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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,
A mind, which, wrapt in Fancy's high-wrought

dreams, To nature's veriest bounds its daring way Can wing: what charms throughout thy pages

shine,
To win with fairy thrill the melting soul!

For though along impassion'd grandeur roll,
Yet in full power simplicity is thine.
Proceed, sweet bard! and the heaven-granted fire

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.

SONNET,

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,
Truants the Muse to weave her requiem song;
With sterner lore now busied, erst the lay
Cheer'd my dark morn of manhood, wont to stray
O'er fancy's fields in quest of musky flower;

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

THE PEASANT'S

FATE.

DARLING of science and the muse,
How shall a son of song refuse

To shed a tear for thee?
To us, so soon, for ever lost,
What hopes, what prospects have been cross'd

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!
Who into one short span, at best,
The wisdom of an age compress’d,

A patriarch's lengthen’d age !
To him a genius sanctified,
And purged from literary pride,

A sacred boon was given :
Chaste as the psalmist's harp, his lyre
Celestial raptures could inspire,

And lift the soul to Heaven.

'Twas not the laurel earth bestows,
'Twas not the praise from man that flows,

With classic toil he sought :
He sought the crown that martyrs wear,
When rescued from a world of care;

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,
Transplanted from the soil of time

To immortality,
In full perfection there shall bloom ;
And those who now lament his doom

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!

LINES
ON THE DEATH OF MR. HENRY KIRKE WHITE,

BY THE REV. J. PLUMPTRE.

Such talents and such piety combined,
With such unfeign'd humility of mind,
Bespoke him fair to tread the way to fame,
And live an honour to the christian name.

. * See Clifton Grove.

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