in tempests loU'd,
Cast a chill night upon the world below.
.iiji'iir.dr: ^i^i i.
Genius beneath his influence slept.
And o'er that sleep the Muse* wept;
Till on their rapt ears, sweetly strong.
Rose a bard's romantic song.
From Avon's stream the *minstrel came.
Ills lyre in many a wild lay spoke.
And his warm eye-beam's phrenzied flame.
The spell-bound trance of Genius broke.
Aroused to life, she sprang sublime.
And soaring to her native clime,
Snatch'd from the bright etherial grove.
The veil which Beauty wove for Love,
And cast it o'er the demon's brow,
And chang'd to smiles his looks of woe.
The potent charm the wizard felt.
And Fear at Fancy's altar knelt.
And loved the spirit's alter'd mien.
His wavy locks and robes of green.
Thus when the night has spread her clouds
Around some time-rent castle's head.
In awful gloom the ruin shrouds,
And fills the traveller's soul with dread;
* Shakespeare.
17
The rising moon, with lucid ray.
Illumes the hoary fragments o'er j
And pilgrims linger to survey
The soften'd scene they fled before.
But the fairest forms that beam.
Fancy! on thy raptured dream.
When allured by sweetest numbers.
Beauty hovers o'er thy slumbers;
Are those thy visions bid to reign.
Gentle on the Persian plain ;
Peri forms that lightly fly.
Beauteous to the poet's eye.
They drink the tears which Zephyr throws
O'er the blushes of the rose;
Their food the warm and spicy gale.
The perfume which her sweets exhale:
Delighted in the jasmine grove.
They hear the whisper'd vows of Love;
Or feel as on her breast they lie.
The melting noon of Beauty's eye.
And when upon the virgin's cheek.
The silent tears her passion speak.
They catch the falling drops^ and bring
Each brilliant gem on grateful wing.
An offering to the star of even'.
That torch of love which lights their heaven !
Not thus o'er wild "^Norbengian's plains.
The savage Ghools terrific play;
* A province in Persia.
C
18
On whirlwind clouds of death they fly.
The wandering traveller their prey.
Wild yells of triumph drown his fainting voice.
And hungry spirits o'er the feast rejoice I
He ne'er again shall bless the smile
Of Love, that once his care beguil'd ;
Nor round his chearful fire relate
The wonders of the dreary wild !
And when along that wild so dread.
The pilgrim speeds with cautious tread.
Fearful he hastes, nor turns his eye
To where the whitening bon6s of many a victim Ife.
Fear I thy icy look may bind
In transient bonds the shrinking mind;
But o'er the soul where Virtue dwells.
Vain is thy power and vain thy spells.
Where Virtue's sun illumes the breast.
The heart shall sleep in peaceful rest;
But nought of peace the sons of guilt shall know.
Their sleep is horror, and their dream is woe !
The miser brooding o'er his countless store.
Buried in gold and thirsting still for more;
When shivering o'er his faggot's gleam he bends,.
And winter's blast the clattering casement rends;
Shall feel a conscious pang, and start to hear
Want's hollow voice pour curses in his ear.
Tyrants shall tremble, tho' around them glow
Each rare enjoyment wealth arid power bestow ;
19
And vainly strive with Glory's rob& of fame.
To gild the stigma of a murderer's name;
In vain shall seek the balmy sweets of rest
Demons may triumph, but can ne'er be blest,
Monarchs in guilt ! in vain to joy ye fly.
No beauty sparkles in her wanton eye.
For you no flow'r in vernal sweetness blows.
But dews of night-shade sicken on your brows;
Your souls are dark, and Riot's fires illume
Freedom's pale spectre glaring from the tomb I
Fancy! still be mine to feel
All thy fairer spells reveal ;
But never, never let me know
Guilt's enphrenzied throbs of woe ;
Nor maniac fear, with thee combined.
Breathe her madness on my mind.
But still with grateful touch impart
Thy warm expansion of the heart;
And still my lyre shall hymn to thee.
Wild-wove songs of poesy;
And Avon's genius love the song.
That swells her echoing woods among.
c 2
20
SONNET.
NIGHT.
J^OW fades the bright sun's last expiring rays.
And night comes on in sable grandeur drest:
Each rising star his rival beam displays.
And shines dim-twinkli"ng in his glitt'ring vest.
'Tis thus on earth the crowds of men appear,
Resembling stars that deck the midnight sky;
Few strive themselves above the rest to rear.
They live unnoticed, and unnoticed die.
Oh! while my heart shall own the power of song.
Be this the darling passion of my soul,
To rise superior to the vulgar throng.
And fix my name on Fame's eternal roll:
Dart like the comet, swifter than the wind.
Blaze thro' the heav'ns, *' and leave long light behind I"
21
ODE TO WAR.
]D)EM0N of battle ! ruthless pow'r.
Humanity's inveterate foe;
Whose ears with greedy joy devour
The agonizing shriek of woe !
When breathing death thy giant form.
On vulture pennons cleaves the storm.
And calls the furies of thy train to rise ;
Then gentle peace and pity fly.
Scared at thy slaughter-beaming eye.
And shrinking, vanish to their native skies:
While smiling carnage and destruction fell.
Their gory banners to the wind unfurlM ;
And murder rising from the deepest hell.
Stalk grimly horrid o'er the trembling world !
Stern spirit ! thy accursed controul
Destroys mild Nature's genial sway ;
Chills each warm feeling of the soul.
And clouds with blood sweet Mercy's ray!
Oh ! why should man to misery prone.
Hereditary child of woe.
By bending at thine iron throne.
Cause wider streams of grief to flow !
c3
22
Full soon without thy aid, insatiate war.
The dream of life would wake upon the tomb;
But thy loud trump resounding from afar.
Rouses stern Death and hastens mortals' doom.
Oh! see yon chief to battle go.
The stroke arrests him as he flies ;
He falls and in -that fatal blow.
The husband and the father dies!
No more his beauteous bride shall prove
The transports of her lord's return ;
Nor eager at the voice of love.
His death-chill'd heart again shall burn !
Demon ! thy soul unmoved can hear
The hapless widow's piercing cry;
Canst view the lonely orphan's tear.
And mock the groan of agony !
But sweet with potent sway to charm
The fury of thy wasting arm.
May heaven-born Peace attune her seraph song;
And long may Albion's sea-girt isle.
Enchanted own the grateful smile.
And hail the strain her echoing rocks among!
^3
SPiRING.
Solviter acris hiems, &c. Hor.
J. HE ice-drops bung on winter's brow,
Thaw'd by the gale of spring, depart;
And o'er his rugged bosom flow.
In streams that renovate his heart.
The hoary monarch smiles again.
And o'er the vegetating plain.
The rustic bands elate prepare.
The healthful toils of rural care.
The ploughman leaves his winter mirth.
The village tale and chearful hearth ;
And herds forsake their stalls to feed
On the fresh buddings of the mead.
By moonlight on the Paphian isle
The Graces bend to Beauty's smile.
While hand in hand the dance they form;
And now beneath the Cyclops' blows.
The half-form'd bolt of thunder glows.
To arm the spirit of the storm.
Now 'mid the joys of love and wine.
Your brows with myrtle garlands twine;
c 4
24
And wreaths of every flow'r, whose birth
Blooms on the bosom of the earth.
Yet Death will come tho' not alone
On cottages his stroke awaits;
For kings have trembled on their throne.
To hear him knocking at their gates.
Yes, Death will come our moments fly
Like shot-stars thro* the evening sky.
Night even now her cloud hath spread.
With frown portentous o'er my head ;
And shadows wandering thro' the gloom,
Point to the mansions of the tomb.
There no gay wreath shall twine the brow.
The hand no sparkling juice shall hold;
Nor Love's warm smile of pleasure glow.
Where all is silent, dark, and cold.
25
LINES
SENT WITH A PRIVATE CONCERT TICKET.
JLiADIES! from Harmonia^s bowers.
We have cull'd some choicest flowers;
And lo, we come with anxious duty.
To lay them at the shrine of Beauty !
Each panting lyre shall hymn to-night.
It's warmest anthem of delight;
Strains which the heart to glory move.
Or wake the witcheries of Love.
Yet tho' the strains were sweeter far
Than those which calm'd the fiend of war;
Or softer than the bird of even'.
Pours on the listening ear of heaven j
Yet vain were all our toils of duty.
Without your smiles, ye nymphs of Beauty !
Then let those smiles confirm our glee.
Come listen to our minstrelsy!
26
SAPPHO'S
ADDRESS TO THE EVENING STAR.
Scene, the Promontory of Leucadia.
S)TAR of my soul ! if bright you rise.
To cheer with hope these weeping eyes ;
Or come to light the cold wave's breast.
The pillow of thy Sappho's rest;
Still thy blest beam is joy to me.
For I'm thy truest votary.
And oh! if yonder swelling wave
Is doom'd to be thy Sappho's grave.
Wilt thou upon its bosom sleep.
And charm the tempests of the deep ?
That here if Phaon, pity-led,
ShQuld breathe one sigh for Sappho dead;
My hovering shade may hear that sigh.
For then it will be bliss to die !
How oft I've pour'd my soul to thee.
In songs of sweetest melody;
And bade my lyre's soft numbers rove
In all the luxury of love I
27
But now the burning blush I steep
In tears that must for ever weep.
Despair has chill'd the Muse's fire.
And Love bends weepiog o'er my lyre ;
The spirit of the dulcet string,
Awakes no more to rapture's wing;
But sighs with melancholy tone,
*' Weep, Sappho weep! thy Phaon's gone!"
Then, Venus, hasten to bestow
Peace to a soul, where life is woe.
By all the passion of thy breast.
That woo'd Adonis to be blest;
And by those sacred tears that flow'd.
When o'er his pallid form you bow'd;
O pity one who feels like thee.
Whose love, alas I is misery !
Ev'n the fond breeze that waves my hair.
Moans like an echo to despair;
And sorrow whispers in my breast,
" Die, Sappho die! for death is rest!"
Farewell, sweet star! whose brilliant ray
Illumed with joy my early day ;
When Rapture in the Lesbian grove
Wanton'd with Beauty and with Love.
Thou'rt sinking in the glowing main.
But soon all bright to rise again;
While Hope, that once as thee was bright.
Now trembles on the brink of nicrht!
28
Come then, all dark and cheerless gloom !
Ko star remains to light the tomb ;
For gloomy clouds tempestuous driven.
Show fury on the front of heaven ;
And loud the wailing spirits cry,
" Victim of passion ! dare to die I"
Yes, I can dare for o'er my soul
Still wilder storms of anguish roll;
And welcome are the waves that steep
My sorrows in eternal sleep !
29"
. TO
Jl WISH I were the attendant sprite,
That hovers o'er thy dream of night;
For I would wake to charm thy slumbers.
Passion's wild, yet chastest numbers:
To heaven again return I'd never.
But hover round thy path for ever ;
And chase with guardian care away,
Whate'er of ill might near thee stray.
How would I weave with airy glee.
Each spell of varied joy for thee !
And when from half-closed lips should rise
The murmur of unconscious sighs.
My own should answer thine to prove.
How true, how pure a spirit's love !
30
THE ARBOUR.
What tho' the heart be mournful tho' the eye
Ga?es on hope no longer yet remain
Moments of peace, and scenes that woo the soul
To cast the robe of melancholy oiY,
And smile again: the swelling heart will then
Think of departed joys, but not with pain;
For Memory's tears iVill sometimes cheer the breast,^
Like western sunbeams on the hoary head
Of him, who sitting in his porch at eve,
Smiles in the beam his dimi eye sees no more !
Children of sorrow! who with naked tread.
Walk o'er the thorns of this world's wilderness;
How would your drooping spirits joy to find
A home like this to shield you I Peace dwells here.
And smiling innocence delights to form
Wild primrose garlands, for the modest brovv
Of rural happiness.
Say, ye who strive.
The gloomy labourers in Ambition's mine.
Power the bright jewel that excites your toil
Say, when acquired, does Comfort's wreathed brow
Boast the rich brilliance of the glittering gem>
31
Or does she rather in "Wealth's palace dwell,
A weeping pilgrim, that with pensive eye
Watches the trace of the aerial path
Whence dove-wing'd Peace departed?
Deluded man ! and does the lightning's beam.
Transient as fierce, delight thy gazing eye
Beyond the lustre of yon beauteous star,
The evening lamp of Love? The torrent's roar.
Loud tumbling down the rock, say does it charm
Thy listening ear with rapture, like the sounds
That warble sweetly from the Eolian lyre,
"Woke by the breeze of summer? Cease then, man.
To waste in guilty toils thy span of being;
Nor dress the passing shadow of thy fame
In tinsel splendours and unreal greatness.
For not with luxury in Ambition's dome
Does Comfort dwell; and tho' the daring mind
May joy to struggle in the storms of life.
Yet Nature turns to other scenes for bliss.
And loves the peaceful valley loves the flowers
That deck the bosom of domestic joy.
As when an eagle from her eiry roused.
Bathes her strong pinion in the solar beam.
And triumphs o'er the tempest-^^-still to earth
Her wingo'erwearied bends its circling flights
And spreads the pennon that defied the storm.
To shield her offspring from the wintry blast.
32
TO A LADY,
ON HEARING HER SING " HIGHLAND MARY.'
&ERAPH of song! in pity cease.
Nor breathe again that strain of woe;
It tells me of departed peace.
Of joys which I no more must know.
For cold indeed is S 's lip.
And pale her cheek, so rich in beauty;
Nor more shall Love his pinion dip
Jn balmy sighs of warmest duty.
The rose no more that lip shall warm.
Life to that cheek return shall never;
And I am dooni'd to trace each charm.
Yet weep those icbitrnis are lost for ever.
The wretch who sleeps in Misery's cell,
A dreamless sleep to grief resign'd.
If chance he hear the minstrel's swell
Flow sweetly on the passing wind ;
33
O'er his wan cheek a hectic flush,
Awates Distraction's slumbering fires;
While scenes of exiled transport rush.
In agony his heart respires,
1 am that wretch in captive gloom.
Thine is the minstrel's strain of woe ;
Thy tears the rose of Love illume.
Mine on the grave of Beauty flow !
34
THE STRANGER.
jEARL Douglas* hall glow'd bright and warm.
And quick the mantling wine went round;
While *mid the pauses of the storm.
Was heard the harp's enlivening sound.
All bow'd to Pleasure's rosy wile.
All, save one stranger guest forlorn;
He quafF'd no wine, he bade no smile
The pallid cheek of grief adorn.
Wrapt in the pilgrim's garb of woe.
Silent and stern the wanderer sate ;
Despair was on his rugged brow.
And in his eye the curse of fate.
** Let mirth," cried Douglas, " cease to flow,
" Bid softer sounds of music roll;
" Attune thy harp to love and woe,
" And suit yon mournful stranger's soul."
35
The bard obedient swept the wire,
He swept it with a master's sway,
And bade the spirit of his lyre.
To warble wild it's sweetest lay.
" Where Lula rests the murmuring yew,
"Bends to the gale with mournful wave;
" The night-star scatters tears of dew,
" To nurse the lilies of her grave !
" For she was fairer than the dream,
" That charms the poet^s wandering sense;
" Her smile was that which seraphs beam,
" Who guard the sleep of innocence.
" Like them she look'd when in her arms,
" Her cherub infant sweetly slept;
" When gazing on his opening charms,
" She thought upon his sire, and wept.
" For far where Bruce and Freedom waged
" The fight, was found Glenalvon's spear ;
" Where Scotia's boldest bands engaged,
" For every tie to Scotland dear.
" Long o'er the heath so dark, so wild,
" An anxious look of hope she cast;
" And closer press'd her sleeping child,
" As moan'd ia hollow gusts the blast.
D 2
36
" Cease, winds unkind; cease roaring stream,
" O let me hear roy lord's return;
" Shed, ye dim stars! a brighter beam
" Glenalvon comes from Baunockburu !
" No, ne'er Glenalvon comes again!"
" In hollow tone the spirit cried;
" And solemn o'er the gloomy plain,
** She saw the pomp funereal glide.
'* And soon where Lula lay, the yew
" Murmur'd in many a sullen wave;
" The night-star scatter'd tears of dew,
" To nurse the lilies of her grave ["
'Twas thus in uumbers sweetly clear.
The minstrel swept his master-lyre;
He ceased the song, the guests still hear
The echo of the quivering wire.
So, passing o'er the silent hill.
The mountain-spirit hails the moon;
The traveller starts, and lingering still.
Sighs that the music iled so soon !
But memory in the stranger's breast.
Was waken'd by that tale of woe;
For o'er his narrow house of rest.
No tear from Beauty's eye must flow.
37
Earl Douglas marked the drooping head,
" And whence," he cried, " that secret sigh?
*' Mourn'st thou that Love's delights are fled,
*' The moonlight glance of Beauty's eye? ,
" Hear then the tones of valour flowr,
" Rouse all thy soul to nightly cheer:"
The stranger shook his storm-beat browj
His answer was a bursting tear.
When swift the rising minstrel bowM
The honours of his hoary head ;
And from his harp such nuriibers flow'd.
Might breathe e'en spirit to the dead I
He sung, how fierce on Ancram Moor,
Revenge inflamed each warrior's soul;
When Slaughter bade her eagle soar.
And rule the fight without controul.
He sung, " from Morno's ancient hall,
" The pride of youthful chieftains came;
*' And Pity's tear that wept his fall,
" Preserv'd the blossom of his fame.
" And pale the pride of chieftains lies,
" And vain his widow's ceaseless tear;
" For Morno's chief no more shall rise,
" His blood is on the Scotian spear \"
d3
38
" Long shall the widow's cheek be pale,"
With solemn voice the stranger said;
" Tho,' not on Ancram's blasted vale,
" Is Morno number'd w^th ^he dead.
" Shades of my warlike sires! whose light
" A beam oi joy to death could give;
" Ye saw me vanquish'd in the fight,
" And doom'd, O heavier curse ! t
" Yet rising from the crimson field,
" As sunk the sun in blood, I swore,
" That ne'er again I'd grasp the shield,
" But still would wander and deplore.
" And long the wind and stormy wave,
" Have howl'd around my couch of stone;
" And many a moan the rocky cave
** Has ecbo'd to my restless groan.
" For never more those halls I'll seek,
" Where Eda saw me bright with fame;
" Nor ever shall my ofTspring's cheek,
" Blush at his father's sighs of shame. '
" Hear then, ye spirits of the sky !
" O hover round her sleep of rest;
" The tear is trembling in her eye,
" And grief is heavy on her breast.
sg
" Tell her to weep no more, for .soon
" We'll meet, and never more we'll part!'
He bared his dagger to the moon.
He plunged it in his panting heart!
D*
4Q
TO
JL ES, Lady ! I had hush'd my woes,
Had almost soothed despair to sleep j
But oh ! ihat look has woke reposs.
Again to love, to wish, and weep!
And can a look so sweet deceive?
A look the parent of delight;
Say, can it like the gleams of eve.
Smile but a herald of the night?
Or was that murmur'd sigh alone.
The voice of Pity's seraph breath j
And Hope's young rose, but scarcely blown,
Say, must it deck the brows of Death?
il
PLEASURE.
A VISION.
][ THOUGHT I roam'd ia Cyprian groves.
Whose breezes were the breath of Loves;
That hovering round on playful wing,
Struck the wild harp's melodious string,
And woke those tones of soft desire.
Which echo'd from the Lesbian lyre:
The witching strains my bosom fired.
And all my soul for joy respired;
When starting from a couch of flowers,
The Genius of the fragrant bowers.
With looks of bliss my heart beguiled.
And pointed to his couch and smiled.
Bright his goblet's mantling stream.
Sparkled with a ruby's beam.
And woo'd with wanton blush my lip.
The raptures of it's fount to sip.
Mad with delight, I grasp'd the bowl.
And pour'd it on mj' thirsty soul.
I press'd the rose-wreath to my heart.
But started with a thrilling smart;
For oh ! the thorn had stabb'd my breast.
And broke my heart's delusive rest.
42
Wild with my pain the lyre I swept.
The lyre in tones of pity wept.
And still I struck the wild chords o'er.
And still they echo'd " sin no morel"
Whenlo! a female form advancing.
Not in voluptuous gestures dancing;
But chaste her robe of spotless hue.
Shaded her bosom from the view;
And soon I felt her mild controul
Calm the tumult of my soul.
Sweet her eye, and pleasure's Hush,
That woke her warm cheek's mantling blush.
Was like the rose's mellow'd gleam.
Reflected in a lucid stream.
The dews of peace persuasion shed.
Warm from her lips as thus she said :
" Child of pleasure ! wouldst thou know
*' The choicest sweets these wilds bestow,
" Let virtue be the guide to lead
" Thy footsteps o'er the flowery mead.
" Resume thy harp ; but let the wires
" Throb no more with mad desires :
" Teach them no more the tones to speak,
" Which fire the blush on Beauty's cheek,
" But let their warmest echoes roll,
" In chasten'd sentitiient of soul.
" Twine the rose-wreath round thy brow,
" But with it let the jasmine glow,
" As virgin Love's untainted sigh,
" Softens the light of Beauty's eye!"
43
VOICE OF NATURE.
fe>AY 'Why die babe unconscious of the doom.
That neai- his cradle digs the fated tomb;
Ere Reason's dawn has warm'd his vital day.
And taught the soul to feel discernment's sway;
Why spreads his little hands, why feels alarm.
If chance removes him from his mother's arm :
Or why he smiles when by her smile carest.
And sinks in willing slumbers on her breast?
'Tis Kature o'er him breathes her potent wile.
Speaks in the silent look or cherub smile;
Pourtrays with magic hand her future plan.
Her morning twilight in the heart of man.
And hence the pang which swells in every breast.
When Pity bends o'er innocence distrest;
And hence the tears from every eye that flow.
When Virtue kneels and pleads a tale of woe.
Lives there a soul that would not pause to weep
O'er poor Virginia buried in the deep.
And love with Paul to listen to the wave.
That rolls and murmurs o'er her wat'ry grave?
44
For not in Fame's immortal wreath to live.
Is all the joy which generous actions give.
But as the sun beneath th' horizon roll'd.
Still lights the sky and tints the clouds with gold;
So virtuous deeds a lingering warmth impart.
And cheer the soul and triumph in the heart.
These when the clouds of dissolution roll
The night of terror on the parting soul ;
"When earthly care and earthly joy retires.
And Death's cold grasp benumbs the bosom's fires;
Embodied then in sera{)h guise they stand.
Beam the sweet smile and wave th* inspiring hand.
Fan with light pinion Life's expiring sigh.
And waft the spirit to it's native sky !
45
NELSON.
'JLORN on her rock Britannia lay
And was it grief that swell'd her soul?
Was it the dream of pale dismay.
That bade the tear of anguish roll?
She wakes for on her startled ear
Swells the war-clarion loud and cleai*;
While rays of sunbright glory stream.
Like those that warm the western sky ;
And high upon the lightning beam.
Wave proud the wings of victory 1
Past i Britannia's dream of woe.
In prouder sweep her tresses flow.
Exulting throbs her bosom warm;
And as she marks the eagle's flight.
And plumes that wave reflected light.
She grasps her beamy spear with more triumphant arm.
Gone is the meteor light of day,
Hush'd is the clarion's warlike breath ;
4&
And breathing sad a softer lay,
Sounds like the holy dirge of death !
And quench'd in tears the exultant smile.
That warm'd the genius of the isle.
The eagle quits the darken'd sky ;
To earth with sullen flight descends.
And lo! with drooping pinion bends.
Where Nelson and his heroes lie!
Yet weep not Britain ! but aloud proclaim,
" Death has but tied the wreath of Nelson's fame.
Who boldly dared the battle's strongest tide.
Died like a Briton I for his country died!"
Ye, who behold with spirit-beaming eye.
The star of glory in the distant sky.
And fondly hope in Fancy's midnight dream.
To feel the influence of the sacred beam
Go think on Nelson and with generous pride.
Die like the man who for his country died!
And bright the beam that lights the grave.
Where patriot heroes proudly lie;
And sweet the death, and sweet the dirge.
Of those who for their country dial
And when the waves with sullen roar.
Roll, round the high cape's rocky shore,
. The sailor on his watch shall hear
Soft music still the raging deep.
And see, where moonbeams light their forms.
The spirits of the ocean weep.
47
How sweet upon his ear will die
The echoes of their melody ;
How dear the murmur of the wave.
That lulls the death-sleep of the brave!
But when they rouse his warrior sigh.
With more triumphant minstrelsy.
The tear that on his dark cheek lay.
And mourn'd home's comforts far away.
The tear of fond regret is dried ;
And kindling as the anthem flows.
His heart beats high he thinks on those
Who bravely for their country died !
48
ODE
WRITTEN ON THE BANKS OF THE AVON.
Scenes of delight that glad my soul.
When sunbeams smile or tempests roll ;
To hail your glooms I fly the haunts of men ;
And wandering pensive and alone,
I love to hear the tempests moan.
Swell the deep echoes of the distant glen.
How grandly desolate that hollow dell,
Array'd in autumn's mournful tint appears ;
And there the spirit wakes the solemn shell.
Whose tones the midnight wanderer starting hears!
For oft is heard a plaintive strain forlorn, '
To pause and swell along the leafless glade ;
And Fancy listens as the numbers mourn.
The vandal triumph o'er her sacred shade*.
For here when Avon's murmuring stream,
Blush'd as it caught the orient beam.
Would Druid harpings hail the morn;
And here in Valour's bloodiest hour,
Drd Freedom's warrior sternly poor
The shrill sharp breathings of his trumpet horn.
* The devastation made in the rocks on the Clifton side.
49
Yet now no more these rocks among.
The Druid's sweeping mantle flies;
And Echo has forgot the song.
That sweli'd the pomp of sacrifice.
But when the moon in silvery pride.
Bends from her car to gild the wave j
Silent their hoary shadows glide.
And weave the spells that burst the grave.
Spirits ! that high o'er Vincent's brow.
Your solitary vigils keep;
Ye hear their powerful descant flow.
Wild warbled from the towery steep.
Then as the spectred vision swells
It's awful scene, ye sweep your shells.
And hail the dim and passing train.
In many a more than earthly strain.
Oh, Avon ! when the night clouds lour.
Be mine to climb thy ramparts rude;
"When spirits rule the deathlike hour.
That wraps the soul in solitude !
60
THE CAPTIVE.
Sad in his gloomy cell the captive lay.
And wept with ceaseless tears the night away I
Breathed to the humid walls his plaintive moan,
Whose sullen echoes told of comfort gone !
No summer sun with animating light.
For many a long, long year had bless'd his sight:
No friendly voice had told of Freedom nigh.
Nor Hope repress'd the agonizing sigh ;
He heard a sound and raised his meagre head.
To catch the echo of the distant tread
It died away. Again he starts to hear.
But not a murmur charm'd his listening ear;
" *Twas but the howling night-blast!" sad he cried,
Look'd on his rusty chains, then'groan'd and died!
But say what form amid the dungeon^s gloom.
Heard his last sigh and shudder'd at his doom ?
'Twas Howard, friend of man! by "Virtue led.
Who breathed the sigh of sorrow o*er the dead.
And wept to think that Pity could not save.
Another victim to a dungeon grave!
The hngering spirit ere it turn'd to fly.
Caught the warm tear that trembled in his eye;
Bore it to heaven; enshrined with rays divine,
A gem on Mercy's hallow'd brow to shine.
51
CONSTANTINOPLE.
JLOW lies Byzantium, aud in ruins spread.
Home's stern colossus bows the haughty head.
Dark o'er her towers the moslem banners wave.
And her proud eagle slumbers in the grave!
No more the nations tremble to descry,
The lightning terrors of his conquering eye;
Nor more the thunders bold ambition hurl'd.
Fill his strong grasp and shake the subject world!
Low lies Byzantium, and imperial power,
Owns the wild fury of destruction's hour;
Gone is the triumph and the conqueror's car.
The captive train that swell'd the pomp of war.
The dancing plume that deck'd the warrior's head.
Bends a lorn trophy o'er the silent dead;
And now these haunts to sacred science dear.
Feel the curst ravage of the moslem spear.
Ye towering hills that crown the Trojan plain.
Where hoary Priam mourn'd his people slain:
When stern Achilles in his sunbright car.
Raged in the combat and controul'd the war;
Deep from your shades no heavenly murmurs flow,
From Ida's summit to Olympus' brow;
e2
sa
But round your deserts at the glimpse of morn.
The wandering robber winds his signal horn.
Now on these walls where once the victor trod.
