A CIRCULAR,
ADDRESSED TO THE MEMBERS OP THE ROYAL YACHT CLUB.
Come, lads, bend your sails; o'er the blue waters thronging, In barks like the sea-mew that skims o'er the lave; All you to the Royal Yacht squadron belonging, Come, muster at Cowes, for true sport on the wave.{1} First our king,{2} Heaven bless him! who's lord of the sea, And delights in the sport of the circling wave, Commands you attend him wherever ye be, Sons of ocean, ye loyal, ye witty, and brave. Here Anglesey,{3} Waterloo's hero, shall greet ye;
1 The club generally assemble in Cowes-roads about the
middle of July to commence their aquatic excursions, which
are continued
until after the Regatta in August.
2 His Majesty is graciously pleased to honour the club by
becoming its patron.
3 The Marquis of Anglesey is a principal promoter of this
truly British sport, and resides with his family at Cowes
Castle during the season. The Pearl cutter, 113 tons, and
the Liberty cutter, 42 tons, are both his property.
The Pearl, and the Liberty, cutters in trim, The Welds {4} in the Arrow and Julia too meet ye, The match for eight hundred affording you whim. Here Grantham{5} his Nautilus, steer'd by old Hollis, Shall cut through the wave like a beautiful shell; And Symonds{6} give chase in the yawl the Cornwallis, And Webster{7} the Scorpion manage right well; And Williams{8} the younger, and Owen{9} his dad, From the shores of Beaumaris have run the Gazelle; And Craven{10} his May-fly wings o'er like a lad That is used to the ocean, and fond of its swell. Come, lads, bear a hand—here's Sir George hove in sight, With his little Eliza{11} so snug and so trim; Tan sails, cawsand rigg'd—for all weather she's tight; You must sail more than well, if you mean to beat him. Then steady, boys, steady—here's Yarborough's{12} Falcon, A very fine ship, but a little too large; And here is a true son of Neptune to talk on, Vice-Admiral Hope,{13} K.CB. in his barge.
4 Joseph and James Welds, Esqrs., of Southampton, the
wealthy and spirited owners of the Arrow yawl, 85 tons, and
the Julia, 43 tons. These gentlemen evince the greatest
spirit in challenging and sailing any of the club.
5 Lord Grantham, Nautilus, Cutter, 103 tons, a new and very
fast sailer.
Owner Vessel Class Tons
6 Capt. J. C. Symonds, R.N. Adm. Cornwallis Yawl 22
7 Sir Godfrey Webster Scorpion, Cutter 110
8 T. P. Williams, Esq., Hussar, Schooner, 120
and the Blue-eyed Maid, Cutter, 39
9 Owen Williams, Esq. Gazelle Cutter 87
10 Earl Craven May-fly Yawl 39
11 Sir George Thomas, Bart. Eliza Yawl 34
12 Lord Yarborough Commodore Falcon Ship 335
13 Vice-Admiral Sir W. Johnston Hope, K.C.B., who is here in
one of the Admiralty yachts.
Come, lads, spread your canvas for health and for pleasure,
For both are combined in this true British sport;
Come, muster in Cowes-roads without further leisure,
Blue jackets and trowsers for dresses at court.
See Deerhurst{14} his Mary sticks to like a lover,
And Lindegren's{15}Dove wings it over the main;
Powell's {16} Briton, 'tis very well known, is a rover,
In Union the Pagets{17}must ever remain;
Here's Smith's {18 }Jack o'lantern and Chamberlayne's Fairy,{19}
Earl Harborough's{20} Ann, and F. Pake's Rosabelle{21}
Lord Willoughby's {22} Antelope, Penleaze's {23}Mary,
And Gauntlet's{24}Water-sprite sails very well.
Come, jolly old Curtis,{25} bear up in your Emma,
Eight cheerily laden with turtle and port;
And Melville{26} set sail if you'd scape the dilemma
Of being too late for our aquatic sport.
See Norfolk {27}already is here in the Swallow,
And the Don Giovanni a challenge has sent,
Which Lyons {28} accepts, and intends to beat hollow,
That is if the Londoner should not repent.
Owner Vessel
14 Viscount Deerhurst Mary
15 J. Lindegren, Esq. Dove.
16 J. B. Powell, Esq. Briton
17 Right Hon. Sir A. Paget Union
18 T. A. Smith, jun. Esq. Jack o'lantern
19 W. Chamberlayne, Esq. Fairy
20 Earl of Harborough Ann
21 F. Pare, Esq. Rosabelle
22 Lord Willoughby do Broke Antelope
23 J. S. Penleaze, Esq. Mary
24 Captain J. Gauntlet Water Sprite
25 Sir William Curtis, Bart. Rebecca Maria, Yawl, 76 tons.
and Emma, Schooner, 132 tons.
26 Lord Melville Admiralty Yacht 100
27 Duke of Norfolk Swallow Yawl 124
28 Captain Edmund Lyons (the polar navigator) had just
launched the Queen Mab.
But look, what a crowd of fine yachts are arriving!
The Elizabeth,{29 }Unicorn,{30} Cygnet,{31} and Jane,{32}
The Eliza, Sabrina,{33} Madora,{34} all striving
To beat one another as coursing the main.
A fleet of small too, at anchor are riding;
The Margaret{35} Sapphire,{36} the Molly,{37} and Hind,{38}
The Orion,{39} and Dormouse{40} and Janette{41}abiding
The time when each vessel shall covet the wind.
