Mehetabel Wesley (Mrs. Wright)
Mehctabel Wesfcy, called also Hetty, and by her brother Samuel sometimes Kitty, is the seventh child of Samuel and Susanna Wesley, as they stand on my list of his survivors: but she was probably the* tenth or eleventh child; for several had died in infancy, whose names are now forgotten.
Hetty gave from her infancy such proofs of strong mental powers as led her parents to cultivate them with the utmost care and diligence, that they might be extended, properly directed, and bring forth corresponding fruits.
The pains taken with her education were crowned with success; for at the early age of eight years she had made such proficiency in the learned languages that she could read the Greek Text.
She had naturally a fine poetic genius, which though common to the whole family, shone forth in her with peculiar splendour, and was heightened by her knowledge of the fine models of antiquity.
From her childhood she was gay and sprightly; full of mirth, good humour, and keen wit. She indulged this disposition so much, that it was said to have given great uneasiness to her parents; because she was in consequence often betrayed into little inadvertencies, which, though of small moment in themselves, shewed that her mind was not under proper discipline; and that fancy, not reason, often dictated that line of conduct which she thought proper to pursue. A spirit of this kind is a dangerous disposition; and is rarely connected with a sufficiency of prudence and discretion to prevent it from injuring itself, and offending others. She appears to have had many suitors; but they were generally of the airy and thoughtless class, and ill-suited to make her either happy or useful in a matrimonial life.
To some of those proposed matches, in very early life, I believe the following Lines allude, which I find in her Father’s hand-writing, and marked by Mr. J. Wesley — “Hetti,“s Letter to her Mother,” —
“Dear Mother,
“You were once in the ew n,
As by us cakes is plainly shewn,
Who else had ne’er come after.
Pray speak a word in (ime of need,
And with my sour-look d father plead
For your distressed daughter!”
About the year 1~24 a gentleman in the profession of the law paid his addresses to her: to him she became greatly attached; and a marriage was on the eve of taking place, when her father interfered, having heard something to the disadvantage of the gentleman, which led him to pronounce him “an unprincipled Lawyer.7’ This intererence, however, did not move Hetty. She refused to give him up, though not Inclined to marry without her parents’ consent; and had he been equally faithful to her, the connexion would in all probability ijave issued in marriage: but, whether offended with the opposition ie met with from the family, or whether through fickleness, he in -act remitted his assiduities, and at last abandoned a woman whe would have been an honour to the first man in the land.
The matter thus terminating, she appears to have done what many others in similar circumstances have done, made a rash vow, either never to marry another, or to take the first man that might offer, whose suit her parents might approve. Which of these formed the vow I have not been able to determine. Mr. Wright, a plumber and glazier, in good circumstances, offered, and was recommended by parental authority: and as her parents saw that her mind was strongly attached to the man who had jilted her, in order to prevent the possibility of a union in that quarter, her father urged her to marry Wright. She found him to be a man utterly unsuited to her in mind, education, manners, &c.; and in consequence expressed her strong disapprobation, and earnestly begged that parental authority might not be used to induce her to adopt a measure that promised no comfort to her, and might prove her ruin. Her father appears to have been inexorable; — she was doubly bound by her filial duty, and her vow.
Mary, of all her sisters, had the courage to counsel her rather to break that vow than do what she saw would most infallibly produce her misery through life. To this she alludes in her fine Lines addressed to the memory of Mrs. Mary Whitelamb: —
u When deep immersed in griefs beyond redress,
And friends and Kindred heightened my distress;
And by relentless efforts made me prove
Pain, grief, despair, and wedlock without love;
My soft Maria could alone dissent,
O’erlook’d the fatal vow, and mourned the punishment.’
But this ill-fated marriage took place; and if unkindness of treatment had not been added to utter unsuitableness of disposition, her lot would have been less grievous. Mr. Wright did not know the value of the woman he had espoused! He associated with low dissolute company; spent his evenings from home; became a drunkard; and by a series of ill management and ill treatment, broke the heart of his wife.