The raging moslem wields " the sword of God;'*
Plants his red ensign at the altar's base.
And thunders curses on the Christian race!
Death hail'd the day that saw the Turks advance.
Grasp the strong shield and shake the ponderous lance!
Bright gleam'd their armour to the rising ray.
And Murder's gory pinion swept their way;
While Zeal's dread angel in each moslem breast.
Shouted " To battle and in death be blest!"
Heaven ! in the hour when carnaged horror reign'd.
And Night's black robe with reeking blood wasstain'd;
Where slept the spirits of that mighty band.
That dragg'd the Vandal from his conquer'd land?
Where, Belisar^us I was thy deathful sword.
That flamed the terror of each barbarous horde ?
Could not the shrieking of the struggling maid.
Rouse thy pale spectre to thy country's aid '
No : for thy spirit saw not Pity die.
Thine ear was silent to thy country's cry !
Hear, shade of Gilimer! the hour is come.
That gives thee vengeance in the fate of Rome ;
For all the tortures of that blasting day.
When stern you follow'd in her proud array;
And mark'd your warriors march with pensive eye.
Droop the sad head and heave the captive sigh;
Hear thy revenge, and let it wake the dead,
** Rome's last dominion and her fame are fled !"
53
The thunder's roar that shook the fated wall, "
Proclaini'd that soon her towers of strength must fall,
Olympus echeed to the peal profound.
And Troy's lorn Genius trembled at the sound!
Heroes of Greece ! that erst in battle slain.
Breathed your brave spirits on the Phrygian plaio;
Say did ye mingle with the lightning's glare.
And tell your triumph to the stormy air?
When loudly marm'ring round the Rhaetan steep.
The blast of Death came howling o'er the deep;
Then did ye, starting from the lonely tomb.
Exulting stalk upon the midnight gloom JiJilo t&'^
And hail the meteor star's malignant light.
That gleam'd portentous on the front of night?
Yes; at the spot where Ajax' ashes lie.
The midnight watchman heard a warning cry;
He mark'd the spectres of a Grecian band.
Stalk with slow stride along the moonlight sand :
And heard the caverns of their rest among.
The Roman requiem in their nightly song.
Sweep the lorn harp I one solitary tone.
Pour to the dirge of Fame and Glory gone !
In silence wrapt the arm of might is laid.
And Glory wanders in oblivion's shade:
Power's giant demon breaks his meteor spear.
And Freedom smiles but smiles thro' Mercy's tear I
Lords of the earth I who bade with high command.
The mountain bend and cities crown the land ;
Who bade the altars of your glory rise.
Frown o'er the storm and triumph to the skies ;
e3
54
Now own whilst weeping o'er the wrecks of power,
Man's but the passing monarch of an hour!
The proud Assyrian's boast is heard no njore.
And Zioo's race their wandering fate deplore j
While o'er the Palace of the Persian kings.
The pale moon listens as the owlet sings!
Carthage is fall'n, and desolation lours
On the lone ruin of Palmyra's towers;
Where throned in night a solitary form.
Bows to the whirlwind and the sweeping storm;
That tell as round her desart halls they rave.
The star of triumph et^ to light the grave !
55
TO THE
SCREECH-OWL :
Enough has Philomela's praise.
Been sung by poets great and small;
Here then to thee the song I raise,
O listen to my votive call.
All hail. Old Screech!
Whether from elm, or oak, or beech.
Thou pour*st that sweet, infernal strain.
Those tones such soft delight impart.
They quite transport my tender heart.
Oh! let me hear that melting fall again!
k4.
50
CHATTERTON,
OR THE MYNSTRELI^E.
A FRAGMENT.
* * *
* * *
And thou, oh Fancye! whethur thou doe straio
By Avonne's streme, oir yiuder mees so deere;
Weepynge to think that he ys gone for aie.
Who sunge so swotelie to thy listnynge eare;
Thoughe Pitye's shovvre thy plome of levynne wave.
And shedde a raynbow lyghie upoane thy mynstrelle's
grave.
Efte in his eyne would goushing tear droppes bee,
(Forr deare toe hym was Ratclyffe's rysynge spyre)
As straught on Pyle mounte he dyd love to see,
Rodde Evenynge tynge it wythe her blush of fyre.
Hope founde him there, and rounde hys favord hedde.
She wove a garlonde of her fairee floures:
Hee loved her sinyle as bie the honde shee ledde
Hys ventrous steppe to Fame's ymmortal boures.
The weere arist ! eftsoon his gye was fledde,
And all hys fairee wrethe was wytherd, pile, and dedde.1
57
Long throughe the merkness dyd the niynstrelle straie,
Seekyng from poesie a gronfer lyghte.
When twaie grym spyghtes dyd hys yoiige harte affraie.
The ugsome rulers of the merky nyghte.
The first was Whant, a pale and walsome spryghte,
Whoome everychone dothe flee with mickle spede;
The other bore a darte and Scorne ys highte.
For aie companyon of that moder guied.
Whant gryped the mynstreMe bie hys beatyng harte,
Whyle Scorne infixed depeher keen and leathalle darte.
The unwear fledde uponne hys raven wynge.
The rysynge sun did give hys roddie sheen ;
Botte in the mynstrelle's breast reniayned the stynge.
And Wanhope gleamed from hys sunken eyne.
The evenynge sun-beame on hys grave dyd slepe,
Warmyng the pale chet- k of the prymrose floure ;
The bordeliere uponne that spot wyll wepe.
For everych hynd had felt the mynstrelle's powre.
Come ouphant fairees from your woodland delle.
Come ryng wyth mee your mynstrelle's funeralle knelle !
58
A DEMI-ANACREONTIC.
TO .
I HATE the Bacchanalian crew.
Inebriate with the racy devr.
And care not tho' no drop of wine.
Within my thirsty goblet shine!
All, all my' vows are paid to thee.
Thou art alone my deity !
Brighter the radiance of thine eye.
Sweeter the perfume of thy sigh:
And while I thus delighted sip.
The nectar'd ruby of thy lip,
I'll spurn the Bacchanalian crew.
Inebriate with the racy dew.
Nor care tho' not a drop of wine.
Within my thirsty goblet shine !
59
THE STOIC.
JL E sons of Pride I who with severe controul.
Repress each finer feeling of the soul :
Who wander sullen, reckles. of delight.
Like lonely meteors in the gloom of night:
And falsely boast that in each joyless breast.
Reason has luU'd each passion into rest;
Say, tho' ye gaze secure on Pleasure's bower.
Or smile unfeeling in affliction's hour;
Say, does that smile of stubborn pride impart,
A conscious glow of triumph to the heart?
No: o'er your bosoms reigns a moonless night,
Cheer'd by no gleam, no whisper of delight.
And Nature sits amid the dreary gloom.
Like a pale spectre weeping o'er a tomb.
What tho* the world is like the stormy deep.
And man but born to murmur and to weep.
In ocean's caves full many a treasure glows.
And roses bloom amid Siberian snows I
Tho' Desolation with a demon frown.
Has mark'd Arabia's desarts for her own ;
And Death the vizier of her potent reign.
Throned in the sandy whirlwind sweeps the plain;
6o-
Yet still some spots of greener verdure rise.
The smiling influence of milder skies:
Some cooling streams, with grateful freshness roll.
Reviving vigour to the pilgrim's soul ;
Thus social joys, the springs of comfort, flow.
To cheer the trav'Uer in this world of woe.
^1
LINES,
TO HAVE BEEM SPOKEN BY A BOY AT A MEETING OF THE
GOVERNORS OF A CHARITY SCHOOL.
JniAIL patrons of learning! promoters of truth !
Accept the small tribute which gratitude pays;
For ye open'd the field of instruction to youth.
Ye bade the young poet attune his wild lays.
Let the hero exult o'er his thousands of slain.
Let minions fall prostrate and bend to his throne;
But no venal flattery my bosom shall stain.
While here in rude numbers it's feelings I own.
Tho* the victor may trample mankind *neath his feet,
Tho' the storms of his power o'er the earth may prevail;
Yet a nobler sensation your bosoms shall greet.
For ye cherish'd the lily that droop'd in the vale.
Ye bade it's pale leaves shed a sweeter perfume.
Bade the warm sun of science it's blossorasi expand;
And with science the lesson of virtue shall come.
That resists the chill grasp gf Adversity's hand.
61
When our eyes beam with joy or are fill'd by a tear,
'Mid the world's various mazes wherever we tread ;
Our hearts shall still turn to the friends that are here.
And our prayers for their bounty to heaven be sped.
63
TO A LADY,
WHO ASKED THE AUTHOR WHAT HE SHOVI.D DREAM OF.
Jl HE maid who cloister'd vigils keeps,
DoomM from her dearest joys to sever;
Forgets avphile her prayer and weeps.
For pleasures that are fled for ever !
And tho' the evening antliena's swell.
Should raise her soul with transports holy ;
Yet memory calls it back to dwell.
On the pale tomb of melancholy.
The lover who with rapttired soul.
Lists to the murmurs of delight;
Will feel in sleep it's sweet controul.
Illume his visions of the night.
Then lady ask you what the form.
That sleep would to my soul impart?
Lady ! the fancy wild and warm.
Will dream of what has touch'' d the heart !
64
THE QUESTION.
SWEpT Ellen I o'er your pensive face.
Does 50/T0ii) shed that sickly hue;
Say, are they tears of woe that grace.
Those trembling lights of heav'nly blue?
" No," cries a sylph from Fancy's bower,
" *Tis Love who Ellen's bloom hath stole;
" And with it dyed his sweetest flower,
" A tlower which blooms in Ellen'.s soul !'*
THE JUDGMENT.
W^HEN thieves are busy, and the dark assassin.
His half-drawn dagger gleaming at his side.
Peeps from his cavern haunt, and looks abroad.
To steal unnoticed to his work of death;
^Twas then the fires of revelry and joy.
Had lit the torch of riot in the halls
Of haughty Babylon. Ammon was there:
Ammon, the victor God, whose conquering hand.
Had rent the laurel from the affrighted brow
Of Persia's dastard Genius. He, whose car
Labouring in blood, had roU'd its blasting wheels.
O'er ravaged Ind triumphant. Now, unstain'd
With sanguine trophies, the suspended sword
Was wreathed with myrtle garlands, and the Chief,
Basking in Pleasure's enervating sun.
Slept, like a tyger surfeited with prey.
The minstrel's lyre to Lydian airs accordant.
Woke to soothe the soul of Asia's lord :
While Beauty's side-long glance, as bright she smiled
From her luxuriant couch, subdued his soul.
And chain'd him as her slave. Heedless he
The goblet's nectar quaff'd ; nor when he raised
F
66
The sparkling beverage, did his careless eye
Behold the shaft that in a demon's grasp.
Hung threat'ning o'er his heart.
In vain secure '
For at that moment from the realms of Death,
A minister departed, and a voice.
Told to the spirits o'the infernal world,
" That ere the sun had shook his golden reins,
Ammon should wander o'er the wilds of Hell !"
A yell of joy triumphant shook the throne
Of the grim King of Shadows ^while around
The fiends of vengeance throng'd, and loudly claim'd
Their destined victim. Every fiend was there.
Whose baneful influence e'er assay'd to kill
The opening buds of virtue. Envy, pale.
Nursing the viper that corrodes the heart.
The dog-star blaze of Anger's restless eyei,
And Hate that riots in the shriek of death.
Hate on whose livid cheek no smiles arise.
Save when he pauses in the midnight hour.
To hear the clanking fetters of despair.
But from the croud, impetuous and wild.
Three mightier demons hasten'd, and preferr'd
Their several claims to Ammon's guilty soul.
Murder brandish'd fierce his reeking dagger.
And Revenge, who broods in midnight's cave,
A corse the pillow of her sleepless dream.
Roused from her trance, anticipating blood.
In silence cast her cruel gaze around.
But who was he whose brow the diadem encircled ?
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In whose hand a kingly sceptre beam'd ?
Stern was his brow, and in his fearless gaze,
Unawed defiance spoke. His cheek was pale.
And in the glances of his phrenzied eye.
Lived Apprehension, and the watchful fear
Of Sorrow's hovering shadow.
Firm was his step, and the admiring fiends,
Call'd him Ambition as he strode along!
Fierce to the throne they rush'd, when he who loves
The gibbet's freezing creak, the Fiend of Blood,
Knelt at the throne of Death. " Master," he cried,
" By Clytus and Parmenio's niartyr'd blood,
By Asia's ravaged plains and smoking"towns.
And by the ghosts that melancholy roam
On the dark banks of Styx, be Ammon mine!
By Tyre's razed ramparts and her gallant chief"
More had he said; but at the name of Tyre,
Revenge impetuoas sprung. Her bloodless cheek
A ghastly smile illumined, while her hand
Pointed triumphant, where in vision rose
Ten thousand crosses, and on every tree
A writhing victim groan'd. " That deed was mine!"
Revenge exclaira'd, " 'twas mine to blast
Each lingering throb for honourable fame;
And crush the feelina:s which the brave bestow
On equal bravery.
Pity wept in vain, and madd'ning Freedom,
Her hair disheveli'd and her bosom bare.
Knelt at my feet, and clasp'd my knees for mercy.
But I mock'd her prayer and Ammon must be mine !"
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68
" Not sol" Ambition cried, ami shook the void
With more tremendous tread. " Murder lievenge!
Do ye the victim claim, who caanot boast
One crime of Ammon's, uninspired by me ?
Mine, mine he is. For o'er his infant, couch,
I, like an eagle cowering, wove the spell
Of ruin round his heart. Ye were not there:
Ye did not join in chorus to the song.
That hail'd his mighty birth. Ye were employ'd.
By me employ'd, to speed the great design.
Fair was his rising morn, his sun of life
Beam'd with a spring-tide lu.^tre, that revived
The heart of virtue. O'er the fields of fame
His chariot wheels roH'd innocent of crime;
'Twas I who plunged their axles deep in blood,
*Twas I who changed
The spring-tide lustre of his morning sun.
To Death's heart-scorching noon. And tho' sometimes
Mercy would sit beside him on his car.
To check the leius of cariiage; sometimes too
The soften'd sunbeam of his fame would shine
With rainbow lustre thro' the tears of Virtue;
Yet Clytus' and Parmeuio's generous blood.
By me was shed, and mine was Issus' plain.
And red Arbela's slaughter. 'Twas the glow.
The intoxication which my spell bestow'd.
Which urged his crimes. King of the spectred world i
By all the victims I have sent to thee.
And by the mouarcbs I have dragg'd across
The gloomy wave of Styx, be mine the shade:
69
That still thine ear may joy to hear my wheels.
Roll o'er the surface of this hollow dome!"
A sullen murmur of approval rose.
Loud as a distant whirlwind; and the king
Pronounced Ambition victor. When, behold I
Led by the ghastly minister of Death,
Young Ammon trembled on the verge of Hell.
How changed from him, who late secure and gay,
Laugh'd on the breast of Riot ! Now he treads
Lingering and slow; and, shivering io the blast.
In fearful silence casts his eyes around.
Ambition sees him, and with vulture grasp
Secures his prey. Down many a league they plunge.
Where deeds are done that mortal tongue relates not.
And figured only in the Tyrant's dream 1
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70
ANACREONTIC.
A HE PaphiaD boy, my blooming fair.
Nestles within this heart of mine;
And feel how warm he trembles there,
Awaken'd by that touch of thine !
Have you not seen when infants weep,
' As fears their little breasts alarm;
How soon their murmurs sink to sleep
When cradled soft on Beauty's arm ?
Now Love*s a child, my girl, you know.
Then take him to thy breast of snow;
And on that heaven of Beauty blest.
There let him tremble into rest !
71
SONG.
77 HEN Woe on the bosom of Mercy reposes.
How soothing its visions, how blissful its sleep !
When Hope binds the brow of Aifliction with roses.
How sweet is the voice that forbids her to weep !
But more rapture was mine when my Emily's breast.
Felt the soft glow of passion that aided my pray'r;
I have; caught her low sigh with a spirit more ble^.
Than the anthem of Mercy can waft to despair.
And as the sad Exile the farther he wanders.
Feels keener the fate which condemned him to roam j
And Memory's wand as he pensively ponders.
Still pictures the scenes that endear' d him to home:
So I, when thus doom'd from her beauty to fly.
Still pant the warm smile of affection to prove;
For my heart ever dwells on the glance of that eye.
Whose delight-beaming spirit first woke it to love !
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72
THE VICTIM.
On that wild heath beside the lonely way.
Where ev'ti the mourner hesitates to stray;
Why is yon aged man so frequent seen.
To wander nightly on the blasted green?
What pang of anguish rankling in the breast.
Makes the cold earth the pillow of his rest?
The generous soul may guess the woe he feels.
For on his daughter's grave that sufferer kneels;
Clasps his weak hands and breathes the frantic pray'fj,
For one who died a victim to despair!
Hark I how he groans with Sorrow's impulse wild.
Rends bis white hair aiid calls upon his child ;
Murmurs that name, the solace of his age.
Till Virtue tore it from her sacred page :
How vain that call, and vain those sorrovA's flow.
Death gives no answer to the plaint of woe!
Yet once that call in happier days would bring
A smiling cherub round his neck to cling;
And he would trace with partial fondness warm.
The rip'ning beauties of Louisa's form:
Fair was that form, and Love would joy to seek.
His own bland witch'ries dimpled in her cheek;
73
While the blue eye with sweetest lustre fired,
Beam'd the mild look that innocence inspired:
Yet o'er that face would steal a pensive gloora.
Soft as the moon-beam sleeping on the tomb.
Will ye then wonder if a villain's tale.
Of ardent love should o'er her heart prevail?
O spare your curses if that heart could rove.
With vows unhallowed to the shrine of Love.
Ko let the feeling bosom rather sivell.
Curses on him by whom such beauty fell:
Who forced a soul, of Virtue's peace forlorn.
And stung to phrenzy by the glance of Scorn,
To drain the opiate balsam cjf Despair,
And fly a world that only mock'd its care!
Daughters of Virtue! ye who proudly know.
The blessings conscious honour can bestow;
Oh ! had your frowns of Reason ceased awhile.
And Virtue's cheek but glow'd with Mercy's smile:
Oh ! had ye soothed her woes with accent mild.
Nor closed your ear to Sin's repentant child;
Then o'er yon grave had weeping virgins bow'd.
And Heav'n had listen'd as the requiem flow'd!
Then memory waking in a parent's breast.
Had given no torture to the hour of rest.
But Pride's stern demon with triumphant cry,
Dash'd Mercy's tear and check'd her rising sigh ;
Deepened the wound before too deeply graved.
And damn'd the spirit which she might have saved !
And now beneath yon branch of blasted thorn.
Where smiles no primrose to the breeze of morn;
74
No violet blooms but deadly nightshade weeps
It's poisonous dew there poor Louisa sleeps!
Yet Love's own songster to that spot will stray.
And warble to the moon his sweetest lay;
And Pity there her tenderest sorrows shed.
To soothe the hovering spirit of the dead !
75
Sids multa gracilis te puer in rosa, Sfc. Hon.
iijiOS A ! in yonder pleasant cave.
Where murmurs sweet the streamlet wave.
What graceful youth invites thy soul.
To smile on Circe's nectar bowl ?
And say for whom with blushing care.
You twine in braids your golden hair ;
Maid, in whose beauteous form we see.
The spirit of Simplicity !
Fond youth beware! tho' now you lie.
Secure beneath a cloudless sky ;
And dream that every smile will prove,
A herald of eternal love:
The warning of the Eolian shell.
Sounds with a more tempestuous swell;
And thro' that sky so clear, so warm.
Will rush the demon of the storm;
And rousf thee from thy raptured sleep.
To wonder at the change, and weep !
Lured by the bright and sunny beam.
That warra'd the bosom of the stream ;
76
1 launch'd my little bark from shore,
I launch'd it to return no more!
Escaped the dark and whelming wave.
My grateful vows to Heaven I gave;
And dripping with the foan^y brine.
My garment hangs on Neptune's shrine;
To warn whom sunny skies beguile.
Or Rosa's more deceitful smile!
n
ELEGIAC STANZAS.
Jo RIGHT on the Rose's breast the morning star
Shone sweet, regardless of the stormy hour;
But twilight rising on her dusky car.
Wept o'er the ruins of the beauteous flower.
Fair was that flower, and o'er its opening bloom.
Young Love exultant spread his guardian wing;
Nor saw, inebriate with it's sweet perfume.
The frown of woe that chill'd the breast of spring.
From caves of death a sullen demon pass'd.
Cold was his look, and terrible his dart;
Love shrunk alFrighted from the threat'ning blast.
And press'd his flow'ret closer to his heart.
In vain he caught it to his throbbing breast.
The demon tore it from his ardent clasp;
Cast it to earth but ah ! too rudely press'd.
The flower had wither'd in the demon's grasp.
78
Blossort of Beauty ! to thy lovely form,
I bade my lyre in tones of rapture flow ;
But now, alas J the ear of Death to charm,
A grief-lorn minstrel at thy tomb I bow.
Yet weep not, village maids repress the sigh,
"To Death's dread arm but transient power is given ;
This Rose transplanted to a brighter sky.
Breathes it's warm fragrance thro' the bowers of
Heaven.
79
LINES
SPOKEN AT AN ASTRONOMICAL LECTURE,
The Receipts of which were appropriated to the Support of a Female
Charity School.
JLO! from the shrine where adoration bends.
The star-eyed Genius of the sky descends;
And won by Beauty's smile she quits her sphere.
To stand a minister of Mercy liere.
Daughters of Beauty ! unto you belong.
The warmest echoes of the Muse's song;
*Tis your's to warm with learning's sacred light.
The breast that might have gloom'd in cheerless night;
Where check'd and blasted by the chill controul.
That ignorance sheds upon the victim soul ;
Each timid virtue might perhaps have grown.
Like wild-flowers budding o'er the rocky stone;
And hung their pale heads to the wintry storm.
No friend to rear them and no sun to warm.
But lo! revived by Beauty's heavenly ray.
Each flower unfolds it's blossoms to the day;
And Beauty smiles to see their blooms expand
Beneath the influence of her fostering hand.
80
So smiles the sylph of morn when sweet she throws.
The dews that nurse the bosom of the rose I
From Thule's dreary rocks to Hindoatan,
Woman still smiles the happiness of man:
But not to lead, with pleasure's garland crown'd.
The maze of fashion's transitory round;
Nor yet was woman form'd by heaven to prove.
No firmer tribute than the sighs of Love.
No; from these minds her guardian care has form'd.
From these young hearts her hand of bounty warmM,
Woman shall claim (the highest meed that's given)
The sighs of Gratitude the smiles of Heaven!
81
TO
Ask me no more, sweet Lady, why.
In church-yard haunts so oft I roam;
The pensive spirit loves to sigh.
The melancholy scene's her home.
Lady, I loved, and Beauty's ray.
Illumed my youth's too sanguine day;
And soft as thine would Sarah's eye
Sparkle with feeling luxury !
But Love, who once with sweet controul.
Ruled all the pulses of my soul;
Now like a faded lily weeps.
On yonder tomb where Sarah sleeps.
Then ask not why my steps are seen.
So frequent by the church-yard greeny
For Memory oft with tearful eye.
To scenes of past enjoyment roves;
As wandering spirits quit the sky.
To linger o'er their earthly loves.
82
ELEGY,
WRITTEN AT CLIFTON.
Jl HE moon-beam glimmers on the hill.
Slow rising. o'er it's gldomy breast;
And all the shadowy scene is still,
All, but the sufierer, sinks to rest.
Oh ? let not mirth disturb the hoiir.
That's rafcred to the silent tear ;
But let some wand'rihg niihstrel pour.
The strain that sorrow loves to hear.
For now tho' thoughtless Joy may sleep,
I hear the lonely mourner's tread ;
And many a mother wakes to weep.
Her only hiope ahd comfort fled !
For here full niany a child of Love,
In pride of Beauty's bloom has died ;
And here the spirits of the grove.
O'er many a kindred form have sigh'd.
83
Emma, these Avild-wood rocks among.
Caught the low summons of the tomb ;
She saw it's angel glide along.
And heard him whisper " Emma come!'*
Here would she roam at close of day.
To view the sun's departing light;
And as she watch'd the sinking ray.
Would bless the visionary sight.
Yet her mild eye would often speak.
That o'er her hung the funeral wreath j
And every smile that flush'd her cheek,
Proclaim'd the hidden power of Death !
Where rests thy head, thou loveliest maid !
Long shall the murmuring willow wave;
And fairy harps beneath it's shade.
Shall tune the dirge that charms the grave!
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84
THE
SLEEPING INFAKT.
JLiIE soft, dear cherub, softly sleep.
Sweet. bud of life ! oh, sleep awhile;
For soon those eyes will learn to weep.
And Care will chase that playful smile.
The fiend of Fate, with frown unblest,
Maj- pluck this blossom now so fair;
May place it on Affliction's breast.
And bid it's beauties wither there ' -
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85
A BRITON TO BONAPARTE.
JK.ULER of France ! while yet thy hostile band*
Delay their course to England's envied lands;
Ere Rapine spreads her baleful wing to sweep.
The path of robbers o'er the circling deep ;
Pause yet awhile, and listen to the wave.
That howls expectant o'er Invasion's grave :
And look where Freedom in the tempest's hour.
Smiles at thy malice and defies thy power!
Thou only hear'st the strains thy minions raise,
The Slave's false tribute to a Tvrant's praise;
Thou only see'st in Fancy's sanguine dream.
Thy legions triumph, and thy standards gleam,
I hear the death-song, and the spirit cry,
" Ambition tremble ! for thine hour is nigh !'*
I see thy laurels fade, thy glory mourn.
Thy legions vanquish'd, and thy standards torn ;
And hear, instead of Conquest's echoing cry.
The last cold shiver, and the palsied sigh !
Thou conquer Britain ? By the blood that flows.
In each brave breast, in every patriot glows
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True from our sires, in circling warmth imparts.
The pulse of Freedom panting in our hearts;
And by those sires, whose hov'ring spirits still.
Watch from Britannia's shores th' approach of ill
Their guardian shades shall never start to see.
Their sons degen'rate, bow the neck to thee!
No! for when wand'ring in the lonely hour.
Indignant pray'rs the sons of Freedom pour
They see those forms, whose deeds as life are dear.
They mark 'midst rolling mists the vengeful spear;
They see their fathers in the shadowy sky.
And swear by them to conquer or to die !
The tides of slaughter on Domingo's shore.
That dyed so long her burning fields in gore;
Where Carnage, glutted in the reeking plain.
Sat like a Moloch-god on heaps of slain;
Tell thee how vain thy boasted pow 'r must be.
To curb the spirit fighting to be free !
ToussAiNT I the spoiler's work of blood is done.
And warm on Hayti smiles a brighter sun;
While Freedom's lay thriil'd lightly o'er the deep,
Woos the stern spirit of Revenge to sleep!
The fiend that o'er thy couch of anguish hung.
To hear the death-groan die upon thy tongue
Joy'd as thy spirit wing'd it's parting tlight.
And saw thine eye-ball stiffen with delight;
That fiend on Hayti counts no sable slave.
His hell-born trophies wither in the grave!
67
Think'st thou, vain Tyrant! that my country boasts
No equal warriors to thy vaunted hosts ?
Or does thy pride, presumptuous! bid thee fear,,
No stroke of ruiu in Britannia's spear?
Come with thy thousands come, thy millions bring,
Thou'lt find us rallied round our aged King ;
Thou'lt find too late, one thought in England rife,
Slav'ry is Death, and Liberty is Life I
Pause then. Invader ! whilst thou canst remain.
Despotic Ruler of a servile train;
Securely there amid the veil of night.
Act deeds that shun both honour and the light;
There let Ambition's altar stream with blood.
And Patriots fall to swell the guilty flood ;
But 'tempt not Britain, for Destruction there.
Awaits to give thj' triumphs to Despair !
Her guardian Lion rouses to the war.
His roar indignant echoes from afar;
Stern vengeance flashes from his angry eyes.
Like Heaven's dread lightning as to fight he flies.
And then, when stretch'd upon a foreign land.
Power's bloody sceptre quits thy feeble hand;
When Death's cold grasp shall still thy restless eye.
And Mercy hurl thy spirit from her sky;
No mourning friends around thy trophied tomb.
Shall bid fresh offerings to thy memory bloom;
But frowning spectres on their clouds shall roll.
And curses be the requiem to thy soul !
While we, Avho, fighting in a nobler cause.
Defend our Country, Liberty, and Laws,
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88
Shall feel in death our hearts exultant swell.
