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 POEMS 
 
 BT 
 
 MRS. ELIZABETH COBB.OLD, 
 
 WITH 
 
 A MEMOIR OF TH£ AUTHOR. 
 
 IPSWICH : 
 
 PRINTED AND SOLD BY J. RAW; 
 
 SOLD ALSO BY LONGMAK, HUEST, REES, ORME, 
 BttOWif AND GREEK, LONDOK. 
 
 1825.
 
 
 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Large Paper. 
 Acton, Mrs. C. Ipswich. 
 Aldrich, Rev. W. W, Boyton. 
 Alexander, R- D. Esq. ditto. 
 Alexander, Mrs. S. ditto. 
 Allen, Miss, Crane Hall, ditto. 
 Aspland, Mrs. Ipswich. 
 Barker, Mrs. ditto. 
 Brown, Mr. Edward, Norwich. 
 Brooks, John, Esq. Stratford, Essex. 
 Buchanan, Miss, Ipswich. 
 Buchanan, Mrs. Stowmarket. 
 Bunn, Mrs. R. Ipswich. 
 
 Small Paper. 
 Bacon, Mrs. C. Ipswich. 
 Baker, George, Esq. Stutton. 
 Barlee, Mrs. London, 2 Copies. 
 Bartlett, Mr. Ipswich. 
 Beck, Dr. Ipswich. 
 
 Bennett, Rev. Christopher Hand, Onehouse. 
 Bidden, Mrs, A. Playford. 
 Broke, Lady, Broke-Hall, Nacton. 
 Broke, Mrs", Coddenham. 
 Brown, Mrs. William, Ipswich. 
 Bullen, Mr. George, Surgeon, ditto. 
 Bullen, Mrs. Aldborough. 
 
 Large Paper. 
 Chevallier, Rev. Dr. Aspall. 
 Chevallier, R. E. Esq. Brompton. 
 Clarke, Rev. \V. B. East Bergholt. 
 Cobbold, John, Esq. Holy Wells, Ipswich. 
 Cobbold, John, Jun. Esq. Cliff, 2 Copies. 
 Cobbold, Mrs. Cliff. 
 Cobbold, R. K. Esq. Eye. 
 Cobbold, Rev. Richard, Ipswich. 
 Cobbold, Mr. J. C. ditto. 
 Cobbold, Mr. Thomas, Catton, Norfolk. 
 Cobbold, Miss H. Ipswich. 
 Cobbold, Mrs. Savage, ditto.
 
 (ii) 
 
 Cobbold, IVIrs. William, Colchester. 
 
 Cockle, Mrs. AVatlass Kectory, Yorkshire. 
 
 Collins, Mrs. Ipswich, 2 Copies. 
 
 Colvile, INIiss, ditto. 
 
 Craigie, IVIrs. Glendoick, Perthshire, 2 Copies. 
 
 Cullum, Lad}', Bury St. Edmund's. 
 
 SmaU Paper. 
 Collinson, C. S. Esq. Chauiitry. 
 Cou])erth\vaite, Mrs. Ipswich. 
 Clamp, Mr. ditto. 
 Close, Mrs. ditto. 
 Croasdaile, Miss, ditto. 
 
 Large Paper. 
 Daniel, William, Esq. Stapenhill, Derbyshire, 
 Davy, Rev. Charles, Barking 
 Deane, Mrs. Alton Hall, Stutton. 
 D'Ovlv, Mrs. Ipswich. 
 Drake,' Nath. M. D. Hadleigh. 
 
 Small Paper, 
 Deck, Mr. R. Ipswich. 
 Dobree, Ilev. ]\Ir. Holton. 
 D'Oyly, Mrs. Ipswich, 2 Copies. 
 
 Large Paper. 
 Edgecumbe, P. Esq. Rochester. 
 
 Small Paper. 
 Edgar, Miss, Red-House, Ipswich. 
 Edgar, Rev. M. G. Westerfield-House. 
 Edwards, Mrs. Wood-hall, Sutton. 
 
 Large Paper. 
 Fitch, Miss, Ipswich. 
 Forsett, Mrs. East Dereham, Norfolk 
 
 I")itto, Small Paper. 
 French, IMrs. Westleton. 
 
 Large Paper. 
 Gooch, 'Sin. Ipswich, 2 Copies- 
 Green, Thomas, Esq. ditto. 
 
 Small Paper. 
 Gooch, ]V[rs. Ipswich.
 
 . ( iii ) 
 
 Goward, Miss. 
 Grinisey, ^Mr. Ipswich. 
 Grimwood, Miss, ditto. 
 Gross, Mr. Charles, ditto. 
 
 Large Paper. 
 Hamblin, ]Mrs. Rickinghall. 
 Heseltine, Win. Esq. London. 
 Heseltine, Samuel R. Esq. ditto. 
 Herring, Miss, Norwich. 
 Howorth, Mrs. Ipswich. 
 
 Large Paper. 
 Jackson, Mrs. P. Ipswich. 
 Jermyn, Mrs. E. Harwich. 
 Jermyn, Miss, Ipswich. 
 
 Small Paper. 
 Ibbetson, INIrs. Bosmere. 
 Innes, Miss, Ipswich. 
 Innes, Miss, C. ditto. 
 Jones, Mr. Bildeston. 
 
 Large Paper. 
 Kennedy, IMrs. Ipswich. 
 Kerridge, Mrs. Whitton Cottage. 
 King, Mr. John, County Press, Ipswich. 
 Kirby, Rev. William, Barbara. 
 
 Large Paper. 
 Layton, Mrs. Ipswich. 
 Lloyd, Miss, Hintlesham. 
 Longe, INIrs. Coddenham. 
 
 Small Paper. 
 Layton, Rev. William, Ipswich. 
 Leggatt, Mr. AVilliam, ditto, 2 Copies. 
 List, Miss, ditto. 
 Lowthian, Mrs. Thatcham Vicarage, Berks. 
 
 Large Paper. 
 IVIartin, ISIiss, Ipswich. 
 Martin, Capt. ISIelton. 
 Mavnard, Vicounte&s.
 
 -( iv ) 
 
 Middleton, Lady, Shvubland Park. 
 Mills, Mrs. Rickinghall. 
 
 Montgomery, Esq. Nacton. 
 
 Morrison, Mrs. Norwich, 
 
 Small Paper. 
 ]Manby, Mrs. M. P. 
 Minter, INIr. Ipswich. 
 Morgan, ]Mr. George, Bramford. 
 Morgan, ]Mrs. George Thornbush, ditto. 
 Neile Miss, London. 
 Orford, Rev. J. Ipswich. 
 
 Large Paper. 
 Park, Mrs. Ipswich. 
 Peck, Miss, Brockford. 
 Pettiward, Rev. D. Onehouse. 
 Pjcroft, Miss, Oversea!, Leicestershire. 
 
 Small Paper, 
 Planner, Miss, Ipswich. 
 Pizey, Miss, ditto. 
 Pretyman, Mr. Charles, ditto. 
 
 Large Paper. 
 Ray, Mrs. S. Ipswich 
 Reeve, IMrs. Ditto. 
 Reeve, ]\Irs. S. Walton. 
 Ridley, Sir. George, Ipswicli. 
 Rushbrooke, Col. Riishbrooke-hall, 2 Copies. 
 
 Small Paper. 
 Raw, Miss. Isabella, Aylesbury Bucks. 
 Robinson, Mrs. London. 
 Rodwell, Mrs. Alderton. 
 Roope, George, Esq. Ipswich. 
 
 Large Paper. 
 Scales, Miss. Colchester. 
 Seaman, Miss. Brockford. 
 Sheldrake, Miss. Brockford, 
 Smith, William, Esq. Colchester. 
 
 Small Paper. 
 Slieppard, JNIrs. IjKswicli.
 
 (V) 
 
 Smart, Miss I>ucy, Ipswich. 
 Stanton, Jlr. ditto. 
 Stislcd, :\Iis.s, ditto. 
 Strahan, Mi^s, ditto. 
 Studd, j\Irs. ditto. 
 
 Small Paper. 
 Salmon, Rev. S. NVetheringsctt. 
 Scott, Mr. Ipsivich. 
 
 Shalders, Mr. E ditto. ^ ,r i tt- - 
 
 Smyth, William, Esq. Professor of ]Nfodern History, 
 
 Cambridge, 2 Copies. 
 Studd, Mrs. AVoodbridge. 
 
 Lartje Paper. 
 Turner, Mrs. ]M. Ipswich. 
 Turner, IVIrs. Long-Acre. London. 
 
 Small Paper. 
 Torlesse, Miss, Ipswich. 
 Turner, 3Iiss E. Ipswich. 
 Turner, ^Sliss S. ditto. 
 
 Large Paper. 
 Walton, ]\Ir. William. Turdis Farm. 
 Wastell. INIrs. Itisby. 
 AVhalev, Rev. J. G. Witnesham. 
 Wolton, 31 rs. Eyke 
 Worthington, Hugh, Esq. Walton on Trent. 
 
 Small Paper. 
 Wiseman, 'Mr. S. Ipswich.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Memoir ... ... ... ... 3 
 
 Ti-ibute to the Memory of Mrs. E. Cobbold, by Mrs. 
 
 Cockle. ... ... ... ... "43 
 
 Tribute to the Memory of Mrs. Cobbold ... "46 
 
 To a Young Artist ... ... ... 33 
 
 Matlock, or the Metamorphosis of Darwent ... 37 
 
 An Evening at the Cliff ... ^. ... 4G 
 
 The ^olian Harp ... ... ... 43 
 
 To Dr. Gwyn ... ... ... ... 51 
 
 The Lament of Morvina ... ... ... 65 
 
 Stanzas ... ... ... ... 57 
 
 The Lilly of Nettlestead ... ... ... 59 
 
 On observing two Young Ladies, &c. ... 62 
 
 To Miss Hartcup . . ... .. 63 
 
 Lines on the Death of Tasso ... ... 65 
 
 On seeing the two beautiful Daughters of Sir J. Call 66 
 
 Lines on the River Gipping ... ... 67 
 
 On the Death of Francesco Borone .. ... 71 
 
 Sonnet to Spring ... ... ... 75 
 
 My Deafness . ... ... ... 76 
 
 To a Lady with a Fan ... ... ... 78 
 
 Poetical Letter to a Friend ... ... 79 
 
 On a Pompous Insignificant Man ... ... 85
 
 (vii) 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 The Mosaic Picture .. ... - ... SG 
 
 The Invocation ... ... ••• 89 
 
 Sonnet to Lord Byron ... ... -.• 100 
 
 Wafted Kisses ... ... ••• 101 
 
 The Lodge ... ... — — 102 
 
 On the sudden Death of JVIrs. K — 's favorite Night- 
 ingale ... ... ... ••• 106 
 
 Address to the Carmelite ... ... ... 107 
 
 Three Sonnets, Morning, Noon and Evening 109 & 110 
 
 The Roses of Autumn ... ... ... Ill 
 
 Impromptu ... ... ... ... 112 
 
 Sonnet ... ... ... ... 113 
 
 Sensibility ... ... ... ... 114 
 
 Lines written in the Album of an Officer of the 
 
 King's German Legion ... ... 117 
 
 Lines Written in an Autumnal Evening ... 118 
 
 Love's Progress ... ... ... 119 
 
 Lucy, a sketch from Nature ... ... 120 
 
 Lines written in Miss. Collins's Album ... 122 
 
 The two "Vanities, a Fable ... ... 123 
 
 Translation from Tasso ... ... ... 126 
 
 Lines On reading Dr. Smith's Description of the 
 
 Temple of Modern Pliilosophy &c. ... 127 
 
 Inscription for the book of Memory and Friendship 1 29 
 
 To Lady Cullum ... ... ... 131 
 
 Extempore to C. F. W. ... ... ... 134 
 
 Hymn to the Comet .. .. ... 135 
 
 Dirge to the INlemory of Princess Cliarlotte Augusta 1 'iil 
 
 Lines written on a view of the Sea ... ... 13!)
 
 ( Y"i ) 
 
 Page. 
 
 The Nurse and the Newspaper, an Epilogue ... I4l 
 
 The Souvenir ... ... ... ... 144 
 
 On a Needle Book ... ... ... 145r 
 
 Poetical Epistle to Col. R. ... ... 146 
 
 The Enthusiast, a Character ... ... 149 
 
 Lines occasioned by a Friend, &c. ... ... 151 
 
 The Lord Doujflas and the Heart of Bruce ... 152 
 
 Ballad ... ... ... ... 154 
 
 Letter to D. G. Esq. ... ... ... 155 
 
 Sonnet to Miss K. P. .. ... 157 
 
 Midnight Response, Round and Song, &c. . . 158 
 
 Love's Triumph ... ... ... 160 
 
 Sonnet on some Violets ... ... ... 162 
 
 The Bat, a Simile ... ... ... 163 
 
 Song ... ... ... ... 165 
 
 Tlie Vision ... ... ... ... 166 
 
 Ballad ... ... ... ... 169 
 
 Letter to Miss S. ... ... ... I70 
 
 Marcus Ostorius to his War Horse ... ... 174 
 
 Valentine, The INIilkmaid ... ... I78 
 
 , The Bird SeUer ... ... 179 
 
 , An Irish Harp entwined with Shamrock 181 
 
 , The Savoyard Girl ... ... 182 
 
 Address, Introductory to the Castle Spectre ... 184 
 
 Poor Luckless Mary ... ... ... 186 
 
 The Kamtschdale to his Dogs ... ... 188 
 
 The Remonstrance ... ... ••• 189 
 
 To a Young Lady ... ... ••• 191
 
 MEMOIR 
 
 OF 
 
 Mrs ELIZABETH COBBOLD. 
 
 Measure life 
 
 By its true worth, the comfort it affords, 
 And their's alone seems worthy of the name, 
 Good health, and its associate in the most, 
 Good temper ; spirits prompt to undertake. 
 And not soon spent, though in an arduous task ; 
 The power of fancy, and strong thought are theirs 
 E'en age itself seems privileged in them 
 From clear exemption from its own defects. 
 
 It has been justly remarked that, if the actions of 
 private life, as well as the circumstantial details of 
 individual character were more frequently the ob- 
 ject of biographical attention, a much greater benefit 
 would result to society at large from a perusal of 
 such narratives, than from the most finished me- 
 moir of those who are lauded as conquerors and 
 heroes : — and for this obvious reason, because in 
 the former almost every one is interested, and be- 
 
 B
 
 4 
 
 cause they come home to the bosoms of, and are felt 
 by all ; while the latter can be appreciated only by 
 a feWj and can admit but of partial imitation. 
 
 To bring forward to public notice the lives of 
 those, who have been eminent for worth, for talent, 
 and for benevolence; to delineate the character of 
 such as have contributed to the welfare and happi- 
 ness of their fellow creatures, is a task the most de- 
 lightful, since its object is the improvement of 
 mankind, by holding up to their example those 
 essential virtues in which they are most intimately 
 concerned — the duties of social and domestic life. 
 
 Nothing has conferred a brighter lustre on the 
 English name, or been a source of greater gratifi- 
 cation to its admirers, than the high intellectual 
 attainments possessed by many of the Female sex 
 in this country : and few, of the present age, have 
 been more eminently distinguished for true genius 
 and varied endowments, than the lamented subject 
 of the following brief and imperfect Memoir. 
 
 Mns. Elizabeth Cobbold was born in Watling 
 street, London, and was the daughter of Mr. 
 Robert Knipe, of Liverpool. Her mother's maiden 
 name was Waller. 
 
 At a very early period of life she discovered con- 
 siderable talent, which she cultivated with unre-
 
 niitting industry j and soon attracted and gained 
 the notice of many distinguished hterary charac- 
 ters- Her taste for poetry was likewise evinced in 
 several early efforts of her muse; and in 1787 she 
 ventured to appear before the world as an autho- 
 ress, by the publication of " Six Narrative Poems." 
 This work was very favourably received, and as it 
 has now become scarce, and is consequently but 
 little known, the subjoined critique on its merits, 
 which I have extracted from the Monthly Review, 
 may not perhaps be uninteresting. 
 
 " In her dedication to Sir Joshua Reynolds," she 
 says, " 1 esteem myself highly honoured by the 
 permission to dedicate the following Poems to you; 
 nor could I wish them a better fate than to be 
 thought worthy of your acceptance : I fear they can 
 have no pretensions to that honour, but as the 
 early efforts of an unlettered muse, who trembles at 
 the severity of criticism, and who does not hope 
 much even from candour." This however was a 
 language which a writer like Miss Knipe needed not 
 to have adopted; for real merit, it should be re- 
 membered, is an jEgis on which it is scarcely pos- 
 sible that even the shafts of envy and malice should 
 make an impression. These Poems are entitled ^ 
 The Vizir; The Village Wake; The Return from 
 the Crusade; The Prussian Officer; Alomhoka and
 
 6 
 
 Omaza ; Humatuty, The Return from Ihe Crusad* 
 and The Prussmfi Officer are tales in the manner of 
 the legendary stories of old, of which there are 
 numerous examples in The Reliques of Ancient 
 Toelry ; and they are related in that unaffected and 
 artless flow of numbers which never fails to gain 
 upon tlie heart, that heart I mean, of which na- 
 ture, and nature onlj^, has been the fashioner. The 
 other Poems have likewise considerable merit. 
 
 Miss Knipe was at this period chiefly resident in 
 IVI anchester, but frequently visited an eminent 
 Bookseller in London, where, among other lite- 
 rary characters, she became acquainted with the 
 celebrated Sir Joshua Reynolds, who, as a painter, 
 a scholar, a critic, and a gentleman, well merited 
 his great and distinguished popularity, and whose 
 notice and approbation, therefore, might justly be 
 considered by her as an enviable honour. 
 
 In November 1 790, she was married at Liverpool 
 to William Clarke, Esq. a Portman of the borough 
 and Comptroller of the Customs of Ipswich, a gen- 
 tleman very considerably her senior in age, but of 
 much worth and integrity, and to whom, during 
 their short union, she strictly fulfilled all the duties 
 of a wife, with affectionate solicitude and attention. 
 Her sentiments of this person, and her indifference 
 to the remarks which the disparity in their yeai-s
 
 had occasioned, may be collected from the follow- 
 ing lively verses, which she addressed to him on 
 St. "Valentine's day, soon after their marriage. 
 
 Eliza to William this Valentine sends, 
 
 While ev'i-y good wish on the present attends ; 
 
 And freely she writes undisturb'd by a fear, 
 
 The' prudes may look scornful, and libertines sneer, 
 
 Tho' tatlers and tale-bearers smiling may say, 
 
 " Your Geniuses always are out of the way," 
 
 Sure none but herself would such levities mix. 
 
 With the seriousness suited to grave twenty-six. 
 
 A Wife send a Valentine ! Lord, what a whun ! 
 
 And then of all people to send it to him ! 
 
 Make love to her husband ! my stars, how romantic ! 
 
 The Girl must be certainly foolish or frantic ; 
 
 But I always have thought so, else what could engage 
 
 Her to marry a man who is twice her own age ? 
 
 While the tabbies are thus on my motives enlarging, 
 
 My sentiments William may read m the margin. 
 
 On the wings of old Time have three months past away 
 Since I promis'd " to honour, to love, and obey ;" 
 And surely my William's own heart will allow, 
 That my conduct has ne'er disagreed with my vow. 
 Would health spread her wings round my husband and 
 
 lord. 
 To his cheeks could the smiles of delight be restor'd ;
 
 s 
 
 The blessing with gratitude I should receive. 
 As the greatest that jMercy benignant could give ; 
 And heedless of all that conjecture may say, 
 With praise would remember St. Valentine's day. 
 
 In 1791/she published a romance in two volumes, 
 entitled The Sword, or Father Berlrand's History 
 of his own Times ; from the Original Manuscript. 
 Prefixed to this work, which was printed at Liver- 
 pool, is a list of the numerous subscribers, among 
 whom are the names of three very eminent and 
 distinguished individuals, viz. Brandreth, Currie, 
 and Roscoe ; with those of many others of her lite- 
 rary acquaintance. 
 
 Mrs. Clarke, by the decease of her husband in 
 1791> became a widow within six months of her 
 marriage. But it was not to be expected that a 
 woman possessed of such amiable qualities of the 
 heart, and gifted with so many attractions of 
 the mind, should long remain in tliat condition, 
 or should affect any undue delicacy, on her 
 hatid being so soon again solicited by a person 
 fully competent to appreciate her merits, and 
 of sufficient wealth and liberality to indulge 
 her taste for literature ; consequently, she a second 
 time entered the conjugal state, and became the
 
 9 
 
 wife of John Cobhold, Esq. of the Cliff Brewery, in 
 Ipswich, who, at the time of this marriage, was a 
 widower with fourteen children. Placed in the bo- 
 som of this numerous family, and indulged in the 
 means of gratifying her benevolent and liberal spirit, 
 the Cliff became the home of her dearest affections, 
 the residence of taste, and the scene of hospitality. 
 Here it was, in a situation so congenial to her feel- 
 ings, that her talents and her domestic virtues had 
 ample scope for expansion ; and here it was that 
 her native genius more fully developed its varied 
 and delightful powers. In this abode, while at- 
 tracting and conciliating the regards of all her visi- 
 tors, she passed the happiest hours of her life. 
 The energies of her mind, and the exertion of her 
 maternal duties w^ere now, by a numerous family, 
 with its attendant cares and anxieties, called into 
 constant action, and it is only justice to say, that, 
 devoted as she was to the charms of literature, and 
 from her numerous accomplishnaents so well quali- 
 fied to enjoy and participate in the elegancies of 
 life, she considered her domestic claims of superior 
 importance, and never neglected those higher 
 duties which she had undertaken to perform. In 
 the course of a few years she herself became the 
 mother of six sons, the third and fourth of whom.
 
 10 
 
 Rowland and Francis, she lost in their youth, the 
 former at the age of six, and the latter at four- 
 teen ; and of an only daughter who died in her in- 
 fancy. Of the remaining four, Robert Knipe and 
 Charles were brought up in their father's large 
 mercantile establishment, and Richard * and 
 Edward are in the Church ; the former is Rector of 
 Wortham, and the latter by his recent marriage is 
 possessed of the valuable Rectory of Watlington in 
 Norfolk. 
 
 It may readily be supposed, that in so large a 
 family, and with such various and contending in- 
 terests, the management of the whole was no easy 
 task, and often required the exercise of all her 
 firmness and resolution ; yet she took a pleasure, 
 and no little pride, in the direction and guidance of 
 every department of it, She could teach with gen- 
 tleness and persuasion ; and while cultivating with 
 unwearied industry the talents, and forming the 
 minds of the juniors, who more immediately re- 
 quired her care, she sought by sedlilous and affec- 
 tionate attention to endear herself to the elder 
 branches, to whom she was at once the kind 
 
 • To this gentleman, who has greatly interested himself 
 in the present publication, the Editor is indebted for many 
 of his Mother's Original Poems.
 
 11 
 
 mother, the instructive companion, and the intelli- 
 gent friend. 
 
 The varied nature of her employments at this 
 period, Mrs. Cobbold, in one of her poetical epis- 
 tles to a friend, thus most characteristically des- 
 cribles : 
 
 " A botanist one day, or grave antiquarian, 
 
 Next morning a sempstress, or abecedarian ; 
 
 Now making a frock, and now marring a picture, 
 
 Next conning a deep philosophical lecture ; 
 
 At night at the play, or assisting to kill 
 
 The time of the idlers with whist or quadrille ; 
 
 In cares or amusements still taking a part, 
 
 Though science and friendship are nearest my heart." 
 
 It is unquestionable that the possession of supe- 
 rior talent ever confers a higher and more refined 
 enjoyment of life, and increases the variety of our 
 pleasures ; and not the least of these is the power it 
 affords of developing and assisting merit. In 
 discerning genius and abilities of any kind, Mrs. 
 Cobbold's penetration was quick and just, and her 
 power of inspiring confidence and regard, remark- 
 able. To young persons her manner was most 
 kind and encouraging ; she ever allowed for the 
 prejudices or deficiencies of education, and nothing
 
 12 
 
 yielded her higher gratiBcation than Imparting ad- 
 vice or instruction. She was always ready to give 
 hints or suggestions, and frequently applied herself 
 to the tuition of youthful genius with an ardour 
 and perseverance, which peculiarly marked her 
 character. In some instances indeed she may be 
 regarded as a public benefactress. Her patronage 
 and introduction of Miss Goward (a native of this 
 town, who is now sojustly admired as an actress 
 and public singer) is a proof of this. At a very 
 early age, .Mrs Cobbold, struck with the precocity 
 of this young lady's talent,|and particularly with her 
 taste for music, undertook the culture of her abili- 
 ties, and ultimately prepared her for that walk in 
 lite, which she is now pursuing with such honour- 
 able distinction. On her recent appearance on the 
 boards of the Ipswich Theatre, her kind patroness 
 supplied her with the following beautiful and ap- 
 posite Address : 
 
 Should I attempt, in language, to reveal 
 
 The force, the tenderness, of all I feel. 
 
 The mix'd emotions utterance would subdue, 
 
 And tears be all that / could give to you ! 
 
 Yet something I would say ; — would fam express 
 
 Such thoughts as grateful hearts alone can guess
 
 13 
 
 To speak their powers I feel my own unable ; 
 Allow me then to temper them with fable. 
 
 The new fledged nightingale, when first she leaves 
 The thorn on which a parent's bosom heaves, 
 Her fluttering wing essay'd, returns to rest 
 Trembling and panting, on the well known nest ; 
 There cherish'd, with renew'd and strengthen'd wing 
 Again she takes her flight, and tries to sing ; 
 Then seeks the skies ; — on ether dares to float ; 
 Visits each clime ; improves each tender note ; 
 But still returns, with gratitude and love, 
 To wake the echoes of her native grove. 
 
 Though not like Philomel's my song be heard, 
 Can you not fancy me that trembling bkd ? 
 Who, having tried ray early song and flight, 
 Seek on the sheltering nest again to light ; 
 To meet those fostermg smiles, for ever dear. 
 And grow in strength from growing kindness here ! 
 
 If, through that kindness, it be mine to claim, 
 On persevering wing, the heights of fame ; 
 Should I again to these loved scenes belong, 
 Matur'd in mind, and perfected in song ; 
 O ! with what transport would that song be given, 
 In notes of grateful praise, to you and Heaven ! 
 