When this marriage took place I cannot learn. Dr. Whitehead thinks it was in the end of the year 1725. I think it was not so early, as a Letter which I shall subjoin written in 1729, seems to have been sent a little after her marriage. That she was almost compelled to marry Mr. Wright, this Letter, written to her Father, I think plainly intimates. I cannot suppress it, as it throws the proper light on this hitherto unexplained unfortunate transaction.
“July 3, 1729.
“Honoured Sir,
u Though I was glad on any terms, of the favour of a line fronyou; yet I was concerned at your displeasure on account of the unfortunate paragraph, which you are pleased to say was meant for the flower of ray Letter, but which was in reality the only thing I disliked in it before it went. I wish it had not gone, since I perceive it gave you some uneasiness.
“But since what I said occasioned some queries, which I should be glad to speak freely about, were I sure that the least I could saywould not grieve or offend you, or were I so happy as to think like you in every thing; I earnestly beg that the little I shall say may not be offensive to you, since I promise to be as little witty as possible, though I can’t help saying, you only accuse me of being too much so; especially these late years past I have been pretty free from that scandal.
“You ask me, 1 what hurt matrimony has done me?’ and 1 whether I had always so frightful an idea of it as I have now r Home questions indeed! and I once more beg of you not to be offended at the least I can say to them, if I say any thing.
“I had not always such notions of wedlock as now: but thought that where there was a mutual affection and desire of pleasing, something near an equality of mind and person; either earthly or heavenly wisdom, and any thing to keep love warm between a young couple, there was a possibility of happiness in a married state: but where all, or most of these, were wanting, I ever thought people could not marry without sinning against God and themselves.
u I could say much more: but would rather eternally stifle my sentiments than have the torment of thinking they agree not with yours.
“You are so good to my spouse and me, as to say, 1 you shall always think yourself obliged to him for his civilities to me.’ I hope he will always continue to use me better than I merit from him in one respect.
“I think exactly the same of my marriage as I did before it happened: but though I would have given at least one of my eyes for the liberty of throwing myself at your feet before I icas married at all; yet since it is past, and matrimonial grievances are usually irreparable, I hope you will condescend to be so far of my opinion, as to own, — that since upon some accounts I am happier than I deserve, it is best to say little of things quite past remedy: and endeavour, as I really do, to make myself more and more contented, though things may not be to my wish.
You say, ‘you will answer this if you like it.’ Now though I am sorry to occasion your writing in the pain I am sensible you do; yet I must desire you to answer it, whether you like it or not, since if you are displeased, 1 would willingly know it; and the only thing that could make me patient to endure your displeasure is your thinking I deserve it.
u Though I can’t justify my late indiscreet Letter which made me say so much in this; yet I need not remind you that I am not more than human; and if the calamities of life (of which perhaps I have my share,) sometimes taring a complaint from me, I need tell no one, that though I bear I must feel them. And if you cannot forgive what I have said, I sincerely promise never more to offend you by saying too much, which (with begging your blessing) is all from 6i Your most obt. Daughter,
Mehet. Wright.
Here we see the impelling cause of this ill-fated match; and in the following Address to her Husband, the powerful operating cause of her continual chagrin and wretchedness.
‘■’■iW * ’ v V ’ 1
The ardent lover cannot find
A coldness in his fair unkind,
Bat blaming what he cannot hate,,
He mildly chides the dear ingrate;
And tho’ despairing of relief,
In soft complaining vents his grief?
Then what should hinder but that I,
Impatient of my wrongs, may try,
By saddest softest strains, to move
My wedded, latest, dearest love.
To throw his cold neglect aside,
And cheer once more his injured bride?
O thou whom sacred rites design’d
My guide, and husband ever kind,
My sovereign master, best of friends.
On whom my earthly bliss depends;
If e’er thou didst in Hetty see
Ought fair, or good, or dear to theep
If gentle speech can ever move
The cold remains of former love,
Turn thee at last — my bosom easep
Or tell me why I cease to pleas?
Is it because revolving years,
Heart-breaking sighs, and fruitless tears.
Have quite deprived this form of mine
Of all that once thou fanciedst fine?
Ah no! what once allured thy sight
Is still in its meridian height.
These eyes their usual lustre shew,
When uneclipsed by flowing woe.