Then, boys, bend your sails, and weigh for our regatta,
We've a Sylph?{42 and a Rambler{43} and a Merry Maid,{44}
A Syren{45} a Cherub{46} a Charlotte{47} and at her
A Corsair(48} who looks as if nothing afraid.
Here the Lord of the Isles{49} and freebooter Rob Roy,{50}
By a Will o' the Wisp{51} are led over the deep;
29 J. Fleming, Esq.
Elizabeth
30 H. Perkins, Esq.
Unicorn,
31 J. Reynolds, Esq.
Cygnet
32 Hon. William Hare
Jane
33 James Maxie, Esq.
Sâbrina
34 H. Hopkins, Esq.
Madora
35 Hon. William White
Margaret
36 James Dundas, Esq.
Sapphire
37 Lieutenant-Colonel Harris
Charming Molly
38 Capt. Herringham, R.N.
Hind
39 James Smith, Esq.
Orion
40. P. Peach, Esq.
Dormouse
41 Capt. C. Wyndham, R.N.
Janette
42 R. W. Newman, Esq.
Sylph
43 J. H. Durand, Esq.
Jolly Rambler
44 Joseph Gulston, Esq.
Merry-maid
45 T. Lewin, Esq.
Syren
46 T. Challen, Esq.
Cherub
47 John Vassall, Esq.
Charlotte
48 Corbett, Esq.
Corsair
49 Colonel Seale
Lord of the Isles
50 W. Gaven, Esq.
Rob Roy
51 E. H. Dolatield, Esq.
Will o' the Wisp
And the Highland Lass{52} blushes a welcome of joy,
As alongside the Wombwell{53} she anchors to sleep.
Here the Donna del Lago{54} consorts with Rostellan,{55}
To the New Grove,{56} Lord Nelson{57} Louisa {58} attends,
Galatea{59} runs a Harrie{60} in chase of the Erin,{61}
And here with the Club List my Circular ends.
Owner Vessel Class Tons
52 Lieut.-Gen. Mackenzie Highland Lass Yawl 25
53 T. Harman, Esq. Wombivell Cutter 33
54 S. Halliday, Esq. Lady of Die Lake Yawl 42
55 Marquis of Thoruond Rostellan Schooner 60
56 John Roche, Esq. New Grove Cutter 24
57 Reverend C. A. North Lord Nelson Cutter 75
58 Arch. Swinton, Esq. Louisa Yawl 24
59 C. R. M. Talbot, Esq. Galatea Schooner 179
60 Sir R. J. A. Kemys Harrier Schooner 36
61 T. Allen, Esq. Erin Schooner 94
"A right merrie conceit," said Horace, "and a good-humoured jingle that must be gratifying to all mentioned, and will serve as a record of the present list of the Yacht Club to future times. We must petition the commodore to enter you upon the ship's books as poet-laureate to the squadron: you shall pen lyrics for our annual club-dinner at East Cowes, compose sea-chants for our cabin jollifications, sing the praises of our wives and sweethearts, and write a congratulatory ode descriptive of our vessels, crews, and commanders, at the end of every season; and your reward shall be a birth on board any of the fleet when you choose a sail, and a skin-full of grog whenever you like to command it. So come, old fellow, give us a spice of your qualifications for your new office; something descriptive of the science of navigation, from its earliest date to the perfection of a first-rate man of war."
THE PROGRESS OF NAVIGATION, AN ORIGINAL SONG;
Dedicated to the Members of the Royal Yacht Club.
In the first dawn of science, ere man could unfold
The workings of nature, or valued dull gold;
Ere yet he had ventured to dare ocean's swell,
Or could say by the moon how the tides rose and fell;
A philosopher seated one day on the brink
Of the silvery margin thus took him to think:
"If on this side the waters are girted by land,
What controls the wide expanse, I'd fain understand."
Thus buried in thought had he ponder'd till now,
But a beautiful nautilus sail'd to and fro;
Just then a sly breeze raised the curls from his eyes,
And he woke from a dream to extatic surprise.
O'er his head a huge oak spread a canopy round,
Whose trunk being hollow, he levell'd to ground;
With a branch form'd a mast, and some matting a sail,
And thus rudely equipp'd dared the perilous gale;
Of the winds and the waves both the mercy and sport,
His bark was long tost without guidance to port,
And the storms of the ocean went nigh to o'erwhelm,
When the tail of the dolphin suggested a helm.
Ry degrees, the canoe to a cutter became,
And order and form newly-moulded the same,
Ropes, rigging, and canvas, and good cabin room,
A bowsprit, a mizen, a gib, and a boom.
From the cutter, the schooner, brig, frigate arose;
Till Britons, determined to conquer their foes,
Built ships like to castles, they call'd men of war,
The fame of whose broadsides struck terror afar.
Now boldly, philosophy aided by skill,
Bent his course o'er the blue waters sailing at will,
But dubious the track, for as yet 'twas unknown
How to steer 'twixt the poles for a north or south zone,
Till the magnet's attraction, by accident found,
Taught man how the globe he could traverse around;
New worlds brought to light, and new people to view,
And by commerce connected Turk, Christian, and Jew.
All this while, father Neptune lay snug in his bed,
Till he heard a sad riot commence o'er his head,
Folks firing, and fighting, and sailing about,
When his godship popp'd up just to witness the rout;
It happen'd in one of those actions to be
When Europe combined fought the isle of the sea,
And, as usual, were conquer'd, sunk, fired, or run,
That old Neptune acknowledged each Briton his son.
