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BEING THE
GENUINE COMPOSITIONS
OF
ELIZABETH BENTLEY,
OF NORWICH.
-- Electronic text encoded by
Leigh Rios
Copyright ©2007, University of California
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-- Managing Editor
Charlotte Payne
-- Founding Editor
Nancy Kushigian
-- by
This text was scanned from its original in the Shields Library Kohler Collection, University of California, Davis, Kohler I:93. Another copy available on microfilm as Kohler I:93mf .
All poems, line groups, and lines are represented. All material originally typeset has been preserved with the exception of original prose line breaks and line-end hyphens (except in headings and title pages), running heads, signature markings, smallcaps, and decorative typographical elements. Page numbers and page breaks have been preserved. The long "s" is displayed as a standard "s". Pencilled annotations and other damage to the text have not been preserved.
June 22, 2007
Charlotte Payne
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THE numerous Subscribers to this little Volume will perhaps expect to find it introduced by some account of the writer whom their kindness has befriended. It is therefore thought adviseable to reprint from her former publication the simple narrative which she then addressed to a benevolent and lamented patron:
"REVEREND SIR—In compliance with your request, I write the few particulars of my life, which are as follow:—I was born at Norwich, in the parish of All Saints, in November, 1767, and was the only child of my parents. My father's name was Daniel Bentley, by trade a journeyman cordwainer, who, having received a good education himself, took upon him to teach me reading and spelling, but never gave me the least idea of grammar. Being naturally fond of reading, I used to employ my leisure hours with such
"This, Sir, is the short history of my life; from which you will be pleased to select such passages as you may judge proper for the information of the public."
"I remain, with gratitude and respect,July 23, 1790.
To this modest recital, little remains to be added, even after the lapse of thirty years. That little, however, is creditable to the subject of it. The profits of the publication alluded to (trifling indeed in amount, though derived from the contributions of almost two thousand subscribers) enabled her for many years, in conjunction with the income arising from a small school, to support the declining age of her mother. Since the death of that parent, her duties have been narrowed, but they have been faithfully performed. Her leisure hours have been naturally devoted her early and favourite pursuit. Her verses on contemporary subjects have frequently contributed to fill the columns of "the Norfolk Chronicle;" and she has in numerous instances performed the melancholy but grateful office of recording the virtues of her deceased friends. Yet, though public favour crowned her first attempts, the modesty of her disposition has never (till urged
Of the compositions now submitted to public indulgence, it may be expected that something should be here said, however briefly. The first, and the most important observation that can be made upon them, is, that they are, in the strict sense of the word, genuine. Though slight inaccuracies of expression have been occasionally, but sparingly, pointed out, not a phrase—not a word—has ever been proposed by way of substitute. The correction has always been left to the Author. In fact, so scrupulous has been the desire to present these Poems ungarbled and untouched, that fewer alterations have been necessary;—certainly fewer than have been suggested in the ordinary case of an author submitting his compositions to the judgment of a friend. Such as they are, they belong exclusively, the blame as well as the credit, to the person whose name is prefixed to them.
It cannot be necessary or proper to forestal the
There is one class of Poems, for the insertion of which an apology is due from the writer of this Preface. The Author herself, from a sense of their general inferiority in merit, intended to suppress nearly all the verses inscribed to the memory of private individuals; but this design was over-ruled by an opinion that to a numerous class of readers they could not be wholly unacceptable. The friends at least of the persons commemorated may be gratified; and even where no such personal feeling can be excited, a local
"After their death would wish no other Herald,
"No other speaker of their living actions,
"To keep their honour from corruption."
It would be ill executing the office which has devolved on the writer of this Preface, if he were to close it without attempting to express the grateful feelings of Elizabeth Bentley towards the friends who have promoted this little undertaking; the completion of which has been delayed by causes for which neither herself nor her Publishers could be responsible. To some
O THOU! who dwell'st in heav'n alone,
Whose beams surround th' Omniscient's throne,
'Tis by his just decrees denied,
That thou with mortals should'st reside,
On earth a constant guest;
Yet wilt thou ne'er thy transient visits pay?
Yes, oft thou dart'st thy cheering ray
To glad the guiltless breast:
Oft art thou found where meek Content abides,
And blooming Temp'rance o'er the feast presides.
