The poetry of Anna Matilda

Table of contents

- [titlepage]

- [titlepage]

- PREFACE.

- CONTENTS.

- WRITTEN THE MORNING AFTER ANNA MATILDA's RETURN FROM A FRIEND's HOUSE, Close on the verge of WINDSOR FOREST.

- INVOCATION. Written on a very hot day, in August 1783.

- ADDRESS TO TWO CANDLES.

- ON SEEING THE PALETTE OF A CELEBRATED PAINTER.

- THE FUNERAL.

- [note]

- THE ADIEU AND RECALL TO LOVE.

- TO DELLA CRUSCA. THE PEN.

- TO ANNA MATILDA.

- TO DELLA CRUSCA.

- TO ANNA MATILDA.

- ELEGY, Written on the PLAIN OF FONTENOY.

- STANZAS TO DELLA CRUSCA.

- TO ANNA MATILDA.

- TO DELLA CRUSCA.

- INVOCATION TO HORROR.

- TO ANNA MATILDA.

- TO REUBEN.

- ODE TO INDIFFERENCE.

- ODE TO ANNA MATILDA.

- ODE TO DELLA CRUSCA.

- TO ANNA MATILDA.

- [note]

- To DELLA CRUSCA.

- TO ANNA MATILDA.

- TO DELLA CRUSCA.

- A TALE FOR JEALOUSY. A Recent Event in CATALONIA.

- [memorial]

- ANNA MATILDA, TO THOSE WHO READ.

- RECOLLECTIONS, BY GENERAL SIR WILLIAM WALLER.

THE POETRY OF ANNA MATILDA.

Verse shall amuse, and Prose amend.
ANON.

LONDON: PRINTED BY JOHN BELL, British Library, STRAND, Bookseller to His Royal Highness the PRINCE of WALES. MDCCLXXXVIII.

THE POETRY OF ANNA MATILDA.

CONTAINING

- A TALE FOR JEALOUSY,

- THE FUNERAL,

- HER CORRESPONDENCE WITH DELLA CRUSCA,

And several other poetical Pieces.

To which are added RECOLLECTIONS, Printed from AN ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT, Written by GENERAL SIR WILLIAM WALLER.

LONDON: PRINTED FOR J. BELL, BOOKSELLER TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCE OF WALES. 1788.

PREFACE.

IN this little Collection of POEMS, all those signed ANNA MATILDA, except the REPLY to REUBEN, have been before the Public. Desirous to have her name united with that of DELLA CRUSCA's, longer than the fleeting fame of Newspapers allows, ANNA MATILDA had begun to recall some fugitive trifles, in order to form them into a volume—when she saw the Poetry of DELLA CRUSCA, &c. advertised by Mr. Bell. This did not induce her to change her design, only the mode of it; and still wishing to be united with her favourite bard in a distinct publication, she offered his publisher her Poems, on condition of their being form'd into a volume, similar to his—the offer was accepted.

Not having, however, Poetry enough to form such a volume, she was persuaded to enrich it with some curious PROSE—written "in other times." The Fragment subjoined to the Poems, is from the autograph of the famous Sir William Waller; an important Actor in the busy drama of the last century. The manuscript has been preserved in a family to which its Editor is allied, and who are pleased at an opportunity of making their treasure public; how then can ANNA MATILDA fear for her poetic existence, when it is protected on the one hand by the best Lyric of the present age, and on the other by one of the most pious men, and greatest Warriors of the last?

CONTENTS.

- LINES written the Morning after Anna Matilda's return from a Friend's House, close on the verge of Windsor Forest, Page 1

- Address to Two Candles, Page 4

- On seeing the Palette of acelebrated Painter, Page 6

- The Funeral, Page 9

- The Adieu and Recall to Love, Page 11

- To Della Crusca. The Pen. Page 14

- To Anna Matilda, Page 16

- To Della Crusca, Page 19

- To Anna Matilda, Page 21

- Elegy, written on the Plain of Fontenoy, Page 24

- Stanzas to Della Crusca, Page 28

- To Anna Matilda, Page 33

- To Della Crusca, Page 37

- Invocation to Horror, Page 40

- To Anna Matilda, Page 44

- To Reuben, Page 45

- Ode to Indifference, Page 50

- — to Anna Matilda, Page 54

- — to Della Crusca Page 59

- To Anna Matilda, Page 62

- To Della Crusca, Page 65

- To Anna Matilda, Page 72

- To Della Crusca, Page 77

- A Tale for Jealousy, Page 82

- Anna Matilda to those who read, Page 97

- Recollections, written by General Sir William Waller, Page 103

WRITTEN THE MORNING AFTER ANNA MATILDA's RETURN FROM A FRIEND's HOUSE,
Close on the verge of WINDSOR FOREST.

HAVE I then left you, sweet Hygeian bowers—

Oh! have I left you friendship's holy hours?

Why are ye vanish'd, dear inviting shades?

Why ceas'd, the cheering music of your glades?

Not that which on the surging aether floats,

Or trembles in the linnet's gurgling notes;—

But that which gives you Harriet's polish'd mind,

Her sense reflective, and her taste refin'd;

That, which your venerable Dryads love,

When midst their haunts they see her graceful move;

That which adorns the clearest, strongest sense,

And clothes in lightest dress, the thought intense.

INVOCATION.
Written on a very hot day, in August 1783.

COOLING zephyrs haste away,

Round my humid temples play;

Groves and grots in pity leave,

On my fainting bosom breathe!

Skim, as you pass, your silken wings

O'er gurgling founts, and glassy springs.

Oh! come from Greenland's icy plains,

Where silver Winter constant reigns;

Or from the Arctic, higher fly

Thro' the chill Norwegian sky—

Turn not to Gallia's sunny vales,

Nor mix with yours Italia's gales,

Strait o'er the northern ocean sweep,

Where pearls the frozen Naïads weep;

But on high Grampia's fleecy top,

Where kids, the gelid herbage crop,

There zephyr touch!—then, with new wing

Fresh from its chilly caverns spring.

Oh! linger not, midst England's fields,

Nor taste the sweets the garden yields;

Heed not our meadows' gaudy charms,

But dart, with vigour, to my arms!

ADDRESS TO TWO CANDLES.

"No subject so mean, that Poetry cannot elevate, and render interesting."
ANON.

At a Cottage on an eminence, ANNA MATILDA had ordered the Candles to be removed from the Window, but the Night was dark; and recollecting the situation, she replaced, and thus addressed them:—

BURN—lucid tapers! fiercer burn!

Refine each ray to purer light,

Pervade the circumambient air

And pierce the closest robe of Night!

Why faintly glow your spiral fires,

Whilst Charity invokes your beams?

Why, inauspicious to my prayer,—

Still faint and fainter are your gleams?

Oh think, that on the distant heath,

Whose canopy's a sombre sky,

Some weary traveller may roam—

No hut, no guide, no shelter nigh!

Perhaps, an aged parent tries

To find amidst the thick'ning shades

Her doubtful path;—perhaps a child

Bemoans, forlorn, in yonder glades.

Your honest light they need not dread,

No ignis false instructs your ray

To guide amiss their trembling feet,

Or lure them from th' intended way.

No vapour gross your fulgence feeds;

From snowy wax your flame is drawn,

By virgin bees extracted pure

From ev'ry sweet that decks the lawn.

The rose, the violet, and the thyme

That scent the Morning's dewy shower,

Combin'd their aromatic gifts,

And form'd ye for the present hour.

Then, gentle tapers! brisker burn,

Dart with new vigour thro' the night;

Tinge ev'ry ray with brighter hues,

And pour them on the wand'rer's sight!

ON SEEING THE PALETTE
OF A CELEBRATED PAINTER.

THIS wild chaotic mass of every dye,

Where principles of beauteous order lie,

Is sure an emblem of the scene,

When out of dark confusion sprung

The variegated orb terrene,

And in the solar system hung.

Soon as the mighty artist gives the sign,

This formless mass, as at the word divine,

Shall regulate its shade and light,

Harmonious move as he shall will—

Its tints divide, or else unite,

Obedient to his powerful skill.

And as the GLORIOUS VISION fills his mind,

They, to its plastic impulse all resign'd,

Shall into prospects vast expand—

Foaming, in surfy billows rise,

Then stretch their velvet into land,

Then bid their radiance stream—in skies.

In cumbrous Alps ascend, whose tops explore

Regions, where day-ey'd eagles fear to soar;

Or in the soft jonquil unfold,

Midst the low beauties of the vale,

Her robe of imitative gold,

Which loads with sweets the dancing gale.

In distant forests spread th' inviting brown,

Or hide, with spikey furze, the barren down—

Then, tumbling from the flinty rock,

In white meanders lead the eye;

And then the eye's keen search to mock

Thro' some time-fretted cavern fly.

Richly festoon'd in luscious purple shine,

Extending o'er the slope the nect'rous vine,

Or in the gaudy spheroids swell,

Which the swart Indian's groves illume,

Or dye the spicey nonpareil,

Or the soft peach's stain assume.

Yet more—he wills, and from the palette starts

The form divine—of soul illumin'd parts!

Here springs a HEBE, there a SAGE,

Here HEROES from the mass break forth,

There the soft LAIS of the age,

From hence, the CAESAR of the North.

Oh wondrous science! first of arts among!

And do those mighty powers to thee belong?

Here—here then, POETRY, thy numbers bring,

Here MUSIC strike thy sweetly trembling string!

Creative PAINTING asks th' adoring knee,

Who, tho' a sister call'd, shall hence your Sov'reign be.

THE FUNERAL.

THE paper black'd a full inch deep,

At every corner seem'd to weep;

The seal with fearful speed was broke,

When thus the Writer sadly spoke:—

" Oh Charles, belov'd! my dear is dead,

" And every bliss for ever fled;

" You and your wife, her constant friend,

" Her fun'ral rites must now attend."

The day approach'd; the solemn bell

In dismal notes rang Laura's knell;

Charles and his mate in blackness clad,

With rueful thoughts and faces sad

Saw her interr'd—heard "dust to dust,"

And cry'd—to this all come, and must.

The coaches now in sad array

Pace back the mournful late trod way;

Whilst floating plumes on shoulders borne,

The dusty lanes and streets adorn.

The widower sad, alone they found,

In sable length upon the ground.

His consolation, Charles essay'd,

And many a weary moment stay'd;

From Scripture cull'd a sacred store,

And drain'd, from heathenish learned lore,

All that was ever thought or said

To prove we can't call back the dead;

He sooth'd his tears at ev'ry gush,

And saw at length his sorrows hush.

Oh! Charles, James cried, thou'rt very kind!

This shall live long within my mind;—

How shall the friendship I repay

Thou'st prov'd upon this mournful day

Which tore my dearest wife away

And placed her with her kindred clay?

Charles rub'd his cheek, and thus replied,

With head a little turn'd aside—

Why, dearest James, thou shalt to me

Be just the friend I've been to thee;

Would Fate grant that, 'tis all I ask,

Be mine the SORROW, thine the TASK!

[In the following Correspondence, which has occasioned much notice, it has been suggested that there has been some collusion;—ANNA MATILDA, therefore, declares that tho' she has lately guessed at DELLA CRUSCA, she is yet uncertain as to his name and rank, and she is persuaded that he cannot have the most dis tantidea of her's.

The beautiful lines of the ADIEU AND RECALL struck her so forcibly, that without rising from the table at which she read, she answered them. DELLA CRUSCA's elegant Reply surprised her into another, and thus the Correspondence most unexpectedly became settled, ANNA MATILDA's share in it has little to boast; but she has one claim of which she is proud—That of having been the first to point out the excellence of Della Crusca; if there can be merit in discerning what is so very obvious.]

THE ADIEU AND RECALL
TO LOVE.

Go, idle Boy! I quit thy pow'r;

Thy couch of many a thorn and flow'r;

Thy twanging bow, thine arrow keen,

Deceitful Beauty's timid mien;

The feign'd surprize, the roguish leer,

The tender smile, the thrilling tear,

Have now no pangs, no joys for me,

So fare thee well, for I am free!

Then flutter hence on wanton wing,

Or lave thee in yon lucid spring,

Or take thy bev'rage from the rose,

Or on Louisa's breast repose:

I wish thee well for pleasures past,

Yet bless the hour, I'm free at last.

But sure, methinks, the alter'd day

Scatters around a mournful ray;

And chilling ev'ry zephyr blows,

And ev'ry stream untuneful flows;

No rapture swells the linnet's voice,

No more the vocal groves rejoice;

And e'en thy song, sweet Bird of Eve!

With whom I lov'd so oft to grieve,

Now scarce regarded meets my ear,

Unanswer'd by a sigh or tear.

No more with devious step I choose

To brush the mountain's morning dews;

To drink the spirit of the breeze,

Or wander midst o'er-arching trees;

Or woo with undisturb'd delight,

The pale-cheek'd Virgin of the Night,

That piercing thro' the leafy bow'r,

Throws on the ground a silv'ry show'r.

Alas! is all this boasted ease,

To lose each warm desire to please,

No sweet solicitude to know

For others bliss, for others woe,

A frozen apathy to find,

A sad vacuity of mind?

O hasten back, then, idle Boy,

And with thine anguish bring thy joy!

Return with all thy torments here,

And let me hope, and doubt, and fear.

O rend my heart with ev'ry pain!

But let me, let me love again.

DELLA CRUSCA.

TO DELLA CRUSCA.
THE PEN.

O! SEIZE again thy golden quill,

And with its point my bosom thrill;

With magic touch explore my heart,

And bid the tear of passion start.

Thy golden quill APOLLO gave—

Drench'd first in bright Aonia's wave:

He snatch'd it flutt'ring thro' the sky,

Borne on the vapour of a sigh:

It fell from Cupid's burnish'd wing

As forcefully he drew the string

Which sent his keenest, surest dart

Thro' a rebellious frozen heart;

That had till then defy'd his pow'r,

And vacant beat thro' each dull hour.

Be worthy then the sacred loan!

Seated on Fancy's air-built throne,

Immerse it in her rainbow hues,

Nor, what the Godheads bid, refuse!

APOLLO, CUPID, shall inspire,

And aid thee with their blended fire,

The one poetic language give,

The other bid thy passion live;

With soft ideas fill thy lays,

And crown with LOVE thy wint'ry days!

ANNA MATILDA.

TO ANNA MATILDA.

I KNOW thee well, enchanting Maid!

I've mark'd thee in the silent glade,

I've seen thee on the mountain's height,

I've met thee in the storms of night:

I've view'd thee on the wild beach run

To gaze upon the setting sun;

Then stop aghast, his ray no more,

To hear th' impetuous surge's roar.

