ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
, in "The Religion of Taste" 1824; Remains (1828) 197-98.
1782: Rev. Edmund Cartwright
1786: Anna Seward
1786: Hannah More
1786: Rev. Robert Potter
1786: A. B.
1787: A Lady
1789: Walter Churchey
1789: R. B.
1790 ca.: William Hayley
1791 ca.: Thomas Clio Rickman
1792: John Bennet
1795: Rev. Richard Polwhele
1795 ca.: Anonymous
1796: Charles Lamb
1798: Thomas James Mathias
1800: A Gentleman at Bath
1800: C., 25th reg. infantry
1800: De Willoughby
1800: F. T. C.
1800: X. Z.
1800: Anna Seward
1801: William Holloway
1801: Leigh Hunt
1802: W. T.
1802: Paul Allen
1803: Thomas Clio Rickman
1803: Anna Seward
1804: Homunculus Lepidissimu
1805: Sir Samuel Egerton Brydges
1806: Dr. John Aikin
1806: Rev. William Lisle Bowles
1806 ca.: Sobrino
1806: Rev. William Lisle Bowles
1807: Robert Southey
1809: Bp. Reginald Heber
1810: Dr. Randolph of Bath
1812: Bernard Barton
1812: Henry Crabb Robinson
1812: Charles Caleb Colton
1814: Thomas Barnes
1817: Leigh Hunt
1821: Emily Taylor
1822: Tobias Oldschool
1824: Bernard Barton
1824: William Hazlitt
1824: Rev. Carlos Wilcox
1824: S. J.
1824: Bryan Waller Procter
1825 ca.: Henry Mackenzie
1827: Ann Radcliffe
1827: William Goodhugh
1828: John Wilson
1830: Sir Samuel Egerton Brydges
1830: Rev. George Barrell Cheever
1833: Allan Cunningham
1851: Dr. David Macbeth Moir
1852: Mary Russell Mitford
1880: Thomas Humphry Ward
1882: Epes Sargent
Rev. Carlos Wilcox:
1824: Lord Byron
1824: William Cowper
Rousseau could weep, — yes, with a heart of stone
The impious sophist could recline beside
The pure and peaceful lake, and muse alone
On all its loveliness at even tide,—
On its small running waves in purple died
Beneath bright clouds or all the glowing sky,
On the white sails that o'er its bosom glide,
And on surrounding mountains wild and high
Till tears unbidden gushed from his enchanted eye.
But his were not the tears of feeling fine
Of grief or love; at fancy's flash they flowed,
Like burning drops from some proud lonely pine
By lightning fired; his heart with passion glowed
Till it consumed his life, and yet he showed
A chilling coldness both to friend and foe,
As Etna, with its centre an abode
Of wasting fire, chills with the icy snow
Of all its desert brow the living world below.
Was he but justly wretched from his crimes?
Then why was Cowper's anguish oft as keen,
With all the heaven-born virtue that sublimes
Genius and feeling, and to things unseen
Lifts the pure heart through clouds, that roll between
The earth and skies, to darken human hope?
Or wherefore did those clouds thus intervene
To render vain faith's lifted telescope,
And leave him in thick gloom his weary way to grope?
He too could give himself to musing deep,
By the calm lake at evening he could stand,
Lonely and sad, to see the moon light sleep
On all its breast by not an insect fanned,
And hear low voices on the far-off strand,
Or through the still and dewy atmosphere
The pipe's soft tones waked by some gentle hand,
From fronting shore and woody island near
In echoes quick returned more mellow and more clear.
And he could cherish wild and mournful dreams,
In the pine grove, when low the full moon fair
Shot under lofty tops her level beams,
Stretching the shades of trunks erect and bare,
In stripes drawn parallel with order rare,
As of some temple vast or colonnade,
While on green turf made smooth without his care
He wandered o'er its stripes of light and shade,
And heard the dying day-breeze all the boughs pervade.
'Twas thus in nature's bloom and solitude
He nursed his grief till nothing could assuage;
'Twas thus his tender spirit was subdued,
Till in life's toils it could no more engage;
And his had been a useless pilgrimage,
Had he been gifted with no sacred power,
To send his thoughts to every future age;—
But he is gone where grief will not devour,
Where beauty will not fade, and skies will never lower.