ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
Anonymous, "To the Right Hon. Edmund Burke, on the Revolution in France" Bath Chronicle (1 January 1795).
1759: Elizabeth Montagu
1765: William Gerard Hamilton
1766: Horace Walpole
1774: Oliver Goldsmith
1775: Rev. Joseph Sterling
1778: J. S.
1780: T. S.
1780: E. P.
1781: Sarah Emma Spencer
1782: Fanny Burney
1784: Samuel Johnson
1784: Mary Leadbeater
1788: J. Day
1789: Rev. Bryan Waller
1789: L. M.
1790: Horace Walpole
1790: Elizabeth Carter
1790: Frances Burney
1790: John Williams
1791: Anna Seward
1791: Edward Gibbon
1791: William Fernyhough
1791: Rev. William Lisle Bowles
1792: J. S.
1792: William Roscoe
1793: Rev. George Butt
1794: Samuel Taylor Coleridge
1795: Mr. Thomas Fool
1795 ca.: Thomas Sanderson
1795: B. W.
1796: One of the Multitude
1796: John Williams
1796: W. T.
1797: Rev. Percival Stockdale
1797 ca.: Thomas Clio Rickman
1797: John of Hazelgreen
1797: Charles Burney
1798: Thomas Green
1804: Dr. William Perfect
1806: Richard Cumberland
1808: Sir Samuel Egerton Brydges
1811: Richard Cumberland
1814: James Jennings
1817: William Hazlitt
1820 ca.: Anne Grant
1822: William Cook
1830: Thomas Babington Macaulay
1832: John Taylor Esq.
1833: Samuel Taylor Coleridge
With joy we turn to Albion's happier plain,
Where ancient freedom holds her temperate reign;
Where justice sits majestick on her throne;
Where mercy turns her ear to every groan!
O Albion! fairest isle, whose verdant plain
Springs beauteous from the blue and billowy main;
In peaceful pomp whose glitt'ring cities rise,
And lift their crouded temples to the skies;
Whose navy on the broad brine awful rolls;
Whose commerce glows beneath the distant poles;
Whose streams reflect full many an Attick pile;
Whose velvet lawns in strong luxuriance smile;
Amid whose winding coombs contentment dwells;
Whose vales rejoice to hear the sabbath bells;
Whose humblest shed, that steady laws protect,
The villager with woodbine bow'rs hath deck'd;
Sweet native land! whose every haunt is dear,
Whose every gale is musick to mine ear;
Amidst whose hills one poor retreat I sought,
Where I might sometimes hide a sadd'ning thought,
And having wander'd far, and mark'd mankind
In their vain mask, might rest and safety find:
Oh! still may freedom with majestick mien
Pacing thy rocks and the green vales be seen!
Around thy cliffs, that glitter o'er the main,
May smiling order wind her silver chain;
Whilst from thy calm abodes, and azure skies,
Far off the fiend of discord murmuring flies!
To him who firm thy injur'd cause has fought,
This humble off'ring, lo! the Muse has brought.