ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
, "Epistle, from Algiers, to Horace Smith" 1835; Poetical Works, ed. Robertson (1907) 319-21.
1812: Mary Russell Mitford
1812: Henry Crabb Robinson
1812: Francis Jeffrey
1813: Robert Southey
1813: John Taylor Esq.
1813: J. S. W.
1817: John Keats
1817: Leigh Hunt
1818: Peter Pastoral
1820: Percy Bysshe Shelley
1824: Robert Southey
1824: Charles Lamb
1828: Sir Walter Scott
1828: Leigh Hunt
1833: Allan Cunningham
1835: Thomas Campbell
1851: Dr. David Macbeth Moir
1858: Cyrus Redding
1861: Charles Cowden Clarke
1871: S. C. Hall
1882: Epes Sargent
1891: Samuel Smiles
1796: John Millar
1802: Sir James Mackintosh
1802: John Thelwall
1805: Sir Walter Scott
1807: William Gifford
1808: Rev. Percival Stockdale
1809: Sir Walter Scott
1812: Rev. James Grahame
1813: Samuel Rogers
1816: Robert Burns
1819: Rev. William Lisle Bowles
1819: Samuel Butler
1819: John Chalkhill
1819: Thomas Chatterton
1819: Dr. Nathaniel Cotton
1819: Abraham Cowley
1819: Sir John Davies
1819: Michael Drayton
1819: John Dryden
1819: Rev. Timothy Dwight
1819: John Fletcher
1819: Rev. Giles Fletcher
1819: John Gay
1819: Rev. Robert Herrick
1819: Ben Jonson
1819: Philip Massinger
1819: Sir John Mennes
1819: John Milton
1819: Rev. Thomas Parnell
1819: George Peele
1819: Alexander Pope
1819: Allan Ramsay
1819: Sir Charles Sedley
1819: Sir Philip Sidney
1819: Rev. Percival Stockdale
1819: Joshua Sylvester
1819: Rev. Isaac Watts
1820 ca.: Rev. George Crabbe
1828 ca.: Felicia Hemans
1829: Felicia Hemans
1831: John Taylor Esq.
1835: Horace Smith
1836: Sir Samuel Egerton Brydges
1836: John Wilson
1838: John Clare
1838: John Gibson Lockhart
1842: Henry Nelson Coleridge
Dear HORACE! be melted to tears,
For I'm melting with heat as I rime;
Though the name of the place is Algiers
'Tis no joke to fall in with its clime.
With a shaver from France who came o'er,
To an African inn I ascend;
I am cast on a barbarous shore,
Where a barber alone is my friend.
Do you ask me the sights and the news
Of this wonderful city to sing?
Alas! my hotel has its mews,
But no muse of the Helicon's spring.
My windows afford me the sight
Of a people all diverse in hue;
They are black, yellow, olive, and white,
Whilst I in my sorrow look blue.
Here are groups for the painter to take,
Whose figures jocosely combine,—
The Arab disguised in his haik,
And the Frenchman disguised in his wine.
In his breeches of petticoat size
You may say, as the Mussulman goes,
That his garb is a fair compromise
'Twixt a kilt and a pair of small-clothes.
The Mooresses, shrouded in white,
Save two holes for their eyes to give room,
Seem like corpses in sport or in spite
That have slily whipped out of their tomb.
The old Jewish dames make me sick:
If I were the devil — I declare
Such hags should not mount a broom-stick
In my service to ride through the air.
But hipped and undined as I am,
My hippogriff's course I must rein—
For the pain of my thirst is no sham,
Though I'm bawling aloud for Champagne.
Dinner's brought; but their wines have no pith—
They are flat as the statutes at law;
And for all that they bring me, dear Smith!
Would a glass of brown stout they could draw!
O'er each French trashy dish as I bend,
My heart feels a patriot's grief!
And the round tears, O England! descend
When I think on a round of thy beef.
Yes, my soul sentimentally craves
British beer. — Hail, Britannia, hail!
To thy flag on the foam of the waves,
And the foam on thy flagons of ale.
Yet I own, in this hour of my drought,
A dessert has most welcomely come;
Here are peaches that melt in the mouth,
And grapes blue and big as a plum.
There are melons too, luscious and great,
But the slices I eat shall be few,
For from melons incautiously eat
Melancholic effects may ensue.
Horrid pun! you'll exclaim; but be calm,
Though my letter bears date, as you view,
From the land of the date-bearing palm,
I will palm no more puns upon you.