Old age and wrinkles in this face
As yet could never find a place:
A youthful grace informs these lines,
Where still the purple current shines;
Unless, by thy ungentle art,
It flies to aid my wretched heart:
Nor does this slighted bosom shew
The thousand hours it spends in woe.
Or is it that, oppressed with care,
I stun with loud complaints thine ear,
And make thy home, for quiet meant,
The seat of noise and discontent?
Ah no! those ears were ever free
From matrimonial melody:
For tho’ thine absence I lament
When half the lonely night is spent,
Yet when the watclj or early morn
Has brought me hopes of thy return,
I oft have wiped these watchful eyes,
Concealed my cares, and curbed my sighs,
In spite of grief, to let thee see
I wore an endless smile for thee.
Had I not practis’d every art
T’ oblige, divert, and cheer thy heart,
To make me pleasing in thine eyes,
And turn thy house to paradise;
I had not ask’d” Why dost thou shun
These faithful arms, and eager run
To some obscure, unclean retreat,
With fiends incarnate glad to meet,
The vile companions of thy mirth,
The scum and refuse of the earth:
Who, when inspired by beer, can grin
At witless oaths and jests obscene,
Till the most learned of the throng
Begins a tale of ten hours long;
While thou in raptures with stretched jaws
Crownest each joke with loud applause?”
Deprived of freedom, health, and ease,
And rivall’d by such things as these;
This latest effort will I try,
Or to regain thy heart, or die.
Soft as I am, I’ll make thee see
I will not brook contempt from thee *
Then quit the shuffling doubtful sense,
Nor hold me longer in suspense;
Unkind, ungrateful as thou art,
Say, must I ne’er regain thy heart?
Must all attempts to please thee prove
Unable to regain thy love?
If so, by truth itself I swear,
The sad reverse I cannot bear:
No rest, no pleasure, will I see;
My whole of bliss is lost with thee!
I’ll give all thoughts of patience o’er;
(A gift I never lost before;)
Indulge at once my rage and grief,
Mourn obstinate, disdain relief,
And call that wretch my mortal foe,
Who tries to mitigate my woe;
Till life, on terms severe as these,
Shall, ebbing, leave my heart at ease-To thee thy liberty restore
To laugh when Hetty is no more.
It is not likely that these Lines produced any good effect on the untutored and sin-hardened heart of Mr. Wright: there is no evidence that he amended; or that her lot in life was ameliorated, till in her distress she turned her eyes to Him, who is a Cover from the storm, and a Refuge to the distressed.
That she was fully awakened to a sense of her need of the Friend of sinners, and sought and found that great salvation which her Brothers so powerfully and successfully preached, may be seen by the following Letters.
In 1743, she wrote as follows to her brother Mr. John Wesley.
“Some years ago I told my brother Charles, I could not be of his way of thinking then: but that if ever I was, I would as freely own it.
Aftei I was convinced of sin, and of your opinions, as far as t &ad examined your principles, I still forbore declaring my sentiments as Openly as I had an inclination to do, fearing I should relapse Mo my former state. When I was delivered from this fear, and had a blessed hope that He who had begun would finish His work, I never confessed so powerfully as I ought how entirely I was of your mind; because I was taxed with insincerity and hypocrisy whenever I opened my mouth in favour of religion, or owned how great things God had done for me.
“This discouraged me utterly, and prevented me from making my change so public, as my folly and vanity had formerly been. But now my health is gone, 1 cannot be easy without declaring that I have long desired to know one thing, Jesus Christ and Him crucified; and this desire prevails above all others.
“And though I am cut off from all human help, or ministry, I am ftot without assistance: though I have no spiritual friend, nor ever had one yet, except perhaps once in a year or two when I have seen one of my Brothers, or some other religious person by stealth; yet (no thanks to me) I am enabled to seek Him still, and to be satisfied with nothing less than God, in whose presence I affirm this truth. 1 dare not desire health; only patience, resignation, and the spirit of an healthful mind. I have been so long weak, that I know not how long my trial may last: but I have a firm persuasion, and blessed hope, (though no full assurance) that in the country I am going to I shall not sing Hallelujah, and Holy, Holy, Holy, without company, as I have done in this. Dear Brother, I am unable to speak or write on these things; I only speak my plain thoughts as they occur. Adieu: if you have time from better business to send a line to Stanmore, so great a comfort would be as welcome as it is wanted/7
The Stanmore here mentioned, was probably that near Edgewafe, about ten miles from London. It is near a hill so very high, that the trees on its top are a Landmark from the German Ocean.