"From this time," said his godship, "henceforth, be it known,
Little England's the spot for the ocean-king's throne;
And this charter I grant, and enrol my decree,
That my brave sons, the Britons, are lords of the sea."
"There's nothing like a good song," said Horace, "for conveying information on nautical subjects, or promoting that national spirit which is the pride and glory of our isle. I question if the country are not more indebted to old Charles Dibdin for his patriotic effusions during the late war, than to all the psalm-singing admirals and chaplains of the fleet put together. I know that crab Gambier, and the methodist privateers who press all sail to pick up a deserter from the orthodox squadron, do a great deal of mischief among our seamen; for as Corporal Trim says, 'What time has a sailor to palaver about creeds when it blows great guns, or the enemies of his country heave in sight? a sailor's religion is to perform his duty aloft and do good below; honour his king, love his girl, obey his commander, and burn, sink, and destroy the foes of his country.' Here we have an occasional exhibition of this sort on board the depot vessel in the harbour, when the Bethel flag is hoisted, and the voice of the puritan is heard from East Cowes to Eaglehurst; as if there were not already conventicles enough on shore for those who are disposed to separate themselves from the established church, without the aid of a floating chapel, furnished by the government agent to subvert the present order of things. On this point, you know, I was always a liberal thinker, but a firm friend to the church, as being essential to the best interests of the state. An old college chum of ours, who has been unusually fortunate in obtaining ecclesiastical preferment, thought proper to send me a friendly lecture in one of his letters the other day on this subject, to which I returned the following answer, and put an end to his scruples, as I think, for ever: I have entitled it
THE UNIVERSALIST.
'to a friend who questioned the propriety of his
religious opinions.
'You ask what creed is mine? and where
I seek the Lord in holy prayer?
What sect I follow? by what rule,
Perhaps you mean, I play the fool?
I answer, none; yet gladly own
I worship God, but God alone.
No pious fraud or monkish lies
Shall teach me others to despise;
Whate'er their creed, I love them all,
So they before their Maker fall.
The sage, the savage, and refined,
On this one point are equal blind:
Shall man, the creature of an hour,
Arraign the all-creative Power?
Or, by smooth chin, or beard unshaved,
Decree who shall or not be saved?
Presumptuous priests, in silk and lawn,
May lib'ral minds denounce with scorn;
The reason's clear—remove the veil,
Their trade and interest both must fail.
I hold that being worse than blind,
Where bigotry usurps the mind;
And more abhor him who for pelf,
Denouncing others, damns himself.
Look round, observe creation's work,
From Afric's savage to the Turk;
Through polish'd Europe turn your eye,
To where the sun of liberty
On western shores illumes the wave,
That flows o'er many a patriot's grave;
As varied as their skin's the creed,
By which they hope they shall succeed
In presence of their God, to prove
Their claim to his eternal love;
A claim that must and will have weight,
No matter what their creed or state.
By modes of faith let none presume
To fix his fellow-creature's doom.'"
"A truce with religion, Horace," said I; "it is a controversy that generally ends in making friends foes, and foes the most implacable of persecutors: with the one it shuts out all hope of reconciliation, with the other breeds a war of extermination; so come, lad, leave theology to the fathers—we that have liberal souls tolerate all creeds. More hollands, steward: here's a glass to all our college acquaintance, not forgetting grandmamma and the pretty nuns of Saint Clement's. Where the deuce is all that singing we hear above, steward?" "On board the Transport, your honour." "Ay, I remember, I saw the poor devils embark this morning, and a doleful sight it was—one hundred of my fellow-creatures, in the prime of life, consigned to an early grave, transported to the pestilential climate of Sierre Leone: inquire for them three months hence, and you shall find them—not where they will find you—but where whole regiments of their predecessors have been sacrificed, on the unhealthy shores—victims to the false policy of holding what is worse than useless, and of enslaving the original owners of the soil.
Liquor, and the reflection of their desperate fortunes, have driven them mad, and now they give vent to their feelings in a forced torrent of wild mirth, in which they would bury the recollections of those they are parted from for ever. On the beach this morning I witnessed a most distressing scene: wives separated by force from their husbands, and children torn from the fond embraces of parents whose parting sighs were all they could yield them on this side the grave. 'Push off the boat, and, officer, see that no women are permitted on board,' said the superintending lieutenant of the depot, with a voice and manner hard and unfeeling as the iron oracle of authority. My heart sickened at the sight, and the thrilling scream of a widowed wife, as she fell senseless on the causeway, created an impression that my pitying Muse could not resist recording.
'THE SOLDIER'S WIPE.
'There's a pang which no pencil nor pen can express,
A heart-broken sigh which despondency breathes,
When the soul, overcharged with oppressive distress,
Of the tear of relief the sad bosom bereaves.
'Twas thus on the shore, like a statue of grief,
The wife of the soldier her babe fondly press'd;
Not a word could she utter, no tear gave relief,
But sorrow convulsively heaved her soft breast.
Now nearer she presses—now severed for life
The waves bear the lord of her bosom from view;
Distraction suspends the red current of life,
And she sinks on the beach as he sighs out adieu.'"
