Изображения страниц


Before my

“ Pilgrim's Progress" with the prints, “ Vanity The following poems are extracted as speci-
Fair,” &c., now scarce. Four shillings. Cheap: mens from the volume for those who are not ac-
And also one of whom I have oft heard and had quainted with the poetical value of the author.
dreams, but never saw in the flesh- that is, in
sheepskin—" The whole theologic works of

Thomas Aquinas !”
My arms ached with lugging it a mile to the stage,

A Summer Evening. but the burden was a pleasure, such as old Anchises It is not only while we look upon was to the shoulders of Æneas; or the Lady to the

A lovely landscape that its beauties please ; Lover in the old romance, who having to carry her In distant days, when we afar are gone to the top of a high mountain—the price of obtain

From such, in fancy's idle reveries, ing her-clambered with her to the top and fell

Or moods of mind which memory loves to seize, dead with fatigue.

It comes in living beauty, fresh as when
O the glorious old schoolmen !

We first beheld it ;-valley, hill, or trees, There must be something in him. Such great O'ershadowing unseen brooks; or outstretched fen, names imply greatness. Who hath seen Michel With cattle sprinkled o'er, exist, and charm again. Angelo's things—of us that never pilgrimaged to Rome—and yet which of us disbelieves his great-Such pictures silently and sweetly glide ness? How I will revel in his cobwebs and subtle

“mind's eye;" and I welcome them ties till my brain spins, &c.

The more because their presence has supplied Was the following letter addressed to Bernard A joy, as pure and stainless as the gem Barton ? or was it only found among his papers ?

That morning finds on blossom, leaf, or stem

Of the fair garden's queen, the lovely rose, There is a Latin letter from Lamb to Coleridge,

Ere breeze or sunbeam from her diadem from Enfield, but we cannot lay our hands on it Have stolen one brilliant ; and around she throws at present :

Her perfumes o'er the spot that with her beauty April, 1831.

glows. VIR BONE!

Recepi literas tuas amicissimas, et in mentem Bear witness many a loved and lovely scene, venit responsuro mihi, vel raro, vel nunquam, inter Which I no more may visit—are ye not nos intercedisse Latinam linguam, organum rescri- Thus still my own ? Thy groves of shady green, bendi, loquendive. Epistolæ tuæ, Plinianis ele- Sweet Gosfield ! or thou wild, romantic spot, gantiis (supra quod Tremulo deceat) repertæ, tam Where, by gray craggy cliff and lonely grot, à verbis Plinianis adeo abhorrent, ut ne vocem The shallow Dove rolls o'er his rocky bed; quamquam (Romanam scilicet) habere videaris, Ye still remain as fresh and unforgot quam " ad canem,” ut aiunt, “ rejectare possis.”- As if but yesterday mine eyes had fed Forsan desuetudó Latinisandi ad vernaculam lin- Upon your charms,-and yet months, years, since guam usitandam, plusquam opus sit, coegit. Per then have sped adagia quædam nota, et in ore omnium pervulgata, ad Latinitatis perdita recuperationem revocare te Their silent course. And thus it ought to be, institui.

Should I sojourn far hence in distant years, Felis in abaco est, et ægrè videt.

Thou lovely dwelling of the dead! with thee: Omne quod splendet nequaquam aurum putes.

For there is much about thee that endears Imponas equo mendicum, equitabit idem ad Thy peaceful landscape ; much the heart reveres, diabolum.

Much that it loves, and all it could desire, Fur commodê a fure prenditur.

In Meditation's haunt, when hopes and fears O Maria, Maria, valdé contRARIA, quomodo Have been too busy, and we would retire crescit hortulus tuus?

E'en from ourselves awhile-yet of ourselves Nunc majora canamus.

inquire. Thomas, Thomas, de Islington, uxorem duxit die nuperá Dominicâ. Reduxit domum posterâ. Then art thou such a spot as inan might choose Succedenti baculum emit. Postridie ferit illam.

For still communion : all around is sweet, Ægrescit illa subsequenti. Proximâ (nempe Ve- | And calm, and soothing; when the light breeze neris) est mortua. Plurimum gestiit Thomas, quòd appropinquanti sabbato efferenda sit.

