Volume 2, no. 3-4
THE
LIBERAL.
VERSE AND PROSE FROM THE SOUTH.
VOLUME THE SECOND.
LONDON, 1823 :
PRINTED FOR JOHN HUNT,
22, OLD BOND STREET.
LONDON :
PRINTED BY C. H. REYNELL, BROAD STREET, GOLDEN SQUARE.
CONTENTS.
Advertisement to the Second Volume
My first Acquaintance with Poets
Letters from Abroad . No. III.— Italy
Madame d'Houtetôt
Shakespear's Fools
The Book of Beginnings
A Sunday's Fête at St. Cloud
Apuleius
MINOR PIECES
To a Spider
Southeogony
Lines of Madame d'Houtetôt
Talari Innamorati
Rhymes to the Eye, by a Deaf Gentleman
Lines to a Critic
The Monarch, an Ode for Congress [1]
TO THE SECOND VOLUME.
NEVER was a greater outcry raised among the hypocrites of all classes , than against this publication . What with the " great vulgar " protesting, the " small " abusing , lawyers denouncing, " divines" cursing, scandal- mongers bawling, dunces of all sorts shrieking-all the sore places of the community seem to have been touched, and the " body politic " agitated accordingly.
" As when the long -ear'd , milky mothers wait
At some sick miser's triple-bolted gate,
For their defrauded , absent foals they make
A moan so loud , that all the Guild awake ;
Sore sighs Sir Gilbert, starting at the bray ,
From dreams of millions , and three groats to pay :
So swells each windpipe : ass intones to ass ,
Harmonic twang ! of leather [2] , horn, and brass ;
Such as from lab'ring lungs th ' enthusiast blows ,
High sounds, attempered to the vocal nose ;
Or such as bellow from the deep divine :
There, Webster ! peal'd thy voice ; and , Whitfield ! thine ;
But far o'er all sonorous Blackmore's strain :
Walls , steeples , skies , bray back to him again.
In Tottenham fields the brethren with amaze ,
Prick all their ears up, and forget to graze !
Long Chancery Lane, retentive, rolls the sound,
And courts to courts return it round and round . ”—Dunciad.
All these people deserve no better answer than a laughing quotation. But we will just admonish some well - meaning persons , not over strong in their understandings , that with respect to the religious part of the business , they are most grossly and " irreligiously" taken in, if they suffer themselves to be persuaded, thatit is we who would lessen the divinity of what is really divine . It is these pretended "divines" and their abettors , who lessen it ; -those raisers - up of absurd and inhuman imaginations, which they first impudently confound with divine things, and then , because we shew the nonsense of the imaginations, as impudently call their exposers blasphemers . Were we inclined to retort their own terms upon them, we should say that there was nothing in the world more "blasphemous" than such charges of blasphemy. The whole secret is just what we have stated . They first assume unworthy notions of the Divine Spirit , and then because that very Spirit is in fact vindicated from their degradations by an exposure of the absurdity and impossibility of such notions, they assume a divine right to denounce the vindicators, and to rouse up all the fears , weakness , and ignorance of society, in defence of the degradation . Of this stuff have the " Scribes, Pharisees, and Hypocrites " in all ages been made, whenever established opinion was to be divested of any of its corruptions.
" He blasphemeth ! " quoth the modern tribunal. " Great is Diana of the Ephesians ! " quoth the Quarterly. This is the point, which persons who undertake to be didactic in Reviews , should answer ; and not a hundred things which we never said . There is a more generous indignation which we allow might be felt by some persons upon another point , but still owing to real want of information on the subject . We allude to what has been said in the Liberal of the late King . The Vision of Judgment was written in a fit of indignation and disgust at Mr. Southey's nonsense ; and we confess that had we seen a copy of it in Italy, before it went to press (for we had none by us) we should have taken more pains to explain one or two expressions with regard to that Prince. Had the Preface also , entrusted to Mr. Murray, been sent , as it ought to have been , to the new publisher, much of the unintended part of the effect produced upon weak minds would have been explained away at once ; -that effect , which the hypocritical enemies of the Liberal at once delighted to assist in producing, and most pretended to deprecate. But the virtues of the late King, though of a negative kind , were of a kind nevertheless exceedingly calculated to excite a great many feelings in favour of him in a society like that of England ; while his vices (pardon us, dear self- love of our countrymen, for supposing that you have vices ) were equally calculated to be overlooked in a certain general blindness prevailing on that subject . Yet to those vices ,-extreme self- will for instance, sullenness of purpose, a strong natural vindictiveness , &c . was owing the bloody protraction of the American War to those vices , as well as to Mr. Pitt's haughty sympathy with them, was mainly owing the general war against liberty which was roused among the despots of the continent : and if certain staid and well - intentioned people suppose, that persons quite as moral and as pious as themselves , could not hold the late King in a light very different from their own, and much more revolting than even we hold it, they are most egregiously mistaken . What was thought of George the Third's natural character by a man of the highest respectability, who knew him intimately at court, -to wit , his own Governor when Prince of Wales , ―may be seen by those who wish to do us justice, in the Memoirs of James, Earl of Waldegrave, published by the aforesaid Mr. Murray. See also Dr. Franklin's Life, Junius, and the opinion of Mr. Southey's friend, the author, of Gebir. What the Earl of Waldegrave prophecied of that character, may be seen also in Mr. Murray's publication . We think that prophecy came to pass . The most pious and virtuous person we ever knew, even in the ordinary sense of those terms (and she might have stood by the side of the most virtuous, in the most extraordinary ) thought so too, and taught some of us to think so in our childhood . The ruin of her family and prospects was brought upon her, to her knowledge, by that Prince's temper and obstinacy ; and though the strict religious way in which she was brought up might have induced her to carry too far her opinion of the cause of that calamitous and awful affliction under which he suffered, the parasites of his memory are under a much greater mistake, when instead of turning their knowledge on that point to its great and proper account (which has never yet been hinted even in this great nation of reasoning freemen ! ) they fancy they can put down all thoughts upon such subjects, and all the unfortunate consequences of such facts, by raising a hypocritical cry against a few hasty expressions, uttered in that very spirit of sympathy with the community at large, which they count as nothing.
