"Within this pleasing retirement,
Allured by the music of the nightingale,
Which warbled in soft unison to the melody of his soul,
In unaffected cheerfulness,
And general though simple elegance,
Lived
James Thomson.
Sensitively alive to the beauties of Nature,
He painted their images as they rose in review,
And poured the whole profusion of them
Into his inimitable Seasons.
Warmed with intense devotion
To the Sovereign of the Universe,
Its flame glowed through all his compositions.
Animated with unbounded benevolence,
With the tenderest social sensibility,
He never gave one moment's pain
To any of his fellow-creatures,
Save only by his death, which happened
At this place on the 27th day of August,
1748."
*...*...*...*
"Here Thomson dwelt.
He, curious bard, examined every drop
That glistens on the thorn; each leaf surveyed
That Autumn from the rustling forest shakes,
And marked its shape; and traced in the rude wind
Its eddying motion. Nature in his hand
A pencil, dipped in her own colors, placed,
With which he ever faithful copies drew,
Each feature in proportion just."
On a brass tablet in the top of the table in the alcove is inscribed,
"This table was the property of James Thomson, and always stood in this
seat."
* * * * *
Such is the state of the former residence of James Thomson at Richmond.
Here, no doubt, he was visited by many of his literary cotemporaries,
though it does not appear that he ever was by Pope, who was so near a
neighbor. Old poets grow exclusive. As Wordsworth nowadays says he reads
no new poets--he leaves them to their cotemporaries--it is enough for
him to stick to his old loves; so, in the correspondence of Pope, you
find no further mention of Thomson than that "Thomson and some other
young men have published lately some creditable things;" and Gray,
writing to one of his friends, says, "Thomson has just published a poem
called 'The Castle of Indolence,' which contains some good stanzas."
The view down to the Thames, and over the country beyond, which he
enjoyed, is now obstructed by the walls, including part of the royal
property, on which the queen has erected her laundry, sending, it seems,
all the royal linen from Windsor, the Isle of Wight, and elsewhere, to
be washed and got up here, sufficiently, as one would think, near enough
to the smoke of London. The vicinity of the royal wash-house certainly
does not improve Lord Shaftesbury's residence here, especially as a
tall, square, and most unsightly tower, most probably intended to carry
the soot from the drying fires pretty high, overlooks his grounds. But
it will not disturb the remains of the poet; and let us hope that the
queen's linen will enjoy the benefit of all the _Seasons_ from this
close neighborhood.
Thomson is buried in Richmond Church, at the west end of the north
aisle. There is a square brass tablet, well secured into the wall with
ten large screws, bearing this inscription:
"In the earth below this Tablet
Are the remains of
JAMES THOMSON,
Author of the beautiful Poems entitled The Seasons, Castle of Indolence,
&c., &c., who died at Richmond on the 27th day of August,
and was buried here on the 29th, old style, 1748. The Earl
of Buchan, unwilling that so good a man and sweet a poet
should be without a memorial, has denoted the place
of his interment for the satisfaction of his admirers,
in the year of our Lord, 1792."
"Father of light and life, thou Good Supreme!
O teach me what is good; teach me myself!
Save me from folly, vanity, and vice,
From every low pursuit! and feed my soul
With knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue pure,
Sacred, substantial, never-fading bliss!"--_Winter_, p. 144.