As conscience whispers, we have acted well.
Virtue will mourn where Freedom's warriors sleep,
And Beauty wander on their tombs to weep;
While the firm pride of every heart shall be.
Our Country is, and ever will be free!
89
SONG.
FAREWELL TO THE AVON.
SCENES of beauty I scenes of pleasure !
Forni'd to soothe each care to rest;
Where oft to Love's delightful measure.
Raptured visions fired my breast;
Vain dreams, alas! I come not now.
To bid your charms more brightly glow.
But haste to give one look of woe.
And then farewell for ever !
Thou rising Star, that shin'st so clear.
The dewy di'raond of the sky;
Thy beam reminds me of the tear.
That fill'd my Emma's moisten'd eye;
When clasping to my heart the maid.
In bitterness of soul I said,
" Welcome Despair, since Joy is fled,
" And now- farewell for ever!"
90
Adieu ! dear native Stream, adieu !
And when in distant climes afar.
Still shall ray heart to Love be true.
And still adore yon western star.
For when it's rising beam I see.
Shall jMemory, sighing, think on thee.
Where lingering by the greenwood tree.
We parted aye, for ever !
91
DAPHNE AND LEUCIPPUS,
(ah VNFimsnED POEM.J
ADDRrsS.
*]l ULIA ! the Muse on tremblinof wings.
Has roani'd thro' many a Grecian vale;
And lo ! her treasured sweets she brings.
Her offering is a Grecian tale.
A tale Arcadian maids relate,
As by the Ladon's bauks they rove;
Of Daphne and Leucippus' fate.
Of Daphne and Leucippus' love!
The maid was cold, yet still the boy
Would haunt the Ladon's flowery glade;
And still pursue with languid joy.
The presence of the huuter-raaid.
As o'er the sinking orb of day.
When evening's misty shadows fly;
The flower which hail'd it's rising ray.
Turns weeping to the western sky.
9'^
THE INVOCATION.
A lonely exile from delight,
All pale and sad Leucippus layj
Tears were the vows he paid to Night,
Sighs were his hymus to opening Day!
" O thou, he cried, whose powerful sway,
" All human-kind and gods obey;
" Goddess of the vesper star,
" Whose roses bind the fiend of war;
" And form the witching charms that speak,
" In dimples on the virgin's cheek !
" O caust thou not a spell impart,
" To calm ijbe throbbings of my heart;
*' And lull the tyrant woe to rest,
*' By Daphne's smile of rapture blest?
" Cold is her heart alas ! she hears,
" Unmoved, rtiy sighs disdains my tears:
" And tho' her voice breathes Love's controul,
" He's yet a stranger to her soul!
" Goddess! wilt thou still allow
" The patron of the silver bow,
" To rule a maid who e'er should be,
" Thy true and fondest votary ;
" Whose breast would be the sweetest throne,
" That ever Love had call'd his own!
" Make but that pride of Beauty mine,
" And I will heap thy votive shrine.
93
*' With choicest gifts and purest vows,
** That Love or Gratitude bestows!"
THE MESSENGER.
Won by her votaiy's ardent prayer.
The Paphian Goddess bow'd her head;
And call'd a wandering sylph of air.
While thus with smiles Idalia said :
*' Thou, who art wont thro' fields of air,
" The mandate of the gods to bear,
" Now speed thee to the Olympian groves,
" Where blooming Cupid, god of loves,
" Thro' roseate bow'rs of pleasure straying.
" Or with the sister Graces playing,
" Wheels the mazy dance around,
" To the wild harp's wanton sound.
" But when upon the rose's breast,
" The wearied infant sinks to rest,
" Then quickly on his slumber steal,
" (Let not a sound thy step reveal)
" And boldly seize the master dart,
" That powerful tyrant of the heart,
" Subdued by which the fiend of war,
" Paid homage to the western star!"
94
" How that arrow shall I know,
" Goddess of the lover's vow t
" Since all his quiver'd store the same,
" Are barb'd with gold, and dipt in flaine?"
" Messenger! above the rest,
" That arrow's brilliance shines conft;st;
" For round it's golden shaft doth lie,
" Circling gems of brilliancy;
" Tears from Rapture's eye that fell,
" When Beauty saw, with bosom-swell,
" The triumph of her power compleat,
" And War a captive at her feet.
" Then, Iris, when the prize you gain,
" Fly to Pisa's olive plain,
" Where sad Leucippus, Passion's child,
" Weeps o'er his love, or raving wild,
" Pauses to hear the midnight air,
" Echo with Daphne and despair.
" Give him thy treasure, bid him hide
*' It's flame in Ladon's silver tide;
* For there is Daphne wont to lave
<' Her beauties in the lucid wave ;
" Or fainting in the noontide beam,
" To quaff" the freshness of tiie stream ;
" And soon the virgin's heart shall prove,
*' The influence of the shafts of Love."
Iris obedient wing'd her flightj .
And Venus as her herald fled.
95
Watch'd her long track of rainbow light.
While thus in vaunting tones she said:
" Dian ! tho' thy silver bow,
" Mocks the lover's ardent vow;
" Yet vain thy spell shall bind the heart,
" Touch'd by Cupid's flaming dart;
" Soon shall thy charge, thy Daphne prove,
** The pow'r of Beauty and of Love I"
THE THEFT.
Iris, meanwhile, on wings of air.
Had reach'd the blest Olympian grov^;
And stolen with cautious step, to whore
On roses slept the God of Love.
The roses felt his press divine.
The perfume of his glowing sigh
They seem'd around his limbs to twine.
And blush with conscious extacy !
His sleeping beauties, richly warm,
Julia! can mortal muse pourtray?
And yet I've seen his infant form.
As in thy melting eyes he lay !
96
Swift from his pendant store of darts>
Iris the fated arrow drew ;
And bore the vanquisher of hearts.
As down the etherial height she flew,
THE REVIVAL.
She fled to where on Pisa's plain.
The lover pined to grief a prey;
Like a young flower, by wintry storm.
Torn from it's parent stalk away.
And Iris spread her viewless wing.
O'er pale Leucippus' wasted form ;
As bends the spirit of the spring.
O'er flow'rets crush'd by winter's storm.
*' Rend the cypress from thy brow,
*' Let the rose- wreath twine it now ;
** For Beauty's Queen has heard thy pray'r,
" And lo! thro' liquid fields of air,
" A precious remedy I bring,
" To soothe thy passion's niadd'ning sting.
" By Ladon's shade a rippling stream,
" Gently winds with silver gleam j
*' And there is Daphne wont to lave
" Her beauties in the lucid wave.
97
" Take this dart, and swiftly hide,
" It's brilliance in the chrystal tide,
" And soon the maid so coy, shall prove
" The influence of the shaft of Love.-"
Gay were her parting wings of light.
And soft her parting accents roll;
Sweet as remember'd dreams of night.
That linger in the virgin's soul.
Grief from the lover's heart had fled.
And raptured echoes fill'd the grove j
As springing from his leafy bed.
He brandish'd wild the dart of love.
He clasp'd it to his panting heart.
And press'd and kiss'd it o'er and o'er;
Nor felt his breast the potent dart.
So wildly warm it throbb'd before.
" And haste, thou westering sun, he cries,
*' Summon thy clouds of purple light;
" None but the star of love shall rise,
" To gild the triumph of delight.
" That sta,r will shed a friendly ray,
" To guide a lover's faithful way;
" To light me to the Ladon's grove,
" Light me to rapture and to love!
H
9B:
Fond youth! alas! o'er Stj'x' dark wave.
The ParccE wove thy sp^U of woe
For Rapture's rite, the silent grave,
A yew's dank wreath for Beauty's brow!
THE QUARREt.
Now from the couch of infant Love,
The wanton dream of bliss had fled;>
And burst the spell that Sleep had wove,,
Enraptured 6'er his rosy bed.
And lightly from his slumbers sprung,,
The infant of the meltmg sigh;
And seized hi elfin arms that hung
Upon a blooming rose-stalk nigh.
Bat quick (the theft perceived) he cries.
While anger sparkled in his eyes;
* Who's the wretch whose hand so bold,
*' Has dared the shaft of Love to hold ?
" Soon the crime his heart shall weep,
*' In nights that vainly wish for sleep ;
'* And soon the flames of Love shall roll,
'* Tumultuous thro' his. panting soul I"
99
That instant from the delphic shrine,
' Proud ill his might Apollo strode;
The Python's spoils in scaly twine.
Majestic o'er his shoulders flow'd.
His golden hair's luxuriant charms.
Sparkled in many a wavy gleam;
And wander'd o'er his shining arms.
Like sunbeams on a silver stream !
' Why is cupid thus distrest;
" Why thus with anger swells his breast?
" Tell me little pouting boy,
" Hast thou lost some plaything toy;
*' Some floweret from Idalia's grove,
" Or plumage of thy mother's dove?
" Fitter Arms, my boy, for thee,
" Than thy contemptuous archery l"
" Scoffer ! the baby god replied,
' Let this convince thy haughty pride;
" My darts can teach the heart to fear,
'* More than Apollo's boasted spear!'*
# # * *
* * * *
* * * #
h2
THE
RETREAT OF ODIX.
The subject of this Poem is taken from Gibbon's Decline and Fall,
vol. I, page 391.
V7 HEN Night unbarr'd the caver^is of the dead.
And Nature trembled and was mute with dread;
When spectres roaming in the starless gloom.
Woke the stern warning of Saumatia's doom;
*Twas then great Odin, on a rock reclined.
Bent on his people's wrongs his mighty mindj
He saw the Latian eagle cowering o'er
Sarmatia's fields, and champ his beak for gore;
And groan'd to know that mortal strength was vain,
To drive the spoiler from her wasted plain.,
He knew for unto him was given.
The forms of, other times to see; ^
And oft he caught, all dimly driven.
The shadows of futurity.
He heard along the tented vale.
The Roman banner beat the gale ;
]01
And high his breast for battle glows.
As loud the hum of armies rose. ,., r,
Then as the trumpet's lonely war-blast near, : ,
Died in long echoes on the warrior's ear;
He sprang exulting at the promised fight.
And waved his falchion to the clouds of night.
But check'd, he curb'd the tempest of his soul.
And sigh'd indignant o'er his drooping sword;
'Till from his lips these bursting accents roll.
Breathed to the god his native bands adored.
" Father of battle I hear my call,
*' Nor let thy warrior children fall ;
*' And since thy will forbids to wield,
" On yonder plain the sunlike shield j
*' Guide us to solitudes afar,
" Illumed by Freedom's meteor star,
" That blasts Oppression's hated form;
" Where spurning at the tempest's roar,
" With eagle flight shall Freedom soar,
" Her throne the pinion of the mountain storm."
He paused, and bent to earth his raven hair.
That stream'd wide waving on the moaning blast;
And as he mutter'd deep the mystic pray'r.
In solemn pomp the rising vision pass'd.
Fierce warrior forms, whose future deeds he knew.
And crimson banners, glitter to the view.
Awhile they glide sublime in meteor light.
Then fading, fading, melt into the night.
H 3
102
The seer prophetic smiled, with sparkling eyes.
And clang'd his thundering arms, and bade his warriora
rise
The rocks with trampling footsteps rung.
As round the warrior-seer they croud j
And each with mute attention hung.
When Odin rising, called aloud.
" O wielders of the falchion's might,
" Stern masters of the deathful spear!
*' Mark'd ye the ghost that fired the night,
" Saw ye on Freedom^ cheek the tear?
*' I heard the warning spirit call,
" That Freedom here was doom'd to fall;
*' I mark'd her look of wild despair,
" For Woden has denied her pray'r!
*' And soon yon banners proud must wave,
" In triumph o'er her lonely grave.
" O warriors! will ye bend the knee
*' To yonder host, nor still be free?
" No let us seek some wild retreat,
" Where Slavery's demon ne'er shall lower;
' And there in rugged freedom great,
" Defy yon tyrant's threatening power.
" There shall your sons, in danger bred,
" Brood o'er their wrongs in sullen gloom;
*' *Till time shall wake the flame, and vengeance-led,
*' They hurl destruction to the tow'rs of Rome!"
" Now by my soal," stern Halder cried.
And burst from forth the listening throng;
163
" Ne'er, by this Sword in slaughter dyed,
" Shall flight's foul shame to me belong.
** When on the plain this arm beneath,
" Brave Lodar heard the voice of Death;
" When gazing on his faintingyei 'i'|"""''
" My soul was swell'd with Pity's sigh;
" I swore, that since my arm had slain,
*' The bravest of the warrior train ;
*' That never champion's strongest might,
** Should Halder turn to shameful flight.
" Then stay with me, who dare to die,
" Here on your native mountain stay ;
" Stretch'd on these rocks your limbs shall lie,
" And bards the song of praise shall pay.
" Then stay, ye heroes ! die with me,
" To drink the draught of victory!"
The warriors heard, they seized their artn'^.
Each breast indignant passion warms;
Yet still around their chief they bow'd.
To hear from him their destiny;
While every heart impatient glow'd.
For more than mortal chief was he.
Lo ! as they gaze, he moves with prouder tread.
With frenzied light they mark his eyeballs roll !
In wider sweep his waving locks are spread,
And the seer's spirit lightens on his soul.
Now Ulla's mighty harp he strung.
And swept the wires that loudly rung
In thunders on the ear of night;
H 4
104
While hoyering o'er on bickering wings.
The shadowy spirit strongly flings
The radiance of prophetic light !
And gives his fire-wrapt soul to trace.
The triumphs of his future race. ' "
" Oh ! view what myriad tribes descend,
" Rough as their rocks, and fiercely bend,
" Resistless o'er Italians plains,
" Where dark the sword of Desolation reigas!
" With panic heart and fear-struck eye,
" Crest fall'n, the mighty tyrants fly;
*' While to our sons, that conquering fall,
" The Valkyries the welcome sing;
" And pealing from their echoing hall,
" The shouts of triumph sternly ring!
' But who's yon dark and dreadful form,
" That like the spirit of the storm, -X
" On clouds slow sailing meets my gaze? r
" I know him* by the lifted shield,
" That flashes on the glimmering field,
" And armies tremble at the blaze I , ./
" With towering step and terror-darting glare,
" Stalks the stern warrior on the paths of air;
" O'er Rome he waves his meteor sword and lowers
*' Impending ruin to her haughty towers.
" In vain her frowning ramparts rise,
" And pierce wjth glittering tops the skies;
Alaric
105
** Those glories in the dust shall sleep,
" And pilgrims there her courts among,
" Shall, pausing o'er her fate to weep,
" Sigh to the owlet's lonely song.
" O hail, ye cheering omens, bail!
" That opening on my raptured eyes;
" Tell, as on Night's dark wing ye sail,
" Our sun of glory yet shall rise I
*' Then warriors, haste ! the secret voice I hear,
" Breathed o'er my spirit, " Ye shall yet be free!'*
" It calls.us hence in other climes to rear,
" The throne of Vengeance and of Liberty !'*
Here ceased the chief yet still his accents rung
On each charm'd ear, and mute was every tongue ;
Ev'n Haldek's furious soul in secret bow'd.
Awed by the prophet, as his numbers flow'd ;
And following stern where Odin led the way.
Caught the strong hope of many a future day.
When resting on the mountain's brow.
One backward glance their leader threw.
And stedfast gazed where lay the foe.
By Morn's first beam disclosed to view.
Then as for fair JVJoeotis lost he sigh'd.
He shook his threat'ning locks and sternly cried;
*' Triumph, oh nation ! Vengeance sleeps awhile,
" But soon her wrath shall rise, and fire thy funeral
pile!'-'
io6
Vivamus mea Lesbia, atque amemus.
CATULLUS.
W E live, my girl, then let as love.
And all the bliss of living prove;
Nor let the frowns of age destroy.
The thrill that wakes the heart to joy.
The beams which fire the western glow.
Again will light the mountain's brow:
But life's a transient beam of sorrow,
A little day without a morrow !
Then give me all thy balmy kisses.
Breathing Cypria's warmest blisses.
Life is short, yet while we live.
We'll taste the pleasures life can give.
Perchance the sun of joy may shine.
So warmly on thy heart and mine;
That in the tomb a twilight ra}'.
May gild it's night with dreams of day I
107
TO
THE SPIRIT OF POESY.
(a tKAGHRVt.)
Spirit of song, with soul of fire !
Who kneel'st before the sapphire throne.
Where Glory listens to the tone.
That wildly swells thy panting lyre;
And while the numbers of thy song.
Roll their impetuous tide along.
And all her heart with passion warm;
The glances of her kindling eye.
That sparkle to thy minstrelsy^
3hed lustre on thy bending form !
Spirit! more dear than life to me.
Thou soother sweet of misery ;
In sunny glade or mountain dell.
Still do I bless thy cheering spell;
And still in Avon's beauteous vale,
I bid thee, nurse of Freedom ! hai|.
108
Yes, let the viper fiend of woe.
Around the heart of Sorrow twine,
Tears down the cheek of Anguish flow.
And Hope with sickly lustre shine j
Let ev'n that sickly light decay.
And midnight breathe her dark control,-
Tby beam shall pour a daylight ray
Of triumph on the fainting soul !
Ib Misery's cold and dreary cell.
Misfortune's captive victim lies;
Yet still he loves thy blissful spell.
And owns thy wildest extacies.
Stern from the earth behold him spring.
With vig'rous and elastic bound;
While Slavery starts to hear him fling.
His chains, indignant, to the ground !
On the dark rock the poet lay.
Listening the awful thunder's roll;
For dear to him the lightning's ray.
And dear the tempest's stern control.
His wild eye, like the autumnal star.
Glanced on the elemental war;
He look'd to Heaven, he look'd to thee.
Warm-eyed nurse of poesy !
And ihou didst mark that look, and hear
His murmur'd sigh, while Passion's tear.
109
Roll'd down his wan and fevered cheek ;
And midnight saw thy fair hand steep
His brows in dew that nurses sleep;
And while he slept, thy wand did Woe's enchant-
ment break.
But ah! why heaved his labouring breast.
Why did the tear convulsive start?
Say, did he view the baneful fiend.
Who wounds so oft the sanguine heart?
Thou know'st his dream.
no
Tunc veniam subito, nequisquatn nunciet ante, Ifc. Tb.
At that lone hour when Hesperus light.
Silvers the raven vest of night;
When Memory comes with soft controul.
To bathe in bliss thy melting soul;
And gazing on his brilliant ray.
You sigh to think I'm far away;
Then, Julia! what a wild surprize.
Will sparkle in thy longing eyes.
As turning on the downy seat.
You see me kneeling at your feet!
By Fancy fired I see thee now.
Thy cheek upon thy white hand leaning;
But ah I can words express the meaning/
That in thy blue eye's glances dwell?
Thine auburn hair's luxuriant flow.
Waves loosely o'er thy breast of snow,
Enamour'd of each beauteous swell.-
Ml
OBEHON's FAREWELL,
4DDRESSSD TC THREE SISTERS.
JL HE Sylph, to whom the care of Heaven,
The guardianship of flowers has given.
When nursed beneath his fostering wing.
Some lily decks the breast of Spring,
And rears it's beauteous blossoms gay.
To wanton in the beams of day ;
The spirit quits the flower so fair.
No longer needful of his care;
Yet sighing, thinks that storms may blow.
And lay it's ripen'd beauties low.
So now my task pcrform'd, I fly.
Back to my mansion in the sky;
And bid farewell, perhaps for ever.
To you for whom with fond endeavour,.
Each spell of Peace and Joy I wove.
Each Flow'ret of parental love !
I leave you now, alone to go
O'er the wide world's paths of woe;
To meet the tn'arm and balmy gale.
That echoes Pleasure's syren tale;
Or the cold blast that chills the soul.
When Sorrow bids the tempest roll, f
But Pleasure's gale shall pass you by.
Harmless as the Zephyr's sigh ;
And Sorrow's hand will scarcely dare.
To wither flowers that bloom so fair.
Since Rezia's love, since Huon's fame.
Restored me to the fairy dame*.
And wild with joy each elfin band,
Wing'd their flight to fairy land ;
In gratitude to mortal worth.
My silken plumes have sought the earth;
And strove to guard with anxious care.
The slumbers of the brave and fair.
rv*
odT
;s-/ oT
'jgnol oVI
To woman Oberon oy^-es his reign, .
In fairy hall or lilied plain ;
And shall not woman claim to know.
Each joy that fairy spells bestow ?
Yes in her lovely breast shall live.
All that Oberon's power can give, ' '"'^ ^''^'
And o'er each form the fairy wing, ^ ^**X ^
Shall hover like the sylph of spring; '^H' no&3.
And from the torch of Love be shed,
A blessing on each beauteous head !
Tiunia.
LETTERS.
.f1 J-^
I
LETTERS,
Bristol, June 18, 1803.
DEAR J ,
Jl RECEIVED your letter on my return froia a
heavy day's labour; but the dull vapours of business
vanished on it's perusal, and my soul bounded at the
voice of friendship. * * * *
*******
* * My heart has^ lately been wrapped in
melancholy, though the smile of cheerfulness has
played upon my face. I am restless and uneasy.
Perhaps it is because I feel a stimulus for different
pursuits. Often when Reason has whispered " Contetjt,"
there has been a silent " tug" at the heart-strings that
gave Reason the lie. But think me not unhappy I
have no reason to be so: my disquiet proceeds from a
nameless sensation a something nothing 1 * *
* * * I visited the Mine of Literatttre
yesterday I found him in better health, and giving
instruction and delight. Mrs, F U in great trouble.
I
114
A letter on Friday last announced, that her sister's sor-
rows were ended she died without a struggle I Mrs.
F feels it the more deeply, as. previous accounts had
given her reason to hope. 'Tis a melancholy event;
but, as Mr. F said, we all are mortal, and " man u
born to trouble." I could not but contrast the grief of
Mrs. F with the thoughtlessness of Robert. The
latter, on his aunt's telling bim to inform me of the
event, looked pensively in my face, and said, " Moder's
dead I" and then bounded away with his usual gaiety.
Happy season of felicity!
IVbm your diescriptibti of the luxuriant country arolind
ybti, I havfe participated in it's ehjbyment. I have
Wandere<l in idea over the cloud-wrapt mountains, and
gazed on the mouldering relics of ancient grandeur.
i ..:; Bristol, July 15, 1805.
liEAli H ,
NO doubt you will be surprized at being so soon
followed by a letter. My old tormentors, alias head-
achs and bleedings at the nose, still persecute me; but
this, I flatter myself, you will hardly regret, when I
Inform you, that they have furnished me with a plea
that has obtained for me a week's absence from bust-
Bess and that week, need 1 say, I intend, if conveni*
ent, to spend with you.
115
-fllipurpose leaving this place on Mondaiy morning;
and wish to pursue exactly the same course as you did
yourself, in order that you may sustain no inconveni-
ence in meeting rae. You will be kind enough to
mention by return of post, by what stage you went,
and at what inn you arrived ; together with such other
particulars as you may deem necessary for my guid-
ance.
I must endeavour in verbal narrative to atone for the
shortness of this. When the heart is full, the paper
often remains unstained. All here desire their kind-
remembrance; present my respects to your relatives,
and believe me, my dear friend,
Your's,
" la the wreck of matter and the crush of worlds."
July 21, 1803.
DEAR ,
" WHATEVER realms, whatever climes I see,
" My heart untravell'd, fondly turns to thee;
" Still to my friend it turns with anxious pain,
" And drags at each remove a lengthening chain."
I was soon jolted through the streets of Bristol, and
no sooner did we gain the road, than the spirit of in-
dependence rose on the beam of the morning; and
exultingly I exclaimed, " for a week I am iv^^V
i2
na
Never did 1 before experience such a heart-swell in
Contemplating the beauties of Nature! She seems in-
deed here to have poured her choicest blessings. *
* * We waiked yesterday (H , his two
sisters and myself) to W , about five miles from
hence, and spent the day in rambling over it's beau-
tiful fields and woods. The wood we passed through
in our vvay, is the most delightful you can conceive.
It seems formed for the abode of " beings that the
earth owns not." I could have lain beneath it's wild
foliage, and yielding to the delirium of imagination,
have plunged into the extacy of solitude.
I am extremely pleased with the family. I have
experienced the welcome of good nature, instead of
punctilio; and sincerity in the place of comipliment,
from them. The young ladies are very agreeable.
* * * I have put in a claim to relation-
shipy and have been admitted. Imleed I am as well
acquainted with them, as if 1 had been here an age.
Bristol, July 29lh, 1805.
DEAR H ,
WITH that melancholy pleasure which the heart
feels in contemplating scenes of pat felicity, I address
the friend to whose kindness I owe them. The delight
I experienced in the society of your family, has left
117
n impression on my mind which all the frowns and
burtets of the world will never efface. I have sighed
over those hours of happiness, and sighed too, lest like
other sublunary enjoyments, they should have depart-
ed never more to return.
I would have written sooner, but as I expected, my
business at the bank was left untouched, and I have
been very much hurried in getting it up agam. My
journey hither was as pleasant as it could be, con-
sidering the friends I had so recently left; but I was
expected at home two daj's before ray arrival.
I have often thought since my return, of your in-
tended rural excursion, and wished 1 could have been
a partaker of its enjoyment. There the smiles of
beauty, and the strains of music, would have lulled
each painful thought, and bade the heart bound at the
call of rapture.
"We are all in a bustle here; 1 300 volunteers have
already enrolled themselves, &;c. &c. * *
but I quit a subject, which, though it highly interests
me as an Englishman (for I hope I shall never be in-
sensible to the welfare of my country) inust now yield
its influence to one of a nearer nature. The heart
feels most strongly when it feels individually. The
mind's rays (if you will allow the expression) are then
'Concent):ated to a focus ; and we shed more tears over
I 3
118
the fe< of astngle sufferer, than over that of all tt
imuriads wiio fall in the field of battle.
^>9
Accept the following little tribute of feeling, and
present it to any of those friends to whom you think it
may be acce;ptable.
To the Scenes of Glocestershire.
HATL lovely hills! where free from care awhile,
I mark'd the hours, alas! too swiftly fly;
Hung o'er each scene endear'd by beauty's smile,
And mused on nature with enraptured eye!
Tho' doom'd along life's dreariest path to rove.
No worldly cares shall memory's sweets destroy;
For oft my heart shall turn to (hose I love,
To friends whose kindness heighten'd every joy !
All here beg their kind regards to you.
119
v Baak, August 17, 1803 (6 o'clock.)
DEAR H ,
I EAGERLY snatch the present opportunity to
give you one line more, as you requested, before you
quit P , and are plunged into the tumultuous bustle
of the metropolis.
And so you complain, that the tone of your naiud
is relaxed by the social dissipation in which you have
been lately engaged. But it braces the heart-strings,
]^^4 (al^ least it did mine) and that is a counterpoise.
My grandfather is at length release<^ f^om the world.
He died as a Christian should die; no mental agony
indicated a troubled conscience; no groaa evinced the
struggles of an alarmed spirit: but he yielded his soul
with calm composure, while the smile of resignation
beamed on the cold cheek of Death.
I have often danced attendance lately at the foot of
Parnassus. The only gift of the goddesses, however,
has been a poem of 170 lines " The Retreat of
Odin." But stop, I recollect a sublime distich,
* Mole-hills if often (oh dear 1) heaped to mountains rise."
It will give me great pleasure to know that your
good relatives are all well. Present to them my re-
14.
120
gpectful regards. J sends his best wishes to you,
as do all my family. Accept mine also, and may you
prosper in every undertaking, for I can proudly say,
you will never engage in a wrong one.
Bristol, August 30, 1803.
MT DEAR FRTEND,
I ANTICIPATE much pleasure and improve-
ment from our correspondence, which I hope we shall
make a regular and lasting one. This, I fear, will
prove a dull specimen on my part, nor can I promise
a better, till I receive a spirit-stirring line from you.
Let not, I entreat you, our future epistles be confined
to mere matter of fact; but let us at least attempt some
nobler flights; for till we have fairly tried our strength,
we know not how high we may be able to soar.
Situated as you now are, in the centre of a vast
metropolis, you will, no doubt, find much to amuse,
and much to interest you. London is the grand mart
for every commodity. There successful Genius dis-
plays her triumphs, and proudly calculates on future
fame. And there too, many a modest flower of
sweetest fragrance, droops it's young head, and shrinks
abashed, from the piercing glance of observation.
Often, my friend, will you witness the eagerness and
adulatiot> with which men bend at the shrine of pros^
121
perity, and too often will you see " the genial current
of the souP' frozen by the chill blast of adversity but
enough of this.
