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The Poetical Works of Henry Kirke White

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THE POETICAL WORKS OF
HENRY KIRKE WHITE.

WITH A MEMOIR
BY SIR HARRIS NICOLAS.

TO
PETER SMITH, ESQ.
THIS VOLUME
IS INSCRIBED
IN TESTIMONY OF ESTEEM AND FRIENDSHIP.





CONTENTS.

Memoir of Henry Kirke White

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

Clifton Grove
Time
Childhood; Part I
Part II
The Christiad
Lines written on a Survey of the Heavens
Lines supposed to be spoken by a Lover at the Grave of his
Mistress
My Study
Description of a Summer's Eve
Lines--"Go to the raging sea, and say, 'Be still!'"
Written in the Prospect of Death
Verses--"When pride and envy, and the scorn"
Fragment--"Oh! thou most fatal of Pandora's train"
"Loud rage the winds without.--The wintry cloud"
To a Friend in Distress
Christmas Day
Nelsoni Mors
Epigram on Robert Bloomfield
Elegy occasioned by the Death of Mr. Gill, who was drowned in the
River Trent, while bathing
Inscription for a Monument to the Memory of Cowper
"I'm pleased, and yet I'm sad"
Solitude
"If far from me the Fates remove"
"Fanny! upon thy breast I may not lie!"
Fragments--"Saw'st thou that light? exclaim'd the youth, and
paused:"
"The pious man"
"Lo! on the eastern summit, clad in gray"
"There was a little bird upon that pile;"
"O pale art thou, my lamp, and faint"
"O give me music--for my soul doth faint"
"And must thou go, and must we part"
"Ah! who can say, however fair his view,"
"Hush'd is the lyre--the hand that swept"
"When high romance o'er every wood and stream"
"Once more, and yet once more,"
Fragment of an Eccentric Drama
To a Friend
Lines on reading the Poems of Warton
Fragment--"The western gale,"
Commencement of a Poem on Despair
The Eve of Death
Thanatos
Athanatos
Music
On being confined to School one pleasant Morning in Spring
To Contemplation
My own Character
Lines written in Wilford Churchyard
Verses--"Thou base repiner at another's joy,"
Lines--"Yes, my stray steps have wander'd, wander'd far"
The Prostitute

ODES.

To my Lyre
To an early Primrose
Ode addressed to H. Fuseli, Esq. R. A.
To the Earl of Carlisle, K. G.
To Contemplation
To the Genius of Romance
To Midnight
To Thought
Genius
Fragment of an Ode to the Moon
To the Muse
To Love
On Whit-Monday
To the Wind, at Midnight
To the Harvest Moon
To the Herb Rosemary
To the Morning
On Disappointment
On the Death of Dermody the Poet

SONNETS.

To the River Trent
Sonnet--"Give me a cottage on some Cambrian wild,"
Sonnet supposed to have been addressed by a Female Lunatic to a
Lady
Sonnet supposed to be written by the unhappy Poet Dermody in a
Storm
The Winter Traveller
Sonnet--"Ye whose aspirings court the muse of lays,"
Recantatory, in Reply to the foregoing elegant Admonition
On hearing the Sounds of an Æolian Harp
Sonnet--"What art thou, Mighty One! and where thy seat?"
To Capel Lofft, Esq.
To the Moon
Written at the Grave of a Friend
To Misfortune
Sonnet--"As thus oppress'd with many a heavy care,"
To April
Sonnet--"Ye unseen spirits, whose wild melodies,"
To a Taper
To my Mother
Sonnet--"Yes, 't will be over soon. This sickly dream"
To Consumption
Sonnet--"Thy judgments, Lord, are just;"
Sonnet--"When I sit musing on the chequer'd part"
Sonnet--"Sweet to the gay of heart is Summer's smile"
Sonnet--"Quick o'er the wintry waste dart fiery shafts"

BALLADS, SONGS, AND HYMNS.

Gondoline
A Ballad--"Be hush'd, be hush'd, ye bitter winds,"
The Lullaby of a Female Convict to her Child, the Night previous
to Execution
The Savoyard's Return
A Pastoral Song
Melody--"Yes, once more that dying strain"
Additional Stanza to a Song by Waller
The Wandering Boy
Canzonet--"Maiden! wrap thy mantle round thee'"
Song--"Softly, softly blow, ye breezes,"
The Shipwrecked Solitary's Song to the Night
The Wonderful Juggler
Hymn--"Awake, sweet harp of Judah, wake"
A Hymn for Family Worship
The Star of Bethlehem
Hymn--"O Lord, my God, in mercy turn"

TRIBUTARY VERSES.

