— The Corvey Poets Project at the University of Nebraska —

British Poetry of the later Eighteenth and Earlier Nineteenth Centuries

Bibliographical and Contextual Apparatus

[Melesina C. Trench]

Campaspe:  an Historical Tale; and Other Poems. By Mrs. Trench. [Southampton:  Baker], 1815. Pp. 40.

Contemporary Reviews

I found one review of Campaspe which also supplies much of the work and an additional excerpt from a poem in the book. I also included a second review of another work of Trench's for comparison.

---OnCampaspe, an Historical Tale ; and other Poems. Southampton, pp 40. Literary Gazette, Oct. 14 1820, pp. 661-62

This little poem, founded on the surrender of Campaspe by Alexander to Apelles, is the production of a lady whose compositions have more than once been noticed in our columns. It seems to have been written some time, though only now published, and that imperfectly, in a provincial town. We presume, however, that it is to be found with the London booksellers ; and quote a passage to exemplify its style. When Alexander announces to the beautiful maiden his resolution to sacrifice his love on the altar of friendship, the story thus proceeds—
     With mute indignant pride Campaspe heard,
     This strange request from lips so dear preferr'd:
     Restrain'd her tears, repress'd her struggling sighs,
     Nor from the ground once rais'd her burning eyes:
     Reply'd with all the stillness of Despair,
     And mark'd the limit of existence there,
     Breathing,—not living,—from that fatal hour
     She sank in slow decay. The vernal flow'r
     Transferr'd by hands unconscious of its worth,
     Thus sheds its silken blossoms on the earth.
     With calm austerity, and meek delay,
     Still she defers the promis'd nuptial day.
     Her lip no smile bestows, her eye no tear,
     One dead to Hope, insensible of fear;
     Her chill indiff'rence to each earthly thing,
     To all that pleasure, all that pain, can bring:
     A being not compris'd in Nature's law.
     A moon-like softness soon usurp'd the place
     Of all her varying eloquence of face;
     Save when a glancing lustre, wild and high,
     Flash'd sudden from her dark dilated eye.
     When those inspiring eyes for ever clos'd,
     One smile of joy on her pale lips repos'd;
     Her first, her last, reproach—this dying smile—
     With fearful Beauty grac'd her funeral pile,
     And left a sting in Alexander's breast,
     The whirlwind of his future days confest.
     Ne'er can the noble mind to bliss aspire,
     That once has quench'd Affection's sacred fire:
     Each pain inflicted on the heart it loves,
     Throbless that heart, a dreadful Hydra proves.
     The Night's companion! Sleep's eternal dream!
     Nought then relieves like the loud clang of arms,
     The frantic contest, Danger's dazzling charms!
     Extremes alone a moment's ease bestow; —
     And in their form what crimes familiar grow!
     But scenes like these a bolder tough demand,
     More glowing colours, and a firmer hand.
     Enought for me, in this sequester'd shade,
     To paint the sorrows of a love-lorn maid.

The following is one of the two minor poems, which are inserted at the end : the thought is very pretty, and the expression good.

     On A Blush Rose.

     Pale fragrant Rose, with ev'ry gentle art,
     I'll seek-thy frail existence to prolong,
     Press thy last relics fondly to my heart,
     Revive thy memory in plantive song.
     Nor brilliant color stol'n from morning skies,
     Nor dazzling tints thy modest charms improve,
     Thy snowy leaves each foreign hue despise,
     Save the faint bloom of unrequited Love.
     And that within thy bosom, hapless flow'r,
     Remains conceal'd from ev'ry human eye,
     Till fervid suns oppress thy final hour,
     Bid thee unforld thy secret—blush—and die.
     While weeping Love prepar'd her tomb,
     So sunk this bosom's earliest friend:
     Such was her freshness,—such her bloom,—
     So did her silent sorrows end.

---On A Monody on the Death of Mr. Grattan. Literary Gazette, July 15, 1820, p. 456

A very feeling and poetical effusion has been published at Ridgway's, to the memory of Mr. Grattan ; no action of whose life did him more honour than his mode of leaving it. May his dying advice have all the effect it ought to have upon the country which he loved, and to which he left this invaluable legacy. Though the poem is so short, we cannot resist unproportional quotation.

     Grattan ! thy triumph over death,
     Thy fervid days' majestic close,
     Thy kindling hope, and bright repose,
     Bequeath'd us, with thy parting breath,
     A boon as great as aught thy mind
     E'er strove to win for human kind.
     We catch a glimpse of unknown pow'rs,
     More of the coming world than ours,
     Seeing, that high and holy views
     Such glories o'er thy couch diffuse,
     That life can nought more precious give,
     Than thus, like thee, to cease to live.

     Thy patriot heart desir'd t' exhale
     Its latest sigh within the pale
     Where Chatham, deeply honour'd, fell,
     Dying, like him, in duty's path.
     Heav'n check'd this wish—not in its wrath,
     But lest thy rising soul should trace,
     In those it lov'd on Earth so well,
     Such pangs as time can ne'er efface,
     Had other eyes or hearts than theirs
     Bestow'd the last and dearest cares,
     For, blest and blessing in each tie
     The charities of life supply,
     'Twas thine domestic joys to prove,
     Through a long time of circling years,
     Whose mingling radiance but appears
     One summer's day of wedded love.

     When, on Ierne's emerald shore
     Thou saw'st her grateful myriads pour,
     Her cliffs all kindling into life,
     As swift receded from thy view
     That beauteous theatre of strife,
     The Land that found thee always true—
     The workings of thy mighty mind
     Must in their circle have combin'd,
     Of thought, of feeling, passion, more
     Than ev'n thy eloquence could reach—
     Too deep for tears, too strong for speech.
     The multitude, with fond respect,
     Awhile each mark of feeling check'd :
     The light wave, rippling on the shore,
     Was plainly heard—the parting oar.
     But when this hallow'd silence broke,
     When ev'ry voice was heard to swell,
     In one magnificent farewell,
     As if thy country's Genius spoke.—
     Yet though thy name illume th'historic page,
     As Patriot Statesman, Orator, and Sage,
     Though nations blest and rival senates hung
     On the commanding accents of thy tongue—
     There was a daily beauty in thy life,
     In Nature's lap, remote from toil and strife,
     Soothing deep Sorrow with the dearer boast,
     Who nearest saw, admir'd and lov'd thee most.

We believe this tribute to be from a lady's pen.


Prepared by Jessica Kubick, University of Nebraska, December 2004.
      © Jessica Kubick, 2004.