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Reminiscences, in Prose and Verse

Consisting of the Epistolary Correspondence of Many Distinguished Characters. With Notes and Illustrations. By the Rev. R. Polwhele
Polwhele, Richard (1760-1838)

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VOL I.
  
SONNET ON THE SOUND OF A BELL AT POLWHELE.
  
[These garments stored up by a Canon, forsooth]
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VOL. II.
  
SONNET, Written February 24th, between three and four in the afternoon, when the funeral procession was advancing towards Truro, and the minute bell at St. Mary's tolling:—
  
Madam Cant to Miss Pert.
  
[Alas! such idle hours are fled]
  
[His perilous state if not resembling]
  
THE LAMP.
  
THE GOUT.
  
THE TARTAR.
  
The last-left Evening Primrose
  
On an Apple-tree full of blossom, Sept. 11th
  
[------“'Twas my lot, ere long to roam]
  
[The historian tells us, that Caligula—]
  
TRURO.
  
Truro Ten-pounders.
  
[Lunching with Baucis and Philemon]
  
[Herod the bawling brats of Bedlam]
  
The Impromptu
  
THE PARENTS TO THEIR CHILDREN ON THE 1ST OF JANUARY, 1834.
  
THE SABBATH-EVENING WALK.
  
[A tissue but of joy and grief]
  
[Ah! who are they that have not lost]
  
[Where roars the Westering surge—“Lo! Methodism]
  
[Peace officers! four doughty fellows!]
  
[Silent, stant auribus erectis”—]
  
[Though here, not much renown'd for Beauty]
  
[“Nor Roman prow, nor daring Tyrian oar]
  
[Lo, at long intervals, the rage is]
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VOL. III.
  
[dedication]
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SONNETS.
 I. 
I.
 II. 
II.
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POETRY.
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THE MERCHANT OF SMYRNA; OR, LOVE AND GRATITUDE.
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ACT I.—
 I. 
SCENE I.
 II. 
SCENE II.
 III. 
SCENE III.
 IV. 
SCENE IV.
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ACT II.—
 I. 
SCENE I.
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SCENE II.
  
SONG.
  
SONG.
 III. 
SCENE III.
 IV. 
SCENE IV.
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ACT III.—
 I. 
SCENE I.
 II. 
SCENE II.
 IV. 
SCENE IV.
 V. 
SCENE V.
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THE SYRIAN PRINCESS.
collapse sectionI. 
ACT I.—
 I. 
SCENE I.
 II. 
SCENE II.
 III. 
SCENE III.
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ACT II.—
 I. 
SCENE I.
 II. 
SCENE II.
 III. 
SCENE III.
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ACT III.—
 I. 
SCENE I.
 II. 
SCENE II.
 III. 
SCENE III.
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ACT IV.—
 I. 
SCENE I.
 II. 
SCENE II.
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ACT V.—
 I. 
SCENE I.
 II. 
SCENE II.
 III. 
SCENE III.
 IV. 
SCENE IV.
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DARTMOOR.
 I. 
[I.]
 II. 
II.
 III. 
III.
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THE FALL OF CONSTANTINOPLE.
 1. 
CANTO THE FIRST.
  
[section]
 3. 
CANTO THE THIRD.
 4. 
CANTO THE FOURTH.
  
[section]
 6. 
CANTO THE SIXTH.
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MISCELLANEOUS VERSE; SERIOUS AND LUDICROUS.
  
THE FOURTH OF MARCH.
  
THE SNOWDROPS.
  
RURAL SCENERY.
  
THE HORTICULTURAL BARD.
  
THE OLD CORYCIAN HORTICULTURIST.
  
THE LONGING LADY.
  
THE FLORA BALL.
  
A FRAGMENT.
  
THE RILL LOST IN A THICKET.
  
A GOOD CONSCIENCE.
  
To Dr. DARWIN.
  
To J. W. CROKER, Esq.
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SONNETS To a person threatening to shoot the wood pigeons at Polwhele.
 I. 
I.
 II. 
II.
  
A CORNISH INCIDENT.
  
TO A LADY,
  
A LESSON
  
THE DEAN; OR SNUFF-COURTSHIP.
  
Hogg succeeded Cardew, and Dr. Ryall, Hogg, as master of Truro Grammar School.
  
LANDEUWEDNAC.
  
BEDLAM BROKE LOOSE.
  
DIE OF THE DOCTOR.
  
THE DOCTOR TURNED PATIENT.
  
BEERSHOPS.
  
THE SONNET OUT OF JOINT.
  
STATUES IN VOGUE.
  
ON AN IMPUDENT BULL OF O'CONNELL.
  
KARNBRE.
  
EPITAPH ON TWO FAITHFUL DOGS,
  
ON HEARING AN ASS BRAY.
  
THE DEFUNCT CORPORATION.
  
NOT DEAD BUT DYING.
  
Oct. 1835.

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166

EPITAPH ON TWO FAITHFUL DOGS,

Cæsar and Nelson. 1835.

Buried beneath Napoleon's willows,
Here rest two very faithful fellows.
High names they nobly bore, or else on
Cæsar, they “made a lie,” and Nelson!
If ask'd of each—why stole he on
The relics of Napoleon—
I answer, that to rival Bony,
They flush'd a cock or chased a coney;
Both in pursuit of licens'd game.
Sure was their scent, and just their aim.
And I am certain that our Cæsar
To puff up Vanity, or ease her,
Ne'er wrote a Commentary-tattle,
To tell us all about a battle;
And that our Nelson, not for booty,
Did (more than every man) his duty.
 

My two late housedogs lie buried near the spot where my son planted a slip or two which he had plucked from Buonaparte's willow at St. Helena.

Whosoever maketh a lie.

This resembles one of the epitaphs in Theocritus—“the sweet Sicilian Bard”—“done into English” by me 55 years ago. My translation was asleep, I believe. But a kind Critic in Fraser's admirable Magazine has just awakened it from its slumbers. He thought, too, I was lost in the delirium of old age stealing from life.—Alas! it is far otherwise!

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