What an infinite mercy that such a mind, harassed out with distress and anguish, found at last a resting place. This was the means of preserving for several years a life that previously stood on the very verge of the grave. In the following year, 1744, she visited Bristol, where she had the opportunity of sitting under the Ministry of her Brothers, and of being connected with the very holy and sensible Members of the Methodist Society in that place! She profited much by their pious conversation, and their Christian experience. She was led to that light which manifests whatsoever is not wrought of God; she saw the depth of her natural corruption, and she mourned as in sackcloth and ashes, till she found redemption in the blood of the Lamb. She then went on rejoicing in God her salvation, sustained in all her troubles, strengthened in all her weakness, growing in grace and in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ, till her happy spirit returned to God. Her brother Charles visited her in her last illness. In the month in which she died he thus mentions her: “Prayed by my sister Wright, a gracious, tender, trembling soul; a bruised reed which the Lord will not break.” She died March 21st, 1751; and Mr. Charles Wesley preached her funeral sermon from these Words: “Thy sun shall no more go down, neither shall thy moon withdraw itself; for the Lord shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy mourning shall be ended.” During this solemn service both he and his congregation were deeply affected.
Mr. Wright had an establishment, in Frith-Street, Soho, London, where he carried on his business of plumbing and glazing; and had lead works connected with the others, the former of which injured his own health and very materially that of Mrs. Wright.
They had several children but all died young; and it was their Mother’s opinion that the efiluvia from the lead works were the cause of their death. This she told Mr. Duncombe, when he visited ber not long before she died. — This gentleman wrote a small tract, quarto, price one shilling, called the Feminead, containing the characters and praises of several eminent Ladies, of whom Mrs. Wright was one; and, like many other superficial thinkers and relit cters, who publish their own prejudices instead of facts, he attributed her woe-worn state to false views she had taken of religion, which filled her with a gloomy, and, to her, destructive superstition! His verses on the subject are not worth repeating: but as they have been produced by others of like opinion, I shall subjoin them; and the Reader Will see at once that they are flatly contradicted and nullified by the preceding account.
“But ah! why heaves my breast this pensive sigh?
“Why starts this tear unbidden from my eye?
What breast from sighs, what eye from tears refrains,
When, sweetly mournful, hapless Wright complains?
And who hut grieves to see her generous mind,
For nobler views and worthier guests designed,
Amidst the hateful form of black despair,
Wan with the gloom of superstitious care?
In pity-moving lays, with earnest cries,
She called on Heaven to close her weary eye>,
And long on earth, by heartfelt woes opprest,
Was borne by friendly Death to welcome rest.”
MISS HETTY WESXEY,=-MRS. WRIGHT-Nothing can be more false than this statement; it was her unsuitable, wretched, ill-fated marriage ;■ — the neglect and unkindness, the unfeelingness and profligacy, of a worthless husband, — that was the cause of all her distresses; and these causes of misery continued to prey on her spirits and on her body, till the religion of the God of Heaven came to her aid; which it did many years, at least eight, before her death.
Had not the wound she had received in her constitution been too deep, the Salvation of God which she obtained would have healed her body: — It was nevertheless the means of lengthening out her life many years, and giving her to taste that happiness she had before sought in vain, in what Mr. Duncombe calls “nobler views and worthier guests.” And the angels of heaven, not “friendly death” or oblivion, bore her soul at last to rest in the bosom of her Father and her God.
Mr. Duncombe parries all this by representing Mr. Wright as a very decent respectable man, carrying on business in his own neighbourhood. How much decency and respectability he had, let the preceding Address from his wife tell. He would of course take as much care as possible that the world should not know that his conduct towards her was the occasion of her broken heart; she was of too noble a spirit to complain; and it is very probable that Mr. Wright might inform Mr. Duncombe that his wife’s shattered constitution was owing to the gloomy views she had taken of religion. However Mr. D. came by his information, the preceding account proves that it was false. Dr. Whitehead has observed justly that “it is grievous to see Authors, whose works are likely to be read, take every opportunity to dress out religion in the most ugly forms they can invent to deter young people from embracing it; and attributing to it the calamities of life, which religion alone is able to alleviate and redress.” Such persons have no just notion of religion themselves, and feel nothing of its power and nature; hence they suspect every person who pretends to any, to be either enthusiasts or hypocrites.
