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A Season at Harrogate: In a Series of Poetical Epistles, from Benjamin Blunderhead, Esquire, to His Mother, in Derbyshire. With Useful and Copious Notes, Descriptive of the Objects Most Worthy of Attention in the Vicinity of HarrogateHofland, Mrs. (Barbara)

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A Season at Harrogate: In a Series of Poetical Epistles, from Benjamin Blunderhead, Esquire, to His Mother, in Derbyshire. With Useful and Copious Notes, Descriptive of the Objects Most Worthy of Attention in the Vicinity of Harrogate

Name: A Season at Harrogate: In a Series of Poetical Epistles, from Benjamin Blunderhead, Esquire, to His Mother, in Derbyshire. With Useful and Copious Notes, Descriptive of the Objects Most Worthy of Attention in the Vicinity of Harrogate
Author: Hofland, Mrs. (Barbara)

Hofland, Mrs. (Barbara)

Harrogate (England) -- Poetry

To Studley far-fam'd for its beauty we went      389
  And gaz'd on those beauties with placid content,
  Tho' some of the amateurs fancied that art,
  In planning these grounds had o'er acted her part,
  But who hallow'd Fountains thy threshold shall pass
  And remember the ponds with their trimmings of grass?
  No! rapt in the scene which presents contemplation,
  Such objects of interest and deep veneration,
  We gaze on the arch whence the ivy descending,
  Usurps the rich shrine where the lamp was once pending,
  Where the wild currant blooms and the mountain ash bows,
  There knelt the great abbot and offer'd his vows,      400
  And where the green beech his proud branches displays
  Sweet incense ascended with anthems of praise.

    Oh visions of old as around me ye roll!
  Exalting, delighting, ennobling the soul,
  Impress on my mem'ry if not on my rhyme
  The pleasure I took in these scenes at the time,
  For sure 'twas a pity that feelings so fine
  Should evap'rate the moment we set off to dine,
  Reducing at once the fine flights of the brain,
  To the vulgar subjection of hunger, and pain,
  Unlike to those heroes we read of in books,
  Who living on sentiment scorn meat and cooks,
  Fight, conquer, make love to a princess, and win her,
  Without ever asking the aid of a dinner,
  And heroines we see thro' five volumes can go,
  Immers'd in all sorts of distraction and woe,
  Without wetting their lips, thus bestowing the lie,
  On the proverb which says that "true sorrow is dry."
  But be that their affair 'twas no part of our plan,
  For our beaux grew voracious, our ladies look'd wan
  So we set off for Rippon with stomachs so hearty,
  'Twas well Mrs. Robinson knew of the party,
  She gave us a treat which so gladden'd our sight,
  That we quickly determin'd to stay here all night
  So I thought it was best just to empty my head,
  Of its "perilous stuff" ere I ventur'd to bed,
  Lest the walk I have taken with gazing and peeping
  Should injure my nerves and prevent me from sleeping,
  And conceiving a nap is a sound acquisition,
  Have sought it (like many) by long composition.

                                     &c. &c. &c.

[Footnote 4: Saint Robert's Chapel.]

[Footnote 5: Sir Thomas Slingsby, commonly styled "His Honour" by the
peasantry in his neighbourhood.]




  LETTER V.

  _Rippon, August 6th._

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A Season at Harrogate: In a Series of Poetical Epistles, from Benjamin Blunderhead, Esquire, to His Mother, in Derbyshire. With Useful and Copious Notes, Descriptive of the Objects Most Worthy of Attention in the Vicinity of Harrogate

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