Page:The poetical works of Leigh Hunt, containing many pieces now first collected 1849.djvu/141

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THE FEAST OF THE VIOLETS.
123
Then Newcastle's Duchess, fantastic but rare;[1]
And Behn and Centlivre, that plain-spoken pair;
And Wortley, who, had she been bred in a haram,
Had turn'd it, infallibly, all harum-scarum;
And sweet Brooke aforesaid, all cover'd with May,
And Lady Ann, lovely for "Auld Robin Gray;"
And dearest dear Winchelsea, whom I prefer,
After all, she so jumps with me, even to her:
(For although Lady Ann lov'd maternity, she
Lov'd love and the trees so, she might have lov'd me:)
But I see high-born Devonshire, who with such pith
Wrote of Tell and his platform;[2] and poor Charlotte Smith,
Whose muse might have bless'd so her nooks and old houses,
Hadlawyers not plagued her, and debts of her spouse's:
And Tighe, her own Psyche: and Elliott, sweet Jane,
Who made the lone dairies mourn Flodden again;[3]

    popular novels, remarkable for their good-hearted liberality of sentiment. She was a friend and correspondent of Garrick. She is said to have died in a state approaching to want.

  1. Margaret, Duchess of Newcastle in the time of Cromwell and Charles the Second. With an ill-regulated judgment, and fantastic notions of her dignity, personal and conventional, she possessed real genius and knowledge, and great consideration for others. She was one of those people who seem to have had a fool for one parent and a sage for the other.
  2. Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, sister of the late Earl Spencer, and mother of the present Duke, who so well sustains the reputation of the ever liberal and graceful house of Cavendish. See, in Mr. Dyce's collection above noticed, the Duchess's "Ode on the Passage of Mount Saint Gothard," which excited the enthusiasm of Coleridge
    "O lady, nurs'd in pomp and pleasure,
    Where gat you that heroic measure?"

  3. Jane Elliot, authoress of the exquisite lament for the battle of Flodden, called the "Flowers of the Forest," which Sir Walter Scott had such difficulty in believing a modern production. It is like the sullenness of a still morning in the country, before rain.