Mrs. Wright died long before I was born: but from a gentleman still living, who knew her in the decline of life, I have had this description: “She was an elegant woman, with great refinement of manners; and had the traces of beauty in her countenance, with the appearance of being brokenhearted.”
The account given of her mind and person by a writer who calls himself Sylvius, in the Sixth Volume of the Gentleman’s Magazine for 1736. p. 155. is by no means exaggerated.
TO MRS. W T.
ON READING HER MANUSCRIPT POEM«
Fain would my grateful muse a trophy raise
Devoted to Granvilla’s lasting praise.
But from what topic shall her task begin?
From outward charms? or richer stores within?
‘T were difficult with portrait just to trace
The blooming beauties of her lovely face;
The roseate bloom that blushes on her cheek;
Her eyes whence rays of pointed lightning break;
Each brow the bow of Cupid, whence her darts
With certain arch’ry strike unguarded hearts;
Her lips, that with a rubied tincture glow,
Soft as the soothing sounds which from them flow.
But oh! what words, what numbers, shall I find
T’ express the boundless treasures of her mind,
Where wit and judgment spread their coptous mines
And every grace and every virtue shines?
Ob Nymph! when you assume the Muses’ Lyre,
What thoughts you quicken, and what joys inspire!
Pale Melancholy wears a cheerful mien;
Grief smiles, and raging Passions grow serene.
If themes sublime, of import grand, you try,
You lift the attentive spirit to the sky;
Or change the strain, and sportive subjects choose.
Our soft’ning souls obey the powerful Muse.
Yet ’tis, Granvilla, not thy smallest praise,
That no indecent thought profanes thy lays.
Like thy own breast, thy style from taint is free;
Censure may pry, but can no blemish see.
No longer let thy Muse the press decline;
Publish her lays, and prove her race divine.
Long has thy tuneful Sire been known to fame;
On him Maria smil’d, a royal name.
Thy Brother’s Works, received with rapture, tell
That on the Son the Father’s spirit fell:
To these the Daughter’s equal flame subjoin.
Then boast, O Muses, the unrivall’d line!
Sylvius.
The above Verses Mrs. Wright, who is here called Gram-ilia. sent to the Gentleman’s Magazine: and on them the same Author composed the following prize Epigram:
Allowed by bright Granvilla to peruse
The sprightly labours of her charming Muse,
Enraptur’d by her wit’s inspiring rays,
I chaj20ted ready numbers to her praise.
She, pleased, my unpremeditated Lines
To the recording Magazine consigns:
But would you be to best advantage known,
Print not my verses, fairest, but your own.
This Epigram has very fine point in it: but Mrs. Wright could never be prevailed on to collect and give her Poems to the public. It is said that she gave them at her death to one of her sisters. Many have been published in different Collections. Her niece, Miss Wesley, has kindly furnished me with several; and from the MSS. I have been enabled to correct the printed copies. Some may be found in the Poetical Register, the Christian Magazine, the Arminian Magazine, and in different Lives of her Brothers John and Charles Wesley.
Most of the following were written under strong mental depression, and before she found the consolations of religion. They are excellent of their kind, and cannot be deemed out of their place at the end of these Memoirs.
Mrs. Wright’s Address to her Dying Infant, composed during her confinement, written down from her mouth by her husband, and sent by him to Mr. John Wesley, is a piece inimitable for its tenderness and highly-polished numbers: but tinged with that gloom which was her constant attendant throughout her unfortunate marriage.
The original Letter sent with these Verses lies before me. It is a curiosity of its kind; and one proof among many of the total unfitness of such a slender and uncultivated mind to match with one of the highest ornaments of her sex. I shall give it entire in its own orthography, in order to vindicate the complaints of this forlorn woman, who was forced to accept in marriage the rude hand which wrote it.
