ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
Coplestone Warre Bampfylde
, "To C. W. B—mph—d, Esq. (After a slight fit of Gout)" 1774; Euphrosyne: or, Amusements on the Road of Life (1776) 44-45.
Coplestone Warre Bampfylde:
1758: William Shenstone
1774: Rev. Richard Graves
1776: Rev. Richard Graves
Rev. Richard Graves:
1750 ca.: William Shenstone
1756: Robert Dodsley
1760: William Shenstone
1763: William Shenstone
1766: Dr. Henry Harington
1766: William Melmoth
1766: John Milton
1766: Sir Walter Raleigh
1771: William Shenstone
1774: Coplestone Warre Bampfylde
1776: Coplestone Warre Bampfylde
1780: Christopher Anstey
1780: Elizabeth Montagu
1786: Christopher Anstey
1786: Jane Bowdler
1786: Samuel Johnson
1788: Samuel Johnson
1804: Samuel Jackson Pratt
Resume, my friend, thy wonted smile,
Nor at the lot repine,
If here the friendly gout a while
Thy roving feet confine.
Stor'd with what Nature can impart,
Or what with equal ease
Thy pencil or thy Laura's art,
Can Hestercomb displease?
Cast but thine eyes that lawn around,
Yon fertile vale survey;
Where silver Thone, with myrtles crown'd,
Slow-winding marks his way:
Thy steps up these sloping hills
Let Laura's arm sustain:
The balmy air and falling rills
Shall sooth thy ling'ring pain.
But couldst thou reach Urganda's cave,
And thence direct thine eye,
Where tow'ring oaks their branches wave
And pierce the azure sky:
There view amidst the circling shade
That rock's stupendous height,
Whence dashing down thy lov'd cascade
Attracts th' astonish'd sight:
(Impetuous rush the foaming tides,
Then in meanders slow,
'Till pleas'd her head the Naiad hides
In laureat groves below)
That scene should lull thy cares to rest,
Which still uncloy'd you view:
Tho' thy own skill the scene has drest,
Its charms are always new.
Thus if thy magic pencil trace
Some landskip's bold design,
Where woods, rocks, streams, with mingled grace
In grand perspective join:
In silent rapture lost you stand,
Or, fill'd with joy serene,
Admire, tho' wrought by your own hand,
The sweet romantic scene.
Yet not from the collected force
Of casual torrents rise
These cataracts: Their plenteous source
A constant stream supplies.
Amidst these woods conceal'd from sight,
In store by Nature laid,
These scenes your Taste first brought to light
And in full pomp display'd.
Our Shenstone's Farm, by force of Taste
An envy'd Seat became:
Your Seat, with nobler beauties grac'd,
A Palace I proclaim.
Then wish not from thy Laura's arms
O'er distant climes to roam;
When blest with Beauty's various charms,
United thus at home.