I.
WRITTEN IN A BLANK-PAPER BOOK GIVEN TO THE AUTHOR BY A FRIEND.[1] Also appeared in the 1821 New Monthly Magazine as Sonnet. Written in a Blank Paper Book Given To the Author by a Friend(page 387).—lmw
My little book, as o’er thy page so white.1
With half-closed eyes in idlest mood I lean,2
Whose is the form that rises still between3
Thy page and me,—a vision of delight?4
Look on those eyes by the bright soul made bright;5
Those curls, which who Antinous’ bust hath seen6
Hath loved; that shape which might beseem a queen;7
That blush of purity; that smile of light.8
’Tis she! my little book dost thou not own9
Thy mistress? She it is, the only she!10
Dost thou not listen for the one sweet tone11
Of her unrivalled voice? Dost thou not see12
Her look of love, for whose dear sake alone,13
My little book, thou art so dear to me?14
II.
ON MRS.[2] Likely a 1827 printer’s error that should read MR., rather than MRS., Hofland. Thomas Hofland was a painter; his spouse, Barbara Hofland, was a writer.—slc HOFLAND’S PICTURE OF JERUSALEM AT
THE TIME OF THE CRUCIFIXION.[3] This poem first appears in print in The Literary Gazette and Journal of Belles Lettres, Arts, Sciences, Part 1, 59 (7 March 1818): 155 in the column Original Poetry
. There, the poem is dated 24 February 1818. This periodical also contains, on page 105, a review of Hofland’s painting as exhibited
at the British Institution. In La Belle Assemblee’s review of the 1827 Dramatic Scenes volume, this poem was chosen to be reprinted in full in the review (See 5 (Jan. to
June 1827): 246).—lmw
Jerusalem! and at the fatal hour!1
No need of dull and frivolous question here!2
No need of human agents to make clear3
The most tremendous act of human power!4
The distant cross; the rent and falling tower;5
The opening graves, from which the dead uprear6
Their buried forms; the elemental fear7
Where horrid light and horrid darkness lower;8
All tell the holy tale: the mystery9
And solace of our souls. Awe-struck we gaze10
On that so mute yet eloquent history!11
Awe-struck and sad at length our eyes we raise12
To go;—yet oft return that scene to see13
Too full of the great theme to think of praise.14
III.
THE FORGET-ME-NOT.
Blossom that lov’st on shadowy banks to lie,1
Gemming the deep rank grass with flowers so blue,2
That the pure turquoise matched with their rich hue3
Pales, fades, and dims; so exquisite a dye,4
That scarce the brightness of the Autumn sky,5
Which sleeps upon the bosom of the stream,6
On whose fringed margent thy star-flowerets gleam7
In its clear azure with thy tints may vie;8
Shade-loving flower, I love thee! not alone9
That thou dost haunt the greenest coolest spot,10
For ever, by the tufted alder thrown,11
Or arching hazel, or vine mantled cot,12
But that thy very name hath a sweet tone13
Of parting tenderness—Forget me not!14
IV.
TO MR. HENRY RICHARDSON,
ON HIS PERFORMANCE OF ADMETUS IN THE ALCESTIS OF EURIPIDES,
AS REPRESENTED IN THE ORIGINAL GREEK AT READING SCHOOL.
October, 1824.
For us, on whose sealed ear the classic strain1
Of Athens’ tenderest bard would idly fall2
As instrumental music, or the call3
Of wordless nightingales, for us again4
I thank thee, wondrous boy! that not in vain5
The scene hath overpast which held in thrall6
Milton * and Wordsworth, mightiest names of all7
Living or dead that haunt the Muses’ fane!8
Thy genius was a language; voice and look,9
Gesture and stillness the deep mystery10
Of a strong grief unveiled. As lightnings dart11
Their quivering brightness o’er the world, each nook12
Illumining and thrilling, so from thee13
Burst the storm-cloud of passion on the heart.14
* Milton’s allusion to the ALCESTIS in the sonnet on his wife is well known. Mr. Wordsworth in his Laodamia has the following exquisite lines on the same subject.