"Zounds, old fellow, how sentimental you are growing!" said Horace: "you must read these pathetic pieces to the marines; they will never do for the sailors. Here, steward, bear a hand, muster the crew aft, and let us have a tune, Jack's Alive, Malbrook, or the College Hornpipe;" an order that was quickly carried into execution, as most of the men on board I found played some wind instrument, the effect of which upon the stillness of the water was enchantingly sweet. During the occasional rests of the band, Horace sung one of those delightful melodies, written in imitation of Moore, for which he was celebrated when a boy at Eton.
THE EVENING TIDE.
Tune—" The Young May Moon."
Whither so fast away, my dear?
The star of Eve is bright and clear,
And the parting day, as it fades away,
To lovers brings delight, my dear:
Then 'neath night's spangled veil, my dear,
Come list t' the young heart's tale sincere;
Yon orb of light, so chaste and bright,
Love's magic yields within her sphere.
Then through the shady grove, my love,
Let's wander with the cooing dove,
Till the starry night, to morning's light,
Shall break upon our wooing, love.
As life's young dream shall pass, my love,
Together let us gaily row,
And day by day, in sportive play,
Enjoy life's Meeting gloss, my love.
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It was on one of those warm evenings in the month of July, when scarcely a zephyr played upon the wanton wave, and the red sun had sunk to rest behind the Castle turrets, giving full promise of another sultry day, that our little band had attracted a more than usual display of promenaders on the walk extending from the Fort point to the Marine Hotel. With the report of the evening gun, or, as Horace termed it, the admiral's grog bell, we had quitted the cabin, and mustering our little party upon deck, suffered the Rover to drift nearer in shore with the tide, that we might enjoy the gratifying spectacle of more closely observing the young, the beautiful, and the accomplished elegantes who traversed to and fro upon the beach to catch the soft whispers of the saline air.
At the Castle Causeway a boat had just landed a group of beautiful children, who appeared clinging round a tall well-formed man, in a blue jacket and white trowsers, resting a hand upon each of two fine boys dressed in a similar style: he walked on, with a slight affection of lameness, towards the Castle entrance, preceded by three lovely little female fairies, who gambolled in his path like sportive zephyrs.—"There moves one of the bravest men, and best of fathers, in his majesty's dominions," said Horace—"the commander of the Pearl." "What," said I, "the Marquis of Anglesey?" "The same—who here seeks retirement in the bosom of his family, and without ostentation enjoys a pleasure, which, in its pursuit, produces permanent advantage to many, and enables others, his friends and relations, to participate with him in his amusements. We are much indebted to the marquis for the promotion of this truly British sport, who with his brothers, Sir Charles and Sir Arthur, were among the first members of the Royal Yacht Club. The group of blue jackets to the left, whom the marquis recognised as he passed, consist of that merry fellow, Sir Godfrey Webster, who lias a noble yacht here, the Scorpion; the commander of the Sabrina, James Manse, Esq. another jovial soul; the two Williams's, father and son, who have both fine yachts in our roads; Sir Charles Sullivan; and the Polar navigator, Captain Lyons, who has just launched a beautiful little boat called the Queen Mab, with whom he means to bewitch the Don Giovanni of London." "Who is that interesting female leaning over the railings in front of the Gothic house, attended by a dark pensive-looking swain, with a very intelligent countenance? Methinks there is an air of style about the pair that speaks nobility; and yet I have observed they appear too fond of each other's society to be fashionables." "That is the delightful Lady F. L. Gower and her lord: I thought you would have recognised that star instantly, from the splendid picture of her by Lawrence, which hangs in the Stafford Gallery at Cleveland-house. The elegant group pacing the lawn in front of the castellated mansion, on this side of Lord Gower, is the amiable Countess of Craven and her family: the earl, that generous and once merry-hearted soul, I lament to hear, is a victim to the gout; but it is hoped a few trips on board the May-fly will restore him to health, and the enjoyment of his favourite pursuit." "By my soul, Horace," said I, "here comes a splendid creature, a very divinity, my boy: I' faith just such a woman as might melt the heart of a corsair." "By my honour you have hit the mark exactly," replied Eglantine, "for she is already the corsair's bride, and Corbett feels, as he ought to do, not a little proud of his good fortune. The raven-haired Graces accompanying that true son of Neptune, Sir George Thomas, are daughters of the baronet, and, report says, very accomplished girls. Now by all that's fascinating and charming, hither comes the beautiful Miss Seymour, Mrs. Fitzherbert's protégé, and his Majesty's little pet—an appellation I have often heard him salute her by. The magnificent-looking belle by her side is a relation, the charming Mrs. Seymour, acknowledged to be a star of the first magnitude in female attractions. The three portly-looking gentlemen whose grog-blossomed visages speak their love of the good things of this world are the Admirals Scott and Hope, and that facetious of all funny senators, Sir Isaac Coffin. If you are an admirer of the soft and the sentimental, of the love-enkindling eye, and Madonna-like expression of countenance, observe that band of Arcadian shepherdesses in speckled dresses yonder—Bristol diamonds of the first and purest water, I assure you; and their respected father, the wealthy proprietor of Miles's-court, Bristol, may well be delighted with his amiable and beauteous daughters. The little dapper-looking man in the white hat yonder is the liberal, good-tempered Duke of Norfolk; and the dashing roué by his side, the legitimate heir to his title, is the Earl of Surrey, whose son, the young Baron of Mowbray, follows hand in hand with Captain Wollaston, an old man-of-war's man, who sails the Swallow cutter. The female group assembled in front of the King's-house are the minor constellations from East Cowes, and the congregated mixture of oddities who grace the balconies of the Pavilion boarding-house comprise every grade of society from the Oxford invalid to the retired shopkeeper, the Messieurs Newcomes of the island." "A rich subject for a more extended notice," said I, "when on some future occasion I visit Margate or Brighton, where the diversity of character will be more numerous, varied, and eccentric than in this sequestered spot." As the evening advanced, the blue-eyed maid of heaven spread forth her silvery light across the glassy surface of the deep, yielding a magic power to the soul-inspiring scene, and, by reflection, doubling the objects on the sea, whose translucent bosom scarcely heaved a sigh, or murmured forth a ripple on the ear; and now, amid the stillness of the night, we were suddenly amused with the deep-sounding notes of the key-bugle reverberating over the blue waters with most harmonious effect. "We are indebted to that mad wag, Ricketts, for this unexpected pleasure," said Horace; "he is an amateur performer of no mean talent, and delights in surprising the visitors in this agreeable manner." "Rover, a-hoy," hailed a voice from the shore; off went our boat, and on its return brought an accession to our party of half a dozen right merry fellows, among whom was that choice spirit, Henry Day, whose facetious powers of oratory and whim are universally esteemed, and have often afforded us amusement, when enjoying an evening among the eccentrics of London and the brilliants of the press, who assemble for social purposes at the Wrekin. The Days are too well known and respected as a family of long standing in the island to require the eulogy of the English Spy, but to acknowledge their hospitality and kindness he penned the following tribute ere he quitted the shores of Vectis.