When glowing Fancy's votaries view
The rising morn's expanding beams,
The leaves o'erspread with chrystal dew,
E'er yet the earliest sunshine gleams;
The feather'd choir on ev'ry spray,
Awake to hail th' approaching day;
Or when the mind in transport reads
Sweet Poesy's enchanting page,
Who fires the soul in every age,
With ardent love to Virtue's noblest deeds;
Or when her sister Music's lays
The heart to heav'nly raptures raise,
Above her mortal state;
Such wonders of whose ancient reign
Well might the sons of fiction feign,
Such magic tales relate.
Or when the pencil's pow'rs the thoughts employ,
With all the varied scenes of Art,
Whose imitative charms impart
A momentary joy.
Or when we seek the sylvan grove,
Where social Converse loves to rove,
Firm Friendship, with endearing mien,
And Wit, good humoured, bright and keen,
Guided by Truth and Sense sublime;
Where base Detraction ne'er intrudes,
Who with malignant pleasure broods
O'er every fancied crime.
But, most fair form, thy downy wings
Shall o'er the raptur'd soul expand,
When glowing with that fervent zeal
Which true Devotion bids her feel,
Responsive to th' Angelic band,
Her Maker's praise she sings.
Each wayward passion charm'd to rest,
E'en here of those delights possest
That crown thy native clime;
The joys that now in Virtue's bosom rise,
Shall reign mature beyond the skies,
Nor dread the hand of Time.
HAIL! lovely harbinger of day,
To welcome whose returning ray
All Nature quits repose:
How sweet thro' gilded clouds to trace
Thy beauteous joy-inspiring face,
Whose tints excel the rose.
Fled from thy presence, silent Night,
Beneath the moon-beam's softer light,
Bids distant regions rest;
Now faintly glimmering o'er the sky,
The stars retire from human eye,
Behind thy radiant vest.
A busy hum pervades the air,
Thro' peopled cities wakeful Care
Pursues his daily toil;
Now o'er the plain, yet moist with dew,
Rough Labour's sons their steps renew,
To till the grateful soil.
Thou friend of Fancy, guide to Wealth,
Parent of Piety and Health,
O! may we ne'er refuse
Thy opening beauties to survey,
Nor more, to senseless Sloth a prey,
Thy early moments lose.
That when the last dread Morn shall rise,
Shall bid that sleep forsake our eyes,
By Death's strong hand imposed,
We then may wake to joy and light,
Where by the lurid shades of night,
Our day shall ne'er be closed.
WHEN young Imagination fires the soul
With her ideal prospects of delight,
And soaring scorns grave Reason's sage controul,
Quick thou pursu'st and stop'st her rapid flight.
Yet will fond Hope, with self-deluding smiles,
The future scene in brightest tints pourtray;
The present anxious hour she still beguiles,
Again thy cloud o'ershades her flow'ry way.
Till taught by years mature Experience views
Thy harsh forbidden mien with steady eye;
No more the visionary joy pursues,
Nor dares on Fancy's flatt'ring dreams rely:
Yet Virtue's votaries shall thy pow'r elude,
And reach those realms where thou shalt ne'er obtrude.
O, MEMORY! thou, whose silent hand,
With magic influence can command
To life each vanish'd hour;
'Tis thine to bid deep Thought survey
The former years in due array,
And aid Reflection's pow'r.
When tranquil Solitude Surrounds,
And nought that solemn silence wounds,
Which prompts the pensive sigh,
Thou bold'st thy retrospective glass,
And bid'st our lost delights repass,
On musing Fancy's eye:
Whate'er of rapture charm'd the breast,
When virtuous Friendship's powers imprest
Those joys too swiftly fled;
Or when the mind with books retired,
By ardent Emulation fired,
Th' enchanting page has read.
What solid bliss thy step pursues,
Whene'er the mental sight reviews
The moments well employ'd;
In vain Distress her poniard wields,
Each blameless act a pleasure yields,
That ne'er can be destroy'd.
E'en griefs that torture whilst they last,
A pleasing form assume when past,
Thro' thy perspective shown;
How must the blest, with joys elate,
Review their transient earthly state,
Whose ills no more are known!
