ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
Eliza, "To Mrs. Smith, of Bignor Park, on reading her Poems lately published" Westminster Magazine 12 (October 1784) 549-50.
1784: William Hayley
1785: A Lady of Fifteen
1786: Anna Seward
1788: Pastor Fido
1788: Elizabeth Carter
1789: M. D.
1789: Charlotte Smith
1789: William Hamilton Reid
1790: Robert Burns
1791: Jane West
1791: Thomas Whicker
1792: John Bennet
1792: Henry James Pye
1792: F. R. S.
1793: Rev. Henry Kett
1794: A Lady
1794: Eyles Irwin
1795: S. S. T.
1796: R. C.
1797: Thomas Park
1798: Thomas James Mathias
1799: John Davis
1801: Andrew Caldwell
1801: Robert Southey
1801: Alexander Thomson
1802: Joseph Dennie
1805: Capel Lofft
1806: Charles Lamb
1806: Francisca Julia
1806: C. B.
1806: J. B.
1807: Tho. Gent
1807: K. L.
1807: John Taylor Esq.
1810: Mary F. Johnson
1824: Bryan Waller Procter
1827: Alexander Dyce
1828: Leigh Hunt
1835: William Wordsworth
1842: Mary Russell Mitford
1855: Sarah Josepha Hale
1858: Cyrus Redding
1882: Margaret Oliphant
1882: Epes Sargent
1781: Rev. Moses Browne
1784: Charlotte Smith
1784: Helen Maria Williams
1805: William Cowper
Cold wint'ry blasts succeed kind autumn's store,
And heavy rains descending drown the plain:
But smiling Spring, with her enliv'ning pow'r,
Foretells the summer's blest return again.
And if the darkling clouds of mortal grief,
Spread desolation o'er each brighter thought;
Sure gentle hope invok'd can yield relief,
And bid her whisper's be with comfort fraught.
Say, gentle Songstress, — child of feeling, say,
Whence flow these strains so much with woe bedight?
Why hangs pale sorrow o'er thy pensive lay?
Why from thy breast hath pleasure wing'd her flight?
'Tis thine an artless elegance to sing,
While on thy numbers dwell expressive grief;
Ah! sure thine heart hath felt the rankling sting
Of wearying care; — gay pleasure's envious thief.
Or can the milk of human kindness force
From thy soft mind such sympathetic sighs?
Hath other's mis'ry to thy plaints resource;
And doth it bid thy soothing's hush its cries?
Of what avail were mines of glitt'ring ore,
Unless Humanity adorn'd the soul?
Their bare possessor despicably poor,
Each blast can ruffle, and his joys controul.
Rich as thou art in nature's choicest gifts,
To thee her sensibility she sends;
Above the grov'ling herd thy mind she lifts,
And with harmonic sweets each thought befriends.
And may thy rising image be so blest,
And in the daughter all the mother shine,
Of thy pure fancy amply be possest,
Which thy instructive lips can well refine.
And in the calm — the reconciling hours,
When life's great bustle, and concern shall cease,
When recollection calls forth all her pow'rs,
May thine bring happiness and lasting peace!
And while thy numbers shall delight our eyes,
While thy emotions bid our hearts admire;
Be fame and conscious rectitude thy pride,
Which few attain — to which all should aspire.