ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
Jael Mendez, "On Mr. Walpole's House at Strawberry Hill" Moses Mendez, Supplement to Dodsley, A Collection of Poems (1767) 223-24.
1756: William Pulteney
1767: Jael Mendez
1769: William Shenstone
1775 ca.: Philotrantus
1780 ca.: William Cole
1783: Hannah More
1785: Ann Yearsley
1791: James Beattie
1791: Dr. John Wolcot
1795 ca.: Edmond Malone
1796: Henry Fuseli
1796: Anne Maria W.
1797: Thomas Green
1805: Anna Seward
1806: Richard Cumberland
1807: Robert Southey
1812: Isaac D'Israeli
1815: William Henry Ireland
1818: Rev. William Beloe
1818: William Hazlitt
1820: John Herman Merivale
1821: Lord Byron
1821: Sir Walter Scott
1822: John Wilson
1824: John Wilson Croker
1825 ca.: Henry Mackenzie
1832: John Taylor Esq.
1834: Sir Samuel Egerton Brydges
1842: C. H. Timperley
1849: Leigh Hunt
1852: Mary Russell Mitford
1863: George Daniel
1767: Horace Walpole
When Envy saw yon Gothic structure rise,
She view'd the fabric with malignant eyes:
With grief she gazes on the antique wall,
The pictur'd windows, and the trophy'd hall.
Thro' well-ranged chambers, next she bends her way,
Gloomy, not dark, and chearful, tho' not gay;
Where to the whole, each part proportion bears,
And all around, a pleasing aspect wears.
Towards the study then her footsteps tend,
Where columns rise, and sculptur'd arches bend:
Here soothing Melancholy holds her seat,
And Contemplation seeks the lov'd retreat.
The garden next displays a magic scene
Of fragrant plants and never-fading green:
Each various season, various gifts bestows,
The lilac, woodbine, and the blooming rose;
Hence, in clear prospect to the gazer's eye,
Woods, hills, and streams, in sweet confusion lie.
The silver Thames, as he pursues his way,
Seems here to loiter, and prolong his stay.
These matchless charms, her indignation move,
She weeps to find she cannot but approve:
Then sorely sighing, from her canker'd breast,
Thus the curst fiend her impious woes exprest:
Am I in vain the foe to all thy race?
'Twas I that wrought thy patriot sire's disgrace;
In vain I strove to blot his honour'd name,
Brighter it shines, restor'd by endless fame:
And must another Walpole break my rest,
And must thy praises, my repose molest?
'Tis thine, by various talents, still to please,
To plan with judgment, execute with ease;
With equal skill, to build, converse and write,
To charm the mind, and gratify the sight.
Ah! could I but these battlements o'erthrow,
And lay this monument of genius low?
But vain the wish, for art and nature join
To add perfection to the fair design:
It must proceed, for so the fates decree,
Yet mark the sentence that's pronounced by me:
Thousands that view it shall the work despise,
And thousands more shall view it with my eyes;
Th' applause which thou so gladly wouldst receive,
The candid and the wise alone shall give:
Taste, tho' much talked of, is confin'd to few,
They best can prize it, who are most like you.