ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
Anonymous, "Ode on the Death of James Beattie, L.L.D." The Port Folio NS 1 (15 March 1806) 159-60.
1761: Robert Lloyd
1765: Thomas Gray
1770: A Lady
1771: Rev. William Mason
1771: James Boswell
1772 ca.: William Warburton
1775: Rev. John Ball
1775 ca.: Rev. Thomas Blacklock
1776: W. P.
1778: John Scott of Amwell
1780: Samuel Johnson
1782: J. W.
1782: J. H.
1783: Horace Walpole
1783: Hannah More
1783: N. T.
1783: David Robertson
1784: Rev. Robert Potter
1784: John Pinkerton
1784: William Cowper
1785 ca.: John Marriott
1787: Robert Burns
1787: Frances Burney
1793: John Thelwall
1794: Robert Alves
1795 ca.: Bp. Richard Hurd
1796: William Hayley
1797: Thomas Green
1798: Thomas James Mathias
1800: Rev. George Butt
1803: Alexander Balfour
1805: Sir Samuel Egerton Brydges
1806: Dr. John Aikin
1807: Francis Jeffrey
1807: Francis William Blagdon
1808 ca.: John Herman Merivale
1810 ca.: James Balfour
1813: Rev. William Cameron
1815: William Wordsworth
1819: John Keats
1823: Rev. Charles Burton
1824: Rev. Thomas Frognall Dibdin
1824: Bryan Waller Procter
1830: Rev. George Barrell Cheever
1831: John Wilson
1835: Robert Southey
1851: Robert Pearse Gillies
1880: George Saintsbury
1882: Epes Sargent
1906: George Saintsbury
High on a rock that frowns o'er Eden's wave,
A youthful minstrel stood, in wild despair;
Loose flow'd his vest, and careless sorrow gave
His auburn ringlets to th' unconcious air!
Rude were his features, and his bosom bare;
Tears quench'd his eyes, that glisten'd erst with fire;
And as he tun'd the echoing notes of care,
Grief seem herself to animate his lyre,
To rouse the feeling swain, and every verse inspire.
"Mourn Edwin, mourn, thy rev'rend guardian dead!
He who thy breast from false desires redeem'd!
Cold is the hand which then thy footsteps led,
Clos'd are those eyes whence heav'nly pity beam'd,
Silent the heart which in his features gleam'd,
And mute, for ever mute, the genial tongue,
That tongue which inspiration's image seem'd,
Whilst on his lips celestial doctrines hung
And revelation will'd, the music that he sung!
"The warbling groves — the garniture of fields,
The solemn night — the blaze of perfect day!
All that the healthful dew of morning yields,
And all that echoes to the evening lay;
No more their Beattie's rural charms display!
For me — whose wand'ring heart his maxims drew,
From fancy's paths to reason's purer way;
Here, on his recent tomb I fix my view,
And pour my endless sighs, and weep my soul's adieu!
"Yet no! — hark! 'tis his voice! 'let those their doom
Deplore — whose hope is still their dark sojourn;
But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb,
Can smile at fate, and wonder how they mourn!
Shall endless darkness shroud the stranger's bourne?
Shall man be born to vegetate in vain?
No! — Heav'n's immortal spring shall yet return,
And man's majestic beauty bloom again,
Bright thro' th' eternal years of love's triumphant reign!'"