 Hope waves me on, presenting to my view 
 Such blissful hour— 'till then, — adieu ! — adieu !
 
 14. 
 
 In 1800, Mrs, Cobbold published a burlesque 
 poem under the following title : The Mince Pye, 
 an Hci-oic Epislle, humbly addressed to the Sovereign 
 Dainty of a British Feast. By Caroline Petty 
 Pasty. 4-to. "This, says the British Critic, is a play- 
 ful, good humoured, and facetious trifle, ridiculing 
 the splendid and truly magnificent publication of 
 the Sovereign, by Mr. Pybus. It is dedicated to 
 the veritable Sovereign of a British table, namely, 
 a Plum-pudding. Mr. Py bus's poem was adorned 
 w ill a superb engraving of the Imperial Crown of 
 Russia , to this poem a mince-pye is prefixed; and 
 to corresjDond with the portrait of Mr. Pybus, it 
 is embellished with that of the celebrated Mrs. 
 Glasse, in the act of taking a drop of cherry 
 bounce." 
 
 In 1803, with her usual liberality of spirit, and 
 prompt benevolence of heart, she exerted hsr pen 
 and interest in behalf of a worthy but humble indi- 
 vidual, who had been introduced to her notice as 
 the writer of a collection of miscellaneous poems, 
 and which were submitted to her inspection 
 These she corrected, arranged, and prefaced with 
 an introductory narrative, and published for the 
 Author s benefit under the following title : Poetical 
 Attempts by Ann Candler, a Suffolk Cottager ; with
 
 15 
 
 a short Narr alive of her Life. Of this little work 
 more than five hundred copies were sold, the pro- 
 fits of which to a person in the writer's lowly cir- 
 cumstances, afforded a considerable relief. 
 
 In 1 805, a party of Officers, wno were then sta- 
 tioned in the Garrison at Ipswich, performed, for 
 the benefit of "The Lying-in Charity"of that town, 
 the tragedy of Oronooko, with the entertainment 
 of Tom Thumb. On this occasion, Mrs. Cobbold, 
 ever ready to aid a charitable purpose, wrote 
 an appropriate and witty Epilogue*, which was 
 spoken by a Captain of the Royal Engineers, in 
 the character of a Nurse, and which added greatly 
 to the amusement and satisfaction of the numerous 
 auditors. A short time aftei-, on the representation 
 of the Castle Spectre, and the melo-drama of The 
 Tale of Mystery, by the same gentlemen, for the 
 benefit of the Norwich Company of Comedians, 
 who had gratuitously, on the former occasion, affor- 
 ded the use of their theatre, she again exerted her 
 pen in an excellent Introductory Address, t 
 
 From her love of the drama she was a very fre- 
 quent attendant on the theatre, and a warm pati-on- 
 ess of that delightful recreation. On the appear- 
 
 • See page 141. f See page 184j
 
 16 
 
 ance of any actor of eminence, she made a point not 
 only of witnessing the performance, but also of 
 encouraging their talent, by lier kind notice and hos- 
 pitable attention. She herself also possessed much 
 taste and skill in dramatic composition, and wrote 
 several pieces of great merit. 
 
 On the publication of The Chaplet, a collection of 
 Original and selected Poems, Mrs. Cobbold politely 
 furnished the Editor of that little volume, with 
 several interesting and acceptable communications: 
 and at the commencement of Mr. Raw's Ladies 
 Fashionable Repository in I8O9, she became a 
 valuable contributor, and continued annually, to 
 the close of her life, to grace, with her poetical 
 effusions, the pages of that highly-favoured publi- 
 cation. 
 
 When any subject of interest engaged her feel- 
 ings and attention, it was frequently celebrated 
 and adorned both by her pen and pencil ; and the 
 Albums of her intimate acquaintances and visitors 
 will offer many elegant proofs of her willing 
 muse and obliging disposition. The application of 
 her ready talent for writing poetry on any particu- 
 lar event that occurred, was a source of gratifica- 
 tion and pleasure to her friends ; and as it was 
 always done in perfect good humour, never created
 
 17 
 
 her a single enemy. Yet there are individuals, 
 who cannot join in such innocent and laudable 
 amusement. In a company some years since, 
 whei'e Mrs. Cobbold was present, the conversation 
 turning upon this subject, a Lady of the party 
 thought proper, with much tartness and personality, 
 to give a decided opinion against it, and " thanked 
 God she could not write poetry /" Mrs. Cobbold, 
 with her usual quickness observed, that it was 
 the first time she had ever heard any one 
 thank God for their ignorance. Though not natu- 
 rally of a sarcastic turn, she was ever alive to re- 
 taliate impertinence : and her etching of a Sketch of 
 a Sketcher, the caricature portrait of an Officer, who 
 was observed in the Ipswich Assembly Room to 
 be exercising his talent in that art, is a proof of 
 this remark. 
 
 For a period of nearly twenty years the hospita- 
 ble mansions of the Cliff, and Holy Wells, wer« 
 enlivened by an annual party on the evening of St. 
 Valentine's Day; for which festive occasion Mrs. 
 Cobbold designed, composed, and executed, with 
 great taste and elegance, a collection of Valentines, 
 generally to the number of eighty, which were all 
 curiously cut out on a half sheet of letter paper, 
 and each inscribed with verses applicable to the
 
 18 
 
 subject. They were then folded precisely alike in 
 blue paper, and placed, the ladies' valentines in 
 one basket, and the gentlemens' in another ; and 
 when cards or music had contributed for an hour 
 or two to the amusement of the evening, these 
 baskets were handed round to the unmarried visi- 
 tors, and the Valentines drawn by them as a lottei-y; 
 each lady or gentleman selecting one at their plea- 
 sure from any part of the respective packets. 
 The prize was intended to prognosticate to the per- 
 son, who drew it, marriage, or a matrimonial enga- 
 gement in the ensuing year; while the others, 
 from the variety, and accidental or fancied coinci- 
 dencies with the supposed sentiments of the par- 
 ties, afforded an unique and highly interesting 
 amusement The following Scena, Avhich formed 
 one of the valentines for the year 1814, is intro- 
 duced as in some measure depictive of this enter- 
 tainment. 
 
 SCENA. 
 Oberon and Robik Goodfellow. 
 
 Oberon. 
 
 Come, bly thest Elf of fancy's band, 
 Obey the Fairy King'u comniaml.
 
 19 
 
 ROBIK GOODFELLOW. 
 
 'Tis now the time, as Swains relate, 
 When ev'ry bird selects its mate ; 
 Now Elves to eastern climes resort 
 Their sprightly Fairy Dames to court, 
 And hold their revels, blythe and boon. 
 Beneath the mild and dewy moon. 
 What, hi this consecrated hour 
 Exempt from aught of mischief's pow'r. 
 Has Oberon, 'mid lovers true, 
 For Robm-Goodfellow to do ? 
 Oberon. 
 To Britain's eastern coast repair, 
 Where gently glides the Orwell fair. 
 There shalt thou find a chearful Dame, 
 More grac'd by happiness than fame ; 
 Who gives, to-night, a festive scene 
 In honour of our Fairy Queen ; 
 And Britain's loveliest daughters there 
 The mental revel freely share, 
 And draw the merry Valentine, 
 Inscrib'd with many a sportive line : 
 Go thou, and so the packets guide 
 That each, appropriately supplied, 
 May find an emblem to impart 
 The secret wishes of her heart : 
 So beauty's animated smile 
 Shall well reward thy wanton wile ; 
 And mirth and unaffected glee 
 Shall join the gentle revelry, 
 
 C
 
 20 
 
 I will not, PucV, •*'here all are fair 
 Presume to bid thee choose the fairest ; 
 
 But to thy love a billet bear, 
 And when thy choice thou thus declarest, 
 Tell her that in her sparkling eye, 
 Such gay good humour thou didst spy. 
 Such mu-th, thou couldst not but opine 
 That she would share these tricks of thine, 
 And bid that eye's bright lustre shine 
 Approving on her Valentine. 
 
 The recurrence of this festival was ever antici- 
 pated with the greatest pleasure, by those who 
 were accustomed to share in the invitation to this 
 annual recreation. And surely nothing could be 
 more amiable, virtuous and praiseworthy, than 
 thus to lead a whole neighbourhood to the enjoy- 
 ment of such a literary feast. Such varied excel- 
 lence as these Valentines displayed, must have prov- 
 ed a bright example and incitement to the younger 
 part of her visitors ; their own hopes and feelings 
 must have been often woven, as it were, into this 
 interesting and happy party ; while each individual 
 enjoyed the general gaiety of the evening. The 
 crowded assemblies, and noisy routs of the luxuri- 
 ous and opulent, can never afford the gratification, 
 or bear the agreeable reflections of such a rational 
 entertainment as this.
 
 HI 
 
 In consequence of the anxiety expressed by many 
 of Mrs. Ccbbold's friends to possess copies of her 
 Valentines, she in 1813 and 1814, printed them for 
 private circulation; and on the presentation of a copy 
 to a noble Earl in the yicinity of Ipswich, his 
 Lordship inserted in the blank page the following 
 
 complimentary vers&s : 
 
 A Valentine of adverse fate. 
 Still anxious for a willing mate. 
 Into this book once took a peep 
 In hope some benefit to reap, 
 At least to search mth eager eyes, 
 The likeliest way to gain a prize ; 
 Encourag'd by the courteous strain 
 He read, admir'd, and read again ; 
 The graces lead him through the page. 
 The muses too his mind engage. 
 Announcing in attraction's name 
 A welcome to the festive game, 
 Held on this spot, where every year 
 Hope and her jocund njinphs appear, 
 And from her train of thronging fair 
 Not one is banish'd but despair ; 
 Wealth, ^vit and beauty here combine 
 To celebrate Saint Valentine, 
 By which this coveted retreat 
 Displays Elysium compleat ; 
 Ehraptur'd with the painted bliss. 
 He cries, explain the cause of this, 
 C2
 
 2S 
 
 What Goddess here so chaste resides, 
 
 And with such attic taste presides ? 
 
 Under what Star auspicious teems 
 
 The soil with such Pierian streams ? 
 
 At Cliff, declare on whose account, 
 
 Parnassus rears another mount ? 
 
 Quoth Truth, " 'tis Cobbold here is Queen, 
 
 " Her genius forms the classic scene." 
 
 In 1812, Mrs. Cobbold, consulting with several 
 benevolent Ladies on the best mode of relieving a 
 species of distress at that time very prevalent in 
 the cottages of the indigent, viz, a want of neces- 
 sary apparel for their new born offspring, suggest- 
 ed the establishment of a Society for clothing the 
 Infant Poor. Under her direction a sketch of the 
 plan was drawn up, subscriptions were solicited, 
 the public became interested, a general meeting 
 was called, rules and regulations were formed, and 
 the Society was instituted, which, aided by her 
 active exertions and powerful eloquence, has been 
 the means of affording, during the last twelve years, 
 neat and warm clothing to more than two thousand 
 poor infants. 
 
 This institution was also most warmly encourag- 
 ed and strengthened by the zeal and activity of its 
 late amiable Vice President, Mrs. Byles, of the Hill
 
 23 
 
 House, Ipswich, to whose memory, in her sixth an- 
 niversary address, Mrs. Cobbold, after feelingly 
 lamenting her loss, paid the following elegant and 
 well-merited tribute. 
 
 Monody to the Memory of Mrs. Byles. 
 
 Mild were her manners ; o'er her lovely face 
 Meek kindness shone, in unaffected grace, 
 And mark'd with virtuous energy combin'd, 
 The true politeness of a gentle mind. 
 As oft she tum'd to cheer the lowly cot. 
 Toil smooth'd his brow, and blest his humble lot, 
 And while she rais'd the sufferer's languid head 
 From poverty's hard pillow sickness fled : 
 Her voice could agony's sharp throe beguile. 
 And sorrow brighten'd in her angel smile. 
 Not her's the boon that listless pride bestows. 
 When, from uncounted stores the gift it throws. 
 Heedless by whom or how the dole is shared 
 So its own cherish'd indolence be spared : 
 She with warm zeal, and quicken'd footstep, trode 
 The path that led to misery's lorn abode. 
 Her prudent cares from luxury's bosom drew 
 The stores, that mix'd with pity's holy dew; 
 In wants' far-spreading wilderness were given, 
 A daily bantjuet like the bread of Heaven !
 
 24 
 
 Cheerful not light ; devout, yet not austere ; 
 
 To weakness kind ; to error not severe ; 
 
 With suasive speech, from vice and folly's track, 
 
 She called the poor deluded wanderer back, 
 
 And through remorse's gloomy valley shew'd 
 
 The brightening path to virtue's calm abode. 
 
 Abroad in timid softness ever drest ; 
 
 At home with all of pure affection blest ; 
 
 And while her heart no evil passions felt, 
 
 She deem'd none such in other bosoms dwelt i 
 
 That heart so foi-m'd to feel, in spotless worth, 
 
 Its heavenly father's kingdom here on earth 
 
 Seem'd a clear source, where kindred souls might prove 
 
 A fount of tenderness and holy love. 
 
 "*\Tio now shall glad the cottage ? who dispense 
 
 The timely aid to suflfering indigence ? 
 
 "Who from remorse despair's stern gi'asp controul. 
 
 And soothe in penitence, the anguish'd soul ? 
 
 O I there are hearts that yet with kindness glow, 
 
 That melt in sympathy with others' woe ; 
 
 Hands that can yet the liberal dole supply, 
 
 And turn the house of grief to that of joy : 
 
 But still for her will fall the tender tear, 
 
 To hearts like these her memory still be dear, 
 
 And surely they who lov'd her best on earth, 
 
 Will best essay to emulate her worth. 
 
 She left us suddenly : no lingering pain
 
 25 
 
 Bound her to life wilh slow corroding chain . 
 Swift as the prophet's heavenly car she flies. 
 Her track of radiance sparkling in the skies : 
 O 1 while with reverential awe we view, 
 May we that track of blissful light pursue, 
 And may the mantle of her virtues rest, 
 "With heavenly comfort, on a daughter's breast. 
 
 It is a very just remark, that when females begin 
 to act in a public capacity, the greatest care and cir- 
 cumspection are necessary ; for however good their 
 intentions, the world is too apt to be sarcastic and 
 censorious, and to cast aspersions on the most lauda- 
 ble undertakings. On such occasions, of what value 
 is an abls and willing guide to direct the efforts of 
 the timid, and by judicious advice to preserve them 
 from even the appearance of error; such a guide 
 was the subject of this memoir. Her presence, dur- 
 ing the transactions of this society, gave confidence 
 to all who assembled round her ; she not only con- 
 ciliated them by her suavity of manners, and encou- 
 raging remarks, but, by stimulating their exertions, 
 and gaining their co-operation, she rendered her 
 own talents and abilities more effective, and more 
 conducive to the interests and welfare of their mutual 
 object,
 
 26 
 
 At the annual meetings of the subscribers to the 
 Infant Charity, the Moot Hall of Ipswich 
 displayed a most interesting spectacle. Here the 
 ladies of the town and neighbourhood assembled, 
 while their excellent and able President on these 
 occasions, never failed to encourage and incite their 
 benevolence by an energetic and appropriate ad- 
 dress. To those, who, for twelve successive years, have 
 listened Avith delight to these eloquent appeals to 
 the best feelings of their nature, any repetition of 
 the sentiments they contain will be superfluous; 
 but I cannot refrain from presenting the reader with 
 the following poetical extract from her address de- 
 livered April, 1821. 
 
 Daughters of Britain, in whose lucid eyes 
 
 Benevolence with intellectual ray 
 Shines with a lustre far beyond the beam 
 Of beauty, * * * You, though young and fair, 
 Can quit the haunts of vanity to soothe 
 The pillow of affliction. You as wives, 
 As mothers, daughters, friends, endear the joys 
 Of social home, and make the humblest hearth 
 Gay as a painted ball-room — Nay, 'tis yours, 
 E'en in the scenes of gaiety, to blend 
 Domestic tenderness ; but dearer still 
 Your worth, when, called by charity, you bring 
 The tear, the boon, the voice of consolation,
 
 27 
 
 Daughters of Britain, 
 
 The helplessness of infancy implores 
 Your aid, to cherish ; think you hear the cry, 
 Waked by the pressure of the chilly air, 
 Hushed to the soft still breathing of repose : 
 Think that you feel the downy dimpled cheek 
 NestUng upon your arm, and see the smile 
 Curl the fresh lip with life, and warmth and joy. 
 Your bounty luU'd the cry and calm'd the breath, 
 Here still that bounty pour ; here shall the voice 
 Of gratitude await you : — here your hearts 
 Shall feel the glow of social tenderness, 
 And greet with warm and unalloy'd delight 
 That holy bliss, the blessing of the poor. 
 
 Mrs. Cobbold, in conjunction with a committee of 
 ladies, also superintended, and largely contributed 
 to that emporium of female taste and beneficence, 
 " The Charitable Bazaar, for the works of Industry 
 and Fancy ;" — the first annual sale of which, took 
 place on the 29th of April, 1820; and the yearly 
 produce of which has hitherto been applied to such 
 benevolent purposes as appeared to her, and to the 
 committee, most eligible and most deserving of sup- 
 port. 
 
 In 1815, Mrs. Cobbold published an " Ode to the 
 Ficlorij of Waterloo," which she dedicated to his pre-
 
 28 
 
 sent Majesty, then Prince Regent ; a poem of very 
 considerable merit, the profits arising from which 
 were given in aid of the Waterloo subscription. On 
 the arrival of his Grace the Duke of Wellington on 
 a visit to Lord Granville, at Wherstead Lodge in 
 1818, she presented him with a copy of this poem 
 very splendidly bound in morocco, which was most 
 graciously received and acknowledged. 
 
 Among the numerous productions of her muse 
 which are too long for insertion, in the present 
 selection, several are greatly deserving of notice, 
 particularly " Tuliessin, a Welch Legend." " Rural 
 Employment, a Tale for Citizens" a favorite piece, 
 which she very frequently introduced in her even- 
 ing recitations, a recreation in which she delighted 
 and excelled. — " The Avenger or the IVrongs of Lady 
 Hermegild" a poem written to illustrate two elegant 
 designs of her friend Sir Robert Ker Porter — and 
 " Cassandra a Monodrama" as performed by Miss 
 Macauley, at the European Saloon, King-street, St. 
 James's Square, London. 
 
 In addition to the publications already named, 
 Mrs Cobbold was a correspondent in, and frequent 
 contributor to, a variety of periodical and scientific 
 works; more particularly lliose, which related to 
 her favorite study. Natural History,
 
 S9 
 
 To that ingenious Artist and eminent Naturalists 
 Mr.Sowerby, she communicated much valuable infor- 
 mation for his elaborate publication on Mineral Con- 
 chology, and forwarded many interesting specimens 
 of fossil shells, which are there severally recorded, 
 and one of which, a small giblwse variety of the 
 NUCULA, as a compliment to her knowledge and re- 
 search, bears her name. 
 
 In Tab. CLXXX. Fig. 2. it is depicted, and in p. 177, thus 
 described. — 
 
 NucULA CohholdicB. 
 Spec. Char. Transversely obovate, convex ; 
 Surface marked with zig-zag furrows, diverging 
 over the sides ; edge entire. 
 and in the succeeding page Mr. Sowerby further 
 remarks " being desirous of commemorating Mrs. 
 Cobbold, whose copious collection obtained with 
 great industry, in company with several of the ju- 
 nior branches of her family;, whom she delighted to 
 inspire with a love for the works of nature, from 
 the crag pits of her own estate, evinces a degree of 
 taste and zeal seldom met with ; I have named this 
 rare and withal elegant shell after her." 
 
 With Sir James Smith, the learned President of 
 the Linnaean Society, to whose acquaintance she was 
 first introduced by her venerable friend Dr. Gwyn, 
 she frequently corresponded, and for his scientific
 
 30 
 
 •work, the Flora Anglica, she favored him with the 
 habitats of many plants, the natives of this county. 
 In the month of July last, Mrs. Cobbold was at- 
 tacked by an alarming illness, from the effects of 
 which she appeared to have recovered ; a return 
 however of the same complaint in the October fol- 
 low in o-, on a constitution already so seriously im- 
 paired, to the great grief of her family, and the deep 
 ren-ret of all her friends proved fatal. — After linger- 
 in o- one week in a state of insensibility, this excel- 
 lent woman, on the 17th of that month, breathed her 
 last, in the fifty-seventh year of her age. 
 
 If the character of a woman is to be estimated by 
 her conduct in the faithful discharge of the great 
 and essential duties of social and domestic life, few 
 will rank higher, or deserve more honorable men- 
 tion, than that of Mrs. Cobbold. 
 
 The female heart, when devoted to conjugal affec- 
 tion, is sometimes observed to be comparatively 
 cold to other claims; but that of Mrs. Cobbold form- 
 ed an exception to this remark, for she possessed a 
 warmth and kindliness of manner particularly cal- 
 culated for inspiring and requiting friendship. 
 
 Conscious of her own extraordinary abilities, and 
 aware of her great powers of attraction, she sought
 
 31 
 
 and obtained applause ; but although she loved ad- 
 miration much, she valued friendship more. A 
 solid judgment enabled her to conceive and 
 act with a promptness and decision that formed a 
 striking trait in her character. Ever ready to meet 
 and repel any improper attack on those measures, 
 which, after due consideration, either her friends or 
 herself had adopted, she was a formidable antago- 
 nist, and of course a valuable partizan. 
 
 Above being the copyist of any individual, she 
 thought and acted for herself; and such was the 
 general conviction of her good sense and strong 
 mind, that opinions, which in any other female 
 might have been termed affected or singular, with 
 her were admitted as correct. 
 
 Her knowledge was multifarious, and her pow- 
 ers of fancy and sentiment striking : her reasoning 
 convincing, and her understanding clear and sound. 
 Delighting in reciprocity of talent wherever she 
 chanced to meet with it, she never forgot that 
 though wit may dazzle, and depth and brilliancy of 
 intellect delight, yet that esteem is due only to geni- 
 us when accompanied by benevolence of heart and 
 purity of mind: wherever these qualities existed, it 
 never failed to obtain her favorable notice. From 
 her natural frankness and ingenuousness of disposi-
 
 32 
 
 tion, she frequently laid herself open to the eenstir^ 
 of those, who prided themselves upon that disquali- 
 fying sort of hypocrisy, which commonly passes for 
 modesty ; and to the mere casual observer she might, 
 therefore, sometimes have appeared vain and ego- 
 tistic. But " vanity, egotism, and a sense of their 
 own sufficiency," says an elegant modern writer, * 
 " must alter with the occasion, for to mediocrity, 
 the simplicity of truth may appear vanity, and the 
 consciousness of superiority seem env3\ The love 
 of praise is instinctive in the nature of persons 
 of genius; take from some that supreme opinion 
 of themselves, that pride of exultation, and 
 you crush the germ of their excellence. Lower the 
 high self-reverence and the lofty conception of 
 genius, and you deprive it of the consciousness of 
 its powers with the delightfulness of its character: 
 in the blow you give to the musical instrument, the 
 invisible soul of its tone is for ever lost." 
 
 There is perhaps, no method of improving the 
 mind more efficacious, and certainly none more 
 agreeable, than a mutual interchange of sentiments 
 with the well-read, the judicious, and the intelligent : 
 by many, therefore, the conversation of Mrs. Cob- 
 bold was much sought after, as her colloquial pow- 
 ers rivalled even her literary talents. 
 
 " D'Israeli on Literary Characters, chap. xi.
 
 33* 
 
 Ease, elegance, genius, vivacity, solid sense and 
 delicate raillery were the characteristic traits, and 
 formed the principal charm of her conversation. 
 Her transitions from one subject to another were 
 frequent and rapid ; when any thing touched her 
 feelings and excited her admiration, or awakened 
 her displeasure, she poured forth enthusiastic elo- 
 quence, and then as quickly changed to reasoning 
 or wit. She had also, as has been beautifully re- 
 marked, " a constant flow of thought, joining with 
 the current of other minds, thence gathering fresh 
 strength not headlong in its course, but easily turn- 
 ing with every bend in its progress ;" and possessed 
 a facility of comprehension, and a felicity of ex- 
 pression by which she fascinated and delighted 
 minds of the most opposite textures. 
 
 Mrs. Cobbold shone pre-eminent in the circle, in 
 which she daily moved, for the versatility and the 
 universality of her genius. — There are few depart- 
 ments in science, which she had not attempted, and 
 in many certainly she eminently excelled. There 
 is no mode of the lyre, each of which is supposed 
 almost to require a particular talent, through which 
 ahe had not run — song, epigram, ode, sonnet, elegy, 
 ballad, opera, tragedy, nay even the lofty epic it- 
 self. Yet the muses alone were far from monopo-
 
 34* 
 
 ji 
 
 lizing the talents of this indefatigable woman ; 
 botany, entomology, geology, mineralogy, concho- 
 logy, and the fine arts alternately divided and en- 
 gaged her attention. 
 
 She excelled in painting, both in oil and water 
 colors, in portraits, she was very successful ; and 
 that her readiness to exert this pleasing talent was 
 equal to her skill, many of her intimate friends, to- 
 gether with the author of the following tributary 
 sonnet, will gratefully acknowledge. 
 
 SONNET, BY Mr. R. Llwyd, 
 
 Addressed to Mrs. Cobbold,* of the Cliff, near Ipswich. 
 On her painting a half-length picture of the writer's 
 Mother, from a miniature likeness. 
 Blest be the hand that Heaven has taught to trace» 
 So well each feature in that dearest face, 
 
 " Accident, in 1800, threw in the way of the writer, a 
 living portrait of his deceased Mother, who, on being reques- 
 ted to sit to the late Mr. Pugh, of Ruthin, very kindly 
 complied : but afterwards regretting in the company of the 
 ingenious and accomplished Mrs. Cobbold, that it was a 
 miniature onlt/, she immediately, with a warmth that at once 
 evinced genius, parental feeling, and benevolence, said, 
 " Will you give me leave to try to enlarge it, and preserve 
 the likeness ;" that she succeeded he is most happy to say,, 
 Rnd the gift is of inestimable value.
 
 35* 
 
 So well her form to filial fondness gives— 
 'Tia inspiration, and the canvas lives ! 
 