“To the Revd. Mr. John Wesley, Fellow in Christ Church College Ox on.
“Dear Bro:
“This comes to Let you know that my wife is brought to bed and is in a hopefull way of Doing well but the Dear child Died — the Third day after it was born — which has been of great concerne to me and my wife She Joyns With me In Love to your Selfe and Bro: Charles
From Your Loveing Bro:
to Comnd — Wm. Wright.”
“PS. Ive sen you Sum Verses that my wife maid of Dear Lamb Let me hear from one or both of you as Soon as you Think Conveniant.”
The Verses follow: but I have taken the liberty to correct Mr. Wright’s barbarous orthography.
The original Letter and Poem are, like the ancient Hebrew, all without points,
A MOTHER’S ADDRESS TO HER DYING INFANT:
[By Mrs. Wright.]
Tender softness! infant mild!
Perfect, purest, brightest Child!
Transient lustre! beauteous clay!
Smiling wonder of a day!
Ere the last convulsive start
Rends thy unresisting heart;
Ere the long enduring swoon
Weigh thy precious eye lids down;
Ah, regard a mother’s moan,
Anguish deeper than thy own.
Fairest eyes, whose dawning light
Late with rapture blest my sight,
Ere your orbs extinguish’d be,
Bend their trembling beams on me!
Drooping sweetness! verdant flower!
Blooming, withering- in an hour!
Ere thy gentle breast sustains
Latest, fiercest, mortal pains,
Hear a suppliant! let me be
Partner in thy destiny I
That whene’er the fatal cloud
Must thy radiant temples shroud:
When deadly damps, impending now,
Shall hover round thy destined brow,
Diffusive may their influence be,
And with the blossom blast the tree f
LINES
WRITTEN BY MRS. WRIGHT WHEN IN DEEP ANGUISH OF SPIRIT
1.
Oppressed with utmost weight of woo,
Debarr’d of freedom, health, and rest,-
What human eloquence can shew
The inward anguish of my breast j
The finest periods of discourse,
; (Rhetoric in all her pompous dress
Unmoving) lose their pointed force,
When griefs are swell’d beyond redress.
Attempt not then with speeches smooth
My raging conflicts to controul;
Nor softest sounds again can soothe
The wild disorder of my soul f,
Such efforts vain to end my fears,
And long lost happiness restore,
May make me melt in fruitless tears,
But charm my tortured soul no more
Enable me to bear my lot,
Oh Thou who only cans’t redress!
Eternal God! forsake me not
In this extreme of my distress.
Regard thy humble suppliant’s suit
Nor let me long in anguish pine,
Dismayed, abandoned, destitute
Of all support, but only Thine!
Nor health, nor life, I ask of Thee;
Nor languid nature to restore:
Say but” a speedy period be
To these thy griefs,” — 1 ask no more!
These Lines seem to have been written about the time of hei Address to her husband. Despair of all remedy had nearly drunk up her spirit: but she began to seek help where it could be found.
The three last verses are very fine.
THE LUCID INTERVAL.
[By Mrs. Wright.]
tL
Wear pleasure. Stella: on thy face,
Nor check the rising joy:
Nor canst thou, since the heart display?
It? transport through the eye.
Those dearly welcome hours of rest,
This pleasing truce from care,
Removes the mountain from thy breast,
Thou hast not learnt to bear.
Though, distant far from what I love,
My blooming hopes are crost,
Yet free as air my thoughts can rove,
In silent rapture lost!
Then, Stella, prize thy present ease,
This interval of woe:
Since other moments blest as these
Thy life may never know.
Snatch the fleet pleasures ere they part.
To morrow (should’st thou say)
Tho’ pain may rend this tortured heart,
I’ll smile and live to day.
AN EPITAPH ON HERSELF,
[By Mrs. Wright.]
Destin’d while living to sustain
An equal share of grief and pain;
All various ills of human race
Within this breast had once a place.
Without complaint she learn’d to bear
A living death, a long despair;
Till hard oppress’d by adverse fate,
O’ercharg’d, she sunk beneath its weight,
And to this peaceful tomb retired,
So much esteem’d, so long desired
The painful mortal conflict’s o’er:
A broken heart can bleed no more
THE RESIGNATION:
A PENITENT HEART HOPING IN GOD.
