_Author of "Parga," "Knights of Ritzberg," &c._
(_For the Mirror._)
I had a vision fair and bright,
And when I waken'd I was griev'd
To own 'twas but a dream of night,
And sigh'd to find my hopes deceivd.
But then o'er my fancy crept,
Those who hail'd me while I slept.
There were those; of olden time,
Milton, wond'rous, wild, sublime--
Chaucer, of the many tales;
Spenser, soft as summer gales,
With a mild and gracious mien
Leading on his "Faery Queene."
Shakspeare, child of fancy, stood
Smiling in a mirthful mood,
As tho' he that moment spied
The fairy folk by Bottom's side,
Or beheld by Herne's old oak,
Falstaff with his antler yoke.
Dryden, laurel-crown'd and hoary,
Proudly stood in all his glory;
Pope, as if his claims to speak
Rested on the ancient Greek;
And that prince of merry-men,
Laughing, quaffing, "rare old Ben,"
Whose quaint conceits, so gay, so wild,
Have oft my heart from woe beguil'd,
Shone like a meteor 'midst the throng,
The envy of each son of song.
There too were those of later years,
Who've moved the mind to mirth or tears:
Byron, with his radiant ray--
Scott, with many a magic lay--
The gay and gorgeous minstrel, Moore,
Rich in the charms of Eastern lore--
Campbell, like a brilliant star,
Shed the beams of "Hope" afar--
Rogers, with a smiling eye
Told the joys of "Memory,"
Southey, with his language quaint,
Describing daemon, sinner, saint--
Wordsworth, of the simpler strain,
Clare, the young unletter'd swain--
Wiffen, who in fairy bowers,
Culls blossoms in "Aonian hours,"
Shone like a star in dusky skies,
When first the evening shades arise.
Barton, the gentle bard, was there,
And Hemans, tender as she's fair--
And Croly, whose bright genius beams
Ever on virtue's fairest themes;
With Burns, the muse's darling child--
And Luttrell, laughing, sportive, wild,
As when be penn'd for Julia's eye,
His sweet "Advice" for what? for why?
And Crabbe, who misery portrays,
With crowds of others, crown'd with bays,
Who shed around their bright'ning beams,
And cheer'd a humbler poet's dreams.
* * * * *
ANCIENT SITE OF THE EXETER 'CHANGE, &c.
(_For the Mirror._)
Here was formerly the parsonage-house for the parish of St. Clement Danes,
with a garden and close for the parson's horse, till Sir Thomas Palmer,
knight, in the reign of Edward VI., came into the possession of the
living, and began to build a house; but upon his attainder for high
treason, in the first year of Queen Mary, it reverted to the crown. This
house remained in the crown till Queen Elizabeth granted it to Sir
William Cecil, lord treasurer, who augmented and rebuilt it, when it was
called Cecil House, and Burleigh House. It was said to have been a noble
pile, and adorned with four square turrets. It was afterwards called
Exeter House, from the title of his son and successor. Lord Burleigh died
here in 1598. It fronted the Strand, and its gardens extended from the
west side of the garden-wall of Wimbledon House to the Green-lane, which
is now Southampton-street. Lord Burleigh was in this house honoured by a
visit from Queen Elizabeth, who, knowing him to be subject to the gout,
would always make him to sit in her presence, which, it is probable,
(says Nightingale,) the lord treasurer considered a gteal indulgence from
so haughty a lady, inasmuch as he one day apologized for the badness of
his legs. To which the queen replied, "My lord, we make use of you not
for the badness of your legs, but for the goodness of your head." When
she came to Burleigh House, it is probable she had that kind of
pyramidial head-dress then in fashion, built of wire, lace, ribands, and
jewels, which shot up to a great height; for when the principal domestic
ushered her in, as she passed the threshold he desired her majesty to
stoop. To which she replied, "For your master's sake I will stoop, but
not for the king of Spain." After the fire of London, this house was
occupied by the doctors of civil law, &c. till 1672; and here the various
courts of arches, admiralty, &c. were kept. Being deserted by the family,
the lower part was converted into shops of various descriptions; the
upper part, like Babylon of old, is a nest of wild beasts, birds, and
reptiles. The present "march of intellect" will _march away_ these bipeds
and quadrupeds, and no doubt the noble Marquess of Exeter "would much
rather have their _room_ than their _company_."