 Blest be the bright — the intellectual ray. 
 That bade the pencil e'en the mind pourtray— 
 Place in her hand Religion's hallow'd f choice. 
 And precepts pure in Britain's infant voice- 
 Blest ! truly blest, be Nature's kindest heart 
 That thus in union with the powers of art. 
 Has saved from Fate, and Time, a copy fail- — 
 Giv'n to my wishes — all that Heaven could spare ! 
 
 O Cobhold ! while the grateful glow is mine, 
 A Parent's smile celestial shaU be thine ! 
 
 She was also passionately fond of music, and pur- 
 sued, with characteristic ardour and industry, the 
 study of that enchanting accomplishment. 
 
 In the lighter and more trivial graces and occu- 
 pations of the female mind, fancy and needle-work, 
 she was unrivalled, and the elegant and unique fur- 
 niture and ornaments of her drawing-room afford 
 beautiful specimens of her taste, industry and in- 
 
 " A Bible in the British language, for she knew no other ; 
 and Mrs. Cobbold's pencil has most successfully rivalled 
 the typographic art on the open title page of the New 
 Testament. 
 
 D
 
 36* 
 
 genuity. Her insatiable thirst for knowledge in- 
 duced, and her persevering application, enabled 
 her to make herself mistress of the French, Italian, 
 and German languages. 
 
 Her love of flowers was very great, and was ren- 
 dered more pleasing by her intimate acquaintance 
 with their several properties and uses. A taste for 
 the beauties of vegetation is allowed to be the 
 mark of a pure mind, and is most desirable, as it 
 directs the attention from the turbulent scenes of 
 folly, tranquillizes the mind, and is highly favor- 
 able to the gentler virtues, and to the permanency 
 of our most refined enjoyments. 
 
 The countenance of Mrs. Cobbold was extremely 
 commanding ; her eyes were remarkable for their 
 quick and intelligent expression, and her address 
 and manner peculiarly graceful. But no delinea- 
 tion can give a more adequate idea of some of the 
 leading features of this distinguished woman, than 
 the following poetical picture, written by her three 
 years after her second marriage. 
 
 A CHAKACTER (of the author bv herself.) 
 
 Alicia frankly owns the crowd 
 Has ••eason oft to call her proud, 
 For, scorning ev'r}' little art 
 Sho loves her friends with all her heart,
 
 37* 
 
 While cai'eless of the world beside, 
 She makes indifterence pass for pride, 
 And when acquaintance call to chatter 
 Of dinners, dress, or some such matter, 
 Forgets to thank them for the honor 
 Their visit has conferr'd upon her. 
 Nay, e'en in circles tenn'd polite 
 Sits downright stupid half the night. 
 To whist or scandal scarce attends. 
 And thinks of books and absent friends, 
 Cares not for luck, if good or evil 
 Eut seldom means to be luicivil, 
 Yet with a stern and haughty air 
 Repels impertinence's stare, 
 Restrains not, as she ought, the sneer, 
 When affectation prattles near. 
 And frets to hear a coxcomb prate. 
 Though vice alone provoke her hate- 
 
 Upon her birth fate smil'd serene 
 And gave her life's delightful mean. 
 Taught her to look while blest with health 
 From envy free, on pride, or wealth, 
 That virtue far sui-passes birth. 
 And modesty enhances worth. 
 She boasts not, and the world may know it, 
 A taste for dress, or shape to shew it ; 
 D 2
 
 38* 
 
 In neatness no excelling pattern, 
 
 Nor yet affectedly a slattern. 
 
 Too proud to cringe, too plain to shine, 
 
 She quits all claim at twenty-nine 
 
 To dissipation or to fame, 
 
 A fat unfashionable dame. 
 
 Her foibles all are strictly scann'd 
 
 By folly's idle censuring band ; 
 
 While scandal's votaries, glad to maul her, 
 
 A petticoated pedant call her. 
 
 Yet think not that her simple muse 
 
 That name with affectation wooes, 
 
 She shuns the proud conceited thought. 
 
 The verse by tedious study bought ; 
 
 AATiile unassuming nature's praise 
 
 Breathes in her song, inspires her lays ; 
 
 And virtuous love, with air serene 
 
 Illumes the soft domestic scene. 
 
 And varies stiU its placid round ; 
 
 Yet shall the truth be fairly own'd ? 
 
 Dear vanity, with harmless pow'r 
 
 Steps in to claim an idle hour. 
 
 And makes it doubtful to decree 
 
 If friendship promj^t the verse or she ; 
 
 Yet should her heart expound its laws, 
 
 Sucfes-s were sure in friendslilp's cause.
 
 93* 
 
 1795. 
 
 And now some seventeen years gone bje, 
 Alicia's retrospective eye 
 Reviews this portrait light and free, 
 A rapid sketch, and smiles to see 
 How little time has done, but fix 
 The lines more strong at forty -six. 
 
 Yet past not all these seasons o'er 
 Without some prudent useful lore, 
 For she has learnt with less disdain 
 To listen to the weak or vain ; 
 Her neighbours' faults less harshly shewn, 
 And more severely mark'd her own, 
 And she has daily, hourly, found 
 Esteem and kmdness growing round. 
 Has felt affection's tender tear, 
 E'en the rough stroke of pain endear 
 Till half she fears her heart may find 
 A pang severe to leave behind. 
 The earthly bliss about it twin'd. 
 
 On every occasion Mrs. Cobbold was ready to 
 give advice to those who asked it ; and very many 
 there are who have profited by its excellence. Even 
 her admonitions were generally blended with con- 
 solation, though sometimes necessarily mingled
 
 40* 
 
 with reproof. So decided was her manner with the 
 vicious, that the boldest offender stood abashed in 
 her pi-esence, and by the force of her reprobation, 
 she often reclaimed the idle and careless to proper 
 feeling and better conduct 
 
 In the management of her family^ and the ar- 
 rraigement of her domestic concerns, every species 
 of extravagance and fashionable dissipation were a- 
 voided; frivolous amusements^ empty pomp, andnoisy 
 gaiety, were not congenial with her usual occupations 
 and pursuits: yet,while she supported the dignity of 
 a lady, she never made herself the slave of etiquette. 
 The generosity of her disposition evinced itself on 
 every laudable occasion, and very few persons, 
 with the same means, were so extensively useful. 
 No one, when convinced that it was to a profitable 
 end, could give with a freer heart. Her actions 
 throughout life shewed that she knew the right 
 use of riches — to encoui'age merit, relieve the dis- 
 tressed, support the weak, and raise the despond- 
 ing. Many individuals, to whose complaints she 
 has listened, and whose sorrows she has soothed, 
 will bear grateful witness to those virtues, which 
 rendered her a model of excellence whether consi- 
 dered as a wife, a mother, or a friend. 
 
 How appositely may that benevolent character, 
 and those almost pi-oplietic regrets, by which she so
 
 41* 
 
 ktely commemorated another,* be applied to herself, 
 "Such indefatigable zeal and peculiar capabilities we 
 cannot hope to see united and equalled in any indi- 
 vidual, however meritorious. A powerful mind, and 
 well regulated education enabled her to conduct 
 evei-y charitable institution with the utmost facility. 
 Warmly attached to their interests, she lost no op- 
 portunity of promoting their welfare ; while her 
 activity seemed a principle of health and vitality 
 circulating through their veins. Can we forget 
 how strenuously, and how constantly she advocated 
 she cause of her favourite charity for the Infant 
 Poor ? From her last earthly exertion in its behalf, 
 her removal to a better world was not of long du- 
 ration. That her place here knows her no more, 
 the poor have reason to mourn, and friendship feels 
 saddened at the remembrance ; but it must be our 
 consolation to reflect that the abode of blessedness 
 is everlasting !" 
 
 I cannot conclude this imperfect tribute to the 
 memory of this lamented and highly gifted woman 
 more appropriiitely, than in the pathetic language of 
 an elegant female writer of the present day, — " She 
 is now removed to that sphere, where the incense of 
 human applause can no longer gratify ; where the 
 
 • Miss Buchanan late Treasurer to the Infant Charitj,
 
 42* 
 
 joys and cares of human life can no longer delight 
 or assail her ; to that sphere, where alone those 
 faculties, which she always devoted to the worthi- 
 est purposes, can attain their complete expansion ; 
 and those virtues, Avhich proved the blessing of all 
 connected with her, will at length receive their 
 full reward." 
 
 Ipswich, L^titi.\ Jermyn, 
 
 St. Valentine's Day, 1825.
 
 43* 
 
 ** TVe ne'er shall look upon her like again !" 
 
 2i Cribute to t])t ^tmov^ of SPr^. €obbo(b 
 
 OF HOLYWELLS. 
 
 The zealous, eloquent ajid most benevolent Patroness of the 
 Infant Charity at Ipswich. 
 
 By Mas. Cockle. 
 
 Have we not seen across the brow of night 
 
 Some meteor radiance spread effulgent light, 
 
 And in the lustre of its parting rays 
 
 Leave the bright glow of its meridian blaze ? 
 
 So did she fade from friendship's pensive eye, 
 
 So pass away to immortality ! 
 
 The good, the wise — for whom with private woe 
 
 The mingled tears of public sorrow flow. 
 
 How grac'd with all that marks the gifted mind ; 
 
 Taste, genius, learning, piety combin'd : 
 
 Science that took the fire of manly sense. 
 
 And wit so temper'd with benevolence, 
 
 That whilst around its radiant brightness fell 
 
 It seem'd but friendship's beam or fancy's spell. 
 
 To gild those light adornments which display'd 
 
 Each cultured talent in its softest shade. 
 
 Nor these, alone - we saw around her press 
 
 Her sex's virtues in their fairest dress ;
 
 44* 
 
 Saw them in all their beauteous order move 
 
 To fill the gentlest offices of love. 
 
 Hers was the heart that 'midst each letter'd ahn, 
 
 But sought the fullness of a nobler fame ; — 
 
 That fame which springing from a purer source, 
 
 Marks every duty in its silent course, 
 
 And in its high fulfilment saw her blend 
 
 Each cherish 'd claim of mother, wife and friend. 
 
 Hers was the ready zeal and readier hand. 
 
 Still prompt to execute what pity plann'd ; 
 
 Hers too that mild, persuasive eloquence. 
 
 The pure, full current of benevolence, 
 
 That with its copious waters seems to bring 
 
 The healing vulues of some secret spring. 
 
 Ah ! when of late she shed her hallowhig tear 
 
 O'er a Buchanan's and a Byles's bier. 
 
 And in her faithful portraiture display'd 
 
 The sister virtues bright without a shade. 
 
 We little deem'd how soon for her would flow 
 
 In the strong sympathy of heartfelt woe 
 
 The tmdred tear — and trembling o'er her grave, 
 
 Claim the sad tribute she so lately gave ! 
 
 These gathered sweets, alas ! in honour'd bloom 
 
 But hang their funeral garlands o'er her tomb. 
 
 Like those which shelter'd by her guardian care 
 
 Bend their young buds in sUent sorrow there, 
 
 And with the tenderness of infant woe 
 
 Weep, scarcely concious why their sorrows flow. 
 
 What though protected by that hand no more, 
 
 Which threw around them pity's sheltering power,
 
 45* 
 
 Think not their tender scions shall be cast 
 
 All coldly scatter'd on the wintry blast : — 
 
 No ! there areleft, whose fostering hands shall bring 
 
 These cherish'd flowrets to their promis'd spring, 
 
 And guided by the bright example giv'n 
 
 Present with her their ripen'd fruits in heaven. 
 
 Sleep then, lamented friend ! thy sacred sleep, 
 Whilst round thee all the gentler vu'tues weep. 
 Those which in beauteous hannony combm'd 
 Whate'er can grace, or dignify the mind : — 
 And O ! commingling with the general woe. 
 Though distant far, the copious tears must flow 
 From her who sought (yet ah ! how vainly tried) 
 Her Httle bark still launch'd on friendship's tide, 
 To catch that glorious spirit as it fell 
 Warm on the heart with inspiration's spell. 
 Gone are its kindling fires —yet thy bright star 
 With its last beams still guides as from afar ; 
 And like the pillar'd light to Israel's race, 
 Which mark'd their journey, and their resting place, 
 So shall its lustre bursting through the gloom 
 Pour hallow'd radiance o'er thy honour'd tomb : 
 That sacred light by guardian angels giv'n 
 To lead the trembling steps from earth to heaven, 
 And guide these infant objects of thy care, 
 To meet thee in thy perfect brightness there !
 
 46* 
 
 A TRIBUTE 
 
 ^0 t])t S^^emorji ot ^t^. Cobbolti. 
 
 If talents consecrate the grave. 
 
 Where moulders their once living shrine ; 
 If science though she could not save, 
 
 Regrets her votary to resign : 
 
 And O ! if virtue ever weeps 
 
 Upon her lost disciple's bier. 
 Turn to the tomb where Cobbold sleeps 
 
 And mark how many a hallowed tear. 
 
 By genius, science, virtue shed. 
 Adorn that solemn resting place. 
 
 Where low recline the heart and head. 
 They late combined so weU to grace. 
 
 All mourn for her — affection's tear 
 Falls not alone from kindred eyes. 
 
 The poor turn sorrowing from the bier, 
 Where low their Benefactress lies. 
 
 Her place is vacant by the hearth, 
 Where long she charmed the social train, 
 
 While brilliant wit, and graceful mirth 
 Proclauned her fascinating reign.
 
 47* 
 
 The place is vacant where she stood 
 
 The sufferings of the poor to plead, 
 Appealing to the kind and good 
 
 For succour in their hour of need. 
 And vacant is the station proud 
 
 She filled with highly gifted mind. 
 Soaring above the common crowd, 
 
 By talents, virtues, tastes refined. 
 
 Where OrweWs waters proudly flow. 
 Upon whose banks she dwelt so long, 
 
 Those shades no more her presence know, 
 Nor echoes Holy Wells her song. 
 
 By memory's power, (though lost to sight) 
 Her image on our hearts impressed. 
 
 Still lives in colours fair and bright, 
 And whispers each aspiring breast. 
 
 That talents when with virtues reared. 
 Are God's peculiar blessings given. 
 
 To make the mortal here revered. 
 And the immortal loved in heaven.
 
 48 
 
 THE EOLIAN HARP. 
 
 O ! whence those sounds of soft delight 
 That wafted on the breath of night 
 
 Steal o'er the list'ning ear ? 
 What master's skill the harp is proving ? 
 What genius in wild measures moving. 
 
 To taste and feeling dear. 
 Can such new thoughts with daring hand pursue. 
 In melody so graceful, chords so true ? 
 
 List to those trembling, changing notes. 
 Whose frolic air so lightly floats ! 
 
 It seems a strain of joy 
 In fitful fairy dances rushing. 
 While rills, from rocky fountains gushing. 
 
 Soft harmony supply, 
 WTiere science, loit'ring playful, loves to trace 
 The lengthen'd organ point, the murmur'd bass. 
 
 'Tis surely music from the court 
 Of Oberon, whose festive sport 
 Salutes the harvest moon ;
 
 49 
 
 Each melody, so gaily blending, 
 Beginning from the others ending, 
 
 In one continuous tune : 
 The heart with pleasure beating high. 
 Is all alive to mirth and joy. 
 
 The rapid movement dies. 
 And thrilling sounds arise. 
 
 Each changing key and mood. 
 In plaintive discords syncopating. 
 Such sadden'd euphony creating. 
 
 The touching theme pursued 
 Might give the soul that tender tone. 
 That makes each fabled grief its own. 
 
 Hark ! 'tis a distant choir. 
 
 With mingled voice and " quiv'ring wire,' 
 
 And organ's solemn sound ! 
 Now boldly swell'd, now gently dying. 
 While echoes, from each cave replying. 
 
 Spread sympathy around : 
 Methinks in heav'n sweet seraphs raise 
 To golden hai'ps the hymn of praise. 
 
 And now a loud, a martial strain. 
 From bastion'd fort, or tented plain, 
 
 c
 
 50 
 
 Conaes proutlly sweeping bye : 
 The symbal, fife, and trumpet playing, 
 The drum's long roll, the war-steed's neighing. 
 
 All welcome victory ! 
 What added triumphs wake the song 
 Which shouts and pealing bells prolong ? 
 
 ! 'twas refin'd delusion all ! 
 
 Nor mirth, nor grief, nor triumph's call. 
 
 Has on the night-wind crept. 
 Each varied sound that fancy seizes. 
 From six small strings, by passing breezes 
 
 In undulations swept. 
 Held o'er the ear a strange controul. 
 And touch'd the heart and fir'd the soul. 
 
 O ! ever when, at midnight houi-, 
 
 1 wooe the muse's magic pow'r 
 For strains to nature dear. 
 
 Still, heav'n's own hand the breeze directing. 
 To heav'n's own voice the strings inflecting. 
 
 Be mine that harp to hear. 
 Till ev'ry nerve with rapture own. 
 The pure, the more than mortal tone !
 
 51 
 
 TO DR. GWYN. * 
 
 Come, gentle Nymph, of downcast eye. 
 Whose bosom heaves the raptur'd sigh. 
 Who lov'st unsought, unseen, to dwell 
 Near melancholy's mossy cell : 
 Wilt thou, enthusiastic maid 
 Forsake the lone romantic shade. 
 Nor stern the suppliant's prayer refuse 
 That wooes thee, dear delightful Muse ? 
 Thy fairy footsteps have I trac'd 
 Across the wide, and heathy waste, 
 Pursu'd thee thro' the shady dale 
 Or wandering in the dewy vale. 
 Where gentle gales the notes prolong 
 Have heard thee in the voice of song. 
 On the grey cliffs' impending brow 
 Oft have I sat, to mark the rill 
 That sparkling down the rocky hill, 
 Rush'd murmuring o'er the crags below 
 And ever and anon, methought 
 Kind echo, with thy accents fraught, 
 
 " Dr. Nicholas Gwyn died at his house in Ipsivich 
 January 20, 1798, in the 88th year of his age. He studied 
 Physic under the great Boerhaave at Leydcn, in Holland, 
 where he resided several years ; he was well skilled in 
 Botany.
 
 52 
 
 Soft Avliisper'd to my listening ear 
 " The Muse, Eliza, holds thee dear." 
 Then rapture hung on every sound. 
 And inspiration breath'd around. 
 Then fancy, roll'd the eye of fire. 
 And waken'd music's trembling wire ; 
 While o'er my soul, by thee impell'd 
 Full extacys' deliriinn swell'd ; 
 Or did my timid footsteps stray 
 Where holy science points the way. 
 Amid the haunts to wisdom clear 
 The much-lov'd Muse would still be near. 
 Yes, nymph, I found thy magic reign 
 Extend thro' nature's wide domain : 
 I saw thee paint the flowers of spring, 
 I mark'd thee gild the insect's wing. 
 The air on feather'd pinions cleave. 
 Or glide beneath the glassy wave. 
 And oft to cheer the mazy way, 
 Thou bad'st me raise the tuneful lay. 
 The midnight taper as I sung 
 A brighter radiance round me flung ; 
 Pale study freshen'd at the view 
 And learning glow'd in rosy hue. 
 
 Yes, lov'd by fancy, nature, taste, 
 'Tis thine at friendship's call to liaste.
 
 33 
 
 Bid rapture float upon tlie strain. 
 Or sorrow's sadden'd lute complain. 
 Thou breath'st again the cheerful lay 
 On this thy well-remember'd day. 
 Again the voice of song is giv'n 
 To cheer my Friend at eighty-seven : 
 O, could that voice, that varied strain 
 Soothe, sAveetly soothe, the hour of pain ; 
 At morn and eve the lyre I'd string 
 Soft notes in friendship's ear to sing ; 
 Till pale disease before me fled. 
 And pleasure crown'd that sacred head. 
 'Tis not of roses gay, that blow 
 Upon the gaudy cheek of spring ; 
 'Tis not of youth's empurpled glow. 
 Or beauty's piercing glance I sing : 
 Far other themes my Muse engage. 
 Her kisses greet the brow of age ; 
 The hoary hair, the furrow'd cheek. 
 The smile serene, the aspect meek. 
 Keen sense that from her throne sublime 
 Repels the vain attacks of time ; 
 With candour, falsehood ne'er could stain. 
 And fortitude that conquers pain. 
 These are the charms my song approves. 
 These reason praises, virtue loves;
 
 54> 
 
 Then let the navrow'd breast of pride 
 The verse disdain, the song deride : 
 I coiu't not fortune's giddy wheel 
 Or sing to hearts that cannot feel : 
 My mind abjures the venal strain 
 And scoffs at splendour's gilded chain. 
 But if, dear Gwyn, my humble lyre 
 Thy heart with one delight inspire. 
 If sweet, to thee, the numbers flow 
 And in thy bosom pleasure glow; 
 'Tis all the meed those numbers claim 
 Thy smiles, my laurel and my fame. 
 
 Long may that elevated mind 
 Thro' learning's walks range unconfin'dj 
 That converse gay, that look serene 
 Breathe rapture o'er the social scene. 
 Long round the lieart-strings friendship twine 
 And ever be that friendship mine. 
 Jult/ 16, 1797.
 
 55 
 
 THE LAMENT OF MORVINA, 
 
 From " The Sword, or Father Bertrand's History of 
 his otvn Times." 
 
 NO sprightly sounds of joy 
 Breathe to the Harpj or tremble from its strings. 
 
 Ye echoing caverns sigh ! 
 Responsive to the north wind's rushing wings; 
 Sad harmony to that within my breast. 
 Break, sufF'ring heart ! and let the mourner rest. 
 
 Ye, solitary tow'rs ! 
 Where the sad owl shrinks from the glaring day. 
 
 Behold your ruin'd bow'rs ! 
 Clad with pale ivy and destructive bay. 
 So clinging woes my ruin'd hopes invest. 
 Break, sufF'ring heart ! and let the mourner rest. 
 
 Thou, plaintive bird of eve ! 
 That mourn'st thine absent mate on yonder spray 
 
 O ! teach my harp to grieve, 
 Tun'd to thy sorrow-modulated lay. 
 My grief, how truly in thy notes exprest ! 
 Break, suff'ring heart ! and let the mourner rest.
 
 56 
 
 How late the rose of joy. 
 Displayed its beavities op'ning to the morn. 
 
 Relentless fate past bye 
 Cropt the fair rose, and left me sorrow's thorn ; 
 
 That thorn deep rankles in my wounded breast. 
 Break, sufF'ring heart ! and let the mom'ner rest. 
 
 Yet, virtue's steady ray 
 Shines thro' the horrors of affliction's gloom ; 
 
 It gilds my lonely way 
 And shews me hope ascending from the tomb : 
 
 Thither I haste, O tomb ! receive thy guest. 
 Break, suflf'ring heart ! and let the mourner rest.
 
 57 
 
 STANZAS, 
 From " The Sword," ^c. 
 
 When wide the swelling torrents pour. 
 And wintry blasts at midnight sigh. 
 
 When loud descends the rattling show'r. 
 And black'ning clouds involve the sky. 
 
 The wand'rer, helpless and forlorn. 
 Regrets in vain his humble shed. 
 
 While swift on clashing whirlwinds borne 
 The tempest gathers o'er his head. 
 
 Hopeless, of sheltering refuge nigh. 
 Trembling he seeks the forest shade. 
 
 But starting views with sudden joy, 
 A cottage bosom'd in the glade. 
 
 He springs to reach the welcome spot. 
 And well-known voices greet his ear, 
 
 Rejoic'd he hails his native cot. 
 
 How distant fancied, found how near. 
 
 So pleas'd, I hail this happy glen. 
 
 Where shrouding from the storms of care, 
 
 1 flew to Modred's arms again. 
 And rapture triumph'd o'er despair.
 
 58 
 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 JVitk her Husband's Picture. 1808. 
 
 The Artist, if the pencil's feeble aid 
 
 Could to the soul's strong sentiments reply. 
 Had wit and gentle manners here pourtray'd 
 
 With nature, worth and sense of honor high. 
 But should these features to your marking eye. 
 
 No perfect animated semblance give. 
 Your fancy well can all defects supply. 
 
 And paint the looks that in your eye-glance live. 
 To ev'ry grace of person, mind, and heart. 
 
 To all that friendship, truth and sense approve, 
 'Twas yours affection's fervour to impart, 
 
 And light each feature with the smile of love. 
 Then if you think these graces faintly shown. 
 
 Blame not the Artist's pow'r but prize your own.
 
 59 
 
 THE LILY OF NETTLESTEAD. 
 
 HenrieUa Maria, the fair heroine of tJie following statizas, 
 and the celebrated and beloved mistress of the unfortunate Duke 
 of Monmouth, was the only daughter and heir of Thomas, Lord 
 TVenttvorth, of JVettlestead, the eldest son of Thomas, the Isl^ 
 Earl of Cleveland. She ivas a zvoman of an elegant person, most 
 engaging maimers, arul the highest accomplishments. Lady 
 Wentworth resided for many years at Toddington, iri the county 
 of Bedford, with the Duke, her lover, whose attachment to her 
 continued to his death. She is said to have died broken-hearted, 
 in consequence of his untimely end. It is certain, however, that 
 she survived his execution but a few months, and was buried at 
 Toddington, under a costly monument. Several great grand- 
 children of this unhappy connection are living, and inherit the 
 characteristic features, and penonal beauty of their ancestors. 
 May they inherit haj)2ner fortunes ! There is a fine whole length 
 portrait of this Lady engraved by R. Williams from a painting 
 of Sir G. Kneller. 
 
 Through the echoing covert the bugle resounds. 
 The shouts of the chase, and the cry of the hounds; 
 And, gallantly riding, the hunters are seen. 
 In bonnets, and feathers, and surcoats of green :
 
 60 
 
 The meiTy lord Lovelace* is leading them all. 
 To feast with his cousin in Nettlestead Hall. § 
 
 That cousin is wealthy, that cousin is fair. 
 Is Wentw orth, and Cleveland, and Nettlestead's heir ; 
 Her smile is the sunshine of innocent youth ; 
 Her heart is the throne of affection and truth; 
 Her dark glossy ringlets luxuriantly flow 
 Contrasting and arching her forehead of snow : 
 This flowret of beauty and sweetness, they call 
 Henrietta, the Lily of Nettlestead Hall ! 
 
 A stranger, in manhood and gallantry's pride. 
 The merry lord Lovelace has placed by her side : 
 Forbidden his station and name to disclose. 
 He calls him " Sir Alured, knight of the rose : " 
 How winning his graces and courtesy prove ! 
 His ardent affection soon fixes her love. 
 And, secretly, wedlock's soft fetters enthral 
 The delicate Lily of Nettlestead Hall. 
 