Hast thou not stood with rapt'rous eye

To trace the starry worlds on high,

T'observe the moon's weak crescent throw

O'er hills, and woods, a glimm'ring glow:

Or, all beside some wizard stream,

To watch its undulating beam?

O well thy form divine I know—

When youthful errors brought me woe;

When all was dreary to behold,

And many a bosom-friend grew cold;

Thou, thou unlike the summer crew

That from my adverse fortune flew,

Cam'st with melodious voice, to cheer

My throbbing heart, and check the tear.

From thee I learnt, 'twas vain to scan

The low ingratitude of Man;

Thou bad'st me Fancy's wilds to rove,

And seek th' ecstatic bow'r of Love.

When on his couch I threw me down,

I saw thee weave a myrtle crown,

And blend it with the shining hair

Of her, the Fairest of the Fair.

For this, may ev'ry wand'ring gale

The essence of the rose exhale,

And pour the fragrance on thy breast,

And gently fan thy charms to rest.

Soon as the purple slumbers fly

The op'ning radiance of thine eye,

Strike, strike again the magic lyre,

With all thy pathos, all thy fire;

With all that sweetly-warbled grace,

Which proves thee of celestial race.

O then, in varying colours drest,

And living glory stand confest,

Shake from thy locks ambrosial dew,

And thrill each pulse of joy a-new;

With glowing ardours rouse my soul,

And bid the tides of Passion roll.

But think no longer in disguise,

To screen thy beauty from mine eyes;

Nor deign a borrow'd name to use,

For well I know—thou art the MUSE!

DELLA CRUSCA.

TO DELLA CRUSCA.

THOU bidst!—"my purple slumbers fly"

Day's radiance pours upon my eye.

I wake—I live! the sense o'erpays

The trivial griefs of early days.

What! tho' the rose-bud on my cheek

Hath shed its leaves, which late so sleek,

Spoke youth, and joy—and careless thought,

By guilt, or fear, or shame un-smote,

My blooming soul is yet in youth,

Its lively sense attests the truth.

O! I can wander yet, and taste

The beauties of the flow'ry waste;

The nightingale's deep swell can feel,

Whilst from my lids the soft drops steal;

Rapt! gaze upon the gem-deck'd night,

And mark the clear moon's silent flight;

Whilst the slow river's crumpled wave

Repeats the quiv'ring beams she gave.

Nor yet, the pencil strives in vain,

To wake upon the canvas plain,

All the strong passions of the mind,

Or hint the sentiment refin'd;

To its sweet magic yet I bow,

As when Youth deck'd my polish'd brow.

The chisel's feath'ry touch to trace,

Thro' the nerv'd form, or soften'd grace,

Is lent me still. Still I admire,

And kindle at the Poet's fire—

My torch, at Della Crusca's light,

And distant, follow his superior flight.

O Time! since these are left me still,

Of lesser thefts e'en take thy fill:

Yes, steal the lustre from my eye,

And bid the soft Carnation fly;

My tresses sprinkle with thy snow,

Which boasted once the auburn glow;

Warp the slim form that was ador'd

By him, so lov'd, my bosom's LORD—

But leave me, when all these you steal,

The mind to taste, the nerve to feel!

ANNA MATILDA.

TO ANNA MATILDA.

AND art thou then, alas! like me,

OFFSPRING of frail mortality?

Must ruthless Time's rude touch efface

Each lovely feature's varying grace?

And must tow'rds earth that form incline,

And e'en those eyes forbear to shine?

Yet, when with icy hand he throws,

Amongst thine auburn locks, his snows,

The freezing influence ne'er shall dart,

To chill thy warmly-beating heart;

And scorning Death's oblivious hour,

Thou shalt exult—beyond his pow'r.

Methinks, as Passion drives along,

As frantic grown, I feel thy Song;

Eager I'd traverse LYBIA's plain,

The tawny Lion's dread domain

To meet thee there: nor flagging Fear,

Should ever on my cheek appear:

For e'en the Forest's King obeys

Majestic WOMAN's potent gaze.

Or, left on some resourceless shore,

Where never-ceasing billows roar;

Which teeming clouds, and heavy hail,

And furious hurricanes assail,

Far to the Pole—while half the year,

On Ebon throne sits NIGHT severe;

And to her solitary court,

Sea-fowl, and monsters fierce resort—

E'en there, MATILDA! there with thee,

Impending horrors all should flee;

Thy lustre of poetic ray,

Should wake an artificial day.

Sure thou wast never doom'd to know

What pangs from care, and danger flow;

But fairest scenes thy thoughts employ,

And Art, and Science, bring thee joy.

The quick'ning sense, the throb divine,

Fancy, and Feeling, all are thine;

'Tis thine, by blushing Summer led,

A show'r of roses round thee shed,

To hie thee forth at Morn's advance,

In wild excess of rapt'rous trance;

And see the Sun's proud deluge stream,

In copious tides of golden beam;

While faint his Sister-Orb on high,

Fades to a vapour of the sky.

When gradual evening comes, to hide,

In sabling shades, CREATION's pride;

When heaving hills, and forests drear,

And less'ning towns, but scarce appear;

While the last ling'ring western glow,

Hangs on the lucid lake below;

Then trivial joys (I deem) forgot,

Thou lov'st to seek the humble cot,

To scatter Comfort's balm around,

And heal pale Poverty's deep wound;

Drive sickness from the languid bed,

Raise the lorn Widow's drooping head;

Render the new-made Mother blest,

And snatch the Infant to thy breast.

O ANNA, then, if true thou say,

Thy radiant beauties steal away,

Yet shall I never fail to find

Eternal beauties in thy mind.

To those I offer up my vows,

And Love, which Virtue's self allows;

Unknown, again thou art ador'd,

As once by him, thy "bosom's Lord."

DELLA CRUSCA.

ELEGY,
Written on the PLAIN OF FONTENOY.

CHILL blows the blast, and Twilight's dewy hand

Draws in the West her dusky veil away;

A deeper shadow steals along the land,

And NATURE muses at the DEATH of DAY!

Near this bleak Waste no friendly mansion rears

Its walls, where Mirth, and social joys resound,

But each sad object melts the soul to tears,

While Horror treads the scatter'd bones around.

As thus, alone and comfortless I roam,

Wet with the drizling show'r, I sigh sincere;

I cast a fond look tow'rds my native home,

And think what valiant BRITONS perish'd here.

Yes, the time was, nor very far the date,

When carnage here her crimson toil began;

When Nations' Standards wav'd in threat'ning state,

And Man the murd'rer met the murd'rer Man.

For WAR is MURDER, tho' the voice of Kings

Has styl'd it Justice, styl'd it Glory too!

Yet from worst motives, fierce Ambition springs,

And there, fix'd Prejudice is all we view!

But sure, 'tis Heaven's immutable decree,

For thousands ev'ry age in fight to fall;

Some NAT'RAL CAUSE prevails, we cannot see,

And that is FATE, which we Ambition call.

O let th' aspiring Warrior think with grief,

That as produc'd by CHYMIC art refin'd;—

So glitt'ring CONQUEST, from the laurel leaf

Extracts a GEN'RAL POISON for Mankind.

Here let him wander at the midnight hour,

These morbid rains, these gelid gales to meet;

And mourn, like me, the ravages of Pow'r!

And feel, like me, that Vict'ry is defeat!

Nor deem, ye vain! that e'er I mean to swell

My feeble Verse with many a sounding Name;

Of such, the mercenary Bard may tell,

And call such dreary desolation, Fame.

The genuine Muse removes the thin disguise

That cheats the World, whene'er she deigns to sing;

And full as meritorious to her eyes

Seems the Poor Soldier, as the Mighty King!

Alike I shun in labour'd strain to show,

How BRITAIN more than triumph'd, tho' she fled,

Where LOUIS stood, where stalk'd the column slow;

I turn from these, and DWELL UPON THE DEAD.

Yet much my beating breast respects the brave;

Too well I love them, not to mourn their fate,

Why should they seek for greatness in the grave?

Their hearts are noble—and in life they're great.

Nor think 'tis but in War the Brave excell,—

TO VALOUR EV'RY VIRTUE IS ALLIED!

Here faithful friendship 'mid the Battle fell,

And Love, true Love, in bitter anguish died.

Alas! the solemn slaughter I retrace,

That checks life's current circling thro' my veins,

Bath'd in moist sorrow, many a beauteous face,

And gave a grief, perhaps, that still remains.

I can no more—an agony too keen

Absorbs my senses, and my mind subdues,

Hard were that heart which here could beat serene,

Or the just tribute of a pang refuse.

But lo! thro' yonder op'ning clouds afar

Shoots the bright PLANET's sanguinary ray

That bears thy name, FICTITIOUS LORD OF WAR!

And with red lustre guides my lonely way.

Then FONTENOY, farewell! Yet much I fear,

(Wherever chance my course compells) to find

Discord and Blood—the thrilling sounds I hear,

" The noise of battle hurtles in the wind."

From barb'rous Turkey to Britannia's shore,

Opposing int'rests into rage increase;

Destruction rears her sceptre, tumults roar,

Ah! where shall hapless man repose in peace?

DELLA CRUSCA.

STANZAS
TO DELLA CRUSCA.

HUSH'D, be each ruder note!—soft silence spread,

With ermine hand, thy cobweb robe around;

Attention! pillow my reclining head,

Whilst eagerly I catch the golden sound.

Ha! What a tone was that, which floating near,

Seem'd Harmony's full soul—whose is the lyre?

Which seizing thus on my enraptur'd ear,

Chills with its force, yet melts me with its fire.

Ah dull of heart! thy Minstrel's touch not know,

What Bard but DELLA CRUSCA boasts such skill?

From him alone, those melting notes can flow—

He, only knows adroitly thus to trill.

Well have I left the Groves, which sighing wave

Amidst November's blast their naked arms,

Whilst their red leaves fall flutt'ring to their grave,

And give again to dust May's vernal charms.

Well have I left the air-embosom'd hills,

Where sprightly Health in verdant buskin plays;

Forsaken fallow meads, and circling mills,

And thyme-dress'd heaths, where the soft flock yet strays.

Obscuring smoak, and air impure I greet,

With the coarse din that Trade and Folly form,

For here the Muse's Son again I meet—

I catch his notes amidst the vulgar storm.

His notes now bear me, pensive, to the Plain,

Cloth'd by a verdure drawn from Britain's heart;

Whose heroes bled superior to their pain,

Sunk, crown'd with glory, and contemn'd the smart.

Soft, as he leads me round th' ensanguin'd fields,

The laurel'd shades forsake their grassy tomb,

The bursting sod its palid inmate yields,

And o'er th' immortal waste their spirits roam.

Obedient to the Muse the acts revive

Which Time long past had veil'd from mortal ken,

Embattled squadrons rush, as when alive,

And shadowy falchions gleam o'er shadowy men.

Ah, who art thou, who thus with frantic air

Fly'st fearless to support that bleeding youth;

Binds his deep gashes with thy glowing hair,

And diest beside him, to attest thy truth?

" His Sister I; an orphan'd pair, we griev'd

" For Parents long at rest within the grave,

" By a false Guardian of our wealth bereav'd—

" The little ALL parental care could save.

" Chill look'd the world, and chilly grew our hearts,

" Oh! where shall Poverty expect a smile?

" Gross, lawless Love, assumed its ready arts,

" And all beset was I, with Fraud and Guile.

" My Henry sought the war, and drop'd the tears

" Of love fraternal as he bade farewell;

" But fear, soon made me rise above my fears—

" I follow'd—and Fate tolls our mutual knell."

Chaste Maiden rest; and brighter spring the green

That decorates the turf thy bloom will feed!

And oh, in softest mercy 'twas I ween,

To worth like thine, a Brother's grave's decreed.

The dreadful shriek of Death now darts around,

The hollow winds repeat each tortur'd sigh,

Deep bitter groans, still deeper groans resound,

Whilst Fathers, Brothers, Lovers, Husbands die!

Turn from this spot, blest Bard! thy mental eye;

To hamlets, cities, empires bend its beam!

'Twill there such multiplying deaths descry,

That all before thee'll but an abstract seem.

Why waste thy tears o'er this contracted Plain?

The sky which canopies the sons of breath,

Sees the whole Earth one scene of mortal pain,

The vast, the universal BED OF DEATH!

Where, do not Husbands, Fathers, dying moan?

Where, do not Mothers, Sisters, Orphans weep?

Where, is not heard the last expiring groan,

Or the deep throttle of the deathful Sleep!

If, as Philosophy doth often muse,

A state of war, is natural state to man,

Battle's the SICKNESS bravery would choose—

Noblest DISEASE in Nature's various plan!

Let vulgar souls stoop to the fever's rage,

Or slow, beneath pale atrophy depart,

With Gout and Scrophula weak variance wage,

Or sink, with sorrow cank'ring at the heart;

These, be to common Minds, th' unwish'd decree!

The FIRM select an illness more sublime;

By languid pains, scorn their high souls to free,

But seek the Sword's swift edge, and spurn at Time.

ANNA MATILDA.

TO ANNA MATILDA.

ON the sea-shore with folded arms I stood,

The Sun, just sinking, shot a level ray,

Luxuriant crimson glow'd upon the flood,

And the curl'd surf was ting'd with golden spray.

Far of I faintly track'd the feath'ry sail;

When thy sweet numbers caught my yielded ear,

Borne on the bosom of the flutt'ring gale,

They struck my heart—and rous'd me to a tear.

Yet flow'd no bitter anguish from mine eye,

A while remembrance left my wayward state;

And the soft cadence of thy warbled sigh,

Pour'd healing balm into the wounds of Fate.

What tho' grim Winter's desolating frown,

The wild waves uproar when rough Eurus blows,

The tangled forest, and the desart down,

Be all the solace DELLA CRUSCA knows:

Yet from MATILDA's pure celestial fire,

One ruby spark shall to his gloom be given,

Lur'd by its light, his fancy may aspire,

And catch a ray of bliss—a glimpse of Heaven.

Vain in the morn of life, and thoughtless too,

He rush'd impetuous as strong passion drove,

But soon each flatt'ring prospect fled his view,

Deceived by Friendship much, but more by Love.

Yes, he has lov'd to Transport's dire excess,

Has felt the potent eye inflict the wound;

Has felt the female voice each pulse oppress,

And grown a breathless statue at the sound.

But why recall the moments that are fled?

For ever fled, like yonder sweeping blast;

With Love, each active principle is dead,

And all, except its sad regret, is past.

Ah! had he met thee in this happier hour,

Ere yet he languish'd in the gripe of Care,

Thy minstrel then had fondly own'd thy pow'r,

Thy minstrel then might have escap'd Despair.