[By Mrs. Wright.]
1.
Great Power! at whose almighty hand
Vengeance and Comfort ever wait;
Starting to earth at Thy command,
To execute Thy love or hate:
Thy indignation knits Thy brow
On those who dare to sin give way;
But who so perfect, Lord, below
As nevtr from Thy word to stray?
But when Thy mighty laws we break,
And after do our guilt deplore;
Thou dost the word of comfort speak,
And treasure up our crimes no more.
O Thou, Thy mighty grace display,
And Thy offending servant spare;
With pain my body wastes away,
My weaken’d limbs with constant care.
Grief has my blood add spirits drunk,
My tears do like the night-dew fall;
My cheeks are faded, eyes are sunk,
And all my draughts are dash’d with gall.
Thou canst the heavy hand withdraw,
That bends me downward to the grave;
One healing touch my pain can awe,
And Thy declining servant save.
But if Thy justice has decreed,
I still must languish out my days;
Support me in the time of need,
Patient to bear these slow decays.
Lo! to Thy dreadful will I bow,
Thy visitations still to prove;
Thy judgments do Thy mercy shew,
Since, Lord, thou chast nest in Thy love.
The following Address contains some fine sentiments and consolatory thoughts: —
TO A MOTHER,
ON THE DEATH OF HER CHILDREN,
[By Mrs. Wright.]
Though sorer sorrows than their birth
Your children’s death has given;
Mourn not that others bear for earth,
While you have peopled heaven!
If now so painful ’tis to part,
O think, that when you meet,
Well bought with shortly fleeting smart
Is never-ending sweet!
,3....
What if those little angels, nigh
T’ assist your latest pain,
Should hover round you when you die,
And leave you not again?
Say, shall you then regret your Woes,
Or mourn your teeming years?
One moment will reward your throes,
And overpay your tears.
Redoubled thanks will fill your song:
Transported while you view
Th’ inclining, happy, infant throng,
That owe their bliss to you!
So moves the common star, tho’ bright,
With simple lustre crown’ d;
The planet shines, with guards of light
Attending it around.
A FAREWELL TO THE WORLD.
[By Mrs. Wright.]
While sickness rends this tenement of clay,
Th’ approaching change with pleasure I survey;
O’erjoy’d to reach the goal, with eager pace,
‘Ere my slow life has measur’d half its race.
No longer shall I bear, my friends to please,
The hard constraint of seeming much at ease;
Wearing an outward smile, a look serene,
While piercing racks and tortures work within
Yet let me not, ungrateful to my God,
Record the evil, and forget the good:
For both I humble adoration pay;
And bless the Power who gives, and lakes away
Long shall my faithful memory retain
And oft recal each interval of pain.
Nay, to high heaven for greater gifts I bend;
Health I’ve enjoy’d, and I had once a friend.’
Our labour sweet, if labour it might seem,
Allowed the sportive and instructive scene.
Yet here no lewd or useless wit was found;
We pois’d the wav’ring sail with ballast sound.
Learning here plac’d her richer stores in view,
Or, wing’d with love, the minutes gaily flew!
Nay, yet sublimer joy our bosoms prov’d,
Divine benevolence, by heaven belov’d.
Wan meagre forms, torn from impending death,
Exulting, blest us with reviving breath.
The shiv’ring wretch we cloth ‘d, the mourner cheer’d,.
And sickness ceas’d to groan when we appear’d.
Unask’d, our care assists with tender art
Their bodies, nor neglects th’ immortal part.
Sometimes in shades unpierc d by Cynthia’s beam,
Whose lustre glimmer’d on the dimpled stream,
We wander’d innocent thro’ sylvan scenes,
Or tripp’d like faries o’er the level greens.
From fragant herbage deck’d with pearly dews,
And flow rets of a thousand diff’rent hues,
By wafting gales the mingling odours fly,
And round our heads in whisp’ring breezes sigh.
Whole Nature seems to heighten and improve
The holier hours of innocence and love.
Youth, wit, good-nature, candour, sense, combin’d*
To serve, delight, and civilize mankind;
In wisdom’s love we ev’ry heart engage,
And triumph to restore the Golden Age!