Madam Clio is, I think, offended with me, for she
has been very coy of late. She did deign to lend me
her Pegasus the other day, but no sooner had I mount-
ed, than the unruly beast set off with such fiery velo-
city, that in truth I was obliged to cling fast by his
mane to retain my seat: nor was it till he had galloped
over Sarmatia, roused the spirit of Odin, and given
Pompey a threat as he passed him, that he suffered me
to take my jolted limbs from his back. To be plain,
I have taken the subject of a poem* from Gibbon's
" Decline and Fall," vol. 1, page 390, 391.
I have in vain wooed the ill-natured Muse to assist
me in dressing up an epistle to G , but not a decent
couplet would she grant me. I have vowed, by way
of retaliation, to pay my respect? to her no longer:
from henceforth I will visit the shrine of the Goddesses
of Brandon Hill, and be content with a " patient
animal" instead of Pegasus.
J desires me to thank you for your last. I shall
say no more of him, as he shortly intends to speak for
himself. We were much pleased with your descrip-
tion of Oxford, which added considerably to the wish
^ Page 100.
1123
/have always felt to Tisit it. A sommons to. break-
fiat compels me to finish this, aud as it is generally
a welcome call, you must excuse my obeying iL
Farewell, &.c.
Bristol, Sept. 15, 1803.
DEAR, BUT NEGLIGENT FRIEND,
KO, that is too kind. I know not how it is, but I
(nd, though I intended to give. you a good scolding,
that instead of gall, I have again dipped my pea in.
the " milk of human kindness."
But what has befallen thee, thou soaof
Esculapius? Art thou numbering the joints of an old
woman's back bone, or dancing minuets with wire-
hang skeletons? A whole fortnight has elapsed, and
no letter! Why, I could have stumbled through
Galen, and paid mj-^ respects to a hundred other mem-
bers of the black tribe in that time.
I send this by a friend, and am therefore obliged to
write in haste; but see to it, and return a speedy
answer, or " I'll do, I'll do, I'll do." I have lately
seen Lackington's catalogue, and will thank you, when
opportunity serves, to purchase the following books
for me, if you find them in such condition, &c. as you
123
may approve : but pray use your own judgment or
the occasion :
Travels of Anacharsis,
Blair's Lectures,
Park's Travels,
Tacitus,
Burke on the Sublime,
Quintus Curtius,
Vohaire's History of Charles
the 12th.
I will not apologize for the trouble I give you, for
** Friendship knows nought so sweet as serving
friends."
Bristol, Friday night, Oct. 7, 1 803.
MY nEAR H ,
YOUR promise of a long letter with the parcel,
prevented ray answering your favour of the 17th ult.
immediately; but having now received it, I shall en-
deavour to (lischarsfe the epistolary debt. You must
not expect, however, that my letters will equal your's,
either in length or interest : time forbids the former, as
much as place the latter.
My neglecting to mention Miss , did not, I
assure you, originate in want of regard, for I doubly
respect her, both as possessing a mind superior to the
generality of her sex, and as being the friend of my
124
raster. Your lordship's sagacious observations respect-
ing the power of the beautiful Miss , have met
with due attention ; and you may rest satisfied, that
her attractions will cause neither " dissension nor
bloodshed" between " the brother poets." I own I
have not sufficient stoicism to resist the charms of
beauty, and am perhaps rather too susceptible to the
melting ray of loveliness; but the eye that makes a
lasting impression on ray heart, must have the fire of
good sense blended wiih the sweet delicacy of sen-
sibility. I cannot admire those women who, 'lijie
diamonds, are polished only to be looked at. If
females possess souls (and you know I am no Turk)
those ought surely to be mare cultivated than mere
external perfections. Do not, however, imagine, that
I mean this as any disparagement to the above lady.
I think her really charming, ami possessed of many of
those graces that best adorn the brow of beauty.
The clock strikes twelve! Good night to thee, my
friend, for the spirit of drowsiness has seized me and
blunts my pen. If I have time, I will resume it to-
morrow.
Saturday morning, six o'clock.
Your execution of my order was perfectly satisfac-
tory, and the other articles I shall leave entirely to
your own discretion. The first effort of rny criticism
shall be to request you to be more sparing in youi:
eulogiums, or you will give us reason to doubt your
325
judgment. * * * *
I am a great friend to epistolary composition; it pro-
motes fluency of stile, and possesses the mutual and
double advantage of profiting by an interchange of
sentiment: and myself have adopted a plan of
writing essays, and we each produce one a fortnight
from an alternately given subject. You will recollect,
if you have read the life- of Franklin, that he found a
similar method of great advantage in many periods of
his life, and acquired by it a habit of composing with,
correctness and facility.
1 do indeed rejoice with yotj in possessing such a
friend as you describe Mr. to be. Life afford*
no greater pleasure than to have intimates whose tastes
and dispositions are congenial to our own; to whom,
we can communicate each sentiment as it arises; and
who will at once participate in our feelings. I am
happy that the poems yoa possess afforded your friend
any gratification; it was the end for which they were
written : Though I will not deny that I sometimes
feel a latent hope awakened, of one day endeavouring
to attract the applause of my country, and pant most
ardently for /a/e as well as freedom; yet for the pre-
sent I must obey the dictates of prudence, and con-
sider poetry only (as indeed I have ever found it) the
sweetener of many a care, and the dear companion of
many a solitary hour. Publication tnust be a distant
consideration, for seventeen ought not to be the age of
an author.
126
' I thought I had explained the reason of my " par-
jimony" respecting the rerses. Our friend Fox ad-
vised me to be sparing in my copies. I saw him on
Friday last; he was very unwell, but strong and enter-
taining in mental powers as ever. He is a treasure,
H , and I shall not fail to profit by his wisdom.
I am sorry I cannot transmit you a copy of Odin,
but I am rather pleased with the subject, and having
made it a poem of some length, I intend to keep it by
me, and endeavour, by revising it at distant periods, to
make it a tolerable piece; for it is now both incorrect
and incomplete. I have sent you the Elegy* I com-
posed at Clifton, which is not one of my worst. I have
been employed lately in looking over the " great poem,'*
and have added to it 200 lines. *
To the Sisters of my Friend.
IT is a subject of no small gratification to me, to
have the pleasure of addressing those, who stand so
nearly related to a most valued friend, and who, inde-
pendent of that tie, lay claim so justly to my regard.
I promised " Sister S " to forward her some
poetry, but having none of my own that I deem worth
Page.8j
J 27
her acceptance, I have dispatched a little *" Bee,f
which, though but a small one, is, loaded with ^ccel,
lent " honey/' He brings " Goldsmith's Essays" ^d
**Paul and Virginia" under his wings. Her accepting
this little messenger of friendship will be conferring
both honour and pleasure on him who sends it.
I present my most sincere remembrance to my
"eldest Sister," to whom I owe much of the pleasare
I received at P , and beg to add to her library the
" Castle of Otranto" and the " Shipwreck," Shoold
* In a blank leaf of the " Bee, a selection of poetry from ap-
proved authors," the following lines were writteo;
To Miss S H .
The wild Bee wantons in the summer gale.
And hails the sweetness of each opening day.
Tastes every flower that blossoms in the vale,
Or basks beneath the sunbeam's noontide ray.
Should some fair Rosebud catch the wanderer's sight.
He lingers o'er it with enchanted gaze;
Plays round it's blushing head with fond delight.
And tunes his mellow horn to murm'ring praise.
So now this little literary Bee,
Loaded with favours by the tuneful nine ;
Spreads his soft wing to kiss the rose in thee.
And pour his treasured sweets at Beauty's shrine.
W, J. R.
128
she again visit Bristol, I shall endeavour to repay the
obligation which her friendly attention has laid me
ttnder. I beg also to be remembered to all other
friends, particularly to and , whose
kindness will not soon be forgotten.
Edward writes to me in high spirits, and I have no
doubt but he is very comfortable. I heard from him
last week.
I shall be glad to be informed that you receive the
parcel safe and entreat you both to believe me to be
with the strongest sentiments of regard,
Your's most sincerely.
Bristol, Tuesday, Oct. 12, 1803.
Bristol, Nov. 11, 1803.
IT was with no small pleasure that I
received your letter of the 7th, as your long silence
had excited some anxiety. You conclude with " vjrite
soon," but when you add example to precept, I may
perhaps obey you.
Your account of the lecture audience is, I fear, too
applicable to many other attendants on public institu-
tions. There is a species of men who imagine thought
129
to be derogatory to the chai-acter of a gentleman, and
who, from fashionable inattention, acquire at length a
settled habit of indolent indifference. But such beings
deserve what they will surely meet with the contempt
of all liberal and enlightened minds; for if the faculty
of reason be the noblest attribute and proudest boast of
man, there can be no excuse for neglecting to exercise
it; and I would as soon give a man credit for taste,
who read Sternhold and Hopkins with rapture, as I
would allow any pretensions to wisdom or learning
that were not founded on the exertion of individual
intellect.
I am rejoiced to hear that 's affairs wear a more
pleasing aspect, and have no doubt but that every
thing will ultimatelv prove perfectly satisfactory.
Youth and impatience will expect many things, which
cooler reflection must shew the impi&ssibility oiimme-
diately attaining. Patience and perseverance are, after
all, the best means of realizing our wishes. * *
December 6th,
Five and twenty days have now passed away since
I began this letter! What hast thou been doing R.
say yon? Why I have not spent the time in the
trances of holy vision, nor have I added one to the
celebrated sleepers of antiquity: but my attention has
been chained to the edifying study of the bank bible,
alias ledger. I have indeed been much employed
lately, and the sullen toll of the eight o'clock bell has
K
130
gQuerally sung it's requiem ere the close of my labour.
^ * ** The winter evening and the
fireside make us sensibly regret the loss of one who so
often made them cheerful; and I frequently hear the
exclamation of " Mr. i was here last winter." I
have not yet heard from G , and am rather sur-
privied at it; but I can never regret the letter which
produced the flattering compliment with which your
sisters honoured me. * * *
Hiciring now exhausted my aevys budget, /conclude
with " write soon,*' which if you do, I may perhaps
send you another epistle, garnished with a little rhyme,
at Christmas. In the mean time believe me, &c.
Bristol, Dec. 25, 180?.
A ME^,RY Christmas to you, my dear friend, and
may every new year bring with it an increase of
happiness I I am just return'd from churcj^,,
where 1 have been delighted with^fine mu^ic, ^nd.dis;;..
gusted with dull preaching. But let rne now tejl yoH .
all about; my return. I left town, a? you know,, Qflt,
Tuesday evening, and, after a dull compionrplsce jour-
ney, arriyed here about one o'clock on Wedeesdayt
I sighed as the stpge rolled over the streets of London,
I3i
that I was destined to take so transient a view of them;
for I have seen enough to excite curiosity and inspire
wishes. I dreamt the other night, that I made a
second journey to London, and shall not be displeased
if my dream prove prophetic. As you may suppose,
I had many queries to answer, and accounts to give of
the " great city," which, with the business of the bank,
has pretty well engaged my time and attention.
* * *
I shall be obliged if you will take the trouble of
packing Beattie's Essays and Hayley's Triumphs of
Temper in paper, and of sending them as soon as con-
venient by the mail. All here unite in best wishes
and compliments of the season with
Your's, &c.
I annex the promised poem, which I wrote last
year.
THE GENIUS OF AFRICA.
HEARD ye the solemn thunder's roar.
That rock'd the wave-girt western shore?
The trembling ground
Confess'd the sound,
Ev'n Atlas own'd it's pow'r.
Borne on the mad tornado's wing,
Afric's awak'niog Genius see ;
1 hear on high his awful mandate ring,
I bear bitxi lo'^fd proclaim, that Negroes shell be free I
X2
13^2
" On me," he criej, " my sons attend,
I come your freedom to defend,
With lightnings spread,
Around my head,
Dark o'er your foes I bend;
- - Rise then, to vengeance greatly rise,
Hope shall your glowing bosoms fan ;
Let your loud shouts in thunder rend the skies,
Ob! haste to vindicate th' insulted rights of man!
Lo! on Domingo's blood-drench'd plains,
Each nerve my band intrepid strains;
Their right in vain
They strive to gain.
For treach'ry binds their chains !
In vain ToussAiNT with fury fired.
Rolls the red tide of Ijattle down;
In vain he lifts his arm with carnage tired.
That terror-shedding arm no laurel wreath shall crown.
Haste then! whose dauntless souls aspire,
Who boast the flaming orb your sire!
. Behold 1 come.
To change youf doom,
Rush >and in Freedom's cause pxpire!
And lo! yon form of dewy light.
That waves her golden wings on high!
'Tis Freedom's self, she stands confess'd to sighti
prepared to waft her daring champions to the sky."
He ceased yek still the potent sound,
Thunder'd around my fear-struck head ;
As roll'd within his blast profound.
Of murky hue, thespirit fled ;
Meagre Avarice trembling hears.
Snake-wrapt Slavery owns her fears, ,
When soaring high on glittering pennons gay.
Exulting Freedom rushes to the day,
And calls her swarthy sons toiafl her long lost sway!
133
Bristol, 26th Feb. 1804-.
DEAR NED,
AT length, in the grateful quiet of Sunday evening,
I endeavour to return the favour of your last^ which I
received from the friendly hand of Mr, -, to whom
it was inclosed.
I lament that we have hitherto neglected tb-a adop-
tion of the plan which I formerly proposed, of not
Jetting*" mere matters of fact" be the sole subjectsof
our correspondence. The common occurrences of tbe
world are generally dull and uninteresting: might we
4iot then derive both pleasure and profit from more
abstract discussions. Suppose I give you a subject.
Take up which side of it you please, and I. will endea-
vour to refute your arguments. This will at least -be
opening the business, and jt*s pursuit will; produce
fresh matter for enquiry. What think you then jof
Mahommed? Do you consider him to have \)(ien an
impostor or an enthusiast? I do not ask you to write
an elaborate dissertation on the subject, but merely to
fiay as much as with other matter will fill a sheet.
I have been lately rather a truant from Parnassus;
but have sometimes strayed at the foot of the mount,
and plucked a i'tw " wild weeds'^ to offer to it's deity.
I rejoice with you most heartily, my friend, on the
triumph of Freedom over the accursed tyranny of
K 3
^34
African oppression. That tree of iniquity was too
long nourished by the tears of the wretched tears of
blood have now bedewed it's heaven-blasted leaves;
the spirit of tjje oppressed has rioted in the groan of
|he oppressor. Pity indeed may mourn the fate of
those who fell innocent victims to the roused arm of
vengeance, yet Justice must exult in the blow that
swept her enemies to death. May. civilization be the
fruit of victory, and may it prove that the du{;ky
Ibosom of the degraded, despised African, is not im-
pervious to the soothing influence of Piety, is open to
^e sublime emanations of Virtue. I thauk you for
the hint of making it the subject of a poem; but this
I decline, as the sentiments it would excite, would be
too bold to be applied to a recent event under pre-
sent political circumstances. The following trifle was
the production of an idle moment the other day. I
transcribe it, " with all it's imperfections on it's
head.''
THE SLEEPING INFANT.
** Lie 89ft, dear Cherob, softly sleep," &c. See page 84.
It. is now a considerable time since I read Drake's
" Literary Hours." I was not then capable of justly
appreciating it's merits or defects, but 1 recollect
being highly delighted with the wild romance of
" Fitzowen." 1 shuddered at the description of the
hag, and trembled with the hero at tb^ laugh of
135
tHumph that shook the battlements of Walloran**
castle. I must confess, I can readily pardon slight
errors in composition to that man, who can plunge my
soul in the wild dreams of fancy, and give to th
imagination " forms that the earth owns not.**
May your hopes of seeing in town be
qseedily realized. / have proved the pleasure which
such amiable manners and superior endowments as
possesses are capable of affording, and caa
therefore conceive the delight with which you hail
this haf)py event. 1 shall begin to be a litt/l6 jealous
of London, as it will then contain three of those friends'
who are among the number of the dearest to my soul.
Methittks I now see yovt, tired of my '' stupid prosii^,'*
beginning to yawn. But yawn as wide as you please,-
you shall remain awake Avhile I heg you to present
my sisterh salutations to Miss G y ahd t6 accelpit'
the united kind wishes of our f^rnfly circle for your-
self, while I, sumrtiiog up all the fri^ridly gVefeting*
that usually condudes an epistle in a few words, as
sure you of the unalterable regard of
Your's to the very soul.
* * * *
* * *
* * I resume my pen to address you on a
far more melancholy subject than has occupied the
K 4.
136
preceding sheet. An event, which is at opce an awful
lesson of uncertainty and a fine subject for the moralist,
has for these four days past much distressed my mind.
In lamenting the death of , my early friend,
I have wept over the follies of inexperience, and
mourned that it should pay so dear for knowledge.
Poor fellow I I little thought when I shook him by
the hand, and congratulated him on his long-wished
for advancement, that it would be the last time I should
grasp his hand, or that the smiles of exultation would
so soon be changed to the cold smile of death. Such
is the frail tenure of existence here, and while Pity
mourns the fate of youth, Wisdom may gather instruc-
tion from the arrows of Affliction.
His complaint arose from a violent cold, of which no
particular care was taken, as no apprehension of it was
entertained. It terminated, however, in an inflama-
tion, which speedily proved fatal. He continued so
delirious during the whole period of his confinement,
that I had not once an opportunity of conversing with
him. Next to his family, po one laments him more
than myself. His follies, which were those of the
head, are forgotten, and I cherish only the memory of
the friend who was once the partner of my bosom.
Adieu, &c.
137
Bristol, Junes, 1804.
MV DEAR FRIEND,
I HAD purposed to devote the evening of this
day to the answer of your letter of the 26th of April,
and was agreeably surprised on my return from the
bank by the receipt of your*s of the 6th instant. I
thank you for this liberality, as 1 candidly confess I did
not deserve it; but I assure you, so long a period shall
not again elapse between the dates of my letters. It
afforded me no small pleasure to find in the beginning
of your last a perfect echo to my own sentiments.
Literary discussions may improve, but do not interest ;
and though the mind was highly gratified by your
excellent account of Mahommed, yet the heart wanted
to hear of it's friend.
My objection to your praises proceeded from a
doubt of my own merit not of your judgment. If
Vanity be tickled, she may perhaps quarrel with
Reason. But enough I shall always value a friend's
commendation.
And now for Mahommed. You will probably smile
when I declare myself his defender. To attack pre-
judices which have been rooted for ages, is a bold
step. I shall, however, attempt briefly to state my
opinion of the prophet's character, which at present is
but dimly seen through the lapse of 1200 years.
138
You shall hear from me agahi soon, till then, with
the truest iVicudship^ I rtiuain
Year's, Sec,
July 1, )804.. }
* * # *
* * I was agreeably surprised some time
since with the sight of a P friend. This was Mr.
\y - , who had been making a tour round this part
qf-tb^ country, and was then on his return home. His
presence revived the memory of those days I passed at
ff ,, atnd I sighed again for the society and beautiful
scenery of Glocestershire. Tell - I often think
of Dovrah wood and the delightful seat at the end of
it: the tide that I was allowed there to claim> I hope
never to forfeit.
In the middle of May I eBJoyed the pleasure of four
days relaxation from business, which I spent at Chep-
s^tow with Mr. A. G . The town is pleasant, but
MichteQy desirable for it's surrounding scenery. The
venerable Castle cohered with ivy, forms a grand and
picturesque object. The vale (or, as it is vulgarly
Called, the ditch) i3 a> roost beautiful piece of pastoral
landscape. I went through the celebrated woods and
walks of PiercefieJd : the path lies along the edge of
the rocks that guard the Wye, and from the difiereat
189
openings the most charming and extensive views are
commanded : but I saw, my friend, what I had long
wished to make the object of a pilgrimage I saw the
ruins of Tintern.
On the evening of the third day of my stay> we took
a boat from Chepstow bridge, and after sailing about
seven miles up the Wye, the banks of which are
beautified with alternate ridges of massy and romantis^
rocks, we arrived at the Abbey. It's first appearance
is rather pleasing than grand situated in a retired
yalley close to the river, and surrounded by rising hills
covered with wood, it seems a spot peculiarly adapted
to religious solitude; but the introduction of inhabi-
tants, who have built houses round the ruin, and have
evea converted some of the outbuildings of the Coavent
into huts, weakens the effect which solitary desolation
always produces on the mind. Any external defect
is, however, amply compensated by the sublime sen*
sations that are excited by entering it. If I was the
proprietor of this venerable relic, I would keep it
sacred from the " busy hum of men" it should b
trod only by the foot of reverence and enthusiasm.
This Abbey, when in It's prosperity, must have been
a beautiful pile; and the mutilated remains of arches
and pillars, still evince much costly elegance.
P I have not room here for the insertion of" rhymes,'*
perhaps I may decorate my next with a Parnassian
140
blossom ; but it must be on condition that I hear from
you very soon. I expect for some time to come to he
unusually engaged in business, and a letter from you
will be a cordial to my weary spirit. .
:M was lately at our friend F 's, and in the course
of conversation introduced the name of the " Prophet/*
He does not scruple to call him the first man that ever
existed. He says the accounts we have of him are
vague and uncertain, and that the Genius of Mahom-
medanism is totally misunderstood. You see then, my
dear fellow, that our subject does not afford ground for
positive inference, and that our reasoning must be from
possibilities as well as from facts. But I shall con-
sider the subject more fully when I receive your letter.
How much do I wish on this, as well as on every other
occasion, that we were nearer together. Reciprocity
of pursuit would lighten the labours of both. Fare-
well, my friend, and believe me,
Your's most faithfully.
Bristol, 23d August, 1804.
AND "another letter from H." was indeed my
exclamation on receiving your last: it was, however,
an exclamation not of impatience, but of thankfulness,
mixed with " fear and trembling" for reproof, which
141
I was conscious of deserving. I had fancied yoa
standing in a threatening posture, raising your gold-
headed cane in all the grandeur of jEsculapian dignity,
while a paroxysm of anger shook the ponderous curls
of yourperriwig. With how much pleasure then did
I read your welcome letter, which plainly told me *
* * * * * *
The reason I have so long delayed the parcel, is
partly in consequence of a journey which I have lately
taken to Exeter partly for want of time, and partly
from laz (I dare not write the word) -which
three ingredients, if you will be kind enough to mix
" secundem artem," you may, if you please, take for
an excuse.
My manuscript book would not be worth sending
to you, as I have scarcely copied any poems into it
since I saw you. My " Pleasures of Sensibility" does
not exist! I " What," say you, " is it burnt, or lost,
or ?" Neither, sage sir; but after laying it by
and re-perusing it, I fancied it savoured too much of
modernism: I have therefore altered the title, and
changed the subject, and have for the last month been
busily employed at intervals upon it. I shall preserve
some select passages of the old in the new poem,* but
shall give the whole a more manly tone. I have
* Tbis poem was afterwards destroyed.
142
already produded six hundred 4ines, and shall limit it
to seven.
I thank you for your recommendation of Miss
Burney; but I have read Cecilia, and admired it's
beauties. My opinion of modern novels has been
much heightened by the perusal of " Hermspronsf"
and " Man as he is" two excellent works, if strong
delineation of character, just and independetit senti-
ments, and elegance of diction, are the requisites of a
good novel.
I am glad to know that Drake has published a thi^d
volume from your account of it he must be consider-
ably improved. And so you were not previously
aware of the beauties of our " old" English poets? I
am so strongly convinced of their superiority, that I in-
tend the first opportunity to read a complete course of
them. The present songateVs pay more attention to
sound than to sense. Th^ mfaiily straihs of oiir foi'ei*
fithers are- too coarse for modferri ears their gold'
wanted polishing, and ive hare polished it, but it's
solidity is vanished. I have purchased the " Annual
Review,'* which I recommend to you as the best
hitherto published. The editors appear endeavouring
to revive the old school of poetry, and to substitute
Shakspfeare, Milton, and Spencer, as models in the
roohi of Pope, &c.
143
I am so barren of incident aiwl sentiment, that I
despair of filling another sheet,^ indeed tiiis must hav<^.
tired you, so I will endeavour to purchase pardon by
making a poetical atonement.
THE VICTIM.
" On that wild heath beside the lonely way," &c. See page 75.
Bristol, 14th Sept, 180*.
AND so, my dear and too sii&ceptible friend, you-
fancy there is a falling olF in the style of my last letter.
This, though I am deeply hmt at, I; cannot acknow-
ledge myself to be conscious of: bt if it was so, could
you attribute it to no cause but a diminution of regard?
Might not disappointment, vexation, or mental afflic-
tion produce it? My spirits have, in truth, been
much depressed lately, and perhaps I have not been
able to express with sufficient energy the warm feel-
ings which your letters always awaken. I recollect
no part of my last, but insist, as a proof of forgiveness,
that you commit it to the flames. Of this be assured,
that however my life may be cheered by hope, or
darkened by despondence, wherever I may wander a
pilgrim to fortune, or whatever my future destiny may
be, your friendship will be a hesper to my journey,
your affection will be the solace of my life^ Rest
144
satisfied then with the heart of thy friend 'tis indeed
a little wayward in it's fancies, but it can be faithful
where it feels attachment, and where it loves, it must
love strongly. Art thou now easy ? * * *
I am no friend to that stern morality which mocks
repentance. I therefore rejoice that is so sen-
sible of his former errors, and doubt not his sincerity.
If you think I can by any means atford him either
pleasure or satisfaction, I will not be wanting.
Your invitation to town has inspired wishes which I
fear cannot soon be gratified. I never feel the tram-
mels of business so irksome, as when they withhold
me from that delightful intercourse which is the food
of friendship. Adieu.
Saturday night, 6 o'clock (Oct.)
ELIZA has this day received a letter from
Miss \ . That part of it which concerned your
family, has! filled me with the most alarming appre-
ht^nsions! I conclude you are at , and direct
this accordingly. Eternal God! what are my feel-
ings! Write to me, if but two lines. I had antici-
pated but I can say no more. The aftlicting
145
poignaocy of my own sensations can only be equalled
by your own ! Excuse brevity; for I write under a
tumult of feeling that will only allow me to assure you
that I shall remain, under all circumstances.
Your faithful and atlectionate friend.
: 21st October.
MY DEAR FRIEND^
HOW shall I express the pleasure which y.our'S
of' the 16th inst. afforded me? Knowing the partial
affection that subsisted between yourself and ,
how deeply did L mourn the sad intelligence which
Miss 's letter to Eliza communicated! After in-
dulging the pleasing hope of her recovery, to hear that
you had left London with but little expectation of
seeing her alive, of receiving her last adieu it struck
me to the soul. May her health by this time be so
much improved as to restore happiness to yourself and
family !
The joy of sympathy which I now feel has much
revived me. Alas, my friend ! I have witnessed the
wreck of schemes long cherished with a passionate
affection. I have seen the rose of hope wither beneath
the blast of disappointment, but my sorrow has been
silent. We have entered on the world, Edward, and
146
let us not shrink feom the difficulties and dangers that
necessarily attend <>ur passage through it. * *
In my leisure hours, which *' like angel visits," have
been " few and far between," I have renewed my
study of the Latin, and have made considerable pro-
gress. Should I fortunately obtain time for the acqui-
sition of Greek, I intend afterwards to attack the
Hebrew and Arabic. The treasures of eastern litera-
ture are great, and the key of therti vfovild be valuable.
The mention of the East is naturally followed by that
of Mr. Fox. He has been busily employed in trans-
lating lately, and has produced some beautiful poems.
His idea of publication seem rather reviving, and I
need not say ho w^ much I long for it. I have been
gratified with the perusal of a considerable portion of
his Mejnoon and Leilyi atid found it highly beautiful.
I wish he could be prevailed upon to lose no time in
bringing it out. * * * *
I have scribbled a few poetic trifles lately, and shall
shortly submit them to your perusal and criticism.
Pray let rae have your essay, and inclose with it the
'* Victim," tvitk your remarks upon it. In pity to us
ill, write soon.
Your's faithfully and afTectionately.
M7
Bristol, Nov 6, 1804.
MY DF.AR FRIEND,
WHAT a raixt sensation of anguish and of plea-
sure did your last letter produce I of anvguish for the
sad intelligence it communicated of pleasure for the
fortitude with which you write. Alas, my friend I and
must we cease to hope ? Is there no star of comfort
to illume this night of sorrow? I would write of the
uncertainty of life of it's troubles and it's cares I
would say how blest is the exchange from transient to
eternal happiness; but, alas I I feel how weak are the
efforts of Wisdom when she wars with Nature.