LOVE, LAW, AND PHYSIC.
In Vectis' Isle three happy Days
By any may be seen:
First, James, who loves by social ways
To animate mirth's scene;
An honest lawyer, Henry, next
With speech and bottle plies you;
And when by fell disease perplex'd,
Charles physics and revives you.
"Love, law, and physic," here combine
To claim the poet's praise:
May fortune's sunbeams ever shine
On three such worthy Days.
A few more songs and a few more grogs brought on the hour of ten; and now our friends having departed to their homes, Horace and myself took a turn or two upon deck, smoked out our cigars, conjured up the reminiscences of our school-boy days, and having spent a few moments in admiration of the starry canopy which spread its spangled brightness over our heads, we sought again the cabin, drank a parting glass to old friends, turned into our births, and soon were cradled by the motion of the vessel into sweet repose. The events of the former evening, the novelty of the scene, and, above all, the magnificence of Nature, as she appeared when viewed from sea, in her diurnal progress through the transition of morning, noon, and night, all inspired my Muse to attempt poetic sketches of the character of the surrounding island scenery. A delightful pleasure I have endeavoured to convey to my readers in the following rhymes.
MORNING IN THE ISLE OF WIGHT.
When o'er the foreland glimmering day
Just breaks above the eastern lulls,
And streaks of gold through misty gray
Dispels night's dark and vap'rous chills;
Then, when the landsman 'gins to mow
The perfumed crop on grounds above,
And sailors chant the "yeo, heave yeo,"
Then young hearts wake to life and love.
When still and slow the murmuring swell
Of ocean, rising from his throne,
O'erleaps the beach, and matin's bell
To prayer invites the college drone;
Then, when the pennant floats on high,
And anchor's weigh'd again to rove,
And tuneful larks ascend the sky,
Then young hearts wake to life and love.
When, by unerring nature's power,
Creation breaks the spell of night,
And plants their leaves expand and flow'r,
And all around breathes gay delight;
Then when the herdsman opes his fold
To let the merry lambkin rove,
And distant hills are tipt with gold,
Then young hearts wake to life and love,
NOON IN THE ISLE OF WIGHT.
When toiling 'neath meridian sun
The boatman plies the lab'ring oar,
And sportive nymphs the margin shun
Of ocean's pebble-parched shore;
Then when beneath some shadowy cliff,
O'er-hanging wood, or leafy vale,
The trav'ller rests, haul'd up the skiff,
Then lovers breathe their am'rous tale.
When Nature, languid, seems to rest,
Nor moves a leaf, or heaves a wave,
And Zephyrs sleep, by Sol caress'd,
And sportive swallows skim the lave;
Then, when by early toil oppress'd,
The peasant seeks the glen or dale,
Enjoys his frugal meal and rest,
Then lovers breathe their am'rous tale.
When close beneath the forest's pride
The upland's group of cattle throng,
And sultry heat dissevers wide
The feather'd host of tuneful song;
Then when a still, dead, settled calm
O'er earth, and air, and sea prevail,
And lull'd is ev'ry spicy balm,
Then lovers breathe their am'rous tale.
EVENING IN THE ISLE OF WIGHT.
When twilight tints with sober gray
The distant hills, and o'er the wave
The mellow glow of parting day
Crimsons the shipwreck'd sailor's grave;
Then when the sea-bird seeks the mast,
And signal lights illume the tower,
And sails are furl'd, and anchors cast,
Then, then is love's delicious hour.
When o'er the beach the rippling wave
Breaks gently, heaving to and fro,
Like maiden bosoms, ere the knave
Of hearts has ting'd their cheek with woe;
Then, when the watch their vigils keep,
And grog, and song, and jest have power
To laugh to scorn the peril'd deep,
Then, then is love's delicious hour.
