There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine,
And since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine.
Romney! expert infallible to trace,
On chart or canvas, not the form alone,
And 'semblance, but, however, faintly shown,
The mind's impression too on every face,
With strokes that time ought never to erase:
Thou hast so penciled mine, that though I own
The subject worthless, I have never known
The artist shining with superior grace.
But this I mark, that symptoms none of woe
In thy incomparable work appear:
Well! I am satisfied, it should be so,
Since, on maturer thought, the course is clear;
For in my looks what sorrow could'st thou see,
While I was Hayley's guest, and sat to thee?
Henry Kirke White's literary ambitions, it was said, drove him to an early
grave. His poetry lived after him, earning the praise of Lord Byron and
Robert Southey. Charmed by White's unsuccessful 1803 volume, Clifton
Grove, Southey had encouraged White in his literary endeavors. After
White's death in 1806, Southey assembled his works for a posthumous edi-
tion that remained popular for the first half of the nineteenth century.
Give me a cottage on some Cambrian wild,
Where, far from cities, I may spend my days:
And, by the beauties of the scene beguiled,
May pity man's pursuits, and shun his ways.
While on the rock I mark the browsing goat,
List to the mountain torrent's distant noise,
Or the hoarse bittern's solitary note,
I shall not want the world's delusive joys;
But, with my little scrip, my book, my lyre,
Shall think my lot complete, nor covet more;
And when, with time, shall wane the vital fire,