The lofty limes that shadow thy retreat, Horner quidam Johannulus in angulo sedebat,

Whose interlacing branches, as they meet, artocreas quasdam deglutiens. Inseruit pollices, | O’ertop, and almost hide, the edifice pruna manu evellens, et magnâ voce exclamavit,

They beautify; no sound except the bleat ** Dii boni, quam bonus puer fio !”

Of innocent lambs, or notes which speak the bliss Diddle-diddle-dumkins! meus unicus filius Jo- Of happy birds unseen. What could a hermit hannes cubitum ivit, integris braccis, caligâ unâ

miss? tantum, indutus–Diddle-diddle, &c. Da capo. Hic adsum saltans Joannula. Cum nemo adsit

Light thickens ;" and the moon advances; slow mihi, semper resto sola.

Through fleecy clouds with majesty she wheels : In his nugis caram diem consumo, dum invigilo

Yon tower's indented outline, tombstones low valetudini carioris nostræ Emmæ quæ apud nos

And mossy gray, her silver light reveals ; jamdudum ægrotat. Salvere vos jubet mecum

Now quivering through the lime-tree foliage

steals ; Maria mea, ipsa integrâ valetudine.


And now each humble, narrow, nameless bed, Ab Enfeldiense datum, Aprilis nescio qui To eyes that pass by epitaphs unread,

Whose grassy hillock not in vain appeals bus Calendis

Rise to the view. How still the dwelling of the Davus sum, non calendarius.

dead! P.S. Perdita in toto est Billa Reformatura.






Not ours the vows of such as plight The hawthorn tree, that leafless long has stood, Their troth in sunny weather,

Shows signs of blossoming; the streamlet's flood While leaves are green, and skies are bright, Hath shrunk into its banks, and in each vale To walk on flowers together.

The lowly violet, and the primrose pale,

Have lured the bee to seek his wonted food.
But we have loved as those who tread

Then up! and to your forest haunts repair,
The thorny path of sorrow,

Where Robin Hood once held his revels gay; With clouds above, and cause to dread

Yours is the greensward smooth, and vocal spray : Yet deeper gloom to-morrow.

And I, as on your pilgrimage ye fare, That thorny path, those stormy skies, In all your sylvan luxuries shall share Have drawn our spirits nearer ;

When I peruse them in your minstrel lay.
And rendered us, by sorrow's ties,

Each to the other dearer.
Love, born in hours of joy and mirth,

Beacon for barks that navigate the stream
With mirth and joy may perish;

Of Ore or Ald, or breast the ocean spray:

Landmark for inland travellers far away
That to which darker hours gave birth
Still more and more we cherish.

O'er heath and sheep-walk-as the morning beam

Or the declining sunset's mellower gleam It looks beyond the clouds of time,

Lights up thy weather-beaten turrets gray; And through death's shadowy portal , Still dost thou bear thee bravely in decay, Made by adversity sublime,

As if thy by-gone glory were no dream!
By faith and hope immortal.

Yea, now with lingering grandeur thou look'st down

From thy once fortified embaitled hill,

As if thine ancient office to fulfil ;
Cheerful old man ! whose pleasant hours were spent And, though thy keep be but the ruined crown
Where Lea's still waters through their sedges of Orford's desolate and dwindled town,

Seem'st to assert thy sovereign honor still.
Or on the fairer banks of peaceful Trent,
Or Dove hemmed in by rocks on either side :


WALKS. Thy book is redolent of fields and flowers, Of freshly flowing streams and honey-suckle bow- Why are these tamer landscapes fraught

With charms whose meek appeal

To sensibility and thought
Although I reck not of the rod and line,

The heart is glad to feel?
Thou needest no such brotherhood to give
Charm to thy artless pages—they shall shine,

Cowper, thy muse's magic skill
And thou, depicted in them, long shall live

Has made them sacred ground: For many a one to whom thy craft may be

Thy gentle memory haunts them still, A thing unknown, ev'n as it is to me.

And casts a spell around. Thy love of nature, quiet contemplation,

The hoary oak, the peasant's nest, In meadows where the world was left behind ;

The rustic bridge, the grove, Still seeking with a blameless recreation

The turf thy feet have often pressed,
In troubled times to keep a quiet mind;

The temple and alcove;
This, with thy simple utterance, imparts
A pleasure ever new to musing hearts.

