ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
J. M., "Lines to Eliza, on reading Shenstone's Poems" Morning Post and Daily Advertiser (11 October 1779).
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
1779: William Shenstone
1801: Rev. Joseph Warton
1803: Thomas Chatterton
O favour'd Bard, in whose soft verse there flows
The magic pow'r to soften all our woes;
Melodious sweetness runs thro' ev'ry line,
And proves thy influ'nce from the sacred Nine.
Thy sweet tun'd numbers harmonize the soul,
And ev'ry boist'rous Passion can controul;
Can soothe Ambition, and the rage of Pride,
Those deadly foes that spread destruction wide;
The pangs of Jealousy they might assuage—
Like Music's charms dispel th' envenom'd rage:
The Mind attemper'd by th' harmonious sound,
Sinks into rest, as by enchantment bound;
And dark Despair, that rends the sicken'd mind,
Thy sweetly-soothing strains at once can bind.
Oh! had I pow'r to catch the sacred fire
Which warm'd thy soul, whene'er thou strung'st thy lyre
Or drank with thee of that Pyaerian spring;
Inspir'd by which, thou didst so sweetly sing,
That listning birds attentive round did throng,
And charm'd with thine, forget their own sweet song
The Nymphs no longer harken'd to the strain
Of oaten reeds, with which the am'rous swain
Had pleas'd so oft, upon the verdant plain,
But stood with speechless pleasure, and amaze,
To hear the gliding softness of thy lays.
To me, had thus th' indulgent Muse prov'd kind,
The pow'r to charm so sweetly had consign'd;
In strains like thine, I had my passion told,
Nor had Eliza to my vows prov'd cold:
By her instructed, I had learn'd the art,
With melting words to captivate the heart:
Taught her with sympathetic glow to feel,—
With blushing beauties the fond tale reveal;
In faltering accents, freed me from the pain,
Which now I suffer from her cold disdain:
To ease my doubts, each anxious care remove,
And fondly whisper — a return of love.
But I, whom Nature form'd in roughest mould,
In strains as harsh, my amorous plaint unfold;
And though I feel a passion as sincere,
Yet want the art to court the fair one's ear.
Th' unvarnish'd tale, which speaks my hopes and fears,
She disregarding, unattentive hears.
Oh! could I snatch from unrelenting Death,
The melting sweetness of thy tuneful breath;
Still would I sue, until the lovely maid,
With kindness listen'd to the vows I paid.
But since my hard, my rigid fate denies
That pow'r persuasive, which in language lies,
With silent grief, henceforward I will view
Those charms which first my fond attention drew;
And, like the insect, round the blaze I'll fly,
Till parch'd, the vital streams consum'd, I die.
Portsmouth, Oct. 5.