Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets, Volume 3 — Text and Context

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Authors: Gilfillan, George, 1813-1878 [Editor] Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2006 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: English poetry Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 85,221

Reading time 371 min

Text sections 9

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Source: Project Gutenberg record #9669

Editorial note on the structure and recurring imagery in George Gilfillan's third volume of lesser-known British poets, focusing on the movement between biographical memoir and poetic specimen, and the repeated motifs of death, nature, and moral reflection.

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Sedley was one of those characters who exert a personal fascination over their own age without leaving any works behind them to perpetuate the charm to posterity. He was the son of Sir John Sedley of Aylesford, in Kent, and was born in 1639. When the Restoration took place he repaired to London, and plunged into all the licence of the time, shedding, however, over the putrid pool the sheen of his wit, manners, and genius. Charles was so delighted with him, that he is said to have asked him whether he had not obtained a patent from Nature to be Apollo's viceroy. He cracked jests, issued lampoons, wrote poems and plays, and, despite some great blunders, was universally admired and loved. When his comedy of 'Bellamira' was acted, the roof fell in, and a few, including the author, were slightly injured. When a parasite told him that the fire of the play had blown up the poet, house and all, Sedley replied, 'No; the play was so heavy that it broke down the house, and buried the poet in his own rubbish.' Latterly he sobered down, entered parliament, attended closely to public business, and became a determined opponent of the arbitrary measures of James II. To this he was stimulated by a personal reason. James had seduced Sedley's daughter, and made her Countess of Dorchester. 'For making my daughter a countess,' the father said, 'I have helped to make his daughter' (Mary, Princess of Orange,) 'a queen.' Sedley, thus talking, acting, and writing, lived on till he was sixty- two years of age. He died in 1701.

He has left nothing that the world can cherish, except such light and graceful songs, sparkling rather with point than with poetry, as we quote below.

TO A VERY YOUNG LADY.

1 Ah, Chloris! that I now could sit As unconcerned, as when Your infant beauty could beget No pleasure, nor no pain.

2 When I the dawn used to admire, And praised the coming day; I little thought the growing fire Must take my rest away.

3 Your charms in harmless childhood lay, Like metals in the mine, Age from no face took more away, Than youth concealed in thine.

4 But as your charms insensibly To their perfection pressed, Fond Love as unperceived did fly, And in my bosom rest.

5 My passion with your beauty grew, And Cupid at my heart, Still as his mother favoured you, Threw a new flaming dart.

6 Each gloried in their wanton part, To make a lover, he Employed the utmost of his art, To make a Beauty, she.

7 Though now I slowly bend to love, Uncertain of my fate, If your fair self my chains approve, I shall my freedom hate.

8 Lovers, like dying men, may well At first disordered be, Since none alive can truly tell What fortune they must see.

1 Love still has something of the sea, From whence his mother rose; No time his slaves from doubt can free, Nor give their thoughts repose.

2 They are becalmed in clearest days, And in rough weather tossed; They wither under cold delays, Or are in tempests lost.

3 One while they seem to touch the port, Then straight into the main Some angry wind, in cruel sport, The vessel drives again.

4 At first Disdain and Pride they fear, Which if they chance to 'scape, Rivals and Falsehood soon appear, In a more cruel shape.

5 By such degrees to joy they come, And are so long withstood; So slowly they receive the sum, It hardly does them good.

6 'Tis cruel to prolong a pain; And to defer a joy, Believe me, gentle Celemene, Offends the winged boy.

7 An hundred thousand oaths your fears, Perhaps, would not remove; And if I gazed a thousand years, I could not deeper love.

The author of the once popular 'Choice,' was born in 1667. He was the son of the rector of Luton, in Bedfordshire, and, after attending Queen's College, Cambridge, himself entered the Church. He became minister of Malden, which is also situated in Bedfordshire, and there he wrote and, in 1699, published a volume of poems, including some Pindaric essays, in the style of Cowley and 'The Choice.' He might have risen higher in his profession, but Dr Compton, Bishop of London, was prejudiced against him on account of the following lines in the 'Choice:'--

'And as I near approached the verge of life, Some kind relation (for I'd have no wife) Should take upon him all my worldly care, Whilst I did for a better state prepare.'