I am at present so utterly incapable of offering con-
solation, that I will not attempt it, and indeed experi-
ence has taught me, that in a case like this, consolation
is officious. And yet I long to know how you are.
Let me participate in your sorrow, if I cannot alleviate
it.
The pleasure of 's company, who will be the
bearer of this, must compensate for it's dulness.
Would that I was going with him. I am now a soli*
tary being, without one congenial spirit to delight in;
but this is selfish sorrow I must not indulge it and
yet you will pardon me, Edward, for you can feel as
well as I. I rejoice in the good fortune that calls him
from me I look forward to days of future happiness
i2
143
. ^ -a will furnish him with
,wl rpae to repine. i> ^^"'
: lyXr, aVa.,ge., which he did o. pos,e.
f r trt sav " multum 111 parvo, it is just
improvement, or to say muiuu r
the reverse of Ens.
Couid you not give us your company here for a^short.
,.e^t might/contribute to rouse y.u.^^n^^-^
add how much. I should be p)ea.,ed to devote my leisure
moments; to that desirable end. _- -'-
"*^ Adieu, my friend.
7 th Nov. \Sp*t-
"^'^"u^^;e thUday for Louciou. and by him
.m.lfl convey some comfort. How anxiou y
:l::Jheavfron.you. One .0 y^ung so .n
erestingl Jus. entering on the path "^ " ;- "" /'^
svren voice of Uope has greatest power, to be o
rZn! God.of'h...,.-bntweostnot,.or>n.r.
and yet 'tis hard, n.y Iriend, -ery hard to fo.bcar.
149
I never curst the chains of business more than now.
If I was free, how soon would I fly to yon, to console,
to comfort, and more than all, to weep with you. But
I must conclude. Adieu, my afflicted friend, and be
assured of the truest sympathy in the heart of
Your most afiectionate ^ .
Bristol, Nov. 15, 1804-.
TURN from that silent grave, my weeping friend !
Cease o'er that tomb in speechless grief to bend;
Repress thy sighs, forbid those tears to flow.
For life's first daivn is but a smile of woe !
So Wisdom whispers, but her voice is vain.
And cold her dull and monitory strain.
I do not come to bid thee cease to weep.
To hush thy sorrows to a dreamless sleep,'
To say how transient human joy appears.
That Hope's gay rose is cherish'd by our tears;
No ; but I come to mourn that rose's doom.
To weep like thee upon a Sister's tomb I
I feel each pang thy anguish'd heart that rends,
IBrothers in sorrow ! we are more than friends!
For while my fancy ustens to thy moan.
Reviving memory makes it all my own;
I see agam a lovely sister die.
Watch the last gleam that lingers in her eye,
l3
150
Again I kneel, half frantic with despair,
iind pray to Mercy tho' sheniock'd my pray'r!
Ev'n now I see a mother's anguish flow,
A father's silent agony of woe,
Press each survivor to my throbbing heart.
And murmur still how hard it was to part!
Yet, my sad friend, we are not quite alone.
Not every object of our love is flown :
Hope in Eliza's form still smiles for me.
And still another sister lives for thee!
The sister spirits in the realms above.
Perhaps have mingled in th' embrace of love.
Have felt their breasts with sacred friendiihip glow.
In holj/ likeness of our love beloiv.
In bowers of bliss perhaps together lie.
Or float on sunbeams thro' a cloudless sky,
Or hovering bend o'er those in life so dear.
Count every sigh, and treasure every tear I
And then, my Edward! in the dreams of night.
Their seraph forms may linger on our sight
May chase the glooms our aching hearts that shroud.
Like sunbeams bursting from a wintry cloud !
And point to scenes where Virtue's children sleep.
Where Sornow smiles and wretches cease to weep !
Accept, my dear friend, the above lines, as the effii-
sions of a heart that loves you, and participates warmly
in every thing that concerns you. Let their sincerity
supply their other deficiencies. I have attempted to
wake my muse to another strain upon this melancholy
151
subject; but she weeps over the echoes of her mnsic,
dissatisfied with her song. I am delighted to perceive
the returning composure of your mind. We have both
felt sorrow, Edward let us both shew that we can
bear it. I am, &c.
Bristol, Dec. 25, 1804..
MY DEAK EDWARD,
TWO days since I received your favour, dated
the 16th instant, on which day I had forwarded a
letter in a parcel by the mail, which I presume you
have received. *****
* *****
Your sorrows are sacred to me, and I love thero,
though they pain me. I could enter on a long exhor-
tation to patience and submission, but the heart tells
me it would be hollow comfort. I leave advice to the
stoic / can onl^ feel. Transient as my stay at
was, I saw enough to make her memory dear to me,
and often amid my dreams of happiness, J have blessed
the form that like a passing spirit smiled upon my
wanderings. That spirit, my friend, has passed away,
nor will I tell you all the viaions that were blasted by
it's flight. No mortal eye has been a witness to my
l4
1&2
sorrowsr no mortal bosom the confidant of my thoughts.
I have gazed with silent madness on the wreck of
Beauty, and seen the nightshade twine around the buds
of Hope. And yet, my friend, I niust insist on your
exerting every, eftbrt to subdue your grief, ^anish^
I beseech you, selfish sorrow from your bosom, and let
your mind dwell only on the present happy state of
her you lament. 'Tis a hard lesson ! * * *
The following little poem was the offspring of the
moment it describes.
THE DREAM.
SPIRIT of light ! and art thou fled,
Still must I mourn my blighted joys?
Night bids me weep for Sarah dead,
And day my dream of bliss destroys.
Oh ! 'twas a dream sd pure, so blest.
It soothed my sorrow's deep controul;
In living light her eye was drest,
That eye whose glance illumed my soul.
I saw her auburn tresses gleam,
I saw her cheek's vermillion glow ;
I saw the tear of feeling stream,
A diamond on a bank of snow.
Ihen blessed dream! return again
Oh! envious sun, thy course delay;
A little hour I'll steal from pain,
For I h;ve tears enough for day I
J53
* * What feelings, my d^ar friend, were
awakened by the book which your parcel inclosed. I
will treasure it as a sacred relic, and Death only shall
wrest it frora me. I thank you for the request con-
taihied in your last, but I had anticipated your wishes,
and now offer for your approbation the " leaf" that
I have plucked.
ELEGIAC STANZAS.
" Bright on the Rose's breast the morning star," &c.- See page 77.
January 6, 1805.
MY DEAR J ,
I HAVE scarcely read any thing lately. Busi-
ness has pressed heavy on me, but I have nearly crept
from beneath the burden, and begin to breathe more
freely. Moore's Muse is warm and feeling, but the
glow upon her cheek is too licentious. I regret that a
Muse capable of such elegant exertion, should disgrace
herself by the introduction of offensive cupidity.
H 's essay gave me great pleasure, and evinced
much attention to the subject. He is indeed a power-
ful antagonist, yet " nil desperandum" " at him
again," and I think I shall yet make him bow to the
white banner of Islam. My reply to his first commu-
nication on the subject was a careless production. I
154
bad delayed an answer so long, that 1 was afraid he
Would think me culpably negligent, and that letter
was the offspring of half an hour's hasty and tumultu-
ous refleetlon. I hazarded one or two assertions to
rouse him, and have succeeded. On the receipt of his
last, I resumed my original plan, and have now nearly
finished a long dissertation on the subject. My object
is to remove from the doctrine of Mahommed, the
stigma of it's being the source of Moslem enmity ; and
honestly I do not think it deserves this stigma. 1 pre-
tend not, however, to assert, that their implacable
hatred to Christianity arose solely from the crusades,
and yet I think it may partly Le traced to that source.
Was it fanaticism or humanity that influenced the
breast of Peter the Hermit? Was it the degradation
of the Cross, or the sufferings of the Christians, that
awoke his zeal ? The Saracens conquered and com-
mitted all the enormities of conquest. The Christians
retaliated, but they mingled contempt with cruelty.
I need not expatiate on the effect contempt produces
in every mind. I have not heard from H since I
wrote to him: his last letter was melancholy, and I
fear it will be some time ere he recover his wonted
cheerfulness..
" For there's ift avarice in grief,
" And the wan eye of Sorrow loves to gaze
" Upon it's secret hoard of treasured woes
" In pining soKtude!"
Farewell.
Bristol, 17tb Jan. 1805.
WHAT a dreary pause have you made, my friend !
Does occupation press so very hard upon you? Have
you not one half hour to devote to friendship? But
you are not happy, or perhaps you are ill ; and yet I
comfort myself that your silence has not proceeded
from the lattef ckuse, or surely F would have in-
formed me. * * * *
There is indeed, Edward, a tenacity in sorrow that
loves the source of it's own misery there is a joy in
melancholy that seduces the soul ; but, alas I how vain
is the regret of survivors for departed worth! These
feelings, howe\>er, ought not, must not be indulged.
Let us remember that we are men, and oppose forti-
tude to disappointment resignation to calamity. And
though the memory of the past will sometimes, like
the soft beams of twilight, shadow our souls with the
sober hues of sadness, yet let us look forward with
hope to the rising of to-morrow's sun; for perchance
that sun may dispel the gloomy clouds of despondency,
and again irradiate our minds with the cheering beams
of happiness! Accept the following lines, which
may, if you please, be called an Epitaph. I cannot
do justice to the subject, but I transcribe them for
your approbation and correction.
PILGRIM! if youth's seductive bloom,
Thy soul in pleasure's vest arrays;
Pause at this sad and silent tomb.
And learn how swilt thy bliss decays I
156
But ah ! if woe has stabb'd thy breatt,
And dimm'd with tears thy youthful eye;
Mourner, the grave's a house of rest,
And tbis one teaches how to die !
For she who deeps this stone beneath,
' Tho' many an hour to pain was given;
Smiled at the hovering dart of Death,
While Hope display'd the joys of heaven !
Accept the kind regards of all, but particularly of
Your most sincere and affectionate friend.
Bristol, Friday evening, Jan. 1805.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
I THANK you for your last letter indeed every
one which I receive from you strengthens, if possible,
that friendship which I feel for you, and which pro-
duces additional pleasure, because I know the feeling
to be mutual. The poetical part of my letters is
entirely at your disposal. The approving smile of
friendship is dearer to me than the applause of millions !
Let my humble fame but live in the bosoms of my
friends, I seek no better monument. * * *
** * * * #
* * I more than thank you for your essay.
Your style is excellent, your arguments are good, and
I begin to tremble at so potent an adversary. And
357
yet, my frieud, I think you have wandered a little
from the point. You have dwelt too aiuchon the
doctrine of INIahomnied and the conduct of it's profes-
sors. My question, I think, . had a mOre personal
bearing; however, I will undertake a defence of
Mahommedanism, and: endeavour to prove it superior
tjo. >he former rtdigion- of Arabia. iM^ fir/;t letter ofti
the subject was a: wretched and hasty production: re-
turn it, therefore, or cpmnait it to the flames. You
could not be serious in supposing for an, instant, that I
placed Mahommedanism, on a level with Christianity;
but! still assert, that tlie doctrine of Islam (however
it may be disgraced l?)'- some of it's followers') possesses
more naerit than "we generally allow it, and that so wie
Christian writers have thought it meritorious to degrade
it. I must observe also, respecting your refusal to
admit the validity of precedents, that though in mat-
ters of conscience I acknowledge their nullity, in
matters of judgment I must still contend for their
authority. But I proceed to the subject; and shall
confine my observations to three heads. ^The firSt I
shall devote to the answer of your last essay; secondly,
I shall take a brief view of the ancient idolatry of the
Arabs, and contrast it with the religion of Islam, as
delivered in the Koran; and lastly, shall consider
whether the title of Enthusiast or Impostor should be
attached to the name of Mahonmied*. * -^ *
* * * Well i have not been ablo to
The whoJe of tbis discussion it omitted
I5d
finish my essay what I have written, however, com-
pletes my answer to your last; and at a future period
I shall resume my enquiry into the personal belief and
conduct of the prophet.
I have written this in great haste, therefore excuse
inaccuracy. " What an enormous letter!" I think I
hear you exclaim; faith, my wrist tells me so: but
you will have the fatigue of perusing it, and then we
shall be equal. * * *
All here desire their kindest remembrance to you.
God bless you ! Remember me to F , and believe
rue Your truest friend.
27th January, 1805,
DEAR J ,
* * * * *
* * As the period of Leo's pontificate must
include the biography of many illustrious characters,
Roscoe's work will be an interesting one. I know but
little of Italian history, and want to know more.
Genius has been fertile there, but I do not like it's
character. Italian writers seem too fond of trifling;
and excepting Dante and perhaps Tasso, niost of them
have neglected the sublime. They hdiV e polis/ied their
poetry till they have destroyed it's grandeur. It is
159
not in minds debased by superstition and enervated by
luxury, that we must look for the furor poetica. The
*' eagle eye" of Independence must awaken the flame
of poetry a generous liberality must nurture her
exertions. Vqllaire tells us that the English are too
sullen but I love the stern and haughty genius of my
country; and would not barter one feeling of her high
independent spirit, for the trammels of St. Peter or
the treasures of St. Dennis.
I have not seen or heard any thing of Mr. L
lately. He is certainly a man of some ability, and I
wish him success. The term eccentricity is too often
tised for imprudence, and some imprudencks are crimes
of reason. I send you a poem which I lately wrote.
TO
Ask Bie no ipore, swet.lady, why," &c. See page 8i.
Your's, &c.
February 17, 1805.
MT DEAR J^ ,
YOUR observation on poetic execution is just.
I have never yet ivritten a poem which equalled the
idea I had formed on the subject. I have soared a lofty
flight lately no less than an odej and have two large
i6o
id^as in embryo, but know not when they will be
unfolded. 1 transcribe another trifle for you.
ANACREONTIC.
LOVELY trembler! tell me why,
Thus my ardent suit you fly ?
Wilt thou not be wise and prove,
What fond delight awaits on Love ?
turn not like the timid fawn.
That bounds o'er yonder sunny lawn.
And shun* it's balmy turf to flee
The barn^less chase of Infancy !
1 follow not, my timid fair f
As lions do the panting bare
My only arms this warbling lyre,
Whose strings awake with ardent fire ;
And would'st thou listen to it's hy,
*T would charm thy fearful doubts away ;
*Twould tell thee, tho' the rosy bloom
Of Joy thy glowing cheek illume;
Tho' Youth's gay sylph exultant now.
Twines his fresh garland for thy brow ;
Time will the roseate wreath untie,
And dim the sparkles of thine eye !
If from the genial sun you shield,
The ripening fruitage of the field.
Soon, soon will droop the loaded spray.
And wither into pale decay ;
And Beauty will as transient prove,
If warm'd not by. the beams of Love !
I thought Scott's last production bad been the pro-
mised romance of Sir 1 ristem, by Thomas the Rhymer;
<.fi
01
but I perceive it is an original poem. I just looked at
it in the bookseller's shop the price prevents more:
half the volume is filled with notes. Schiller's tragedy
of " Fiesco" evinces in many parts a wild strength of
genius; but is, I think, inferior to the " Robbers."
Did you notice the historical coincidence?
I have read the exaggerated account of Dessalines,
which ivas loritten hrf the French. Upon the slave trade
I ever feel the same sentiment: it is a system gendered
by interest, and nursed in blood. It militates against
every principle, moral, natural, and divine. The time
has now passed that would have made it's abolition
an act of credit to the government. They must soon
do it from necessity. What retaliation may not be
expected? I shudder at the idea! Might it not have
been foreseen and prevented ? I fear now it is too
late. ******
** * # * *
24th February, 1 805.
DEAR H ,
A VERY conscientious penance you have en-
joined ! " Not hear from you till next May" if I
do not, look to it. However, as I have some charity
in my nature, I shall now and then forward " a sweet
M
]62
epistle" to divert you ; fw I suppose you will not be
displeased to enliven your attendance on the dead, by
sometimes hearing of the living. 1 sensibly feel the
chasm which your professional avocations make in our
correspondence; but I do not murmur Reason de-
mands your attention, and let Friendship wait she
will not suffer by the delay.
I received lately a very pleasant letter from F-
which I shall answer shortly. His translation of Virgil
pleased me much. Virgil's pastorals always appeared
to me to be rather insipid;' as indeed most pastorals
do. I wish he would attack the Georgics, and make
a complete translation of them. I have been so much
engaged with business for the last three months,^ that I
have made but little progress in my classical studies.
I look forward, however, with pleasure to the approach-
ing long mornings, and hope to profit by them.
Coleridge's poera was not new to me, for I have
lately read his volume. Many passages evince genius
and feeling. After all that has been said and written
about originality, there is but one standard of excel-
lence, and that standard lies not in variation of metre,
nor affectation of phrase. I conceive that a poet
should rather wish to arrest and Jill the mind by the
nature, grandeur, and beauty of his sentiments, than to
amuse it by quaintness. Yet some modern bards have
been so fond of the latter, that to be originally quaint,
they have stooped to be insipidly ridiculous.
l63
Have you seen 's new work ? It is indeed ^
splendid specimen of typographic beauty. The rage
for embellishment that distinguishes the present fashion-
able mode of publication, may aptly be compared to
the absurdity of endeavouring to conceal personal de-
formity by the superficial glitter of dress. * *
So our good minister, not content with putting us in
a pickle with his salt-tax, has added an-additional duty
on postage ' This to lovers is heavy cause of com-
plaint! Do you think if all the enamoured nymphs
and swains were to present a petition, setting forth th
magnitude of the grievance, it would have any effect?
I transcribe a few verses.
THE TOMB OF ELLEN.
" Stranger ! if by worldly views," &c. See page i.
Your's most affectionately.
April 8, 1805.
DEAR EDWARD,
AS the bearer of this letter will not be unknown
to you, I shall excuse myself the ceremony of intro-
duction. The long desired object is at length attained,
and Eliza departs for London to-morrow. 1 hope her
pleasure will equal it's anticipation, and this the kind-.
M 2
1(54
uess of her friends has placed beyond a doubt. 1 be-
gin already to fancy the pleasant parties which you
will Dow^ be forming. Would I could be with you!
but I complain not there are duties in life which we
must fulfil, and the consciousness of having fulfilled
them, will compensate for the deprivation of many
enjoyments.
Do you frequent the House of Commons? The late
debates indeed have not contained much to interest:
yet is there something noble in the contemplation of
the senate of a mighty people. I wish our orators
would display more feeling in their speeches. I an-
ticipate warmly the discussion of the Catholic question.
Grattan, it is likely, will come into Parliament to assist
on the occasion. It is time that the approved loyalty
of so large a portion of the empire should be justly
rewarded. The bulls of the Pope now sleep quietly
in the stalls of the Vatican, and the son of the Apostle
has nearly descended to the office of his father. What
evils then can be seriously apprehended from doing an
act of justice?
The following is one of those thoughts which in-
voluntarily occur in one's solitary moments, and which
is beneath criticism.
THE QUESTION.
* Sweet EUeu ! o'er your pensive face," &c See page 64.
l65
I know not if I ever told j'ou that I have lately made
a pleasant acquaintance with a young man of con-
siderable ability and most pleasant manners: but I
have no bosom friend none with whom I can ex-
change the endearing minudce of friendship; and I
often ponder on those hours of past felicity, when we
enjoyed the delight of reciprocal communication, and
of mutual confidence.
Shall you soon emerge from the pressure of pro-
fessional engagements ? for I long to recommence our
plan of essay writing. Nor have I forgotten your hint
of favouring us with a visit in the course of the sum-
mer. I hope you were serious, for J have many things
to ask and tell when we meet.
I have written several Anacreontics lately burnt
some poems and wrote others formed plans and half
executed them said my prayers and gone to bed.
Let me hear from you soon, and believe me / --i
Your's unalterably and affectionately;
M 3
1(56
I I?ri.sto], Irtth April, !80,5.
* * 4|t *****
THE VISION OF ALZARAN.
Attend, young wanderer of the valley, to the lesson
of instruction which experience hath traced upon the
memory of Alzaran. I, like thee, was once warm in
the pursuit of happiness like thee, was careless of
futurity. My taper of existence had been kindled by
the torch of Genius, and I had listened, though with
restless attention, to the precepts of Wisdom. My
heart panted for the honours of science, for the glory
of greatness: but my resolution was weak, and the
voice of Ambition was frequently forgotten in the
smiles of Beauty, or drowned in the allurements of
Pleasure.
Musing one evening on the beauties of Nature, a
sudden drowsiness stole over my senses, and I sunk
upon the earth in a profound slumber. The eye of
Imagination, however, was still unclosed, and the
Angel of Instruction displayed before me a monitory
vision. Methought I wandered through a valley that
presented to my view a prospect variously diversified.
On one side frowned uncultivated rudeness, while on
the other bloomed luxuriant verdure in all the loveli-
ness of summer. Here and there rocks were scattered,
whose sudden chasms and rugged asperities seemed to
l67
firesent insurmountable obstacles to the numerous tra-
vellers, whom I now perceived journeying over every
part of the valley. In the middle 1 beheld a temple
surrounded by precipices, the only access to which
was by a path, steep, narrow, and winding; but a
tablet inscribed with golden characters, promised a
glorious reward to those who entered it's gates.
Allured by the novelty of the scene and the eager-
ness of the adventurers, I joined a band that seemed
most determined in it*s efforts. They received coldly
my first advances, but mutual assistance produced
mutual good-will, and we soon pursued our journey
with much harmony together. I now learnt from my
companions, that the place through which we travelled
was called the Vale of Science; and the temple to
which our steps were directed, the Temple of Fame.
The farther we advanced, the, more the beauty of the
prospect increased, atid at length I became earnest ift
the pursuit, to which chance had at first directed me;
desire stimulated me to strong exertions, and I soon
left my companions far behind. Alone, but sanguine
and exulting, I pursued my course till a tremendous
chasm in the road stopped my progress, while the
sound of a foaming torrent, which thundered at my
feet, and over which I could perceive no bridge,
struck me at once with terror and dismay. I paused
awhile in hopeless dejection, seated on a point of rock.
When casting ray eyes around, I beheld a garden
beautiful as the vales of Paradise, and enticing as the
M 4
]68
cheek of Beauty. A damsel fair as a Houri beckoned
me to approach. "Stranger,": said she, as I advanced,
and her \vords were sweeter than the dews of evening
which the nightingale sips from the bosom of fhe rose-
bud," Stranger ! brave not the dangers of the tor-
rent through this garden lies a shorter path to the
Temple, of Fame." No sooner had I entered the
garden, than my senses were captivated by strains of
melting melody, and overpowered with the fragrance
of luxurious aromatics. I now insensibly forgot the
object of my journey in the pleasures that surrounded
me, and the damsel perceiving her triumph, prepared
to complete it. A wreath of flowers was woven, and
the next hour I was to have been crowned the slave of
Enjoyment! How then was I astonished on looking
upward, to behold on the summit of a rock which
overhung the garden, the Temple of Fame! The
sight aroused my former feelings, and rus*hing to it's
base, I atempted to ascend. The rock presented to
my grasp a face smooth and perpendicular, and not a
pendant branch offered it's friendly aid to assist me in
scaling it. But my chagrin was redoubled on ob-
serving those companions whom I had left behind,
entering the gate of the temple! My emotions of
shame and sorrow were so strong, that I awoke. The
last beams of the .<!un were gilding the horizon, and
the dew fell chilly on my breast. I sat awhile musing
on my dream, when a light cloud passed over my
head, and the voice of a genius arrested my attention.
" Profit, Alzaran, by the vision of to-night. The
169
toirent of Perseverance, whose ideal terrors turned thee
to the Garden of Ease, would have dwindled to a rivu-
let, hadst thou boldly dared it's passage. Depart, and
remember that Genius without Industry, is a wingless
eagle, which, though it may wander up and down the
Earth, can never soar to Heaven !
Bristol, 26th April, 1805.
AS the traveller who has wiwidered along rugged
paths, with a mind fatigued by dreary prospects, turns
with delight to the beauties of cultivated nature, so I
turn from the chime of pounds, shillings, and pence,
to the voice of friendship to the language of aflec-
tion. Has not a friend a right to claim a participation
in sorrow as well as in joy, in sickness as well as in
health? If you acknowledge this, you are indebted
to me. For while to others you could address letters
from a sick chamber, you left me to the pleasurable
delusion of believing you well. From London 1 first
heard of your illness, and from F of your recovery;
for the pleasure of the last intelligence, however, I
forgive you.
And now let me tell you something about the
society lately formed here. It is to be called the
170
* Philosophical and Literary," and the outline of it'i
plan is this. Forty members, who are termed pro-
prietors, are to deposit five guineas each (either in
money or effects) and likewise to contribute an annual
subscription of one guinea. To these are to be admit-
ted an unlimited number of subscribers at one guinea
each. - is to be the lecturer; and the days fixed
on for lecturing are Mondays and Thursdays. One
lecture has already been given, but I have not yet
seen any person who was present at it. The institu-
tion jt)roj2.se* well, and I hope it will succeed: but I
dislike the inequality of the proprietors and subscribers,
and wish they had rather adopted the regulation of the
Bristol Library Society. The disposition to science,
however, evinced by it, is pleasing, and I begin to
hope, my friend, that the dull genius of trade may yet
be won to the cause of liberal investigation and inde-
pendent truth.
For the " Essay" in your last I thank you. Your
observations are conclusive: they are congenial to my
own ideas, and I more than regret that circumstances
should prevent my following your three rules so
iirmly as I wish to do. While your leisure conduces
to our correspondence, I shall not care how often it
occurs. I wished to have written to you sooner, but
was prevented, and I now scribble in the solitude of
the bank, while the pendulum of the dial continually
urges me to haste, I wish 1 could once get Time within
my grasp, I warrant 1 would hang heavy enough upon
171
him. The post will not allow me to say more, than,
iLTtie as soon as you can.
18th May, 1805.
MY DEAK J ,
THE minister, when he levied the late duty on
postage, did not, perhaps, recollect our correspondence;
I had therefore intended to cheat him: but as the
means proposed have disappointed me, I must evea
send my epistle by post. 's letter afforded me
both pleasure and satisfaction. I envy him the oppor-
tunity of poetical improvement which the society of
must afford ; I say poetical, for by heaven !
the study of beauty will produce more of poetical in-
spiration, than all the precepts of Horace, Boileau, and
Pope.
F has received a letter from IMr. R , dated
Constantinople. I was not aware that MSS. were so
scarce in the East as they appear to be. R , through
the medium of a man of eminence, with whom he was
acquainted, has however procured some, particularly
the Odes of Jami. There is a college of Mesnuvi
Dervishes m t\\Q neighbourhood of Constantinople;
the idea of Hafiz naturally associated itself with this
1/2
intelligence, and I believe our friend would have no
objection to become a brother of their order.
The philosophical society occupies an apartment in
the house adjoining the chapel; and there the lecturer
resides. He has commenced his lectures, which have
been well attended. L too has been " humbly
endeavouring" to amuse and instruct the Bristolians in
a course of lectures on electricity, galvanism, and
astronomy. I received some pleasure from my attend-
ance on them. L h a man of considerable
science and ability, but his language is deficient ia-
elegance and connection. His matter is good, but his
ihanner frequently tedious. Mrs. L assisted, and"
I think received more attention than the planetary
system.
It was not my intention to pursue allegorical writing;
I shall be careless of the armour of ^jax, while that of
Achilles remains to be contended for.
F has been looking out for a residence, and
has been to Cardiff: he did not, however, find it; as he
Expected, a suitable situation; and he is now recon-
noitring in the neighbourhood of Bath, I shall miss
him riiUch, and regret his absence.
Is there not sometiiing of affectation in the designs
of Fuseli? yet the bold originality of his genius de-
lights me: and could I be a painter, I would wish to
be Fuseli.
173
The perusal and representatioa of Tobin's play*
was a great theatrical treat. Our actors gave it con-
siderable effect. Aranza's advice to his lady on the
management of her dress, is original, chaste, and
beautiful. Why must the flowers of promise be so
soon transplanted ? Is this world unfit to nourish the
germs of beauty ? * * * *
My sister is enjoying the pleasures of the great
town, where she is gone on a visit to -. I regret
her absence, but I will not be so selfish as to wish her
at home. Adieu, my dear J , and believe me
Your affectionate friend.
Bristol, 28th May, 1805.
EAR J ,
YOUR request has preserved from oblivion the
" song" which I now transcribe ; for in truth I begin
to feel but little respect for my early offspring.
" When Woe on the bosom of Mercy reposes," &c. See page 71.
I yesterday drank tea at F 's with a Miss
who made many kind enquiries after our friend
The Honey Moon.