——“Did not Hercules by force
Wrest from the guardian monster of the tomb
Alcestis a reanimated corse,
Given back to dwell on earth in beauty’s bloom?”[4] Lines 79 to 82.—lmw
—MRMWrest from the guardian monster of the tomb
Alcestis a reanimated corse,
Given back to dwell on earth in beauty’s bloom?”[4] Lines 79 to 82.—lmw
V.
WRITTEN JULY, 1824.
How oft amid the heaped and bedded hay,1
Under the oak’s broad shadow deep and strong,2
Have we sate listening to the noonday song3
(If song it were monotonously gay)4
Which crept along the field, the summer lay5
Of the grasshopper. Summer is come in pride6
Of fruit and flower, garlanded as a bride,7
And crowned with corn, and graced with length of day8
But cold is come with her. We sit not now9
Listening that merry music of the earth10
Like Ariel
beneath the blossomed bough;[5] See The Tempest:
Merrily, merrily shall I live now/ Under the blossom that hangs on the bough(act five, scene one).—slc11
But all for chillness round the social hearth12
We cluster.—Hark!—a note of kindred mirth13
Echoes!—Oh, wintery cricket, welcome thou!14
VI.
TO MY MOTHER SLEEPING.
Sleep on, my mother! sweet and innocent dreams1
Attend thee, best and dearest! Dreams that gild2
Life’s clouds like setting suns, with pleasure filled3
And saintly joy, such as thy mind beseems,—4
Thy mind where never stormy passion gleams,5
Where their soft nest the dove-like virtues build6
And calmest thoughts, like violets distilled,7
Their fragrance mingle with bright wisdom’s beams.8
Sleep on, my mother! not the lily’s bell9
So sweet; not the enamoured west-wind’s sighs10
That shake the dew-drop from her snowy cell11
So gentle; not that dew-drop ere it flies12
So pure. E’en slumber loves with thee to dwell13
Oh model most beloved of good and wise!14
VII.
ON A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN.[6] Also appeared in the 1822 New Monthly Magazine as Sonnet. (page 192).—lmw
Look where she sits in languid loveliness,1
Her feet upgathered, and her turban’d brow2
Bent o’er her hand, her robe in ample flow3
Disparted! Look in attitude and dress4
She sits and seems an Eastern Sultaness!5
And music is about her, and the glow6
Of young fair faces, and sweet voices go7
Forth at her call, and all about her press.8
But no Sultana she! As in a book9
In that fine form and lovely brow we trace10
Divinest purity, and the bright look11
Of genius. Much is she in mind and face12
Like the fair blossom of some woodland nook13
The wind-flower*,—delicate and full of grace.14
* The Hampshire name of the wood-anemone.—MRM
VIII.
TO MISS PORDEN*,
ON HER POEM OF COEUR DE LION.[7] Also appeared in the August 17, 1822 Literary Gazette under the same title, dated June 10, 1822 (page 519).—lmw
Proudly thy sex may claim thee, young and fair1
And lofty poetess! proudly may tell2
How thou hast sung the arms invincible3
Of him the lion-hearted, in the snare4
Of Austria, as amid the sultry glare5
Of Palestine, triumphant; or the spell6
Of poor Maimoune; or the thoughts that swell7
When suddenly the old remembered air8
Rings from the harp of Blondel; or the bright9
And gorgeous train of England’s chivalry;10
Or, worthy of his kingly foe, the might11
Of paynim Saladin. Oh, proud of thee12
Is woman! proud of thy bold muse’s flight!13
Proud of thy gentle spirit’s purity.14
* My late dear and lamented friend Mrs. FrancklinFranklin.—MRM
IX.