Remorse alone can give thy dart
Its keenest point to pierce the heart,
When her dark hand she rears;
'Tis then thou bid'st the bosom bleed,
When at thy call each guilty deed
In Terror's robe appears.
How must those minds be rack'd with woe,
Who feel thy sting their constant foe,
While endless ages roll!
Condemn'd to Heav'n's eternal ire,
The deathless worm, the quenchless fire,
That still corrodes the soul.
SWEET warbler! whose mellifluent strain
Thus nightly cheers the lonely plain,
Who tun'st thy voice when all are mute,
In that wild note what charms combine!
What strains of art can equal thine?
What pipe or soft enchanting lute?
Thou shun'st the glaring eye of day,
And lov'st to sound thy plaintive lay
Beneath the moon's less splendid beam;
Just emblem of the thoughtful mind,
Which seeks for pleasures more refin'd
Than those in busy Life's gay dream.
When Contemplation wondering strays,
Her thoughts enrapt in silent praise,
The Almighty thro' his works adore,
Hark! from thy tongue sweet music thrills,
Responsive echoing from the hills,
And gives delight unfelt before.
Deign near my humble cot to dwell,
Thy pensive tale melodious tell,
Oft hid beneath yon shady trees;
Nature's musician! let mine ear
At eve thy tuneful warblings hear,
Wafted on Spring's calm dewy breeze.
BY Summer's hand profusely drest,
Here Nature in her gayest vest,
Salutes th' attentive view;
What graces this bright spot adorn!
Here colours radiant as the morn,
There every milder hue.
Here glowing red, pale pink, pure white,
Ethereal blue and gold unite,
Illumed by solar rays;
Ten thousand shades of sprightly green
Conspire to deck the living scene,
Which every tinge displays.
New beauties rise yet unsurvey'd;
What various shapes, what tints display'd
O'er all the blooming train!
The leaf to what perfection brought,
Of finest silky texture wrought,
What slender stems sustain!
Each useful herb luxuriant grows,
Whilst verdant shrubs in shady rows
The warbling race invite,
Who grateful sound their melting lays,
By Nature taught their songs of praise
Inspiring gay delight.
How fresh from the reviving show'r,
Sweet odours from yon humid bow'r
Are borne on every breeze:
O Nature, still thy charms prevail,
When Art's exhausted efforts fail,
Thy simpler dress can please.
Thy kind associate Art may shine,
But when her touch would rival thine,
And paint each flow'r that blows,
Tho' she imparts the roseate bloom,
Thy hand alone the rich perfume,
The glowing life bestows.
But when the freezing blast annoys,
How soon his breath their charms destroys,
Stern messenger of fate!
Whoe'er thou art, O child of clay,
(The drooping flow'rets seem to say)
Here view thy transient state.
Here sage Reflection loves to raise
Her purest thoughts to sacred praise,
Beneath the fragrant shade;
Here, as she tastes the varied sweets,
With thee, O Wisdom, oft she meets,
Whose beauties ne'er shall fade.
With thee the pleasing path she treads,
On every plant a moral reads,
Imprest by hands divine;
With Adoration's fervent voice,
Ye race of man in him rejoice,
Whose gifts your cares beguile;
Who o'er the garden, grove, and mead,
The flow'r-embroider'd robe has spread,
Who bids glad Nature smile.
If He, to cheer life's gloomy way,
Doth radiant Beauty's heav'nly ray
On all his works bestow,
What brighter beams of glory still
Await those eyes that make his will
Their constant light below.
FEAR not, sweet Bird! thy flutt'ring cease,
Nor deem thy freedom fled:
Soon shalt thou feel thy glad release;
No evil need'st thou dread.
The hand that grasps thy downy plumes,
Its prize shall soon forego;
No heart thy life to thraldom dooms,
Nor triumphs in thy woe.
Go, guiltless captive, sport in air,
New plume thy ruffled wing;
To yonder waving spray repair,
Thy sprightly warblings sing.
In search of spotless pleasures rove,
Go seek thy anxious mate,
And mid thy brethren of the grove,
Th' eventful tale relate.