Eulogy on Henry Kirke White, by Lord Byron
Sonnet on Henry Kirke White, by Capel Lofft
Sonnet occasioned by the Second of H. K. White, by the same
Written in the Homer of Mr. H. K. White, by the same
To the Memory of H. K. White, by the Rev. W. B. Collyer, A.M.
Sonnet to H. K. White, on his Poems, by Arthur Owen, Esq.
Sonnet, on seeing another written to H. K. White, by the same
Reflections on Reading the Life of the late H. K. White, by
William Holloway
On the Death of Henry Kirke White, by T. Park
Lines on the Death of Henry Kirke White, by the Rev. J. Plumptre
To Henry Kirke White, by H. Welker
Verses occasioned by the Death of H. K. White, by Josiah Conder
On Reading H. K. White's Poem on Solitude, by the same
Ode on the late Henry Kirke White, by Juvenis
Sonnet in Memory of Henry Kirke White, by J. G.
Lines on the Death of Henry Kirke White
Sonnet to H. K. White, on his Poems, by G. L. C.
To the Memory of Henry Kirke White, by a Lady
Stanzas supposed to have been written at the Grave of Henry Kirke
White, by a Lady






MEMOIR OF HENRY KIRKE WHITE.

BY SIR HARRIS NICOLAS.


Thine, Henry, is a deathless name on earth,
Thine amaranthine wreaths, new pluck'd in Heaven!
By what aspiring child of mortal birth
Could more be ask'd, to whom might more be given
TOWNSEND.

It has been said that the contrasts of light and shade are as
necessary to biography as to painting, and that the character
which is radiant with genius and virtue requires to be relieved
by more common and opposite qualities. Though this may be true
as a principle, there are many exceptions; and the life of Henry
Kirke White, whose merits were unalloyed by a single vice, is one
of the most memorable. The history of his short and melancholy
career, by Mr. Southey, is extremely popular; and when it is
remembered that its author is one of the most distinguished of
living writers, that as a biographer he is unrivalled, and that
he had access to all the materials which exist, it would be as
vain to expect from the present Memoir any new facts, as it would
be absurd to hope that it will be more worthy of attention than
the imperishable monument which his generous friend has erected
to his memory.

There is, however, nothing inconsistent with this admission, in
presuming that a Life of the Poet might be written almost as
interesting as the one alluded to, and without the writer assuming
to himself any unusual sagacity. As Mr. Southey's narrative is
prefixed to a collection of all Kirke White's remains, in prose as
well as in verse, his letters are inserted as part of his works,
instead of extracts from them being introduced into the Memoir.
This volume will, on the contrary, be confined to his Poems; and
such parts of his letters as describe his situation and feelings
at particular periods will be introduced into the account of his
life. Indeed, so frequent are the allusions to himself in those
letters as well as in his poems, that he may be almost considered
an autobiographer; and the writer who substitutes his own cold and
lifeless sketch for the glowing and animated portrait which these
memorials of genius afford, must either be deficient in skill, or
be under the dominion of overweening vanity.

Few who have risen to eminence were, on the paternal side at
least, of humbler origin than Henry Kirke White. His father, John
White, was a butcher at Nottingham; but his mother, who bore the
illustrious name of Neville, is said to have belonged to a
respectable family in Staffordshire. He was born at Nottingham on
the 21st of March, 1785; and in his earliest years indications
were observed of the genius for which he was afterwards
distinguished. In his poem "Childhood," he has graphically
described the little school where, between the age of three and
five, he

"enter'd, though with toil and pain,
The low vestibule of learning's fane."

The venerable dame by whom he was

"inured to alphabetic toils,"

and whose worth he gratefully commemorates, had the discernment
to perceive her charge's talents, and even foretold his future
celebrity:

"And, as she gave my diligence its praise,
Talk'd of the honour of my future days."

If he did not deceive himself, it was at this period that his
imagination became susceptible of poetic associations. Speaking
of the eagerness with which he left the usual sports of children
to listen to tales of imaginary woe, and of the effect which they
produced, he says,

"Beloved moment! then 't was first I caught
The first foundation of romantic thought;
Then first I shed bold Fancy's thrilling tear,
Then first that Poesy charm'd mine infant ear.
Soon stored with much of legendary lore,
The sports of childhood charm'd my soul no more;
Far from the scene of gaiety and noise,
Far, far from turbulent and empty joys,
I hied me to the thick o'erarching shade,
And there, on mossy carpet, listless laid;
While at my feet the rippling runnel ran,
The days of wild romance antique I'd scan;
Soar on the wings of fancy through the air,
To realms of light, and pierce the radiance there."