The shrubbery, moss-house, simple urn,

The elms, the lodge, the hall, And thou hast deeper feelings to revere,

Each is thy witness in its turn, Drawn from a fountain even more divine,

Thy verse the charm of all. That blend thine own with memories as dear,

With names our hearts with gratitude enshrine; Thy verse, no less to nature true Holy George Herbert, Wotton, Ken, and Donne,

Ihan to religion dear, The pious Hooker, Cranmer, Sanderson.

O'er every object sheds a hue

That long must linger here. SONNET TO WILLIAM AND MARY HOWITT.

Amid these scenes the hours were spent The breath of Spring is stirring in the wood,

Of which we reap the fruit; Whose budding boughs confess the genial gale ; And each is now thy monument, And thrush and blackbird* tell their tender tale ;

Since that sweet lyre is mute. * This is very classical.-"Notabile est,” says a learn- “ Here, like the nightingale's, were poured ed critic, " quod in epigrammatibus, quæ in Anthologia

Thy solitary lays, leguntur, semper juncti inveniuntur merula et lurdus in venatione." Vide Schneideri Periculum Criticum, p. 66.

Which sought the glory of the Lord, Both these birds, from their song, were sacred to Apollo,

“ Nor asked for human praise." and thus the ziyan and zuoovpos (the merle and mavis) were called izgoi ögr 9ç. This epithet is given in a little

FIRESIDE QUATRAINS epigram in the Anthologia by a poet whose name is not known, which, with a great loss of the beauty of the orig

To Charles Lamb. inal, we venture to translate.

It is a mild and lovely winter night, Concealed beneath a broad-boughed Platane's shade,

The breeze without is scarcely heard to sigh ; The shepherd-boy his youthful toils had spread, And soon a thrush his sacred captive made,

The crescent moon and stars of twinkling light
Who murned, in piteous cries, her freedom fed.

Are shining calmly in a cloudless sky.
Oh! gentle Love! and oh! ye Graces fair!
I would that little songster's fate were mine;

Within the fire burns clearly ; in its rays
At such sweet bondage would I not repine,
But, in his bosom laid, would weep and murmur there.-Rev. My old oak book-case wears a cheerful smile;

Its antique mouldings brightened by the blaze

And hear thy numbers blithe and gay,
Might vie with any of more modern style.

Which set to music morning's light.
That rural sketch—that scene in Norway's land- Songster of sky and cloud! to thee
Of rocks and pine-trees by the torrent's foam-

Hath Heaven a joyous lot assigned ; That landscape traced by Gainsborough's youthful And thou, to hear those notes of glee, hand,

Would'st seem therein thy bliss to find · Which shows how lovely is a peasant's home- Thou art the first to leave behind

At day's return this lower earth, That Virgin and her Child, with those sweet boys

And, soaring as on wings of wind, All of the fire-light own the genial gleam;

To spring where light and life have birth. And lovelier far than in day's light and noise At this still hour to me their beauties seem.

Bird of the sweet and taintless hour,

When dew-drops spangle o'er the lea, One picture more there is, which should not be

Ere yet upon the bending flower Unhonored or unsung, because it bears

Has lit the busy humming-bee ;In many a lonely hour my thoughts to thee,

Pure as all nature is to theeHeightening to fancy every charm it wears

Thou, with an instinct half divine, A quaint familiar group—a mother mild

Wingest thy fearless flight so free And young and fair, who fain would teach to read

Up toward a yet more glorious shrine. That urchin, by her patience unbeguiled,

Bird of the morn! from thee might man, The volume open on her lap to heed.

Creation's lord, a lesson take: With fingers thrust into his ears, he looks

If thou, whose instinct ill may scan As much he wished the weary task were done;

The glories that around thee break, And more, far more, of pastime than of books

Thus biddest a sleeping world awake Lurks in that arch dark eye so full of fun.

To joy and praise ;-oh! how much more

Should mind immortal earth forsake,
Graver, or in the pouts, (I know not well

And man look upward to adore !
Which of the twain,) his elder sister plies
Her needle so, that it is hard to tell

Bird of the happy, heaven-ward song!
What the full meaning of her downcast eyes.