Go, say what fears thy breast alarm'd,
Lest Cruelty's fell knife,
Th' unfeeling hand of Sport had arm'd,
To end thy hapless life.
How sudden Anguish fix'd her wound;
How thy swoln bosom beat,
Lest some sad prison's wiry bound
Should all thy joys defeat.
Thy glad escape delighted tell,
And grant my only boon;
Oft near the cottage where I dwell
Thy grateful carols tune.
When chilly snow conceals the land,
And storms pervade the skies,
And surly Winter's icy hand
Th' accustom'd food denies,
With cautious, timid glance no more
Athwart the threshold steal,
But fearless pass the op'ning door,
And pick thy plenteous meal.
O come, and Nature's bounty share,
A free and welcome guest;
No ruthless grasp, nor tangling snare,
Shall e'er thy steps molest.
WHAT universal sadness glooms around!
Oh! is he gone whose worth the heart reveres!
That solemn bell's now doubly awful sound,
Alas! too soon confirms our anxious fears!
How sits pale Grief on each dejected brow!
What heartfelt anguish heaves in every breast!
Who can forbid the starting tear to flow?
Why should the plaints of sorrow be supprest?
That gentle mien no more shall glad our eyes,
Where beam'd benignant every Christian grace;
Too perfect here to dwell, aloft he flies:
How short, but ah! how pure his earthly race.
Celestial spirit! hast thou left thy clay?
Thy virtues to remembrance ever dear,
Now bid me breathe in elegiac lay,
The mournful tribute of a sigh sincere.
Son of the learned and justly celebrated Dr. Harington, of Bath; a Minor Canon of Norwich Cathedral, and one of the Ministers of St. Peter's Mancroft, in Norwich, where his character and talent as a preacher were held in high estimation. He died in 1791.
Each sacred duty anxious to fulfil,
Swift to obey whene'er Religion call'd,
Thy glowing words enforc'd th' Almighty's will,
And freed the wretched mind by guilt enthrall'd.
What pious zeal thy fervent bosom fired!
Reflection paints those hours—for ever gone,
When every heart thy eloquence admired,
Nor with less brilliant light thy actions shone.
With cold indiff'rence never did'st thou hear
Distress and friendless Poverty complain;
Whene'er their piercing accents met thine ear,
Thy feeling heart ne'er let them plead in vain.
Now art thou fled where Grief shall ne'er annoy;
A Saviour's hand thy bright reward bestows;
A never fading crown of sacred joy,
And Glory's deathless beams surround thy brows.
But oh! what poignant agony assails
Thy lovely widow'd consort's tender frame;
In keenest anguish she her loss bewails;
What tears of sympathy her sorrows claim!
What words, alas! can heal her grief-torn mind?
What thoughts can yield her tortur'd breast repose?
To Heav'n's all-wise all-gracious will resign'd,
Devotion's angel voice shall calm her woes.
Hope, led by Faith, shall point to distant years,
When thy exalted form her eye shall view,
Mid kindred spirits, far above the spheres,
And Friendship's joys eternally renew.
Here, while on earth she's destin'd yet to stay,
Those tender orphans doom'd her loss to share,
To guide their steps in Wisdom's sacred way,
Now doubly claim her fond maternal care.
May Heav'n's all-pow'rful hand protect their youth,
(In whom a friend each guiltless bosom finds)
May warm Benevolence and spotless Truth,
And all their father's virtues grace their minds.
Blest shade, farewell, the precepts thou hast taught
To ev'ry heart thy mem'ry must endear;
Thy fair example lives in every thought,
And distant ages shall thy name revere.
Great God! submiss before thy throne we bend,
And own th' unerring justness of thy will;
O! teach us thus our joyful course to end,
Thus while we live th' allotted part to fill!
FAR from the busy scenes of life,
Remote from clamourous haunts of strife,
What bliss salutes the mind!
To search the depths of ancient lore,
And Learning's mazy paths explore,
Where Knowledge dwells with Pleasure join'd.
Thro' Poesy's gay walks to rove,
To hear the natives of her grove
Their magic wild-notes sing;
She who conducts o'er fairy ground,
Where Fancy's flow'rets blooming round,
Present the charms of Spring:
To taste the joy those moments yield,
In which we range th' instructive field
Of Hist'ry's ample page;
Who bids Earth's various realms relate,
Their strange stupendous turns of fate,
To teach the rising age.