 * He was the only son of John, the 2nd. Lord Lovelace, 
 by the Lady Anne, daughter of Thomas, the 1st. Earl of 
 Cleveland. 
 
 § Till within these few years past, a very considerable 
 portion of the Old Hall was remaining m its pristuie state. 
 It is situated near the Church, and was formerly sun-ounded 
 by a wall, a great part of which is still existing. The gate- 
 way stUl remams ; and on the spandi'ils of the arch are two 
 shields, sculptured with the Wentworth arms and other nu- 
 merous quarterings. The mansion has been lately moderni- 
 zed and new fronted by the present proprietor.
 
 61 
 
 What pages mysterious has fute to unfold ? 
 Her husband is Monmouth,* the royal and bold. 
 And he whom she trusted as loyal and true. 
 Had previously wedded the heir of Buccleugh: 
 At her feet in despondence and agony thrown. 
 He swears that his faith and his vows are her own. 
 That his marriage of boyhood illegal shall prove. 
 And heav'n seal the vmion of nature and love. 
 Affections so mated, O ! say, can they part ? 
 She yields to that eloquent pleader the heart. 
 Deciding, through changes of climate and state. 
 To share unrepining his fortune and fate : 
 Remov'd from her native, her fostering shades. 
 Untimely the Lily of Nettlestead fades. 
 
 Ah Monmouth ! brave Monmouth! thy glories are fled; 
 And low in the dust lies thy blood-streaming head ! 
 Those lips still seem warm with the redolent breath. 
 
 * James, Duke of Monmouth and Buccleugh, the eldest 
 natural son of Charles Ilnd. by ]\Irs. Lucy Walters, the 
 daughter of Richard "Walters, of Haverford-West in the 
 county of Pembroke, Esq. He was liorn at Rotterdam, and 
 bore the name of James Crofts till his Majesty's Restoration. 
 His creation to the title of Duke of INIonmouth was to grace 
 his nuptials mth the Lady Anne, the daughter and sole heir 
 of Francis, Earl of Buccleugh, who was then esteemed the 
 greatest fortune and the finest woman, in the three king- 
 doms.
 
 62 
 
 Those eyelids, like violets, lovely in death ; 
 
 With no fond awaking again shall they move. 
 
 Though nurs'd on thy lily's soft bosom of love I 
 
 As still to his image her fancy returns. 
 
 The movirner is paler than him whom she mourns, 
 
 And calm are her features, and calm is her air. 
 
 All fix'd in the sadness of settled despair ; 
 
 No sigh swells her breast, and no tear-drop her eyes. 
 
 But blighted, the Lily of Nettlestead dies. 
 
 EXTEMPORE 
 
 On observing two young Ladies with wreaths of Ivy 
 which shaded their Faces. 
 
 O'er the lone Hermit's gloomy bow'r 
 
 Let baleful ivy spread. 
 And mantle round the sinking tow'r 
 
 Or ruin'd castle's head. 
 
 On roseate cheeks and temples fair 
 
 Its branches ne'er should stray ; 
 Since none can think the structure there 
 
 Is falling to decay.
 
 63 
 TO MISS HARTCUP,* 
 
 With her Bosom Friend which she had left in the 
 Assemhly-room. t 
 
 Say does the unavailing sigh 
 
 The fair-one's gentle bosom rend ? 
 
 Or falls the tear from Anna's eye 
 To mcurn her absent Bosom Friend i 
 
 Gay was the hour, the viols sound 
 Awoke each youthful heart to pleasure ; 
 
 While mingling in the mazy round, 
 
 Blythe mirth kept time to ev'ry measure. 
 
 Light as the sun-form'd threads of dew 
 That sport on summer's balmy wind 
 
 To join the dance fair Anna flew 
 But left her Bosom Friend behind. 
 
 The measure o'er, the sprightly youths 
 With smiles and bows her steps attend ; 
 
 But learn, ye fair, important truths ; 
 She wish'd to find a Bosom Friend. 
 
 • Now the We of WiUiam Gravatt, Esq. Assistant In- 
 spector of the Royal Academy at Woolwich ; and late Lieut. 
 Col. m the Corps of Royal Engineers. 
 
 t A swan's-down covering for the bosom so called.
 
 64 
 
 From lively circles she retires 
 
 And casts an anxious look around. 
 
 Rut hope in vain her heart inspires. 
 No Bosom Friend, alas ! is found ! 
 
 Then to her quiet shelt'ring home 
 
 She bends her steps, with trembling haste, 
 But fears the evening's chilly gloom. 
 
 And shivers in the wint'ry blast. 
 
 Thus, led by hope, the Sailor's bride 
 INIounts the tall cliff that tow'rs on hiah. 
 
 And gazes o'er the ocean wide 
 Her lover's white sail to descry. 
 
 Till evening's shadows dank and grey. 
 The wide spread wat'ry scene enclose. 
 
 Then home she takes her weary way 
 And weeps and trembles as she goes. 
 
 But you my fair no longer mourn. 
 Receive with smiles the waif I send ; 
 
 Accept the wanderer's late return. 
 Nor quit again your Bosom Friend.
 
 65 
 
 LINES ON THE DEATH OF TASSO, 
 
 A favorite Spaniel of the late Thomas Green, Esq. 
 of Ipswich. 
 
 Fills the big tear the quiv'ring eye ? 
 
 Reluctant heaves the manly breast. 
 While fortitude repels the sigh 
 
 And holds the struggling tear represt ? 
 Let folly mock, and taunting pride 
 
 The humble Spaniel's duty scorn. 
 Or the world-hackney'd heart deride 
 
 The sorrows pour'd on Tasso's urn. 
 Sunk is his eye that mark'd thy thought 
 
 And bade his patient steps attend ; 
 And lost the upward glance that caught 
 
 The meaning of his guardian friend. 
 Joy's frolic bound, the crouch of fear. 
 
 The tender whine, the prostrate head. 
 The fond caress to mem'ry dear. 
 
 All bid thee mourn for Tasso dead. 
 
 D
 
 66 
 
 Then freely breathe the feeling sigh. 
 
 The soothing tear^ O ! bid it flow : 
 To pity give the streaming eye, 
 
 That weeps in unaffected woe. 
 Or, if thou deem this tribute vain. 
 
 Pour thy pure numbers clear and strong. 
 Let Tasso claim thy verse again. 
 
 And live immortaliz'd in song. 
 
 EXTEMPORE 
 
 On seeing the two beautiful Daughters of Sir 
 J. Call at an Assembly, 
 
 Full many a lovely maid and dame 
 In vain asserts her beauty's claim 
 
 To grace the ball ; 
 But who shall perfect beauty name 
 
 And not Miss-Call ?
 
 67 
 
 LINES ON THE RIVER GIPPING. 
 
 No more my youthful fancy roves 
 With Muses in Castalian groves, 
 
 Pierian waters sipping ; 
 I quit the fabled hill and stream 
 Descending to an humbler theme. 
 
 The flow'ry banks of Gipping 
 
 In place of laurel-cover'd glades. 
 And nymphs reclin'd in myrtle shades^ 
 
 And sportive dryads skipping; 
 I'll praise the walk where daisies spring, 
 And Ipswich beauties love-tales sing 
 
 To gentle murm'ring Gipping. 
 
 What tho' thy neighbour Orwell Tboast 
 His variegated length of coast. 
 
 His busy trade and shipping ; 
 Tell him that happiness may stray 
 Where pomp could never find the way. 
 
 And glide thro' vales with Gipping. 
 D 2
 
 68 
 
 No envious sands thy course perplex. 
 No howling storms thy waters vex. 
 
 Their shores of verdure stripping ; 
 Thy peaceful streams translucent glide. 
 While flow'i-ets bend on either side 
 
 To view themselves in Gipping. 
 
 And tho' no trees in song renown'd 
 With golden fruit luxuriant crown'd. 
 
 Not e'en the golden pippin ; 
 In stately rows thy banks adorn. 
 Yet breezes from the blossom'd thorn 
 
 Waft fragrance over Gippiyig. 
 
 Around the beech and spreading lime 
 Embracing woodbines gaily climb. 
 
 Their branches fondly clipping ; 
 And willows bow to kiss the flood. 
 As if delighted to be view'd 
 
 By sweetly smiling Gipping: 
 
 Self pleas'd Narcissus by thy side. 
 His lovely form in all its pride. 
 
 And all its charms equipping ; 
 His beauty in the mirror eyes. 
 And for the wafry image sighs 
 
 Reflected fair by Gipping.
 
 69 
 
 May gentle zephyr's balmy wing 
 Around thee spread eternal spring. 
 
 No frost its blossoms nipping ; 
 But fairest flow'rs the sense delight. 
 And ever verdant meads invite 
 
 The fair to walk by Gipping. 
 
 May beauty roam serenely there. 
 With chaste eyed virtue ever near. 
 
 To gviard her steps from slipping. 
 And calm content with brow serene. 
 Diffuse her blessings o'er the scene, 
 
 Enrich'd by tranquil Gipping. 
 
 Thy placid face oft let me view, 
 Dimpled by morn's collected dew. 
 
 From o'er charg'd branches dipping ; 
 When lucid gems on ev'ry spray 
 Are glittering in the eastern ray. 
 
 That glances bright on Gipping. 
 
 If summer's beams too fierce invade. 
 To some protecting friendly shade 
 
 With jocund footsteps ti'ipping, 
 I'll shield me from the noon-tide blaze, 
 And chaunt some tale of ancient days 
 
 To soft romantic Gipping.
 
 70 
 
 1*11 sing how cruelly the boai* 
 The blooming boy Adonis tore. 
 His breast with fury ripping. 
 Lamenting Cytherea's love. 
 In plaintive accents will I move 
 The sympathy of Gipping. 
 
 Or else of Orpheus be my strains, 
 
 Who brav'd grim Pluto's clanking chains. 
 
 Groans, yells, and furies whipping ; 
 His faithful love, his lasting woe. 
 Shall cause the tender tear to flow, 
 
 And join the stream of Gipping. 
 
 I'll cheat the hour with varied lays. 
 Till ev'ning's mild declining rays 
 
 In v/estern waves are dipping ; 
 And Philomel in thrilling song. 
 Pours her full hymn of praise along 
 
 The bosom of her Gipping. 
 
 Till, courted by a cooling breeze. 
 The moon slow rises o'er the trees. 
 
 Their tops with silver tripping : 
 Then to my peaceful cot I'll hie, 
 Wooe gentle sleep to close my eye. 
 
 And dream of happy Gipping,
 
 71 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF 
 
 FRANCESCO BORONE,* 
 
 When great ones die, a venal train 
 Of poets pour the sorrowing strain: 
 To humble merit will the muse 
 A modest requiem then refuse — 
 
 * Francis Boroxe was born at Milan, Apiil 6th. 17^9. 
 An active enquiring mind led him at an early age fi-om his 
 native country ; and liis talents, under the influence of a 
 person he esteemed and respected, were easily turned to 
 natural history. His accuracy of discrimination with regard 
 to the appearance and cliaracters of plants has rarely been 
 exceeded, and his ardour kept pace with his abilities. After 
 overcoming thfRculties apparently insurmountable, at Siei-ra 
 Leone he attended the late professor Sibthorp to Greece, 
 with whom he was for eight days blocked up by Pirates at 
 Mount Athos. The highest patronage awaited him in his 
 own country, which he was anxious to deserve rather than 
 obtain. But Providence disposed otherwise, for to the deep 
 regret of his friends and fellow travellers, he died by falling 
 in his sleep from his chamber window at Athens the 20th. 
 of October 1794, and was interred under the shade of a 
 mulberry tree, at the church of the Madonna in that city. 
 The genus of plants discovered in New Holland called 
 Boronia were so named, to preserve the memoiy of this 
 martyr to the science of Botany, whose indefatigable zeal 
 and singular acuteness would but for his premature fate, 
 soon ha\'e jjrocured him other claims to such an honour.
 
 72 
 
 A lay for one to nature dear, 
 
 The faithful servant, friend sincere ? 
 
 No : 'tis her pleasure to inspire 
 
 Wild melancholy's pensive lyre. 
 
 To breathe soft notes " through glade and gloom," 
 
 And weep o'er merits grassy tomb. 
 
 E'en now she sings in plaintive strains, 
 
 'Mid ruin'd Athens' mould'ring fanes: 
 
 And thus, her ancient haunts among. 
 
 To worth devotes the fun'ral song— — 
 
 Fall soft, ye gentle dews of balmy eve ! 
 
 Ye sighing gales, waft night's cool fragrance here t 
 While laurel with the cypress wreath I weave. 
 
 And strew with flowers Francesco's early bier. 
 
 He loved the lonely hour, when twilight gray 
 Breathes her romantic stillness o'er the soul; 
 
 When fancy paints her fairy visions gay. 
 And the rapt bosom owns her soft controul. 
 
 For pamper'd pride had ne'er misled his youth. 
 
 Rude poverty's invigorating rule 
 Taught him the lore of unaffected truth. 
 
 And train'd his studious mind in nature's school .
 
 73 
 
 He woo'd fair science with unceasing care ; 
 
 With her he sought in distant climes to wend : 
 Propitious Heav'n assenting heard his pray'r. 
 
 And in the master gave the generous friend. 
 
 In search of knowledge, on the burning sand 
 Of Afric's shores botanic wreaths he twined : 
 
 In vain wild fever wav'd her lurid brand. 
 
 While gratitude and friendship nerved his mind. 
 
 With heart elate, and spirits motinting light. 
 To Grecia's famous coasts he bent his way : 
 
 Hope o'er his prospects glanced her meteors bright. 
 And danced before him with delusive ray. 
 
 Scarce had he bask'd in that delusive ray. 
 
 Scarce seen those meteor-gilded prospects bloom. 
 
 When death, whose mandate clouds the fairest day. 
 Exulting snatch'd him to the dreary tomb. 
 
 Wisdom may bid his weeping friends rejoice 
 That he is happy, free from earthly fears. 
 
 In vain shall friendship listen to the voice ; 
 As vainly strive to smile away her tears :
 
 74 
 
 For mem'ry's faithful hand shall fondly trace 
 His rising virtues and his soul sincere; 
 
 Paint science deck'd with youth's enchanting grace ; 
 Then place the portrait on Francesco's bier. 
 
 Around his grave the sweetest flow'rs shall spring, 
 Bedew'd with sympathizing pity's tear ; 
 
 And zephyr, from his undulating wing. 
 For ever shed delightful fragrance there. 
 
 And though no trophies proud, no sculptur'd bust. 
 Shall make his tomb to future ages known ; 
 
 Immortal Athens guards his hallow'd dust. 
 And consecrates his mera'ry with her own.
 
 75 
 
 SONNET TO SPRING. 
 
 Breathe, gentle gales, that round my hawthorn play. 
 And blythe, in wanton pastime, scatter round 
 White blossoms, fragrant on the dewy ground, 
 
 A mimic snow upon the breast of May. 
 
 I feel your balmy health-bestowing pow'r. 
 With ev'ry breeze successive pleasures rise. 
 Bright curls the wave, clear spread the azure skies^ 
 
 And op'ning roses deck my ti'anquil bow'r. 
 
 Still'd is the soul, wild passion hush'd to rest ; 
 The regulated pulses gently move ; 
 And blameless friendship, peace, andhallow'd love. 
 
 Hold their bland empire in my quiet breast. 
 
 Then, vernal gales, your sportive flight pursue. 
 
 And reasons pow'rs, with nature's charms, renew.
 
 76 
 MY DEAFNESS. 
 
 A TRANSLATION FROM THE FRENCH, 
 
 Sent with the following Lines to a yoxmg Lady tvho 
 was deeif. 
 
 " Accept, deav girl ! the pleasing thought 
 " That dwells in each translated line, 
 
 *' And know that hearts with feeling fraught 
 " Can listen and respond to thine." 
 
 Though, sad to say, I'm hard of hearing, 
 
 'Tis consolation to have eyes 
 In which kind nature, ever cheering. 
 
 Her language eloquently tries. 
 When beauty, willing to approve. 
 
 Yet shunning parent's looks austere. 
 Says, with a single glance, " I love," 
 
 O ! I can hear, ^yes, I can hear. 
 
 When a conceited puppy prates 
 
 And proudly ev'ry ear demands 
 To argument that nothing states. 
 
 To systems no one understands.
 
 77 
 
 When, greeted by a giddy throng. 
 He snufFs up flattery's incense there ; 
 
 Then, if some Sage, should hold his tongue, 
 The wise man's silence I can hear. 
 
 When some lov'd friend of childhood's day. 
 
 From tempests, battles and alarms 
 Returning, after long delay. 
 
 Enfolds me fondly in his arms. 
 Beyond all words his looks to me 
 
 Convey each feeling kind and dear :— 
 How soft soe'er that language be, 
 
 I hear, yes, perfectly I hear. 
 
 If dreading sorrow's vain appeals. 
 
 Some wretch creep bye, with want opprest. 
 When from his eye the tear-drop steals 
 
 And falls upon his labouring breast. 
 Vain is his silence : ev'ry sense 
 
 Finds in his looks a meaning clear : 
 Mov'd by their simple eloquence 
 
 I hear, efficiently I hear. 
 
 And you whose bosom's gentle swell 
 Pure sympathies steal kindly o'er. 
 
 You, whom I comprehend so well. 
 Forbear my portion to deplore ;
 
 78 
 
 Content and peace are smiling round. 
 Nor can you deem my lot severe ; 
 
 For, though my ear admits no sound. 
 My heart, thank heaven ! my heart can hear. 
 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 Alt intimate Friend of the Author, with a Fan 
 painted tj represent Insects. 
 
 Go unambitious simple toy. 
 And near Aspasia's breast employ 
 Thy pow'r to give that bosom joy : 
 
 Not by thy breezy fluttering vain. 
 That like thy pictur'd insect train. 
 Wanton in summer's gaudy reign ; 
 
 But by that fond reminiscence 
 That can delight and joy dispense. 
 To friendship's more enlighten'd sense. 
 
 And by the fervent wish that she 
 May ev'ry hour more happy be. 
 And most when she shall think of me.
 
 79 
 
 POETICAL LETTER TO A FRIEND. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 From my silence pray do not assert 
 That my heart and my genius alike are inert ; 
 Though the Muse might be sunk in a deep synco- 
 pation. 
 From friendship alone I could catch inspiration ! 
 I hoped long ere this to have furnish'd conviction 
 That such inspiration was far from a fiction. 
 By gaily, and speedily sending each valentine 
 To catch some new light from the beams of your 
 
 gallant eync. 
 But, collecting the fugitive verses, I wonder'd, 
 To find that their number exceeded five hundred ! 
 Not gifted like Mah'met with wing quill seraphical 
 I call'd for assistance on art typographical, 
 Tho' often I feared from its tardy progression 
 That int'rest might fade ere it gave an impression. 
 These trifles I know you may very well flimsey call 
 Not fikill'd like yourself in rhymes witty and whim- 
 sical. 
 Mirth springs in my heart as I ponder on them you 
 
 late 
 Sent, and I laugh, but presume not to emulate.
 
 80 
 
 To an aglet or pin I'll my very best fan'gage, 
 That you fail not in rhyme for aword in our language, 
 But tliink not I'll lay in despondence myself bye. 
 Or feel for your skill the base passion of envy, 
 I'll rather exulting rejoice that my friend 
 In rhyme and in reason my Muse shall transcend. 
 This packet's protracted delay you in part once 
 To my wishes of sending a copy in quarto— 
 SixteeJi of my verses are chiefly vehicular 
 But quarto's convey them to friendships particular: 
 Nor on their defects can I e'en with a blush look . 
 When wafted to one so indulgent as R : 
 
 Ah blame not that rural employment we start in 
 At Holy-wells rather than Trimley St. Martin. 
 For setting aside what may wellmake our labour good 
 In preference due to the roads and the neighbourhood. 
 We know we have ev'ry convenience in store 
 That Trimley can boast and a great many more. 
 Not least that we more opportunities prove 
 Of greeting the friends and connections we love ! 
 For them too we hope, in due time, to be able 
 With poultry and fish to replenish our table. 
 With perch and fat carp we six pounds have replete 
 While Orwell below bears her stores to our feet— 
 And if either epicure, dainty or glutton 
 Object to the flavour or size of our mutton,
 
 81 
 
 Though we venison neither from forest or park get. 
 Their taste we may please in our excellent market. 
 For game too; — yet poachers will frequently take it 
 But if we can't shoot it, we know how to make it. 
 Though game so fictitious shall ne'er be supplied 
 To ns, but by vice, affectation, or pride. 
 The views from our windows both fair and extensive 
 Present pleasing pictures or chearful or pensive. 
 And I scarcely know whether the sad or the merry 
 Prevails when I fancy my ken reaches Bury. 
 But to Holy-wells various the charms that belong. 
 So, blythe be my verse as I sketch them in song. 
 A snug old house bedecks the farm. 
 The rooms though small and low are warm ; 
 We add, 'tis but a patching trick, 
 A plain white front of woolpit brick. 
 The unassuming view of which is 
 Just " neither poverty nor riches." 
 The Muse in quibble fairly sings 
 Not here has wealth display'd its wings ; 
 A road to drive up to the door. 
 With shrubs and verdant plat before ; 
 Wliile sloping from the hill are seen 
 Rich pastures gay in em'rald green. 
 And glitt'ring through the willow boughs, 
 A smooth canal its surface she\v's.
 
 82 
 
 In placitl lustre seems to glide 
 Contrasting Orwell's curling tide. 
 Where stately vessels swell their sails. 
 And lighter schallops woo the gales ; 
 When days serener glories fade. 
 And western hills grown brown in shade- 
 Half hide the orb, whose parting fires 
 Reflected gleam from vanes and spires. 
 And doubtful on the distance blaze 
 In ling'ring floods of golden haze. 
 The wand'ring eye delights to trace 
 Each spot in bright or shadowy grace ; 
 The Chauntry's poplar tall whose high press 
 Of spring branches mocks the cypress— 
 Whitton's white House, and Akenham's farms ; 
 With Bramford's undulating charms ; 
 The pale lime smoke of chalky Claydon, 
 Shrubland's dark groves of pine displayed on. 
 Where picturesque performs its duty. 
 And smiles at Bosmere's naked beauty ; 
 While Stow though scarce discern'd in mist, a 
 Termination gives the vista— 
 Now let our scenes domestic claim, a 
 Sketch, and turn the panorama : 
 And here, the view at will adorning. 
 We'll chuse our time a summer's morning;
 
 83 
 
 The hay just loaded on the wain. 
 The barn-yard strew'd with last year's grain, 
 Where many a busy hen and chicken 
 In motley groupes their food are picking, 
 The flutt'ring doves on dove-cote billing. 
 And kine the snowy milk pail filling. 
 Now to the walks that bower'd in shade 
 Winds gently down the woody glade. 
 Where oaks their antic branches fling 
 To guard the dell and sacred spring ; 
 The morning beam aslant the hill 
 Just glances on the sparkling rill. 
 That gushes from the rocky cave, 
 A shelly silver'd bed to lave. 
 As limped and as pure of hue 
 As radiant drops of summer dew. 
 That, trembling from the alder spray 
 Their tribute to the streamlet pay. 
 Here science thoughtful, seeks to trace 
 The changes mark'd on nature's face. 
 And finds, in strange confusion hurl'd. 
 The wonders of a former world ! 
 Dense, conic, belemnitic stones. 
 Sharks fossil teeth, and horses bones, 
 And most abundant store of shells 
 Invite research at Holy-wells, 
 
 E 2
 
 84 
 
 Oslvea-striata and vulgaris. 
 With pecten nam'd opercularis. 
 The same both maxima and various ; 
 Murex antiquis and contrarius. 
 With erinaceouS;, carinatus 
 Caudatus, comeus, cancellatus 
 And senticosus and costatus 
 Emarginula ; fissurella, 
 Calyptica balamus ; patella ; 
 Voluta ; buccinum glabratum 
 Minutum, and reticulatum. 
 And serpula ; vermicularia ; 
 Pinna, anomia ; rostellaria ; 
 With turbo, trochus, and scalaria ; 
 Tellina ; mya-arenaria; 
 Area, pentunculus ; and more 
 That I could name to many a score ! 
 But sure already some apology 
 Is due for all this dull conchology. 
 So leaving .shells to grace the cabinet 
 With damask curtain'd close, or tabinet. 
 Of Holy-wells I'll only say. 
 That be its beauties what they may. 
 By R . 's presence they'll be heighten'd. 
 
 And by his spouse's doubly brighten'd. — 
 Thus long having ambled and rambled in verse, 
 'Tis time my adieu's should be speedy and terse.
 
 85 
 
 So curbing my Pegasus back from his folly tricks^, 
 Curvetting bye scandal, and leaping o'er politics;, 
 Dismounting, I'll wish that all blessing may dwell 
 With you, and with yours, and just sign a farewel. 
 Your friend while there is a breath in 
 Cobbold's Elizabeth. 
 
 From Cliff decked with larch 
 
 The twentieth of March, 
 
 Eighteen- Hundred and Thirteen 
 
 Be Britain alert in ! 
 
 ON A POMPOUS INSIGNIFICANT MAN. 
 
 Say, why does Sir Toby love parade ? 
 
 Why make to pomp his vain pretence ? 
 No man so needs each trivial aid. 
 To raise him into consequence !
 
 86 
 
 THE MOSAIC PICTURE, 
 
 Inscribed to Mrs. Craigie, of Glendoick, Perthshire, 
 and written expressly as an Introduction to her 
 Album, by her affectionate friend, E. C, 
 June 2, 1817. 
 
 Near a Cathedral Altar placed. 
 
 Where mind alone the sketch had traced. 
 
 The genius-gifted Artist stood. 
 
 In inspiration's musing mood; 
 
 Before his thoughtful eye display'd 
 
 A tablet thick with cement laid. 
 
 And oft he turn'd to contemplate 
 
 Rough bits of marble, stone and slate ; 
 
 Then, as his fitful fancy pleas'd. 
 
 The fragments eagerly he seiz'd. 
 
 Black, red, white, green, all strangely wedded. 
 
 And in the cement deeply bedded. 
 
 An honest Mason standing by. 
 Had view'd the work with wondering eye, 
 At length he spoke ; " Pray, sir, with favour, 
 I humbly ask— this curious labour ?
 