Could but the poet act thy part,

His soul, up-borne on wings as strong Dear Charles, if thou shouldst haply chance to know As thought can give, from earth might start, Where such a picture hung in days of yore,

And with a far diviner art Its highest worth, its deepest charm, to show

Than ever genius can supply, I need not tax my rhymes or fancy more.

As thou the ear, might glad the heart,

And scatter music from the sky.
It is not womanhood in all its grace
And lovely childhood plead to me alone;

Though these each stranger still delights to trace, The butterfly, which sports on gaudy wing ;
And with congratulating smile to own;

The brawling brooklet, lost in foam and spray, No—with all these my feelings fondly blend As it goes dancing on its idle way ;

A hidden charm unborrowed from the eye; The sunflower, in broad daylight glistening ; That wakes the memory of my absent friend, Are types of her who in the festive ring And chronicles the pleasant hours gone by. Lives but to bask in fashion's vain display,

And glittering through her bright but useless day, ON A VIGNETTE OF WOODBRIDGE FROM THE WARREN “Flaunts, and goes down a disregarded thing !"

Thy emblem, Lucy, is the busy bee,
My own beloved, adopted town!

Whose industry for future hours provides ;
Even this glimpse of thee,

The gentle streamlet, gladding as it glides Whereon I've seen the sun go down

Unseen along; the flower which gives the lea So oft-suffices me.

Fragrance and loveliness, are types of thee,

And of the active worth thy modest merit hides.
For more than forty chequered years
Hast thou not been my home?

Till all that most this life endears

The lamp will shed a feeble glimmering light
Forbids a wish to roam.

When the sustaining oil is nearly spent ;
I came to thee a stranger youth,

The small stars twinkle in the firmament,

And the moon's paler orb arise on night,
Unknowing and unknown ;
And Friendship’s solace and Love's truth

When day has waned ; the scathed tree, despite
In thee have been mine own.

Of age, look green, with ivy-wreaths besprent;

And faded roses yet retain a scent
Loved for the living and the dead, When death has made them loveless to the sight.
No other home I crave;

So linger on, as seeming loath to die,
Here would I live till life be fled,

Light, color, sweetness ; thus unto the last
Here find a nameless grave.

The poet o'er his worn-out lyre will cast
A nerveless hand, and still new numbers try;

Not unrewarded, if its parting sigh
Bird of the free and fearless wing,

Seem like the lingering echo of the past.
Up, up, and greet the sun's first ray,
Until the spacious welkin ring

With thy enlivening matin lay:

It was a happy thought, upon the brow
I love to track thy heaven-ward way

Of this slight eminence, abrupt and sheer,
Till thou art lost to aching sight,

This artless seat and straw that ched roof to rear;





Where one may watch the laborer at his plough ; In August, 1794, at his majesty's suit, the
Or hear well-pleased, as I am listening now, cause respecting the marriage of the Duke of

The song of wild birds falling on the ear,
Blended with hum of bees, or, sound more drear, been solemnized in Italy, and afterwards at St.

Sussex and Lady Augusta Murray, which had
The solemn murmur of the wind-swept bough.
Tent-like the fabric—in its centre stands

George's, Hanover Square, was finally determined The sturdy oak, that spreads his boughs on high in Doctors' Commons, when Sir William Wynne Above the roof: while to the unsated eye

delivered the judgment of the court, that the marBeauteous the landscape which below expands, riage was utterly null and void, declaring that the

Where grassy meadows, richly cultured lands, With leafy woods and hedge-row graces vie.

ceremony performed at Rome was also, by the law of this country, invalid and illegal.

My LORD,—I begin my letter with a thousand Old age is dark and unlovely.-Ossian.

thanks for your very kind attention to me in offering Oh say not so! A bright old age is thine; the city living for any one of my young people. I

Calm as the gentle light of summer eves, hope that Lord Aylesbury has by this time informed

Ere twilight dim her dusky mantle weaves; you of the happy young man who I knew some Because to thee is given, in thy decline,

years ago to bear a very good character at Christ A heart that does not thanklessly repine

Church, which was the only reason that could have At aught of which the hand of God bereaves, induced me to name him, and I trust that he will

Yet all He sends with gratitude receives ;- be worthy of your protection. May such a quiet, thankful close be mine!