But when the musing soul surveys,
Those charms the Word of Truth displays,
'Tis transport pure, divine!
Bright Wisdom's voice each page contains,
While Poesy's sublimest strains
Breathe thro' the sacred line.
THOU, by whose gen'rous mien, whose open brow,
Thy unsubdued majestic heart we know;
Whose god-like port proclaims thy race divine,
Whose smiles in dome or cot true bliss can shed,
Where'er thy parents, born of Virtue's line,
Frugality and Toil, thy stops have led:
True Freedom shall with thee her dwelling find,
Who scorns the base subjection of the mind;
Not she, the fiend, of mad'ning discord bred,
Who falsely boasts to bear th' enrapt'ring name,
Who, nurst by Faction, rears her frantic head,
To dazzle mortals with her meteor flame.
How wretched he who bends a willing slave,
To all that can the heav'n-born soul deprave;
How happy who thy voice alone obeys,
Tho' humble his abode, tho' plain his meal,
Who heeds nor smile nor frown Caprice conveys,
Nor keen Reproach's pointed sting shall feel.
Ah! how unblest the wretch whose downcast eye,
Shall ne'er thy animating glance descry;
Whose fancy, lured by Hope's enticing strain,
Repose and Pleasure shuns, and tranquil Ease,
And strives to grasp thy airy form in vain,
That mocks his arm, and flits before the breeze.
More abject still his lot whom Vice detains
A voluntary captive in her chains;
Whose slothful mind can unresisting yield
To Wealth, to Luxury, or Passion's pow'r;
Who shuns thy path for Flatt'ry's painted field,
Whose joys precarious scarce survive an hour.
Thy nobler spirit to mankind impart,
Fix thy due empire o'er the glowing heart;
Let the warm wish to gain thy glorious prize,
Each gen'rous breast to honest toil excite;
Borne on thy tow'ring wing the thoughts shall rise,
To range th' unbounded realms of Wisdom's beamy light.
WHEN Spring luxuriant scatters new delights,
The mountain's verdant slope our steps invites,
To crown whose lofty brow o'er-bending trees
Wave their thick foliage in the tepid breeze.
Beneath their shade may Contemplation stray,
Th' extensive scene in all its charms survey;
In all the Maker's wisdom, pow'r confest!
Yon hawthorn rows in vernal beauty drest,
Yon meads, where many a simple wild-flow'r blows,
And ev'ry tint of Nature's pencil glows:
ETERNITY! how dread thy sound!
It strikes with sacred awe profound;
Can I thy theme pursue?
What thoughts sublime thy name conveys,
What prospects to the mind displays,
While Fancy paints the view.
Reason in vain thy bounds explores,
In vain Imagination soars
To thy meridian hour;
Millions of ages told in vain,
She's still but able to attain
The day-dawn of thy pow'r.
As well the mind may hope to count
Those drops of water's vast amount,
That Ocean's caverns swell;
Or name those single grains of sand,
That mark the bounds of sea and land,
As soon Earth's atoms tell.
Eternity! how firm thy sway!
The soul no sooner quits her clay,
Than, to thy regions flown,
Her doom's irrevocably fix'd,
And bliss or woe shall reign unmix'd,
Nor change shall e'er be known.
With thee compared a shadowy sleep,
Less than a drop amidst the deep,
Our longest earthly race;
Yet this short now's the time to gain
A meed of endless joy or pain,
Thro' thy uncounted space.
Then what presumptive madness his,
Who dares to tempt thy dread abyss,
To shun a transient woe!
False dictate of a coward mind,
Afraid to bear those ills assigned,
To try our worth below.
MEEK flow'ret! earliest child of Spring,
Her bloomy tribe thy hand shall lead;
Thou, first thy welcome boon to bring,
From Winter's bondage freed.
With new delight our raptur'd eyes
Thy modest beauties trace,
Earnest of thousand glowing dies,
That soon the mead shall grace.
Mild emblem of our infant years,
Low bends thy tender head;
Oft from thy cheek the dew-drop tear
On Nature's breast are shed.