 87 
 
 " This mass of morsels, red^ blue^ green;, 
 " So oddly mix'd, what can it mean ?" 
 " This work is called Mosaic, friend, 
 " And polishing, the scraps will blend,' 
 
 "Aye, polishing — that's very true. 
 But then a marble slab might do. 
 And surely would be better gloss'd 
 For less than half the pains and cost." 
 
 "A marble slab, indeed ! — I see 
 « You guess not what the work will be, 
 " But hold ; — a month hence xneet me here 
 " And all its magic shall appear." 
 
 The time arriv'd, the Mason's eyes 
 Gaz'd on the tablet with surprise, 
 A lovely picture fiU'd its place. 
 Complete in form and colours' grace. 
 Where every charm of shade and light. 
 Had so combin'd to cheat the sight, 
 That touch and reason scarce can prove 
 These figures do not breathe and move ! 
 
 " Well," said the Artist, " friend, avow, 
 " How do you like my labour now ?"
 
 88 
 
 "Like it? I'm lost in admiration ! 
 " Is this the inotley combination, 
 " The mass of morsels ? sure I never 
 " Saw any painting half so clever, 
 " 'Tis all creation's pow'r surprises 
 " When order from confusion rises. 
 " And with unmix'd delight I view 
 " What art like nature's self can do, 
 " Combining scraps to form a whole 
 " Replete with genius, taste, and soul." 
 
 Thus in this volume you may find 
 Materials somewhat oddly join'd; 
 Affection, with the Artist's skill 
 Gives colour, grace, and form at will. 
 And blends them all with such nice arti 
 As touches both the eye and heart ; 
 And stamps a value far more high 
 Than gems or countless Avealth can buy.
 
 89 
 
 THE INVOCATION. 
 
 Morning — River Scenery — The Glen— The Artist— 
 The Fisherman — The Spell — The Yacht — Days 
 of Yore — Conclusion. 
 
 The " Ancient Fisherman^'' whose clutracter is jMurlrayed in 
 these Stanzas, it is not a mere creature of the imagination, but 
 an eccentric Being, mice resident in the parish of St. Clements^ 
 Ipswich, by name Thomas Colson, but better known by the 
 appellation o/R,obinson- Crusoe. He was originally a loool- 
 comber, and afterivards a weaver ; but a want of constant em- 
 ployment in both these occupations induced Jiiin to enter into the 
 East Suffolk Militia; andwhilst quartered at Leicester, lie learn- 
 ed, u'ith his usual ingenuity, the art of stocking. iceaving, u'hich 
 trade tie afterwards follmoed in this County. But this em- 
 ployment, in its turn, he soon relinquished ; and became a Fisher- 
 man on the river Orivell. His little vessel, (if vessel it might be 
 called, for every part of it was his own handy work) presented a 
 curious specimen of tiaval patchwork, as his extreme poverty did 
 not afford him the means of procuring proper materials : yet in 
 this leaky and crazy vessel it ivas his constant custom by day and 
 by night, in calms and in storms, to toil on tlie river for fish. His 
 figure was tall and thin ; his countenance meagre, yet striking ;
 
 90 
 
 and his eye iharp and piercing. Subject to violent chronic com- 
 jilaints ; icith a mind somcivhat distempered, and faculties im- 
 paired; he ivas a firm believer in the evil agency of luizards and 
 witchcraft. On this subject indeed he luas by no means uninform- 
 ed ; and a frequent perusal of the '■'• Dcemonology'''' of the British 
 Solomon, K. James the /, operating on the gloomy and supersti- 
 tious temper, soon confirmed his belief in these absurd opinions' 
 He appeared also to have read " GlanvlVs Saducismus Trium- 
 phans''' tvith considerable attention ; and ichile arguing on this 
 his favorite topic, his quotations from this autJwr were just and 
 aj)posite. His mind toas so haunted with the dreams of charms 
 and enchantments, as to fancy he ivas continually under the influ- 
 ence of these mischievious tormentors. His arms and legs, nay^ 
 almost his whole body, was encircled with the bones ofhoi-ses, rings, 
 amulets, and characts, verses, ivords, Sfc. as spells and charms to 
 protect him against their evil machinations. On different parts 
 of his boat was to be seen the '•'■horse shoe nailed,''^ that most 
 effective antidote against the power of ivitches. When conversing 
 with him, he ivould describe to you that he saw them hovering 
 about his jjerson, and endeavoring, by all their arts, to punish and 
 torment him. Though a wretched martyr to the fancies of a dis- 
 ordered imagination, his manners ivere mild and harmless, and 
 kis cJmracter honest and irreproachable. But luHoever powerful 
 and effective his charms might be to protect Mm from the agency 
 of evil spirits, they did not prove sufficiently operative against the 
 dangers of storm and tempest. For being unfortunately driven 
 on the ooze by a violent storm on the ird of October, 1811, lie was 
 seen and earnestly importuned to quit his crazy vessel ; but, re- 
 lying on the efficacy of his charms, he obstinately refused ; and 
 the ebb oftfie tide draiving his bark off into deep water, his charms, 
 his spells, and his characts failed him ; and poor Robinson sunk 
 to rise no more ! "
 
 91 
 
 From rustic bow'r, by nature made. 
 Beneath the linden's leafy shade. 
 That crowns the cliff, whose craggy side 
 Ascends abrupt from Orwell's tide. 
 Beneath whose slopes and cinuous steeps. 
 The broad majestic river sweeps ; 
 Where strays the eye delighted o'er 
 The gently undulating shore. 
 To scenes thy skill woiild aptly chuse. 
 From rustic bow'r I call thee. Muse. 
 
 Nor yet the bee to care alive. 
 
 On sounding wing hath left his hive : 
 
 The haunt of busier man is still : 
 
 The morn beam slants athwart the hill. 
 
 Unconcious draws the blackbird nigh. 
 
 Then starts, a stranger form to spy. 
 
 And swift, with glossy wing di splay 'd. 
 
 Flits fearful through the shrubby glade. 
 
 Upon my verdant canopy 
 
 All unexhal'd night's tear drops lie. 
 
 Or gently shook, with soothing sound, 
 
 In balmy dew-show'rs patter round. 
 
 Those tall acacias gliding bye, 
 
 The white sail steals upon my eye : 
 
 And ever, as the loitering breeze 
 
 Moves the light boughs, or waves the trees.
 
 92 
 
 Wliite cluster'd dwellings, scarcely seen. 
 And tow'r, and turret, peep between ; 
 And pennon'd mast, and gilded vane, 
 A moment shewn, then hid again. 
 All gaily in the morning ray. 
 Like youth's fantastic visions play : 
 While ev'i'y graceful form I see. 
 Inspires the wish to live with thee. 
 
 Oft has thy voice in childhood's hour. 
 Awoke me in the northern bow'r. 
 And shall the lyre I tun'd to thee 
 Hang silent on the southern tree ? 
 Shall cares or pomps my heart controul. 
 And chase thy pleasures from my soul ? 
 No ; still thy voice shall soothe my ear ; 
 Thy harp's wild descant still be dear ; 
 Nor long wilt thou my claim refuse. 
 When to my bow'r I call thee, Muse. 
 
 Come, let us wander thro' the glade. 
 Where willows throw, in lengthen'd shade. 
 Their tangling arches o'er the rill. 
 That steals its source from either hill. 
 And gently winds its covert way. 
 Scarce gleaming to the eye of day.
 
 93 
 
 In sooth the wild sequester'd glen, 
 Seems little trod by mortal men : 
 Its lowly bow'rs of deep'ning green. 
 So cloo'd the woody heights between. 
 So hid, so still, form meet resort. 
 For fays to hold their sylvan court : 
 Yet here I've mark'd the Artist* stray. 
 Here linger out the summer day. 
 And with enthusiast pencil trace. 
 Or storm or sunshine's varied grace : 
 But chief when golden lights relieve 
 The dark and giant shades of eve. 
 He feels his soul to transport warm. 
 And fixes ev'ry fleeting chai-m. 
 And sure, in playful mood, 'tis thine. 
 Dear Muse ! to guide his varying line. 
 As breathe, in ev'ry form and tone^ 
 Strange feelings scarce to painting known ; 
 Effects sublime, and graces free 
 That speaks the sovd of poesy ! 
 
 " The banks of this beautiful river were the frequent 
 haunts of that admirable painter Gainsborough, while resi- 
 dent at Ipswich ; and afforded ample scoi)e for the exercise 
 of his inimitable pencil. Mr. George Frost, a. most ingenious 
 artist of Ipswicli, and an ardent admirer of tlie productions 
 of Gainsborough, and who deemed " it distinction enough to 
 " catch the sUglitest of his perfections," is the personage 
 alluded to iu the above stanzas.
 
 94 
 
 Come, rest upon the beetling cHfT, 
 
 And mark that little rocking skiff: 
 
 Though measur'd true the oar's bright stroke. 
 
 Its plank is pierc'd, its gunwale broke: 
 
 Yet on it glides, and leaves behind 
 
 Yon anchor'd bark, where, to the wind. 
 
 Long trains of meshy folds display'd. 
 
 Announce the Fisher's toilsome trade. 
 
 And who is this that plies the oar. 
 
 The skiff impelling to the shore. 
 
 With squalid garments round him flung. 
 
 And o'er his bending shoulders hung 
 
 A string of perforated stones. 
 
 With knots of elm and horses bones ? 
 
 Say, Muse, may this a mortal be. 
 
 Or shape fantastic drawn by thee ? 
 
 And why his look so wild, so wan ? 
 
 It is the ancient Fisherman, 
 
 Who dreams that wizards, leagued with hell. 
 
 Have o'er him cast their deadly spell. 
 
 Tho' blanch'd his hair and bow'd his form. 
 
 Yet still he toils, in sun and storm ; 
 
 The boat he plies, the raft he steers. 
 
 When swift the rapid whirlwind veers. 
 
 When scarce the corvorant can sweep. 
 
 The surface of the foaming deep.
 
 95 
 
 Tho' pinching pain his limbs endure. 
 He holds his life by charm secure. 
 And while he feels the tort'ring ban. 
 No wave can drown the spell-bound man. 
 Can leeches hand, or sages skill. 
 His pains assuage, his troubles still ? 
 The ills from fancy's pow'r we feel, 
 'Tis fancy's pow'r alone can heal : 
 Then, Muse, employ thy sweetest strain. 
 To cure the ancient wand'rer's pain. 
 
 THE SPELL. 
 
 " O rest thee, rest thee, sailor bold. 
 In lowly hut beneath the willow, 
 
 Warm fire shall chase the Autumn's cold. 
 And fi-agment woodrufFe strew thy pillow.* 
 
 " I may not rest, I may not sleep. 
 For spells my weary eyelids stain. 
 
 Fierce fiends their watchings by me keep. 
 And call me to the roaring main. 
 
 They shriek around, they ride the blast. 
 Hang on my nets in vivid fires. 
 And whirling in fantastic spires. 
 
 Like smoky wreaths ascend the mast.
 
 96 
 
 And ever as the midnight hour 
 Their hate confirms, renews their pow'r ; 
 Infernal forms my couch invest. 
 Then, Lady, may I, can I rest ?" 
 
 " O rest thee in the mossy cave. 
 
 The falling rill shall soothe thy slumbers ; 
 And sweetly to the murm'ring wave 
 
 The wild harp breathe its magic numbers." 
 
 " I may not sleep — with hellish pow'r 
 The wizard works in secret bowr ! 
 
 I saw the wretch a mass prepare 
 Of melted wax and dead men's dust; 
 
 From mould'ring sculls he scrap'd the hair. 
 And worms from eyeless sockets thrust : 
 
 Then shap'd the whole — distinct and true, 
 I saw my very image rise ; 
 My swelling brow, my sunken eyes. 
 
 Too soon to dreadful likeness grew. 
 And as the plastic form he prest. 
 
 Some magic words he mutter'd o'er ; 
 Then from a living swallow's breast. 
 
 The reeking heart and liver tore : 
 The bleeding spoil on either side 
 
 Beneath the moulded arms he tied.
 
 97 
 
 And from a cobweb cuvtain'd nook. 
 The dark demoniac rite to swells 
 
 Some half burnt bones the wizard took, 
 I shudder'd, for I knew them well. 
 
 The bones of her who on the heath/ 
 
 In flames resign'd her wicked breath ; 
 
 Who train'd to lust and murder's lore. 
 
 Her young and menial Paramour ; 
 
 And urg'd and prais'd him while he crept, 
 
 And slew her husband as he slept ! 
 
 Then is not this a potent spell ? 
 
 And is not this a charm of hell ?" 
 
 " O thou hast dreamt an evil dream. 
 And this is all the mind's confusion ; 
 
 But peace and prayer with holy beam 
 Shall soon dispel the dark illusion." 
 
 * The persons here alluded to, were Margery Beddingfield 
 and Richard Hinge, who were ti'ied and convicted at the 
 Assizes, holdenat Buiy Si. Edmund, March 24th, 1763, for 
 Petty Treason and Jtlurder committed on John Bedding- 
 field, of Sternfield, near Saxmundham, farmer, the liusband 
 of the said Margery Beddingfield, and master of the said 
 Richard Ringe. They were both executed at Rushmere 
 Heath, on the 8th of April, pursuant to their sentence. 
 Ringe was about 22 j'ears of age, and committed the murder 
 at the instigation of his mistress, who was not 21,
 
 98 
 
 *' I do not dreanij I cannot sleep, 
 
 Incessant shrieks my ears assail ; 
 In vain I pray, and watch, and weep. 
 Nor pray'r, nor tears, will yet avail. 
 Yet they shall break the spell at last. 
 And, its appointed season past. 
 That spell shall on the wizard turn. 
 And I shall cease to watch and mourn." 
 
 " God rest thee, wand'rer, poor and old. 
 And spread for thee a peaceful pillow ; 
 And when to screen from winter's cold, 
 
 Thou seek'st the hut beneath the willow. 
 The Muse's voice thy mind shall lure. 
 To find distempei-'d fancy's cure ; 
 And I will seek, with book and bell. 
 To frame for thee an holier spell. 
 Till then, poor wand'rer, fare thee well." . 
 
 Now tune the lyre to Lydian measure. 
 For soften'd scene of festive pleasure. 
 Light o'er the wave, with swelling sail. 
 And streamers floating to the gale, 
 The yacht, fantastic, gaily glides ; 
 That wave reflects her painted sides : 
 While, close behind, in schallop borne. 
 The oboe, flute, and mellow horn,
 
 99 
 
 The viol;, and the clarion shrill, 
 
 Bid echo's voice the chorus fill. 
 
 And fair and gay, at music's call. 
 
 Lead o'er the deck the mazy ball. 
 
 As 'twere in bow'r or pompous hall. 
 
 Now shall we. Muse, in fancy float 
 
 With revellers in pageant boat. 
 
 And view with them each lovely scene, 
 
 Of wooded hill, and valley green. 
 
 Till Orwell water, broad and free. 
 
 In mingling billows joins the sea ? 
 
 Or shall we, on the pebbled shore 
 
 Retrace the bolder scenes of yore. 
 
 And tell what corses ridg'd the plain. 
 
 When Angles chas'd th' invading Dane ? 
 
 Or call to view the listed field. 
 
 Where gleam the banner crest, and shield. 
 
 Or by the merry greenwood side. 
 
 With squire, and dame, and falc'ner ride. 
 
 And mark how well the gyr-hawk, tried. 
 
 Brings down the heron's tow'ring pride ? 
 
 Or list the bugle's jocund sound. 
 
 That cheers the deeper throated hound. 
 
 Who tracks unfoil'd, his princely prey, 
 
 And holds the antler'd stag at bay ?
 
 100 
 
 O Muse ! 'tis thine, witli vivid sheen. 
 To heigliten ev'ry present scene. 
 And sliadow those with richer grace. 
 That memory and fancy trace : 
 Then oft, beneath the linden tree. 
 In raptur'd visions visit me ; 
 And ever let thy magic pow'r. 
 With roses strew my rustic bow'r. 
 
 SONNET TO LORD BYRON. 
 
 Is it the sleep of death thy wayward mind 
 
 Misnames the loveliest, since it dreams the least ? 
 And can a soul like thine expect to find 
 
 In death eternal sleep, and dreamless rest ? 
 Ah ! probe tho' sharp the pang, thy erring breast. 
 
 Thy talents give that sophist's saw the lie ; 
 Thy feelings wildly tenderly exprest. 
 
 Proclaim the heavenly flame that cannot die. 
 Let reason leech the morbid thoughts that try 
 
 To darken all the horrors of the tomb. 
 And turn to realms of light thy wandering eye 
 Where pure religion's sun-beams chace the gloom. 
 So shall unclouded bliss to thee belong. 
 Immortal too beyond thy own transcendant song.
 
 101 
 
 WAFTED KISSES. 
 
 Ah ! hnsh'd be thy murmurs thou soft breath hig/«'e. 
 And light be thy wing as it sweeps o'er the vale ; 
 For know gentle c ' " ' ' t bear 
 
 O ! yes, gentle Gale, thou wilt visit my love. 
 Wilt meet his warm cheek as he straj s thro' the grove. 
 Then kiidly convey the affectir-iate kiss^ 
 And wliisper '' Camilla partakes in the bliss." 
 
 aliould lie sportively wish to return one to me. 
 And waft, gentle Gale, the blest token by thee. 
 Turn swiftly and speed to my cottage thy flight. 
 And breathe on my lip the transporting delight. 
 
 O then, gentle Zephyr, with me thou may'st stay. 
 And round me, of love ever redolent play. 
 My heart in thy sweetness, his sweetness shall prove. 
 And feel in thy breath, the fond kiss of my love.
 
 102 
 
 THE LODGE; 
 
 A Collage Scene from Nahire. 
 
 " Why froHx the hill does yonder mansion frown ? 
 
 " Why on the Lodge look Insolently down ? 
 
 '' There all the .Jiarms that worldly treasures give, 
 
 " The pleasures, and the pomps of riches, live ; 
 
 " The greenhouse ever fresh in vernal bloom, 
 
 " Luxurious carriages, and pictured room, 
 
 " With harp, and dance, and song, their pow'rs employ 
 
 " To wing each passing hour with varied joy : 
 
 " While here, unheeded. In tniis widened Ixoid, 
 
 *' Pale poverty sits trembling, sad and cold ; 
 
 " Here patient labour droops his sickly head, 
 
 " And hears his ragged children cry for bread : 
 
 *' Shame that the wages squeez'dfrom splendor's store 
 
 " Are so inadequate to feed the poor, 
 
 " That they, to equal rights and freedom, born, 
 
 " Are bow'd by want and paralyz'd by scorn ! " 
 
 So spake the man of thought acerb, whose mind 
 With sourness taints each lot of human kind :
 
 103 
 
 But ye of gentle souls, who kindly fed 
 The bliss ye pray for, o'er your bosoms steal. 
 Who meekly worship, ye can understand 
 That weal and woe are dealt with equal hand. 
 And how, of every state, the varied plan 
 Best *' vindicates the ways of God to man." 
 I will not say what joys yon mansion grace. 
 Or what the sorrows which those joys efface; 
 Enough if temper'd taste its bliss increase. 
 Or resignation lull its griefs to peace. 
 
 But I will paint the Lodge which late I saw, 
 
 And truth's clear pencil shall the outline draw ; 
 
 No glaring colours shall the scene pervade. 
 
 Fair in its simple mass of light and shade ; 
 
 A white- wash'd cottage, lowly, small, and plain. 
 
 With light slate roof secur'd from storms and rain ; 
 
 Here dwell, content, a frugal honest pair ; 
 
 Six smiling children here their pittance share : 
 
 Their only boy, inur'd to labour, now 
 
 Tends with his sire the harrows or the plough ; 
 
 The first-born hope a daughter just fourteen, 
 
 Oft at her mother's side afield is seen : 
 
 Swift as the dibble strikes the furrows, these 
 
 Or plant the wheat, or careful drop the pease. 
 
 Or as the seasons' rustic toils succeed. 
 
 The gardens and the young plantations weed.
 
 104 
 
 While thus the elder, on employment bent, 
 Abroad are busy, cheerful, and content. 
 The little Lydia, o'er whose cheek and brow 
 Nine summers scarce have spread their russet glow. 
 Governs the household, plies the mop and pail. 
 Sets all in order, and prepares the kale. 
 Three younger sisters with discretion leads. 
 One sews, another knits, or either reads. 
 Clean pebbles from the brook the babe employ. 
 Amused, to each in turn itself a toy. 
 And womanhood with blushes might behold 
 How Lydia keeps the house at nine years old ! 
 But this the mother's early care had taught. 
 That comfort must with industry be bought. 
 
 His garden ground at eve the good man tills. 
 Each nook with pleasure and with profit fills; 
 Gives the close juicy cabbage here to shoot. 
 And plants potatoe's farinaceous root ; 
 The hurdled fence is gay with China's rose, 
 While cordial marigold beneath it blows. 
 Round hedge-row trees the scarlet runners twine. 
 And promise feasts where blossoms gaily shine. 
 
 When chiming bells proclaim God's holy rest. 
 The young ones, all in treasured garments drest.
 
 105 
 
 With kindly order hand in hand repair 
 To church, and bow in simple duty there. 
 Then pleas'd return the sabbath meal to share. 
 
 Long may contented labour's honest smile 
 
 Greet this endear'd repose from weekly toil : 
 
 When age shall wear the parents' strength away, 
 
 O ! ever, on that consecrated day. 
 
 May grateful children to their cot repair. 
 
 Bring the kind gift, and smoothe the brow of care ; 
 
 And filial love gild hfe's declining ray. 
 
 With heaven's bright promise of eternal day.
 
 106 
 
 ON THE SUDDEN DEATH OF 
 
 I\IRS. K 's FAVORITE NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 When langoiir late, with icy chain, 
 Confin'd the charms of Myra's strain. 
 Her Nightingale, with artless pride, 
 A melody responsive tried. 
 And breath'd his song in tender tone, 
 Subdu'd and soften'd like her own ; 
 But when Hygeia brought the hour 
 That gave her voice its pristine pow'r, 
 ' When to her favorite lyre she sung. 
 And rapture on her accents hung. 
 To catch her clear expressive note 
 Her darling swell'd his little throat. 
 Like Strada's fabled bird. — How vain 
 The task to emulate that strain ! 
 He felt his hour of triumph o'er. 
 And, dreading now to charm no more. 
 On Myra's lip a kiss he prest, 
 A farewell flutter'd on her breast. 
 Collected all his fleeting breath 
 For one sad note, then sunk in death.
 
 lor 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE CARMELITE, 
 
 As performed at Colchester by the Officers of the 
 Eastern District. For the benefit of the Patriotic 
 Fund, 1804. 
 
 Thanks for the kind indulgence, which to-night. 
 Has cheer'd our military Carmelite, 
 Nor are the beaming eye, the fav'ring hand. 
 That hail'd a Hero from the holy land. 
 On tales of ancient days bestow'd alone. 
 You lately welcomed heroes of your own- 
 How throng'd exulting crouds at glory's call. 
 To greet the champions, who from Acre's wall 
 Bade England's thunders roar, her light'ningsplay. 
 And check'd the tyger panting for his prey. 
 What transport throbb'd in ev'ry heart to prove 
 A nation's gratitude, a nation's love. 
 When, resting from a day of glorious toil. 
 The British lion bath'd him in the Nile J 
 Again the despot of unsettled France, 
 Rears his bold crest, and shakes his gory lance. 
 Nay, dares to threaten with a host of slaves. 
 Our nati\c bulwarks, liberty and waves.
 
 108 
 
 Yes, let them venture^ our presumptive foes 
 In death shall fraternise with kites and crows. 
 Nor other land in Britain shall possess, 
 Than just the spot their bleeding bodies press ! 
 But should their hostile step, or British gore 
 By Frenchmen shed, pollute this sacred shore. 
 So wild the cry of vengence would arise. 
 Shake our white cliffs, andpierce our clouded skies. 
 That pity, frightened, scarce would dare to save. 
 Till gallic blood stain'd all the circling wave ! 
 Avert it heaven ! for, if above the rest. 
 One virtue lords it in the Briton's breast, 
 'Tis gen'rous pity — hark ! with plaintive tone 
 She speaks a widow's grief, an orphan's moan ! 
 To her khid purposes with pure delight. 
 We consecrate our efforts of to-night. 
 And if o?/r merits claim not your applause. 
 It bursts spontaneous on the sacred cause, 
 The cause of those who wield Britannia's spear. 
 Who, arm'd for all to love and freedom dear. 
 Their heart's best blood, a willing off'ring bring. 
 To save their laws, their country, and their king !
 
 109 
 
 THREE SONNETS. MORNING. 
 
 As from the glowing East upsprings the beam 
 
 The clear blue arch with warmth and light to fill. 
 Rock, grove, and tow'r, reflected from the stream 
 Shew Earth's fairpictm-estouch'd with heav'nly skill; 
 Roll'd, thin and fleecy, o'er the western hill. 
 
 The yielding mist in radiance melts away : 
 The dew-drops on the leaf hang bright and still. 
 
 So soft the zephyrs through the foliage play ! 
 In Youth thus upward darts the mental ray ; 
 
 The clear ideas so defin'd evolve. 
 And, gradual fading from the growing day. 
 
 The tender mists of Infancy dissolve. 
 So pure the feelings of a Dawn like this, 
 That ev'n its sorrows seem allied to bliss. 
 
 NOON. 
 
 The summer sun, in proud meridian height. 
 
 Gives Nature's features, strong, distinct, and clear. 
 
 And insect myriads, in his fervid light. 
 
 On glittering wing pursue their gay career.
 
 110 
 
 Now ardent rays, from river, fen and mere. 
 The steamy vapom-s viewlessly exhale ; 
 
 But &oon low congregating clouds appear. 
 And round the still horizon slowly sail. 
 The thunder rolls; — cool breathes th' electric gale;— 
 
 From lowering darkness, with convulsive jar. 
 Bursts the near flash, and through the frighted vale 
 
 Spreads loud and wild the elemental war. 
 Yet far more wild, rage pride, ambition, strife. 
 When passion's storms convulse the Noon of life ! 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 I mark'd the westward orb's departing blaze. 
 While spires and turrets, magnified and bright. 
 
