Kirke

“ Thy verse "has power to please, as soft it flows
Through the smooth murmurs of the frequent close."
1803.
TO THE MEMORY OF HENRY KIRKE WHITE.
BY A LADY.
If worth, if genius, to the world are dear,
To Henry's shade devote no common tear ”

“ MEMOIR OF HENRY KIRKE WHITE.
BY SIR HARRIS NICOLAS.
Thine, Henry, is a deathless name on earth,
Thine amaranthine wreaths, new pluck'd in Heaven!
By what aspiring child of mortal birth
Could more be ask'd, to whom might more be given
TOWNSEND.
It has been said that the contrasts of light and shade are as necessary to biography as to painting, and that the character which is radiant with genius and virtue requires to be relieved by more common and opposite qualities. ”

“ Soon after this event, Kirke White went to London, and on Christmas Eve he wrote to his mother from town, stating that his health had been rather affected by study, that he came to London for amusement, and that his tutor had, in the kindest manner, relieved his mind from pecuniary cares, and cheered him with the assurance that his talents would be rewarded by his College. ”

“ But more than genius urged thy flight,
And mark'd the way, dear youth! for thee:
Henry sprang up to worlds of light
On wings of immortality!
Blackheath Hill, 24th June, 1808.
SONNET TO HENRY KIRKE WHITE, ON HIS POEMS LATELY PUBLISHED.
BY ARTHUR OWEN, ESQ.
Hail! gifted youth, whose passion-breathing lay
Portrays a mind attuned to noblest themes,
A mind, which, wrapt in Fancy's high-wrought dreams,
To nature's veriest bounds its daring way
Can wing: what charms throughout thy pages shine,
To win with fairy thrill the melting soul! ”

“ Still lovelier charms—for Southey culls the wreath!
Oxford, Dec. 17, 1807.
REFLECTIONS ON READING THE LIFE OF THE LATE HENRY KIRKE WHITE.
BY WILLIAM HOLLOWAY, AUTHOR OF THE "PEASANT'S FATE."
Darling of science and the muse,
How shall a son of song refuse
To shed a tear for thee?
To us, so soon, for ever lost,
What hopes, what prospects have been cross'd
By Heaven's supreme decree?
How could a parent, love-beguiled,
In life's fair prime resign a child
So duteous, good, and kind?
The warblers of the soothing strain
Must string the elegiac lyre in vain
To soothe the wounded mind! ”

“ In full perfection there shall bloom;
And those who now lament his doom
Must bow to God's decree.
London, 27th Feb. 1808.
ON THE DEATH OF HENRY KIRKE WHITE.
BY T. PARK.
Too, too prophetic did thy wild note swell,
Impassion'd minstrel! when its pitying wail
Sigh'd o'er the vernal primrose as it fell
Untimely, wither'd by the northern gale.1
Thou wert that flower of promise and of prime!
Whose opening bloom, 'mid many an adverse blast,
Charm'd the lone wanderer through this desert clime,
But charm'd him with a rapture soon o'ercast,
To see thee languish into quick decay. ”

“ Thus died, in his twenty-second year, Henry Kirke White, whose genius and virtues justified the brightest hopes, and whose fitness for Heaven does not bring the consolation for his untimely fate which perhaps it ought. It is impossible to refrain from anticipating what his talents might have produced, had his existence been extended; and though it is extremely doubtful if he were capable of worldly happiness, there is a selfishness in our nature which makes us grieve when those who are likely to increase our intellectual pleasures are hurried to the grave. ”

“ Nature, in Kirke White's case, appears, on the contrary, to have determined that she would, in one instance at least, prove that high intellectual attainments are strictly compatible with every social and moral virtue. ”

“ Who form'd thy frame, and fix'd thy lot?
Is not his voice in evening's gale?
Beams not with him the "star" so pale?
Is there a leaf can fade and die
Unnoticed by his watchful eye?
Each fluttering hope—each anxious fear—
Each lonely sigh—each silent tear—
To thine Almighty Friend are known;
And say'st thou, thou art "all alone?"
ODE ON THE LATE H. KIRKE WHITE.
BY JUVENIS.
And is the minstrel's voyage o'er?
And is the star of genius fled?
And will his magic harp no more,
Mute in the mansions of the dead,
Its strains seraphic pour?
A pilgrim in this world of woe,
Condemn'd, alas! ”