We cannot close this Advertisement without adding our cordial voice (truly humble on the present occasion) to the universal harmony prevailing in England on the subject of the glorious rights and equally glorious behaviour of Spain . We must also say, how much surprise and relief have been afforded to us by the political plain-speaking (granting even it ends in little more) of the accomplished person who has succeeded that vizor of a statesman, Lord Castlereagh.
THE
LIBERAL.
No. III .
A LITERARY ECLOGUE .
" Nimium nè crede colori ."-VIRGIL .
O trust not, ye beautiful creatures , to hue,
Though your hair were as red as your stockings are blue.
ECLOGUE FIRST.
LONDON. Before the Door of a Lecture Room.
Enter TRACY, meeting INKEL.
INKEL.
YOU'RE too late.
TRACY .
Is it over ?
INKEL.
Nor will be this hour.
But the benches are crammed , like a garden in flower,
With the pride of our Belles, who have made it the fashion ;
So instead of " beaux arts," we may say " la belle passion "
For learning, which lately has taken the lead in
The world, and set all the fine gentlemen reading .
TRACY .
I know it too well, and have worn out my patience
With studying to study your new publications .
There's Vamp, Scamp , and Mouthy , and Wordswords and Co.
With their damnable
INKEL.
Hold, my good friend, do you know
Whom you speak to ?
TRACY .
Right well, boy , and so does " the Row:"
You're an author- a poet
INKEL.
And think you that I
Can stand tamely in silence, to hear you decry
The Muses ?
TRACY .
Excuse me ; I meant no offence
To the Nine ; though the number who make some pretence
To their favours is such but the subject to drop,
I am just piping hot from a publisher's shop
(Next door to the pastry- cook's ; so that when I
Cannot find the new volume I wanted to buy
On the bibliopole's shelves, it is only two paces,
As one finds every author in one of those places )
Where I just had been skimming a charming critique,
So studded with wit, and so sprinkled with Greek !
Where your friend-you know who-has just got such a
threshing,
That it is, as the phrase goes, extremely " refreshing."
What a beautiful word !
INKEL.
Very true ; ' tis so soft
And so cooling - they use it a little too oft ;
And the papers have got it at last- but no matter .
So they've cut up our friend then ?
TRACY .
Not left him a tatter
Not a rag of his present or past reputation ,
Which they call a disgrace to the age and the nation .
INKEL.
I'm sorry to hear this ; for friendship , you know
Our poor friend !--but I thought it would terminate so.
Our friendship is such, I'll read nothing to shock it .
You don't happen to have the Review in your pocket ?
TRACY .
No ; I left a round dozen of authors and others
(Very sorry, no doubt, since the cause is a brother's)
All scrambling and jostling, like so many imps ,
And on fire with impatience to get the next glimpse .
INKEL .
Let us join them .
TRACY .
What, won't you return to the lecture ?
INKEL.
Why, the place is so crammed , there's not room for a spectre.
Besides, our friend Scamp is to-day so absurd
TRACY .
How can you know that till you hear him?
INKEL.
I heard
Quite enough ; and to tell you the truth, my retreat
Was from his vile nonsense , no less than the heat.
TRACY .
I have had no great loss then ?
INKEL.
Loss ! – such a palaver !
I'd inoculate sooner my wife with the slaver
Of a dog when gone rabid , than listen two hours
To the torrent of trash which around him he pours ,
Pumped up with such effort, disgorged with such labour,
That – come – do not make me speak ill of one's neighbour.
TRACY .
I make you !
INKEL .
Yes, you ! I said nothing until
You compelled me, by speaking the truth -
TRACY .