 As o'er the valley pour'd the purple haze, 
 Seem'd floating glorious on a sea of light: 
 But as I gazed the vision vanish'd quite ; 
 
 Swift faded all the splendors of the scene ; 
 And yet, methought, reluctantly the night 
 
 Veil'd the fair landscape in her shroud serene. 
 
 Ah ! transient as that purple light, I ween. 
 The golden dreams of genius or of fame. 
 
 That oft, in meteor brightness, intervene 
 
 To gild life's evening clouds with lambent flame. 
 
 But memory and affection yet may give 
 
 The magic Touch that bids the Picture live.
 
 Ill 
 
 THE ROSES OF AUTUMN. 
 
 InMay through my garden the rosebuds were blowing, 
 In June and July how they courted the sun ! 
 
 In Augusttheirbeautiesstillbrightlywereglowing:— 
 Alas ! in September the roses were gone ! 
 
 The rain and the hail o'er the hedge rows w ere beating, 
 Cold winter's repose on the plain to confer ; 
 
 The frosts of the season, impetuous, though fleeting. 
 Had scath'd all the charms of the gaudy parterre. 
 
 And scarcely the Aster, so placid and sober 
 
 To Autumn reluctantly ofFer'd its duty : 
 When lo ! mid the rigors and frowns of October, 
 One rose-bush still blossom'din sweetness and beauty. 
 
 O ! how my heart bounded to welcome the flower, 
 That frosts could not wither, or tempests deform ; 
 
 Like friendship that smiles on adversity's hour. 
 Resisting the ice-bolt, and braving the storm !
 
 112 
 
 Dear Helen ! the roses of life's lovely morning 
 Now rest on thy lips, in thy blushes, now glow. 
 
 And long may those roses, thy summer adorning. 
 In splendor unfading transcendantly blow. 
 
 But the graces that dwell in thy mind and thy heart, 
 By virtue still cherish'd by seasons improv'd. 
 
 Shall live when the blossoms of beauty depart. 
 And like roses in Autumn, be cherish'd and lov'd. 
 
 IMPROMPTU. 
 
 On the fall of a portion of the Calton Hill near Edi?i- 
 burgh, by which theMonuvient erected to the Memory 
 of Lord Nelson was overthrofvn, a?id his Profile 
 formed in the Rock. 
 
 Art on this spot, with haughty claim 
 A column raised to Nelson's name. 
 But Nature, smiling with disdain 
 To prove th' attempt of Art how vain, 
 O'erthrew the bauble with a shock. 
 And stamp'd his image on the Rock !
 
 113 
 
 SONNET 
 
 Written in an accomplished young Lady's Souvenir, 
 and accompanied by a painting oj King-fishers. 
 
 Ere quits the yellow leaf the bending spray. 
 
 And wintry blasts earth's verdant lap deform, 
 Sev'n tranquil days the winds suspend their sway, 
 
 And for Alceyone resti'ain the storm. 
 On one of these, when summer linger'd still 
 
 To cheer November with a parting smile, 
 I mark'd Maria's unaffected skill. 
 
 With lute or pencil night's approach beguile : 
 While elegance of form and sense, combin'd 
 
 With modest worth, simplicity and taste. 
 Bade the wai*m line express the feeling mind. 
 
 This fervent wish on memory's page I trac'd :— 
 Her heart's approof be still her dearest praise. 
 And all Maria's life be form'd of halcyon days.
 
 114 
 
 SENSIBILITY, 
 
 A Moral Story for Young Ladies, 
 
 A rosebud, overcharg'cl with dew. 
 
 Its with'ring head reclin'd, 
 Half broken from its parent bough, 
 
 The sport of ev'ry wind. 
 
 Maria, to her fav'rite bow'r. 
 
 Romantic Ella led : 
 With tears she rais'd the drooping flow'r. 
 
 And tied its bending head. 
 
 ''Ah live, " she cried," my lovely rose ! 
 
 And let your charms expand. 
 Free to the gale your sweets disclose. 
 
 Nor dread the spoiler's hand." 
 
 As through the grove^ at close of day, 
 
 Maria lonely stray'd, 
 A weeping female cross'd the way. 
 
 And thus implor'd her aid ;
 
 115 
 
 " In pity hear a daughter's pray'r ; 
 
 In pity haste to save : 
 My father bow'd with want and care, 
 
 Is sinking to the grave." 
 
 " Content within a little cot 
 That decks yon humble vale. 
 
 The chearful song that blest our lot 
 Was borne on ev'ry gale." 
 
 " Till sickness, hov'ring o'er our home. 
 
 Its baleful influence spread, 
 Snatch'd one dear parent to the tomb. 
 
 And bent the other's head." 
 
 " Want, pain, and care would I endure. 
 Would deem privation wealth. 
 
 Could all my patient toil procure. 
 That bliss, a parent's health !" 
 
 " While still no convalescent smiles 
 
 My feeble efforts pay, 
 A wealthy suitor's ceaseless wiles 
 
 Are practis'd to betray." 
 
 " Heav'n knows my pure unspotted fame. 
 
 Yet more than life I prize : 
 Nor will I earn the bread of shame ; 
 
 No ;— -though a parent dies !"
 
 116 
 
 " Then givacious hear a daughter's pray'r 
 
 If you delay to save. 
 My father, bow'd with pain and care. 
 
 Must sink into the grave " 
 
 In vain complaint, in vain distress, 
 
 Assail'd Maria's ear : 
 Nor could her hand the grief redress. 
 
 Her heart refused to hear. 
 
 But not in vain the mourner's care. 
 
 Nor vain the tear she shed ; 
 A gen'rous rustic heard her pray'i'. 
 
 And to the cottage sped : 
 
 And, as the bounteous dole he gave. 
 
 Benevolently smil'd, 
 Rejoic'd, from sorrow's grasp to save 
 
 The father and the child. 
 
 Shame on those hearts that never felt 
 
 A fellow- creature's woes; 
 Yet tenderly affect to melt 
 
 In PITY for a Rose !
 
 117 
 
 LINES 
 
 Written in the Album of an Officer of the King's 
 German Legion ; with a view of the Cliff, the 
 Residence of the Author. 
 
 While mem'ry turns the treasur'd pages o'er. 
 
 Here shall she trace the Cliff's emerging side. 
 Where, rising from the Orwell's pebbled shore, 
 
 A simple dwelling overhangs the tide; 
 
 Close to its walls the lesser schallops glide. 
 And few the sparkling waves that intervene. 
 
 Where taller ships of busy commerce ride. 
 And spires, and turrets crown the distant scene. 
 Beneath its poplar shades, and lindens green, 
 
 Shall hospitality her bliss impart, 
 And ever by its wintery hearth be seen 
 
 The smile urbane that cheers the stranger's heart. 
 
 Secure from satire's shaft, or envy's dart. 
 Here may his heart forget its every woe. 
 
 With social converse heal afflictions' smart. 
 And all the sweets of home and friendship know. 
 Till peace with ray serene the world shall cheer. 
 And gild his native land and give a home xaoxe dear.
 
 118 
 
 LINES 
 Written in an Autumnal Evening. 
 
 Slow rolls the tide advancing on the shore. 
 The gliding bark expands its swelling sail. 
 
 Soft sounds the gentle dashing of the oar 
 That aids the impulse of the dying gale. 
 
 Behind yon western hill the sun retires 
 Half veil'd in mists the glories of his head. 
 
 While scatter'd clouds reflect his parting fires. 
 And tint the azure flood with streaks of red. 
 
 The wide-spread landscape smiles in varied hues, 
 Mellow'd and blended by autumnal skies. 
 
 Presenting all around delightful views 
 To cheer the heart, and gratify the eyes. 
 
 Happy the man whom smiles may still surround. 
 Who gaily can th' approach of age perceive. 
 
 Whose waning hours by cheerfulness are crown'd 
 Serene and briglit as this Autumnal Eve.
 
 119 
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESSIVA sono. 
 From the French, 
 
 Infant love a harmless child, 
 
 Brush'd, with playful feet, the dew. 
 Round him nature's beauty smil'd 
 
 Ere his purple pinions grew. 
 
 Soon the boy's persuasive tongue 
 Soft complaints began to utter j 
 
 Fond on Psyche's breast he hung. 
 Tried his op'ning wings to flutter. 
 
 Having taught the gentle maid. 
 
 Love with ardour to repay. 
 Quick, with changing plumes displtiy'd. 
 
 Love took wing and flew away.
 
 120 
 
 LUCY, A SKETCH FROM NATURE. 
 
 Approv'd by the wise and ador'd by the gay. 
 
 Was Lucy for beauty and talent admir'd ; 
 As sported her steps in prosperity's ray. 
 
 Each glance spoke the rapture her presence inspir 'd 
 So soft, and so meek, were the beams of her eye. 
 
 So winning her manners, so spotless her mind. 
 The arrows of satire flew harmlessly bye. 
 
 And envy grew gentle, and rivalry kind. 
 What graces colud Lucy's attractions improve ? 
 What render her dearer to friendship and love ? 
 
 Adversity rose, how terrific her form ! 
 
 No breast unrepining submits to her doom ; 
 She came like the gathering cloud of the storm. 
 
 And shrouded the maid in her withering gloom. 
 Did she sully with tear-drops those eyelids so meek. 
 
 Her smile's playful magic in terror conti'ol ? [^cheek. 
 Did she blight the young roses that bloom'd on her 
 
 Untune the sweet voice that was melody's soul. 
 And far from the hopes of her victim remove. 
 The counsels of friendship, the soothings of love .?
 
 121 
 
 Adversity bore not a purpose so fell ; 
 
 She spar'd the pure blush, and the graces refin'd 
 Destroy'd the illusions of flattery's spell. 
 
 And gave her for wealth, the resources of mind. 
 Those blessings exhaustless she fondly enjoys. 
 
 Which kindred affection binds close to the heart. 
 Each cherish'd accomplishinent nobly employs 
 
 To guard a lov'd parent from poverty's dart. 
 And learns, in adversity's school, to discover 
 The worth of the friend, and the truth of the lover. 
 
 Yes, Lucy, sweet Lucy ! thy feminine grace 
 
 To fairer perfection expands in the shade ; 
 New charms of the person and manner we trace. 
 
 In shadow by pity's soft pencil pourtray'd. 
 In duty's straight path undismay'd persevere. 
 
 Each mental improvement with ardor pursue. 
 The storms of affliction with fortitude bear. 
 
 To tenderness, honor, and sentiment true ; 
 Thy beauty, thy talents, thy virtues, shall prove 
 Progressively dearer to friendship and love.
 
 122 
 
 LINES 
 
 Written in the first leaf of Miss Collins' s Album. 
 
 How aptly may this volume shew 
 The treasures of its owner's breast:— 
 
 Mark, in its leaves, like spotless snow. 
 Her purity of soul exprest. 
 
 Upon those leaves the pencil traces. 
 In tender colours, forms refin'd. 
 
 As education gives the graces 
 To ornament her cultured mind. 
 
 Here friendship's cherish'd recollections. 
 Kind wishes, sacred thoughts impart : 
 
 So virtuous feelings, blest affections 
 Are cherished in Eliza's heart.
 
 12!3 
 
 THE TWO VANITIES,— A fable. 
 
 When Cadmus, reeking from th' empoison'd strife. 
 
 The serpent spoils by Pallas' order strew'd. 
 The gory furrows heav'd with sudden life. 
 
 And, bursting forth, appear'd the warrior brood ; 
 Awhile elate in hostile pride they stood : 
 
 Then mix'd in fierce exterminating fight. 
 Earth's bosom drenching with her children's blood. 
 
 And every corse defac'd with hellish spite. 
 Pale look'd the sun through clouds, and sicken'd at 
 the sight. 
 
 Till, from Olympus sent with high behest, 
 
 A subtle spirit hover'd o'er the plain. 
 Each pale svu'vivor suasively addrest, 
 
 Quench'd anger 'sflame, lull'd hatred's raging pain: 
 With tones more dulcet far than music's strain 
 
 The wild conflicting passions could he move: 
 Ne fail'd he thence in erring hearts to reign, 
 
 The great vicegerent of commanding Jove, 
 By men yclep'd desert, but styl'd in heav'n self-love.
 
 124 
 
 With boasted title and deceitful smile. 
 
 He wooed and won bright honor for his bride: 
 But wanton flatt'ry courting him the while. 
 
 With harlot blandishments incessant plied. 
 To lure him from his faithful lady tried : 
 
 Nor would that chaste and gentle bride complain. 
 But in her secret bow'r neglected sigh'd. 
 
 While folly bound him in a gilded chain 
 And shew'd him to the world, of wicked conquest vain. 
 
 That worthless Lernan, and that lady true. 
 
 Each to self-love a smiling davighter bore. 
 So with his image stampt, that scarce he knew 
 
 Which of his featui-es, justest semblance wore: 
 Ne hardly might the sages pensive lore 
 
 Decide of outward form the doubtful claim : 
 The parent fondly paus'd his offspring o'er. 
 
 In fancy crowning each with deathless fame. 
 While both alike he hight, and Vanity the name. 
 
 These, as they grew in stature and in years. 
 In countenance assum'd each other's guise : 
 
 Though little likeness in the mind appears. 
 For folly's child still reck'd of idle toys. 
 
 But honor's led to deeds of high emprize : 
 Oft would their sire her holy influence own 
 
 And gifts for merit's shrine with her devise ;
 
 125 
 
 She taught hhn how to win and wear renown. 
 And wreath'd his earthly name with glory's brightest 
 crown. 
 
 Oft too with her heroic virtues dwell. 
 
 High courage, fortitude, and patriot zeal : 
 E'en charity would grace her fairy cell. 
 
 And teach her heart in sympathy to feel. 
 Till her fond father half his thoughts would steal 
 
 From his own cherish'd looks, and joy to trace 
 Those charms not Folly's wiles could long conceal. 
 
 Her mother's dignity, her mother's grace. 
 Then vow to fly no more from Honor's chaste embrace , 
 
 But Folly's daughter idly round him hung 
 
 With fulsome praise, light love, and gaudy joy. 
 Like ivy to the falling structure clung. 
 
 To deck pretending, fated to destroy: 
 But where the flatt'ry that self-love can cloy ? 
 
 This giddy Vanity has rudely torn 
 Each good resolve, and ev'ry sacred tie : 
 
 Then wisdom teach my heart to know and scorn. 
 The dangerous Vanity of Folly basely born. 
 
 Nathless, the Muse's ventui'ous skiff is still 
 
 By one or other Vanity impell'd : 
 Then prove we, by the pilot's steady skill.
 
 126 
 
 That Honor's child the hehii's true guidance held. 
 Each sails' uncertain flutt'ring gently quell'd. 
 
 And with the gales best 'vantage safely veer'd. 
 Ye who secure on shore our course beheld. 
 
 Say, has our little bark been wisely steer'd 
 And prospers well its freight by your approval cheer'd? 
 
 TRANSLATION. 
 
 So?igof the Bird in the Gardens of Armida, 
 Tasso. V, Canto l6. GuL Lib. v 
 Behold ! (he sang) the tender op'ning rose 
 
 In modest youth, and virgin blush array'd. 
 Whose folding leaves half hide, and half disclose 
 
 Those charms most lovely still, when least display 'd : 
 Now bolder grown, she bares her glowing breast. 
 
 Then quickly fades, alas ! no more the same. 
 No more the same, that late with beauty blest 
 
 Each eye ador'd, each heart was proud to claim. 
 
 Thus passes, in the passing of a day. 
 
 Of human life the freshness, and the flow'r— 
 To this, no spring returns with gladsome ray. 
 
 To wake the buds or renovate the bow'r. 
 Gather the rose, while yet the morning shines, 
 
 The clearest skies at eve may clouded prove, ; 
 Gather the rose of love, while love inclines 
 
 To bless us with the dear return of love.
 
 127 
 
 LINES 
 
 On reading Dr. Smith's * description of the Temple 
 of Modern Philosophy, ■\' in the Isle of Poplars, 
 near Ermenonville, 
 
 Quis ha7ic perficiet ? Glorious space ! 
 Who shall the rising column grace ? 
 Who crown the honors of the dome 
 Beneath these poplar's hallow'd gloom ? 
 
 • Su- James Edward Smith, IM. D. F. R. S. and President 
 of the Linnjiean Society. Tliis able naturalist is a native 
 of Norwich where he at present resides.— As a Botanist he 
 stands pre-eminent, and has made several considerable dis- 
 coveries in that pleasmg science. The Linnnean Society is 
 chiefly indebted to him for its establishment, and its trans- 
 actions are enriched by numerous papers of importance from 
 his pen. Separately, Dr. Smith has pubUshed a gi'eat num- 
 ber of very valuable Botanical and other interesting works. 
 
 -}• This is an unfinished buUding very happily imagined. 
 Each of the eight pillars akeady erected, is marked with 
 some distinguished name, attended with a characteristic 
 word, thus : Rousseau, naturam ; Voltaire, ridiculum ; Frank- 
 lin, fulmen ; Priestly, aerem ; Newton, lucem ; Des Cartes, 
 nil in rebus inane. On an unfinished pillar is engraved 
 " Quis lianc perficiet ?" 
 
 Smith's Sketch of a Tour on the Continent in the years 1786 
 and 17B7, in 3 vols. Vol. 1st. p. 101.
 
 1S8 
 
 He, who to truth and nature dear. 
 Guards the pure mind, from envy clear ; 
 Who, grac'd with learning's laurel crown. 
 Loves virtue better than renown. 
 No party courts, asserts no claim. 
 And gives to friendship more than fame ; 
 Who ne'er assumes the gaudy glare 
 Of words, to make the vulgar stare. 
 Or points keen satire's poison'd dart 
 At mild devotion's helpless heart. 
 But soars above the sceptic's pride. 
 And makes religion learning's guide, 
 Wliile manly sense, with taste refin'd 
 Beams from the unaffected mind : 
 And they to whom indulgent heav'n 
 His friendship and esteem has given. 
 Exclaim, " Here truth, record his name, 
 ** And give th' unfinish'd space to fame."
 
 129 
 
 INSCRIPTION 
 
 Fo7' the Book of Memory and Friendship. 
 
 O sweet and sacred be her pleasures. 
 While Mary-Anne the page reviews 
 
 Where memory guai-ds some valued treasures. 
 From love, from friendship, and the Muse ! 
 
 Here shall the pencil's bright delusion 
 Fair scenes of childhood's pleasures store. 
 
 While sketching nature's wild profusion 
 That decks her Orwell's cherish'd shore. 
 
 Or shadowing forth the vivid flowers. 
 
 Shall give to each as rich a hue 
 As when, to grace her natal bowers. 
 
 Beneath the fostering hand they grew. 
 
 Or when its playful skill disposes 
 Some emblem, gracefully exprest. 
 
 Shall paint young love, from beds of roses. 
 Sprung to her dearer, softer breast. 
 
 H
 
 130 
 
 Here too, the gentle hand maternal 
 
 Some thought, some wish of love shall trace. 
 And wake a gleam of joy supernal 
 
 The daughter's beaming eye to grace. 
 
 To this his sense of added blessing 
 The grateful spouse shall oft confide. 
 
 With each revolving year confessing 
 The wife still dearer than the bride ! 
 
 Here first its trembling skill essaying. 
 The infant hand shall mark its bliss, . 
 
 A rich reward its toil repaying, 
 
 The father's praise, the mother's kiss. 
 
 Here friendship speaks its tried affection. 
 And dwells upon the darling theme ; 
 
 And warm and tender recollection 
 Here guards the blossoms of esteem. 
 
 And may each happy predilection. 
 That youth and worth for me began. 
 
 Expanding into full perfection 
 Live in the heart of Mary-Anne«
 
 131 
 
 TO LADY CULLUM. 
 
 Beneath the oak's wide streaching canopy 
 I shun the splendors of the noon-tide sky ; 
 A grove below o'er-shades the sloping hill. 
 And the dark alders hide the murmiu-ing rill : 
 Beyond where once the Bishop's palace rose. 
 The orchard in its youthful promise glows. 
 For yet the trees scarce shade the altered scene, 
 And lucern spreads beneath its vivid green, 
 Th' opposing slope with waving corn is crown'd. 
 One low white cottage decks the rising ground ; 
 And, on the summit of the eastern hill. 
 Thro' leafy branches peeps the moving mill. 
 Far to the north in misty distance — spreads 
 A long extent of checquer'd woods and meads.— 
 In gleams of golden sun-shine now arrayed. 
 Now in the softer clouds' quick passing shade ; 
 In sti'onger shadow interpos'd between 
 Are sloping roofs, towers, and turrets seen ; 
 With gilded vanes that glitter as they twirl. 
 And pale blue smoke, wreaths mounting as they curl. 
 While Holy-wells, the dear domestic nest 
 Spreads its white bosom to the gentle west. 
 
 II 3
 
 13!^ 
 
 The lark that lately heralded the spring. 
 Beats to his rapid trill his quivering wing. 
 The cuckoo still deceives the listening ear. 
 Receding now, now idly flitting near. 
 The thrush in simple song of clearest note. 
 With tender sweetness swells her speckled throat. 
 And in yon tufted thorn that decks the vale, 
 I hear the love-call of the nightingale. 
 Gurgles the brook — the concert zephyr swells 
 With soften'd cadence of the tuneful bells. 
 
 O ! sad for those who know no sense of sound. 
 When nature's harmonies are breathing round. 
 Who in the social converse ne'er rejoice. 
 Nor hear the touching tones of human voice; 
 As in their varied melody they roll. 
 When blest affection speaks from soul to soul. 
 
 And I can guess the pangs that those must feel. 
 O'er whose dimm'd vision clouds of blindness steal. 
 Who mark each weak'ning of the visual ray. 
 Who mourn fair nature's premature decay. 
 And find each landscape late with beauty crown'd. 
 In helpless, hopeless darkness closing round ! 
 
 So in despondence droop'd the mournful head 
 
 Of those in whom sound's thrilling power wai dead.
 
 And such despair Imng o'er the perish'd sight. 
 
 Of all that fail'd ere rose the gospel light. — 
 
 But when the sacred " Ephphalha" was given. 
 
 The clos'd ear open'd to the voice of heav'n. 
 
 When our meek Saviour to th' imploring blind. 
 
 Gave back the light, the body and the mind — 
 
 Own'd at one touch the vivifying ray. 
 
 And sprang rejoicing to unclouded day !— 
 
 Then, when his task acomplish'd, he arose 
 
 In glory o'er the vale of human woes. 
 
 Did hope forsake the deaf? and might no more 
 
 A touch miraculous the blind restore ? 
 
 Not so — the promis'd comforter from heav'n. 
 
 To human skill the " Ephphatha" has giv'n— 
 
 The leeches' hand the holy spirit guides. 
 
 And gracious o'er the healing ait presides.— 
 
 The miracle, perhaps to human view 
 
 Less manifest, but no less kind and true.— 
 
 What felt my CuUum, when the veil of night 
 Seem'd drawn for ever o'er the orbs of sight } 
 Strong was her mental vision, bright and clear. 
 Nor mist, nor cloud, nor darkness brooded there.^ 
 Serene and cheerful, still 'twas her's to prove 
 The power of trusting foith and holy love : 
 The " Ephphalha" was plac'd by heaven's high will 
 On the nice instrument and nicer skill.
 
 134 
 
 Its scientific touch restor'd the ray. 
 
 And all tlie glorious wonders of the day.— 
 
 Joy to my Cullum, in this blessing found ! 
 For her again the landscape smiles around. 
 For her in all its pride the garden glows. 
 In all its beauty blushes summer's rose ; 
 She treads in bliss the path she long has trod. 
 And, " looks thro' nature up to nature's God." 
 
 EXTEMPORE. 
 
 To C. F. W. who asked the Author, why she painted 
 his Portrait so handswne ? 
 
 You ask, why loveliness and grace 
 
 Are in tjiis form combin'd ? 
 I strove to picture in the face 
 
 The beauties of the mind.
 
 135 
 
 HYMN TO THE COMET. 
 September 6lh, 1811. 
 
 Strange light ! that on the bi'ow of eve 
 With cloudy radiance stream'st afar, 
 
 Can mortal eye thy track perceive ? 
 Immeasurable star ! 
 
 Thy orb excentric, ranging wide. 
 Does some gigantic spirit guide. 
 
 And sailing slow on viewless wing. 
 Loose, to the midnight air. 
 His flowing folds of meteor hair. 
 With steady and appalling glare. 
 
 Through darken'd aether fling ? 
 
 Pale superstition eyes, aghast. 
 Thy flame, portentous hurl'd. 
 
 And shakes at every rising blast. 
 And feels a trembling world : 
 
 Or sees thee frown on fields of blood. 
 
 And starts at slaughter's crimson flood :
 
 136 
 
 Or, gleaming in thy lurid train, 
 
 Marks war's wild rage, and restless pain. 
 
 Views pestilence ride sweeping bye ; 
 
 Meets famine's gaunt and ruthless eye ; 
 
 With thousand nameless evils, dimly shewn. 
 
 And climes laid desolate and empires overthrown. 
 
 Thy light the tyrant's soul shall scare ; 
 
 And, shuddering, he shall read his doom. 
 An awful sentence, written ^here. 
 
 In dark recess or cavern's gloom. 
 He shrouds in vain his guilty head; 
 
 The wildest terrors of the tomb. 
 The spectres of the murdered dead. 
 Shall flit around his fever'd bed. 
 And conscience, through the night, shall shine. 
 With light more baleful far than thine : 
 
 And demon fangs his soul shall tear. 
 Till horror bursts his straining eyes. 
 Till groans are music to his cries. 
 
 And death, in vain implor'd, derides his fix'ddespair. 
 O, wondrous star ! thy course uneven 
 
 The Christian marks with fearless mien. 
 Pursuing, through the arch of heav'n. 
 
 Thy blazing path with eye serene ; 
 And in thy atmosphere so bright, 
 Traces the source of life and light,
 
 137 
 
 Impelling, with resistless force. 
 
 Thy orbit, and the tyrant's course, 
 Convinc'd that, though conjecture fail 
 
 The purposes of each to scan. 
 And though the sight of erring man 
 
 Be feeble, and his judgment frail. 
 Omnipotence to understand ; 
 
 The fury of the man of blood, 
 Rais'd by the Almighty's great command. 
 The Comet wielded by his hand. 
 
 Are works of power, and implements of good : 
 But, marking, with reflective eye. 
 Earth's awful scourges lifted high. 
 Or tracing in the illumin'd sky. 
 