The peculiar disposition of his mind, having thus early displayed
itself, every day added to its force. Study and abstraction were his
greatest pleasures, and a love of reading became his predominant
passion. "I could fancy," said his eldest sister, "I see him in his
little chair with a large book upon his knee, and my mother calling,
'Henry, my love, come to dinner,' which was repeated so often
without being regarded, that she was obliged to change the tone of
her voice before she could rouse him."

At the age of six he was placed under the care of the Rev. John
Blanchard, who kept the best school in Nottingham, where he learnt
writing, arithmetic, and French; and he continued there for
several years. During that time two facts are related of him which
prove the precocity of his talents. When about seven, he was
accustomed to go secretly into his father's kitchen and teach the
servant to read and write; and he composed a tale of a Swiss
emigrant, which he gave her, being too diffident to show it to his
mother. In his eleventh year he wrote a separate theme for each of
the twelve or fourteen boys in his class; and the excellence of
the various pieces obtained his master's applause.

Henry was destined for his father's trade, and the efforts of his
mother to change that intention were for some time fruitless. Even
while he was at school, one day in every week, and his leisure
hours on the others, were employed in carrying meat to his father's
customers; but a dispute between his father and his master having
caused him to be removed from school, one of the ushers, from
malice or ignorance, told his mother that it was impossible to make
her son do any thing. The person who reported so unfavourably of
his abilities, little knew that he had then given ample evidence of
his talents, in some poetical satires which his treatment at school
had provoked, but which he afterwards destroyed.

Soon after he quitted Mr. Blanchard's school he was intrusted to
Mr. Shipley, who discovered his pupil's abilities, and relieved
his friends' uneasiness on the subject. His earliest production
that has been preserved was written in his thirteenth year, "On
being confined to School one pleasant Morning in Spring," in which
a schoolboy's love of liberty, and his envy of the freedom of a
neighbouring wren, are expressed with plaintive simplicity.

About this time a slight improvement took place in his situation.
His mother, to whom he was indebted for all the happiness of his
childhood, opened a day school, and, as it abstracted her from the
groveling cares of a butcher's shop, his home was made much more
comfortable; and, instead of being confined to his father's
business, he was placed in a stocking loom, with the view of
bringing him up to the trade of a hosier, the poverty of his
family still precluding the hope of a profession.

It may easily be believed that this occupation ill agreed with the
aspirations of his mind. From his mother he had few secrets, and in
her ear he breathed his disgust and unhappiness. "He could not bear,"
he said, "the idea of spending some years of his life in shining
and folding up stockings;" he wanted "something to occupy his brain,
and he should be wretched if he continued longer at this trade, or
indeed in any thing, except one of the learned professions." For a
year these remonstrances were ineffectual; but no persuasions, even
when urged with maternal tenderness, could reconcile him to his lot.
He sought for consolation with the Muses, and wrote an "Address to
Contemplation," in which he describes his feelings:

"Why along
The dusky track of commerce should I toil,
When, with an easy competence content,
I can alone be happy; where, with thee,
I may enjoy the loveliness of Nature,
And loose the wings of fancy! Thus alone
Can I partake of happiness on earth;
And to be happy here is man's chief end,
For to be happy he must needs be good."

There are few obstacles that perseverance will not overcome; and
penury and a parent's obstinacy were both surmounted by Kirke
White's importunity. Finding it useless to chain him longer to the
hosier's loom, he was placed in the office of Messrs. Coldham and
Enfield, Town Clerk and attorneys of Nottingham, some time in May,
1799, when he was in his fifteenth year; but as a premium could
not be given with him, it was agreed that he should serve two
years before he was articled. A few months after he entered upon
his new employment, he began a correspondence with his brother,
Mr. Neville White, who was then a medical student in London; and
in a letter, dated in September, 1799, he thus spoke of his
situation and prospects:

"It is now nearly four months since I entered into Mr. Coldham's
office; and it is with pleasure I can assure you, that I never yet
found any thing disagreeable, but, on the contrary, every thing I
do seems a pleasure to me, and for a very obvious reason,--it is a
business which I like--a business which I chose before all others;
and I have two good-tempered, easy masters, but who will,
nevertheless, see that their business is done in a neat and proper
manner."--"A man that understands the law is sure to have business;
and in case I have no thoughts, in case, that is, that I do not
aspire to hold the honourable place of a barrister, I shall feel
sure of gaining a genteel livelihood at the business to which I am
articled."