“ His now exalted heavenly lyre
In sounds Æolian grieve.
B. Stoke.
SONNET IN MEMORY OF HENRY KIRKE WHITE.
BY J. G.
"'Tis now the dead of night," and I will go
To where the brook soft murmuring glides along
In the still wood; yet does the plaintive song
Of Philomela through the welkin flow;
And while pale Cynthia carelessly doth throw
Her dewy beams the verdant boughs among,
Will sit beneath some spreading oak tree strong,
And intermingle with the streams my woe!
Hush'd in deep silence every gentle breeze;
No mortal breath disturbs the awful gloom ”

“ True, it was thine
To tower, to shine;
But I may make thy milder virtues mine.
If Jesus own my name
(Though, fame pronounced it never) ,
Sweet spirit, not with thee alone,
But all whose absence here I moan,
Circling with harps the golden throne,
I shall unite for ever.
At death then why
Tremble or sigh?
Oh! who would wish to live, but he who fears to die?
Dec. 5, 1807.
ON READING HENRY KIRKE WHITE'S POEM ON SOLITUDE.
BY JOSIAH CONDER.
But art thou thus indeed "alone?" ”

“ When she had got it, her voice came with a cooing note across the lagoon.
"She says she'll marry anyone."
"Take her out of the water," shouted the men.
Mrs. Jessop helped Delight to the bank. She herself was soaked to the thighs, but she felt neither chilled nor stiff. Delight was drenched, through and through. Her heavy hair, in long wet strands, half hid her marble face as she sank to the ground, her head resting on her hand—her strong right hand that now felt so weak. . . .
The tailor, now resuscitated, had heard Mrs. Jessop's question and Kirke's answer. ”

“ The great height of the nave, with the light and graceful form of the columns and arches, produce an admirable effect, to which the high altar, the carved stone pulpit, and the large organ do no violence. It is one of those buildings you could linger in for hours, contemplating now its fair proportions, now the old tombs and monuments, and quaint devices of the sculptor's art. Below the floor at the eastern end is an underground chapel, a century older than the church itself, hewn out of the solid rock. Preaching is held in it once a year. ”

“ The charm of the Cathedral is best realised after witnessing one of its many ceremonies, when the canons in crimson and purple, processions of scarlet clothed boys swinging censers, and the Bishop seated beneath a canopy of yellow damask his cope drawn stiffly to the ground by a fussing acolyte, recall some of the magnificence of the middle ages. The young priests bow low before the Bishop on their way to the altar, return to their seats and bow again; incense fills the church ”

“ It is a person, as it were, as well. It would be well, indeed, if it might have communicated a little of its personality to the front of the cathedral, which has none of its own. Shabby, rusty, unfinished, this front has a romanesque portal, but nothing in the way of a tower. One sees from without, at a glance, the peculiarity of the church—the disparity between the romanesque nave, which is small and of the twelfth century, and the immense and splendid transepts and choir, of a period a hundred years later. ”

“ The Presbytery, or eastern limb of the minster, is the finest example of the best period of English Gothic. [66] Its crocketed gables and pinnacles, its panelled buttresses, its elaborate tracery, and, above all, its wealth of sculpture, form a striking contrast to the simplicity of St. Hugh's work. The choir is divided into five bays, indicated by the boldly-projecting buttresses, once covered with statues; the canopies and pedestals still remain, within arches supported by tall clustered pillars with foliaged capitals. ”

“ I passed an hour in the Cathedral, which seemed{90} all beautiful to me; the fifteenth century part, the thirteenth century part, and the crypt above all, which they say is older than the Conquest.... Fancy the church quite full; the altar lined with pontifical gentlemen bobbing up and down; the dear little boys in white and red flinging about the incense pots; the music roaring out from the organs; all the monks and the clergy in their stalls, and the archbishop on his throne—oh, how fine! ”

“ As you approach the Chapel of the Virgin, you pass by an ancient monument, to the left, of a recumbent Bishop, reposing behind a thin pillar, within a pretty ornamented Gothic arch.45 To the eye of a tasteful antiquary this cannot fail to have its due attraction. While however we are treading upon hallowed ground, rendered if possible more sacred by the ashes of the illustrious dead, let us move gently onwards towards the Chapel of the Virgin, behind the choir. See, what bold and brilliant monumental figures are yonder, to the right of the altar! ”

