From her age to his Lady Wachilses has received nothing but ragan from the kagjin picke. Her contemporaries disregarded 141 mifstofa, ws the nervell complaing, and in s there were still BABY, TWO Okections of her poems in MS, which no one had *AKEN THAMIZne to vint. To the public of the eighteenth century Why CONCRE OArráin d nature seemed less important than the dydacky Vynicam of Mrs. Barber or the frivolity of Lætitia Puxingtom. If those unpublished poems, to which reference has been made, are still in the possession of her family, it is highly desirable that they should be given to the world. EDMUND W. GOSSE TO THE NIGHTINGALE. Exert thy voice, sweet harbinger of Spring! Like thine, when best he sings, is placed against a thorn. She begins! Let all be still! Muse, thy promise now fulfil ! Sweet! oh sweet! still sweeter yet! Can thy words such accents fit? Canst thou syllables refine, Melt a sense that shall retain Still some spirit of the brain, Till with sounds like those it join? Yet as far the Muse outflies! That's transcendent to our own, THE TREE. Fair Tree! for thy delightful shade And no return be made by me? No! let this wish upon me wait, And still to flourish be thy fate, A NOCTURNAL REVERIE. In such a night, when every louder wind Or from some tree, framed for the owl's delight, When through the gloom more venerable shows While sunburned hills their swarthy looks conceal, final dissolution out of which it was redeemed by Gray and Collins. Such a poem as her All is Vanity, full as it is of ingenious thought, and studded with noble and harmonious lines, fails to impress the attention as a vertebrate composition. Her Ode to the Spleen, from which Pope borrowed his famous 'aromatic pain,' is still more loose and fragmentary in structure. On the other hand, her less ambitious studies have a singular perfection of form and picturesqueness of manner. She lights upon the right epithet and employs it with precision, and gives a brilliant turn, even to a triviality, by some bright and natural touch. Her Nocturnal Reverie is worthy of Wordsworth's commendation; it is simply phenomenal as the creation of a friend of Prior and of Pope, and some of the couplets, especially those which describe the straying horse, and the cries of the birds, are worthy of the closest observers of nature in a naturalistic age. In light verse Lady Winchilsea took Prior as a model, and succeeded respectably; her reply to Pope's complimentary verses to her under the name of Ardelia deserves higher praise. From her age to this Lady Winchilsea has received nothing but neglect from the English public. Her contemporaries disregarded her writings, as she herself complains, and in 1753 there were still existing two collections of her poems in MS., which no one had taken the trouble to print. To the public of the eighteenth century her delicate observation of nature seemed less important than the didactic lyricism of Mrs. Barber or the frivolity of Lætitia Pilkington. If those unpublished poems, to which reference has been made, are still in the possession of her family, it is highly desirable that they should be given to the world. EDMUND W. GOSSE. |