Nor close the blissful scene, exhausted muse,
The latest blissful scene that thou shalt choose;
Satiate with life, what joys for me remain,
Save one dear wish, to balance ev’ry pain:
To bow my head, with grief and toil opprest,
Till borne by angel-bands to everlasting rest.
“It is but justice to her memory,” says Mr. Wesley, u to observe, that she was at ’ rest’ before she went hence; being for some years a witness of that rest which remains, even here, for the people of God.77 — In the above Verses she refers with exquisite feeling to her beloved sister Mary.
I know not whether, after her conversion to God, she wrote any Verses; it is most likely that she did not, as for several years before her death she was in a very infirm state of health, and could not se her pen with ease. Of gay. sportive, innocent pieces she no doubt wrote many: but I have not met with any that bear her name, though among many now lying before me in the hand-writing of herself, Emily, and Kezzia, there may be some of her composing. When Mr. Duncombe asked her about her Poetical Compositions, she told him that” she had none left, having given them to her sister — which sister, is not mentioned.
I have already hazarded a thought that the Hymn of Eupolis to the Creator might probably have been written by her, or at least a part of it. I have given some reasons to support this opinion: but as the piece has passed invariably in the family for old Mr. Samuel Wesley’s production, I will not undertake to defend it. Both the Father and Daughter had great poetical powers; — his, often rugged, but still strong; hers, highly-polished and harmonious, yet full of fire; and I would conclude on the subject, as the Shepherd in Virgil:
JVbn nostrum inter vos tantas coiwponert lites,
Et vituld tu dignus et hie,
Eclog. m. v. 108.
“So nice a difference in your singing lies,
That both have won, or both deserv’d the prize:
Rest equal happy both.”
Drydei*.
From mature reflection, I believe either of them was capable of the Poem: but perhaps it required both to make it that finished, may I not say inimitable, piece which it now appears.
The following Verses I found partly in Mrs. Wright’s and partly in her Father’s hand writing. They seem to have been occasioned by some person, called here, Suky’s Idol, ludicrously asserting the doctrine of the Metempsychosis, or Transmigration from body to body. —
THE TRANSMIGRATION
1.
The period fast comes on when I
Must to an Oyster turn;
{Unless my Suky’s Idol lie;)
Nor will I grieve or mourn.
Welcome my transmigrated state!
I’ll for the worst prepare;
Think while ’tis given to think by Fate.
Then like a log must bear.
These eyes I feel will soon depart;
(Else Hetty should not write;)
Their balls will to such pearls convert,
As ladies wont delight.
The pineal gland, from whence some say
Man thinks, reflects, and knows
Whate’er is best, — perhaps it may
The oyster’s head compose.
Or coarse or curious be the mould,
Whate’er its form contains,
That small Peninsula may hold
My few but working brains.
My fingers may the strict make,
The shell my parched skin;
My nerves and bones with palsies shake
The white reverse within.
Perhaps at tide-time I may wake,
And sip a little moisture;
Then to my pillow me betake,
And sleep like brother-oys/fr.
What shall I dream? or what compose?
Some harmless rhymes like these;
Below the tvits, above the beaus,
Which Poll and Kez may please.
A dubious being, hardly life,
Yet sensible of woe;
For when Death comes with rusty knife,
But few will meet the blow.
Which sure ray heart, tho* once ’twas strong
Will then nor fly nor choose;
The pulpy substance will not long
The coup de grace refuse.
My loving oyster-kins, which sit
So fast to native shell,
Must then some other harbour get
Or in wide ocean dwell.
And since this sensible must fail,
I feel it bend and sink,
Come age, come Death; youil soon prevail,
I’ll wait you on the brink.
But is there not a something still
Sprung from a nobler race,
Above the passions and the will,
Which lifts to Heaven its face?
There is — I feel it upward tend,
While these weak spirits decay,
Which sighs to meet ils Saviour — Friend*
And springs for native day.
When all its organs marr’d and worn.
Let Locke say what he can,
‘Twill act still round itself turn. —
The mind is still the man:
Which if fair virtue be my choice,
Above the stars shall shine;
Above want, pain, and death rejoice,.
Immortal and Divine.