ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
, "Verses occasioned by an Incident, at the Seat of Wm. Shenstone, Esq."1755; London Chronicle (22 September 1761) 287.
1737: William Shenstone
1749: Lady Luxborough
1750 ca.: Rev. Richard Graves
1751: Rev. Richard Jago
1755: Robert Dodsley
1756: John Scott Hylton
1758: Alexander Carlyle
1759: James Woodhouse
1760: Edward Cooper
1760: Rev. Richard Graves
1761: Mrs. John Thomas
1763: Edward Cooper
1763: Rev. Richard Graves
1763: John Cunningham
1763: Edward Cooper
1763: Mary Darwall
1763 ca.: A Lady
1763: Dr. S.
1763: T. H.
1764: Rev. John Langhorne
1765: Cuthbert Shaw
1765: John Oakman
1766: John Scott of Amwell
1769: Thomas Gray
1771: William Roscoe
1771: Rev. Richard Graves
1772: Rev. John Ball
1773: Thomas Lyttleton
1774: Samuel Jackson Pratt
1774: Charles Graham
1776: Rev. Thomas Maurice
1778: Richard Tickell
1778: Old Robin
1779: J. M.
1779: Menassah Dawes
1780: J. W.
1782: Samuel Johnson
1783: Edmond Malone
1784: De Sp—do
1785: H. R.
1787: Robert Burns
1788: John Williams
1789: A Bard of the Wrekin
1791: Isaac D'Israeli
1792: Anna Seward
1792: John Bennet
1793: J. H. C.
1793: Captain John Majoribanks
1795: Dr. Robert Anderson
1797: Mr. Mott
1798: Anna Seward
1802: George Dyer
1805: Thomas Park
1806: Dr. John Aikin
1806: John F. M. Dovaston
1807: Robert Southey
1808: Anne Grant
1812: A. F.
1814: John Hamilton Reynolds
1814: James Jennings
1815: William Wordsworth
1818: William Hazlitt
1818: David Parkes
1823: David Parkes
1823: T. H.
1824: Bryan Waller Procter
1829: Anna Brownell Jameson
1830: Rev. George Barrell Cheever
1836: Hartley Coleridge
1836: L. L.
1842: C. H. Timperley
1855 ca.: Rev. John Mitford
1859: Leigh Hunt
1880: George Saintsbury
1882: Epes Sargent
1910: Ralph Straus
1744: Alexander Pope
1744: Alexander Pope
1748: Rev. Joseph Spence
1753: Robert Dodsley
1754: Rev. Joseph Warton
1755 ca.: Robert Bedingfield
1755: William Shenstone
1756: Rev. Joseph Warton
"How shall I fix my wandering eye? where find
The source of this enchantment? dwells it in
The woods? or moves there not a magic wand
O'er the translucent waters? Sure, unseen
Some favouring power directs the happy lines
That sketch these beauties; swells the rising hills,
And scoops the dales to nature's finest forms,
Vague, undetermin'd, infinite; untaught
By line or compass, yet supremely fair."
So spake Philenor, as with raptur'd gaze
He travers'd Damon's farm. From distant plains
He sought his friend's abode: nor had the fame
Of that new-form'd Arcadia reach'd his ear.
And thus the youth, as o'er each hill and dale,
Thro' lawn or thicket, he pursu'd his way;
"What is it guilds the verdure of these meads
With hues more bright than fancy paints the flowers
Of paradise? What Naiad's guiding hand
Leads, thro' the broider'd vale, these lucid rills,
That, murmring as they flow, bear melody
Along their banks; and, thro' the vocal shades,
Improve the music of the woodland choir?
What pensive Dryad rais'd yon solemn grove,
Where minds contemplative, at close of day
Retiring, muse o'er Nature's various works,
Her wonders venerate, or her sweets enjoy—
What room for doubt? Some rural deity
Presiding scatters o'er the unequal lawns
In beauteous wildness, yon fair spreading trees;
And, mingling woods and waters, hills, and dales,
And herds and bleating flocks, domestic fowl,
And those that swim the lake, sees rising 'round
More pleasing landskips than in Tempe's vale
Peneus water'd. Yes, some silvan God
Spreads wide the varied prospect; waves the woods,
Lifts the proud hills, and clears the shining lakes;
While, from the congregated waters pour'd,
The bursting torrent tumbles down the steep
In foaming fury; fierce, irregular,
Wild, interrupted; cross'd with rocks and roots
And interwoven trees; 'till now absorb'd
An opening cavern, all its rage entombs.
So vanish human glories! so the pomp
Of swelling warriors, of ambitious kings!
Who fret and strut their hour, upon the stage
Of busy life, and then are heard no more.
"'Tis fascination all! — And see, the spells,
The powerful incantations, magic verse,
Inscrib'd on every tree, alcove, or urn,—
"Spells, incantations? — ah, my tuneful friend!
Thine are the numbers! thine the wondrous works!
Yes, great magician! now I read thee right,
And lightly weigh all sorcery, but thine.
Nor Naiad's leading step conducts the rill;
Nor silvan god presiding skirts the lawn,
In beauteous wildness, with fair spreading trees;
Nor magic wand has circumscrib'd the scene.
'Tis thine own task, thy genius that presides,
Nor needs there other deity, nor needs
More potent spells than they." No more the youth;
For lo! his Damon, o'er the tufted lawn
Advancing, leads him to the social dome.
The Leasowes, 1755.