At balls they pointed to a nymph Wham a' declared divine; But sure her mother's blushing cheeks In vain I sought in music's sound Ye sons to comrades o' my youth, Wha 'midst your gayest scenes still mourns When time has passed and seasons fled, What Ails this Heart o' Mine? [This song seems to have been a favourite with the authoress, for I have met with it in various forms among her papers; and the labour bestowed upon it has been well repaid by the popularity it has all along enjoyed.'-Maxwell's Memoir of Miss Blamire.] What ails this heart o' mine? Thou'lt dearer grow to me; But change o' place and change o❞folk When I gae out at e'en, Or walk at morning air, And live aneath the tree, I'll hie me to the bower That thou wi' roses tied, I'll doat on ilka spot Where I ha'e been wi' thee; As an example of the Cumberland dialect Auld Robin Forbes. And auld Robin Forbes hes gien tem a dance, And slily telt Willy that cudn't be it. But Willy he laughed, and he meade me his weyfe, I mind when I carried my wark to yon steyle, And wheyles went to meet him as far as Dumleane; MRS BARBAULD. ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD, the daughter of Dr John Aikin, was born at Kibworth Harcourt, in Leicestershire, in 1743. Her father at this time kept a seminary for the education of boys, and Anna received the same instruction, being early initiated into a knowledge of classical literature. In 1758 Dr Aikin undertaking the office of classical tutor in a dissenting academy at Warrington, his daughter accompanied him, and resided there fifteen years. In 1773 she published a volume of miscellaneous poems, of which four editions were called for in one year, and also a collection of pieces in prose, some of which were written by her brother. In May 1774 she was married to the Rev. Rochenount Barbauld, a French Protestant, who was minister of a dissenting congregation at Palgrave, near Diss, and who had just opened a boarding-school at the neighbouring village of Palgrave, in Suffolk. The poetess participated with her husband in the task of instruction, and to her talents and exertions the seminary was mainly indebted for its success. In 1775 she came forward with a volume of devotional pieces compiled from the Psalms, and another volume of Hymns in Prose for children. In 1786, after a tour to the continent, Mr and Mrs Barbauld established themselves at Hampstead, and there several tracts proceeded from the pen of our authoress on the topics of the day, in all which she espoused the principles of the Whigs. She also assisted her father in preparing a series of tales for children, entitled Evenings at Home, and she wrote critical essays on Akenside and Collins, prefixed to editions of their works. In 1802 Mr Barbauld became pastor of the congregation (formerly Dr Price's) at Newington Green, also in the vicinity of London; and quitting Hampstead, they took up their abode in the village of Stoke Newington. In 1803 Mrs Barbauld compiled a selection of essays from the 'Spectator,' Tatler,' and Guardian,' to which she prefixed a preliminary essay; and in the following year she edited the correspondence of Richardson, and wrote an interesting and elegant life of the novelist. Her husband died in 1808, and Mrs Barbauld has recorded her feelings on this melancholy event in a poetical dirge to his memory, and also in her poem of Eighteen Hundred and Eleven. Seeking relief in literary occupation, she also edited a collection of the British novelists, published in 1810, with an introductory essay, and biographical and critical notices. After a gradual decay, this accomplished and excellent woman died on the 9th of March 1825. Some of the lyrical pieces of Mrs Barbauld are flowing and harmonious, and her 'Ode to Spring' is a happy imitation of Collins. She wrote also several poems in blank verse, characterised by a serious tenderness and elevation of thought. Her earliest pieces,' says her niece, Mrs Lucy Aikin, as well as her more recent ones, exhibit in their imagery and allusions the fruits of extensive and varied reading. In youth, the power of her imagination was counterbalanced by the activity of her intellect, which exercised itself in rapid but not unprofitable excursions over almost every field of knowledge. In age, when this activity abated, imagination appeared to exert over her an undiminished sway.' Charles James Fox is said to have been a great admirer of Mrs Barbauld's songs, but they are by no means the best of her compositions, being generally artificial, and unimpassioned in their character. Ode to Spring. Sweet daughter of a rough and stormy sire, From the green islands of eternal youth (Crowned with fresh blooms and ever-springing shade), Turn, hither turn thy step, O thou, whose powerful voice More sweet than softest touch of Doric reed Or Lydian flute, can soothe the madding winds, Thee, best beloved! the virgin train await And vales and dewy lawns, With untired feet; and cull thy earliest sweets That prompts their whispered sigh. Unlock thy copious stores; those tender showers And feed the flowering osier's early shoots; And call those winds, which through the whispering boughs With warm and pleasant breath Salute the blowing flowers. Now let me sit beneath the whitening thorn, And mark thy spreading tints steal o'er the dale; And watch with patient eye Thy fair unfolding charms. O nymph, approach! while yet the temperate sun With bashful forehead, through the cool moist air Throws his young maiden beams, And with chaste kisses woo8 The earth's fair bosom; while the streaming veil Of lucid clouds, with kind and frequent shade, Protects thy modest blooms From his severer blaze. Sweet is thy reign, but short: the red dog-star Reluctant shall I bid thee then farewell; Can aught for thee atone, Fair Spring! whose simplest promise more delights To a Lady, with some Painted Flowers. Flowers to the fair: to you these flowers I bring, And strive to greet you with an earlier spring. Flowers sweet, and gay, and delicate like you; Emblems of innocence, and beauty too. With flowers the Graces bind their yellow hair, And flowery wreaths consenting lovers wear. Flowers, the sole luxury which nature knew, In Eden's pure and guiltless garden grew. To loftier forms are rougher tasks assigned; The sheltering oak resists the stormy wind, The tougher yew repels invading foes, And the tall pine for future navies grows : But this soft family to cares unknown, Were born for pleasure and delight alone. Gay without toil, and lovely without art, They spring to cheer the sense and glad the heart. Nor blush, my fair, to own you copy these; Your best, your sweetest empire is-to please. Hymn to Content. -natura beatos Omnibus esse dedit, si quis cognoverit uti.-Claudian. O thou, the nymph with placid eye! Receive my temperate vow: And smooth the unaltered brow. To bless my longing sight; To find thy hermit cell; The modest virtues dwell. Simplicity in Attic vest, And clear undaunted eye; A vista to the sky. There Health, through whose calm bosom glide The temperate joys in even-tide, That rarely ebb or flow; And Patience there, thy sister meek, To meet the offered blow. Her influence taught the Phrygian sage With settled smiles to wait: O say what soft propitious hour When eve, her dewy star beneath, If such an hour was e'er thy choice, Washing Day. The Muses are turned gossips; they have lost From the wet kitchen scared, and reeking hearth, Saints have been calm while stretched upon the rack, That day shall eat; nor, though the husband try- In silence dines, and early slinks away. I well remember, when a child, the awe This day struck into me; for then the maids, When butter was forbid; or thrilling tale Drawn from her ravelled stocking might have soured At intervals my mother's voice was heard Then would I sit me down, and ponder much Ride buoyant through the clouds, so near approach MISS SEWARD-MRS HUNTER-MRS OPIE-MRS Several other poetesses of this period are deserving of notice, though their works are now almost faded from remembrance. With much that is delicate in sentiment and feeling, and with considerable powers of poetical fancy and expression, their leading defect is a want of energy or of genuine passion, and of that originality which can alone forcibly arrest the public attention. One of the most conspicuous of these was MISS ANNA SEWARD (17471809), the daughter of the Rev. Mr Seward, canonresidentiary of Lichfield, himself a poet, and one of the editors of Beaumont and Fletcher. This lady was early trained to a taste for poetry, and, before she was nine years of age, she could repeat the three first books of Paradise Lost. Even at this time, she says, she was charmed with the numbers of Milton. Miss Seward wrote several elegiac poems-an Elegy to the Memory of Captain Cook, a Monody on the Death of Major André, &c.—which, from the popular nature of the subjects, and the animated though inflated style of the composition, enjoyed great celebrity. Darwin complimented her as the inventress of epic elegy; and she was known by the name of the Swan of Lichfield. A poetical novel, entitled Louisa, was published by Miss Seward in 1782, and passed through several editions. After bandying compliments with the poets of one generation, Miss Seward engaged Sir Walter Scott in a literary correspondence, and bequeathed to him for publication three volumes of her poetry, which he pronounced execrable. At the same time she left her correspondence to Constable, and that publisher gave to the world six volumes of her letters. Both collections were unsuccessful. The applauses of Miss Seward's early admirers were only calculated to excite ridicule, and the vanity and affectation which were her besetting sins, destroyed equally her poetry and prose. Some of her letters, however, are written with spirit and discrimination. In contrast to Miss Seward was MRS JOHN Hunter (1742-1821), a retired but highly accomplished lady, sister of Sir Everard Home, and wife of John Hunter, the celebrated I scarce knew why, looked cross, and drove me from surgeon. Having written several copies of verses, them; Nor soft caress could I obtain, nor hope For me their petted one; or buttered toast, which were extensively circulated, and some songs that even Haydn had married to immortal music, Mrs Hunter was induced, in 1806, to collect her pieces and commit them to the press. In 1802, MRS AMELIA OPIE, whose pathetic and interesting Tales are so justly distinguished, published a volume of miscellaneous poems, characterised by a simple and placid tenderness. Her Orphan Boy is one of those touching domestic effusions which at once finds its way to the hearts of all. In the following year a volume of miscellaneous poems was published by MRS ANNE GRANT, widow of the minister of Laggan, in Inverness-shire. Mrs Grant (1754-1838) was author of several able and interesting prose works. She wrote Letters from the Mountains, giving a description of Highland scenery and manners, with which she was conversant from her residence in the country; also Memoirs of an American Lady (1810); and Essays on the Superstitions of the Highlanders, which appeared in 1811. The writings of this lady display a lively and observant fancy, and considerable powers of landscape painting. They first drew attention to the more striking and romantic features of the Scottish Highlands, afterwards so fertile a theme for the genius of Scott. An Irish poetess, MRS MARY TIGHE (1773-1810), evinced a more passionate and refined imagination than any of her tuneful sisterhood. Her poem of Psyche, founded on the classic fable related by Apuleius, of the loves of Cupid and Psyche, or the allegory of Love and the Soul, is characterised by a graceful voluptuousness and brilliancy of colouring rarely excelled. It is in six cantos, and wants only a little more concentration of style and description to be one of the best poems of the period. Mrs Tighe was daughter of the Rev. W. Blackford, county of Wicklow. Her history seems to be little known, unless to private friends; but her early death, after six years of protracted suffering, has been commemorated by Moore, in his beautiful lyric 'I saw thy form in youthful prime.' When, fair as their young flowers, thy infant frame We subjoin some selections from the works of One sister dear, from spleen, from falsehood free, each of the above ladies : The Anniversary. [By Miss Seward.] Ah, lovely Lichfield! that so long hast shone Why fled ye all so fast, ye happy hours, Ah, dear Honora! that remembered day, 1 Honora Sneyd, the object of Major André's attachment, afterwards Mrs Edgeworth, and mother of the distinguished novelist, Maria Edgeworth. Rose to the verge of womanhood with me; Our pleasures blended, and our studies shared; And when with day and waking thoughts they closed, On the same couch our agile limbs reposed. Amply in friendship by her virtues blest, I gave to youthful gaiety the rest; Considering not how near the period drew, When that transplanted branch should meet our view, 'Twas eve; the sun, in setting glory drest, In the kind interchange of mutual thought, To the maternal room we careless walked, 1 Miss Sarah Seward, who died in her nineteenth year, and on the eve of marriage. 2 The bishop's palace at Lichfield. Where sat its honoured mistress, and with smile Song. [From Mrs Hunter's Poems.] The season comes when first we met, Which time can ne'er restore? O days too sweet, too bright to last, In fancy stop their rapid flight, Song. [From the same.] O tuneful voice! I still deplore Those accents which, though heard no more, In echo's cave I long to dwell, And round your orbits play; The Death Song, Written for, and Adapted to, an [From the same.] The sun sets in night, and the stars shun the day, No; the son of Alknomook shall never complain. 1 The lustre of the brightest of the stars (says Miss Seward, in a note on her ninety-third sonnet) always appeared to me of a green hue; and they are so described by Ossian. I go to the land where my father is gone, To my Daughter, on being Separated from her on her [From the same.] Dear to my heart as life's warm stream And deck with smiles the future day; Of kind affections finely wrought? If so beloved, thou'rt fairly won. The Lot of Thousands. [From the same.] "Tis hard to smile when one would weep; Yet such the lot by thousands cast Who wander in this world of care, Where disappointment cannot come; The Orphan Boy's Tale. Stay, lady, stay, for mercy's sake, And my brave father's hope and joy; When news of Nelson's victory came, And see the lighted windows flame! To force me home my mother sought, She could not bear to see my joy; For with my father's life 'twas bought, And made me a poor orphan boy. The people's shouts were long and loud, My mother, shuddering, closed her ears; 'Rejoice! rejoice!' still cried the crowd; My mother answered with her tears. 'Why are you crying thus,' said I, 'While others laugh and shout with joy!' She kissed me--and with such a sigh! She called me her poor orphan boy. |