“ This immense edifice has two towers with spires of open stonework, which in the distance appear as light as lace-work, and one wonders how it can endure this blustering climate. The chapels are as large as some churches, and filled with tombs of sculptured marble and stained glass. The white stone of some of the interior walls and buttresses inclosing the choir represents in sculpture the life of Christ, his agony, the supporting of the cross, the crucifixion and ascension; the building, like other edifices of the kind in Spain, is a perfect museum of art, pictures, statuary, and carved wood. ”

“ The portal of the Cathedral is simple, yet so beautiful that I venture to reproduce it that you may judge for yourself. Enter, and you will find a very lofty, very plain, but very dignified nave of the twelfth century. As I leave the sanctuary, I am greeted by the priest in a dignified solemn salutation,—he does not raise his eyes, and I am evidently completely forgotten before he has turned away. A lot of boys, shut up in school in one of the chapels for some hours back, stop to stare at me for an instant and then go whooping away down the quiet streets of the old city. ”

“ You have only to look from a distance at any old-fashioned Cathedral-city and you will see in a moment the mediæval relations between Church and State. The Cathedral is the city. The first object you catch sight of as you approach is the spire tapering into the sky, or the huge towers holding possession of the centre of the landscape—majestically beautiful—imposing by mere size. As you go nearer, the pinnacles are glittering in the tints of the sunset, when down below among the streets and lanes twilight is darkening. ”

“ As soon as the noise of a real miracle in it gets abroad, every one is for hurrying thither at once with their needs and their prayers, their candles and their picayunes; and the little miracle chapel, perhaps despite itself, becomes with mushroom growth a church, and the church a cathedral, from whose resplendent altars the cheap, humble ex-voto tablets, the modest beginnings of its ecclesiastical fortunes, are before long banished to dimly lighted lateral shrines. ”

“ They enter a large, brilliantly lighted, magnificent chapel; the walls are of marble; the altar is of beaten gold, and its eternal lamp bathes all in a wondrous light.
The miner cannot gaze enough at the marvellous sight, crosses and recrosses himself; the monk kneels at the golden altar and says an Ave Maria. Then he rises, commands his companion to remain standing in the middle of the chapel, and approaches the door opposite the one by which they had entered. ”

“ The church is in the shape of a cross; and at the end of each of the transepts, is a rich altar, with statuary, in the style of art usual about a century ago. The pews--made of dark mahogany or walnut tree, much after the English fashion, but lower and more tasteful-- are placed on each side of the nave, on entering; with ample space between them. They are exclusively appropriated to the tenants of the monastery. At the end of the nave, you look to the left, opposite,--and observe, placed in a recess--a PULPIT ... which, from top to bottom, is completely covered with gold. ”

“ The massive Gothic pillars are still in a perfect state of preservation, as well as the numerous ancient monuments and relics of the past. The vast size of the Cathedral is a perpetual source of wonder to the stranger, who, wandering among its curious historic mementos, gazing upon its storied nave, transepts and choir, and upon the Bible scenes pictured in these glorious windows, feels that he has been transported by some magician’s hand into an age long buried in the past. ”

“ The sunlight comes in long rays through the cloud rifts and the land sparkles and the sea dances where it strikes far out towards England.
High above us rise the pinnacles of the Cathedral, while on the topmost point of its Gothic spire the gilded statue of St. Michael seems to shout his hosannas upwards far towards the blue of heaven.
The wind is strong and fresh and full of life, for this is spring, and the world rejoices; this is Holy Week with its divine resurrection and its hope for all men! ”

“ And there are churches everywhere, from the huge cathedral towering like a forest of carven stone to the humble village chapel or wayside shrine, their spires all pointing up to heaven in token of the change that has come upon the life and spirit of the world. ”

“ It is most wonderful, for only a few low lights are lighted, and the shadowy arches, the several hundred kneeling black figures, the clear tenor voice of the priest, who sings most of the service, the hundred responses, make it all seem like something unreal—till one realizes that the unreal part is that it seems so strange and unusual to us, for there have been going on just such services as that in that Cathedral since before America was discovered! ”