174
and expressed a wish, if he still wrote poetry, that he
would confine his genius to the sublime r F has
taken a small house near Bath (within twenty minutes
walk of the city) and promises himself comfort and
advantage in the change. Should he recover his
health, it will much lessen my regret at losing him;
but if he continues in Bath, I shall be enabledjome-
times to enjoy his society. * * * *
*******
Dimond's new farce seems to be a toivn favourite :
such numerous dabblers have so frothed the stream of
Helicon, that modern authors seldom reach the water.
But the bubble glitters in the sun, enjoys a momentary
splendour, and sinks again into nothing.
I have lately perused Miss Porter's *' Thaddeus of
Warsaw." Many of the characters are well drawn:
with that of Mary Beaufort I was much pleased. The
story is interesting, and in many parts gives luxurious
pain. Though not without some of their defects, it is
much above the general class of modern novels.
The Avon and it's banks, my friend, begin to glow
with beauty. I love that walk ! it recalls scenes of
past felicity, that like the sound of Ossian's harp, come
" pleasant and mournful to the soul." There we have
hailed together the Genius of the rocks, and there we
have watched the cloud-formed spirits melting into
twilight. A poetic plan, which I have in agitation^
175
will induce me to haunt the dells of Avon for iuspira-
tioa, but autumn with me is the season of song.
Roscoe^s Leo is announced, and will doubtless prove
a valuable addition to that department of literature. I
was much interested by the debates on the Catholic
question: will the mist of bigotry and error never be
dispersed? Fox and his supporters, however, had aa
advantage in reason and argument, which all the de-
clamation of the opposing party could not confute.
Grattan's was a fiae oration. There is something
grand in the toil of eloquence, when exerted in the
cause of justice. It sheds a ray of dignity on the in-
tellectual powers of man, to see him use them boldly
on the side of liberty.
Farewell.
Bristol, 6th June, 1805.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
IF I was not aware that the attention and fatigue
of a half year's balance with new ledgers, &c. were well
known to you, I would apologize for not writing
sooner. This is my first holiday, but I now look for-
ward to some weeks of comparative leisure. Last
Sunday I received a letter from our friend F , who
describes his residence aa being on as pleasant a spo%
170
as any in the three kingdoms. " Our prospects," he
says, " are romantic and extensive ; the air mild and
pure." He does not find Bath dull, but has yet had
little time to look about him. The flow of spirits
which is ever excited by novelty, is visible in his
letter. I wish it may continue. He purposed writing
to you as soon as he was settled, and I suppose, ere
this, has done so. * * * * An unqualified
assent to the Catholic petition would certainly be par-
tial; they have not, I allow, a juster claim to the
rights they pray for, than other dissenters from the
church of England. But why should those rights be
withheld from any? and why should religious dif-
ference create an inequality in those who equally
contribute to support the State, and to defend their
Country ? Political necessity alone could justify the
grant of privileges to one sect, which are denied to
another; whether that necessity exists, I leave to
wiser politicians to determine. That the fullest con-
cession to the prayer of the Catholics, however, would
endanger the Established Church, I do not believe.
Some consequences might be beneficial. While the
Catholics are looked on with a jealous eye, they will
return suspicion with hatred. The mind clings to an
opinion for which it suffers, and is tenacious of that
which excites opposition remove opposition, and you
disarm obstinacy, and obstinacy is the high priest of
error. The restrictions against Catholics are few, but
the multitude iviaginu them more severe than they
1*681 ly are. Reason will not exert herself, unless she
^11
thinks she is/ree; once give Freedom to her exertions,
and I have no apprehension that Papal ceremonies
would long survive the exploded creed of the Pope'^
supremacy. The tenets of the Romanists are altered,
and will alter. They toill never regain the ascendancy
in the British dominions. The silent operation of
reason and reflection will undermine them in Ireland,
and here they are too insignificant to be regarded.
The Church of England will fall by another hand.
I have a letter of a fortn?ght's date from H ; he
was then well, and removed to Highgate; I expect to
see him in the autumn. Another mushroom Roscius
has started here, only eleven years old! What with
learned animals, conjurers, little men, and great chil-
dren, this age will certainly be famous. * * *
I have lately been pleased with the perusal of some
ofKnox^s Essays: he writes well, and displays free-
dom and correctness of sentiment in much purity of
language: fifteen editions have proved the taste of the
public, and the merit of the author. I have burnt my
" Pleasures of Sensibility," reserving a few detached
passages, which form little subjects of themselves.
The Edinburgh Reviewers have condemned all Moore's
poetry: they say his translations of Anacreon are
merely nominal ones. * * * * Adieu,
my dear J , and believe me, Sec.
178
[Note. The " Voice of Nature," the " Captive," and
the "Stoic/' inserted amongst the poems, once formed
part of the longer poem alluded to by Roberts in the
foregoing letter. Some other fragments have been
collected, and are here inserted.]
PROLIFIC Nature ! tho' thy hand design'd.
In various molds the endless cast of mind;
Tho' partial Science but to few has given.
To gaze unwearied on the light of Heaven ;
To rise where Newton sat with daring eye.
And read the mystic wonders of the sky ;
Tho' few have wander'd to the wild retreat.
Where Fancy holds her visionary seat;
And scann'd her spells with Shakespeare's eagle view.
Prophet of Fancy and of Nature too !
Yet did thy hand to every breast impart
The pulse of rapture trembling in the heart;
Form'd it the joys of generous worth to know.
Or tuned it's sweetest throbs to Friendship's glow;
Blest it with power each social joy to prove.
And all the seraph extacies of Love !
Yes, holy Nature! thy divine controul.
With varied vigour rules in every soul;
Thy secret voice in every State we find.
With care-robed monarchs or the lowly hind;
There's not a heart so dead to feeling grown.
That gives no throb to Misery's plaintive moan;
No brow so stern that would not smooth awhile.
It's sullen frown, at infant Beauty's smile.
179
Thus 'mid the glories of that fated day.
When fall'n Byzantium own'd the crescent's sway;
When Rome's proud eagle bow'd the vanquish'd head.
And mourn'd her captive sons in triumph led;
When stern Mahomet on his trophied car.
Rode o'er the triumphs and the spoils of war;
Thy voice, O Nature! lull'd ev'n pride to sleep.
And bade the victor o'er his conquests weep !
* * * * * *
Nor yet congenial to the heart belong,
The w ildering scenes that live in Fancy's song;
Short as the rainbow's light, or morning dew.
Those fairy visions wanton on the view;
Tike beauteous dreams to sleeping lovers borne.
That fade and vanish at the beam of morn.
Touch'd by her wand, when forms of gay delight.
Weave spells of joy that captivate the sight;
Or when with venturous step she dares to go.
Where horror reigns 'mid scenes of ghastly woe;
Her powerful spells a transient glow impart.
They fill the mind " but never touch the heArt,"
******
Oh I gracious Heaven ! where'er my footsteps stray,
'Mid Greenland snows or India's sultry ray;
Whether 'mid Fortune's gayer smiles I roam.
Or weep an exile and without a home ;
O let not stern Misanthropy, unblest.
Dwell in my heart, a dull and cheerless guest;
But may that heart be e'er awake to feel.
Each purer throb that social joys reveal;
n2
180
Let Friendship bid the clouds of Sorrow fly.
Or Beauty chase them with her melting eye.
Yet some there are, whose callous souls qnblest.
Deny that feeling swells the dusky breast.
Tell, ye Sophists I taught in Interest's cell.
To plead with holy cant the cause of Hell ;
Why the dark slave, his toil of anguish done.
Climbs the blue mount to watch the setting sun;
Marks the last fading tint, and weeps to see.
The purple blushes of the western sea.
Yes, he will weep for Memory then will roan>.
To the lost pleasures of his native home ;
And trace those scenes, where weary from the chase,
He met his dusky partner's fond embrace;
The plantain tree, beneath whose friendly shade,
"Was many a scene of frolic mirth display'd;
Ere tyrants dragg'd him o'er the stormy sea.
And comfort perish'd with his liberty.
The bounteous Pow'r, who breaks the tyrant's rod,
Stamp'd on the slave an image of his God;
Breathed in his breast the animating glow.
That bounds to happiness or throbs to woe;
On every wild bade generous Passion reiga.
Alike on Lapland or on Afric's plain.
* * #
What tho' the heart-strings with an aspen thrill.
Are woke to misery by the fiend of ill;
181
The breeze of joy with warmer tones they greet.
Trembling with rapture exquisitely sweet;
As the fine tension of th' Eolian string.
Gives wilder music to the zephyr's wing.
Thou, Child of Genius ! on whose birth no power
Descending, hail'd with smiles thy natal hour;
Tho' fond Affection, in thy mournful breast.
Ne'er lull'd the pulse of Agony to rest;
But Fortune frowning as thy race began,
Doom'd thee to sorrow as she stamp'd thee man ;
Tho' Genius vainly, to thy suit inclined.
Breathed her high spirit o'er thy opening mind;
And bade bright Hope her fairy scenes enrol.
In dear delusions to thy bounding soul;
Fond fleeting dreams, that lured thy raptured eye.
And bloom'd awhile and blossom'd but to die!
Yet still the treasures of thy soul impart,
A latent pleasure beating at the heart;
And thou dost love when twilight's temper'd ray.
Sheds oa the eastern hills a softer day;
To hail the hour in saddest beauty drest.
While whispering spirits soothe thy soul to rest.
n3
]82
DEAR n~! ,
He * * * '
* * * *
June 17, 130.5.
* * Three weeks has the above lain in my
desk, and three weeks have I delayed to complete and
forward it: yet I trust it will not come too late for
pardon. How much pleasure do I anticipate in the
hope of seeing you in the autumn do not disappoint
me. A month's enjoyment of your society will com-
pensate for the many hours of dullness which I am
now compelled to pass. I heartily approve your plan
of passing the summer. Domestic scenes would onlj-
revive domestic sorrows. Time will assist to heal the
wound, and you meanwhile must strive " memoriam
doloris abjicere."
It has long been a complaint in evety profession, that
practitioners are too numerous. In such a place as
London, known and established reputation does every
thing. Yet still there must be room for Merit to exert
herself, and may her exertions ever be successful !
Accept the thanks of all for your kind attention to
Eliza. I often longed to be with you, when imagina-
tion pictured you as feasting on the beauties of Paint-
ing, or wandering among the tonibs of Genius.
183
I have been lately reading " Southey's Madoc.'* It
is in some parts beautiful and original. I was much
strnck with the following description of the fire fly.
-Soon did night display
More wonders than it veil'd : innumerous tribes
From the wood-cover swarm'd, and darkness made
Their beauties visible; one while, they stream'd
A bright blue radiance upon flowers that closed
Their gorgeous colours from the eye of day;
Now, motionless and dark, eluded search.
Self shrouded ; and anon, starring the sly.
Rose like a sboiver ofjlre,
* * * * Tjje present hot weather
quite enervates me: you will suppose then that the
Muses and I have not been very sociable. Indeed I
never experience poetic vigour during summer. It i^
the red moon of autumn, when she looks dim from her
cloud of storms, that awakens in my sotd the visions of
poetic fancy.
Bristol, 23d June, 1805.
OUR ideas of publication, my dear J , exactly
coincide. In the composition of poetry, delight is my
object in publication, celebrity: let the bookseller
N 4
184
have the profit. F has been a sad apostate from
the Muses; I do not know that he has paid them one
tributary line since you left us. He departed on
Friday last for , and with him departed a great
portion of my enjoyment. But he will not be happy
there the same dreams of distress, the same habits of
living, the same domestic disturbance will accompany
him; and I expect, if he lives, "to see him next sumtner
return to Bristol. is one instance of the folly
of wisdom. With a genius capable of the strongest
efforts, with a mind whose grasp of intellect might
command the attention and respect of society, he often
sinks beneath imaginary eyils, and is a slave to the
delusions of an affVighted fancy. We who know and
love the man, may lament the foibles of the philoso-
pher: we may pity the weakness of human nature, but
him we must not condemn. I anticipate for him in
his new residence, all that you mention, and regret
that it will not be often ia my power to amuse him
with those little offices of friendship, with which I
endeavoured here to divert his attention. I know not
the man (and I believe the feeling is common to both
of us) whom, next to my father, I love better.
The tragedy of " Gustavus" revised and altered.'.' I
am impatient to see that revision and alteration. I hope
the exalted and ennobling sentiments of Brooke, are
not to be degraded to the sickly langour of modern
sensibility; the Hercqlean strides of manly freedom,
%o be fettered by the gilded cord of loj/al affectation.
185
Brooke was refused a licence, and ere his play obtained
one, it was revised and altered! What a satyr on
whom? not England ; no, not my country ! yet Luxury
and her offspring Fashion, and Effeminacy, have taught
ns to exclaim with Gustavus,
' They" haTe debauched the Genius of " our" country,
And ride triumphant.
Eliza, who is returned from London, tells me that
" the young Roscius" is but a sickly meteor: she
saw him in several characters, but particularly in those
of Douglas and Hamlet. He was excellent in both
for a hoy, but even in the first he was but a hoy.
too does not flatter him, but compares him to
those learned ani?nals who astonish us by their ap-
proaches to rationality. He is on the wane in London.
Poor D son must, I fear, resign his situation.
Alarming symptoms of consumption, the effect of a
viofent cold, have made a journey to London neces-
sary; and the physicians say, that a residence near the
sea only can preserve him.
Your portrait of is a fascinating one. Oh !
that women would but be as excellent as they might
be!
I believe I have not told you of a pleasant evening
I spent in S square with and his cousiris.
186
Tea, a walk, and a supper (" simplex munditiis'')
heightened by the presence of beauty and intelligence,
yielded an afternoon of elegant enjoyment.
The beauty of the Avon and it's woods begin to
unfold themselves I enjoy them solitarily, and sigh
for past days !
Bristol, 22d July, 1805.
DEAR J ,
THERE is no sentiment in which poets have so
generally indulged, and for which they have been so
much ridiculed, as that of a partial and periodic flow
of genius. Johnson snarls over many an unfortunate
bard, who has dared to think so, and the biographer
of Bums arraigns it as a weakness. Upon so rugged a
subject as Johnson, perhaps the seasons might have
little influence; but I will venture to assert, that every
poetic mind has paid less homage to the sunny smiles
ot summer, than to the mild skies of autumn, and the
bracing glooms of winter.
Some passages in Southey*s " Madoc" particularly
please me. The following simile is one of them:
Have I not nnrst for two long wretched years
That miserable hope ? which every day
Grew weaker, like a baby sick to death,
Yet dearet fork's weakness.
J87
His local descriptions are often very beautiful, and
exhibit him to much advantage. Simplicity, in other
modern bards, signifies jsoperify of genius. Bowles has
more readers than Milton ; and the sickly whine which
Fashion has learnt from Sterne and his school, supplies
the place of solid and weighty excellence. I love the
force of pathos, and I acknowledge it's merit, but I
like not a languid feeling: let benevolence be courted
instead of sentiment and all that is great, noble, and
generous, be the stamina of poetry. * * *
* * * Mr. L has not heard from his sob
since he parted from him; but he has a distant hope
of a letter by the next fleet, which is expected soon to
arrive.
B , 1 4th August, 1805.
DEAR J ,
* * * Mrs. RadclifTe's works are such as a
poet loves. Her fervent enthusiasm for picturesque
beauty, and the splendour of her descriptions, kindle
in the mind an " enchanting extacy ." When I
have thought of the delight with which I read her
works, I have regretted that she has neglected the
Muse. In poetry, that redundancy of beauty, which
188
sometimes satiates the reader of prose, would be more
allowable; and fronx the few specimens she has given,
she would wake the lyre with no common effect.
Description, when employed by real genius, affords
the mind a high entertainment; but modern travellers
have too often sacrificed the charms of simplicity and
truth to florid and meretricious ornament. This be-
sides being an error in composition, is a deceit upon
the reader. In works professedly fanciful, great
liberties may be taken and allowed; but when an
author gives a detail of what he has seen, he should de-
scribe things as they were. I believe the fault arises
in a great measure from the heightening which novelty
gives to beauty. A traveller returning from the view
of some delightful prospect, thinks language too weak
to express his emotions, and he tires his reader, and
weakens the effect of his descriptions, by repetition
and redundancy- These harlot graces, which some
authors have thi^own over the forms of Nature, encum-
ber and hide her beauties. C has given a long
account of Elsineur, although he did not stay an hour
in the place. * * * * *
Has not Dr. Darwin lost his claim to originality?
Brooke's " Universal Beauty" proves to be the source
and origin of the Botanic Garden, Temple of Nature,
&c. Darwin has improved in versification, but Brooke's
matter is too similar to doubt his acquaintance with it.
* * * * Godwin has announced
himself busy on a History of England, upon a scale
189
not stnatla- thzn Uume'sl What addition or improve-
ment he intends to make, I cannot conjecture. * *
* * * I send you an
IMPROPMTU.
QUOTH Deborah once, at church, to me,
" Why stare you thus and gaze about?
" Turn your eyes upward, youth !" said she,
" And be a little more devout."
" Madam," I cried in whispering phrase,
' The holiest are to wandering given ;
" But while on * *'s charms I gaze,
" In them I truly worship Heaven !"
Miss ' is gone to the coast to leai'n to swim.'! I
have been paddling in Renison's bath lately, but get
on slowly in this useful art.
Saturday evening.
MY DEAR J ,
. HAVING completed my weekly toil, I sit down
to the pleasurable task of writing to you. W in-
formed me, that he would convey a letter and I
embrace his offer to thank you for the alacrity with
which you answer my lazy effusions. The poem you
transcribed in your last was exquisitely pleasing.
Who was (or is) it's author? 1 have received an offer
from a mtisical composer to furnish him with some
songs, with a hint of a participation of profit. This I
have no relish for but as I am acquainted with him,
I may perhaps give him a verse or two, when I can get
my Muse in good humonr.
D 's case, I fear, is hopeless. He is going with
his mother into Wales, to be resident for some time
near the sea. I shall bid him farewell, without the
hope of another meeting. His cheeks indeed wear the
glow of health, but the worm of dissolution works
beneath it. John was my earliest companion; and
though different pursuits have rather tended to separa-
tion, yet I cannot but feel sensibly the situation of
one who was the inmate of my cradle. His mother
too!' but I will not anticipate affliction.
Your anecdote of F is characteristic. I wonder
be has not written to you. But I fear he is not com-
fortable. In a note which brought a request to execute
a little commission for him, he tells me he has not
courage to unpack and arrange his books. I shall en-
deavour to see him soon. * * * *
Lord Somerset and Mr. Morris are about to contend
for the honour of representing Gloucester: it is ex-
pected to be a warm contest. Handbills adorn the
walls of our city, and inspire or depress, by their
191
" party" eloquence. The tricks of an election are
ridiculously disgusting.
Wanting to speak with friend a few evening*
since, I sought him in the Quakers' meeting, where a
female orator was haranguing with all the fire of the
spirit. I think much of the efiect is lost (at least oa
casual visitors to the meeting) by the painful efforts
under which the speaker seems to labour the sigh
and the groan which often close a sentence, and souje-
times follow every word, fatigues without instructing.
I joined one Sunday morning a crowd, who were re-
ceiving spiritual comfort from a holy man: bespoke
clearly and vehemently; and seemed to make a con-
siderable impression on his audience. I was not dis-
pleased with his discourse, and thought, as I went
home, that if our clergy would enforce the good sense
they read to us, by a little semblance of feeling, their
congregations would not suffer by it.
22d August, 1805.
DEAR J ,
I TAKE an early opportunity to write to you,
s I know it will give you pleasure to hear that F
is well. I Kpent Sunday and Monday with him. His
192
house is situated about five minutes walk from Camden
Place, nearly on a level with it, and commanding a
most beautiful and extensive prospect. Beechen Cliff
fronts it, and gradually sloping to the east, terminates
in a luxuriant and picturesque valley, interspersed with
villages and villas. The house is convenient, with a
piece of garden ground before and behind it. F 's
health improves he walks out daily, and has some-
times extended his rambles to five or six miles round
the country! Exercise is all the medicine he wants,
but I fear if he returns to Bristol, he will again fall
into his old sedentary habits. * *
Your extract from Sotheby's O heron, will induce me
to procure the volume. I have formed a very exalted
idea of it's excellence. Zimmerman's anecdote of
Wieland has given me the most favourable expectation
of his genius and taste. I have been reading Southey
and Cottle's edition of Chatterton. His acknotoledged
poems bear too great an affinity to Rowley, to doubt
his capability to write the whole; whatever assistance
he has received, I am persuaded it was books, and not
manuscripts, which furnished it. I have attentively
examined the question, and receive the "whole as a
monument to the genius of Chatterton. * Tlie
mind of a poet is indeed, my friend, above the com-
prehension of the vulgar. They cannot analyse his
feelings, nor should they pronounce judgment on his
errors. Abstracted and solitary, he lives in a creation
of his own the world cannot feel his pleasures, the
193
world cannot conceive them; and though the " aber-
rations of genius'* conduce but little to worldly in-
terests, yet the unshackled feelings of poetic indepeji'
dence possess a joy beyond them.
I will give some songs to my musical acquaintance:
the receipt of money would degrade me in my own
opinion, and chain my efforts. Vale atque vale !
Your affectionate friend.
26th August, 1805.
MY DEAR H ,
I SINCERELY thank you for the remarks which
formed a part of your last. The older I grow, the
more I feel an inability to reach my own ideas of poetic
excellence. Incessant application to business is ill
calculated to inspire the high, the haughty, and daring
spirit of song. Interest is not the nurse of freedom.
I sometimes repine in bitterness, but I live for others;
and that consideration, together with a little worldly
judgment, affords me some content. I can only regret
that the subjects of your criticism were so unworthy
of it. When I see you, I may perhaps shew yovl
something that better deserves your critical attention,
o
194
Lord Kaimes is a stranger to rae, but I have read
Blair attentively. Abroad and liberal studyof cri-
ticism is. indeed advantageous; but too scrupulous an
attention to verbal minutiae, reminds rae of the painter,
who, in a distant view of a sea fight, drew every sailor
distinctly. The heart is after all the hest poetic critic.
Whatever warms that, and fills the mind with gener-
ous and noble sentiments, is poetry. The rest may be
the jingle of ahorsebell. Yet think not that I depre-
ciate the critic's merit; I know it's value, and would
gladly profit by it: but may not the gardener who
weeds too closely, injure the root of the tree? as Aken-
side, in pruning his poem, destroyed many of it's
blossoms? Contrast, according to St. Pierre, is the
High Priest of Beauty; and some faults in composition,
(like those of Shakespeare) may serve to set off beauties,
as the shadow of a cloud heightens the effect of sun-
shine.
Bristol, 8th Sept, 1 805,
* *****
P * * The exertions of the abolitionists
^e^erve success; but Interest is a hedgehog, and Virtue
needs an aripour she is not yet possest;of to encounter
ig5
her prickles. All the advocates for the slave tradq,
whose arguments 1 have seen, ground their reasons on
expediency there has not been one individual daring
enough to tell us it is right. Whatever action militates
against a general rule which is conducive to the well-
being of society, must be wrong; and the slave trade
has done this. It has given us sugar in exchange for
the right of property and personal independence. The
dominion of Europeans in Africa, is not the result of
submission to acknowledged authority it is tyranny
backed by power: and no stronger reason obtains why
European nations do not sell each other, as well as the
Africans, than that they are not able to doit. The
asserted inferiority of the Negro remains to be proved
I mean, an inferiority to mankind in general in a state
of barbarism. We know it is not a radical defect, for
it improves by cultivation; and whatever is capable of
improvement, may be inferior in circumstance but not
in nature. Allowing, however, the inferiority, are we
not taught by religion and morality to pity and assist,
not to oppress and destroy the weak? and while the
title of Man is allowed to an African, he has that claim
upon his fellow men. Till we can prove him a hriite,
we have no right to treat him as one. The improve-
ment of their situation in the West Indies, is the
boasted compensation to the slave for his loss of liberty.
But this is no palliation, unless it can be shewn, that
to irnprove tlieir situation is the object of the trade.
Alas! how degraded is the human mind, when argu-
ment is necessary to prove that oppression is wrong!
o2
196
***
F is about to return to Bristol.
This will be very grateful to me, for since your de-
parture, I have much felt the want of one who could
think and/ee/, as well as converse with me. *
Franklin says that a poet is a useless writer. Is this
true? The world derives more positive advantages
from the labours of the farmer, the mechanic, and the
statesman ; but does not the influence of the poet serve
to ameliorate the manners of society ? Beattie and
some other writers 'affirm, that the end of poetry is to
please. This, I think, is in some degree degrading it.
It has been made, and ever should be made, the vehicle
of iostraction in all that is great and noble. * *
13th Septembei-, J 805.
* * * *
* * * Yes, my friend, let the Muse be
employed in the cause of Liberty and Justice 'tis the
theme that suits her best. It is true, that much has
been said on the subject you propose, but the Muse
can gather flowers from a desert. The first requisite
la poetry is simplicity not the simplicity of ignorance.
197
but the generous expression of manly sincerity. The
fault of naodern poets (and it is a fault not to be easily
avoided in the present state of literature) is too great
an attention to harmony of sound. Pope is the model,
and not Shakespeare and Milton. Pope himself is an
honour to his country^ yet I sometimes lament the
Jici of his verse. His exquisite sweetness of versifi-
cation, has enervated the taste of criticism, and pro-
duced imitations where we have not his strong sense
to rouse attention. It is the stream, and not the rain-
drop, that invigorates our souls. I love to feel the
waves of song. * * * The literature of a
country bears strong relation to it's political situation.
In a monarchical and settled government, where order
is the priraum mobile, we seldom meet with high
instances of genius; where every man's station is
assigned, there is not much scope for emulation. But
would the turbulence of a republic be compensated by
it's freedom to mental exertion ?
* * # * *
The pursuit of virtue shall strengthen our friendship;
we will kneel together at the altar of Fame, and
perhaps she will not disclaim us. The fiery chariot
has indeed vanished, but the prophet's mantle has
fallen on the earth, aad is worth seeking.
o 3
198
Bristol, 26th Sept. 1805.
MY DEAK J ,
MAN is the creature of habit, custom shapes his
actions, and her influence is strong upon his senti-
ments. In a governraeut where every man is born to
his station, the routine of action is settled. Where the
system is organised, comets may appear, but their
effect will be scarcely perceptible. If genius (I use
the term in it's most comprehensive signification) if
genius was independent of circumstance if externals
tended neither to it's encouragement or depression
and if it's improvement was the consequence of natural
and regular progression then the State least liable to
interruption would be most favourable to it's produc-
tion and subsequent perfection ; but as all these atfect
the mental powers, I conceive a degree of agitation (if
I may so -express it) necessary to the general elicitation
of genius.
But my observation was, " whether the turbulence
of a republic would be compensated by the freedom it
would give to mental exertion." In abstract specula-
tions on republican liberty, I believe most minds advert
to ancient examples. The fame of Greece and Rome
has hallowed the name of republic; and our ideas of
those States are apt to be formed from the individual
rmmes with which we are acquainted. In meditating
I9d
on Greece and Rome, we forget not Homer and Plato,
Cicero and Lucan. Their general and actual state;
however, is little known : we contemplate them through
the mist of obscurity, and obscurity is one source of
admiration. It is as though a stranger should estimate
English talent by the names of Shakespeare, Milton,
and Newton. The government of our country tvas the
most perfect, as it comprized the advantages, without
the*evils, of democratic assemblies. I say was, tot one
Estate of the Empire has gained such a preponderance
in wealth and power, that individual opinion is crushed,
and the helmet of Britannia will one day be exchanged
for the diadem.
October 4.
Pressing engagements prevented my finishing
my letter. H 's arrival was a treat indeed : he left
me on Tuesday morning. His presence excited the
most pleasurable ideas, and led me back to past days.
* , # . , * ^
* * * * ,
The tale you relate so feelingly in your
last, is an impressive instance of the present depravity
of morals and manners among society. The conse-
quent evils call aloud for the interference of legislative
authority. It is a fault in our laws, that mental dfe-
pravity escapes" unpunished. Among the Germans,
seduction' was punished vpith death ; and' it's conse-
quences would amply justify the admissioa of such a
o 4-
200
Jaw into civilized States. The latter may often lake a
useful lesson from barbarians.
The languages are useful as the keys of science,
Many minds possess sufficient strength of genius and
solidity of judgment to rest upon themselves; but as
study produces improvement, it is desirable to drink at
the fountain head. I am not aware of a poetess in
Bristol: I have not indeed seen the verses you alhide
to, but will peruse them the first opportunity.