O diff'rent lot! for he who daily grieves,

Then with thy beauty blest, and gen'rous mind,

Had not, like sallow Autumn's falling leaves,

Been shrunk, alas! and scatter'd in the wind.

Haply, he had not roam'd for ling'ring years

On many a rugged Alp, and foreign shore;

He ne'er had known the cause of all his tears,

The cherish'd cause, that bids him—hope no more.

He would have led thee with attentive gaze,

Where the brown hamlet's neighb'ring shades retire,

Have hung entranc'd upon thy living lays,

And swept with feebler hand a kindred lyre.

While the dear Songstress had melodious stole

O'er ev'ry sense, and charm'd each nerve to rest,

Thy Bard, in silent ecstacy of soul,

Had strain'd the dearer Woman to his breast.

Or had she said, that War's the worthiest grave,

He would have felt his proud heart burn the while;

Have dar'd, perhaps, to rush among the brave,

Have gain'd, perhaps, the glory—of a smile.

And 'tis most true, while Time's relentless hand,

With sickly grasp drags others to the tomb,

The Soldier scorns to wait the dull command,

But springs impatient to a nobler doom.

Tho' on the plain he lies, outstretch'd, and pale,

Without one friend his stedfast eyes to close;

Yet on his honour'd corse shall many a gale,

Waft the moist fragrance of the weeping rose.

O'er that dread spot, the melancholy Moon

Shall pause a while, a sadder beam to shed,

And starry Night, amidst her awful noon,

Sprinkle light dews upon his hallow'd head.

There too the solitary Bird shall swell

With long-drawn melody her plaintive throat;

While distant Echo from responsive cell,

Shall oft with fading force return the note.

Such recompense be Valour's due alone!

To me, no proffer'd meed must e'er belong;

To me, who trod the vale of life unknown,

Whose proudest boast was but an idle song.

DELLA CRUSCA.

TO DELLA CRUSCA.

I HATE the tardy Elegiac lay—

Choose me a measure jocund as the day!

Such days as near the ides of June

Meet the Lark's elab'rate tune,

When his downy fringed breast

Ambitious on a cloud to rest

He soars aloft; and from his gurgling throat

Darts to the earth the piercing note—

Which softly falling with the dews of morn

(That bless the scented pink, and snowy thorn)

Expands upon the Zephyr's wing,

And wakes the burnish'd finch, and linnet sweet to sing.

And be thy lines irregular and free,

Poetic chains should fall before such Bards as thee.

Scorn the dull laws that pinch thee round,

Raising about thy verse a mound,

O'er which thy Muse, so lofty! dares not bound.

Bid her in verse meand'ring sport;

Her footsteps quick, or long, or short,

Just as her various impulse wills—

Scorning the frigid square, which her fine fervor chills.

And in thy verse meand'ring wild,

Thou, who art FANCY's favourite Child,

May'st sweetly paint the long past hour,

When, the slave of Cupid's power,

Thou could'st the tear of rapture weep,

And feed on Agony, and banish Sleep.

Ha! didst thou, favour'd mortal, taste

All that adorns our life's dull waste?

Hast THOU known Love's enchanting pain—

Its hopes, its woes, and yet complain?

Thy senses, at a voice, been lost,

Thy mad'ning soul in tumults tost?

Ecstatic wishes fire thy brain—

These, hast thou known, and yet complain?

Thou then deserv'st ne'er more to FEEL;—

Thy nerves be rigid, hence, as steel!

Their fine vibrations all destroy'd,

Thy future days a tasteless void!

Ne'er shalt thou know again to sigh,

Or, on a soft idea die;

Ne'er on a recollection gasp,

Thy arms, the air-drawn charmer, never grasp.

Vapid Content her poppies round thee strew,

Whilst to the bliss of TASTE thou bidst adieu!

To vulgar comforts be thou hence confin'd,

And the shrunk bays be from thy brow untwin'd.

Thy statue torn from Cupid's hallow'd nitch,

But in return thou shalt be dull, and rich;

The Muses hence disown thy rebel lay—

But thou, in Aldermanic gown, their scorn repay;

Crimson'd, and furr'd, the highest honours dare,

And on thy laurels tread—a PLUMP LORD MAYOR!

ANNA MATILDA.

INVOCATION
TO HORROR.

FAR be remov'd each painted scene!

What is to me the sapphire sky?

What is to me the earth's soft dye?

Or fragrant vales which sink between

Those velvet hills? yes, there I see—

(Why do those beauties burst on me?)

Pearl dropping groves bow to the sun;

Seizing his beams, bright rivers run

That dart redoubled day:

Hope ye vain scenes to catch the mind

To torpid sorrow all resign'd,

Or bid my heart be gay?

False are those hopes!—I turn—I fly,

Where no enchantment meets the eye,

Or soft ideas stray.

HORROR! I call thee from the mould'ring tower,

The murky church-yard, and forsaken bower,

Where, 'midst unwholesome damps

The vap'ry gleamy lamps

Of ignes fatui shew the thick-wove night,

Where morbid MELANCHOLY sits,

And weeps, and sings, and raves by fits,

And to her bosom strains the fancied sprite.

Or, if amidst the arctic gloom,

Thou toilest at thy sable loom,

Forming the hideous phantoms of Despair—

Instant thy grisly labours leave,

With raven wing the concave cleave,

Where floats, self-borne, the dense nocturnal air.

Oh! bear me to th' impending cliff

Under whose brow the dashing skiff

Beholds Thee seated on thy rocky throne;

There, 'midst the shrieking wild wind's roar,

Thy influence, HORROR, I'll adore,

And, at thy magic touch, congeal to stone.

Oh! hide the Moon's obtrusive orb,

The gleams of ev'ry star absorb,

And let CREATION be a moment thine!

Bid billows dash; let whirlwinds roar,

And the stern, rocky-pointed shore,

The stranded bark, back to the waves resign!

Then, whilst from yonder turbid cloud,

Thou roll'st thy thunders long, and loud,

And light'nings flash upon the deep below,

Let the expiring Seaman's cry,

The Pilot's agonizing sigh

Mingle, and in the dreadful chorus flow!

HORROR! far back thou dat'st thy reign;

Ere KINGS th' historic page could stain

With records black, or deeds of lawless power;

Ere empires Alexanders curst,

Or Faction, mad'ning Caesars nurst,

The frighted World receiv'd thy awful dower!

Whose pen JEHOVAH's self inspir'd;

He, who in eloquence attir'd,

Led Israel's squadrons o'er the earth,

Grandly terrific, paints thy birth.

Th' ALMIGHTY, 'midst his fulgent seat on high,

Where glowing Seraphs round his footstool fly,

Beheld the wanton cities of the plain,

With acts of deadly name his laws disdain;

He gave th' irrevocable sign,

Which mark'd to man the hate divine;

And sudden from the starting sky

The Angels of his wrath bid fly!

Then, HORROR! thou presided'st o'er the whole,

And fill'd, and rapt, each self-accusing soul!

Thou did'st ascend to guide the burning shower—

On THEE th' Omnipotent bestow'd the hour!

'Twas thine to scourge the sinful land,

'Twas thine to toss the fiery brand;

Beneath thy glance the temples fell,

And mountains crumble at thy yell.

ONCE MORE thou'lt triumph in a fiery storm;

ONCE MORE the Earth behold thy direful form;

Then shalt thou seek, as holy prophets tell,

Thy native throne amidst th' eternal shades of HELL!

ANNA MATILDA.

TO ANNA MATILDA.

TO THEE a Stranger dares address his theme!

To Thee, proud Mistress of Apollo's lyre;

One ray emitted from thy golden gleam,

Prompted by LOVE, wou'd "set the World on fire."

Adorn then LOVE, in fancy-tinctur'd vest,

Camelion like, anon of various hue;

By "Penserosa," and "Allegro" drest—

Such Genius claim'd, when she Idalia drew.

I see the Pencil on the canvas shine!

REYNOLDS admires!—in Science then proceed;

The name of Poet, Painter, both are thine,

We view the speaking painting—as we read.

Paris.

REUBEN.

TO REUBEN.

MIDST the proud fervor of the day,

Whilst the sun darts a torrid ray,

The humble daisey sinks its head,

And faints upon its lowly bed;

But when moist eve hath quench'd his fire,

And treads the fields in cool attire,

The daisy spreads again her bloom,

And offers up her mild perfume.

Thus your resuscitating praise,

Breathed life upon my dying lays.

REYNOLDS ADMIRES! flatt'ry so sweet

With blushing vanity I meet,

But Bard polite! how hard the task

Which with such elegance you ask.

When DIDO bad ENEAS tell

The woes he knew to paint so well—

Did he not tell the queen, she tore

His closing wounds, and drew fresh gore,

From stabs that time had almost heal'd?—

Such, REUBEN, such, the thorn conceal'd,

Within your verses' flow'ry spell,

Which barb'rous! dares my pen compel.

Yet how describe the various god,

T'whom Proteus' self's a heavy clod?

Differing in each differing heart,

Scorning to play a constant part.

A tyger!—tyrant!—such is he,

Whom painted with bandeau you see,

With downy wings, and childish face,

As though of the blest Cherub's race—

But oh! a serpent in disguise,

And as the lynx, his piercing eyes!

A raging fire, a deadly pain,

That gentlest heart-strings most will strain;

A fever, tempest, madness he—

Of all life's ills—A DREAD EPITOME!

Ha! dost thou fear, and wilt thou run?

The little monster try to shun?

And wilt thou, REUBEN, too succeed—

And shall thy bosom never bleed;

Never his poison'd rankling dart

Quiver within thy tender heart?

Oh, hapless man!—oh, wretched fate!

Fly to Love's altar ere too late,

And deprecate the doom accurst,

Or bid that heart with sorrow burst.

Welcome the deadly fiery pain,

That gentlest heart-strings most will strain—

MADNESS IS HIS—but 'tis replete

With all that makes life's blessings sweet;—

A TYRANT he, but oh! his chains

Are richer than an empire's gains!

Sweet, the delirium which by love is spread,

Whate'er the paths his raptur'd vot'ries tread!

He paints the mist which hangs upon the eve,

With colours dearer than the Sun can give;

'Tis he who lends the nightingale its trills,

When her rich pipe the Empyrean fills,

Oh, 'tis the softness in his heart

Which makes the Lover in her song take part,

And faint upon each touching pause,

And lengthen out each added clause,

Till rapt attention, strain'd too high,

Rolls down its gushing tear, and breathes its gentle sigh.

Charming to Love is MORNING's hour,

When, from her chrystal roseate tower,

She sees the Goddess HEALTH pursue

The skimming breeze thro' fields of dew:

Charming, the flaming hour of noon,

When the sunk Linnet's fading tune,

Allures him to the beechy grove—

Or when some crag'd grotesque alcove

Sounds in his ear its tinkling rill,

And tempts him to its moss grown sill;

Most charm'd when on his tranced mind

Is wisper'd in the passing wind,

The name of her, whose name is bliss;

Or when he all unseen can kiss

The fringed bank where late she lay,

Hidden from th' imperious day.

Oh, ye rapt glades, which glist'ring Luna decks,

Whose stretching shadows her refulgence checks!

Oh, ye soft floods, that hang upon the peak

Of lofty rocks, and bound in wanton freak,

Where thirsty meads your rushing streamlets crave,

And crowd their flowers around to drink your wave—

What are ye all, should Love withhold the dart,

Which wakes nice feelings in the torpid heart?

Where is the heart, that would such feelings fly,

Or fear th' inchanting, MAD'NING CUP to try?

Must I speak more of love? the boundless theme

Might run beyond the edge of life's short dream:

His spells are blessings—witch'ries so sublime

They triumph o'er distress, and fate, and time.

Wouldst ask the joys of love?—Oh! change the prayer,

Thou little know'st his power, to fasten there!

Let the mean bosom crave its love's return,

Thine shall with more distinguish'd ardors burn:

To know the passion—yes, be that thy strain,

Invoke the god of the mysterious pain!

Whate'er thy nature—gentle, fiery, rough—

To LOVE—learn but TO LOVE—and thou hast bliss enough!

ANNA MATILDA.

ODE
TO INDIFFERENCE.

OH nymph, long sought, of placid mien,

With careless step, and brow serene!

I woo thee from the tufted bowers,

Where listless pass thy easy hours—

Or, if a Naïade of the silver wave

Thou rather lov'st thy pearly limbs to lave

In some clear lake, whose fascinating face

Lures the soft willow to its pure embrace!

Or, if beneath the gelid rock

Thy smiles all human sorrows mock,

Where'er thou art, in earth or air,

Oh! come, and chase the fiend DESPAIR!

Have I not mark'd thee on the green

Roving, by vulgar eyes unseen?

Have I not watch'd thy lightsome dance

When Evening's soften'd glows advance?

Dear Goddess, yes! and whilst the Rustic's mirth

Proclaims the hour which gives wild gambols birth,

Supine, I've found thee in the elm-row's shade,

Lull'd by the hum returning bees have made,

Who, chary of their golden spoils,

Finish their fragrant, rosy toils,

With rest-inviting, slumb'rous song,

As to their waxen couch they throng.

Chaste Nymph! the Temple let me seek

Where thou resid'st in lustre meek;

My future life to thee I give—

Irradiate ev'ry hour I live!

'Tis true, no glowing bliss thy vot'ries know,

From thee no poignant ecstacy can flow,

But oh! thoushield'st the heart from rankling pain,

And Mis'ry strikes, when bless'd with thee, in vain;

Wan Jealousy's empoisoning tooth,

And Love, which feeds upon our youth,

And holy Friendship's broken tie,

Ne'er dim the lustre of thy eye.

For thee, it is, all Nature blooms,

For thee, the Spring new charms assumes,

Nor vainly flings her blossoms round,

Nor vainly bids her groves resound;

Her music, colours, odours, all are thine,

To thee her months their richest gifts consign;

To thee the morn is bright, and sweet the ray

That marks the progress of the sinking day;

Each change is grateful to thy soul,

For its fine taste no woes control;

The powers of Nature, and of Art,

Alike entrance the easy heart.

And oh! beneath thy gentle dome,

Which the calm comforts make their home,

That cruel imp is never found

Whose fame such idle songs resound—

Dread SENSIBILITY!—Oh! let me fly

Where Greenland darkness drinks the beamy sky,

Or where the Sun, with downward torrid ray

Kills, with the barb'rous glories of the day!

I'd dare th' excess of ev'ry clime,

Grasp ev'ry evil known by Time,

Ere live beneath that Witch's spells

With whom no lasting pleasure dwells.