In spotless purity bedight,
Alas! how short thy stay!
Soon brighter blossoms charm the sight,
And bloom their transient day.
Might infant innocence and truth
The flow'rs of life adorn!
But ah! the beauteous rose of youth
Oft bears the wounding thorn.
Yet tho' more vivid blossoms boast,
A form in brighter beauties drest,
Thy earlier charms still please us most,
Tho' clad in simple vest.
STERN Power! who long in distant lands,
Has thunder'd out thy dire commands;
And while no lenient thought thy rage restrain'd,
Hast urged thy mad destructive course,
By Fury drawn and rude resistless Force;
And arm'd with iron shield,
Too long hast joy'd thy thirsty sword to wield,
And hurl thy massy spear with blood distain'd:
And while her brazen trumpet Discord rear'd,
Whilst appall'd the nations heard,
Hast bid its jarring voice resound afar,
And vengeful bent on murderous deeds,
Hast lash'd thy fiery-breathing steeds,
And whirl'd thy dusky car:
Behind thee Dread and Horror swift advance,
And Death insatiate points his venom'd lance.
Where'er thy breath the air pollutes,
It blasts the verdure, flow'rs, and fruits
That deck'd a fertile land;
Thou bid'st pale Famine in thy train appear,
With meagre arm her leaden sceptre rear,
And dash the horn from Plenty's lib'ral hand.
Where'er thy thundering chariot wheels are roll'd,
On trembling pinions from thy presence fly,
Those natives of a purer sky,
Angelic Peace and Commerce rob'd in gold,
March, 1793.
HAIL, infant Year! my waking eye
With rapture meets thy dawn;
Hope, fairest offspring of the sky,
Illumes thy cloudless morn.
Vexation hence! and sullen cares,
Ye gloomy tribe adieu!
Hide ye behind the former years,
Nor dare molest the new.
Hope's magic song has oft deceiv'd,
And Time reveal'd the cheat,
Yet shall the Syren be believ'd,
Her promise yet be sweet.
Hence! leaden-handed Sloth, away,
My mind disowns thy pow'r;
Some active duty claims each day,
Some virtue asks each hour.
Folly avaunt! nor let my heart
Obey thy light controul;
But thou, celestial Wisdom dart
Thy radiance o'er my soul.
How many an eye that hail'd the sun,
When last the year he led,
Has, ere his annual course was run,
Been closed amid the dead.
Great Father! from whose throne above
Each perfect gift descends;
Oh! grant thy servant grace t' improve
The years thy mercy lends.
So when thy wisdom gives command,
That time to me shall cease,
May my rapt Soul her wings expand
In realms of endless peace.
IN Life's first dawn, ere Reason's ray
Rising sheds the promis'd day,
Gay Novelty officious flies,
With mantle dipt in heav'nly dies;
Trifles than morning clouds more light,
Deck'd by his hand allure the sight;
Each object by his touch some grace assumes,
In youthful beauty all creation blooms.
Infancy delights to stray
Where smiling meads their charms display,
To make each simple flow'r her own,
That liberal Nature's hand has sown;
The trembling harebell ting'd with blue,
The glossy kingcup's yellow hue,
Or snowy daisy tipt with red,
Springing spontaneous on their grassy bed;
The flaunting butterfly to chace.
Or Evening's flitting shadows trace;
Or seek the spot (yet never found)
Where the rainbow meets the ground.
Fond passions next the soul inspire,
She glows with Friendship's gen'rous fire;
Now on fairy land she treads,
And now th' etherial pinion spreads,
To soar from earth her pow'r she tries,
As Hope's ideal pleasures rise;
HOW happy in his reed-roof'd cot,
The rural peasant's humble lot,
Who with the soaring lark foregoes,
At early dawn his sweet repose:
Round his abode the cultur'd soil
Speaks his unremitted toil;
The spicy garden's varied blooms
Scent the breeze with rich perfumes;
The corn-field clad in waving gold,
The lowing kine, the bleating fold:
His hut two sister nymphs frequent,
Ruddy Health and meek Content,
Led by Industry their friend,
On Temp'rance steps these nymphs attend.