When Cynthia sheds her mystic light
In silv'ry circles o'er the main;
And Hecate spreads her veil of night
O'er hearts that ne'er may meet again;
Then, Anna, blest with thee, I stray
'Mid scenes of bliss—through nature's bower;
While eve's star guides us on our way,
Then, then is love's delicious hour.
It has often been observed by inquisitive travellers, that in most of our country villages not only the three best houses are inhabited by the lawyer, the parson, and the doctor, but three-fourths of the whole property of the place is generally monopolized by the same disinterested triumvirate: however true the satire may be in a general sense, it certainly does not apply to Cowes, where the liberal professions are really practised by liberal minds, and where the desire to do good outweighs the desire to grow rich. But the good people of Cowes are not without their nabobs; for instance, the eastern shores of the river are under the dominion of Lord Henry Seymour and Mr. Nash, who there rule over their humble tenantry with mild paternal sway. On the western side, the absolute lords of the soil are Messrs. Bennett and Ward: the first, like other great landed proprietors, almost always an absentee; and the last somewhat greedy to grapple at every thing within his reach. "Who does that fine park and mansion belong to?" said a stranger, surveying Northwood from the summit of the hill. "King George," replied the islander. "And who owns the steam-boats, which I now see arriving?" "King George," reiterated the fellow. "And who is the largest proprietor of the surrounding country?" "King George." "Indeed!" said the stranger, "I was not aware that the crown lands were so extensive in the Wight. Have you much game?" "Ees, ees." "And who is the lord of the manor?" "King George." "And these new roads I see forming, are they also done by King George?" "Ees, ees, he ought to gi' us a few new ones, I think; bekase Ize zure he's stopped up enou of our old ones." "What, by some new inclosure act, I suppose?" "Naye, naye, by some old foreclosure acts, I expect." "Why, you do not mean to say that our gracious sovereign is a money-lender and mortgagee?" "No; but our ungracious king be the', and a money-maker too." "Fellow, take care; you are committing treason against the Lord's anointed." "Ees, ees, he be a 'nointed one, zure enou," retorted the fellow, laughing outright in the traveller's face. "Sirrah," said the offended stranger, "I shall have you taken before a justice." "Ees, ees, Ize heard o' them ere chaps at East Cowes, but Ize not much respect for 'em." "Not care for the magistrate!" "Lord love you,—you be one of the Mr. Newcome, Ize warrant me; why, we've gotten no zuch animal here, nothing o' sort nearer as Newport; and lawyer Day can out-talk the best of them there, whenever he likes." "There must be some mistake here," said the stranger, cooling a little of his choler: "did you not tell me, fellow, that the king of England owned all the land here, and the steam-boats, and the manor, and the town, and the people, and—————-." "Hold, hold thee there," said the islander; "I said, King George; and here he comes, in his four-wheeled calabash, and before he undertakes to give us any more new roads, I wish he'd set about mending his own queer ways" However strong the current of prejudice may run against Squire Ward in the island, among a few of the less wealthy residents, it must be admitted, that he is hospitable even to a proverb, a sincere and persevering friend, and a liberal master to his tenantry: the Christmas festivities at Northwood, when the poor are plentifully regaled with excellent cheer, smacks of a good old English custom, that shall confer upon the donor lasting praise, and hand down his name to posterity with better chance of grateful remembrance than all his mine of wealth can purchase; there are some well authenticated anecdotes in circulation of George Ward, which prove that he has, with all his eccentricities,
"A tear for pity, and a hand, open as day, to melting charity."
To his enterprising spirit Cowes is indebted for much of its present
popularity, the facility of travelling to and from the island being
greatly aided by the steamboats (his property) from Portsmouth and
Southampton; but much yet remains to be done by the inhabitants
themselves, if they wish to secure their present high partronage, and
increase with succeeding seasons the number of their visitors. The
promenade, admirably situate for the enjoyment of the sea breeze,
and the delightful spectacle of a picturesque harbour filled with
a forest of beautiful pleasure yachts, is of an evening generally
obstructed by the assemblage of a juvenile band of both sexes, of
the very lowest description, who render it utterly impossible for the
delicate ear of female propriety to hazard coming in contact with their
boisterous vulgarities. The beautiful walk round the Castle battery
is wholly usurped by this congregated mass of rabble; and yet the
appointment of a peace-officer, a useful animal I never once saw at
Cowes, would remove the objection, and preserve a right of way and
good order among the crowd that would at least render it safe, if not
pleasant, to traverse the extended shore. The visit of their royal
highnesses the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge to John Nash, Esq. the
eminent architect, at East Cowes Castle, gave a new lustre to the
enchanting scene, and afforded the English Spy a favourable opportunity
for completing his sketches of the scenery and character of the island.