Her lovely form deceives the heart,

The tear, for ever prompt to start,

The tender look, the ready sigh

And soft emotion always nigh;

And yet Content th' insidious fiend forbids—

Oh! she has torn the slumbers from my lids:

Oft rous'd my torpid sense to living woe,

And bid chill anguish to my bosom grow.

She seals her prey!—in vain the Spring

Wakes Rapture, thro' her groves to sing;

The roseate Morn's hygean bloom,

Fades down, unmark'd, to Evening's gloom.

Oh SENSIBILITY! thy sceptre sad

Points, where the frantic glance proclaims THE MAD!

Strain'd to excess, Reason is chain'd thy slave,

Or the poor Victim, shuns thee in the grave;

To thee each crime, each evil owes its birth,

That in gigantic horror treads the earth!

SAVAGE UNTAM'D! she smiles to drink our tears,

And where's no solid ill, she wounds with fears;

Riots in sighs, is sooth'd when most we smart—

Now, while she guides my pen, her FANG's within my heart.

ANNA MATILDA.

ODE
TO ANNA MATILDA.

O CEASE, MATILDA! Cease the strain,

That woo's INDIFFERENCE to thy arms;

For what are all her boasted charms?

But only to be free from Pain!

And would'st thou then, her torpid ease,

Her listless apathy to know,

Renounce the magic POW'R to PLEASE,

And lose the LUXURY of WOE?

Why does thy stream of sweetest song,

In many a wild maze wind along;

Foam on the Mountain's murm'ring side;

Or thro' the vocal covert glide;

Or among fairy meadows steal?—

It is, because thy HEART can FEEL!

Alas! if Peace must be unknown,

Till ev'ry nerve is turn'd to stone,

Till not a tear-drop wets the eye;

Nor throbs the breast for Sorrow's sigh,

O may I never find relief,

But PERISH, in the PANG of GRIEF!

Think not I reason thus, my Fair!

A stranger to corroding Care!

Ah! if Thou, seldom find'st repose,

" I, rest not on a bed of rose."

DESPAIR, cold Serpent, loves to twine

About this helpless heart of mine!

Yet, tho' neglected and forlorn,

I scarce can check the smile of Scorn,

When those, the VULGAR call the GREAT,

Bend the important brow of state;

And strive a consequence to find

By seeming more than Humankind;

Well, let them strut their hour away,

Till grinning Death demand his prey!

Meanwhile, my ANNA! let us rove

The scented vale, the bending grove,

Mix our hot tears with evening dews,

And live for FRIENDSHIP and the MUSE!

Yes, let us hasten hand in hand,

Where the blue billows lave the land,

And as they quick recoiling fly

Send on the surf a length'ned sigh,

That strikes the soul, with truth sublime,

As 'twere the whisp'ring TONGUE of TIME:

For thus our short Life's ebbing day

Murmurs awhile, and hastes away!

Or let us seek the mould'ring wall,

Or some lone Abbey's Gothic Hall;

Recline upon the knee-worn stone,

And catch the North Wind's dismal moan,

That 'midst his sorrows, seems to boast

Of many a gallant vessel lost!

Friends and Lovers sunk in death—

By the fury of his breath!

What tho' at the imagin'd Tale,

Thy alter'd cheek be sadly pale;

Ne'er can such SYMPATHY annoy;

For 'tis the price of dearest JOY!

When far off the Night Storm flies,

Let us ponder on the SKIES!

Where million stars are ever roll'd,

Which yet our weak eyes dare behold;

Adore the SELF-EXISTING CAUSE

That gives to each its sep'rate laws;

That, when th' impetuous Comet runs

Athwart a wilderness of Suns;

Tells it what mandate to obey,

Nor ever wander from its way;

Till back it hasten whence 'twas brought,

Beyond the boundaries of Thought!

Let not the studious Seer reply,

" Attraction regulates the Sky,

" And lends each Orb the secret force,

" That urges on, or checks its course."

Or with his Orrery expound

Creation's vainly fancied round.

Ah! quit thy toil, presumptuous Sage!

Destroy thy calculating page;

No more on Second Causes plod;

'Tis not ATTRACTION, but 'tis GOD!

And what the UNIVERSE we call,

Is but a POINT, compa•'d to ALL.

SUCH BLISS the sensate bosom knows,

Such bliss Indiff'rence ne'er bestows;

Tho' small the circle we can trace,

In the abyss of time and space;

Tho' LEARNING has its limits got,

The feelings of the soul have not.

Their vast excursions find no end:

And RAPTURE needs not comprehend!

'Tis true, we're ign'rant how the Earth

Wakes the first principles of birth,

With vegetative moisture feeds

To diff'rent purpose, diff'rent seeds:

Gives to the Rose such balmy sweet,

Or fills the golden ear of Wheat,

Paints the ripe Peach with velvet bloom,

Or weaves the thick Wood's mingling bloom;—

YET, we can wander in the bow'r;

Can taste the fragrance of the flow'r;

Drink the rich fruit's nectareous juice,

And bend the harvest to our use.—

Then give thy pure perceptions scope,

And sooth thy heaving heart with hope.

HOPE shall instruct my sorr'wing Friend;

The soul's fine fervour ne'er can end;

But when her limbs by Death are laid

Beneath some yew-tree's hallow'd shade,

Then shall her soaring spirit know

The seraphim's ecstatic glow.

Then shall th' ESSENTIAL MIND confess,

That ANGUISH has the pow'r to BLESS,

That FEELING was in BOUNTY given,

And own THE SACRED TRUTH—IN HEAVEN.

DELLA CRUSCA.

ODE
TO DELLA CRUSCA.

O THOU!

Who from "a wilderness of Suns"

Canst stoop to where the low brook runs!

Thro' space with rapid comets glow;—

Or mark where, soft, the snow-drops grow!

O THOU!

Whose burning Pen now rapture paints!

Then moralizes, cold, with Saints!

Now trembling ardors can infuse—

Then, seems as dipp'd in cloister'd dews—

O say! thy BEING quick declare,

Art thou a Son of Earth, or Air?

Celestial Bard! though thy sweet song

Might to a Seraph's strains belong,

Its wondrous beauty, and its art

Can only touch, not change, my heart.

So Heaven-sent light'ning powerless plays,

And wanton, throws its purple rays;

It leaps through Night's scarce pervious gloom,

Attracted by the Rose's bloom;

Th' illumin'd shrub then quiv'ring round,

It seems each scented bud to wound;

Morn shakes her locks, and see the Rose

In renovated beauty blows!

Smiles at the dart which past away,

And flings her perfume on the day.

Thy light'ning Pen 'tis thus I greet,

Fearless its subtile point I meet;

Ne'er shall its spells my sad heart move,

From the calm state it vows to love.

All other bliss I've proved is vain—

All other bliss is dash'd with pain.

My waist with myrtles has been bound,

MY BROW WITH LAURELS HAS BEEN CROWN'D;

LOVE, has sigh'd hopeless at my feet,

LOVE, on my couch, has pour'd each sweet;

All these I've known, and now I fly

With thee, INDIFFERENCE, to die!

Nor is thy gift "dull torpid ease,"

The Mind's quick powers that dost not freeze:

No! blest by Thee, the soul expands,

And darts o'er fresh-created lands;

Springs from the confines of the earth

To where new systems struggle into birth;

The germ of future Worlds beholds,

The secrets of dark space unfolds;

Can watch how far the Erratic runs,

And gaze on DELLA CRUSCA's Suns;

In some new Orb can meet, "his starry mail,"

And him, on earth unknown, in Heaven with transport hail!

ANNA MATILDA.

TO ANNA MATILDA.

NOR will I more of Fate complain;

For I have liv'd to feel thy strain;

To feel its sun-like force divine,

Swift darting through the clouds of woe,

Shoot to my soul a sainted glow.

Yet, yet, MATILDA, spare to shine!

One moment be the blaze supprest!

Lest from this clod my spirit spring,

And borne by Zephyrs' trembling wing,

Seek a new Heaven upon thy BREAST.

But say, does calm INDIFFERENCE dwell

On the low mead or mountain swell,

Or at grey Evening's solemn gloom,

Bend her bosom to the tomb?

Or when the weak dawn's orient rose,

In silv'ry foliage deck'd, appears;

Tell me, if perchance she goes

To the fresh garden's proud array,

Where, doubtful of the coming day,

Each drooping flow'ret sheds translucent tears.

Ah! tell me, tell me where,

For thou shalt find me there,

Like her own son, in vestment pure,

With deep disguise of smile secure:

So shall I once thy form descry,

For once, hold converse with thine eye.

Vain is the thought, for at thy sight,

Soon as thy potent voice were found,

Could I conceal the vast delight,

Could I be tranquil at the sound,

Could I repress quick Rapture's start,

Or hide the bursting of my heart?

Let but thy lyre impatient seize

Departing Twilight's filmy breeze,

That winds th' enchanting chords among,

In ling'ring labyrinth of song:

Anon, the amorous Bird of Woe

Shall steal the tones that quiv'ring flow,

And with them sooth the sighing woods,

And with them charm the slumb'ring floods;

Till, all exhausted by the lay,

He hang in silence on the spray,

Drop to his idle flow'r beneath,

And, 'midst her blushes, cease to breathe.

Warn'd by his Fate, 'twere surely well

To shun the fascinating spell;

Nor still, presumptuous, dare to fling

My rude hand o'er the sounding string;

As though I fondly would aspire,

To match MATILDA's heavenly fire.

Yet may I sometimes, far remote,

Hear the lov'd cadence of her note,

And though the Laurel I resign,

O may the bliss of TASTE be mine!

DELLA CRUSCA.

The following was not composed, from an idea that enough had not been said on the subject of INDIFFERENCE,—it was hastily written, merely to let DELLA CRUSCA know that he was GUESS'D AT;—but the line which would to him have particularly pointed that out, was, when given in The WORLD, alter'd—it is now printed as originally written. For its many careless passages ANNA MATILDA begs this apology may be accepted, that she wrote it literally whilst sitting for her portrait;—and whilst the sublimity of Egyptian groves, Zenobia's desart, Confucious, Marc Antony, &c. &c. had their ideas continually broken in upon, with "SMILE A LITTLE;"—"MORE TO THE RIGHT;" "NOW LOOK UP," and so forth. Both the poetry and the painting have suffer'd for this—the one has been less happy, the other less correct.

" —Does calm Indifference dwell,

" On the low mead, or mountain swell?

" Oh tell me where,

" For thou shalt find me there!"

To DELLA CRUSCA.

YES, on the mountain's haughty swell,

And in the prostrate dell,

And where the Dryades fling their shades—

There may'st thou meet the Maid serene,

Or trace her on the zephyr'd green

Whilst Day's carnation gently fades.

Doth Nature make the prospect vast,

With rocks o'erhang, and rivers cast

Tumbling headlong to their base?

Do seas stretch out their foamy plains,

Compelling with their chrystal chains

Wide Continents t' embrace?

All these attract the smooth-brow'd fair;—

Or where can Art evince her powers,

Where, Science strew immortal flowers,

And gay Indifference—haste not there?

Whilst PASSION narrows up the heart,

TASTE can no ray of bliss impart,

One strong idea grasps the mind—

Extends itself thro' all the soul,

Thro' ev'ry vein its furies roll,

And tears with fangs unkind.

When NEWTON trod the starry roads,

And view'd the dwellings of the Gods,

And measur'd every Orb—

Did silly Love his steps attend,

His mighty purposes suspend,

Or his grand mind absorb?

When intellectual LOCKE explor'd

The Soul's sad vacuum, where no hoard

Of budding young ideas lay—

Oh tell, thus rob'd in Wisdom's stole,

Did Love's coarse torch his view control,

Or light him in the darksome way?

Ha! DELLA CRUSCA, cease to feign,

Thy cheek with red repentance stain,

For having feign'd so long;

Quick seize thy Lyre, sweep each bold string,

O'er every chord thy music fling—

To calm INDIFFERENCE raise the Song!

Propitiate first, then with her haste

O'er the Globe's peopled, motley waste;

Watch CHARACTER where'er it runs;

Drink newer air, see fiercer suns:

Seek the bland realms where first the Morn

Pours dawn-light from her beamy horn;—

Pours scent and colours o'er the vale,

And wakes its song, and wakes its tale.

Mark how CONFUCIUS' feeble race,

(Whose records vast fail not to trace)

To Imitation still confine

Their powers, nor deviate from its line.

Their fourteen thousand glowing springs

Passing thro' their yearly rings,

Not one suggestion left behind,

No Art, nor Virtue more refin'd;

Philosophy no inroads made,

But mute, within its awful shade

Its thoughts occult arrang'd—

Whilst Learning, blindfold in its pen,

This costly precept gave to men—

" BE WISE, but be unchang'd."

Haste!—leave th' insipid herd—away!

Where EGYPT's sons imbrown the day,

For their primeval Wisdom form'd her wreath,

And Science first was taught to breathe.

Oh linger here! the Classic clime

Demands, and will reward thy time.

Here shalt thou seek th' immortal Dome

Where Pleasure triumph'd over ROME;

And tread were CLEOPATRA trod,

And moisten with thy tear the sod

Where Taste and Love their banners wav'd,

Snatching from the grave Old Time—

Whose life fast-fading Rapture, sav'd,

And Phoenix-like renew'd its prime.

Then find the myrtled tomb,

The now unenvied Lover's home;

But, lest thy pensive steps should stray,

To guide thee in th' unknown way,

The Moon her bright locks quick unshrouds;

Her veil of gossamour thin clouds,

Dissolves to air, and her soft eye

Through the palm grove's haughty shade,

And the lofty aloed glade,

Shall guide thee where thy long-ow'd sigh

Breath'd o'er the mingling Lover's dust,

Shall gratify their hov'ring souls

Beyond an EMPIRE's votive Bust.

Is a soft willow bending near,

Whose drooping leaves speak grief sincere?

Its drooping leaves, ah! instant seize,

The happy violence will please—

Bend its tender flaccid boughs

(Murm'ring soft mysterious vows)

Into garlands—leave them there,

OFFERINGS to the love-lost pair!

These duties paid, with ling'ring look,

With heart by silent sorrow shook,

The marbled desart next explore

Where Beauty's glance, and Learning's lore,

Ages long past the soul beguil'd—

Oh think! in that unletter'd wild

LONGINUS wrote, ZENOBIA smil'd!

Where now a humbled column lies

Stream'd radiance from impassion'd eyes;

The roof where odious Night Birds rest,

Once shelter'd Wit, once echo'd Jest;

Where Peasants cumbrous oxen stall,

THERPSICHORE swam through the ball;

Serpents convolve, where music trill'd,

And lost Palmyra's fate's fulfill'd.