Bristol, 14.th Oct. 1805.
DEAR J ,
MY observations on our own government were
not dictated by individual feeling, or any personal
cause of complaint. But tht-re ar6 laws for a' whole as
well a.s it's parts. Perhaps under every government
the sum of happiness preponderates: the mind, active
and persevering, if restrained in one will seek another
channel of felicity; and individuals may be happy,
though the State be tottering to destruction. I do not
201
thiak the weight of taxes so great an evil as it is
generally considered. By foreign subsidies only is a
nation really impoverished. Industry and exertion
wjU reoiunerate the majority of the people; and it is
the majority that decide every question of political
advantage. The " Helmet and Diaderji" may be
metaphorical, but my meaning is not so, Thp boast
of our Constitution (and it is a Constitution we may
proudly boast of) is the equilibrium of the three
Estates that compose it. If either acquires a prepon-
derance in the balance of power, the independence of
the other two degenerates to a mere permission to
exist. * * # *
* * The comparison of what I possess, and
what I wish to attain, often chills me. I am endea-
vouring to form some plan of study to dig a founda-
tion for some future edifice. A miscellaneous know-
ledge, is the most convenient and agreeable: but
miscellaneous reading does not form the grand and
principal outline of character so decisive as it should
be. The mind should be provided with a stamina of
principle, before it ranges through the diversified
scenes of literature; and to form this, sdection a,nd
arrans;ement are indispensably necessary. I conceive
that an unlimited acquaintance with books an un-
bounded grasp of knowledge, is not so desirable as a
well-digested and elegant selection of what tends most
po amend the heart and strengthen the judgment. Not
an acquaintance with all, but with the best. To pursue,
however, a regular si/stem, requires a command of time
202
*hd ' circumstance which few possess; and there may
be some little merit in submitting to destiny.
' I have read Matilda's verses, and was pleased with
them ; they are creditable to her Mase and to the city :
do let me know whose you conceive them to be. I
have not the most distant idea. I knew but of one
Bristol poetess, and she is " far away." The transla-
tions of Greek Fragments afforded me great pleasure,
Danae's soliloquy was pathetic, the contrast beautiful.
The writer justly observes, that we have been accus-
tomed to associate the idea of every thing tender with
the name of Simonides. His inscription on the tombs
of the heroes of Marathon, I could never repeat with-
out a glow of nameless feeling.
" I have sat at the foot of Parnassus, but have not
plucked a flower. A few bttds are in embrj'o ; they
may perhaps blossom for the brow of Winter.
Your's ever and affectionately.
Bristol, 4th Nov. 1 805.
DEAREST FRIKND,
THE information and pleasure communicated in
your last, claimed a speedier return; but you must
blame " Oberon/* and not me: the perusal of that
203
beautiful poem having occupied most of my leisura
moments. Yet tliat perusal was a correspondence:
for I dwelt on passages that I knew had all'orded you
delight, and traced in my own feelings the feelings of
my friend. The poem answered the high expectation
I had formed of it the descriptive stanzas are exqui-
site. You know 1 am not a great admirer of perfect
characters ; but Rezia yes, Rezia viust be true.
Have you seen the " Mask of Oberon?" It is the
same tale dramatized by Sotheby : the only origiuaHty
is some fairy songs. The story is curtailed, many of
the original personages omitted, and the time shortened.
If you have not seen it, the perusal will be a pleasure
to you.
Our sentiments upon our political question are sub-
stantially the same, so let it rest for the present. At
some future period, however, when circumstances may
give us more leisure than we now possess, I should
like to enter into some speculations of this kind, or any
other that may tend to mutual pleasure and improve-
ment. *****
From the death of Mr. , I anticipate some
effects that may be connected with future benefit to
myself. But of this hereafter.
H did give me the poem on " Ocean," and I
must apologize for not thanking you for it in my last.
I had read and admired it in the Courier. It contains
^04
much that indicates poetic genius, a high and inde-
pendent souJ, endowed with great warmth of feeling.
The clear reasoning, the manly argument, and liberal
candour of Dr. Paley's pages, have improved me in
my serious hours and Southey's Amadis and Scot's
Minstrel have contributed to allure my spirit from the
dulness of business to the delightful yet forbidden
regions of Fancy.
When I peruse a work that gives to my mind scenes
which the earth " owns not;" when I weep with
Otway, and Collins, or glow to the hallowed strains of
Akenside, I feel my spirit rise within me, and exclaim,
thus would I write ! But I wander to these banquets
of fancy like a permitted captive, whose prison doors
await his return. Does not this sound something like
a preface to the whine of discontent? But 'tis not so,
no there are joys in social intercourse which bind the
spirit to earth ; there are joys in the prospect of inde-
pendence, gained by honest industry, which invigorate
and reconcile every effort. To yo2i I can say any
thing; you will not mistake wishes tor complaints.
And when your friend is insensible to beauty, when
the dream of glory ceases to delight him then wish
him in his grave ! * * * In Richardson^s
Essays on some of Shakespeare's principal characters,
I have found much entertainment. They are a pleasing
epitome of the study of human nature, and serve to
heighten the merit of our bard by explaining his excel-
lence and accuracy,
205
Bristol, 1-7 th Nov. 1805.
DEAR J,
AT length I have the pleasure of telling you,
that F is provided with a habitation in Bristol, I
am rejoiced to have him near me again, and anticipate
much pleasure from the renewal of an intercourse that
always aflbrded it. * * * * *
* * * * * -1^
* * * I have written little lately, and
fear for some time I must write less. At intervals,
however, I have communed with the Muse, and here
transcribe one of the fruits of our intercourse.
Rosa ! in yonder pleasant cave," &c. See page 7J.
* * I saw Mr. L yesterday, who begged
hard for some introductory lines for his lecture; but
I had my hands full of business, and he was to begin
at six o'clock. I perceived from his discourse, that he
thought some compliment paid to the ladies might be
of service to him : I wished to befriend him, and he
appeared in such a flurry, that I promised him to try
what I could do. At my dinner hour I left about
thirty lines for him, bad enough, God knows; but they
told me he appeared to approve them. Had I known
it sooner, I would willingly have endeavoured some-
thing more worthy the subject.
206
I have read MissBaillie's "ConstantinePaleologus/*
and was delighted with it. It contains many beautiful
passages. The comparison of Constantine to a flower-
encumbered sapliiig, is original and highly poetical.
" One thoult see,
Whose manly faculties, beset with gifts
Of gentler grace, and soft domestic habits,
And kindliest feelings, have within him grown
Like a young forest tree, beset and 'tangled,
And almost hid with sweet incumb'ring shrubs;
That, till the rude blast rends this clust'ring robe,
It's goodly hardy stem to the fair light
Discovers not."
How grateful is it to turn from the sickly trash of
modern whrners, to SMch rich and vigorous genius as
MissBaillie's! Mr. L has received no intelli-
gence of his son. I must now conclude this dull
matter of fact letter, and beg you will soon write to
me. I have inserted a *poem in the Mirror, on our
late victory and loss. Do you see the Bristol papers?
Nelson.
'm
16th December, 1805.
DEAR J ,
IF the anxieties of life were ten times greater
than they are, I would seek no better alleviation than
the pleasure I derive from corresponding with you.
The non-possession of a treasure always heightens it's
Value; and Fancy loves the opportunity to indulge ia
visionary bliss, though Reason tells her it never must
be reailized. How often then do I bless the memory
of those who have smoothed the path of friendly com-
munication ! Your letter comes, like the dove to the
walls of Haarlem, bearing comfort on it's wings.
L presented me M'ith some ideas for an address;
but as I cannot work with other men's materials, I
spurred my Pegasus, and the fruit of our journey was
printed in the Mirror. I will send you the lines in
hiy next. I have lately been a truant from the Muses.
Engagements of business and social duties have left
me no leisure.- I have found too that the cultivation
of poetry is not compatible with the study of pounds,
shillings, and pence, for " we cannot serve God and
^iuramon." I have trembled and wept for the sacri-
fice. But the sacrifice is not yet made, my friend, nor
shall it be. The feelings which Heaven has given me,
shall not be checked by interest, that independence
:of rain J which I value as my birthright, shall never
be sold for a mess of pottage.
ao8
Bristol, 14th Jan. 1806.
" Thou brother of adoption ! in the bond
Of every virtue wedded to my soul."
GLADLY do I turn from scenes which have lately
harassed me, to friendship and to you. I vi-rite in
tolerable spirits, for 1 have got through one of the most
fatiguing settlements I have ever yet encountered.
But thank Heaven 'tis over I * * * *
It has been indeed a dreary pause sfnce the date of
ray last; but my heart has turned towards you in the
midst of distractions and cares, as the mind of the
mariner recurs to the delights of home, amid the
horrors of the tempest. * * * *
I promised you a copy of some introductory lines,
and here it is.
" Lo ! from the shrine where adoration bends," &c. See page 79.
My heart-strings have been rudely struck lately,
and they still vibrate. Beaut3% intelligence, and sen-
sibility united against one poor poet are fearful odds!
Heaven knows I am not of a composition to withstand
their influence; " but where 'tis hard to conquer," I
must " learn to fly." Of all our enjoyments, the
chastened pleasure of female society is one of the most
20^
delightful: it often draws from ni exclamations of
enthusiajiin. I riot in visions of romantic rapture and
turn mortified and pensive to reason and reality.
How do you like the poem of " Glendalloch" in the
last Monthly Magazine? I was much pleased with it.
The translations from the Greek aflord me excellent
entertaiiiment 1 should like to see them coUected im a
volume.
Fox has been engaged in Persian poesy, and has
made some translations. Time and Morpheus stop my
pen, and permit me only to wish you all that an affec-
tionate friend care wish.
Bristol, 26th January, 1806^
DEAR 3 ,
MOORE'S prescience will be in higher esteem
among the old women than ever! The curse of the
prophet has blasted the fig-tree. At such, a precariou*'
period as the present, the loss of Pitt will be regretted;
for let us hope, that he would have conquered his pre-
judices, and listened to the real interests of his countrj*.
That country has wept tears of blood for his errorSi
I believe them errors of judgment} I believe he acted
p
aiof
^om principle. But he placed his foot upon ehe heart
of his countr}-, and while his eye was fixed upon the
star of glory, he was insensible to her agony. He
wanted to make her great rather than happy. Popu-
larity has gilded his career; but iu after ages, the
philosophic eye of the historian will see him, and
condemn him. I am a little politician, but I feel
strongly for ray country's welfare, and he has not in-
creased it. Bonaparte, the triumphant Bonaparte, will'
no doubt soon apj>ear upon his own coast and threaten
oar's. But it will be like the ball-fight in Virgil, for
there is a brook between us. Or let him cross we
"will not fear hira* He has not tired the spirit of
Englishmen ; and degenerated as we are, I trust there
will not be one man living to hail him conqueror.
My Muse seems to tell me she could take a daring
flight on such a subjiect. I think it would produce a
good elFect, if appropriate songs were set to some of
our old English tunes, and sung in public by some-
thing above a ballad-singer. The war-song of Roland
won^thefield of Hastings, and the Marseillois' hymn
gained the battle of Lodi.
i.
^ The reputed author of the translations from the
Greek is at Clifton, and is now studying laboriously.
He is intended for the bar, and spends eight hours
tlaily upon Grecian literature. He has been described
to me as a young man of exuberant genius and of great
conversational powers, * * * *
1 . * * * I have been
211
almost an apostate from literary worship, but I antici-
pate a strenuous exertiqn as the summer advances.
Your affectionate friend.
February 10, 1806.
FOR your kind concern, my dear H r-, the
heart thanks you. Forgive my negligence it pro-
ceeded from complicated causes; but you wrong me
if you number want of friendship among them. I
could not apprise you of m}'' illness. I scarcely knew
it myself before I was unable to communicate it.
Yes, I will write to you as " friend and physician/*
and pardon me if I now address you more in the latter
character than the former but they cannot be se-
parated. To repeated colds acting on a constitution
weakened by confinement and fatigued by attention, I
ascribe the cause of my indisposition. On the day
preceding it's commencement, I was oppressed with a
dull heavy pain in my head, but as this was not new
to me, I thought little of it, and in the evening the
pleasure of a social party entirely removed it. I was
in bed, and about to resign myself to sleep, when a
slight cough brought an expectoration of blood into
my handkerchief. I supposed that this might proceed
p2
^12
from a salutary effort of Nature to discharge the redun-
dant blood iu ray head ; and with this idea, I drauk
Mme brandy and water which I had brought up stairs,
and soon went to sleep.
In the morning Ifelt modierately well, but thought
a day's absence from business might be prudent, and
I am glad I did so, for in the forenoon a similar and
more copious haemorrhage took place, which consisted
of much dark and coagulated blood, mixed with mucus.
Medical aid was nqw resorted to, and I took some
medicine, but the bleeding, notwithstanding, returned
four times in the course of the day. I was naturally
much weakened, but felt no pain, except a slight stitch
or tightness in my right side, which a blister afterwards
removed. Indeed I had perceived this uncomfortabl
feeling for some time, but took no notice of it, con-
cluding that it arose from cold. I was now feverish
and had pain in my head, which discharges of blood
from my nose relieved; but my cough increased,
though the expectoration of blood gradually lessened,
aud in about five days ceased altogether. I am now,
thank God! better able to leave my bed and walk
about my chamber. My cough has decreased con-
siderably, and a sense of tension at the bottom of my
chest, produced by t^e cough, is likewise much
lessened. I trust that when able to enjoy the benefit
of air and exercise, these symptoms will be entirely
removed: I am still, however, weak and languid, but
that proceeds from the lowering regimen to which I
213
am strictly enjoined to adhere. I have wntten thus
fully, my friend, for I had purposed doing so before I
received year's. If you can suggest any thing that
will be likely to expedite my recovery, I shall scrupu-
lously attend to your directions. My Ytfe is valuable,
not perhaps to myself or general society, but because
I know it's loss would diminish the happiness of those
who are dearest to me. My apothecary tells me my
lungs are injured, but I think not iireparably, as I am
BOW certainly gaining ground.
Bristol, 21st Feb. 1806.
I AM happy, iriy dear J , in being able to
remove your anxiety. I am much better, though still
a prisoner to my chamber. But I look forward with
hope and confidence to renovated health. In the
circle of evils incident to mortality, there are few
without a counter-pleasure. To the invalid, what can
be a greater one, than to know that there are some
who wish him to live?
This will be a sickly letter, but yet to you it will be
a welcome one. A little fine and settled weather is
the medicine I most want. In search of amusement,
I have turned over the poems of Crashaw, a contem-
p 3
porary with Cowley. I believe his poetry is little
known and mentioned less; yet he has written some
pieces of considerable merit. The major part are
spiritual. As you perhaps have not seen them, I think
you will be pleased with the following upon the infant
martyrs.
To see both blended in one Sood,
The mother's milk, the children's blood.
Makes me doubt if Heaven will gather,
Roses hence or lilies rather.
His poem " on the wounds of our crucified Lord,"
has nearly the sweetness of Moore's versification; I
have not time to transcribe it. The first miracle is no
stranger to poietry. Crashaw has the following cpi^
gram on it.
Thou "water turn'st to loint (fair friend of life)->
Thy foe, to cross the sweet arts of thy reign,
Distils from thence the tears ofiurath and strife,
^nd so turns toine to water back again.
One of his long poems oontains some Miltonic pas-
sages. He is, however, in general quaint and tedious.
I hope you have escaped the effect of our fickle
climate. Farewell, my dear J- .
215.
Bristol, 7th March, 180C.
MV DEAR H ,
PREVIOUS to the receipt of your letter, I had
fixed on a removal ; and the bustle, &c. attending it,
prevented my writing as you requested and as I wished.
I am now at my friend Mrs. D.'s, St. Michael's Hill,
and I purpose as soon as the weather and my strength
will allow me, to remove higher. I have taken ad-
rantage of the few fine days we have had, to enjoy the
benefit of fresh air, and feel my strength a little re-
cruited. I am better, but not well. Yesterday 1
spent two hours at the bank, and they were very
willing to see me there. * * *
*'*
* * Remember me most kindly to E. T .
I will write to him as soon as this languor of mind and
body will allow me to think. I was much pleased
with the last number of the Monthly Magazine: the
resumption of Narva's elegant papers was a treat I did
not expect. The Memoir of Pitt, our great Moloch
Minister, was well and candidly written, but rather too
concise. What say the politicians with you Peace
or War? Speculation is busy here. All the little
partizans of the Babylonian harlot snarl at the dismissal
of her friends. I believe it is generally agreed, that
Fox shall bear blame for every error of the new ad-
ministration. * * * # *
;* * * * * *
p4.
ai6
Tell F it will be charity in him to write to me;
and do so yourself as soon as you can. God bless
youi
Your's faithfally.
P. S. " Yo\ing men shall dream dreams.'^ I have
had many poetic visions lately. Heaven only knows
if ever they will be r-ealized !
Bristol, 10th March, 180G.
THE contents of your last was more efficacious
than the skill of the " leech" I congratulate you most
heartily on your succe^; and may fortune be ever
equally propitious to your endeavours. The manner
in which you mention your ill health, makes me hope
ftU thdt I wish. M^y yojur ne^M; confirm it!
I have renjoyed to my friend Mrs. D 's on St.
Michael's Hill, and intend, as the summer advances, to
look for a lodging nearer the fields. Want of exercise
haf= been one source of my illness, and I must endea-
vour to remedy the defect. J own it is not without
regret. *haf I rolinquish schemes which I had formed
of " other things ;" but reason approves the temporary
217
abandonment of favourite pursuits, to ensure their
longer enjoyment. * * * * *
* # #
Is the annihilation of those generous sympathies
which heighten the charities of life and ameliorate it's
evils, the necessary consequence of an unrelaxed atten-
tion to commercial interest? I know that to the heart
of one man, trade has proved a torpedo.
Though weak in mind and body, the Muse has not
forsaken me. I have composed indeed only a fragment
or two; but she has blessed me with visions which
futurity may perhaps embody. In the calm that nature
feels in a temporary absence of suffering, I thought
upon my country. I thought how high she stood
among the nations, and felt proud to be an English-
man: but I reflected with what rapid strides her
morality degenerates how weak her laws to punish
the vices of the heart In a political as well as moral
view, the crime of seduction equals murder: yet what
is the recompence a parent gains for the loss of his
child, for perhaps the wreck of his happiness? Lei
England blush to answer. Let her blush still deeper,
that the paltry recompence must be obtained by false-
hood ! These reflections gave birth to a project which
I now submit to you. The talents of the present
administration may allow a sanguine man to hope for
^' better things." Erskine has been remarkable for
the eloquence and success with which he has pleaded
against cases of seduction : do you think the song of
t5e bard might rouse the attention of the statesman ?
r is the eyil too strongly rooted.
I hare written but little of late ; returning health will,
I hope, brace my nerves and string my lyre.
Your's roost affectionately.
Bristol, St. Michael's, 24th March, 1806.
DHAR
*
* I am delighted with the poem you have
sent me, and have one for you in return, though in a
diflejrent strain. Expect it in the next parcel you
receive. I have hung " Love and Glory" at each end
of -my Muse's broom-stick, and know not which pre-
ponderates; but I observe that when the Muse ascends,
she gejierallj/ turns her face to Glory. There are mo-
ments indeed in which I wish to sweep the Anacreontic
string, and luxuriate in it's echo. But when silting,
as just now, by the gleam of a half-extinguished fire,
silent and solitary, thoughts of a stenier nature will
sometimes arise, and wild dreams lay hold of my ima-
pnation, that fascinate only to betray. * * *
219
Miss has at length condescended to smile upon
the sons of men. She is married to Mr. , whom
I respect, although I never saw him : for I think Miss
's husband must be worthy. * * * I had
a great deal to say to you, but the entrance of the
doctor has scared it all away. I am still very weak,
but my spirits are better to-day, and I have enjoyed
for the first time this fortnight, the use of my legs in
the fresh air. Are you a prophet? You wrote of the
power of Beauty; and a priestess of the temple lives
next door to us. I offered up my silent adoration at
my good aunt's on Friday, and then rode home in my
sedan, wishing for a companion. There is a holy halo
round the brow of modest Beauty, that inspires a sen-
timent not unlike devotion. * * * *
* * * * * * The bells are
now ringing for another naval victory: our Admirals
seem resolved to follow up the game, I think the
pmperor will not like the chances. Te procul
diabolus.
April 10, 1806.
MY DEAREST H ,
YOU must certainly think one of these things
either that I am worse, gone into the country or very
lazy. The latter in truth is the case; but that alone
fcas not delayed my writing. You told me to state all
"226
CBjr !^mptotiL^, and I felt iitclitied to wait till I had
i^ne to meotioB. I hare still at times a throbbing
hi5ad-acbe, and atn not quite free from *' crimps and
caraMups''* in my chest. My cough does not trouble me
dar'mg the day, but returns a little towards night, and
r^ttlarty recttrs when i awake in the morning. My
breatbiBg, fcowever, is perfectly free, and my expec-
tovation but little tinged with blood, so that I angtir
fevooraWy. * * * .
I know that my strength is not such as to warrant
foach attention to business; yet ^rae circumstances
wMch I may hereafter explain, make me unwilling to
rrfmqoish it altogether. But set your mind at ease.
I will Dot sacrifice my health> the best portion of
eartbJy happiness, for thus world^s gear. My senti-
Ktents respecting business are unchanged. I will make
it a. eas, h shall not be an end. As soon as the
weaCber is a little settled, I purpose going into the
country; and a plan has popped into my head, the
idea of which is most pleasant to me. Yoo mentioned
>n your last something about leaving town. When do
yoo bury the dry bones? Could we not then in some
mral r^reat spend a little holiday together? I must
go senaewhere for change of air I mast endeavour to
re-establish my health ; and I know not where those
objects are so likely to be attained, as in the society of
the friend 1 love. With jroa for a physician, I should
look for health with confidence. Think of this, and
tbiok seriou$lj of k . When yoa have decided, write-
221
Bristol, 19di April, l'5t3,
BEAR J y
YOU would have had this letter sooner, bat ftisi*
is my only copy of the *poem, aad I ha?e feeta too
lazy to transcribe it. * * *
* * With respect to myself, my laeafeli
is not exactly what I wish it, n<M" such as to create
auxiety. To satisfy those friends who think my re-
covery too slow, I have to-day sent for Dr, LoveJS, al
I trust shall soon be well. In consequence f (hi*
advice, I have relinquished attendance at the &aL
****** E. F is sitting at My
elbow. He is come here with aa intentioa to setile-
k will write again as soon as I can.
Your's affectionatelly-
Th Judgment Set page 6j.
Bristol, 9 th May, I SOS.
DEAR J ,
I SAT down a few days since to wTite a poetical
epistle to you, but the leaden demon struck me on the
head with an injunctioa to be quiet. Know then i
222
plain prose, that I am better. Next week I depart for
Brislington, where I have procured lodgings. The
pure air of that neighbourhood I anticipate benefit
from; and a renewal of strength will, I hope, permit
me to wander a little up and down the face of the
earth.
Being thoroughly convinced, my friend, that in this
world health is the summum bouum, I have determined
to make whatever sacrifice it's recovery may demand.
From my own feelings, and the opinion of Dr. Lovell,
it's necessity has been made clear to me. I do not live
in the world for myself alone.
Was there a necessity to ask permission for one
friend to do good to another? Let me profit then by
your remarks as soon as you can. Your approbatioa ^
of my poem will make me proud of it. I was reading "**
some lines a few days since on May-day, in which,
among other songsters, the bard enumerated one, that
to me was quite new.
The snife aloft with warbling soft,
Cheers bis lone partner of the fen!!"
223
May 10, 1806,
I HASTEN, my dear H , to put an end . ta
your anxieties, by telling you that I am better. Dr*
Loveirs advice and prescription hare much beaefiJted
me. I was going down hill when he first saw mc, but
I trust I am now ascending again. The doctor has or-
dered me to an hospital, alias a farm-house at Brisling-
ton, where I have taken a lodging. The place is
pleasant, and the distance from home easy. Need I
j?ay how much the joy of seeing you will add to my
comfort? We will, my friend, spend a little season
of enjoyment somewhere together perhaps on the
brow of " high Plinlinunon." I have resolved to
sacrifice whatever time may be necessarj' to the re-
establishment of my health.- Dr. L. says the whole
fUmmer would be well bestowed on that object. But
f all these thiags when we meet;
And so J has been in London. I wish his next
trip may be to Bristol. Between ourselves perhaps we
may visit fiim. I am dreadfully stupid, and am for-
bidden all attention to study, and so 1 contrive to
amuse myself with nothing. I sit and muse with
Fancy, and we get good sport sometimes. I have
killed a tyrant, discovered a murderer, and rescued a
lady ! -"Twould do you good to see the gimcrdcks thafc
run about my brain like little men in clockwork.
Well I am not the only fool that plays with puppeta.
224
How does the poetic star look with you ? dim and
sickly, or bright, as it should be? The idea of seeing
you has driven every thing else out of my head ; and
90 I can say no more, because I have no n>ore to' say.
God bless you, and " if they all loved you as I do,"
you would be the high priest of iEsculapius before
Christmas. Farewell.
Brislington, 19th May 1806.
MY DEAR J- ,
I WRITE this from a farm-house, to which I
removed on Saturday; and where, as far as I can
judge from two days' experience, I may expect to find
all the benefit 1 seek; but indeed I was not till lately
aware of my own weakness.
My present habitation is situated in a sequestered
Talley, where I am surrounded by green fields, and
enlivened by the varied harmony of the " feathered
songsters." I feel the air pure and refi'eshing, and
although the prospect from my windows is limited, yet
the disposition of the trees in the field immediately
before me is beautifully picturesque, while the bound-
ary hill beyond leaves something for the fancy to
supply. A short walk gives me a view of Dvmdry
225
Tower, and I gaze at it with all the affection of an old
acquaintance^ But I have a greater pleasure in antici-
pation ; for H- has allowed me the hope of gazing
shortly upon hitn.
The sensible remarks of Aikin, in that letter to his
son, in which he points out to him the realities of a
country life, often occur to me. When very young,
and before I had an opportunity of examining the
subject, I faithfully believed all that I read of lowing
herds, bleating flocks, and simple swains; but experi-
ence has undeceived me, and I have discovered the
farmer to be little better than a slave, and what is
worse, too often an ignorant one.
The system of granting leases which woiy prevails,
will, if continued, eventually annihilate the ancient
race of farmers. The short lease and periodical ad-
vance of rent, bang, like the stone of Sisyphus, over
the head of the husbandman. His exertions are made
fearfully and unwillingly, for he acts under the de-
pressing expectation of being called upon to pay for
all the improvement he makes in the property of
another, and doubtful of being allowed to enjoy the
fruits of his industry. Under such circumstances, the
old man will look out for a better trade for his soa.
12$
30th May.
TPIIS letter has been unaccountably delayed, p
received a few days since your welcome epistle.
H had apprised me of your visit to London, where
I wish I coiiid have met you. Can you tell me where
H is? He was about to remove when I last wrote
to him, and did not give me any address, as he pur-
posed being so soon in Bristol.
Moore's poems are vitiously seductive. Now which
is to blame? the fnah who writes what will please
and betra}'', or the manners that have formed minds
weak enough to be pleased and betrayed?
Foster's observation* is singular. I shall like to
peruse his argument, for I am a non<-content. I had
before heard a respectable character of his Essays. I
have arranged matters at the bank, and do not intend
returning there till SeptembefJ No, no, my friend, I
will " Icam to vjait." Since I cannot be myself, I will
endeavour tobe like others. When, my candle is once
lighted, I Cclre not whether I hold it to the l)evil or St.
-Anthony. * * * * -k ^
I am as nauch better as I could expect to be d.
speedy recovery I must not hope for.
Your's most afTectionatel)'.
See Foster's Essay " on the Aversion of Men of Taste to Evan-
gelical Religion."
227
Brislington, June 5, 1806.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
HOW welcome to me was the letter I this day
received from you. Jn yqur last you had mentioned
a time when I might expect you; I anxiously counted
the days of that week, and when the last came without
you, I was not happy. Thank you then for your pre-
sent favour; it gave me real and solid comfort. I
want you, Edward, for I am tired of this listless lan-
gour, this idleness of life. Do not, however, suppose
that I am indulging in the murmur of discontent.
Man is to be tried by suftering, and I accept the con-
ditions of human existence: I fear only for my weak-
ness.
I have been here now three weeks, and am on the
whole better, but my cough still clings to me; and I
am not yet allowed to partake of a slice of an ox.