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George Gilfillan's third volume of Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets moves from Dryden to Cowper, a period when British poetry diversified in form and subject. The volume's structure alternates between biographical memoir and poetic specimen, a pattern that invites the reader to consider how a poet's life informs their work. Gilfillan's editorial voice is present in the memoirs, offering context and judgment, while the poems themselves range from pastoral lyrics to satirical pieces. The excerpts reveal a recurring interest in death, nature, and moral reflection, often framed by a tension between worldly concerns and spiritual transcendence.

Alternating Structure: Memoir and Specimen

The volume is organized by poet, with each entry comprising a prose memoir followed by one or more poems. This structure creates a dialogue between biography and text. For instance, the memoir of Thomas Chatterton precedes his Bristowe Tragedy, a poem that echoes his own tragic life. Gilfillan's memoirs often include critical assessments, such as describing a poet as "godlike" or noting their moral purpose. The reader moves from editorial commentary to the poet's own voice, a rhythm that emphasizes the editorial lens through which these works are presented. The alternation also highlights the diversity of poetic forms—from odes to ballads—within a single volume.

Recurring Imagery of Death and Judgment

Death appears as a central theme across multiple poems. In Chatterton's Bristowe Tragedy, Sir Charles Bawdin faces execution with stoic resolve, declaring "welcome death! for life eterne / I leave this mortal life." The poem dwells on the physical details of the sledge and the axe, yet the speaker's calm contrasts with the violence. Similarly, Jonathan Swift's On the Death of Dr Swift treats mortality with satirical detachment. Other poems, like Michael Bruce's Elegy, written in Spring, use seasonal change to reflect on human transience. The imagery of decay—"limbs shall rot in air"—is balanced by hope for heavenly reward, a pattern that recurs throughout the volume.

Movement Between Public and Private Spheres

The poems often shift between public events and intimate emotions. In Bristowe Tragedy, the execution is a public spectacle, yet the dialogue between Sir Charles and his wife Florence is intensely private. The wife's grief—"she raved as any mad, / And did her tresses tear"—contrasts with the husband's composure. Similarly, John Pomfret's The Choice imagines a secluded rural life, a retreat from society. This movement between the communal and the personal is a structural feature of the volume, as Gilfillan selects poems that explore both political themes and domestic affections. The reader encounters public addresses, such as odes to nobility, alongside personal lyrics like Susanna Blamire's What Ails this Heart o' mine?

Nature as a Setting for Moral Reflection

Natural imagery frequently serves as a backdrop for moral or spiritual contemplation. In James Thomson's Imitation of Thomson (by Isaac Hawkins Browne), the pastoral landscape is used to critique urban life. Allan Ramsay's Lochaber no more uses a specific Scottish locale to evoke loss and nostalgia. The seasons are a recurring motif: spring in Bruce's elegy, May in Chatterton's poem, and the tempest in John Scott's The Tempestuous Evening. Nature is rarely described for its own sake; instead, it mirrors human emotion or divine order. Gilfillan's selection favors poems where the natural world becomes a stage for ethical dilemmas or spiritual yearning, reinforcing the volume's moral tone.

Readers approaching this volume will benefit from attending to the interplay between Gilfillan's editorial framing and the poems themselves. The memoirs provide context, but the poems often complicate or subvert the editor's judgments. Noting how each poet handles the themes of death, nature, and public versus private life can reveal the range of voices within this anthology. The volume rewards those who read across entries, tracing how similar motifs recur in different hands.

Reading Gilfillan’s third volume, I kept noticing how each poet’s death seemed to hang over their verses like evening fog. It reminded me, gently, of the quieter way Lyrics of Earth — Text and Context holds nature’s own stillness. Both left me with that same hush—as if I’d stumbled upon someone’s private prayer, half-finished and utterly sincere.