Among the festivities which the presence of the royal visitors gave
birth to, the most attractive and delightful was the grand déjeuné a la
fourchette, given at St. Lawrence by the commodore of the Yacht Club,
the Right Honourable Lord Yarborough. The invitations to meet the royal
party were very general, including all of note and respectability on the
island, and extending to the number of six hundred persons, for whom
a most liberal and princely banquet was prepared upon the lawn of a
delightful cottage, near his seat of Appuldurcombe. The spot selected
for this entertainment was situated under a bold line of cliffs,
extending in a semicircular form for above a mile in length, and
inclosing one of the most romantic of nature's variegated scenes,
abounding with hill, and dale, and rich umbrageous foliage, delightfully
increased by the inspiring freshness of the sea breeze, and the unbroken
view of the Channel in front, and rendered still more attractive
and picturesque by the numerous tents and temporary pavilions which had
been erected for the accommodation of the visitors, spreading over
a line of ground like an encampment in the Pyrenees, a similitude of
feature that was more powerfully increased when the well-concerted echo
of the signal bugles resounded from hill to hill, and the cannon's loud
report, from the battery beneath, reverberating through the surrounding
hill and dale, proclaimed for many a mile the gladsome tidings of the
approach of royalty. The scene was, beyond description, magnificent;
the assemblage of fashionables included a long list of noble and
distinguished persons, who, on the approach of the duke and duchess,
congregated upon an eminence, immediately opposite the entrance to the
lawn, and by their loyal cheers, and smiles, and birthday suits, gave
honest welcome to their monarch's brother, and in the fulness of their
hearty zeal, paid a grateful tribute to their absent king. The ungenial
state of the morning's weather had prevented many of the yachts from
coming round, but a few jolly hearts had weathered the Needles, and
displayed their loyalty by decorating their vessels with all the colours
of all the nations of the world. At an appointed signal the tents were
thrown open, and the royal party having retired to the pavilion, the
company sat down to an entertainment, where a profusion of choice wines
and viands covered the extended line; then commenced the interchange of
bright eyes and soft sayings, and the rosy blush of maiden beauty tinged
the cheek of many a sylphic form as the accomplished beau challenged the
fair to wine with him, and many a heart from that day's sportive scene
shall date the first impression of the soveieign passion which blends
with life's red current all of happiness or misery here below. The
repast over, the company again met the royal party and promenaded on
the lawn, and while thus engaged, a new delight was prepared for
them—a scene not less congenial than peculiar to the English character,
and one which may well uplift that honest pride of country which ever
animates a Briton's heart. The tables being again replenished, the
peasantry of the surrounding districts were admitted and regaled with
unrestricted hospitality.
And round the gay board cheerful Industry shone,
In a pureness and brightness to wealth oft unknown;
'Twas a feast where a monarch might wish to preside,
For the cottager's comfort's his country's pride;
And Benevolence smiled on the heart-moving scene,
And music and beauty enlivened the green,
While the labourer, gratefully raising the glass,
Gave his king, then his donor, his dame, and his lass.
The commodore's liberality is proverbial; he had sold his old yacht, the Falcon, and the new vessel was not likely to be launched this season, yet he would not forego the pleasure of a grand fête, and as it could not be given on board his own ship, according to annual custom, he seized upon this opportunity of the royal visit to unite Loyalty and Friendship under one banner, and it must be recorded, that he displayed an excellence of arrangement which left no wish ungratified. An excursion round the island, sailing in a westerly direction, is one of most delightful amusement to a lover of the picturesque; the circuit is nearly eighty miles, every where presenting new features of the most beautiful variety and romantic scenery, a voyage we made in the Rover in about eight hours. Clearing Sconce Point, which is the first object worthy notice from Cowes, you perceive the cottage, battery, and residence of Captain Farrington on the rise of the hill, and beyond are Gurnet and Harness Bays closely succeeding one another, the shores above being well diversified with foliage and richly cultivated grounds. From this station the coast gradually sinks towards Newtown River, where the luxuriant woods of Swainton are perceived rising in the distance, crowned by Shalfleet church and a rich country as far as Calbourne, the landscape bounded by a range of downs which stretch to the extremity of the island. The coast at Hamsted, the farm estate of John Nash, Esq. presents a very bold outline, and approaching Yarmouth, which has all the appearance of an ancient French fort, the view of the opposite point, called Norton, is very picturesque, presenting a well-wooded promontory, adorned with numerous elegant residences; from this spot the coast begins to assume a very bold, but sterile aspect, composed of steep rugged slopes, and dull-coloured earthy cliffs, till the attention of the voyager is suddenly arrested by the first view of the Needle rocks, situate at the termination of a noble promontory called Freshwater cliffs, which extend along a line of nearly three miles, and at a part called Mainbench are six hundred feet above the sea level, in some places perpendicular, and in others overhanging the ocean in a most terrific manner; at the extreme point, or Needles, is the light-house, where the view of the bays and cliffs beneath is beyond description awfully sublime, and the precipices being covered with myriads of sea-fowl of all description, who breed in the crannies of the rocks, if called into action by the report of a gun fill the air with screams and cries of most appalling import; the grandeur of the scene being much increased by the singularly majestic appearance of the Needle rocks, rearing their craggy heads above the ocean, and giving an awful impression of the storms and convulsions which must have shaken and devoured this once enormous mass. Their present form bears no resemblance to their name, which was derived from a spiral rock, about one hundred and twenty feet high, that fell in the year 1764, and left the present fragments of its grandeur to moulder away, like the base of some proud column of antiquity. On the opposite coast is Hurst Castle, a circular fort, built by Henry the Eighth; and on the north