TO MR. HAYDON, ON A STUDY FROM NATURE.[8] Haydon study, as yet unidentified, from before 21 May 1817, the first publication date of the poem. May refer to a preliminary sketch for Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem.—lmw, slc[9] Also appeared in the July 19, 1817 Literary Gazette as To Mr. Haydon dated 21st May, 1817 (page 41).—lmw
Tears in the eyes and on the lips a sigh![10] Likely an inexact quotation from Marmion:
She look’d down to blush, and she look’d up to sigh,/ With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye, found in the often-quoted section on young Lochinvar.—lmw, slc1
Haydon! the great, the beautiful, the bold,2
Thy wisdom’s king, thy mercy’s God unfold,3
There art and genius blend in union high.4
But this is of the soul. The majesty5
Of grief is here, grief cast in such a mould6
As Niobe of yore. The tale is told7
All at a glance—A childless mother I!8
The tale is told:—but who can e’er forget9
That e’er hath seen that visage of despair!10
With unaccustom’d tears our cheeks are wet;11
Heavy our hearts with unaccounted care;12
Upon our thoughts it presses like a debt;13
We close our eyes in vain—that face is there!14
X.
ENGLEFIELD HOUSE:
THE SEAT OF R. BENYON DE BEAUVOIR, ESQ. NEAR READING.
There is a pride, as of an elder day1
About thee, Englefield! Midway thy steep2
And wood-crowned eminence, where round thee sweep3
Green flowery lawns, trees in the fresh array4
Of summer, meadows with the close-piled hay5
Studded, blue waters that do seem to creep6
All listlessly for heat, and cots that sleep7
I’ the sunshine. How thou tower’st above the gay8
And lovely landscape, in the majesty9
Of thy old beauty! Even those mansions bright,10
That pretty town, that gothic chapelry *11
With front and pinnacle so rich and light,12
Seem all as toys and costly pageantry13
Made but for thy proud halls and their delight.14
* The new Church at Theale, a beautiful specimen of modern Gothic.—MRM
XI.
NEW YEAR’S DAY. 1819.
TO MRS. DICKINSON.
Banquet and song, and dance and revelry!—1
Auspicious year born in so fair a light2
Of gaiety and beauty! happy night3
Sacred to social pleasure, and to thee4
Its dear dispenser, of festivity5
The festive queen, the moving spirit bright6
Of music and the dance, of all delight7
The gentle mistress, bountiful and free.8
Oh happy night! and oh succeeding day9
Far happier! when ’mid converse and repose10
Handel’s sweet strains came sweetened, and the lay11
Divine of that old Florentine arose,12
Dante, and Genius flung his torch-like ray13
O’er the dark tale of Ugolino’s woes.14
XII.
ON TWO OF MR. HOFLAND’S LANDSCAPES.[11] The specific Hofland works referred to here have not yet been identified.—lmw
A mighty power is in that roaring main1
Broken into huge and foamy waves, which knock2
Against yon mass of battlemented rock3
Dark with storm-laden cloud, and wind-tost rain.4
A lovely power is in that sunny plain5
Where in their beauty the clear waters sleep,6
Fringed in by tender grass, or idly creep7
Where the close tufted banks their course restrain.8
Oh Painter of the elements! to thee9
Alike the gentle or tempestuous hour:10
The throes and heavings of the wintery sea,11
Whilst earth, and sky, and storm, and darkness, lour;12
Or the sweet sunshine brooding peacefully13
O’er wandering rivulet and summer bower.14
XIII.
ON HEARING MR. TALFOURD PLEAD IN THE ASSIZE-
HALL AT READING, ON HIS FIRST CIRCUIT,
March 1821.
Wherefore this stir? ’Tis but a common cause1
Of Cottage plunder: yet in every eye2
Sits expectation;—murmuring whispers fly3
Along the crowded court;—and then a pause;—4
And then a clear crisp voice invokes the laws,5
With such a full and rapid mastery6
Of sound and sense, such nice propriety,7
Such pure and perfect taste, that scarce the applause8
Can be to low triumphant words chained down9
Or more triumphant smiles. Yes, this is he,10
The young and eloquent spirit whose renown11
Makes proud his birth-place! a high destiny12
Is his; to climb to honour’s palmy crown13
By the straitstraight path of truth and honesty.14
XIV.