Thus unmolested glide his days,
His little wealth he pleas'd surveys;
Of Nature's simplest gifts possest,
Envy ne'er haunts his peaceful breast,
Not wishing Fortune's ampler stores,
With grateful heart he God adores.
The faithful partner of his cares,
At eve the frugal meal prepares;
His children's artless bosoms burn
To greet with smiles his wish'd return.
To tranquil rest he sinks serene,
Till morn renews the pleasing scene.
AH! what enchanting scenes the eye beholds,
When Spring her tender buds unfolds,
To meet the rising blush of morn,
And smiling green invests the thorn;
Nature her joy-inspiring aspect wears,
Beauty in magic robe appears;
Deck'd with each hue bright Fancy can create,
She sways the meads in purple state.
When Summer with refulgent fervour glows,
In blooming pride each vivid flow'ret blows,
To form the fragrant bow'r;
When evening twilight sheds a fainter gleam,
And quivering moon-beams gild the silent stream,
Still shall Creation's charms engage
The mind with Contemplation sage,
To pass the pensive hour.
When Plenty Autumn's step attends,
And bids her Nature's stores unfold,
The vine beneath the ripening cluster bends,
The trees their ruddy tints display,
The crimson'd fruit adorns each spray,
By early Spring foretold.
Nor deem the reign of Beauty o'er,
When Earth her snowy mantle wears;
Tho' painted blooms delight no more,
Nor aught of smiling green appears,
THOU silent monitor, whose powers
Can thus with truth display,
How swiftly glide the fleeting hours
That form Life's transient day.
Thy hand yet points the lapse of time,
Tho' undiscern'd its pace;
From morn when gain'd meridian's prime,
How short appears the space!
Thus unperceiv'd our moments steal,
And when Life's noon is o'er,
Taught by their loss their worth we feel,
Tho' lightly prized before.
So well may every child of clay
His hour of grace employ,
That Death may close our mortal day,
To bring a morn of joy.
HOW does the voice of woe, in accents wild,
To wound the list'ning ear sad sounds repeat!
Where Happiness of late serenely smiled,
Now pensive Sorrow seeks her mournful seat.
And does my honour'd Patron live no more?
Scarce can my heart the grief-fraught tale believe;
Too sure! the reign of dread suspense is o'er,
And flatt'ring Hope no longer dares deceive.
Th' etherial spirit, clogg'd with mortal clay,
No purer heights of virtue could attain;
Swift at th' Almighty's word she wing'd her way,
In native realms, to join th' angelic train.
He lives! he lives! above yon ambient sky!
His soul, but lent, a span, to dwell below,
A bright example beam'd on every eye,
Now call'd where Joy's exhaustless fountains flow.
Fain would my muse her last sad tribute pay,
But ah! what words, what language shall I find!
The silent tear alone can force its way,
Alone can speak the anguish of my mind.
Long shall this tear of gratitude be shed,
The sigh be heav'd to worth departed due;
While Virtue wails her fav'rite vot'ry fled,
While Mem'ry's eye his gen'rous deeds shall view.
Oh! to each honour'd mourner's grief-torn heart,
Now doom'd Affliction's poignant shaft to feel;
Could but my verse one soothing sound impart,
Till lenient Time the wounds of woe shall heal!
But, lo! Religion's voice divinely sweet,
Shall o'er the mind her balmy accents pour;
Him now you mourn (she cries) your soul shall meet,
Where Faith and Hope on angel pinions soar.
Each Christian grace that did his life adorn,
Dejected speaks, while sorrowing o'er his bier,
"Ah! son of Piety from earth withdrawn,
"Long shall the feeling heart thy name revere!"
Supreme Creator! Heav'n's Almighty Lord!
Ne'er be thy sacred will by man withstood!
Say, shall weak mortals murmur at thy word,
That calls thy servants to their blest abode?
No! may our hearts by fair Example fired,
The same unspotted path on earth pursue;
With ardent steps, by heav'nly zeal inspired,
Attain th' eternal meed to Virtue due!
[Wm. Drake, jun. Esq. in 1781, married Rachael Elizabeth, one of the daughters of Jer. Ives, Esq. of the Town Close, Norwich; and died in 1795]
UNUSUALLY alert, young Spring
Is stretching wide her purple wing,
To renovate the Earth;
Already o'er our wint'ry Isle
She sheds her joy-diffusing smile,
And gives her flow'rets birth.