I have the pleasure of acquainting you, my lord, And hence thy fire-side chair appears to me that his majesty is, thank God, quite well; that A peaceful throne—which thou wert formed to fill ; our sea-excursions proved of great benefit to him, Thy children, ministers who do thy will; and that in point of bodily exercise he is very careAnd those grand-children, sporting round thy ful; and though hunting is not quite given over, knee,

yet do we readily stay at home when the clouds Thy little subjects, looking up to thee

threaten us with storms. We have also had very As one who claims their fond allegiance still.* good accounts of my son Augustus, who must by

this time have arrived at Pisa. This tour is made From Bentley's Miscellany. for precaution, for his old complaint was greatly THE PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE OF KING GEORGE abated since last year, and he would himself rather THE THIRD AND THE ROYAL FAMILY WITH

have chosen to stay at home.

It would give me great satisfaction to receive BISHOP HURD.

such good accounts of you as I sent from hence, FROM 1776 to 1805.

and have it confirmed that Worcestershire air proves It will have been abundantly apparent in the more salutary than that of London, of which I hear letters we have already presented, addressed by you do not intend to make any trial this year, at George III. to the Bishop of Worcester, that the least not for any length of time. I cannot blame

you, my lord, but may pity your friends, who must king was a sovereign perfecily aware of liis re

consequently be deprived of your agreeable society. sponsibilities as such—although, perhaps, he did I wish it was not so, but as it is for your good, I not always wisely interpret them ; that he was a sincerely wish that it may prove beneficial, and be sincere and attached friend, and that he was a most the means of prolonging the life of an excellent exemplary husband and father. Unhappily, our man to this country, in which nobody can more rehistory shows us so few good kings, that it is but joice than myself.

CHARLOTTE. small praise of George III., when we say that no

Windsor, the 23d Dec., 1789. monarch ever ascended the throne of these realms To the Bishop of Worcester. with a deeper conviction of the greatness of the charge committed to him. He emphatically be

My Lord, I am very agreeably employed by lieved himself to be “ defender of the faith any she has not misunderstood you concerning your

Mamma in writing to you to say, ihat she hopes the grace of God," and he did what seemed 10 coming to Windsor to-morrow, and that your apart: him best to acquit himself of the awful trust re

ment is well-aired. Mamma also desires you will posed in him. Too much respect cannot be ac- be so good as to answer this note ; and I am happy corded to his domestic character, which furnishes to take this opportunity of assuring you that nobody an example of old English sterling worth and can be happier with the idea of your intended visit virtue, that the succeeding regency and reign not

to Windsor than your friend,

Augusta Sophia. only could not obscure, but only rendered more conspicuous; which example we now behold, not The thanksgiving which the king, in the folrevived but continued in his well-beloved grand-lowing letter, speaks of ordering, was a very soldaughter, her present majesty.

emn and splendid ceremony.

We know not-or The following letter from Queen Charlotte con- rather, we think we know—what Mr. Cobden and tains an allusion to the Duke of Sussex, which his friends would say of it, were such a proceswe must not pass over. If that prince, who sion to take place now-a-days ; but the spirit of would himself rather have stayed at hoine,” Englishmen is not altered, who, in the last resort, had been indulged in his wish, in all probability will take up arms in a just cause, and who will he would never have contracted the marriage which return thanks to the Almighty when their arms was the source of such disquiet to his parents. have been successful. * "A good Sonnet. Diri."-C. LAMB.

The 19th of December, 1793, was the day ap

pointed for a general thanksgiving, for the three Recurring to the above letter, we would call the great naval victories obtained by his majesty's attention of the reader to the sentiments expressed fleets, under Lords Howe, St. Vincent, and Dun- in the concluding portion of it. If, during the can : a grand procession to St. Paul's by the last twelvemonth, the subjects and potentates of royal family and the two houses of Parliament, Germany had been similarly impressed, we should took place. This procession was also composed never have seen with indignation and horror the of the officers of state, the officers of the house inhuman barbarities that have been committed both hold, the municipal authorities, and seamen and by imperialists and “patriots." marines bearing the captured French, Spanish, The next letter refers to the Princess Amelia. and Dutch flags.

The illness, of which the fond father fancies he As soon as the king arrived at the naval circle perceives an amendment, was most protracted and in the cathedral, he stopped and spoke for some painful. She died on the 2d November, 1810. time to Lord Duncan, who supported the captive Shortly before her death, she wished to present colors of the Dutch Admiral De Winter. He also her father, whom she tenderly loved, with a last paused to speak to Sir Alan Gardiner, who bore token of her affection, and placed on his finger a the principal French standard, taken from that ring made under her own direction, containing a enemy on the first of June.