I was much amused by the account of Galls's Crani-
ology in the Monthly Magazine. The answer to i
did not excite my respect: it seemed to substitute in-
vective for argument, and displayed more irritatio
than philosophy. It might perhaps be as well if the
whims and vagaries of experimentalists received but
little notice; yet due attention should be paid to every
thing that presents the prospect of elucidating truth.
That there is a relation between the organ and the
a2
21Q
idea seems to me clear enough, or why does accuracy
of thought depend so much on the health of our
organs. Remember me most kindly to .
M must be much grown since I saw her, and I
doubt not but her eyes sparkle and her cheeks bloom
in just proportion. Every thing is prepared for your
reception, and 1 am all expectation till you arrive.
Accept, &c.
MY DEAR J-
I AM sensible that an explanation is necessary
for my having so long neglected to answer your wel-
come letters. But 1 have scarcely been in that tone
of mind which would enable me to write to you as I
wished; and H (God bless him!) between his
patient and other unavoidable avocations, has found
no little occupation here. We shall settle, I hope, to-
morrow on our future plan; it is probable that we
shall be visitors at C and P- . I must strive
liard, for the days shorten before nie. What exertion
can do shall be fairly attempted. The result is above
human controul; but whatever it may be, I will ask of
Heaven one blessing more, and that shall be resigna-
tion. I have caught but a transient view of this world,
and yet my heart-strings are firmry tied to some of it's
objects; for them I would " pray to live," and to live
-229
with abHity for exertion. This prayer may still be
granted; for though weakened, I am not subdued.
The spirit has drooped, but may it not again revive?
The " ^loamiri* of hope is yet beautifu), and the mght
may be forced to wrestle ere she be victor. In your
last you touched a heart-string. I have indeed nursed
the wish, not to be among my countrymen like those
who are forgotten, *****
I have at times amused myself with looking over my
poems, and I find it will be necessary to bestow much
time upon correcting them. Whenever the period of
publication shall aiTive, I propose to submit my selec-
tions to your friendly criticism.
Some other circumstances than iHneas have lately
brought sorrow with them; among these the death of
our intimate friend Miss K has sensibly affected
me. Her confinement was very short; and thougii
for some time past her health had been precarious, yet
to her parents the stroke was sudden and terrible. I
have been interrupted so often whilst writing this
letter, that I must conclude^ lest it be delayed another
day. I cannot omit, however, to mention, that we had
the pleafture of 's company to tea yesterday, and
this evening we sip the " liquid leaf" at her hospitable
mansion.
I have much more to say, but must for the present
jdefer it. Expect another letter from me ere I leave
q3
230
BristoT. H begs his kindest regards to you.
Congenial spirits do indeed visit each other; for I have
met with you in many a dream, and many a daylight
meditation. With all that friendship can wish for
your welfare and happiness, I remain
Your's most affectionately.
P , 23d August, 1805.
DEAR J ,
THE interval that has elapsed in our correspond-
ence would have been more gloomy to me, had not
imagination often brought you to my side. We have
conversed in idea, and I have blessed the fancy that
almost gave me the happiness of reality, * *
* * * *
The anticipation of seeing you affords me much
delight, but I regret with H that your stay will
be so short. On Sunday week we shall expect you.
H will meet you at , and convey you to P- .
I have been here a fortnight, and feel some benefit
from the change What the destiny of my future life
may be, I know not. Though better, I am not well
enough to warrant a return to the fatigues of business;
yet I cherish the hope that time will restore me. To
231
live without the power of action is not to be prayed
for. We spent three days at S very agreeably
this week, and witnessed the storm ou Tuesday night
in high perfection. The burst of the thunder and it's
reverberation through the vallies, among which we
"were situated, was inexpressibly awful ^nd sublime>
while the waves of the Severn, illuminated by the vivid
glare of the lightning, formed a beaunful contrast to
'the heavy douds that seemed to. rest ou it's surface.
The country round S is rich and picturesque,
and the. many elegant mansions with which the neigh-
'bourhood abounds, exhibit to great advantage the taste
of it's inhabitants I was gratified the other day by
seeing two. fine pieces of Gobelin tapestry at Lyppiat
Park, the seat of Paul Wathen, Esq. They once
.formed part of the embellishments of Beckford^s su-
perb mansion at Fonthill, and are considered as of
.great value. The story is that of Queen Esther. In
:the first piece is represented her decoration by the
"virgins, and in the second her presentation to the king.
They possess the glowing colours and correct delinea-
4ioa of the most finished paintings.
Have you heard from F since his removal? I
saw him the day before I left Bristol, and he appeared
tolerably well. I am called to dinner, and must con-
clude myself
Your ever affectionate friend.
a4
232
September 23, 180(5.
" MY DEAR T5DWARD,
I FEEL most sensibly the want of your society;
when shall I see you? I hope very soon, for I have
inuch to say that 1 know not how to write. My
iiealth is nearly as it was, but I hope I have not lost
ail the benefit I received at P . * * *
"When last I saw Dr. L , he proposed my spending
the winter out of England ; but if such a removal was not
practicable, he suggested that the next best plan would
be for me to lead a life of quietness in some sheltered
situation. He rejected the idea of a return to business
as a risk of life: my own feelings had before decided
that point. The foundation of any plan for going
abroad must be the certainty of a companion; a soli-
tary voyage would conduce but little to my con-
valescence. This affair must therefore remain in
uncertainty till I see j/OM.
I received from J the other day a letter, which
revived in my mind the idea of publication. Tran-
scription and revision would serve to recreate my
winter solitude. My uncopied manuscripts have in-
creased upon my indolence. I find them to contain
more than eighteen hundred lines, * *
* * * * #
Mr. and Mrs. Fox are well, and remember you
kindly in their enquiries F has made some
233
translations lately, and nearly completed his microsco-
pical improvements. I do not often see him, for his
literary stove is too hot for me under present circum-
stances. Let me hear from you soon, for I want to
know how and what you do.
Your's ever.
Bristol, 21th Sept. 1806.
DEAR 3 ,
"WOMEN are the root of all evil:" blame
them, therefore, that I did not sooner apprize you of
my return to Bristol. On my arrival I found Miss
<3 -, who claimed and received all the leisure which
some new arrangements I had to form allowed me.
I find myself benefited by my excursion to P ,
and the man of physic congratulated me at my return
on the amendment of my looks. Heaven, I trust, will
yet restore me to the performance of my duty in
society. I shall, however, be a recluse this winter.
* * * * * * A return
to business is not at present practicable, and I shall
consequently soon relinquish all interest at the bank.
This I do not regret, for it held out no prospect worth
A sacrifice. I have now to run a new race : wh^it may
234
be the scenes it will present, or where may be the
goal to which I shall arrive, is matter for solitary spe-
culation. Jt was a wish that mingled with my boyish
sports, to do something that man might love my me-
mory; and there still liveg within nae an indefinite
feeling, a restlessness of want, that seems not to look
for it's object in this world. * * * *
* * *
Bristol, Oct. 11, 1806.
MY DEAIl J ,
OF all the consolations which the mercy of
Heaven has afforded to suffering, comparison is not the
least. Among the mass of thosa who complain, how
few have a right to do so. There does not exist in the
circle of one man's observation, a be'ng so wretched as
to stand alone in misery. Every murmurer may find
equality of suffering in most cases a superiority.
While then we are only one step lower than the
highest of misery, we should lift the eye with thank-
fulness; that man only who sits on the top may be
allowed to weep.
I have often observed with what tenacity old and
established invalids support their claim to infirmity.
235
Do you mention to them the afflictions of anotherjv
they will quickly interrupt you by a detailed account
of their own greater ailments. Why should a man
wish to be thought better or worse than he is? Does
it not look like a selfish wish to monopolize the com-
forts of compassion ?
I have selected a few poems in pursuance of our
plan, and shall set about polishing them with a view
to their appearance before you.
I do not find myself equal to the labour of compo-
sition, and rather suppress than encourage zny yearning
that way. I have a thing or two in hand, but know
not what their progress may be. God bless you
write soon, and don't forget the poems.
Your's most affectionately.
October , 1806.
MY DRAR J ,
YOUR last was a fair proof of your industry.
I have been looking over my papers, and shall send
you shortly the fruit of my labours. I have not among
my poems many I would hesitate to acknowledge. It
was seldom my custom to keep copies of such pieces
as were occasioned by passing circumstances. Among
236
those I hare selected are two only which I \vouI3
rather publish without a name. The arrangement of
the poems most be promiscuous, proper regard being
paid to contrast, &c.
October 22.
I have beea prevented from finishing this letter by
the trouble of removing from the hill to , where
I have now taken up my abode.
My itlea of a preface is, that it should be short that
it should betray neither a fastidious contempt of critU
cism, nor a supplication for it's favour. asserted
what no man will believe, tJiat he neither expected nor
sought either fame or profit from the publication. We
might say much of the circumstances under which
many of the poems were written; but yet, though
anxious for their fate, I would rather they made their
way by intrinsic merit, and if they possess not enough
of that to claim the applause of jast criticism, let them
resign their pretensions. I would not hesitate to con-
fess, that the object of publication is celebrity, nor
wonid I profess to disregard the profit of a second
edition. If you can make any tbmg of these hints 'i\%
well; say something about it in your next. I confess
I am solicitous that the world should look kindly ou
my labours; I regard my pieces as old friends, whose
composition has cheered me in many an hour of soli-
tude and sorrow, and they have been the vehicles of
joy in happier moments.
237
I have read the poems of Montgomery, and they
answer the expectation I had formed of them. The
volume contains some beautiful lines: the " Pilloxo"'
was my favourite. But I do not think he has ail the
aierit of originality iu the " Wanderer of Switzeriaad,"
that he seems to claim. * * *
H is here, and I hope will spend some tinw
with me. I employ him as my amanuensis. With
respect to my health, I find no alteration that should
depress or elate me: I am about to try somewhat of a
new plan, and may God speed itl J. D is tho
victim of his disease. Poor fellow! I had looked al>
him sometime without hope. The poisoned fang <f
the demon had pierced too deep.
Write to me; for your letters are my chief comfort.
With the kind regards of my family receive those of
an affectionate friend.
The following letter, addressed to his sister, was
written on some blank leaves prefixed to " More's
Strictures on Female Education."
MY DEAR ELIZA,
AS you are now arrived at that period of life,
when your conduct as a member of general society
-238
will subject you to the severity of remark, and censure
be ever ready to seize with avidity the slightest devia-
tion from propriety, I feel myself impelled both by
duty and afiection to submit to yQur judgment the
following remarks;, and though I cannot advance the
claim of great experience or profound knowledge to
command your attention, yet truth will, I hope, com-
pensate for the former, and the regard of a brother be
admitted as a substitute for the latter.
It has been said, and indeed modern manners have
too strongly corroborated the assertion, that women
are but secondary beings in the scale of society that
their minds are not capable of great exertion, and that
even common sense is an unnecessary ingredient in
their cup of happiness. We are told too, that all the
excellence of woman should consist in artless inno-
cence or sprightly humour: but the disciples of this
doctrine seem not aware, that simplicity without
strength of mind, degenerates into insipidity ; and that
humour without sense, is a meteor of folly. But do
not suppose that I mean to contemn either simplicity
or cheerfulness. Real simplicity is a woman's greatest
ornament ; rt serves to heighten every mental accom-
plishment, and adds new beauty to external perfec-
tion : but simplicity of maimers is not weakness of
intellect, and judgment should always temper the
sallies of humour. I deprecate mbst strongly that
opinion which erroneously supposes an inferiority in
the female mind, and which Nvould suffer the rose of
23^
beauty to blossom uncultivated, or let the fragrance of
it's leaves be the only boast of it's existence.
To suppose for an instant that women are incapable
of tlie attainments of rational beings, is to insult their
Creator. Is it consistent with our idea of /Mmighty
goodness, to imagine that he would expect (and he
does expect it) from so large a part of his creation, the
active duties of j'casomible agents, if be had formed
them with capacities inadequate to their performance?
He has given to the female mind a lively sensibility, a
quickness of perception, and au ability to reason; but
be did not bestow them to sufler by neglect: for he
will demand of seasibiiity the promotion of happiness;
from quickness of perception, he will require rectitude
f conduct; and from reason, he will expect the
actions of an immortal spirit. The diamond must be
polished ere it's lustre can be exhibited, and women
must learn to think ere they become truly respectable.
I do not consider it necessary that females should be
initiated into the more abstruse sciences; but it is^
essential that they should endeavour to attain a know-
ledge of general literature, and not sacrifice their
judgment to fashion. That women are capable of
employing their minds in active enquiry, the names of
Montague, More, Barbauld, and a multitude of others
incontestibiy prove: but as the work I here present to
your acceptance contains much excellent instruction,
and indeed comprehends all tliat can be generally said
240 #
on the subject, I shall content myself with recommend-
ing it to your most attentive perusal and re-perusal,
and address my remarks to yourself individually.
You will perceive by the preceding observations,
that I consider intellectual accomplishments as forming
the chief ornament of woman. The influence of
beauty will be transient as the meteor; but the beam
of mental excellence, like the sun, will be felt when-
ever it shines.
And in you, my Eliza, whom I not only wish to see
qua1, but superior to the rest of your sex, I must
expect that excellence. I know your disposition per-
haps better than yourself; I know you to be equal to
it's attainment, and I cannot, I will not admit incapacity
as an excuse for non-exertion. Believe me, Eliza,
believe a brother who loves you as his ovvn soul, that
you will reap the benefit of this. In hours of retire-
ment and seasons of solitude, you will find resources
in your own breast the point of sorrow will be blunt-
ed the zest of pleasure heightened and when yoa
become (as you most probably one day will) a wife,
you will find that the bond of conjugal aftection is
never so strong, as when tightened by that respect
which intellectual superiority commands.
Your aiFectionate brother.
XVll
acutely sensible to the perception of intellectual excel-
lence, it is hardly to be expected that Roberts could
Ipass through even the little span of existence that was
allotted him, without discovering some kindred female
mind to which he would feel permanently attached.
That such was the fact, many of his letters clearly
prove. An interesting young lady, into whose society
he was introduced during an excursion that he made
so early as the year 1803, appears to have awakened
in his bosom such emotions of tenderness and affection
as death only could extinguish. Her subsequent ill-
ness and decease, on which he so feelingly expatiates
in some of his letters, put a melancholy termination to
his fondly cherished hopes. This event seems to have
preyed much both upon his health and his spirits, and
he has frequently alluded to it in such of his poems as
were written about that period ; but it was remarked,
that after her death he scarcely ever mentioned her
name, or adverted to the cause of his affliction. The
sorrow that he had experienced for the loss of a most
amiable and promising "^sister, who fell a victim to
consumption at the age of 18, in the year 1798, seems
to have been again revived on this trying occasion.
In his friendships he was ardent and sincere, return-
ing the attachment of his frifends with reciprocal
affection. He seemed to possess an innate contempt^
He has pathetically lamented her untimely fate in his Elegy
written at CUftoB."
XVUl
foronmeanjng: folly, and an indignation for current
rices, the expression of which lie was not always dis-
posed to repress. He was alike ready to forgive an
injury and to confer a benefit, and the warmth of his
heart was equal to the soundness of his judgment.
The following lines were left by him in the apartment
of one of his friends, who was about to remove to a
distant Fesidence.
TO
FRIEND of my soull when far away.
To distant realms of joy thou'rt gone;
Our friendship still, like Echo's lay,
Shall vibrate with $s sweet a tone.
If o'er thy cheek a tear should rove.
If thro', thy breast a pang should dartj
That tear shall nurse a flower for Love,
That pang it must not pain thy heart!
And when Regret shall trace thy name.
And Memory prompt my soul to weep;
Hope shall unfold thy future fame.
And hush each throbbing pulse to sleep !
1804-. W. I. R.
Roberts's appearance was manly, his complexion
dark, his eyes black and vivid, and his . countenance
intelligent J
XIX
" Yet in his cheek there was the sickliness
Which thought and feeh'ng leave, wearing away
The hue of youth."
His constitution, indeed, was naturally delicate, and
he was frequently so much oppressed by violent head-
achs, as to be rendered silent from suffering for daj'S
together. These warnings of the disease, which ulti-
mately carried him to the grave, united with the
amiable qualities of his mind and heart, endeared him
the more to his relations and friends. For although he
early displayed a spirit of independence and a decision
of character that, uncontrouled by reason and unattem-
pered by feeling, might have degenerated into obsti-
nacy, yet to his parents was he uniformly kind and
affectionate, and to all their wishes ever tractable and
obedient. With a passion for literature, that naturally
made him wish to devote to it his whole time, he
shrunk not from the irksome duties of his employment,
and however he might! y secretly repine, the murmurs
of discontent never escaped from his lips. In the
circle of his family he always sought to add to its por-
tion of happiness, and was ever ready to sacrifice his
own gratification when he could promote the comfort
of his friends. One instance may be recorded of the
disinterestedness and affection of his conduct. He had
been invited to join a friend who was then on an
excursion to Oxford, and had obtained a week's leave
of absence for that purpose. Oxford was perhaps the
place that above all others he would have preferred
a2
XX
visiting, and he had written to his friend to fix the day
of his meeting him; but this letter was followed by
another, io which he lamented that an unforeseen
occurrence had prevented his journey. A disappoint-
ment so unexpected, drew from his friend a request
for an explanation. Roberts replied, " To you I may
confide my reason. The sum I had set aside for the
expences of my journey is wanted at home.'*
The apprehensions which his friends had entertained
for his health, were too fatally confirmed by a violent
attack of disease which he has described in his letter
dated Feb. 10, 1806.* This haemorrhage was the
precursor of a decided consumption, under which he
for some time lingered, experiencing those fluctuations
of deceitful hope that generally mark the progress of
that destructive malady. In the summer of the same
year he sought, by an excursion into the country, to
obtain some temporary relief; but his disease had long
teen insidiously gaining ground before he appeared to
be aware of his danger. On his return to Bristol, he
amused himself with collecting togeJther his various
poems, having at that time some prospect of future
publication. But this occupation was finally inter-
rupted by renewed attacks, and the progress of his
disorder convi-riced him of the fallacy of his expecta-
tion that he should surmount his illness. " I must
strive hard," he exclaims, " for the day shortens before
Pge an.
XXI
ttfe. What exertion can do shall be fairly attempted.
The result is above human controul; but whatever it
may be, I will ask of Heaven one blessing more, and
that shall be resignation. I have caught but a tran-
sient view' of this world, and yet my heart-strings are
firmly tied to some of its objects. For them I would
pray to live, and to live with ability for exertion.
This prayer," he adds, "may still be granted; for
though weakened, I am not subdued. The spirit has
drooped, but may it not again revive ? The " gloamin"
of hope is beautiful, and the night may be -forced to
wrestle ere she be victor."
The period at length arrived \vh.en the remotest
expectation of his recovery could no longer be
entertained, and it was then resolved that the hope-
lessness of his state should be candidly disclosed
to him. He received the awful intelligence with
his characteristic magnanimity, and expressed a deep
sense of obligation to the friend who had felt it his
duty to perform this painful ofiice. The tone and
temper of his mind, however, remained still un-
changed. His spirits suffered no depression, his
tranquillity no abatement. Every action, every word
breathed a spirit of calmness and resignation, while
long and deep musings often proved that his approach-
ing dissolution was a subject of serious and solemn
retlection. If sadness for a moment clouded his brow,
it was when the bursting heart of his mother, or the
itiiled tears of his sister, could no longer be concealed,
a3
" Tor them" he had indeed " prayed to live, and to livt
with ability for exertion." How then could he le^vf
them desolate and defenceless without a pang?
Before his strength was completely exhausted, he
directed his voluminous papers to be assorted, and ar-
ranged and consigned many of them to the flames.
One morning,, when sleep had somewhat more than
usually recruited him, he summoned to his chamber
the whole circle of his relatives, whom he had con-
siderately prepared f6r this melancholy interview. He
then addressed them individually in language at once
consoling and energetic. To those who would feel his
loss most deeply, he spoke of the uncertain tenure of
all sublunary connexions, and insisted on the duty of
resignation to the wisdom of Providence. He entered
largely into the subject of his former views and wishes,
adverted to his own present happy frame of mind, and
cautioned all against the indulgence of unavailing sor-
row. A scene more affecting and more impressive
can hardly be conceived. The superiority of his mind
shone forth for a moment with unwonted brilliance.
He was now struggling with the last distressing symp-
toms of his complaint. His strength was hourly sink-
ing, but he betrayed no impatience his protracted
sufferings extorted not a murmur. Worn to the last
thread of existence, he at length quietly resigned his
breath unperceived even by the eye of maternal
affection, that with unwearied solicitude watched over
his couch.
Duiing, the course f Uis illness, he experienced
from his friends all those soothing sympathies and
affectionate attentions, that bespeak warmth of feeling
and sincerity of attachmfeiit. One of these, to whom
many of the following lettet"s were addressed, relin-
quished for a while the professional studies in which
he was then engaged, and hastened to Bristol on being
apprized of his danger. He scarcely left him till his
death, and the poignancy of his grief was then softened
by the melancholy satisfaction, that he had fiilfilled
one of the most arduous and painful duties of friend-
ship.
^ xlie following is a copy of his last M'ill, which he
\*rote, btit''a: short time before he died, with a firm
and st'eady hand,' although unable to leave his bed :
*' Life and death have been the subject of specula-
tion in every age by every writer. They have been
anxious to invent plausible excuses to avoid the evil
of death ; or soften by arguments that evil they know
to be unavoidable. Life and death are here no matter
for speculation. I come to the mention of them, with the
possibility of one, the probability of the other. With
a prospect of dissolution before him, ever}-^ man feels
anxious to quit his station free from cares. To me,
indeed, appertains but little of this world's benefit a
few sparks struck from the flint of Sorrow (I have
-called them I^oetns) is all I have that may be produc-
tive.
a 4
XXIV
*' These poems, with all profit, &c. whfch may
ftccrue from them, I bequeath to my dear sister Eliza.
And I earnestly request my friends and
will superintend such arrangement and correction of
them as will best enhance my wish, that they may be
profitable. Would that I could die with the idea that
their publication would produce some little of that
independence it has been my heart's first and fondest
wish to bestow on her ! She must not take it as a gift,
but the disposition of duty.
" Respecting my books: My prize volumes I leave
to my Eliza's boys, when she has them; they may
serve as emulative stimulants. The rest, excepting
those my family may retain, is to be submitted to my
dear friends and 's inspection, and their
acceptance of what they approve.
" A little trifle of remembrance to E , Miss K.
C. W. &c. All cash or money is my mother's.
" These little things are finished. Through God I
shall die in peace. I smile on the parting scenes of
this world they lead to a better i
" William I. Robebts.
"Dec. 11, 1806."
SUPERSCRIBED,
" To be opened after William's decease by his mother./*
xxy
Roberts was burled at Bristol, in the church-yard of
St. Michael, and on his tomb is engraved the follow-
ing inscription:
To the Memory
OF
WILLIAM ISAAC ROBERTS,
Son of
William and Anne Roberts,
Born May jth, 1786,
and died
December 26tb, 1806.
His amiable and friendly disposition,
steady character, and powers of genius,
displayed themselves at a very
early period of life,
and continued till it's final close,
endearing him to his disconsolate
Parents, Relatives, and Friends,
who will long lament his loss.
XXVI
TRIBUTARY POEMS.
THE FOLLOWING
LINES
WEBE WRITTEN ON VISITING A GROVE, TO WHICH THE
AUTHOR AND HIS FHIEND, THE LATE W. 1. KOUP.UTS,
OCCASIONALLY KE80RTED DLRING HIS LAST VISIT AT
PAINSWlCti,,1807.
JdlAIL, sacred shades ! I seek your deepest gloom.
To pour my sorrows o'er the silent tomb;
To mourn, alas! the hapless early end
Of one I loved, a dear, a valued friend ;
Who late when autumn's variegated vest.
These beechen groves in gay luxuriance drest.
Sought drooping pale your covert's cooling shade.
And vainly woo'd the zephyr's friendly aid.
For ah ! Consumption, talent's direst foe.
Had at his vitals aim'd th' insidious blow;
And soon displayed with savage joy her power,
" To blast bright genius in his rising hour."
Yet to my heart thy name shall still be dear,
Hallow'd with sighs embalm'd with nianj' a tear;
xxvu
And while the fatal wreck I thus deplore.
Of virtues, talents, and of letter'd lore,
I fondly think that had thy life been spared.
If pitying heav'n our vows and pray'rs had heard.
We who with grief now linger o'er thy name.
Exultant then had hail'd it dear to fame.
Ah now ! e'en now, by busy fancy shewn,
I see a form with features all thine own ;
Thy bright eye beaming with poetic fire.
Thy head reclining on thy broken lyre;
And as I gaze with wild amazement fraught.
Thy rare endowments burst upon my thought;
The noble independence of thy mind.
Thy soaring genius and thy taste refin'd;
The high toned cadence of thy gifted song.
Thy ardent feeling, thy affection strong;
The manly firmness that thy soul adorn'd.
The pride that envy and that meanness scorn'd:
On these I muse, nor can my tears restrain.
For ah ! I " ne'er shall see thy like again ;"
Yet these, while o'er their wreck I vainly mourn.
Shall spread a deathless halo round thy urn.
H.
XXVlll
LINES
TO THE MEMORY OF W. I, ROBERTS.
JL HOU heavenly harp ! whose solemn swell.
Breathed more than mortal minstrelsy;
The echoes of thy potent spell,
111 more than earthly silence lie.
Thou master hand ! whose fitful mood.
Gave to the lyre it's dulcet breath ;
Thy tuoeful art avails no more.
Thy skill is fled, t^iy strength is o'er.
Shrunk in the grasp of death !
O youth beloved! thy grave around.
We pour the deep, despairing sound j
Due tears we shed, due rites are paid.
Where thou in silent earth art laid ;
The dreams of faine, life's early fears.
The lover's song, affection's tears.
Youth, genius, love, and constancy.
Sleep in the silent grave with thee!
Syren of song I away !
O who shall love thy lyre's soft witchery.
Or give his ardent soul to thee?
\yho to thy favourite haunts shall stray?
XXIX
Since wan disease is in thy train,
An.d pale decay and varied pain;
Ajid thro' thy proud pavilion break
The sullen moan of death, and madd'ning terror's shriek !
Yet genius! not in day's broad glare.
When pleasure floats upon the murmuring air.
With smiles of joy, with numbers wild.
You won the soul of passion's child;
"Twas in the midnight's lonely gloonl.
When spirits rule o'er mortals' doom;
^Twas then you burst the bands of sleep.
And roused the child of care to weep;
His sunken eye, his head opprest.
His eager breath, his aching breast.
You mock'd, and bade your visions roll.
With wilder wave upon his struggling soul !
Or did the dews of midnight steep
His wearied lids in balmy sleep.
And win from life's dark cares his mind;
O genius! in what phantom form.
Didst thou not rush with potent charm.
The victim youth to bind !
In pleasure's guise a spectre band.
Fair smiling Love, bright Hope and Fame,
Take by the minstrel's couch their nightly stand
Nor own the fond, dissembling breath.
That chants the while the dirge of death.
But cheat his sanguine soul with " promise of a name l'^
Ye woods and wilds of Avon ! when I flew
To smooth the couch of him whom now I mourn.
No rapture from your tepid gales I drew.
No tear of transport mark'd my fond return.
The wintry storm around me beat.
The wave chafed sullen at my feet;
The dark grove bow'd with mournful sigh.
The raven shriek'd her funeral cry ;
I thought upon the fatal bed.
Where death -damps chill'd your poet's head ;
I heard the raven's funeral cry.
And only thought 'twere sweet to die!
O youth beloved! if mine had been thy doom.
To sink before thee to an early tomb;
Thy faithful harp, attuned to notes of woe.
Had rung it's requiem o'er the dust below;
And fancy's dirge in solemn sweetness play'd.
Had pleased, if ought on earth could please, my shade !
J.
XXII
ADVERTISEMENT.
A HE poems in this volume have been selected
from many otiiers which their author had written,
and but fruo of thae had been corrected bif his
hand. The last of his poetical productions was
the one entitled " The Judgment ,'' and this he
appears to have completed during his illness. He
was in the practice of shewing his co^npositions to
his literary acquaintance^ and many of the follow-
ing have been collected from his letters to his
fiHends. Had he livedo it is probable that he
would have revised some pieces^ and omitted others
which have now been inserted. But the hand of
friendship may surely be excused, if it has un-
warily twined a few weeds wn'th the blossoms thai
compose this funereal wreath.
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