A Cyclopaedia of Female Biography/Davidson, Lucretia Maria
DAVIDSON, LUCRETIA MARIA,
Second daughter of Dr. Oliver and Margaret Davidson, was born at Plattsburg, on Lake Champlain, September 27th., 1808. Her parents were then in indigent circumstances, and, to add to their troubles, her mother was often sickly. Under such circumstances, the little Lucretia would not be likely to owe her precocity to a forced education. The manifestations of intellectual activity were apparent in the infant, we may say; for at four years old she would retire by herself to pore over her books, and draw pictures of animals, and soon illustrated those rude drawings by poetry. Her first specimens of writing were imitations of printed letters; but she was very much distressed when these were discovered, and immediately destroyed them.
The first poem of hers which has been preserved, was written when she was nine years old. It was an elegy on a Robin, killed in the attempt to rear it. This piece was not inserted in her works. The earliest of her poems which has been printed, was written at eleven years old. Her parents were much gratified by her talents, and gave her all the indulgence in their power, which was only time for reading such books as she could obtain by borrowing; an they could afford no money to buy books, or to pay for her instruction. Before she was twelve years old, she had read most of our standard poets—much of history, both sacred and profane—Shakspere's, Kotzebue's, and Goldsmith's dramatic works, and many of the popular novels and romances of the day. Of the latter, however, she was not an indiscriminate reader—many of those weak arid worthless productions, which are the élite of the circulating libraries, this child, after reading a few pages, would throw aside in disgust. Would that all young ladies possessed her delicate taste and discriminating judgment!
When Lucretia was about twelve years old, a gentleman, who had heard of her genius and seen some of her verses, sent her a complimentary note, enclosing twenty dollars. Her first exclamation was, "Oh, now I shall buy me some books!" But her dear mother was lying ill—the little girl looked towards the sick-bed—tears gushed to her eyes, and putting the bill into her father's hand, she said—"Take it, father; it will buy many comforts for mother; I can do without books."
It is no wonder that her parents should feel the deepest affection for such a good and gifted child. Yet there will always be found officious, meddling persons, narrow-minded, if not envious, who are prone to prophesy evil of any pursuits in which they or theirs cannot compete. These meddlers advised that she should be deprived of pen, ink, and paper, and rigorously confined to domestic pursuits. Her parents were too kind and wise to follow this counsel; but Lucretia, by some means, learned that such had been given. Without a murmur she resolved to submit to this trial; and she faithfully adhered to the resolution. She told no one of her intention or feelings, but gave up her writing and reading, and for several months devoted herself entirely to household business. Her mother was ill at the time, and did not notice the change in Lucretia's pursuits, till she saw the poor girl was growing emaciated, and a deep dejection was settled on her countenance. She said to her one day, "Lucretia, it is a long time since you have written anything." The sweet child burst into tears, and replied, "O, mother, I have given that up long ago." Her mother then drew from her the reasons which had influenced her to relinquish writing, namely, the opinions she had heard expressed that it was wrong for her to indulge in mental pursuits, and the feeling that she ought to do all in her power to lighten the cares of her parents. Mrs. Davidson was a good, sensible woman; with equal discretion and tenderness, she counselled her daughter to take a middle course, resume her studies, but divide her time between these darling pursuits and the duties of the household. Lucretia from thenceforth occasionally resumed her pen, and soon regained her quiet serenity and usual health.
Her love of knowledge grew with her growth, and strengthened by every accession of thought. "Oh!" said she one day to her mother, "Oh! that I only possessed half the means of improvement which I see others slighting! I should be the happiest of the happy!" At another time she exclaimed—"How much there is yet to learn!—If I could only grasp it at once!"
This passionate desire for instruction was at length gratified. When she was about sixteen, a gentleman, a stranger at Plattsburg, saw, by accident, some of her poems, and learned her history. With the prompt and warm generosity of a noble mind, he immediately proposed to place her at school, and gave her every advantage for which she so ardently longed. Her joy on learning this good fortune was almost overwhelming. She was, as soon as possible, I)laced at the Troy Female Seminary, under the care of Mrs. Emma Willard. She was there at the fountain for which she had so long thirsted, and her spiritual eagerness could not be restrained. "On her entering the Seminary," says the Principal, "she at once surprised us by the brilliancy and pathos of her compositions—she evinced a most exquisite sense of the beautiful in the productions of her pencil; always giving to whatever she attempted to copy, certain peculiar and original touches which marked the liveliness of her conceptions, and the power of her genius to embody those conceptions. But from studies which required calm and steady investigation, efforts of memory, judgment and consecutive thinking, her mind seemed to shrink. She had no confidence in herself, and appeared to regard with dismay any requisitions of this nature."—In truth, she had so long indulged in solitary musings, and her sensibility had become so exquisite, heightened and refined as it had been by her vivid imagination, that she was dismayed, agonized even, with the feeling of responsibility, which her public examination involved. She was greatly beloved and tenderly cherished by her teachers; but it is probable that the excitement of the new situation in which she was placed, and the new studies she had to pursue, operated fatally on her constitution. She was, during the vacation, taken with an illness, which left her feeble and very nervous. When she recovered, she was placed at Albany, at the school of Miss Gilbert—but there she was attacked by severe disease. She partially recovered, and was removed to her home, where she gradually declined till death released her pure and exalted mind from its prison-house of clay. She died, August 27th., 1825, before she had completed her seventeenth year.
In person she was exceedingly beautiful. Her forehead was high, open, and fair as infancy; her eyes large, dark, and of that soft beaming expression which shews the soul in the glance; her features were fine and symmetrical, and her complexion brilliant, especially when the least excitement moved her feelings. But the prevailing expression of her face was melancholy. Her beauty, as well as her mental endowments, made her the object of much regard; but she shrunk from observation—any particular attention always seemed to give her pain; so exquisite was her modesty. In truth, her soul was too delicate for this "cold world of storms and clouds." Her imagination never revelled in the "garishness of joy;"—a pensive, meditative mood was the natural tone of her mind. The adverse circumstances by which she was surrounded, no doubt deepened this seriousness, till it became almost morbid melancholy—but no external advantages of fortune would have given to her disposition buoyant cheerfulness. It seems the lot of youthful genius to be sad; Kirke White was thus melancholy. Like flowers opened too early, these children of song shrink from the storms of life before they have felt its sunbeams.
The writings of Miss Davidson were astonishingly voluminous. She had destroyed many of her pieces; her mother says, at least one-third—yet those remaining amount to two hundred and seventy-eight pieces. There are among them five regular poems of several cantos each, twenty-four school exercises, three unfinished romances, a complete tragedy, written at thirteen years of age, and about forty letters to her mother. Her poetry is marked by strong imaginative powers, and the sentiment of sad forebodings. These dark visions, though they tinged all her earthly horizon, were not permitted to cloud her hope of heaven. She died calmly, relying on the merits of our Lord and Saviour for salvation. The last word she spoke was the name of the gentleman who had so kindly assisted her. And if his name were known, often would it be spoken; for, his generosity to this humble, but highly-gifted daughter of song will make his deed of charity a sacred remembrance of all who love genius, and sympathize with the suffering.
Her poems, with a biographical sketch, were published in 1829, under the title "Amir Khan, and other poems, the remains of L. M. Davidson." This work was reviewed in the London Quarterly of the same year; and the writer says, "In our own language, except in the cases of Chatterton and Kirke White, we can call to mind no instance of so early, so ardent, and so fatal a pursuit of intellectual advancement."