To speak ill?
Is that your deduction ?
INKEL .
When speaking of Scamp ill,
I certainly follow, not set an example .
The fellow's a fool, an impostor , a zany .
TRACY .
And the crowd of to -day shows that one fool makes many.
But we two will be wise.
INKEL .
Pray, then, let us retire.
TRACY .
I would , but -
INKEL .
There must be attraction much higher
Than Scamp , or the Jews'-harp he nicknames his lyre,
To call you to this hot-bed.
TRACY .
I own it-'tis true -
A fair lady -
INKEL.
A spinster ?
TRACY .
Miss Lilac !
INKEL .
The Blue !
The heiress ?
TRACY .
The angel !
INKEL.
The devil ! why , man !
Pray, get out of this hobble as fast as you can .
You wed with Miss Lilac ! ' twould be your perdition :
She's a poet, a chemist, a mathematician .
TRACY .
I say she's an angel.
INKEL .
Say rather an angle.
If you and she marry, you'll certainly wrangle .
I say she's a Blue, man , as blue as the ether.
TRACY .
And is that any cause for not coming together ?
INKEL.
Humph ! I can't say I know any happy alliance
Which has lately sprung up from a wedlock with science .
She's so learned in all things , and fond of concerning
Herself in all matters connected with learning ,
That -
TRACY .
What ?
INKEL.
I perhaps may as well hold my tongue ;
But there's five hundred people can tell you you're wrong.
TRACY .
You forget Lady Lilac's as rich as a Jew.
INKEL.
Is it Miss , or the cash of mamma , you pursue?
TRACY.
Why, Jack , I'll be frank with you - something of both .
The girl's a fine girl .
INKEL .
And you feel nothing loth
To her good lady mother's reversion ; and yet
Her life is as good as your own , I will bet.
TRACY .
Let her live ; and, as long as she likes , I demand
Nothing more than the heart of her daughter and hand.
INKEL .
Why, that heart's in the inkstand-that hand on the pen.
TRACY .
Apropos -Will you write me a song now and then ?
INKEL.
To what purpose ?
TRACY .
You know, my dear friend , that in prose
My talent is decent, as far as it goes ;
But in rhyme
INKLE .
You're a terrible stick, to be sure .
TRACY .
I own it ; and yet, in these times , there's no lure
For the heart of the fair like a stanza or two ;
And so , as I can't , will you furnish a few ?
INKEL.
In your name ?
TRACY .
In my name. I will copy them out,
To slip into her hand at the very next rout.
INKEL .
Are you so far advanced as to hazard this ?
TRACY .
Why,
Do you think me subdued by a Blue-stocking's eye,
So far as to tremble to tell her in rhyme
What I've told her in prose, at the least , as sublime ?
INKEL.
As sublime ! If it be so, no need of my Muse .
TRACY .
But consider, dear Inkel, she's one of the " Blues ."
INKEL .
As sublime !—Mr. Tracy — I've nothing to say .
Stick to prose-As sublime !! -but I wish you good day.
TRACY .
Nay, stay , my dear fellow-consider- I'm wrong ;
I own it ; but, prithee, compose me the song .
INKEL .
As sublime !!
TRACY.
I but used the expression in haste.
INKEL .
That may be, Mr. Tracy, but shows damned bad taste,
TRACY .
I own it- I know it- acknowledge it- what
Can I say to you more ?
INKEL.
I see what you'ld be at :
You disparage my parts with insidious abuse,
Till you think you can turn them best to your own use .
TRACY .
And is that not a sign I respect them ?
INKEL.
Why that
To be sure makes a difference.
TRACY .
I know what is what :
And you, who're a man of the gay world, no less
Than a poet of t'other, may easily guess
That I never could mean , by a word , to offend
A genius like you , and moreover my friend .
INKEL.
No doubt ; you by this time should know what is due
To a man of--but come-let us shake hands .
TRACY .
You knew,
And you know , my dear fellow, how heartily I ,
Whatever you publish , am ready to buy.
INKEL .
That's my bookseller's business ; I care not for sale ;
Indeed the best poems at first rather fail .
There were Renegade's epics , and Botherby's plays,
And my own grand romance -
TRACY .
Had its full share of praise.
I myself saw it puffed in the " Old Girl's Review ."
INKEL.
What Review ?
TRACY .
'Tis the English " Journal de Trevoux ;"
A clerical work of our Jesuits at home.
Have you never yet seen it ?
INKEL .
That pleasure's to come .
TRACY .
Make haste then .
INKEL.
Why so ?
TRACY .
I have heard people say,
That it threatened to give up the ghost t'other day .
INKEL.
Well , that is a sign of some spirit.
TRACY .
No doubt.
Shall you be at the Countess of Fiddlecome's rout ?
INKEL.
I've a card, and shall go ; but at present , as soon
As friend Scamp shall be pleased to step down from the
moon
(Where he seems to be soaring in search of his wits )
And an interval grants from his lecturing fits ,
I'm engaged to the Lady Bluebottle's collation,
To partake of a luncheon and learn'd conversation :
'Tis a sort of re-union for Scamp , on the days
Of his lecture, to treat him with cold tongue and praise .
And I own, for my own part, that ' tis not unpleasant.
Will you go ? There's Miss Lilac will also be present.
TRACY .
That " metal's attractive ."
INKEL.
No doubt-to the pocket.
TRACY .
You should rather encourage my passion than shock it.
But let us proceed ; for I think, by the hum -
INKEL .
Very true ; let us go, then, before they can come,
Or else we'll be kept here an hour at their levy,
On the rack of cross questions, by all the blue bevy .
Hark ! Zounds , they'll be on us ; I know by the drone
Of old Botherby's spouting , ex- cathedrâ tone .
Aye ! there he is at it. Poor Scamp ! better join
Your friends, or he'll pay you back in your own coin.
TRACY .
All fair ; ' tis but lecture for lecture .
INKEL .
That's clear.
But for God's sake let's go , or the bore will be here.
Come, come : nay, I'm off. [ Exit INKEL .
TRACY .
You are right, and I'll follow ;
"Tis high time for a " Sic me servavit Apollo."
And yet we shall have the whole crew on our kibes,
Blues , dandies , and dowagers , and second -hand scribes ,
All flocking to moisten their exquisite throttles
With a glass of Madeira at Lady Bluebottle's .
[ Exit TRACY.
End of Eclogue First.
ECLOGUE SECOND .
---------
An Apartment in the House of LADY BLUEBOTTLE .- A Table
prepared.
SIR RICHARD BLUEBOTTLE solus.
Was there ever a man who was married so sorry ?
Like a fool, I must needs do the thing in a hurry.
My life is reversed , and my quiet destroyed ;
My days, which once pass'd in so gentle a void,
Must now, every hour of the twelve , be employed ;
The twelve, do I say ? of the whole twenty-four,
Is there one which I dare call my own any more ?
What with driving, and visiting , dancing, and dining,
What with learning, and teaching , and scribbling, and
shining ,
In science and art, I'll be curst if I know
Myself from my wife ; for although we are two,
Yet she somehow contrives that all things shall be done
In a style which proclaims us eternally one.
But the thing of all things which distresses me more
Than the bills of the week (though they trouble me sore)
Is the numerous , humourous , back-biting crew
Of scribblers , wits, lecturers , white, black, and blue ,
Who are brought to my house as an inn, to my cost
(For the bill here, it seems , is defrayed by the host)
No pleasure ! no leisure ! no thought for my pains ,
But to hear a vile jargon which addles my brains ;
A smatter and chatter, gleaned out of reviews,
By the rag, tag, and bobtail, of those they call " Blues ;"
A rabble who know not--But soft, here they come !
Would to God I were deaf ! as I'm not, I'll be dumb .
Enter LADY BLUEBOTTLE, MISS LILAC, LADY BLUE-
MOUNT, MR. BOTHERBY, INKEL , TRACY , MISS MA-
ZARINE, and others, with SCAMP the Lecturer, &c. &c.
LADY BLUEBOTTLE .
Ah ! Sir Richard , good morning ; I've brought you some
friends .
SIR RICHARD bows, and afterwards aside .
If friends, they're the first .
LADY BLUEBOTTLE .
But the luncheon attends .
I pray ye be seated, " sans ceremonie ."
Mr. Scamp, you're fatigued ; take your chair there, next me.
[They all sit.
SIR RICHARD , aside.
If he does, his fatigue is to come.
LADY BLUEBOTTLE .
Mr. Tracy-
Lady Bluemount -Miss Lilac- be pleased, pray, to place ye ;
And you, Mr. Botherby-
BOTHERBY.
Oh, my dear Lady,
I obey .
LADY BLUEBOTTLE.
Mr. Inkel, I ought to upbraid ye ;
You were not at the lecture .
INKEL.
Excuse me, I was ;
But the heat forced me out in the best part- alas !
And when-
LADY BLUEBOTTLE .
To be sure it was broiling ; but then
You have lost such a lecture !
BOTHERBY.
The best of the ten .
TRACY.
How can you know that ? there are two more .
BOTHERBY .
Because
I defy him to beat this day's wondrous applause .
The very walls shook .
INKEL.
Oh, if that be the test,
I allow our friend Scamp has this day done his best.
Miss Lilac, permit me to help you ?—a wing ?
MISS LILAC .
No more, Sir, I thank you. Who lectures next Spring ?
BOTHERBY.
Dick Dunder.
INKEL.
That is , if he lives .
MISS LILAC .
And why not ?
INKEL.
No reason whatever, save that he's a sot.
Lady Bluemount ! a glass of Madeira ?
LADY BLUEMOUNT.
With pleasure.
INKEL .
How does your friend Wordswords, that Windermere treasure ?
Does he stick to his lakes , like the leeches he sings ,
And their gatherers , as Homer sung warriors and kings ?
LADY BLUEBOTTLE.
He has just got a place.
INKEL.
As a footman ?
LADY BLUEMOUNT.
For shame !
Nor profane with your sneers so poetic a name.
INKEL.
Nay, I meant him no evil , but pitied his master ;
For the poet of pedlars ' twere , sure , no disaster
To wear a new livery ; the more, as ' tis not
The first time he has turned both his creed and his coat.
LADY BLUEMOUNT.
For shame ! I repeat . If Sir George could but hear-
LADY BLUEBOTTLE.
Never mind our friend Inkel ; we all know, my dear,
’Tis his way.
SIR RICHARD .
But this place-
INKEL.
Is perhaps like friend Scamp's,
A lecturer's .
LADY BLUEBOTTLE.
Excuse me 'tis one in " the Stamps :"
He is made a Collector.
TRACY.
Collector !
SIR RICHARD .
How ?
MISS LILAC .
What ?
INKEL.
I shall think of him oft when I buy a new hat ;
There his works will appear――
LADY BLUEMOUNT.
Sir, they reach to the Ganges .
INKEL.
I shan't go so far- I can have them at Grange's .*
LADY BLUEBOTTLE .
Oh fie !
MISS LILAC .
And for shame !
LADY BLUEMOUNT.
You're too bad .
BOTHERBY.
Very good !
LADY BLUEMOUNT.
How good ?
LADY BLUEBOTTLE .
He means nought-' tis his phrase .
LADY BLUEMOUNT.
He grows rude .
LADY BLUEBOTTLE.
He means nothing ; nay, ask him.
LADY BLUEMOUNT.
Pray, Sir ! did you mean
What you say ?
INKEL.
Never mind if he did ; 'twill be seen
That whatever he means won't alloy what he says .
BOTHERBY.
Sir !
*Grange is or was a famous pastry-cook and fruiterer in Piccadilly.
INKEL.
Pray be content with your portion of praise ;
'Twas in your defence .
BOTHERBY.
If you please, with submission,
I can make out my own.
INKEL.
It would be your perdition .
While you live, my dear Botherby, never defend
Yourself or your works ; but leave both to a friend .
Apropos-Is your play then accepted at last ?
BOTHERBY .
At last ?
INKEL.
Why I thought- that's to say- there had past
A few Green-room whispers, which hinted-you know
That the taste of the actors at best is so so .
BOTHERBY.
Sir, the Green-room's in raptures , and so's the Committee.
INKEL .
Aye-yours are the plays for exciting our " pity
And fear," as the Greek says : for " purging the mind,”
I doubt if you'll leave us an equal behind .
BOTHERBY.
I have written the prologue , and meant to have prayed
For a spice of your wit in an epilogue's aid.
INKEL.
Well, time enough yet , when the play's to be played .
Is it cast yet ?
BOTHERBY.
The actors are fighting for parts ,
As is usual in that most litigious of arts .
LADY BLUEBOTTLE .
We'll all make a party , and go the first night.
TRACY .
And you promised the epilogue , Inkel .
INKEL.
Not quite.
However, to save my friend, Botherby, trouble,
I'll do what I can, though my pains must be double ,
TRACY .
Why so ?
INKEL .
To do justice to what goes before .
BOTHERBY . *
Sir, I'm happy to say, I've no fears on that score.
Your parts, Mr. Inkel , are-
INKEL.
Never mind mine ;
Stick to those of your play , which is quite your own line.
LADY. BLUEMOUNT.
You're a fugitive writer, I think, Sir , of rhymes ?
INKEL .
Yes, Ma'am ; and a fugitive reader sometimes.
On Wordswords , for instance, I seldom alight,
Or on Mouthey, his friend, without taking to flight .
LADY BLUEMOUNT .
Sir, your taste is too common ; but time and posterity
Will right these great men, and this age's severity
Become its reproach.
INKEL.
I've no sort of objection,
So I am not of the party to take the infection.
LADY BLUEBOTTLE .
Perhaps you have doubts that they ever will take ?
INKEL .
Not at all ; on the contrary , those of the lake
Have taken already, and still will continue
To take what they can, from a groat to a guinea,
Of pension or place ; -but the subject's a bore .
LADY BLUEMOUNT .
Well, Sir, the time's coming .
INKEL.
Scamp ! don't you feel sore ?
What say you to this ?
SCAMP .
They have merit , I own ;
Though their system's absurdity keeps it unknown.
INKEL.
Then why not unearth it in one of your lectures !
SCAMP .
It is only time past which comes under my strictures .
LADY BLUEBOTTLE .
Come, a truce with all tartness :-the joy of my heart
Is to see Nature's triumph o'er all that is art.
Wild Nature !-Grand Shakspeare !
BOTHERBY .
And down Aristotle !
LADY BLUEMOUNT .
Sir George thinks exactly with Lady Bluebottle ;
And my Lord Seventy - four, who protects our dear Bard ,
And who gave him his place, has the greatest regard
For the poet, who , singing of pedlars and asses,
Has found out the way to dispense with Parnassus .
TRACY .
And you, Scamp ! —
SCAMP.
I needs must confess , I'm embarrassed .
INKEL .
Don't call upon Scamp , who's already so harassed
With old schools, and new schools, and no schools , and all schools .
TRACY ,
Well, one thing is certain, that some must be fools .
I should like to know who .
INKEL.
And I should not be sorry
To know who are not :-it would save us some worry.
LADY BLUEBOTTLE.
A truce with remark, and let nothing controul
This " feast of our reason, and flow of the soul. "
Oh, my dear Mr. Botherby ! sympathise !—I
Now feel such a rapture, I'm ready to fly,
I feel so elastic ,-" so buoyant- so buoyant ! " *
INKEL.
Tracy ! open the window.
TRACY .
I wish her much joy on't.
BOTHERBY.
For God's sake, my Lady Bluebottle, check not
This gentle emotion , so seldom our lot
Upon earth. Give it way ; ' tis an impulse which lifts
Our spirits from earth ; the sublimest of gifts ;
For which poor Prometheus was chain'd to his mountain .
'Tis the source of all sentiment- feeling's true fountain :
'Tis the Vision of Heaven upon Earth : ' tis the gas
Of the soul : ' tis the seizing of shades as they pass ,
And making them substance : 'tis something divine :
INKEL.
Shall I help you, my friend, to a little more wine ?
* Fact from life, with the words.
BOTHERBY.
I thank you . Not any more, Sir , till I dine.
INKEL.
Apropos !-Do you dine with Sir Humphrey to day ?
TRACY .
I should think with Duke Humphrey was more in your way.
INKEL.
It might be of yore ; but we authors now look
To the knight, as a landlord , much more than the Duke.
The truth is-each writer now quite at his ease is ,
And (except with his publisher) dines where he pleases .
But ' tis now nearly five , and I must to the Park.
TRACY .
And I'll take a turn with you there till ' tis dark.
And you, Scamp-
SCAMP .
Excuse me ; I must to my notes ,
For my lecture next week .
INKEL.
He must mind whom he quotes
Out of " Elegant Extracts ."
LADY BLUEBOTTLE.
Well, now we break up ;
But remember Miss Diddle invites us to sup .
INKEL.
Then at two hours past midnight we all meet again ,
For the sciences , sandwiches , hock and champaigne !
TRACY .
And the sweet lobster sallad !
BOTHERBY.
I honour that meal ;
For ' tis then that our feelings most genuinely-feel .
INKEL .
True ; feeling is truest then, far beyond question ;
I wish to the gods ' twas the same with digestion !
LADY BLUEBOTTLE .
Pshaw !-never mind that ; for one moment of feeling
Is worth- God knows what.
INKEL.
'Tis at least worth concealing
For itself, or what follows- But here comes your carriage .
SIR RICHARD (aside).
I wish all these people were d ― d with my marriage !
[ Exeunt.
End of Eclogue the Second.
MY FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH POETS .
----------
My father was a Dissenting Minister at W- m in Shrop-
shire ; and in the year 1798 (the figures that compose that
date are to me like the " dreaded name of Demogorgon ")
Mr. Coleridge came to Shrewsbury, to succeed Mr. Rowe in
the spiritual charge of a Unitarian Congregation there. He
did not come till late on the Saturday afternoon before he was
to preach ; and Mr. Rowe, who himself went down to the
coach in a state of anxiety and expectation, to look for the
arrival of his successor, could find no one at all answering
the description but a round-faced man in a short black coat
(like a shooting -jacket) which hardly seemed to have been
made for him, but who seemed to be talking at a great rate to
his fellow-passengers. Mr. Rowe had scarce returned to give
an account of his disappointment, when the round- faced man
in black entered , and dissipated all doubts on the subject, by
beginning to talk. He did not cease while he staid ; nor has
he since, that I know of. He held the good town of Shrews-
bury in delightful suspense for three weeks that he remained
there, " fluttering the proud Salopians like an eagle in a
dove-cote ;" and the Welch mountains that skirt the horizon
with their tempestuous confusion, agree to have heard no
such mystic sounds since the days of
"High-born Hoel's harp or soft Llewellyn's lay !"
As we passed along between W-m and Shrewsbury, and
I eyed their blue tops seen through the wintry branches, or
24 MY FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH POETS.
the red rustling leaves of the sturdy oak- trees by the road-
side, a sound was in my ears as of a Siren's song ; I was
stunned, startled with it, as from deep sleep ; but I had no
notion then that I should ever be able to express my admi-
ration to others in motley imagery or quaint allusion, till
the light of his genius shone into my soul, like the sun's
rays glittering in the puddles of the road. I was at that time
dumb, inarticulate, helpless, like a worm by the way- side,
crushed, bleeding, lifeless ; but now, bursting from the
deadly bands that " bound them,
" With Styx nine times round them,"
my ideas float on winged words, and as they expand their
plumes, catch the golden light of other years. My soul has
indeed remained in its original bondage, dark , obscure, with
longings infinite and unsatisfied ; my heart, shut up in the
prison-house of this rude clay, has never found, nor will it
ever find, a heart to speak to ; but that my understanding
also did not remain dumb and brutish, or at length found a
language to express itself, I owe to Coleridge . But this is
not to my purpose.
My father lived ten miles from Shrewsbury, and was in
the habit of exchanging visits with Mr Rowe, and with Mr.
Jenkins of Whitchurch (nine miles farther on) according to
the custom of Dissenting Ministers in each other's neigh-
bourhood. A line of communication is thus established, by
which the flame of civil and religious liberty is kept alive, and
nourishes its smouldering fire unquenchable, like the fires
in the Agamemnon of Eschylus, placed at different stations,
that waited for ten long years to announce with their blazing
pyramids the destruction of Troy. Coleridge had agreed to
come over to see my father, according to the courtesy of the
MY FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH POETS. 25
country, as Mr. Rowe's probable successor ; but in the mean
time I had gone to hear him preach the Sunday after his
arrival . A poet and a philosopher getting up into a Unita-
rian pulpit to preach the Gospel, was a romance in these
degenerate days, a sort of revival of the primitive spirit of
Christianity, which was not to be resisted .
It was in January, 1798, that I rose one morning before
day-light, to walk ten miles in the mud, and went to hear
this celebrated person preach. Never, the longest day I
have to live, shall I have such another walk as this cold,
raw, comfortless one, in the winter of the year 1798.—
Il y a des impressions que ni le tems ni les circonstances
peuvent effacer. Dusse -je vivre des siècles entiers, le doux
`tems de ma jeunesse ne peut renaitre pour moi, ni s'effacer
jamais dans mu mémoire. When I got there, the organ was
playing the 100th psalm, and, when it was done, Mr. Cole-
ridge rose and gave out his text, " And he went up into the
mountain to pray, HIMSELF, ALONE." As he gave out this
text, his voice " rose like a steam of rich distilled perfumes,"
and when he came to the two last words, which he pro-
nounced loud, deep , and distinct, it seemed to me, who was
then young, as if the sounds had echoed from the bottom of
the human heart, and as if that prayer might have floated
in solemn silence through the universe. The idea of St.
John came into mind, " of one crying in the wilderness, who
had his loins girt about, and whose food was locusts and
wild honey." The preacher then launched into his subject,
like an eagle dallying with the wind. The sermon was upon
peace and war ; upon church and state-not their alliance,
but their separation- on the spirit of the world and the
spirit of Christianity, not as the same, but as opposed to one
another. He talked of those who had " inscribed the cross
of Christ on banners dripping with human gore." He made
26 MY FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH POETS .
a poetical and pastoral excursion, -and to shew the fatal
effects of war, drew a striking contrast between the simple
shepherd boy, driving his team afield, or sitting under the
hawthorn, piping to his flock, " as though he should never
be old," and the same poor country -lad, crimped, kidnapped,
brought into town, made drunk at an alehouse, turned into a
wretched drummer -boy, with his hair sticking on end with
powder and pomatum, a long cue at his back, and tricked
out in the loathsome finery of the profession of blood.
"Such were the notes our once-lov'd poet sung. "
And for myself, I could not have been more delighted if I
had heard the music of the spheres. Poetry and Philosophy
had met together, Truth and Genius had embraced, under
the eye and with the sanction of Religion. This was even
beyond my hopes I returned home well satisfied . The
sun that was still labouring pale and wan through the sky,
obscured by thick mists, seemed an emblem of the good
cause ; and the cold dank drops of dew that hung half melted
on the beard of the thistle, had something genial and refresh
ing in them ; for there was a spirit of hope and youth in
all nature, that turned every thing into good. The face of
nature had not then the brand of JUS DIVINUM on it :
" Like to that sanguine flower inscrib'd with woe."
On the Tuesday following , the half-inspired speaker came.
I was called down into the room where he was, and went
half-hoping, half-afraid . He received me very graciously,
and I listened for a long time without uttering a word. I
did not suffer in his opinion by my silence. " For those two
hours," he afterwards was pleased to say, " he was convers-
ing with W. H.'s forehead !" His appearance was different
from what I had anticipated from seeing him before . At a
MY FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH POETS . 27
distance, and in the dim light of the chapel, there was to me
a strange wildness in his aspect, a dusky obscurity, and I
thought him pitted with the small-pox . His complexion
was at that time clear, and even bright-
" As are the children of yon azure sheen ."
His forehead was broad and high, light as if built of ivory,
with large projecting eyebrows, and his eyes rolling beneath
them like a sea with darkened lustre. " A certain tender
bloom his face o'erspread," a purple tinge as we see it in
the pale thoughtful complexions of the Spanish portrait-
painters, Murillo and Velasquez . His mouth was gross, vo-
luptuous, open, eloquent ; his chin good-humoured and
round ; but his nose , the rudder of the face , the index of the
will, was small, feeble, nothing-like what he has done. It
might seem that the genius of his face as from a height
surveyed and projected him (with sufficient capacity and
huge aspiration) into the world unknown of thought and
imagination, with nothing to support or guide his veering
purpose, as if Columbus had launched his adventurous
course for the New World in a scallop , without oars or com-
pass. So at least I comment on it after the event. Cole-
ridge in his person was rather above the common size, in-
clining to the corpulent, or like Lord Hamlet , " somewhat
fat and pursy." His hair (now, alas ! grey) was then black
and glossy as the raven's, and fell in smooth masses over his
forehead. This long pendulous hair is peculiar to enthu-
siasts, to those whose minds tend heavenward ; and is tra-
ditionally inseparable (though of a different colour) from
the pictures of Christ. It ought to belong, as a character,
to all who preach Christ crucified, and Coleridge was at that
time one of those !
It was curious to observe the contrast between him and
28 MY FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH POETS
my father, who was a veteran in the cause, and then declin-
ing into the vale of years . He had been a poor Irish lad ,
carefully brought up by his parents , and sent to the Univer-
sity of Glasgow (where he studied under Adam Smith) to
prepare him for his future destination . It was his mother's
proudest wish to see her son a Dissenting Minister. So if
we look back to past generations (as far as eye can reach)
we see the same hopes, fears, wishes , followed by the same
disappointments, throbbing in the human heart ; and so we
may see them (if we look forward ) rising up for ever, and
disappearing, like vapourish bubbles, in the human breast !
After being tossed about from congregation to congregation
in the heats of the Unitarian controversy, and squabbles
about the American war, he had been relegated to an ob-
scure village, where he was to spend the last thirty years of
his life , far from the only converse that he loved, the talk
about disputed texts of Scripture and the cause of civil and
religious liberty. Here he passed his days , repining but re-
signed, in the study of the Bible, and the perusal of the Com-
mentators, huge folios , not easily got through, one of which
would outlast a winter ! Why did he pore on these from
morn to night (with the exception of a walk in the fields or
a turn in the garden to gather brocoli- plants or kidney-
beans of his own rearing, with no small degree of pride and
pleasure) ?-Here were " no figures nor no fantasies ,” -nei-
ther poetry nor philosophy- nothing to dazzle , nothing to
excite modern curiosity ; but to his lack -lustre eyes there
appeared , within the pages of the ponderous, unwieldy, ne-
glected tomes, the sacred name of JEHOVAH in Hebrew
capitals : pressed down by the weight of the style , worn to the
last fading thinness of the understanding, there were glimpses,
glimmering notions of the patriarchal wanderings , with palm-
trees hovering in the horizon, and processions of camels at
MY FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH POETS. 29
the distance of three thousand years ; there was Moses with
the Burning Bush, the number of the Twelve Tribes, types,
shadows, glosses on the law and the prophets ; there were
discussions (dull enough) on the age of Methuselah, a
mighty speculation ! there were outlines, rude guesses at
the shape of Noah's Ark and of the riches of Solomon's
Temple ; questions as to the date of the creation , predictions
of the end of all things ; the great lapses of time, the strange
mutations of the globe were unfolded with the voluminous
leaf, as it turned over ; and though the soul might slumber
with an hieroglyphic veil of inscrutable mysteries drawn
over it, yet it was in a slumber ill- exchanged for all the
sharpened realities of sense, wit, fancy, or reason. My
father's life was comparatively a dream ; but it was a dream
of infinity and eternity, of death, the resurrection, and a
judgment to come !
No two individuals were ever more unlike than were the
host and his guest. A poet was to my father a sort of non-
descript : yet whatever added grace to the Unitarian cause
was to him welcome. He could hardly have been more
surprised or pleased, if our visitor had worn wings. Indeed,
his thoughts had wings ; and as the silken sounds rustled
round our little wainscoted parlour, my father threw back
his spectacles over his forehead, his white hairs mixing with
its sanguine hue ; and a smile of delight beamed across his
rugged cordial face, to think that Truth had found a new ally
in Fancy ! * Besides , Coleridge seemed to take considerable
notice of me, and that of itself was enough. He talked very
*My father was one of those who mistook his talent after all . He used
to be very much dissatisfied that I preferred his Letters to his Sermons. The
last were forced and dry ; the first came naturally from him. For ease, half-
plays on words, and a supine, monkish, indolent pleasantry, I have never
seen them equalled .
Ultimo aggiornamento
29.02.2024