 The glorious course the planets run. 
 The man of pure and pious mind. 
 In pleasure meek, in grief resign'd. 
 Rests on his heavenly father's care. 
 And softly breathes the Christian pray'r, 
 " O God, thy will be done."
 
 138 
 
 DIRGE 
 
 To the Memory of our too early lost, and ever lamented 
 Princess, Charlotte Augusta. 
 
 O ! best belov'd ! to kincb-ed skies 
 Too early from our wishes fled ; 
 
 For thee we breathe, with lengthen'd sighs. 
 The sounds that mourn the sainted dead. 
 
 No flow'rs in vernal bloom array'd. 
 To grace thy shrine, affection gives ; 
 
 Too soon the votive chaplets fade. 
 Where thy endear'd remembrance lives. 
 
 More truly to thy worth allied. 
 
 The grief each feeling bosom bears, 
 
 A nation's hope, a nation's pride. 
 Embalming with a nation's tears. 
 
 E'en now, like heaven's refreshing dew. 
 On British hearts descends the tear. 
 
 For there thy graces spring anew, 
 To ripen fruits of virtue there.
 
 139 
 
 LINES 
 
 Written on a View of the Sea. 
 
 Ah flatt'ring expanse ! gently curl'd 
 By fickle Autumn's faithless gales : 
 
 With joy the sailor views unfurl'd 
 His pendant gay, his swelling sails : 
 
 Swift o'er thy waves, led on by hope, he rides. 
 
 Fearless of adverse winds or overwhelming tides. 
 
 Ah flatt'ring expanse ! how serenely gay 
 While glitt'ring sunbeams on thy bosom play : 
 
 The rising mast, the spreading coast 
 
 In distant vapour almost lost. 
 
 While wide around the scene is thrown 
 
 The blue horizon's circling zone. 
 Where fancy's cloudy landscapes deck the sky. 
 And evening's shadows mock the gazing eye. 
 
 Ah flatt'ring expanse ! soon the storm 
 Shall all thy transient charms deform ; 
 Too soon the whirling winds shall rise. 
 And lift thy billows to the skies.
 
 140 
 
 Ah me ! behold yon laboring bark ; 
 
 In vain her gallant inmates mourn 
 
 Her broken masts, her rudder torn : 
 Full on a rock she drives, and hark ! 
 
 They call on heav'n with wild affright ! 
 Grim horror from her cliff exultant springs. 
 Claps o'er the deep her deadly sounding wings. 
 
 And flitting sea gulls scream their funeral rite. 
 
 Ah flatt'ring expanse ! on thy shore 
 The widow'd fair will often stray. 
 And sigh to hear thy waters roar ; 
 Oft with an anxious eye survey 
 Thy verge, in hopes each mist may prove 
 The white sail of her long expected love : 
 Then from the fear-inspiring deep 
 Shall turn her troubled eye and weep. 
 Ah ! long may tenderness repress 
 The tale of terror and distress : 
 Long soothe the heart that bitterly will mourn 
 The loss of him who never can return I
 
 141 
 
 THE NURSE AND THE NE;WSPAPER, 
 
 An Occasional Epilogue to a Play, performed by the 
 Officers of the Eastern District. For the Benefit 
 of the Ipswich Lying-in Charity. 
 
 The Scene draws and discovers an old Nurse rocking a Cradle ; 
 a Table near her with Bottles, Baskets, and a Newspaper 
 upon it. 
 
 Hush ! pretty Darling, hush ! — ^bye, bye; bye, bye. 
 There's a good child : — so ; now it does not cry. 
 What, shall I sing a song, or story try at. 
 To keep this little helpless bantling quiet ? 
 It will not, on an honest, Nurse's conscience. 
 Be the first baby that was lull'd with nonsense. 
 
 Young Master sleeps ; his caps are neatly laid. 
 His victuals ready, and the caudle made. 
 What shall I do the minutes to amuse ? 
 Why, though no Scholard, I can read the news :— 
 But shall I understand it ? — No ; I fear 
 There's nothing in my way to study there.
 
 142 
 
 Well ; let me see : 
 
 ( Pulling 071 her spectacles and taking up the paper.) 
 Dear ! Dear ! who could have thought it ? 
 What's here ? All NewSj as pat as if I'd bought it. 
 ' Labour !' 'Deliv'rance !' now, by my discretion. 
 In every line a touch at my profession ! (Reads.) 
 " We hear, from Boulogne, that the num'rous fry 
 *' Of rafts, sloops, brigs, and gun-boats, are laid by .. 
 " The troops, that late were groaning for invasion, 
 " Are crying out upon a new occasion : 
 "And they who Britain's valour dar'd disparage, 
 •* Find all their boastings end in — a miscarriage," 
 
 Why aye : that's right ! but England, free and hearty, 
 Laugh'd always at their threats and Bonaparte. 
 
 (Reads) 
 " Now big with just revenge, the teeming North 
 " Collects her forces, brings her myriads ybr /A ; 
 " She finds that France in lawless sway increases : 
 *' That Italy is Jailing all to pieces : 
 '' Such times give birth to more than common zeal, 
 " And Austria labours for the public weal, 
 *' To fix a lasting peace on ba'anc'd pow'r, 
 *' And bless all Europe with a happy hour." 
 
 My Stars ! how gaily folks will drink and sing ! 
 I'll take a thimble-full to—" Bless the King ;"
 
 143 
 
 CReadsJ 
 " Vain are the plots the foe to Freedom bredi 
 " His projects prettilij are brought to bed : 
 " Soon may the hour be pregnant with his doom, 
 " And the Usurper find his time is come" 
 Lord ! Lord ! I think the World is lying-in ! 
 What's next ? — O ! here advertisements begin ; 
 So, to proceed with proper regularity 
 
 (Reads) 
 *' The annual Meeting of the Ipswich Charity 
 *• Maintain'd by mod'rate weekly contribution"— 
 
 Aye, this I know : a glorious Institution ! 
 That soothes the hour with pain and grief opprest. 
 And makes, by timely aid the cottage blest. 
 What honest heart but Avould rejoice to say 
 This charity is in a thriving ivarj ? 
 Still rich in kind protectors, may it flourish. 
 And Britain's hardier sons and daughters nourish. 
 I'm sure I wish it well, and so for certain. 
 Do all our worthy friends behind the curtain. 
 
 \_To the Aiidience~\ 
 Then, since 'tis your applause our pains beguiles. 
 Since our delights are cradled in your smiles. 
 Assist our labours, hush to rest our errors. 
 And give us sq/e deliv'ry from our terrors.
 
 144 
 
 THE SOUVENIR. 
 
 Written in the Jirst leaf of Miss Maria ColUns's 
 Album. 
 
 Each object traced in this selection, 
 To memory prompts some kind reflection : 
 The beauty of the blooming flower. 
 Prolonged beyond its summer's hour. 
 Paints to the fond retracive eye 
 How friendships live, when blossoms die. 
 This thought the Butterfly di8Covers ; 
 " Affection's spirit round you hovers:" 
 And thus you read in ocean's shells; 
 " Deep in the heart thy image dwells." 
 In landscapes drawn from foreign clime. 
 With mountain, flood, and rock sublime. 
 That steady, pure regard we trace. 
 That owns no change from time or place. 
 The nearer scene with truth pourtray'd. 
 Where oft our youthful steps have stray'd. 
 Brings to endearing recollection 
 Each fond, domestic, tried affection. 
 And still as varied forms appear. 
 To fill the treasured Souvenir, 
 Sweet nature's links they join with art. 
 In chains that twine around the heart.
 
 145 
 
 ON A NEEDLE BOOK 
 Presented to an Amiable Young Lady. 
 
 Go, little unpretending toy. 
 
 To her whose willing heart and hand 
 Can youth's seductive hours employ. 
 
 As reason and her God command : 
 Who lets no passing moment fly 
 Without some useful lesson bye. 
 
 Go, wliisper that the polish'd mind 
 With such incessant care improv'd. 
 
 Delights its just reward to find 
 In being honor'd and belov'd 
 
 By those whom kindred ties controul. 
 
 Or friendship and the kindred soul. 
 
 And when her skilful needle's care 
 The orphan and the poor shall aid. 
 
 Be thine the blessed task to share. 
 And deem thy service overpaid 
 
 In this best truth, well understood. 
 
 Life's greatest bliss is doing good. 
 z
 
 146 
 
 POETICAL EPISTLE TO Col. R. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Had my wit or my leisure been better, 
 I had instantly answered your whimsical letter. 
 Which full of bon-mots^ good as any by Fox said, 
 Prov'd hilarity's source like the pure nitrous Oxyd : 
 How we laugh'd and enjoy'dit you'll very well know 
 My owning I read it aloud to Miss Proby. [by 
 
 Of fun and of fancy yoiur flight is so vast, I call 
 Myself a mere reptile in rhyming fantastical ! 
 Delighted, yet humbled, I'm happy to read a 
 Competitor's triumph in Olla podrida ! 
 And though I can scarcely suppose you intend I 
 Should give you the true cacoethes scribendi, 
 I'll try, and may mirth and the Muses impel me. 
 To cause you to write, and again to excel me. 
 I'll link liquid lines in long alliteration. 
 Join fashion in risible reiteration, 
 And so introducing in amorous song. 
 Two opposite names " Mrs. Short, Mr. Long," 
 Afford to the ear-tickled multitude sport. 
 Repeating them thus Mr. Long, Mrs, Short,
 
 14T 
 
 Or venture my skill at a story Colmanic, 
 
 To thi-ill through the nerves like fluid galvanic. 
 
 Each bosom exciting that laughter inhabits. 
 
 As that sets a dancing dead frogs and dead rabbits. 
 
 Ah ! no : these are visions that speedily pass us ; 
 
 The gaudy day-dreams of an ape of Parnassus. 
 
 Condemn'd as the story * I send you will tell. 
 
 For ever to scribble and never excel. 
 
 But though all the Muses may froAvn on my measure* 
 The bliss of my friend fills my bosom with pleasure, 
 Hopebeams on the distance, and smiling, as fancy stirs. 
 Paints you blessing and blest in the hall of your an- 
 cestors. 
 Shews truth and affection there fixing their throne. 
 And the heart you adore — just a heart likeyour own. 
 Should fate for your friends at the Cliffhave no more 
 Of the joy they derive from your converse, in store. 
 They'll learn to rejoice in the dear domesticity. 
 And losing your company, greet your felicity ! 
 Yet Ipswich and Bury are both so come-at-able. 
 That time may demonstrate these blessings compati- 
 
 Cble. 
 Your hint for improvement has not been neglected, 
 I've dismounted the picture, the foliage coi-rected : 
 « Corbred's Edict. 
 I 2
 
 148 
 
 In a week or ten days the new varnish will dry : 
 I'll bid it, however reluctant, good bye. 
 And send it to Saxham : no, hold ; on reflection, 
 I'll wait till you give me some further direction. 
 
 "What news of the day could be good in comparison 
 With that of your purpos'd return to the garrison ? 
 I laid by the star thro' our circle to carry it, 
 Mr. Cobbold, MissProby, Miss Sophy, Miss Harriet, 
 Little Grace, little Mary, have hands, hearts, and 
 
 lips which 
 Will cheerfully hail your arrival at Ipswich, 
 Which greetings I trust will in value be doubled 
 United with those of your friendly 
 
 E. Cohhold. 
 
 To your excellent Parents I fain would impart. 
 In all my best phrases of rhyme or of reason. 
 
 Esteem and regard from the depth of my heart. 
 And every good wish of the festival season.
 
 349 
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST, a Character. 
 
 I knew her well, th' Enthusiast maid. 
 
 When others sorrows claim'd her sigh. 
 When brilliant wit around her play'd. 
 
 And genius sparkled in her eye ; 
 When youth and fancy deck'd the scene. 
 Each hue enliven'd, grac'd each form, 
 Bask'd in the noontide ray serene. 
 Or sail'd sublimely on the storm. 
 So true her song to nature's praise. 
 
 That Shakespeare's spirit might have hung 
 Sooth'd o'er her lyre, and deem'd the lays 
 
 His own by Avon's echoes sung. 
 Her feeling heart would melt or glow 
 
 To pity's tear or rapture's gleam. 
 As pure as heaven's descending snow. 
 
 As fervid as its summer's beam. 
 Not her's was beauty's meteor ray 
 
 That frail and fickle passion warms ; 
 But in her pensive glance would play 
 
 Expression's milder, tend'rer charms. 
 
 Though small the wealth tliat she possest. 
 
 That fatal wealth had pow'r to move
 
 150 
 
 The wishes of a sordid breast 
 
 That well could feign, but felt not love. 
 In luckless hour the maid believ'd 
 
 False sentiment's dissembled glow. 
 The sacrilegious vow receiv'd. 
 
 And dreamt of bliss, and Avoke to woe. 
 For brutal laugh and bitter scorn, 
 
 Profan'd the Muse's fairy bow'rs. 
 And chang'd to ruin's den forlorn 
 
 The home that fancy strew'd with flow'rs. 
 Driv'n from that home the joyless bride 
 
 All night upon the threshold lay. 
 And vainly wept, and vainly sigh'd. 
 
 And sicken'd at the morning ray. 
 But fate relax'd her frown severe. 
 
 For friendship pure, and pity kind. 
 Benignant dried th' Enthusiast's tear. 
 
 And sooth'd her heavenly-gifted mind. 
 And still, though love's too tender flow'rs 
 
 On Apathy's cold bosom die. 
 Imagination's magic pow'rs 
 
 Fresh buds of hope and bliss supply. 
 Yes, Mary, all those flow'rets blest 
 
 For thee shall live, shall bloom for thee. 
 And dear to ev'ry feeling breast 
 
 The Enthusiast and her song shall be.
 
 151 
 
 LINES 
 
 Occasioned by a Friend's presenting the Author with a 
 Bouquet of the Eriophorum Polystachion, or Cotton 
 Grass. 
 
 Where fortune's partial hands withhold 
 Her splendid favors, gems and gold. 
 Some simple gift, from nature's store 
 Delights the feeling bosom more : 
 And if a friend that gift impart, 
 A plant, a flow'r, can charm the heart. 
 
 The waving cotton grass that spread. 
 Light to the gale its shining head. 
 Pure friendship's ofl'ring, more I prize 
 Than Indian plumes of richest dyes : 
 Pleas'd, in its silv'ry tufts I view'd 
 The spotless gift of gratitude. 
 
 Within my friend's unruffled breast 
 May peace and honor ever rest. 
 His ev'ry thought and act be clear 
 From vicious taint, then, far more dear. 
 Than gems or costly plumes, to me. 
 The simple cotton grass shall be.
 
 1521 
 
 THE LORD DOUGLAS, and the HEART OF 
 
 BRUCE. 
 
 The cymbals clash, the trumpets call. 
 The battle, near Granada's wall. 
 
 Will shortly be begun ; 
 For banners gay and lances bright. 
 Of moorish chief and christian knight, 
 
 Are glittering in the sun. 
 
 " Now gentle squire, I pray, declare, 
 " What noble stranger's shield you bear ? 
 
 *' What proud device you shew ? 
 " Fair lady, 'tis Lord Douglas' shield, 
 " Who longs his trusty sword to wield 
 
 " Against the Paynim foe." 
 
 O speed the Douglas, speed him well. 
 For often shall the minstrels tell 
 
 The deeds his arm has done ; 
 When banners gay and lances bright. 
 Of many an adverse chief and knight. 
 
 Were glittering in the sun.
 
 153 
 
 ** Here in the tent, brave Douglas, rest, 
 " And take that casket from thy breast, 
 
 " And lay thy helm aside." 
 " I must for yonder field depart ; 
 " This casket holds a monarch's heart, 
 
 " My sword's accustom'd guide." 
 
 Heav'n guard the knights, how fast they ride I 
 O may they keep that crested pride, 
 
 Till well the field be won : 
 For banners gay and lances bright. 
 Of moorish chief, and christian knight. 
 
 Are glittering in the sun. 
 
 The Douglas hurls the casket high ; 
 And now, to conquer or to die. 
 
 He follows Bruce's heart. — 
 A moorish shaft his breast has gor'd ; 
 His soldiers lift the avenging sword. 
 
 And on the foemen dart. 
 
 See ! see ! the moorish squadron flies ! 
 In happy hour the Douglas dies. 
 
 The victory bravely won ; 
 When banner gay, and falchion bright. 
 Of each triumphant christian knight. 
 
 Are glittering in the sun.
 
 154 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 The sound came sweeping the valley along ; 
 
 The moon on the hills shone clearly : 
 I open'd my window to list to the song. 
 
 For a ballad I love dearly. 
 
 Yes, dearly ! 
 
 The voice of the sailor-boy sang to the gale. 
 
 The tune of the ditty ran cheerly ; 
 The notes were but simple, as simple the tale : 
 
 Yet methought I liked them dearly. 
 
 Yes, dearly ! . 
 
 Has my ear known that ballad ? I pensively cry'd. 
 
 Or fancy repeated it merely ? 
 As near drew the singer I listen'd and sigh'd. 
 
 For a sea-song 1 love dearly. 
 
 Yes, dearly ! 
 
 The door I unbolted with fear and alarms ; 
 
 My heart in my bosom beat queerly : 
 'Twas William's own footstep, he flew to my arms: 
 
 'Twas the sailor I love dearly. 
 
 Yes, dearly !
 
 155 
 
 LETTER TO D. G. Esq.— on a visit at Em—y. 
 
 Dear Coz. 
 
 In the centre of pleasure and mirth, 
 Where gay sociality waits upon worth. 
 Where with gentleness join'd, wit is certain to please. 
 And the riots of Em — y are friendship and ease ; 
 While learning and taste each enjoyment refine. 
 Can you wish to " luxuriate" on verses like mine ? 
 Though simple and plain they no poignancy claim, 
 I cannot suppose you are greatly to blame : 
 For Epicures, sated with each varied dish. 
 Of turtle and venison, poultry and fish, 
 Will quit their high fare for a plain mess of potage 
 And feast, with delight, on brown bread in a cottage. 
 Forgive me for so long delaying to write, 
 'Twas not that I wanted the will to indite, 
 I had not the pow'r, for my time was bestow'd 
 On employments at home, or engagements abroad. 
 A botanist one day, or grave antiquarian ; 
 Next morning a sempstress, or abecedarian. 
 Now making a frock, and now marring a picture. 
 Next conning a sage philosophical lecture ;
 
 156 
 
 At night at the play, or assisting to kill 
 The time of the idlers with whist or quadrille ; 
 In cares, or amusements still taking a part. 
 Though science and friendship are nearest my heart. 
 
 I wrote you in haste a nonsensical letter. 
 
 Direction to B Street, I knew not a better ; 
 
 Ere this I presume it has done me the pleasure 
 To bear you my thanks, for the elegant treasure ; 
 Thrice dear to my soul, where your pencil's creation 
 On inanimate canvas bestows animation. * 
 
 Nor blame me if vanity fondly rehearse 
 The pleasure you'll take in perusing my verse : 
 The theme you suggested ; — in that let me glory ; 
 I fear I have scarcely improv'd on the story ; 
 The moral might aid you in chusing a wife. 
 Did science not claim you her partner for life. 
 Yet may you, if chance your intentions should vary. 
 Be lov'd by a partner as prudent as JNIary. 
 
 When redolent spring shakes the dew from her vest. 
 And calls the fleet swallow again to her nest. 
 Come view me enjoying a rural retreat. 
 The hawthorn iu blossom o'ershading a seat, 
 
 " A Portrait of the Author's Father painted by D. G.
 
 157 
 
 Where silent retirement mild pensiveness wooes, 
 'Tis sacred to friendship, to thought, and the Muse . 
 Carv'd under its branches the names shall appear 
 To nature, philosophy, sentiment dear. 
 Come smile to behold me inscribing D. G. 
 Meanwhile I remain yours sincerely, 
 
 E. a 
 
 SONNET TO MISS K. P. 
 On observing her Gardcfi neglected during her tempo- 
 rary Absencejrom home. 
 
 Pensive I stray my Katie's garden round. 
 
 While she, far absent from her native bow'r. 
 Bestows no care to clear its little bound. 
 
 Or rears as erst she wont each tender flow'r. 
 Now tangled weeds deform the garden's gi-ace. 
 
 Rude ne£tles spring where lillies blossom'd fair* 
 And scarce a vei'meil flow'ret knows its place. 
 
 Reft of her fostering hand and guardian care. 
 Ah how unlike, methinks, this dreary waste 
 
 To Katie's ever cultur'd heart appears ! 
 
 There no foul vice its head audacious rears. 
 But all is virtue, tenderness, and taste. 
 Then haste, dear maid, employ thy cares refln'd 
 To make thy garden lovely as thy mind.
 
 158 
 
 MIDNIGHT RESPONSE, ROUND, AND SONG OF 
 THE VENETIAN GONDOLIERS. 
 
 From The Bravo's Task.-^\ tragedy, 
 
 1st. Gondolier. 
 Still is the night, all nature seems to sleep. 
 Save glitt'ring stars reflected in the deep. 
 
 Q.nd. Gondolier. 
 Comrade thy voice I hear, and hail its pow'r 
 To cheer the silence of the midnight hour. 
 
 ord. Gondolier. 
 Sweet floats that melody the wave along: 
 Attend, and raise the harmony of song. 
 
 ROUND. 
 
 1. Slow comes the sound, hark ! comrades, hark ! 
 Twenty-four times from the church of St. Mark, 
 
 Does the great bell toll. 
 
 2. In the moon's pale beam, the white sails gleam : 
 
 Dash, dash, dash, the feather'd oar 
 Speeds the waves upon the shore. 
 
 With a gentle roll. 
 
 3. Now in full choir, at their midnight hour. 
 The cloister'd train their requiems pour 
 
 , For the parting soul.
 
 159 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Now the fresher breezes rise. 
 
 Now the zephyrs lightly move. 
 Fan the wave and cool the skies. 
 Breathing happiness and love. 
 Chorus. 
 Hark the bells' repeated chime 
 Speeds the flight of lazy time. 
 
 (Symphony with hells.) 
 Laughing pleasure gaily strays 
 
 By yon planet's fav'ring beam. 
 While its mellow radiance plays 
 On the scarcely rippling stream. 
 Chorus. 
 Sportive carols, echo round. 
 To the flutes' responsive sound. 
 
 (Sijmphony with flutes.) 
 Smooth we steer the painted boat. 
 Ply the oar, or spread the sail. 
 While the notes of music float 
 Sweetly on the evening gale. 
 Choriis. 
 Swiftly now the minutes fly 
 Wing'd with harmony and joy. 
 Exeunt Gondoliers, Symphony iu full hand.
 
 160 
 
 LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH. 
 
 With counsel 'gainst his shafts provided. 
 Love from my childhood I derided. 
 And strove with such a prudent care 
 To act as should avoid his snare. 
 I saidj why 'tis a very madness 
 
 To turn as he shall guide the rein ! 
 My heart with freedom danced and gladness. 
 
 Before I saw my lovely Jane. 
 
 'Twas thus at gay fifteen I rattled. 
 And with young Cupid gaily battled :— 
 The prince of Cytherea's isle 
 Would oft at my resistance smile. 
 And whisper to his troop of loves, 
 
 " Let him some little conquests gain ; 
 I'll pledge my bow, our pow'r he proves 
 
 When ambush'd in the smiles of Jane." 
 
 His plan thus laid, in sly probation. 
 His frankness led me to temptation :
 
 161 
 
 In Mary's sprightly eyes he play'd. 
 And thence some little scratches made. 
 I thought her lively, passing fair ! 
 
 Of manners innocent and plain ; 
 Admir'd her free ingenuous air : 
 
 But what was she compar'd to Jane ? 
 
 Blythe Cupid, as you well may reason. 
 Not thus renounc'd his triumph's season. 
 But placed himself, with darts in store, 
 On the soft lips of Leonore : — 
 'Twas here he thought himself secure. 
 
 And triumph'd, but his boast was vain ; 
 My heart so strove, it fled the lure : — 
 
 But still for me he kept back Jane. 
 
 Meanwhile, with courage all undaunted, 
 Enraptur'd I my prowess vaunted. 
 And of my double conquest proud, 
 Talk'd o'er its worth in accents loud. 
 How does a victor care forget ! 
 
 Adieu to caution's wonted train ! 
 I rais'd my conqu'ring eyes ; they met 
 
 The much more conqu'ring glance of Jane.
 
 162 
 
 Time was I sliould have fear'd to meet her ; 
 My pride, or else my doubts discreeter, 
 ' Affected often to despise, 
 Yet shunn'd the pow'r of beauteous eyes. 
 How love can mock our mighty boast ! 
 
 How change our sense of joy or pain ! 
 I now account each moment lost 
 
 That I have spent away from Jane. 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 0)1 some Violets planted in my Garden by a Friend. 
 
 Cath'rine, though not from fortune's glitt'ring stores 
 
 Thou hadst a gift to offer, yet 'twas thine 
 A tender sweetness in thy gift to pour. 
 
 That gave thy heart's expression best to mine. 
 
 The violets, o'er yon western bank that twine. 
 To thy protecting hand their station owe ; 
 
 In brighter tints may proud exotics shine. 
 But none with fresher native fragrance blow : 
 Even as thy violets in my garden grow. 
 
 So shall thy friendship in my bosom live, 
 Its rooting fibres round my heart-strings throw. 
 
 And sweetness to each pure sensation give. 
 Still flourish there unfading, and defy 
 The changing climate and the stormy sky.
 
 163 
 
 THE BAT.— A SIMILE. 
 
 Frail child of earth ! to whom is given 
 To soar with habitants of heaven. 
 And court, in air, the still serene 
 Of twilight's deep and soften'd scene ; 
 When purple pomps the clouds invest. 
 From rays that linger in the west. 
 And massy shadows, dark and vast. 
 Their veil sublime, o'er nature cast ; 
 What time, from pale and timid flow'rs, 
 Sabaean ordors scent the bow'rs, 
 O then 'tis thine, with rapid flight. 
 To mock the quick and anxious sight. 
 Whose speculation seeks to trace 
 Thy arrowy path, thy flitting grace. 
 That, like the meteor of the sky. 
 Scarce paints a form upon the eye ; 
 Now seen, now lost, with magic pow'r. 
 The spirit of the mystic hour ! 
 But placed with those of equal birth. 
 To walk the common track of earth. 
 Poor feeble thing of cumbrous form. 
 Thou crawlst more helpless than the worm, 
 K 2
 
 164 
 
 The blisses thy congeners try, 
 
 Scarce given to taste, much less enjoy ! 
 