THE FISHING-SEAT, WHITEKNIGHTS.[12] Mitford encloses a copy of this poem in her October 11, 1817 letter to Sir William Elford.—lmw[13] Also appeared in the 1827 Literary Souvenir (page 287).—lmw
There is a sweet according harmony1
In this fair scene: this quaintly fluted bower,2
These sloping banks with tree and shrub and flower3
Bedecked, and these pure waters, where the sky4
In its deep blueness shines so peacefully;5
Shines all unbroken, save with sudden light6
When some proud swan majestically bright7
Flashes her snowy beauty on the eye;8
Shines all unbroken, save with sudden shade9
When from the delicate birch a dewy tear10
The west-wind brushes. Even the bee’s blithe trade,11
The lark’s clear carols, sound too loudly here;12
A spot it is for far-off music made,13
Stillness and rest—a smaller Windermere.14
XV.
TO A FRIEND ON HER BIRTH-DAY.[14] Also appeared in the 1822 New Monthly Magazine (page 369) signed M
.—lmw
This is the day sacred to love and mirth1
And tender wishes; this the favoured day2
(Sweet superstition!) when the artless lay3
Is welcomed, and the token little worth,4
And the fond vows, which live and have their birth5
In the affectionate heart; a holiday6
It is, for good and gentle, fair and gay,7
My lovely Jane, it gave thee to the earth.8
And thou hast trodden life’s path with a wise glee,9
Maid of the laughing eye! Were I the Queen10
Of that so famous land of of Faëry 11
Where quaintest spirits weave their spells unseen,12
No better benison I’d pour on thee13
Than to be happy still as thou hast been.14
XVI.
ON LEAVING A FAVOURITE PICTURE.[15] Appeared in the 1821 New Monthly Magazine as Sonnet. On a Landscape by Mr. Hofland(page 392). Later appeared in the 1827 Literary Souvenir (page 233).—lmw
Young world of peace and loveliness farewell!1
Farewell to the clear lake; the mountains blue;2
The grove, whose tufted paths our eyes pursue3
Delighted; the white cottage in the dell4
By yon old church; the smoke from that small cell5
Amid the hills slow rising; and the hue6
Of summer air, fresh, delicate, and true,7
Breathing of light and life, the master spell!8
Work of the Poet’s eye, the Painter’s hand,9
How close to nature art thou, yet how free10
From earthly stain! the beautiful, the bland,11
The rose, the nightingale resemble thee;—12
Thou art most like the blissful Fairy-land13
Of Spenser, or Mozart’s fine melody.14
XVII.
WRITTEN IN A FRIEND’S ALBUM[16] Also appeared in Marshall's Christmas Box in 1831.—lmw
Book of memorials fair! I cannot trace1
On thy white page the quaintly pencilled bower;2
I have no skill to bid the vivid flower3
Bloom ’mid thy leaves; nor with the immortal grace4
Of proud Apollo, or the goddess face5
Of Hebe deck them. ’Las! my ruder power6
Can but bear record faint of many an hour7
Passed thou mute witness in thy dwelling-place.8
Oh happiest hours, that ever me befall,9
Rich in commingling mind, in fancy’s play!10
Oh happiest hours, whether in music’s thrall,11
Or converse sweet as music pass the day!12
Oh happiest hours! and most beloved of all13
The cherished friend that speeds them on their way!14
XVIII.