At the suggestion of his employers, he devoted the greater part of
his leisure to Latin; and, though he was but slightly assisted, he
was able in ten months to read Horace with tolerable facility, and
had made some progress in Greek. Having but little time for these
pursuits, he accustomed himself to decline the Greek nouns and
verbs during his walks to and from the office, and he thereby
acquired a habit of studying while walking, that never deserted
him. The account which Mr. Southey has given of his application,
and of the success that attended it, is astonishing. Though living
with his family, he nearly estranged himself from their society.
At meals, and during the evenings, a book was constantly in his
hands; and as he refused to sup with them, to prevent any loss of
time, his meal was sent to him in his little apartment. Law,
Greek, Latin, Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese, chemistry,
astronomy, electricity, drawing, music, and mechanics, by turns
engaged his attention; and though his acquirements in some of
those studies were very superficial, his proficiency in many of
them was far from contemptible. His papers on law evince so much
industry, that had that subject alone occupied his leisure hours,
his diligence would have been commendable. He was a tolerable
Italian scholar, and in the classics he afterwards attained
reputation; but of the sciences and of Spanish and Portuguese, his
knowledge was not, it may be inferred, very great. His ear for
music was good, and his passionate attachment to it is placed
beyond a doubt by his verses on its effects:

"With her in pensive mood I long to roam
At midnight's hour, or evening's calm decline,
And thoughtful o'er the falling streamlet's foam,
In calm Seclusion's hermit-walks recline:"

But he checked his ardour, lest it might interfere with more
essential studies: and his musical attainments were limited to
playing pleasingly on the piano, composing the bass to the air
at the same time.

Ambition was one of the most powerful feelings of his nature, and
it is rare indeed, when it is not the companion of great talents.
It developed itself first in spurning trade; and no sooner did he
find himself likely to become an attorney, than he aspired to the
bar. But his earliest and strongest passion was for literary
distinction; and he was scarcely removed from the trammels of
school, before he sought admission into a literary society, in his
native town. His extreme youth rendered him objectionable; but,
after repeated refusals, he at last succeeded. In the association
there were six professors, and being, on the first vacancy,
appointed to the chair of literature, he soon justified the
choice. Taking "genius" as his theme, he addressed the assembly in
an extemporaneous lecture of two hours and three-quarters duration,
with so much success, that the audience unanimously voted him
their thanks, declaring that "the society had never heard a better
lecture delivered from the chair which he so much honoured." To
judge properly of this circumstance, it would be necessary to
know of whom the society was composed; but with so flattering a
testimony to his abilities, the sanguine boy naturally placed a
high estimate on them.

The establishment of a Magazine called the Monthly Preceptor,
which proposed prize themes for young persons, afforded Kirke
White an opportunity of trying his literary powers. In a letter
written in June, 1800, to his brother, speaking of that work he
says, "I am noticed as worthy of commendation, and as affording
an encouraging prospect of future excellence. You will laugh. I
have also turned poet, and have translated an Ode of Horace into
English verse." His productions gained him several of the prizes;
and he soon afterwards became a contributor to the Monthly Mirror,
his compositions in which attracted the attention of Mr. Hill, the
proprietor of the work, and of Mr. Capel Lofft, a gentleman who
distinguished himself by his patronage of Bloomfield.

Though on entering an attorney's office the bar was the object of
his hopes, a constitutional deafness soon convinced him that he
was not adapted for the duties of an advocate; and his thoughts,
from conscientious motives, became directed to the Church.

When about fifteen, his mind was agitated by doubt and anxiety on
the most important of all subjects; and the chaos of opinions
which extensive and miscellaneous reading so often produces on
ardent and imaginative temperaments, is well described in his
little poem entitled, "My own Character," wherein he represents
himself as a prey to the most opposite impressions, and as being
in a miserable state of incertitude:

"First I premise it's my honest conviction,
That my breast is the chaos of all contradiction,
Religious--deistic--now loyal and warm,
Then a dagger-drawn democrat hot for reform;
* * * * *
Now moody and sad, now unthinking and gay,
To all points of the compass I veer in a day."

In this sketch there is evidently much truth; and it affords a
striking idea of a plastic and active mind, on which every thing
makes an impression, where one idea follows another in such rapid
succession, that the former is not so entirely removed, but that
some remains of it are amalgamated with its successor. A youth
whose intellect is thus tossed in a whirlpool of conflicting
speculations, resembles a goodly ship newly launched, which, until
properly steadied by ballast, reels from side to side, the sport
of every undulation of the waters.