The king appeared small lock of her hair, inclosed under a crystal in blue and gold ; the queen in mazarine blue, tablet, set round with a few sparks of diamonds. with a diamond head-dress ; the princesses in the The loss of this his youngest daughter-so long same colored vests, with head-dresses of gold and feared, till perhaps fear began to give place to white feathers. Their majesties were received hope, so preyed upon the feelings of the king, with great applause as they passed the body of the that he sank a victim to that mental disorder under church to and fro. The gallant Lord Duncan was which he had suffered twenty years before. greeted with rapturous and repeated plaudits.

Windsor, Jan. Ist, 1800. Mr. Pitt and Mr. Dundas were received much more favorably in the church than they had been is so natural an occasion of writing to one whom I

My good Lord,—The entering on a new century in their passage to it; for Mr. Pitt was very gross- so thoroughly love, that I cannot refrain, though at ly insulted on his way to the cathedral, in conse- the risk of breaking in upon your retirement. I quence of which he did not return in his own car- shall not add to it by unnecessary compliments on riage. The whole business was conducted (with the season, as I trust you are sensible of my feelings this exception) with the utmost order and pro- on that subject at all times. priety, and the beauty and clearness of the day

I have the satisfaction of assuring you that all greatly increased the splendor and brilliancy of my family are well; even dear Amelia is, with the spectacle.

gigantic steps, by the mercy of Divine Providence,

arriving at perfect health. She was on the 24th Windsor, Oct. 191h, 1797. of last month confirmed, by her own request, by My good LORD,—The “ Hanoverian Quarterly the Archbishop of Canterbury, who seemed much Messenger” has brought the annual prize essays pleased in the preparatory conversations he had from the University of Gottingen : I therefore send with her, of her being well grounded in our holy the copy I have usually forwarded for Hartle- religion, and the serious duty she was taking upon bury, but find that for 1793 was omitted ; it goes herself. On Christmas-day he administered the with the other. I was happy to learn from Mr. Holy Communion in my chapel, with a solemnity Stillingfleet, at Weymouth, that your health has and propriety that could not but give pleasure to been better the last summer than in common.

I those who partook of it. The sermon was preached hope it remains so now.

by the Bishop of St. David's, and a more excellent The valor of the navy never shone more than in discourse or exposition of the Christian religion I the late glorious action off Camperdown, on the never heard ; indeed, the five sermons he has Dutch coast, and I trust its effects will render our preached at the Cathedral on the five Sundays in enemies more humble ; and trust that while my December, were equally admired ; and all on Chrissubjects praise the conduct of the officers and sail- tianity, not mere moral subjects. I have pressed ors, that they will return thanks where most due, him to collect them, with such further explanations to the Almighty, who has crowned their endeavors as a treatise in support of our holy religion might with success.

I feel this last sentiment so strong require, and then to publish what inay be useful to ly, that I propose to order a thanksgiving on the others, as well as highly creditable to himself. occasion, in which I mean to join, in consequence Young bishops ought to write, that their talents of the success over the Dutch, the two memora- may be known. ble battles of Earl Howe over the French, and the I know you are no great lover of political subjects, Earl of St. Vincent over the Spaniards. Without yet the impudent overthrow of the monstrous French true seeds of religion, no people can be bappy, nor Republic by a Corsican adventurer, and his creating will be obedient to legal authority, nor will those himself sole lawgiver, and executor of his own in command be moderate in the exercise of it, if decrees, must have astonished you. Without more not convinced that they are answerable to an foresight than common sense dictates, one may conhigher power for their conduct. But were I 10 ceive that his impious preeminence cannot be of indulge myself on this subject, I should certainly long duration. obtrude too long on your patience. I will, therefore, My good lord, most affectionately yours, conclude, with every assurance of feeling much in

GEORGE R. terest, my good lord, in your health and happi- P. S.-My son, the Duke of York, who is here,

George R. has desired me to express the pleasure he has reTo the Lord Bishop of Worcester, Hartlebury Castle. ceived from reading the letters I have shown him


« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »