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SONNET TO HENRY KIRKE WHITE, ON HIS
POEMS LATELY PUBLISHED.
BY ARTHUR OWEN, ESQ.
HAIL! gifted youth, whose passion-breathing lay
Portrays a mind attuned to noblest themes,
dreams, To nature's veriest bounds its daring way Can wing: what charms throughout thy pages
For though along impassion'd grandeur roll,
Of pity, glowing in thy feeling breast,
May nought destroy, may nought thy soul divest Of joy—of rapture in the living lyre,
Thou tunest so magically: but may fame Each passing year add honours to thy name.
Richmond, Sept. 1803.
ON SEEING ANOTHER WRITTEN TO H, K, WHITE, IN
SEPTEMBER, 1803, INSERTED IN HIS “REMAINS."
BY ARTHUR OWEN, ESQ.
Ah! once again the long left wires among,
To me nor fragrant less, though barr’d from view And courtship of the world : hail'd was the hour
That gave me, dripping fresh with nature's dew, Poor Henry's budding beauties--to a clime.
Hapless transplanted, whose exotic ray
Forced their young vigour into transient day, And drain'd the stalk that rear'd them! and shall
time Trample these orphan blossoms ?-No! they
breathe Still lovelier charms—for Southey culls the wreath!
Oxford, Dec. 17, 1807.
REFLECTIONS ON READING THE LIFE OF
THE LATE HENRY KIRKE WHITE.
BY WILLIAM HOLLOWAY, AUTHOR OF
DARLING of science and the muse,
To shed a tear for thee?
By Heaven's supreme decree ? How could a parent, love-beguiled, In life's fair prime resign a child
So duteous, good, and kind? The warblers of the soothing strain Must string the elegiac lyre in vain
To soothe the wounded mind !
Yet, Fancy, hovering round the tomb, Half envies, while she mourns thy doom,
Dear poet, saint, and sage!
A patriarch's lengthen’d age !
A sacred boon was given :
And lift the soul to Heaven.
'Twas not the laurel earth bestows,
With classic toil he sought :
Their spirit too he caught.
Here come, ye thoughtless, vain, and gay, Who idly range in Folly's way,
And learn the worth of time: Learn ye, whose days have run to waste, How to redeem this pearl at last,
Atoning for your crime.
This flower, that droop'd in one cold clime,
Must bow to God's decree.
London, 27th Feb. 1808.
ON THE DEATH OF HENRY KIRKE WHITE.
BY T. PARK.
Too, too prophetic did thy wild note swell,
Impassion'd minstrel ! when its pitying wail Sigh'd o'er the vernal primrose as it fell
Untimely, wither’d by the northern gale. * Thou wert that flower of promise and of prime ! Whose opening bloom, ʼmid many an adverse blast,
[clime, Charm'd the lone wanderer through this desert
But charm'd him with a rapture soon o'ercast, To see thee languish into quick decay.
Yet was not thy departing immature; · For ripe in virtue thou wert reft away,
And pure in spirit, as the bless'd are pure ; Pure as the dewdrop, freed from earthly leaven, That sparkles, is exhaled, and blends with heaven!
BY THE REV. J. PLUMPTRE.
Such talents and such piety combined,
. * See Clifton Grove.