Doth splendid scenes thy light heart prize?

Fly to Italia's downy skies!

Where Fancy's richest strokes abound,

Where NATURE's happiest points are found;

The pleasures here—a rosy band!

Link'd to her car with flow'ry chains,

Bear their rapt Goddess o'er the plains,

And strew their glories o'er her land.

The dulcet groves, burst with rich notes,

Flung from a thousand trembling throats,

The glossy rivers as they fly—

Their curv'd embroider'd bounds between,

Whose glowing tints be-gem the green,

Bear on their curls th' ecstatic sigh;—

The breeze detain'd rests its pure wing,

To hear blest Love its triumphs sing.

And ah! be Italy ne'er nam'd,

Without a pause to those so fam'd—

The glorious MEDICIS!

Oh SCULPTURE! lift thy pillar high,

And grave the name amidst the sky!

Its base, let marble sorrows tend,

And chissel'd woes in high relief,

Look their unutterable grief,

And mute Despair its tresses rend!

Blest POETRY! compel thy lyre

To sound the loud immortal praise

Of those who cherish'd thy proud bays,

And fed thy near extinguish'd fire!

Thy pencil, PAINTING! dip in shades!

To last till Europe's Glory fades—

Thy trophy'd canvas shall be Fame

To those who nurs'd thy infant Art,

And bear to mightier shores the Name!

Swiftly, my DELLA CRUSCA, turn

To where the Medicean Urn,

The once proud City hallows still,

There thy fine taste may drink its fill.—

To FLORENCE fly—

O, no! for ever shun her tempting skies,

For there, if right I ween, the Maid INDIFFERENCE dies!

ANNA MATILDA.

TO ANNA MATILDA.

Age, jam meorum,

Finis amorum.

AND have I strove in vain to move

Thy Heart, fair Phantom of my Love?

And cou'dst thou think 'twas my design,

Calmly to list thy Notes Divine,

That I responsive Lays might send,

To gain a cold Platonic Friend?

Far other hopes thy Verse inspir'd,

And all my Breast with Passion fir'd.

For Fancy to my mind had given

Thy form, as of the forms of Heaven—

Had bathed thy lips with vermil dew;

Had touch'd thy cheek with Morning's hue!

And down thy neck had sweetly roll'd

Luxuriant locks of mazy gold.

Yes, I had hopes, at least to press,

And lure thee to the chaste caress;

Catch from thy breath the quiv'ring sigh,

And meet the murder of thine eye.

Ah! when I deem'd such joys at hand,

Remorseless comes the stern command,

Nor calls my wand'ring footsteps home,

But far, and farther bids me roam;

And then thy Vestal Notes dispense

The meed of COLD INDIFFERENCE!

Curs'd Pow'r! that to myself unknown,

Still turns the heart I love, to stone!

Dwells with the Fair whom most I prize,

And scorns my tears, and mocks my sighs.

Yes, ANNA! I will hasten forth

To the bleak regions of the North,

Where Erickson, immortal Lord!

Pour'd on the Dane his vengeful sword;

Or where wide o'er the barb'rous plain,

Fierce Rurick held his ancient reign.

Then once more will I trace the Rhine,

And mark the Rhone's swift billows shine;

Once more on VIRGIL's tomb I'll muse,

And Laura's gemm'd with evening dews;

Once more ROME's Via Sacra tread,

And ponder on the mighty dead.

More Eastward then direct my way,

To thirsty Egypt's desarts stray,

Fix in wonder, to behold

The Pyramids renown'd of old;

Fallen near one of which, I ween,

The Hieroglyphic Sphinx is seen!

The [*] Lion Virgin Sphinx, that shows

What time the rich Nile overflows.

Then will I sail th' Egean tide,

Or seek Scamander's tuneful side;

Wander the secret groves among,

Where HOMER wak'd th' immortal Song;

Traverse the Nemaean Wood,

Mark the spot where Sparta stood;

Or at humbled Athens see

Its still remaining Majesty!—

Yet to Indiff'rence e'er a foe,

May Beauty other joys bestow;

Her rapt'rous Science I'll pursue,

The Science NEWTON never knew.

Now blows the wind with melancholy force,

And o'er the Baltic points my weary course;

Loud shout the mariners, the white sails swell—

ANNA MATILDA! fare thee, fare thee well!

Farewell, whoe'er thou art, and may'st thou find

Health and repose, and lasting peace of mind;

Still pour the various Verse with fancy clear,

To thrill the pulse, and charm th' attentive ear;

Nor may relentless Care thy days destroy,

But ev'ry hope be ripen'd into joy!

And O! farewell to distant Britain's shore,

Which I perhaps am doom'd to see no more;

Where Valour, Wisdom, Taste, and Virtue dwell,

Dear Land of Liberty, alas! farewell,—

Yet oft, e'en there, by wild Ambition tost,

The Soul's best season settles in a frost.

Yet even there, desponding, late I knew,

That Friendship, foreign-form'd, is rarely true.

For they, whom most I lov'd, whose kindness sav'd

My shatter'd Bark, when erst the tempest rav'd:

At home, e'en with the common herd could fly,

Gaze on the wounded Deer, and pass him by!

Nor yet can Pride subdue my pangs severe,

But scorn itself evap'rates in a Tear.

Thou, too, delusive Maid! whose winning charms

Seduced me first from slow Wealth's beck'ning arms;

Sweet POETRY! my earliest, falsest Friend,

Here shall my frantic adoration end.

Take back the simple Flute thy treach'ry gave,

Take back, and plunge it in Oblivion's wave,

So shall its sad Notes hence no malice raise—

The Bard unknown—forgotten be the Lays.

But should, with ANNA's Verse, his hapless Rhime,

In future meet th' impartial eye of Time,

Say, that thy wretched victim long endur'd,

Pains which are seldom felt, and never cur'd!

Say, 'midst the lassitude of hopes o'erthrown,

MATILDA's strain could comfort him alone.

Yet was the veil mysterious ne'er remov'd,

From him th' admiring, and from her the lov'd,

And no kind intercourse the Song repaid,

But each to each remain'd—a Shadow and a Shade.

DELLA CRUSCA.

Notes

*
The overflowing of the Nile always happens while the Sun is in Leo and Virgo.
↵

TO DELLA CRUSCA.

OH stay, oh stay! thy rash speed check,

Not yet ascend the flying deck;

Nor Europe's Hemisphere forsake,

Nor from THY NATION's pleasures take

A bliss so exquisite and chaste—

A feast so dear to polish'd taste,

As that thy Lyre correctly flings,

As that they feel when DELLA CRUSCA sings.

Alas! thou'rt gone, and to my straining eye

Thy Bark seems buoyant on the distant sky;—

See! in the clouds its mast it proudly laves,

Scorning the aid of Ocean's humble waves:

Well may it soar and bear aloft the prize

Whose verse immortal links him to the skies;

Well may it scorn rough Neptune's rocky way,

Which bears the Genius of the GOD OF DAY!

And now, MATILDA, bind thy lyre

With cypress wreathes! the lambent fire

Thou kindled'st at his fervid rays

Can gleam no more;—thy future days

Lost to the Muses and to Taste,

Each torpid hour will joyless waste.

In vain each morning now will glow—

In vain soft MAIA's music flow,

And to my pillow force its way,

And on my wak'ning senses play.

Her notes my wak'ning senses fill,

And conscious slumbers own the trill;

But when at length Remembrance bids

The filmy slumber quit my lids,

Saying "THE WORLD its Wit hath brought,

" Its various point, its well-turn'd thought,

" But DELLA CRUSCA lends no ray"—

Oh what is Morning—what is May?

Yet hold! some solace yet remains,

And pensive joys await my pains.

I too must leave this laurel'd coast

Which all, that ROME adorn'd, can boast;

But not like thee, for GRECIAN shores;—

Ah no! my humbler prow explores

The Sea unsung, which lies between

Dover's proud cliffs, and France serene.

Thou'lt skim th' Egean's brilliant tide,

I, o'er the British channel glide[*];

Thou, all enthusiast! fondly trace

The Isle where PHAON's beauteous face

Gave birth to SAPPHO's glorious art—

Illum'd her name, but tore her heart:

Thy SAPPHO seek the shores vicine,

Where England's lovely great-soul'd QUEEN

Sublimely knelt, and snatch'd from blushing Fate

The Godlike victims of her Edward's hate.

Thou, at AONIA's sacred feet

Wilt duly pour libations meet;

I, roam o'er GALLIA's sportive plains

Where thoughtless Pleasure ever reigns.

But 'tis not sportive GALLIA's plains,

Tho' Pleasure there for ever reigns,

Which promises the boasted bliss—

No, BARD BELOV'D! the hope is this,

That there thy footsteps I may tread,

Press the same turf where sunk thy head;

Sip the quick stream thy thirst hath slaked,

And greet the Dawn where thou hast waked—

Fancying her waves of mazy gold

Ne'er with such rich refulgence roll'd;

And when her tints of various dye

Burst from the pallid sickly sky,

There rush in violet, there in green,

Here in soft red imbue the scene;

Then lose themselves by growing bright,

'Till swallow'd up in one vast flood of light—

Thus shall I say, HE saw her rays,

Thus was HE rous'd t'adore and praise!

Oh SYMPATHY, of birth divine,

Descend, and round my heart-strings twine!

Touch the fine nerve whene'er I breathe

Where DELLA CRUSCA dropt his wreath!

Lead me the sacred way of ROME,

Lead me to kneel at Virgil's tomb,

Where he th'enduring marble round

With fresh-wove laurels graceful bound.

Then guide where still with sweeter note,

Than flow'd from Petrarch's tuneful throat,

On Laura's grave he pour'd the lay

Amidst the sighs of sinking day:

Then point where on the sod his tear

Fell from its chrystal source so clear,

That there my mingling tear may sink,

And the same dust its moisture drink!

Thus dying Swans are said to sing,

And their last breath in numbers fling.

O'er the dear liquid shining plains,

Which nurs'd their joys, and nurs'd their pains.

Like them my Muse pines fast away,

And this her last, her closing day.

When one blest word her lips hath seal'd,

In lasting silence she'll be veil'd.

Expiring, still her note's the same,

She murmurs DELLA CRUSCA's name!—

The SACRED WORD! ye heard it spoke;—

Her Book is clos'd—her Lyre is broke!

ANNA MATILDA.

Notes

*
This passage when given in the WORLD was by mistake alter'd, and some of its lines left out;—it is here printed from the original copy.
↵

A TALE
FOR JEALOUSY.
A Recent Event in CATALONIA.

LOUD shriek'd the wind; hoarse struck the hour,

When from his couch, Alphonso rose;

Bedeck'd with gold his splendid bower—

Gold, had his couch, but not repose!

The Night sat brooding on the hill:

Beneath, the sable rivers roll'd,

Not glist'ring, now, the tinkling rill;—

Its stream opaque, its spirit cold.

His chamber, long with restless feet

The Lord Alphonso travers'd o'er;

Here once he tasted slumbers sweet,

But slumber sweet he knows no more!

His rous'd domestics strait obey

The signal of their Lord, unloved;

Their torches flash a second day,

As thro' the costly rooms they moved.

His favourite, from th' obsequious train

Was to his inmost closet led;

There heard confess'd the am'rous pain

Which tore him from his midnight bed.

Oh, thou wert near, Alphonso cries,

When in the progress late we made,

Gonsalvo's daughter in our eyes

Made every other virgin fade.

Her noble mien, her blushes mild,

The burnish of her tresses bright;

Her age—but just no longer Child,

Her rosy mouth, her graceful height;

All these have in my time-worn heart,

Lighted a youthful, am'rous fire—

I sink beneath the poignant smart,

I faint with eager, strong desire.

Oft did I try her soul to melt,

But ign'rant she of Cupid's pow'r—

His ecstacies she never felt—

But now is come her fated hour.

With flames illicit I essay'd

To touch her iced, unwaken'd heart;

Let Hymen sooth the bashfull maid,

She'll waken'd, play a softer part.

Strait to her father's, speed thy way,

The fleetest mules with haste prepare;

And ere to-morrow scants his day,

Thou'lt reach the village of my fair.

These pearls, these di'monds, speak my truth,

Woo her with treasures to my arms;

When love no longer boasts of youth,

Riches may plead their meaner charms.

Oh how unlike the rapturous hour,

When love is bought by love alone;

When a soft look, a touch, a flower,

Is prized beyond IND's brightest stone.

But go, and to her parents bear

Thy Lord's designs—his hopes unfold;

Plead with due force his meaning fair,

And in thy promises be bold.

Much more, the Lord Alphonso spoke;

His servant's mind the whole retains,

Whose lashes soon the mules provoke;

The mules skim o'er the distant plains.

Th' awaken'd night with streaks of gold

Her jetty robes begun to lace;

Her drowsy car far off she roll'd—

The blithe Sun urging to the race;

And ere his wheels had run behind

The western mountain's giddy slope;

Julia, with meekness all resign'd

Had listen'd to Alphonso's hope.

Not so resign'd, but that her thought

Recoil'd at such unequal love,

Till by parental wisdom taught,

She learn'd to bear, and then approve.

The Sire attends his darling child,

For so Alphonso's pride allows;

And with the transport almost wild,

Saw her receive a Grandee's vows.

He saw that form where speaking grace

Gave soul to beauty most refin'd,

The robe of dignity embrace,

By taste magnificent design'd.

Her hair, which floated o'er her dress,

A dress, which to be seen demands

Its rich luxuriance to repress,

They tie in folds with diamond bands.

But the soft curls which hap'ly fell

Upon her bosom's heaving snow,

Were suffer'd there, unbound, to dwell,

And spread their wavy golden glow.

Thus the fond parent saw her rove

Thro' gaudy halls and rooms of state;

Whilst humble trains at distance wait,

And from her nod receive their fate.

Succinct the time in which such joy

Around his aged heart might play;

Bitter, oh! bitter the all•y•

And set full soon is Pleasure's day:

For Lord Alphonso names the hour,

When he the sumptuous dome must quit,

And seek again the humble bower—

For birth like his a mansion fit:

Tells him to take a last farewell,

Of her more dear then sense or light;

Bids him ne'er hope again to dwell

Where filial Julia bless'd his sight.

His daughter, overwhelm'd with woe,

The haughty cruel order hears;

She sees her mournful parent go,

And bathes his last steps with her tears.

Now slow, and sadden'd, rolls the time

Which late flew rapid with delight;

Heedless is she of Morning's prime,

Nor hails the soft approach of Night.

Her only solace was to roam

Midst the deep wood's embosom'd calm,

Where distant from her gaudy home

Meek solitude bestow'd its balm.

There, on a river's fringy side,

Which snatch'd her breath as stealing by,

She'd watch its curl'd, unequal glide,

And swell with her's the zephyr's sigh:

Mark with what truth it objects drew,

When ruffling zephyr ceas'd to breathe,

Its surface polish'd to the view—

A phantom forest underneath.

Two drooping willows there display'd

Their foliage to the painting wave;

Which in their pensive green array'd

Would still their jutting bare roots lave.

These, by her hands, in garlands dress'd,

She'd sometimes chide the low bent branch,

Which would its blooming fragrant vest

Upon th' escaping river launch.

Thus was she one bright eve employ'd,

Whilst carols sad her sweet voice sung;

Evening's own bird her note enjoy'd—

When from its shades a soldier sprung.

His form, like that Apollo wears,

When from his bow the swift dart sings;

Or when the discus thro' the air

With equal force and grace he flings.

Martial his step; his beamy eye

Bright as fair Julia's own appears;

Strait to each others arms they fly—

They mingle joy—they mingle tears.

'Twas Julia's brother whom she saw,

'Twas Julia whom her brother press'd;

Both dear by Nature's dearest law,

For twins they were, who thus caress'd.

From Calpe's glorious rock he came—

Immortal monument decreed

Of English ELLIOT's laurel'd name;

Where English heroes oft shall bleed.

And there his blood did Gusman shed

Amongst the boldest ever found,

By sacred thirst of honour led—

Nor shun'd the deaths that flew around.

But when bright Peace her silver flute

Had sounded thro' wide Europe's skies,

And when the voice of war was mute,

Sped by fond duty, home he flies.

There he first learn'd his sister's fate,

How elevated—and how curst!

Heard, that amidst her brilliant state

Her heart consuming sorrow nurst.

Her husband's tyrant law reveal'd,

No dear relation to behold;

Oblig'd him thus in shades conceal'd,

His sister to his heart to fold.

And oft he mourn'd her cruel lot,

And oft he dried her tears away,

When from the interesting spot

They each were warn'd by closing day.

Adieu, my Gusman, Julia cries!

Yet let me see thee, once again;

To-morrow bless thy sister's eyes,

Then seek our dear paternal plain:

From forth my little treasur'd hoard,

Fond tokens to my mother bear;

No miser is my cruel Lord,

And gifts, like these, I well can spare.

Gusman, with pure, fraternal love,

Kiss'd either beauteous, fading cheek,

Vowing, when Morn shou'd light the grove,

In its mild haunts her steps he'd seek.

Now Evening hung its silv'ry dews,

On every shrub that deck'd the glades;

And fainter scents the flowers effuse—

As loth to greet with sweets, her shades.

Oft had fair Julia linger'd there

In hours like these—and traced the beam,

Which sent from Luna's brilliant sphere,

Shot thro' the wood a shiver'd gleam.

Mark'd how each sound, stole soft away,

As gliding off to shores more bright;

Bribed by the gaudy tumid day,

To fly the dove-eyed, tender night.

By Julia these are all forgot,

For pleasure hath her soul suffused;

Blind to the beauties of the spot,

She deigns not now to be amused.

Braced with young joy, the sportive fawn

Pursues her dam, with motion fleet,

Regardless of the sprinkled lawn

That weaves its flowers around her feet.

So speeds the fair one to her home,

Whose towers return the moon's broad glare;

Whilst to point out the distant dome,

They flash their gold vanes thro' the air.

On her soft pillow soon reclined,

Round her, the slumbers spun their veil;

And o'er her placid gentle mind,

The softest dreams their phantoms steal.

At Morning's dawn, her Lord commands,

Her placid slumbers must be broke;

He grasp'd in his her trembling hands,

He led her forth, but never spoke.

And oh! these horrid sounds, she cried—

Those piteous shrieks, which tear the ear!

With terror struck, she faintly sigh'd,

And sunk, at length, o'erpower'd with fear.

He dragg'd her on; the screams of pain,

More piercing as they nearer grow,

Left her scarce power to sustain

Her crimson life's unequal flow.

There, wretch, behold! Alphonso cried,

As wide he threw the grating gate:

There feast thy loose adulterous eyes,

See there, thy paramour's just fate!

There, stretch'd upon the racking wheel,

She saw her brother's tortur'd form;

From his torn flesh the jagged steel,

Bad rush the blood, with life yet warm.

She saw—but oh! she spoke no more!

The agony too fierce to bear;

Groaning she sunk upon the floor,

And breath'd her spirit on the air.

Sister! the writhing Gusman said—

Oh, Sister! plead—then swoon'd with pain!

On his gash'd bosom sunk his head,

His limbs convuls'd, the cords still strain.

Alphonso, when he heard the sound,

Leapt sudden to the deathful wheel;

With eager haste the youth's unbound,

And stern Alphonso learns to feel.

He raves, he sinks, he strikes his breast,

But oh! the guilty deed is past,

The victims pure are now at rest—

Thy tortures shall for ever last!

Vain is all art, for life no more

Can lift their pulse, their cheeks can paint;

Thou'st freed their souls, they quit the shore—

Each seeks its God—a murder'd Saint!

There, tyrant, lie! and let the fangs

Of deep remorse thy bosom tear!

Each wak'ning morn awake new pangs—

Teach thee to pity, and despair!

ANNA MATILDA,
TO THOSE WHO READ.

THE following little Tract, printed carefully from the Manuscript of the once famous Sir William Waller, is considered as a curiosity worthy of being given to the public:—It contains the memoranda and reflections of a man who had a considerable share in forming the fate of England, at a time when the strong convulsions of its state arrested the attention of Europe, and of the world.

Sir William Waller was a member of the House of Commons, and Major-General of the Parliament army. It appears from WHITLOCK, that he was a man of great consideration in the army, and with the public. Oliver Cromwell served under him—the KING feared him—the PARLIAMENT depended on him.

The purity of his intentions, and the uprightnes• of his principles—the transcript before you wil• sufficiently establish;—it is a mental mirror, in which you behold the features of the writer's mind, as distinctly as a looking glass reflects, to a young beauty, her cheek of roses, and her eye of fire▪ That he was popular as to courage and resolution, is plain from a formal petition sent to Parliament by the inhabitants of Portsmouth, praying that Sir William Waller might be made their Governor.

That he had a mind capable of the tenderest impressions, and alive to all the charms of love, appears, from this, that he never lived unmarried. Three times he exulted in the flowery hymeneal chain; and speaks of each Lady with exalted fondness and affection. But those, alas! were days in which the connubial passion was the only one tolerated!

Of WALLER, Hume begins to speak in the following words:— "In the year 1643, Sir William Waller began to distinguish himself among the Generals of the army. Active, and indesatigable; in his operations rapid and enterprising; he was fitted by his genius to the nature of war." Vol. VI. p. 516.

It has been lately so much the taste to read the ana of celebrated men, that the Editor of these is persuaded, their being combined with the effusions of her own idle hours, will not render them unwelcome. To the public, perhaps, there is no occasion for apology, but towards the writer himself, she has some consciousness of delinquency. The brave General, who wore himself out in campaigns, cased in armour, and peeping half his life through an iron vizor, thought of nothing less, probably, than of turning author;—yet it happens, that after he has been at rest with his tumultuous ancestors (I hope they will forgive my guessing at their characters) almost a century, and his military and moral character long ago decided on, he is now made to hold up his hand at the literary bar, to be tried by his Critics, and his Country.

To his critics and countrymen, it may be observed, that if they have an appetite for anecdote, the following pages will not tend much to satisfy it. They are filled with the recollections of a man, who, at the close of a busy life, thought it time to recollect himself, and who recollects only about himself. In the retrospect, his imminent dangers, and hairbreadth 'scapes, light up his gratitude to Heaven, and make his little book rather a compendium of piety, than a register of events. A piety not much differing from that which has provoked our sneers at the posthumous works of the great Johnson;—but then, he was a scholar, and a philosopher, and his piety, in course, very much unlike other people's. What you are now offer'd, is the piety of a General—we have many Generals, and they can answer for the similitude.

In a word—this peculiar little volume is presented not to the world as an amusement, but to the curious as a medal. A medal struck at an era when the events of this country were MIGHTY, and when the characters of men were GRAND: when every action was on an enlarged scale, and in high relief;—when the kingdom, like Sir Joshua's infant Hercules, was struggling between the two deadly serpents which assailed its vitality—the TYRANNY OF THE COMMONWEALTH, and the PREROGATIVE OF THE CROWN.

The internal evidence the book carries with it is so strong, that it is judged not necessary to say one word on its authenticity. But it is necessary to say, that besides the pages suppressed (mentioned in the conclusion), there has been an elision of one entire section, under the head OF PERILS BY WATER; a part likewise of that under the head BY GREAT SICKNESSES, has been cut out, because the circumstances mentioned, and the terms used, are not exactly correspondent to the ideas of delicacy, which happily, is in this age one of its characteristics.

In the opening of the manuscript, there appears to be two leaves wanting; whether what is lost contained events or reflections, it is impossible to judge—the leaves are not torn, but cut out carefully with a knife, close to the margin. The beginning of the third leaf, is the end of a reflection, of which itt, is the first word. For further information the reader shall be now left to Sir William himself, and it is hoped he will not rank the half hour spent in his society, amongst the most unprofitable half hours of his life.

RECOLLECTIONS,
BY GENERAL SIR WILLIAM WALLER.

itt, but a stormy sea? If I cast my eyes backward the billowes are still heaving, and the angry waves are tossing their heads; if I looke forward the prospect doth presente to my imagination nothing new, itt is still a stormy sea, and the billowes and the waves, and the breakers surround the poore mariner, who if by chance he doth escape, comes wounded and torne, and allmost spent, to shore. But

"Many, O Lord, are thy wonderfull workes! which thou hast don, and thy thoughts which are to me ward, they cannot be reckoned upp in order •nto thee." Ps. xl.5.

"Come therefore and heare, all yee that feare God, and I will declare what he hath don for my Soul." Ps. lxvi.16.

1. IN PERSONALL DELIVERANCES

I may say, with the Apostle, glorying, as he did, of the things which concern mine infirmityes. I have been

IN PRISONS FREQUENT,

Seissed upon by the army, as I was going to discharge my duty in the House of Commons, and, contrary to priviledg of Parliament, made a prisoner in the Queen's court; from thence carried ignominiously to a place under the Exchequer called Hell, and the next day to the King's Head in the Strand; after, singled out (as a sheep to the slaughter) and removed to St. James's: thence sent to Windsor Castle, and remanded to St. James's againe; lastly tossed, like a ball into a strange country, to Denbigh Castle in North Wales, remote from, my relations and interests.—After above three yeares imprisonment, and thus being changed as itt were from vessel to vessel, itt pleased the Lord to turne my captivity, and to restore me to the comforts of my poore family againe; and here let me call to mind how much reason I had to be thankfull to him, who chasteneth those whom he loveth, for the great consolation experienced in the dear partner of my captivity. She came to me disguised in mean apparell, when I had groaned in my bonds seven months, thinking itt the duty of a wife, to riske all things for the satisfaction of her husband. Much difficulty had she in comming, and was frequent on the brink of being discovered; but att length over mountains and unknown roads, sometimes with a guide, and sometimes with none, she arrived att my prison: and she seemed when she discovered herself to me, to be like the Angell who appeared unto Peter in like circumstances: she did not indeed bid my prison gates fly open, but by her sweet converse and behaviour, she made those things seem light, which were before heavy, and scarce to be borne▪—I must ever acknowledg itt also a very great mercy, that being so long subject to so great a malice, armed with so great a power, I was not given as a prey to their teeth; and that after all the indeavours that were used to finde out matter of charge against me, I came off with an entire innocency, not only uncondemned, but unaccused.

The 5th of August, 1659, I was seized a prisoner by a party of horse in Kent, and the 22d following I was committed to the Tower, only upon jealousy; and, because I refused to inform the councell further than in what singly concerned my self, and because I denyed to give any ingagement. The 31st of October following, the Lord delivered me by my habeas corpus in an open cleare way, notwithstanding all opposition. Blessed be his holy name who hath been my constant keeper, and hath not only delivered me out of the mouth of the lion (as he did Paul) but preserved me in itt. And my trust is, the Lord shall deliver me from every evill worke, and will preserve me unto his heavenly Kingdome, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.

2. IN DEATHS OFT;

1. By suddain accidents.

In my infancy, when I lay in my cradle, I escaped a great danger, upon the casuall discharge of a peece, the shott whereof missed me very narrowly.

At Winchester Castle, I ran a great hassard of being buried under the ruines of an ould outwall, which I had been viewing, and considering how to have it taken down, and I was no sooner stept into the house (not above an easy stone's cast off) but itt fell, and covered all the place where I had been, and diverse yards beyond itt. My deare wife (the Lady Ann) had a deliverance of the very same kinde there likewise; having been to look att an ould staircase which was repairing, she was no sooner gon, but the place where she stood fell, and in humane reason, she could not but have perished in the ruines.—

Att Cropredy in Oxfordshire, I escaped a great danger of the like nature, when being with my officers att a councell of warr, the floore of the roome (where I was) sunke under me, and I lay overwhelmed with a great deal of lumber that fell upon me, and yet, blessed be God, I had no hurt att all. And att this place I did likewise escape a snare. After the battell, a message was sent to me by the King; when I had given my answer that I could not treat with his Majesty but by command of Parliament, I turned shortly round; when the trumpet said he had a private mesage for me, and praied me to hear him: I replyed there need be no privacy, not caring to give an handle to mine Enemies: but some that were neare me did persuade me to heare the man, and went out. He then presently pulled forth a letter, which to my great shame and surprise came from the Lady ******; in itt she besought me to betray my cause; and this she did so wittily and kinde, that I had much ado to be angry. Before this lady's marriage I had been her suitor, and did dearly love her, and she remembered me of this, and of some soft passages. Whether or not she was putt on this by some greater than herself, I never knew; but I returned for answer, that as I had never been traitor to my love, so would I not to my cause, which I should be, if I did as she would advise, and after this I heard no more.—

2. BY GREAT SICKNESSES.—

I had a great deliverance from the plague att my house in Aldersgate-street, a chambermaid of my wifes being struck with itt (who died within a day or two after att the pesthouse, whither she was removed) my wife being then great with child (of my son Thomas) had her by the hand in her sickness, and was neare her, when she was in sweats, yet neither she nor any of my family, were infected.

Att Calais I escaped the plague, when Sir Philip Stapleton died of itt, and I was with him and had him by the hand, not above five or six howers before he departed.

3. BY HASSARDS IN WARR.

In the warrs between the Venetians, and the Archduke Ferdinand (afterwards Emperour) att the leaguer before Rubia, I escaped severall very neere shott; one grazing att my foot, another lighting between Sir John Vere and me, as we sate close together by the battery; and yet touched neither of us, besides diverse others, both great and small shott that indangered me.

In the warr between the Emperour Ferdinand, and the King of Bohemia, I escaped miraculously out of the hands of the Cossacks, when in a skirmish my horse was killed under me, and in the clearing of myself from him, I fell with my foot hanging in the stirrup, I was incompassed by them, and in making my way through them to my own men, had severall shott made att me, att a close distance, yet itt pleased the Lord, none wounded; only one grazed lightly on the topp of my head, and I came off with safety.

Att the battell of Edghill, I had my horse shott under me, but I was preserved from any hurt.

Att the taking of Farnham Castle, I escaped a very neare shott, from one of mine own men, as he followed me in a narrow passage, after I was entred.

In my retreat from Chepstow, when Prince Maurice had lined all the passages between that and Gloucester, with a very considerable army, to intercept me; I had no way left, but to transport my foote and traine of Artillery cross the Severn to Barkley Castle (from whence they were secured) and with my horse and dragoones to beat thro' his quarters; upon the march that night thorough the Forrest of Dean; itt happened thorough the sleepiness of an officer, that the maine body was separated a great distance from the fore troop (with which I marched) so that I was faine to make an halt for above halfe an hower, within litle more than a mile of the princes head quarter, in broad day light, the alarme taken, and not one hundred and twenty horse with me. Nevertheless itt pleased God in his infinit mercy to direct the rest of my troopes to me, and under the conduct of his providence, I made a safe and an honorable retreat to Gloucester, in despight of the enemy who charged me in the reare, but with more loss to him, than to me.

Att Landsdown, when I made the retreat, I escaped a shower of shott.

At the Devises, when I beat the Lord Marquess Harford, Prince Maurice, and the Lord Hopton, with their remaining forces into the town, the second night after I sat down before itt, having been out to visit the gardes, and returning to a farmhouse (at the foot of Roundway Down) where I had given order to my cooke, that my supper should be ready against I came in, and finding my meat but newly laid to the fire; in a suddain impatience I resolved not to supp att all, and so tooke horse again, and rode upp to the topp, where the body of my horse lay. I was not gon above a muskett shott, but some of the ennemy (knowing the pasages thereabout, which I did not; and rationally supposing I might quarter in that place; in regard of the convenient situation of itt, between my horse and my foot) came into the house and enquired, and made a search for me, and if I had staied there (as at first I intended) in all probability they might have suddainly dispatched me, and retired in the darkness of night, with safety enough.

Some dayes after, whilst I lay before the town, I rode with a small party about the quarters, particularly to see how the dragoones were laid, on the further side of the town; and being to returne back, itt pleased God to putt itt suddainly into my minde, to go by another way than that I came, which some of the party, and some of mine own servants (who staid a little behind) not observing, but taking the former way, they were almost all taken by the ennemy. I came back safely.

Att Farnham God appeared wonderfully for me, when the Lord Hopton, drew upp his whole army within culverin shott of me, being (with the forces of Sir Jacob Ashly, who was then joined to him) att the least eight thousand horse and foot; and (thorough the mistake or neglect of my adiutant-generall, and the slackness of my men, in drawing to the rendevous) I was not able to face him with two thousand men. In that extremity the Lord tooke opportunity to shew himself for me, and sent so thick a mist all the morning, that by reason of the darkness the ennemy durst not give on, and when the mist brake upp, I had such an advantage of the ground, that my weakness remained undiscovered, and he drew off from me, I was that day delivred from an imminent destruction.

Att Cheriton Field, I was in danger to have been taken or killed, the ennemy having by a charge given upon some troopes of mine, shutt me off from mine own men, I having then but three with me; but itt pleased God they were repulsed againe, and thereby a way opened for my retreat.

I may reckon itt a mercy, that upon a suddain occasion that day, charging without my headpeece, and being known by the ennemy (as I afterwards understood) I came off safe and unhurt.

When the King came suddainly upon me with his whole army att Andover, and I had then nothing but a body of horse and dragoones with me, I made a fair retreat to Basingstoke.

Att the second Newbery fight, when I fell on with my troopes by the way off Speenfield, and wee were mingled with the ennemy, I had a great deliverence, for one of the adverse party coming behinde me, and being ready to fire his pistoll in my reines; in that instant one of my life guard killed him, or otherwise in all probability he had killed me.

"O God the Lord, the strength of my salvation: thou hast covered my head in the day off battell." Ps. cxl.7.

"The Angell of the Lord, encampeth round about them that feare him, and delivereth them." Ps. xxxiv.7.

IN JOURNYINGS OFT.

In my travell between Venice and Florence, I escaped the danger of the Inquisition att Bolonia, where through the information of a priest (that came along in company with me from Venice) I was searched, my trunke, wherein I had nothing but clothes, was rifled to the bottome, but itt pleased God to so order itt, that they lett alone a box, wherein I had some papers, which might have exposed me to question; when they had itt in their hands ready to open itt.

In my journey into Yorkeshire, to my Sisters house at Hickleton, (being accompanied with my wife the Lady Ann, and my dear mother) I reckon itt a great deliverance, that when my coach mares, upon the descent of an hill, had broken their raines, and overthrown the coachman from the box, and begun to run away, the raines falling down upon the ground, one of the mares, treading upon them, they checked her bitt, and made her stopp, which made the rest stand like-wise.

IN PERILLS IN THE CITTY.

When the army first marcht up to the citty of London, and made that breach upon the Parliament, I was voted to command a body of horse and dragoones, in the nature of a flying army, for the defence of the King, Kingdome, Parliament, and Citty; and whilst I was acting (with others) according to my duty, at the Committee of Militia, to advance that levy; wee were all unexpectedly deserted and betraied by the citty and left out of all capitulation; so that upon the entring of the army, we were inforced to lye hidd, and within a few dayes after to make use of the passes which the House of Commons had given us, and to quit the kingdome. The Lord all that time preserved me from falling into the hands of the army, though I was pursued by land and sea.

When after the death of my late deare wife, I had sent out my sons to schoole, and removed my daughters, with some part of my goods, to the Lady Blanyes house in Long Acre (myself remaining in that desolate condition, a prisoner att St. James's) there was a base information given to the Councell of State, by a servant of mine (whome for a falsness I had putt away) that I had deposited plate and jewells, to a great vallue, in that good Ladyes custody; whereupon (without any cause alledged, or any thing att all in charge against me) they sent a warrant signed Bradshaw, by a sargeant att armes, to seize upon all thatt I had there, as belonging to an ennemy of the State. But itt pleased the wisdome of God to befoole their malice, that they made no search in mine own house, where all that I had of vallue was, but only in that place, where there was nothing but so inconsiderable a parcell of plate, that they were ashamed to keep itt, when they had itt; and so they sent itt back again. In the mean time I had leasure to dispose of what I had by me, to a place of safety.

March 22d, 1657. I was seized upon as a prisoner by a warrant from the Protector, and brought to Whitehall, where I was examined by him. He did examin me as a stranger, not as one whome he had aforetime known, and obeyed; yet was he not discourteous, and itt pleased the Lord to preserve me, that not one thing objected could be prooved against me; so I was delivered, and returned with comfort to my family againe; blessed be the Name of the Lord!

IN PERILS AMONG FALSE BRETHREN.

It pleased the House of Commons to command my service, in taking care for the drawing upp for the Ordinance in favour of the Apprentices; upon which account some Apprentices (who negotiated that business for the rest) made their application to me; shortly after, when that petition from the citty was to be presented, which was followed with so much confusion, that it gave occasion, or pretence to the speaker, and diverse others of the House to withdraw to the army; myself and the rest of the eleven members, having then gained the leave of the House, to absent ourselves, for six months (by that denial of our own right and priviledg, to preserve (if possible) the priviledg of Parliament from any further violation by the army) some two dayes before the presentation of the above said petition, there came two persons to my house in Drury Lane, to speak with me, who, when I came out unto them, tould me they were apprentices of the Citty, and came to be advised by me, how they should manage their petition; to whom I replyd, that I knew no advice to be given, but that they should be carefull to attend the House as early as they could, before they were praeingaged in other business: but this did not serve their purpose, who came only to ensnare me; whereupon they moved further, and said, that myself and the other impeached gentlemen were concerned in their petition, and that they must and would have us into the House againe. To which I returned no more, but that I should have no more to do in that business, and so I left them. This was all that passed, and yet those false impudent creatures made their report att the army, that I abetted that disorder and assault upon the House, and cooperated with the apprentices in itt, which served to exasperate the army so much the more against me. But it pleased the Lord that they never had power to act any thing upon itt to my prejudice.

After I was made a prisoner by the army, and removed from the King's Head in the Strand to St. James, I had a message sent me from one Colonell Fitz-James with the signification of his respect to me, and compassion of me, representing the extreme danger in which I was, and the enevitable destruction that attended me, if I did not endeavour to prevent itt by some escape; in order to that, he made me a tender of his assistance, ingaging himself, that he would sett me safe aboard a shipp, that lay ready in the river for me to transport me beyond the reach of all mine ennemies. But itt pleased God to prevent the effect of his treachery, both by giving me the confidence to stand upon mine own innocency, and by discovering to me, that that perfidious man (in the middest of all his protestations of friendshipp to me), had privately offered himself to give evidence against me att the barr of the House of Commons; so that it was a meere train, laid to bring a guiltiness upon me, and to take away my life.

The like offer was made to my wife in reference to the procurement of my escape out of Windsor Castle, by one Captain Kempe of Collonell Prides regiment, with the addition of an intended cheat; but I was delivered as a bird, out of the snare of these fowlers, so that I was not catcht with their chaff.—

About the same time, shortly after my coming to Windsor Castle, having opportunity to send to my deare wife (whom I had left in a disconsolat condition att London, great with child, and within a few weeks of her delivery) as I had sealed my letter and was ready to dispatch itt away, I had notice given me by my keeper, that the Governour must see whatever letters I wrote or received; whereupon I bad him carry itt unto him, that he might open it if he thought fitt: But the Governour returned itt back unto me untouched, with this compliment, that I was very much mistaken in him if I thought he would be so unworthy, as to open letters between a man and his wife; and with some further expressions of respect to me, in regard, he had formerly served as a Lieutenant Colonell under me. This I tooke as a civility from him, but I found it after to be no other than a meere insiduous practise; for after an uninterrupted pasage of letters between my wife and me, for about a fortnight or three weekes, by which time he supposed, wee might be grown to a confidence to write freely, he suddainly seised upon all my letters. But there was nothing to be found in them that could prejudice me, and so that snare likewise broke, and I escaped the danger of it. Blessed be God.

March 1654. I have reason to acknowledg itt a great mercy of God, that he preserved me in so insnaring a time, wherein the Lord heard my prayer.

"The wicked plotteth against the just;—The Lord shall laugh at him: for he seeth that his day is coming." Ps. xxxvii.12, 13.

"The Lord will not leave him in his hand, nor condemn him when he is judged." Ps. xxxvii.33.

2. In severall prosperous successes.

1. THE TAKING OF SOUTHSEA CASTLE.

2. THE TAKING OF PORTSMOUTH.

It was about this time that those misunderstandings grew between me and the Lord Generall Essex, which were afterwards noticed in some sort by the Parliament; and there were those who fomented our discorde for their own advancement. Some whom I att that time commanded, but who have since sat in a higher seat, were not wanting to misrepresent, and to inflame on either side; and the country did suffer for these things, which the Parliament well knew, but thought itt not convenient att all times to notice.

3. THE TAKING OF FARNHAM CASTLE.

4. THE TAKING OF CHICHESTER.

5. THE TAKING OF MALMESBURY.

6. THE TAKING OF HEIGHNAM, AND RELEIVING OF GLOUCESTER.

7. THE TAKING OF MONMOUTH.

8. THE TAKING OF HEREFORD.

9. THE FIGHT AT CHERITON neere Wells in Somersetshire, where Prince Maurice was wounded, and I putt a stopp to his pursuit of the forces under Coll. Popham: whilst in these parts itt was told that the Queen had something endeared herself when att Exeter, by the following Charity. Walking out northward of the citty, soon after her laying in, she stopped att the cottage of a poore woman whom she heard making doleful cries. She sent one of her train to know what itt might be which occasioned itt; the page returned and said the woman was sorrowing grievously, because her daughter had been two days in the strawe, and was almost dead for want of nourishment, she having nothing to give her but water, and not being able for the hardness of the times to gett any thing. On this the Queen tooke a small chain of gould from her neck att which hung an agnus; she tooke off the agnus and putt itt in her bosom, and making the woman be called to her, gave her the chain and bad her to go into the citty to a gouldsmith and sell itt, and keepe the money to provide for the good woman in the strawe. And for this her confessor did afterward rebuke her, because they were hereticks: when this thing was told to the King, he asked, jestingly, if her Confessor had made the Queen do a penance for itt; as she haddon once before, for some innocent act, when she was made to walke to Tyburn, some say barefoot.

10. THE BEATING UP OF COLL. HAMILTON's QUARTERS.

11. THE FIGHT AT LANDSDOWN.

12. THE BEATING OF THE MARQUESS OF HARTFORDS ARMY INTO THE DEVIZES.

13. THE ROUTING OF THE EARL OF CRAWFORDS PARTY, and taking the ammuniton, which he was conveying into the Devizes.

14. THE BEATING UPP OF THE EARLE OF CRAWFORDS QUARTER ATT ALTON; where five hundred of the taken, to make my success the greater, tooke the covenant, and served under me; great was my exultation, but itt had bitter endings, for the Parliament wrote to Essex to join me, intending that we together should do a mighty worke, but the Generall would not, to their no small displeasure; for which no good reason could be given, but that he would have his great name stand alone. My dismal defeat att Roundway Down was owing to those heart burnings and jealoucies; for the General suffered the enemies horse to pass quietly, and without molestation, to the succour of their infantry which lay att the Devizes in miserable plight. The proud have laid snares for me, saith the Psalmist, and sett traps in my way. So sure was I of victory that I wrote to Parliament to bid them be att rest, for that I would shortly send them an account of the numbers taken and the numbers slaine, but it pleas'd the Lord to turn my victory into mourning, and my glory into shame: with a small number of cavalry I retired to Bristol, and there heard continually of the successes of the royal party; who took heart on this mischance of mine, that had never happened had others don their duty.

15. THE TAKING OF ARUNDELL.

16. THE BATTELL ATT CHERITON.

17. THE TAKING OF CHRISTCHURCH.

18. THE TAKING OF THE PASS ATT NEWBRIDG.

19. THE TAKING OF SUDELY CASTLE.

20. THE FIGHT ATT SPEENFIELD BY NEW-BERRY.

21. THE BEATING UPP OF COLL. LONG's QUARTERS, in which Cromwell's horse did good service. And here I cannot but mention the wonder which I have oft times had, to see this eagle in his eirey: he att this time had never shown extraordinary partes, nor do I think that he did himself believe that he had them; for although he was blunt, he did not bear himself with pride, or disdaine. As an oficer he was obedient, and did never dispute my orders, nor argue upon them. He did, indeed, seeme to have great cunning, and whilst he was cautious of his own words, not putting forth too many lest they should betray his thoughts, he made others talk, untill he had as it were sifted them, and known their inmost designs. A notable instance was his discovering in one short conversation with one Captain Giles (a great favorite with the Lord Generall, and whome he most confided in), that although his words were full of zeal, and his actions seemingly brave, that his heart was not with the cause: and in fine, this man did shortly after join the enemy at Oxford, with three and twenty stout fellowes. One other instance I will here sett down, being of the same sort, as to his cunning.

When I tooke the Lord Piercy att Andover, having att that time an inconvenient distemper, I desired Collonell Cromwell to entertaine him with some civility; who did afterwards tell me, that amongst those whom we tooke with him (being about thirty), their was a youth of so faire a countenance, that he doubted of his condition; and to confirm himself willed him to sing; which he did with such a daintiness that Cromwell scrupled not to say to Lord Piercy; that being a warriour, he did wisely to be accompanied by Amazons; on which that Lord, in some confusion, did acknowledg that she was a damsel; this afterwards gave cause for scoffe att the King's party, as that they were loose and wanton, and minded their pleasure, more than either their Country's service, or their Maister's good.

22. THE INFALL AT THE DEVIZES, and the taking of Major Rowles, and his horse, the remainder of Colonell Long's regiment.

"Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto thy name give glory: for thy mercy, and for thy truth's sake." Ps. cxv.1.

"Thine, O Lord! is the victory." 1 Chron. xxix.11.

IN RETURNES FOR PRAIER.

When it pleased God (after seven years expectation), that my first wife fell into travell, I could not but be very apprehensive of the weakness of her condition; and having retired myself to praier, and earnestly besought God to strengthen her, and being desirous to comfort myself out of Gods word, I tooke the bible to read, and letting itt fall, with some passion, upon the table (without any particular designe upon one place more than another) itt opened upon the 128 Psalme, in the singing Psalmes, "Like fruitfull vines on thy house side, so doth thy wife spring out," with which being surprised, I presumed to make a triall, whether itt were more than an accident or no (the good Lord forgive me for that presumption), and taking upp another bible that lay by, itt opened likewise upon the same place: within a few howers after, my wife was safely delivered.

Not long after this, being at London, I was suddainly taken with a fitt of the stone, in that violence, that itt grew insupportable to me, whereupon I cast myself upon my knees, and besought God for his mercy to me, and before I rose upp, my paine was mitigated, and within one quarter of an hower I was perfectly well.

After the death of my first wife, and of my son which I had by her (both very deare blessings to me) when I putt on a resolution to marry againe, I humbly besought God to provide such a wife for me, as might be an help to me in the way of his service, and that I might have a religious woman, or none, and when his providence directed me to Lady Ann Finch, and that all things were agreed upon between my Lord her father and me, in reference to the marriage, upon her motion, she and I agreed together, to sett a day apart to seeke God for his blessing in itt. Itt pleased the Lord to answer our praiers in as full a measure of comfort, as ever was powred out opon a married couple: and though att the first there were some litle differences in our natures, and judgments (as to some particulars) yet within a litle while, that good God wrought us to that uniformity, that I may say wee were but as one soul, in two bodyes.

After I had quitted the service of the Parliament in the field, and was returned to London, and there settled with my family; my estate began to fall short, part thereof lying in the Kings Quarters; and the rest (through the distraction of the times) affording me very litle subsistence. To supply my necessityes, I was faine to sell severall things; and in the end I was at such a pinch, as that without selling my plate (which I had kept as my last reserve of vallue) I knew not how to send to markett: whereupon my wife and I having recommended our condition to God, resolved the next morning to send our plate to the gouldsmiths, and to make money of itt. But the next morning I was wakened by my servant, who lett me know there was one come from Barnstaple with some mony for me. The sum was not above fifteen pounds, but that served my present occasions, and before that was spent. I received a further releife, so as I was put to no more such exigencyes. Blessed be God.

When his Majesty was at Worcester, I thought itt my duty to seeke God for him in that distressed condition; itt pleased the Lord to inlarge my heart, with much comfort, and to give me a confident assurance, that I should have an answer of peace. The issue was, that his royall person was miraculously delivered out of the hands of those hunters.

After my returne from D—, when I tooke upp a resolution to marry againe; I besought God for his direction in my choice, who heard my petition, and sent me the Lady Harcourt to repaire the breach formerly made in my poore family; which was so rich a blessing, that I can never sufficiently acknowledg itt. That God (hearing praier) who hath (with the generall approbation of good men) united us by his sacred ordinance, and made us not only one flesh, but one spirit; one in our affections, judgments, wayes, ends, (as if wee had been both cutt out of one peece) he vouchsafes to preserve us together for the advancement of his service and glory.

"Because thou hast been my help, therefore in the shaddow of thy wings will I rejoyce; my soul followeth hard after thee." Ps. lxiii.7.

"Because he has inclined his care unto me; therefore will I call upon him as long as I live." Ps. cxvi.2.

IN FATHERLIKE CHASTICEMENTS.

1. My endeavour to supplant Mr. Yard in his possession of the markett of Newton Abbot, though upon a dormant title, yet proceeding from a covetous end, was justly punished, both in the loss of the thing I sued for, and in all that trouble befell me in Kings Bench.

2. When out of a covetuous desire to gaine a good bargaine upon Mr. Price his lease by Winchester, I laid down five hundred pounds, as a claw upon itt, by way of morgage, God justly punished me both in the loss of the lease, and of my mony too.

3. It was just with God, for the punishment of my giving way to the plunder of the Citty of Winchester, to permitt the demolition of my house att Winchester.

4. My vanity in furniture, justly punished in the loss of a great part of itt, by the treachery of Ellis.

5. My presumption upon mine own strength, and former successes, justly humbled at the Devises[*], by an utter defeat, and att Croperdy with a dishonorable blow.

6. Itt was just with God to lay me by all employment, as a broken vessel, in regard of the corruption of my heart, in my first ingagement, and neglect of reformation in the officers, and souldiery under me.

7. My not attending unto, nor improoving by sermons, when itt pleased the Lord to come under my roofe, and to visit me by his ministers att St James's, was justly punished att Denbigh, by a restraint from all ordinances.

8. After the end of the warr, that I began to enjoy my estate, and the comforts of my family againe, and upon passing of the vote in the House of Commons of 2500l. to be settled upon me as a compensation for my service, I was puffed upp with a presumption that I should never be moved, whereupon God most justly within a few months after sent those severall chastisements upon me, banishment, imprisonment, sickness, the death of my wife, poverty.

9. The not paying my vow, upon the marriage with my wife, justly punished by Gods taking her from me.

"It is good for me that I have been afflicted, that I might learn thy statutes." Ps. cxix.71.

"Rejoice not against me, O mine ennemy! when I fall I shall arise, when I sitt in darkness, the Lord shall be a light unto me. I will beare the indignation of the Lord, because I have sinned against him, untill he plead my cause, and execute judgment for me: he will bring me forth to the light, and I shall behold his righteosness." Micah. vii.9.

In acknowledgment of Gods infinit mercy and goodness, declared in his many deliverances of me, and in his comforts and blessings to me; particularly, in my inlargement from my long captivity, my returne with comfort to my children and family, and that inestimable blessing he hath been pleased to bestow upon me in a most deare good wife; I vow, by his grace assisting and enabling me, to restraine them in a thankfull memory, and to transmitt the recordation of them to my children, that they may never be forgotten, neither by me nor my posterity.

I humbly renew my vowes both againste the practice, or purpose, of every gross sin, or the allowance of any, though never so small; and resolve (so farr as I am able) to shun the occasions of them; and in particular I protest (by the help of the divine grace) against giving any entertainment or lodging in my heart to A. P. S. C. H. W. L.

As a poore thank offring for so many undeserved mercyes, I humble renue the consecration of the tenth of whatsoever I receive in my estate, to pious uses; and (besides the 100th formerly devoted to those ends, in acknowledgment of my deliverance out of prison) I vow one hundred pounds more, as an oblation to God for the blessing and happiness I enjoy in my present married condition, to be employed in such wayes, as I shall be directed by my godly friends. And if I be repaid the debt owing me from my L. K. I engage myself to dispose forty pounds of itt (with the addition of tenn pounds more unto itt) to the town of Newton Abbot in Devon, for the making upp of their stock, for the setting of the poor at worke, in the workhouse there erected by me. I humbly devote my life to God, who hath so often preserved itt, and so many wayes blessed itt, resolving by his grace to do all I can, for the setting of him upp in my heart; to love, feare, and trust him more; to pray, read, and heare more, and more zealously than I have don hitherto; to walke in my particular calling more uprightly, constantly, chearfully, fruitfully; and to endeavour to become better in all relations, both to the publick, in church and state, whensoever I shall be in a capacity to serve them; and in private, as a father, husband, maister, &c.—

As a father, indeavouring to bring upp my children in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, teaching them his feare, both by precept and example, with a spirit of meekness that they may not be discouraged.

As an husband, dwelling with my dear yokefellow according to knowledg, loving her as mine own body, as mine ownself, as Christ loved his Church, so taking care with her for the things of this world, that as wee study to please one another, we may likewise remember the homage wee both owe to God, and labour above all things to please him.

As a maister, so carrying my self towards my servants, forbearing threatning, giving them what is just and equall, as knowing that I also have a maister in Heaven, and making provision for my family, according to my duty.

I will pay thee my vowes, which my lipps have uttered, "and my mouth hath spoken, when I was in trouble." Ps. lxxvi.13, 14.

"I will pay that that I have vowed; Salvation is of the Lord." Jonah. ii.9.

A DAILY DIRECTION.

EVERY day is a litle life; in the account whereof, wee may reckon our birth from the wombe of the morning; our growing time from thence to noone (when we are as the Sun in his strength): after which like a [*] shaddow that declineth, wee hasten to the evening of our age, till att last wee close our eyes in sleep, the image of death: and our whole life is but this tale of a day tould over and over. I should therefore so spend every day, as if itt were all the life I had to live; and in pursuance of this end, and of the vow I have made to walke with God in a closer communion, than I have formerly don, I would indeavour by his grace, to observe in the course of my remaining spann, or rather inche of life this daily directory:—

[†]To awake with God, as early as I can, and to consecrate the first fruits of my thoughts unto him by praier and meditaion, and by renued acts of faith and repentance, that so God may awake for me, and make the habitation of my righteosness prosperous[*]. To this end I would make itt my care to lye down the night before in the peace of God, who hath promised, that his commandement shall keep me when I sleep, and talke with me when I awake; otherwise itt may be justly feared that those corruptions that bid me last good night, will be ready to give me first good morrow.

[After this follows sixteen pages of text from scripture, and scriptural allusions, under the head of DAILY DANGERS, of which the publisher thought the preceding pages had sufficient, and on his judgment the rest are suppressed. But the writer's concluding reflections on his own situation, and on that of the Protector's, shall be preserved. He speaks of some enmities he had encountered, and continues]

When that poore man who relied on his maister's word, understood that the King had consented to his death, he piteously cried out, putt not your trust in princes; and nearly as good cause have I to say, putt not your trust in Parliaments: I have served Parliament with my blood, and with my estate, and gained nothing the while but mistrusts, prisons, and neglect: att one time so full of my services, they were going to make me General of all their forces, but a panic of my horse which deserted me, turned the tide of their good will, and Essex was taken againe into favour; and then againe as a preliminary of peace, they would have me made a Baron and two thousand five hundred pounds a yeare settled therewith, but on a suddain tooke me into custody, and committed me to the Tower.

Now after all these traverses and manifold injuries both in person and estate, itt hath pleased the Almighty that I am sat down, on the remnants of my fortune, which are yet sufficient for my comfort, sounde in body and minde; and I can see there be those who stand as Job did, even amongst Princes, that may, and that not far off, be glad to be no worse. The humoure of the times doth already begin to change, and the declaration putt forth by Major J. Wildman for which he was confined in Chepstow Castle, speaks the temper of most men▪ O. C. was derided lately in going to Hampton Court, by one who cried out no Protector, no Roundhead, which he thought fitt to pass unnoted: and not long before, a woman said, as he was going into his coach att Whitehall, that bonny heads were cutt off, whilst ugly ones did keepe upon their shoulders. These things are but small, but as the distant speck att sea, betokeneth a storme, so do these speak a brewing some where, that may burst out, and overwhelme the helmsman.

"Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall." Prov. xvi.18.

"Better it is to be of an humble spirit with the lowly than to divide the spoil with the proud." Prov. xvi.19.

THE END.

Notes

*

This was the most heavy stroke of any that did ever befall me; General Essex had thought to persuade the Parliament to compromise with the King; which so inflamed the zealous that they moved that the command of their army might be bestow'd upon me; but the news of this defeat arrived whilst they were deliberating on my advancement, and itt was to me a double defeat. I had nearly sunke under the affliction, but that I had a deare and sweet Comforter; and I did att that time prove according to Ecclesiasticus, chap. xxvi. "A virtuous woman rejoiceth her husband—As the Sun when itt ariseth in the high Heaven, so is the beauty of a good wife." verse 16.

↵

*
Ps. cii.11.
↵

†
Ps. cxxxix.18. Ps. lxiii.1.
↵

*
Job, vili.5, 6.
↵

Information about this book

Title statement

The poetry of Anna Matilda

Cowley, Mrs. (Hannah), 1743-1809.

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ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/4739

ID [isbn10]

1106017382

ID [isbn13]

9781106017383

ID [TCP]

K073164.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3313112282

ID [ECLL]

0516400600

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Source

— The poetry of Anna Matilda, Cowley, Mrs. (Hannah), 1743-1809.. [8],139,[1]p. ; 8⁰. London :: printed by John Bell,. 1788.. [Anna Matilda = Hannah Cowley.] [With an additional titlepage, which has, in addition to the title, and a list of contents, 'To which are added. recollections, printed from an original manuscript, written by General Sir William Walker.'.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT90094.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

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