— The Corvey Poets Project at the University of Nebraska —

British Poetry of the later Eighteenth and Earlier Nineteenth Centuries

Bibliographical and Contextual Apparatus

Contemporary Reviews

British Critic, 40 (Sept. 1812), 301.
Art. 14. Ballad Romances, and other Poems. By Miss Anna Maria Porter. 12 mo. 7s. Longman and Co. 1812.

The authoress of this collection of Poems has at different times excited the attention of the public as a writer of popular novels; at least it seems to us. These poems are a little above mediocrity, but will not obtain Miss Porter any very enduring reputation. The following is as good as any.
             IMITATED FROM GERMAN

         "When the dark grave this corse is hiding
         From cheerful day's life-kindling light,
         My mournful shade, thro' silence gliding
         Will seek thee in the dead of night,
         And with a sighing voice impart
         The secrets of this burden'd heart.

          "Think not my Ghost with wild accusing
          Will come to torture, of reprove;
          O no! a brief resentment losing,
          That shade will murmur only love,
          And with its airy voice impart
          The secrets of my burthen'd heart.

          "Then all the doubtful part revealing,
          My love; my wrongs, my slander'd truth,
          No earthly shame that spirit feeling,
          Shame, the wrong band of blushing youth!
          My earth freed soul will read in thine
          If once it lov'd or cheated mine."

Critical Review, s4, v1 (Feb. 1812) 164-65.

In an age so redundant with publication as the present, the periodical critic must frequently open volumes in which while there is little which merits censure, there is equally little which deserves commendation. Miss Porter's poetry fully justifies this observation. She has read sufficient verse, and possibly written enough to guard her from the errors attendant on inexperience in composition; and while her poems remained in manuscript, had she never appeared in any other shape as an authoress, they are good enough to gain her an allowance of superiority of talent over a probably large proportion of her neighbors; but when unsatisfied with success in this scale of comparison, she ventures to risk public opinion, and challenges us to place her in the balance of merit with contemporary authors, she must be satisfied to take her station where criticism may assign it, and we confess that with all our gallantry we can only place her in the second class of the lesser poets of the day. By the word lesser, however, we would be understood to allude to those, the extent or subjects of whose works will not allow them to be brought into comparison with the more voluminous or dignified race of their brethren.

There are five of the ballads, neither of which can lay claim to any originality of story, nor is the veil of antiquity, which so often imposes on the judgment, thrown over them. Of the miscellaneous poetry, the epistle from Valrico to Inkle is the best among the larger pieces. Among the smaller the ‘Comparison,' (from which we shall quote some lines) will recall to the mind of the scholar the contrast between the seasons of life in an ancient philosopher, whose philosophy for once condescends to cloth itself in all the graces of poetry without its fictions. The following are by no means indifferent lines on this subject:
         ‘Health runs quick thro' youth's full veins,
          Age is weak and fraught with pains;
          Youth's fresh cheek is smooth and red,
          Age's pale and withered;
          Youth's clear eyes are strong and bright,
          Age's dim as glimmering light!
          Youth is active, warm, and bold,
          Age is sluggish, tim'rous, cold;
          Youth of ardent hope is full,
          Age's hopes are few and dull;
          Youth with warm emotion glows,
          Age's buried is in snows;
          Youth life's rarest joys would have,
          Age doth only ask a grave.'
The other side of the picture is then presented, but the contrasts are not so closely or forcibly applied. We cannot but regret that the ‘War Song' to the Spaniards, has been translated into their language; for as it neither contains any new incentive to courageous exertion, nor in any way presumes to new dispose the dress, in which those arguments have often been decorated before, the only effect we fear it can have, is to give the Spaniards, who may hear it, no very high idea of our taste for the original in poetry. If the ‘Shepard's Calendar' originated from a few of the lines in Claudiam's old Man of Verona, of which we have seen some good translations, which may have met the eye of Miss Porter, the idea is wholly wasted away by expansion, a criticism which will hold equally good if it is original. We close the volume rather with sentiments of weariness than dislike.

Eclectic Review, 8 (Apr. 1812), 430-32
Art. XIV. Ballad Romances, and other Poems. By Miss Anna Maria Porter, 12 mo. Pp 106. Longman and Co. 1811

Of all that numerous class of person who are prone to habits of composition, the poets seem to find most difficulty in writing to themselves. To cherish a passion for the muse in secret would be an enormity scarcely heard of; and a love of rhymes, accordingly, never fails, sooner or later, to give birth to a volume of poems. As the failure of rival competitors makes no impression on the ever multiplying candidates for poetical reputation, to attempt anything in the way of dissuasion would be quite superfluous. Each one is sufficiently ready to acknowledge the silliness or stupidity of his neighbor's verses, but is so armed in vanity as effectually to repel any suspicion of the propriety of applying these epithets to his own. It is therefore pretty evident, that, as long as the liberty of the press continues, there is not much chance of any diminution in the frequency of these exhibitions of presumption and defect.

In the poems before us, we are happy to recognize an honorable exception from these remarks, which none will accuse of undue severity, who have occasion to inspect one-tenth part of the flimsy rhymes which annually issue from the press. The compositions of Miss Porter, it is true, are not remarkable for elevation of thought, or terseness of expression; but she usually writes with elegance, and is sometimes peculiarly successful in portraying the gentler emotions of the heart and the simpler scenes of domestic life. As an example, we may give the following verses, entitled ‘Remembrance of a little Favorite,'
          ‘Ah! Sweetest child! Tho' ne'er again
          I may to this sad bosom press thee,
          Yet still thro' years of anxious pain,
          My heart shall love, my lips shall bless thee.