For see, instead of snowy vest,
In robes of green the meadows drest,
Invite the browsing steed;
Luxuriant crops of sweetest grass
Shall well repay the patient ass,
The sheep shall richly feed.
The days of gloom already fled,
E'en January's frosted head,
A verdant chaplet wears;
Chang'd for the ice-drops sparkling gem,
See, infant buds adorn the stem,
Th' expanding leaf appears.
Ah! Eurus, stay thy chilly breath,
Nor doom those tender germs to death,
Lest famish'd man should pine;
Let him not Summer's fruits deplore,
Nor wail for Autumn's blasted store,
But bless the hand divine.
WHERE'ER our pilgrim footsteps stray,
Affliction's poignant shafts are hurl'd,
But angel Hope still chears our way,
She whispers, "there's a future world."
When Death has aim'd some fatal stroke,
Or parting Friendship sighs—farewell!
When fond Affection's ties are broke,
The thoughts with tender sorrow dwell
On bliss far fled, till Faith's clear eye
Darts to that world beyond the sky.
When want or woe the breast assails,
Or keen unkindness wounds the soul,
When every earthly comfort fails,
Then as the magnet seeks the pole,
So points the soul to heav'nly joys,
Where want, nor woe, nor grief, nor pain,
Nor Time nor Death her bliss destroys,
But pure unfading transports reign;
In vain o'er earth for happiness we roam,
She rests alone in our eternal home.
O MUSIC! soul-enchanting nymph, advance,
Thro' magic maze to guide the measur'd dance,
Or aid the tremulous voice,
When fired with Nature's charms Creation's sons rejoice.
O! let thy own melodious lays,
That still revibrate on my raptur'd ear,
With notes majestic, soft, and clear,
Awake my lyre to sound thy praise.
Let Nature's offspring, gracefully array'd,
Without fantastic Folly's aid,
Simplicity, whose spotless hand
Leads true Sublimity of attic mien,
Firm, bold, expressive, ardent, yet serene;
And Poesy, thy sister ever dear,
(Ye twin descendants of the ethereal sphere,
With innate charms combin'd,
Ah! never, never be your notes disjoin'd!)
In solemn dignity beside thee stand;
Hark! as each artless finger strikes the strings,
Her sweetest strains responsive Echo sings.
When decent Mirth, by guilt unstain'd,
Th' unbending mind employs,
'Tis thine to heights sublime to waft her joys;
Nor be thy graver song disdain'd;
But when contending passions' lawless strife,
And all the deepfelt woes of life,
INFANT daughter of the Spring,
The first thy simple gifts to bring;
Thy modest flow'rs erect their heads,
Her form the pale-eyed primrose spreads;
The cowslip, ting'd with deeper hue,
Hangs impearl'd with nightly dew;
The daisy, half-immers'd in sleep,
Through opening lids begins to peep;
The violet yet with fadeless bloom,
Breathes o'er all her sweet perfume:
These and countless numbers more,
(As our eyes the meads explore)
In thy humble train appear,
That ne'er adorn'd the grand parterre.
In Winter's grasp no longer nipt,
The russet trees with green are tipt.
See, loosen'd from his icy chain,
The cherry foremost of the train,
Whose fleecy blossoms bursting o'er,
Promise a future crimson store,
Yet oft a frown o'ershades thy brow,
And chilling hail or nitrous snow,
Bids the tender buds retreat,
Sighing for Summer's genial heat.
Child of whim, thy tears are seen,
While smiles of sunshine dance between:
MAY, 1794.
WHAT angel forms, attired in robes of light,
Pour their effulgence on my raptur'd sight?
Th' ethereal VIRTUES! lo! the radiant band!
Appal'd, from Gallia's guilt-stain'd land,
Precipitate they fly,
To seek retreat beneath a purer sky:
Banish'd from that devoted shore,
By yon false phantom's ghastly stare,
Who dares the sacred name of Freedom claim;
Who with unmeaning, loud, tumultuous roar,
Bids mortals follow, dazzled by her glare;
They plunge at once in misery and shame.