ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
Bryan Waller Procter
James Harley, in The Press, or Literary Chit-Chat. A Satire (1822) 9-11 &n.
Bryan Waller Procter:
1819: Leigh Hunt
1820: Charles Lamb
1820: John Keats
1820: Mary Russell Mitford
1820 ca.: Alaric Alexander Watts
1820: Ellen Janet
1820: Leigh Hunt
1820: Thomas Love Peacock
1820: Francis Jeffrey
1821: Lord Byron
1821: William Wordsworth
1822: James Harley
1823 ca.: Countess of Blessington
1823: Alaric Alexander Watts
1824: William Hazlitt
1824: A. B.
1825: John Wilson
1826: Sumner Lincoln Fairfield
1829: Anna Brownell Jameson
1833: Allan Cunningham
1839: Thomas Hood
1839: J. F. O.
1846: Walter Savage Landor
1851: Dr. David Macbeth Moir
1854: Nathaniel Hawthorne
1854: Robert Shelton Mackenzie
1866: Henry Crabb Robinson
1872: James T. Fields
1880: Edmund Gosse
1882: Epes Sargent
1901: Rowland E. Prothero
1822: Sir Samuel Egerton Brydges
1822: Lord Byron
1822: Thomas Campbell
1822: Samuel Taylor Coleridge
1822: Rev. George Crabbe
1822: Rev. George Croly
1822: Allan Cunningham
1822: Rev. Thomas Dudley Fosbroke
1822: William Godwin
1822: Anne Grant
1822: William Hazlitt
1822: Felicia Hemans
1822: James Hogg
1822: Leigh Hunt
1822: Charles Lamb
1822: Charles Lloyd
1822: Hannah More
1822: Amelia Opie
1822: Anna Maria Porter
1822: Bryan Waller Procter
1822: Samuel Rogers
1822: Sir Walter Scott
1822: Rev. Edward Smedley
1822: Robert Southey
1822: Edward Thurlow
1822: Jeremiah Holmes Wiffen
1822: Helen Maria Williams
1822: John Wilson
1822: William Wordsworth
Mirandola, the meteor of a night,
Appear'd, and then sunk far from human sight.
Green-room eclat, and neighbours' friendly smile
Lured the attorney from his musty toil;
"Let me," he cried, "forsake my briefs and writs,
And drink th' applauses of my fellow cits;
Now I may stray down Chancery-lane unseen,
But then how noble will become my mien!
As past the Six-clerks' Office I shall stride,
Faces well-known will throng the other side;
Smiles like a counsel's when he gains a cause,
Will mingle with the accents of applause;
Clerks from each office, articled or not,
Will, staring, envy me my glorious lot.
No surly doorkeeper will bid me pay
My silver fee when I would see the play,
But with an easy air, as quite at home,
I'll dare the boxes, pit, or e'en green-room!"
Quiz not poor Proctor, for I much admire
His first production; — true, it hath not fire,*
But then around it such a luscious air
Of tender feeling ever hovers near,
That I had hoped for much in future tomes
To mend the manners of the drama's domes.
False hope, alas! Mirandola appear'd
And, though each friendly critic loudly cheer'd,
A few short hours, and his became the doom
Of consignation to the Cap'lets' tomb.
The stage, alas! is now consign'd by all
To shows that predicate its utter fall.
To-day some pageant where the tailor's skill
Vies with the scenepainter's the breast to thrill;
To-morrow pantomimes, where oft-tried tricks
Strive the attention of the house to fix.
* The first time that I read Barry Cornwall's Dramatic Scenes, appears like a delicious day-dream; one of those rosy moments which we occasionally enjoy amidst the thorny paths of life. Their author has certainly deteriorated since their publication. His Poems do not deserve to be mentioned in the same breath, nor is it easy for me to conceive them the off-spring of the same mind.