side of the promontory is Alum Bay, the most beautiful and unique feature of the sea cliffs of Albion. For about a quarter of a mile from the Needles the precipice is one entire glare of white chalk, which curves round to, and is joined by a most extraordinary mixture of vertical strata, composed of coloured sands and ocherous earths blending into every variety of tint, and so vivid and beautiful in colour, that they have been not unfrequently compared to the prismatic hues of the rainbow. It was on this spot the Fomone, a frigate of fifty guns, returning home, after an absence of three years, with some Persian princes on board, in June, 1811, struck upon the rocks and went to pieces: the appearance of a wreck, in such an extraordinary situation, must have formed a combination of grand materials for the painter, that would be truly sublime. At Saint Catherine's, in the cliffs, is the gloomy ravine called Blackgang Chine, which should be visited by the traveller at sunset, when the depth of shade materially increases the savage grandeur of its stupendous and terrific effect. Tradition reports, that the awful chasm beneath was formerly the retreat of a gang of pirates, from which it derived its name. The total absence of vegetation, and the dusky hue of the soil, combined with the obvious appearance of constant decay, the dismembered fragments, and the streamlet to which it owes its origin, falling perpendicularly over a ledge of hard rock from above seventy feet high, producing a wild echo in the cavity beneath, all conspire to render it the most striking and astonishing of Nature's wildest works. The view off the Sand Rock presents the tasteful marine villas of Sir Willoughby Gordon and Mrs. Arnold, whose well-cultivated grounds and rich plantations reach down to the sea shore. Saint Lawrence brings to view the romantic cottage of Lord Yarborough, succeeded by Steep Hill, the lovely retreat of the late Earl Dysart; the romantic flank of Saint Boniface Down, and in the distance the fairy land of Bonchurch, whose enchanting prospects and picturesque scenery have so often called forth the varied powers of the painter and the poet, where sportive nature, clothed in her gayest vest, presents a diversified landscape, abounding with all the delightful combinations of rural scenery, of rich groves, and dells, and meads of green, and rocks, and rising grounds; streams edged with osiers, and the lowing herd spread over the luxuriant land. As you approach East End, you perceive an extensive scene of devastation, caused by the frequent landslips near to Luccombe Chine, and the romantic chasm of Shanklin, from which spot Sandown comes next in view, and sailing under the towering Culver cliffs we arrive at the eastern extremity of the island. At Bimbridge a very dangerous ledge spreads out into the sea, and gaining Brading Haven the old church tower of Saint Helen's proclaims you are fast gaining upon that delightful watering-place, the town of Ryde, whose picturesque pier, shooting forth into the ocean, and covered with groups of elegant visitors, forms an object of the most pleasing description. From this point the whole line of coast to Cowes wears a rich and highly-cultivated appearance, being divided into wood, arable, and pasture lands, diversified by the villas of Earl Spencer, Mr. G. Player, and Mr. Fleming, when, having passed Wooten Creek, the next object is Norris Castle; and now, having cleared the point, you are once more landed in safety at the Vine Key, and my old friend, Mrs. Harrington, whose pleasant countenance, obliging manners, and good accommodation, are the universal theme of every traveller's praise, has already made her best curtsy to welcome you back to Cowes.
The regatta was, indeed, a glorious scene, when the harbour was literally filled with a forest of masts and streamers, the vessels of the Royal Yacht Club spread forth their milk white canvas to the gale, many of those who were riding at anchor being decorated from head to stem, over-mast, with the signal colours of most of the squadron and the ensigns of the different nations. On the shore, and round the castle battery, the congregated groups of lovely females traversed to and fro, and the witchery of blight eyes and beauteous faces upon the manly hearts of the sons of Neptune must have been magically triumphant. The Pearl beat the Arrow, and the Julia the Liberty,—thus equalizing the victory between the contending parties. The procession of the pilot boats, about forty in number, was a very animated scene; and in the sailing match of the succeeding day, our little craft, the Rover, came in second, and received the awarded prize. The race ball at East Cowes gave the young and fair another opportunity of riveting their suitors' chains, and the revels of Terpsichore were kept up with spirit until the streaking blush of golden morn shone through the dusky veil which Hecate spreads around the couch of drowsy night. But the day of parting was at hand; the last amusement of the time was a match made between Captain Lyon and a Mr. Davey, of London, to sail their respective yachts, the Queen Mab and the Don Giovanni, upon the challenge of the last mentioned, a stipulated distance, for a sum of two hundred guineas—an affair which did not, to use a sporting phrase, come off well, for the Don most ungallantly refused to meet his fair opponent; and being wofully depressed in spirits, either from apprehension of defeat, or sea sickness, or some such fresh water fears, the little Queen was compelled to sail over the course alone to claim the reward of her victory.
And now the sports of the season being brought to a conclusion, and the rough note of old Boreas and the angry groanings of Father Neptune giving token of approaching storms, I bade farewell to Vectis, my friend Horace transporting me in his yacht to Southampton Water. Reader, if I should appear somewhat prolix in my descriptions, take a tour yourself to the island, visit the delightful scenery with which it abounds, participate in the aquatic excursions of the place, and meet, as I have done, with social friends, and kind hearts, and lovely forms, and your own delightful feelings will be my excuse for extending my notice somewhat beyond my usual sketchy style.
FAREWELL TO VECTIS.
Blest isle, fare thee well! land of pleasure and peace,
May the beaux and the belles on thy shores still increase:
How oft shall my spirit, by absence opprest,
Revisit thy scenes, and in fancy be blest,
In the magic of slumber still sport on thy wave,
And dream of delights that I waken to crave.
Farewell, merry hearts! fare ye well, social friends!
Adieu! see the Rover her canvas unbends;
Land of all that is lovely for painting or verse,
Farewell! ere in distance thy beauties disperse,
Now Calshot is passed, now receding from view,
Once more, happy Vectis, a long, last adieu.