          ‘Still, still with tears of fond regret,
          Shall thought in waking dreams recall thee,
          And oft by many fears beset,
          Muse o'er the ills that may befall thee.

          ‘For never can I cease to dwell
          On all thy looks and acts endearing;
          Thy prattling tongue, remembered well;
          Thy gaze, while song or story hearing.

          ‘Those speaking eyes, that kindled oft
          With more than childish sense or feeling;
          Those pretty arms caressing soft;
          That kiss to dry my tears when stealing.

          ‘That mimic air of martial rage,
          While sword or gun they hand was grasping;
          That studious look o'er letter'd page;
          That smile, while watchful Pero clasping.'

          ‘That fairy grace, with which they felt
          Danced artless, every eye delighting,
          While pleasure, genuine and sweet,
          Shone from thy features, love-exciting.

          ‘Those budding charms of mind and heart;
           That wondrous taste, that temper even,
           All, all thou wast, nay, all thou art,
           An angel turning earth to heaven.

          ‘These from my heart no time can take,
          Nor changing scenes make me forget thee;
          I loved thee for thy own sweet sake,
          And for thine own sake shall regret thee.'
                                          pp. 163-165

Among the poems are several sonnets; and considering how very seldom attempts in this department of verse have proved successful, those of Miss Porter are entitled to a considerable degree of praise. In point of finish, the following sonnet to Night, is not unobjectionable, but some of the individual lines are bold and forcible.
          ‘Now gleam the clouded host of stars! And now
          The vestal Dian with her lamp of light
          Half-veiled in mists, above the mountain's brow
          Glides thro the shadowy sky, and gilds the night
          Here, while the desert moor, the water still
          In deepest gloom are stretched, and dim and far,
          The hamlet rests in sleep, what fancies fill
          This lonely heart, and holier musings mar!
          For haply now, amid yon spacious scene,
          Death's noiseless scythe some blooming youth destroys;
          Or Sorrow o'er wan embers weeps past joys;
          Or houseless Hunger raves with anguish keen;
          Or Murder o'er some corpse, with bloody hands,
          Heark'ning the last dread cry, tremendous stands!'

Monthly Review, 67 (Mar. 1812), 325-26.
Art 35. Ballad-Romances, and other Poems. By Miss Anna Maria Porter, 12mo. 7s. Boards. Longman and Co. 1811.

Miss Porter's Ballads display less invention than her other poems; and in ‘the Knight of Malta,' which is the best of them, she hazards the following description of a "green and yellow melancholy":
          ‘His cheek was once like the orange red,
          But now like the olive pale.
          And his heart that erst with pity bled,
          Now heaves through pitiless mail.'
Yet this volume contains much that is elegant and pleasing; the ingenious allegory of ‘Youth' has many beautiful lines; the ‘Address to a Regiment going on Foreign Service' is both spirited and pathetic; while the ‘Lines written after reading the "Corinne" of Madame de Stael, and the "Psyche" of the late Mrs. Henry Tighe,' are fraught with so much taste, feeling, and generous enthusiasm, that we should be glad to extract them at length. We shall, however, present readers with a part of the apostrophe to the authoress of Psyche:
          ‘Ah, sounds divine! Whence flow ye? From yon copse,
          Steal on the depth of night melodious sighs
          From Love's own bosom heaved: the warbled lay,
          First softly wooing, then lamenting sad,
          Now trembling with delight, with hope, half bliss,
          With dear persuasion of partaken joy,
          Soars and descends by turns: al nature melts
          To softer charm, beneath its influence pure;
          With tenderer light looks down the pensive moon;
          More balmy breathe the flowers; and stiller stand
          The listening trees; the human breast overflows
          With holy rapture; virtue, love, and joy
          All sweet emotions find their happy way.
          Nightingale of Rosanna! Thou art gone!
          Snatched ‘mid thy tuneful life, to sing above!
          Earth's guilty echoes dared not answer thee;
          (Echoes so oft devote to Passions' voice,
          Tuneful indeed, but lawless, and profane.)

Poetical Register, 8 (1811), 614.
Ballad Romances, and other Poems. By Miss Anna Maria Porter. Small 8 vo. Pp. 196.

Of these ballad romances, which are five in number, three are tales of terror, and two are of a softer kind. The whole are beautiful. In each the story is interesting, and the language poetical. Among the miscellaneous poems "Youth, an allegory" is the longest. It is written in the stanza of Spenser, and displays a glowing fancy and harmonious numbers. The epistle from Yarico to Inkle leaves far behind every other poem which we have seen on the same subject. It has great pathos and spirit. The remaining pieces in the volume are much above mediocrity.

Other reviews (unseen):

Edinburgh Monthly Magazine and Review (Scottish Review), 1 (Sept. 1812), 133-41.
European Magazine, 64 (Dec. 1813), 521.
Gentleman's Magazine, 832 (Dec. 1813), 576.

A Note on the contemporary reviews:

From all of these contemporary reviews, it is safe to say that the general critical response to this volume was not one of dislike, but not one of great popularity or enthusiasm either. Most of the reviews seem be uncertain about the overall quality of the poetry.

Prepared by Jill Craig, University of Nebraska, December 2004.
     © Jill Craig, 2004.