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Select poems of Edward Hovel Thurlow

Lord Thurlow
Thurlow, Edward Hovell-Thurlow (1781-1829)

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SONG. To May.
  
VERSES, IN ALL HUMILITY DEDICATED TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS The Prince Regent.
  
THE SECOND ELEGY OF The Fourth Book of Tibullus.
  
THE ROSE.
  
SONNET, ON BEHOLDING THE PORTRAITURE OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY, IN THE GALLERY AT PENSHURST.
  
SONNET, ON THE DIVINE AND NEVER ENDING MEMORY OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY .
  
SONNET.
  
SONG. To the Rose.
  
SONNET. To Phœbus.
  
A SONG, IN APRIL.
  
A SONG, To the River Avon.
 1. 
A SONG OF THE SEA-FAIRIES.
 2. 
A SECOND SONG OF THE SEA-FAIRIES.
  
A SONG.
  
TO THE MARQUESS OF HASTINGS:
  
AN EPIGRAM OF ANTIPATER OF SIDON
  
FROM THE GREEK OF ANACREON.
  
SONNET.
  
SONNET.
  
SONNET.
  
SONNET.
  
SONNET.
  
SONNET.
  
SONNET, ON THE EXCELLENT POET, SHAKSPEARE.
  
SONNET, ON THE SAME.
  
SONNET.
  
SONNET.
  
THE PRAISE OF PINDAR, AND THEN OF AUGUSTUS CÆSAR
  
THE SUN-FLOWER.
  
SONNET.
  
EPIGRAM; FROM THE GREEK: In the Seventh Book of the Anthologia.
  
TO THE EARL OF ASHBURNHAM .
  
TO THE EARL SPENCER,
  
TO THE MARQUESS OF HASTINGS,
  
TO THE FOUNTAIN BANDUSIA.
  
TO A BELOVED FRIEND.
  
ON BEHOLDING BODIAM CASTLE,
  
TO ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ.
  
SONNET, ON READING THE INDUCTION TO THE MIRROR OF MAGISTRATES, WHEREIN THE POET, LED BY SORROW, DESCENDS TO HELL.
  
SONNET, WHEN TRAVELLING, IN THE EVENING.
  
ON THE SAME EVENING, PASSING NEAR HASTINGS.
  
ON THE SAME EVENING.
  
SONNET.
  
THE DIALOGUE OF HORACE AND LYDIA.
  
SONG, IN ANGELICA.
  
LINES, COMPOSED, WHEN TRAVELLING FROM THE SEA-SIDE.
  
TO THE RIVER THAMES.
  
THE RITES, Had at the Burning of Arcita, of Thebes.
  
SONNET, WRITTEN ON THE LAST DAY OF SUMMER.
  
IN AUTUMN.
  
IN AUTUMN.
  
ON THE POEM OF MR. ROGERS, ENTITLED “AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.”
  
SONNET.
  
SONNET, IN SPRING.
  
TO VIRGIL.
  
SONNET, TO A BIRD, THAT HAUNTED THE WATERS OF LACKEN, IN THE WINTER.
  
SONG.
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THE ODES OF ANACREON, OF TEOS;
 I. 
ODE I.
 II. 
ODE II.
 III. 
ODE III.
 IV. 
ODE IV.
 V. 
ODE V.
 VI. 
ODE VI.
 VII. 
ODE VII.
 VIII. 
ODE VIII.
 IX. 
ODE IX.
 X. 
ODE X.
 XI. 
ODE XI.
 XII. 
ODE XII.
 XIII. 
ODE XIII.
 XIV. 
ODE XIV.
 XV. 
ODE XV.
 XVI. 
ODE XVI.
 XVII. 
ODE XVII.
 XVIII. 
ODE XVIII.
 XIX. 
ODE XIX.
 XIX. 
ODE XIX.
 XX. 
ODE XX.
 XXI. 
ODE XXI.
 XXII. 
ODE XXII.
 XXIII. 
ODE XXIII.
 XXIV. 
ODE XXIV.
 XXV. 
ODE XXV.
 XXVI. 
ODE XXVI.
 XXVII. 
ODE XXVII.
 XXVIII. 
ODE XXVIII.
 XXX. 
ODE XXX.
 XXXI. 
ODE XXXI.
 XXXII. 
ODE XXXII.
 XXXIII. 
ODE XXXIII.
 XXXIV. 
ODE XXXIV.
 XXXV. 
ODE XXXV.
 XXXVI. 
ODE XXXVI.
 XXXVII. 
ODE XXXVII.
 XXXVIII. 
ODE XXXVIII.
 XXXIX. 
ODE XXXIX.
 XL. 
ODE XL.
 XLI. 
ODE XLI.
 XLII. 
ODE XLII.
 XLIII. 
ODE XLIII.
 XLIV. 
ODE XLIV.
 XLV. 
ODE XLV.
 XLVI. 
ODE XLVI.
 XLVII. 
ODE XLVII.
 XLVIII. 
ODE XLVIII.
 XLIX. 
ODE XLIX.
 L. 
ODE L.
 LI. 
ODE LI.
 LII. 
ODE LII.
 LIII. 
ODE LIII.
 LIV. 
ODE LIV.
 LV. 
ODE LV.

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41

ODE XXVIII.

[Best of Painters, hear my prayer]

Best of Painters, hear my prayer,
Best of Painters, now prepare,
Master of the Rhodian art,
To paint the mistress of my heart,
Tho' she be absent, yet attend,
And paint from me my lovely friend.
Paint me the hair in tender state,
The hair both black and delicate,
And, if art so far can dare,
Breathing odours through the air;
And paint me from the perfect brow
The pure and ivory forehead now,
Only more holy, chaste, and fair,
O'ershaded by the violet hair.
For me the eyebrow neither part,
Nor wholly mingle by thy art;
42

But like herself the brows design,
Undiscernibly to join;
The circling eyelids black as night
Make for my divine delight;
And make the eye of living fire,
The soul and fountain of desire,
At once, like arm'd Minerva's, grey,
Shedding feminine dismay,
And wet, like beauty's queen above,
And trembling with inconstant love.
Paint me the cheeks, and arched nose,
Let milk be mingled with the rose:
Paint me the lip, persuasion's throne,
And pouting to be kiss'd anon.
Paint me the delicate chin below;
And let the neck like marble glow,
Stately, and fair as nascent day,
And every grace around it play.
43

And, Painter, what may yet remain,
Stole her in robe of purple grain,
Through which some part of her may shine
Of all, that's lovely and divine:
Enough: her very self I see:
Picture, perhaps, thou'lt speak to me!
44

[_]

There is no version of Ode XXIX.

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