 How oft has fancy smil'd to see. 
 
 Some son of genius shewn in thee ! 
 
 His flight, unsearchable as thine. 
 
 Eludes the glance of vulgar eyne, 
 
 As rais'd from earth, on pinion sure 
 
 He cleaves the palpable obscure ; 
 
 Or flitting through the dusky glade 
 
 Enjoys sublimity in shade ; 
 
 Breathes odors richer far than those 
 
 That day elicits from the rose. 
 
 And peoples all the shadowy space 
 
 With visions of immortal grace. 
 
 But check his stretch'd and soaring wing ; 
 
 His pow'rs to common habits bring ; 
 
 Place him on earth, and bid him then 
 
 Associate with his fellow men ; 
 
 You'll find him, spite of all his boast. 
 
 So awkward, helpless, poor and lost. 
 
 That, if possest of mere good nature. 
 
 In pity to the dubious creature. 
 
 With flattery's aid you'll kindly try 
 
 To help hini, once again, to fly. 
 
 Here let no scornful eagle cry, 
 
 '^ Avaunt ! Intruder on the sky j"
 
 165 
 
 Nor fellow qiiadi'uped, with spite. 
 Deride the short, and hasty flight ; 
 Lestj driv'n from earth, expell'd from air. 
 Of mousing owl, with critic stare. 
 That shrinks from candor's steady ray. 
 The Bat become the midnight prey. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 From " Anacreon's Home, a Masque." 
 
 Bring the perfumes, garlands bring. 
 Teach the silken robe to flow. 
 
 Twine the fairest flow'rs of spring. 
 Bind them lightly on my brow. 
 
 Let a zone of jewels rare 
 
 For the dance my vest confine ; 
 
 Half unbraid my ringlet Jiair ; 
 Ci'own me with the purple vine. 
 
 O ! for roseate hours that fly 
 
 Wing'd with mirth and wing'd with joy. 
 
 Till the soul forget to measure 
 
 Time by aught but circling pleasure !
 
 166 
 
 THE VISION. 
 
 " A Woman's Story at a Winter's Fire" 
 " Authorised by her Grandam-—" 
 
 The village nurse, an aged crone. 
 
 Sate on the farmer's warm hearth-stone. 
 
 And, cheer'd by raantlmg ale. 
 From mem'ry's storehouse of traditions. 
 Of murders, death-signs, apparitions. 
 
 Told many a wond'rous tale. 
 
 The half-spent faggot noiseless burn'd. 
 Her wheel the good-wife softly turn'd 
 
 As horrors deeper grew ; 
 The children gaz'd in mute amazement. 
 And, at each breeze that shook the casement. 
 
 Their circle closer drew. 
 
 Ah ! said the Crone, I well remember 
 My grandam told, when dark December, 
 
 With cold and sullen blast. 
 Swept howling on through moss and sedge. 
 Her sire one night, o'er Blackstone Edge,*" 
 
 In dreary journey past. 
 
 • An elevated Moor on the confines of Yorkshire and 
 Lancashire.
 
 167 
 
 The gloomy clouds roli'd dark and low. 
 With drizzling rain, and sleet, and snow, 
 
 When, shooting from afai", 
 A ray of red and wav'ring light. 
 Through the black covert of the night, 
 
 Gleam'd like a misty star. 
 
 As nearer to that flame he drew. 
 Strange shapes of horror met his view ; 
 
 A cauldron's monstrous size 
 Athwart the moor its shadow flung ; 
 A tunnel'd dome that o'er it hung 
 
 Seem'd blended with the skies. 
 
 That magic cauldi'on's mm-ky bound 
 Twelve meagre witches hobbled round. 
 
 With howl, and groan, and yell : 
 When, sailing on the midnight storm. 
 The prince of air, in giant form. 
 
 Hung o'er their hellish spell. 
 
 He laugh'd and turn'd him on his cloud. 
 Was never laugh so wild, so loud ! 
 
 Then, down that tunnel'd dome. 
 While glared his eye's exultant beam. 
 From gaping jaws disgorg'd a stream. 
 
 Of black and filthy foam.
 
 ](J8 
 
 To greet their prince tlie beldams soar : 
 The cauldron bursts with thund'ring roar. 
 
 And from its pitchy -vvomb 
 Exploded, hosts of loathsome shapes, 
 Wing'd toads, and lizards, bats and apes, 
 , In rude disorder come. 
 
 On eagle pinions some aspire, 
 
 Witli crowned brow and locks of fire ; 
 
 Some mount the city's wall ; 
 Some flutter round the trading town. 
 And some o'er hamlet, dale and down. 
 
 On earth's cool bosom crawl. 
 
 All these, and more the good-man saw. 
 And pondered, with religious awe. 
 
 On that mysterious sight ; 
 Then to his children's greedy ear. 
 Would frequent breathe the tale of fear 
 
 That mark'd December's night. 
 
 And " O beware fond youth," he said, 
 " For vice, in fairer forms array'd, 
 
 " Is oft by beauty screen'd : 
 " But if you feel wrath, malice, pride, 
 " Or envy touch your hearts, avoid 
 
 " The Vomit of the Fieni)."
 
 169 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 From " Anacreoris Home, a Masque!' 
 
 A youthful pair in Tempe's bow'rs 
 
 At Hymen's altar bow'd. 
 At morn they deck'd the shrine with flow'rs 
 
 And faith eternal vow'd. 
 
 The bridegroom sought Thessalia's plain. 
 
 And near the turfy hill 
 Where youths the fiery courser rein, 
 
 Attain'd the prize of skill. 
 
 The bride on Peneus' verdant shore 
 
 His laurel garland wove : 
 A pirate band the trembler bore 
 
 From Tempe's vale and love. 
 
 From clime to clime he seeks tlie fair : 
 
 Hope's visionary spell 
 Beguiles him oft, and fades to air:- 
 
 He sighs, my love farewell !
 
 170 
 
 LETTER TO MISS S 
 
 From the Fici?iilt/ of Windermere, 
 
 The mild shades of eve soothe the passions to rest. 
 And the breezes are hush'd upon Windermere's breast; 
 The blackbird's sweet melody trills thro' the grove. 
 And the cuckoo's response joins the warbling of love: 
 'Tis nature's repose, or night's stillness refin'd. 
 Not a leaf, or a blossom, is wav'd by the wind ; 
 Inspiring tranquillity broods o'er the lake. 
 While friendship's delightful sensations awake. 
 To you, my dear girl, does this ev'ning belong : 
 Affection breathes forth the effusion of song. 
 
 The wild scenes of Keswick this morning I view'd. 
 Rocks, mountains, and torrents, majestic and rude ; 
 Where glens, deep embosom'd, resound with the roar 
 Of Barrow* responsive to dashing Lowdore ;* 
 Where the eagle and osprey, scream loud as they sail 
 O'er the summit of Skiddaw that frowns on the vale. 
 Stern Skiddaw gigantic ! thy wonderful height 
 Has lessen'd the objects of tender delight; 
 
 " Two cascades in the vitinitv of Keswick.
 
 171 
 
 How sunk are the charms of the village and wood ! 
 
 The lake is no more a magnificent flood. 
 
 Thy pride throws a gloom o'er each elegant feature 
 
 Like grandeur, at war with the blessings of nature. 
 
 If such the effects of too high elevation 
 
 Be ours a plain home, in a temperate station. 
 
 Where life's smiling comforts around us may wait, 
 
 Unshadow'd by pomp or the frowns of the great. 
 
 Come, join me, in fancy, where Windermere smiles 
 On hills crown'd with verdure, and wood-shaded isles; 
 Where Rydal's smooth lake in tranquillity lies. 
 Like the bosom of virtue reflecting the skies ; 
 Where Grassmere's gay slopes, gently bending are 
 
 seen 
 To tinge the clear wave with their beautiful green 
 Where Leathes-water catches the rills that, pure 
 
 welling, 
 Roll murmuring down the rough side of Helvellyn, 
 Till hush'd on her bosom, they sink into rest 
 Like sorrow reclining on sympathy's breast. 
 What soft tones of tenderness steal thro' the glade, 
 As silent I list to the distant cascade ! 
 Now, nearer reclin'd, in a grot of the mountain. 
 My song thus addresses the nymph of the fountain.
 
 172 
 
 Naiad of Rydal, Avhile thy wave 
 
 Hoarse pouring down the rocky steep. 
 Shakes the grey cliff and gloomy cave. 
 
 Here rest thy bending head and weep. 
 Here tender melancholy dwells 
 
 And lifts to Heav*n her tearful eye ; 
 Here pity haunts the mossy cells 
 
 And heaves the sympathetic sigh. 
 Come pour thy plaints in freedom here. 
 
 For here the world-worn heart foregoes 
 
 Its cares, and wooes ideal woes. 
 When wild imagination wakes the causeless tear. 
 
 Romantic Naiad ! thou dost love 
 The silent, dark, impending grove. 
 Impervious to the noon-tide ray 
 The busy glare of flaunting day : 
 O, hide me, in some still retreat, 
 Some lowly hermitage, beside 
 Thy falling waters fullest tide. 
 Where echo's voice, in accents sweet. 
 The dashing of thy waves might borrow. 
 And teach thy murmurs softer sorrow. 
 As she the gentle plaint resounded. 
 By woods and waterfalls surrounded.
 
 173 
 
 Within thy still sequester'd bow'r 
 Shall fancy breathe her magic pow'r. 
 And bring, in fairy-visions, near, 
 The forms to love and friendship dear. 
 Hence, noisy folly loud and rude ! 
 
 Be wild ambition far away ! 
 No busy thronging cares intrude, 
 But let the heart keep holiday ; 
 Alive to nature's ev'ry charm. 
 To all her best sensations warm : 
 While these delights my bosom fill, 
 O, gently pour thy mountain rill. 
 And gently draw thy gloom profound. 
 Romantic Naiad ! all around. 
 The tranquiliz'd winds are too lazy to shake 
 The big drops of rain as they fall on the lake ; 
 The lingering twilight still glows in the west, 
 Tho' slow sailing clouds the broad mountain invest ; 
 Night spreads o'er the waters her tinting serene. 
 And silence, and shadow, envelope the scene. 
 But sudden the visions of glory unfold ; 
 Yon tall rocky cliffs are resplendent with gold ! 
 The lightening has pierc'd through the darkness 
 
 profound. 
 And far distant thunder re-echoes around. 
 What ti'ansport sublime ! — Affectation may fly it ; 
 Expression is wanting, — Pause, muse, and enjoy it*
 
 174 
 
 MARCUS OSTORIUS to his WAR HORSE.* 
 
 Restrain thy pride, my gallant steed. 
 Nor pant to share the dangerous toil. 
 
 For now, unhors'd, with cautious tread. 
 Our cohorts pi-ess the marshy soil. 
 
 While here their patient coursers feed 
 Reg-ardless of the battle coil : 
 
 And canst thou not with them remain 
 
 Contented on the gi-assy plain ? 
 
 O ! no ; I note thine eye of fire. 
 
 Thy glance that ask the loosen'd rein. 
 
 The nostrils stretching with desire 
 Of instant combat, and the mane 
 
 Toss'd high in air, the snort of ire 
 
 Which scarce the bit and curb restrain : 
 
 Come then, my steed, put forth thy might. 
 
 And brave the terrors of the fight. 
 
 • The skeleton of a horse with his caparisons, and a num. 
 ber of lloman funereal urns, were recently discovered at 
 Brome, in Suffolk, the supposed sight of a Roman victory.
 
 175 
 
 Beware, my Xanthus, gently pass ; 
 
 Thy path with looks of lightning view: 
 No steps have track'd the dewy grass 
 
 That bound ! — 'tis well ; — ^thy course pursue; 
 How shakes around the deep morass ! 
 
 O ! bravely, bravely struggled through ! 
 Look, on that bank, a hostile band. 
 Compact the fierce Iceni * stand. 
 
 The spearmen pass the ford below, 
 Expos'd to storms of arrowy hail ; 
 
 The hill they climb, they gain the brow. 
 And yon barbaric camp assail. 
 
 Hark, to the yelling of the foe. 
 The battle-shout, the battle- wail ! 
 
 Mark that opposing mound of stone ; 
 
 There urge thy strength ; on, Xanthus, on. 
 
 Now strain the muscles of thy chest. 
 
 Oft as it met their flinty walls : 
 Well on the mound thy force has prest : 
 
 Start not my steed ; it shakes, it falls ! 
 Wave in their thickest ranks thy crest. 
 
 And forward, — 'tis our country calls ! 
 We've won their banner, — see, they fly ! 
 The shout is " Rome and victory !" 
 " The people of Suffolk, Norfolk and Cambridgeshire.
 
 176 
 
 On still, my courser ; to the right. 
 Where frowns in shade that giant oak. 
 
 One hardy chief prolongs the fight ; 
 A Roman bends beneath his stroke.— 
 
 O I speed thee, like the bolt of light 
 When mortals Jove's own ire provoke. 
 
 Hail, brightest glory of the strife, 
 
 A fellow-soldier's rescued life I 
 
 Why staggers thus my foaming horse ? 
 
 Thy strength has War's wild ardor spent ? 
 Ha ! bleeds thy flank ? — a Briton's force 
 
 Too fatally the dart has sent : 
 Nor blench'd my steed, nor swerv'd his course. 
 
 When through his sides this arrow went. 
 That groan supprest, that lengthen'd breath. 
 Still speaks thy courage strong in death. 
 
 And sinks so calm thy mighty frame ? 
 
 What, not a struggle at the last ? 
 The shout that from our warriors came. 
 
 Their voice of triumph, as it past 
 Just reach'd him, and a glance of flame 
 
 Athwart his glazing eye-balls cast : 
 One look he gave of wonted pride. 
 
 Then stretch'd his stiffen'ing limbs and died.
 
 177 
 
 Build, conquerors, build the funeral pyre^ 
 
 For those who never shall return. 
 And bid the flames to heav'n aspire, 
 
 "In honor of the dead ye mourn : 
 Then weep, as fades the sinking fire. 
 
 And piously their bones inurn. 
 Each for his comrade pours the tear. 
 And shall not mine be honor'd here ? 
 
 Yes ; near the general pyre be made 
 My faithful servant's bed of clay ; 
 
 In panoply of war array'd. 
 
 Boss, bit and bridle with him lay ; 
 
 Place too my sword beside his head. 
 To note the triumph of the day. 
 
 And History's page his fame shall tell : — 
 
 Farewell, my gallant Steed ! farewell.
 
 178 
 
 VALENTINE, THE MILKMAID. 
 
 I rise with morning's early light. 
 Ere yet the sun-beams full and bright 
 
 Pierce through the lattic'd bow'rs ; 
 Brush with quick step the spangled heath. 
 Imbibe the heifer's fragrant breath. 
 
 And scents of dewy flow'rs. 
 Returning home with brimming pail, 
 I wake the echoes of the vale 
 
 With many a carol gay ; 
 Nor soaring lark, nor livelier thrush, 
 Nor nightingale, from hawthorn bush 
 
 Can pour a blither lay. 
 The quiet sleep, the flush of health. 
 The peaceful mind's exhaustless wealth 
 
 To rural toil are giv'n ; 
 Let others wealth or splendor prize, 
 I hold these pure and simple joys 
 The choicest boon of Heav'n. 
 The Milk- Maid as she tripp'd along 
 Thus sung ; and love has caught the song ; 
 To tell you Sir, that you may best 
 With rural innocence be blest.
 
 179 
 
 VALENTINE, THE BIRD-SELLER, 
 
 Birds ; Birds ;— 'tis singing Birds I cry ! 
 Come pretty maids, who'll buy, who'll buy ? 
 
 Here haste, for Birds to me belong 
 Of every feather, every song. 
 And such a one you may engage 
 As you would wish for life to cage. 
 
 This courtly Parrot first survey. 
 Who says but what you choose to say ; 
 But such in flattery over weening 
 Give in their words but little meaning : 
 What e'er his elegance or beauty^ 
 His sense, I think, can little suit you. 
 
 This piping Bullfinch well can sing 
 Malbrouk, the Wreath, God save the King, 
 But tho' eo perfect every tune 
 You'll find his notes insipid soon. 
 
 L 2
 
 180 
 
 The Goldfinch ever brisk and gay. 
 To sprightly measures tunes his lay ; 
 
 But yet methinks he seems for you 
 
 Too restless, and too noisy too. 
 
 The Nightingale, whose plaintive tone 
 
 Breathes sadly to the silent moon ; 
 
 Too melancholy pours the strain 
 
 And somewhat thrills the heart with pain. 
 
 But here's a bird of gentler note 
 
 Who scarce less sweetly tunes his throat. 
 
 And sings when winter's dreary day 
 
 Has silenc'd every other lay. 
 
 For dearly does the Redbreast prize 
 
 The social hearth's domestic joys : 
 
 Such be your Bird, and such your mate 
 And every bliss your choice await.
 
 181 
 
 VALENTINE. 
 An Irish Hary enttvined with Shavirock. 
 
 The Harp of green Erin has sung of her mountains. 
 Where eagles to hberty shout the loud strain ; 
 
 Of her rivers that sparkling, flow pure from their 
 fountains. 
 And the verdure that shines on her em'rald plain. 
 
 It sung of her saints, how their primitive blessing 
 To Erin still holy, its graces imparts ; 
 
 No venemous reptiles her fair fields possessing 
 No rancorous passion her children's free hearts. 
 
 It sung of her time-honour'd heroes whose story 
 The lay of the Minstrel still warmly inspires ; 
 
 Her sons at the sound have rushed forward to glory 
 And equall'd the valor and fame of their Sires. 
 
 When the chords in effusions of tenderness roll. 
 What sounds of delight can so rapturous prove. 
 
 What notes to such sympathy temper the soul. 
 As the Harp of green Erin, Avhcn singing of love.
 
 182 
 
 Then lady affect not, to-night to disdain 
 
 The heart you believe to be generous and true; 
 
 But with smiles of complacency welcome the strain. 
 The Harp of green Erin is breathing for you. 
 
 VALENTINE.— THE SAVOYARD GIRL. 
 
 In mountain ditty wild and free 
 
 I sing the charms of liberty ; 
 
 Oft pausing on his bounding way 
 
 The Chamois listen'd to the lay ; 
 
 Why turn you with averted eye 
 
 And wave your hand and heave a sigh ? 
 
 1*11 sing of Alpine peaks on high 
 That glitter in the clear blue sky ; 
 And on their lofty summits shew 
 A wreath of pure unsullied snow ; 
 If such my sqpg then why appear 
 To listen with reluctant ear ? 
 
 Oh, now I see ; I'll change the strain 
 From freedom's joy to slavery's pain ; 
 No song of mountain snows can prove 
 A charm to those who burn with love ; 
 Attend then, and you'll quickly deem 
 My song a more congenial themes
 
 183 
 
 O light and silken chains are they 
 That round the heart affection ties. 
 
 And lambent are the fires that play 
 In soften'd light from beauty's eyes 
 
 And never faithful breast complains 
 
 Those fires to feel, to Avear those chains,- 
 
 The bands that love prepares for you 
 Shall be with every virtue twin'd. 
 
 And from an eye of heavenly blue 
 Be gentleness with radiance join'd. 
 
 An equal band your bride secures. 
 Her love shall burn as bright as yours.
 
 184 
 
 ADDRESS, 
 
 Introductory to the Castle Spectre, as performed by 
 the Officers of the District in 1805, at the Theatre 
 Ipswich, for the Benefit of the Norwich Company 
 of Comedians. 
 
 Ere yet athwart the magic scen'ry glance 
 The bright illusive visions of romance. 
 One moment, ere our Author's gloAving diction 
 In captivating splendour dresses fiction. 
 Let simpler truth, in social phrase impart 
 The unaffected impulse of the heart. 
 
 Methinks I hear the voice of critic rage 
 Cry, " hence ! ye vain usurpers of the stage !" 
 Hush ! critics, hush ! we boast a potent charm 
 To blunt your satire, and your wrath disarm. 
 Benevolence — you greet it — O ! how well 
 Each British bosom owns the pow'rful spell ! 
 
 Mistake not our attempt — we seek to-night 
 To strengthen, not usurp, the actor's right.
 
 185 
 
 That, when his day of mimic pomp is o*er 
 And the full voice that charm'd, can charm no more> 
 The soothing hand of competence may spread 
 A downy pillow for his aged head. 
 
 But howsoe'er we deprecate your frown, 
 
 No humble, no inglorious aim Ave own ; 
 
 Ours is the ardent wish to please, that draws. 
 
 By its own merits, kind, yet just applause. 
 
 Be ours, the soul to animate and raise ; 
 
 To hear, in friendship's voice, the voice of praise. 
 
 From care an hour of sadness to beguile ; 
 
 To wake, on beauty's cheek the dimpled smile. 
 
 Or bid her eye, in soften'd lustre wear 
 
 Its dearer grace, or sympathizing tear : 
 
 Cold were the heart that loiter'd to explain 
 
 How blest their triumph who can these attain ! 
 
 Yet who, for such a prize, shall dare contest. 
 
 Nor feel one fear obtruding on his breast ? 
 
 Let kind indulgence prompt us to excel. 
 
 Cheer our best hopes, our chilling doubts dispel. 
 
 Smile on our Spectre's merits, we implore ye. 
 
 And prove our terrors all phantasmagoria.
 
 186 
 
 POOR LUCKLESS MARY.— a ballad. 
 
 What form in yonder dewy vale 
 
 Gathers the worm-wood, rue and clary ? 
 One late the pride of Wensley dale. 
 
 Poor luckless Mary. 
 
 Her soul was pure, her heart was gay. 
 
 And light her step as any fairy. 
 And sweetly beam'd the morning ray 
 On smiling Mary. 
 
 Her Father's homely board she drest 
 
 With simplest viands, neat though chary. 
 And he, at evening, grateful blest 
 
 His darling Mary. 
 
 Alas ! that fortune gave a lot 
 
 To youth's fair prospects so contrary, 
 Beguil'd by love she left her cot. 
 
 Imprudent Mary !
 
 187 
 
 Quick changing as the clouds of morn, 
 
 Her love forgot his promise airy. 
 
 And to the world's unfeeling scorn 
 
 Deserted Mary. 
 
 With tears and agbny of grief 
 
 Her Father mourn'd his child unwary. 
 Till idiot stupor gave relief 
 
 To sighs for Mary, 
 
 And when she view'd his pallid cheek. 
 
 How fast the rose of hers would vary! 
 She look'd to Heav'n with aspect meek ; 
 Heav'n pitied Mary. 
 
 And now a Parent's age to cheer 
 
 She sells the worm- wood, rue and clary ; 
 Thy bitter herbs, thy bitterer tear. 
 
 Shall bless thee Mary.
 
 188 
 
 THE KAMTSCHDALE TO HIS DOGS. 
 
 On with the sledge : my Dogs, away ; 
 Soon shall we feel the vernal ray. 
 I hear the wolf's retiring howl ; 
 The sullen bear begins to growl : 
 The bear, the wolf, ye need not fear. 
 While mine the shield, and mine the spear. 
 
 On with the sledge— when mounts the sun. 
 Your wintry task, my Dogs, is done ; 
 Then shall ye range the forest free. 
 And taste the joys of Liberty : 
 While I, with various toil and care. 
 Our store of winter food prepare. 
 
 On with the sledge : and thou, its guide. 
 
 My faithful Kiac, by my side 
 
 Wilt all the busy summer stay. 
 
 And voluntary service pay : 
 
 More dear thy master's voice to thee 
 
 Than all the sweets of of Liberty !
 
 189 
 
 THE REMONSTRANCE. 
 
 Why did my Hen'rys bosom grieve 
 To see me share a humble lot ? 
 
 Why for the city, does he leave 
 
 Our wooded glen, our peaceful cot ? 
 
 Our grassy fields, our lowing kine. 
 
 Our toils that wake the glow of health, 
 
 A peaceful look, a smile of thine. 
 Are joys I would not change for wealth. 
 
 What bliss arose our babes to see 
 Returning from the heathy hill. 
 
 With agile limbs and spirits free. 
 And hearts awake to nature's thrill. 
 
 No more the sea-bird's pendent nest 
 Shall tempt them to the hanging rocks, 
 
 Or Summer, from her flowr'y vest. 
 
 Shake dew-drops on their golden locks.
 
 190 
 
 Perchance when o'er each faded cheek 
 Pale languor's hue shall slowly steal. 
 
 Remorse, with sterner voice, may speak. 
 And bid thee too severely feel. 
 
 The paths that fame so gaily vaunts 
 Are oft with painful foot-steps trode ; 
 
 And proud ambition's dearest haunts 
 Are disappointment's drear abode. 
 
 O, do not from these scenes depart ; 
 
 Retract the fatal rash decree ! 
 Restore each transport to ray heart. 
 
 Its transports spring from love and thee.
 
 191 
 
 TO A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 Who h&ed what she should do to he universally helov'd. 
 
 You ask, dear Jane, what you shall do 
 What cautious path in life pursue. 
 And tell me you would fain be taught 
 How you shall be admir'd and sought. 
 You on my counsel would rely 
 For what you better know than I, 
 Yet I must give it when you ask 
 And feel much honor'd in the task. 
 
 Your dress, though still my task supplied. 
 Let modesty and neatness guide : 
 By gentle manners strive to please ; 
 But not by effort banish ease. 
 And in your unaffected mien 
 The smile of cheerfulness be seen. 
 Your wit, or sense should never be 
 Trick'd out in gauds of repartee. 
 And flaunting forth, like City spark 
 On Sunday cantering through the park ;
 
 192 
 
 But be each virtue in your breast 
 
 Seen inmate, not a casual guest. 
 
 Of no superior merit boast : 
 
 Who least possess, oft claim it most. 
 
 But you by modesty will gain 
 
 That praise which pride shall seek in vain. 
 
 To sum these precepts all in one:— 
 Just act as you have ever done. 
 
 FINIS, 
 
 J. HAW, PKIKTER, IfSWICH. 
 
 %

 
 FiL 
 
 Cobbold 
 
 UI46I Poems 
 1325 
 
 BINDERY APfl 5 1958 
 
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 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 000 368 729 
 
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