ON VISITING DONNINGTON CASTLE,
Said to have been the latest residence of Chaucer,
and celebrated for its resistance to the army of
Parliament during the civil wars.[17] Also appeared in the 1821 New Monthly Magazine as Sonnet on Visiting Donnington Castle(page 532).—lmw
Oh, for some gentle spirit to surround1
With clinging ivy thy high-seated towers,2
Fair Donnington, and wipe from Chaucer’s bowers3
The last rude touch of war! All sight, all sound4
Of the old strife boon nature from the ground5
Hath banished. Here the trench no longer lours.6
But, like a bosky dell, begirt with flowers7
And garlanded with May, sinks dimpling round8
A very spot for youthful lover’s dreams9
In the prime hour. Grisildi’s mournful lay,10
The
half-told tale*would sound still sweeter here.11
Oh for some hand to hide with ivy spray12
War’s ravages, and chase the jarring themes13
Of King and State, Roundhead and Cavalier!14
Or call up him who left half told—Milton of Chaucer.—Il Pensoroso.—MRM
The story of Cambuscan bold.
XIX.
WRITTEN AFTER A VISIT FROM SOME FRIENDS.
I could have lengthened out one fleeting hour1
Into an age; sitting at set of sun2
Under the long, low, open shed where won3
The mellow evening light through leaf and flower;4
Playing the hostess in that summer bower5
To such dear guests, whilst rose the antique song6
By those young sister voices poured along7
So wild, so pure, so clear, full of sweet power8
Ringing and vibrating. It was a lay9
That sent a smile into the very heart;10
As when the early lark shoots up in May11
With his blithe matins, rarer than all art12
Save this. Oh happiest and most fleeting day.13
Why art thou gone so soon! Why must we part!14
XX.
ON AN INTENDED REMOVAL FROM A FAVOURITE
RESIDENCE. November, 1820.[18] Also appeared in the 1822 New Monthly Magazine (page 81) signed M
.—lmw
Adieu beloved and lovely home! Adieu,1
Thou pleasant mansion, and ye waters bright,2
Ye lawns, ye aged elms, ye shrubberies light3
(My own cotemporary trees, that grew4
Even with my growth;) ye flowers of orient hue,5
A long farewell to all! Ere fair to sight6
In summer-shine ye bloom with beauty dight,7
Your halls we leave for scenes untried and new.8
Oh shades endeared by memory’s magic power9
With strange reluctance from your paths I roam!10
But home lives not in lawn, or tree, or flower,11
Nor dwells tenacious in one only dome.12
Where smiling friends adorn the social hour,13
Where they, the dearest are, there will be home.14
XXI.
ON THE DEPARTURE OF A FRIEND TO LISBON FOR
THE RECOVERY OF HER HEALTH. Nov. 1813.
Thou freshest spirit, that on Lisbon’s shore1
Didst shake health-breathing airs so cheerily2
From thy soft wing, as oft the murmuring bee3
Scatters the full-blown rose—the cannon’s roar4
Sacred thee, mild spirit! and the flood of gore,5
Tinging the bosom of thy heaving sea,6
Defiled thy snowy feet, and thou didst flee7
From ills thou could’st not cure and must deplore.8
War’s demons are gone by. Thy lovely strand9
Is purified. Oh spirit thither bend10
Thine airy flight, and wave thy healing wand11
O’er yon fair form where grace and virtue blend!12
Then proudly waft her to her native land—13
Her, loved and blest, the mother, wife and friend.14
XXII.
WRITTEN OCTOBER, 1825.[19] Also appeared in the 1827 Amulet as Sonnet. By Miss Mitford(page 236).—lmw
Within my little garden is a flower,1
A tuft of flowers, most like a sheaf of corn,2
The lilac blossomed daisy that is born3
At Michaelmas, wrought by the gentle power4
Of this sweet Autumn into one bright shower5
Of bloomy beauty; Spring hath nought more fair,6
Four sister butterflies inhabit there,7
Gay gentle creatures! Round that odorous bower8
They weave their dance of joy the livelong day,9
Seeming to bless the sunshine; and at night10
Fold their enamelled wings as if to pray.11
Home-loving pretty ones! would that I might12
For richer gifts as cheerful tribute pay,13
So meet the rising dawn, so hail the parting ray!14