About this time young White's religious feelings were strongly
affected by the conversion of his friend, Mr. Almond, whose
opinions were previously as unsettled as his own. To escape the
raillery with which he expected White would assail him on learning
the change in his sentiments, Almond avoided his society; and when
his friend offered to defend his opinions, if Henry would allow
the divine originality of the Bible, he exclaimed, "Good God! you
surely regard me in a worse light than I deserve." The discussion
that followed, and the perusal of Scott's "Force of Truth," which
Almond placed in his hands, induced him to direct his attention
seriously to the subject; but an affecting incident soon afterwards
showed how deeply he was then influenced by religious considerations.
On the evening before Mr. Almond left Nottingham for Cambridge, he
was requested by White to accompany him to his apartment. The moment
they entered, Henry burst into tears, declaring that his anguish of
mind was insupportable; and he entreated Almond to kneel and pray
for him. Their tears and supplications were cordially mingled, and
when they were about to separate, White said, "What must I do? You
are the only friend to whom I can apply in this agonizing state,
and you are about to leave me. My literary associates are all
inclined to deism. I have no one with whom I can communicate."

It is instructive to learn to what circumstance such a person as
Kirke White was indebted for the knowledge "which causes not to
err." This information occurs in a letter from him to a Mr. Booth,
in August, 1801; and it also fixes the date of the happy change
that influenced every thought and every action of his future life,
which gave the energy of virtue to his exertions, soothed the
asperities of a temper naturally impetuous and irritable, and
enabled him, at a period when manhood is full of hope and promise,
to view the approaches of death with the calmness of a philosopher,
and the resignation of a saint.

After thanking Mr. Booth for the present of Jones's work on the
Trinity, he thus describes his religious impressions previous to
its perusal, and the effect it produced:

"Religious polemics, indeed, have seldom formed a part of my
studies; though whenever I happened accidentally to turn my
thoughts to the subject of the Protestant doctrine of the Godhead,
and compared it with Arian and Socinian, many doubts interfered,
and I even began to think that the more nicely the subject was
investigated, the more perplexed it would appear, and was on the
point of forming a resolution to go to heaven in my own way,
without meddling or involving myself in the inextricable labyrinth
of controversial dispute, when I received and perused this
excellent treatise, which finally cleared up the mists which my
ignorance had conjured around me, and clearly pointed out the real
truth."

From the moment he became convinced of the truths of Christianity,
all the enthusiasm of his nature was kindled. The ministry only,
was deemed worthy of his ambition; and he devoted his thoughts to
the sacred office with a zeal that justified a hope of the richest
fruits. In a letter to his friend, Mr. Almond, in November, 1803,
he says,

"My dear friend, I cannot adequately express what I owe to you on
the score of religion. I told Mr. Robinson you were the first
instrument of my being brought to think deeply on religious
subjects; and I feel more and more every day, that if it had not
been for you, I might, most probably, have been now buried in apathy
and unconcern. Though I am in a great measure blessed,--I mean
blessed with faith, now pretty steadfast, and heavy convictions,
I am far from being happy. My sins have been of a dark hue, and
manifold: I have made Fame my God, and Ambition my shrine. I have
placed all my hopes on the things of this world. I have knelt to
Dagon; I have worshipped the evil creations of my own proud heart,
and God had well nigh turned his countenance from me in wrath;
perhaps one step further, and he might have shut me for ever from
his rest. I now turn my eyes to Jesus, my Saviour, my atonement,
with hope and confidence: he will not repulse the imploring
penitent; his arms are open to all, they are open even to me; and
in return for such a mercy, what can I do less than dedicate my
whole life to his service? My thoughts would fain recur at
intervals to my former delights; but I am now on my guard to
restrain and keep them in. I know now where they ought to
concentre, and with the blessing of God, they shall there all tend.

"My next publication of poems will be solely religious. I shall
not destroy those of a different nature, which now lie before me;
but they will, most probably, sleep in my desk, until, in the good
time of my great Lord and Master, I shall receive my passport from
this world of vanity. I am now bent on a higher errand than that
of the attainment of poetical fame; poetry, in future, will be my
relaxation, not my employment.--Adieu to literary ambition! 'You
do not aspire to be prime minister,' said Mr. Robinson; 'you covet
a far higher character--to be the humblest among those who
minister to their Maker.'"

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