SHUGBOROUGH HALL

Due acknowledgements to Mr Andrew Baker, without whose researches this compilation could not have been possible.

1624

Shugborough acquired by William Anson.

1693

William Anson (1656-1720) demolished the existing building and began laying the foundations for a new house.

1720

Thomas Anson (1695-1773) inherited Shugborough from his father.

1724

George Anson (1697-1762) became a Post-Captain in the Navy.

1730

Thomas Anson became Fellow of the Royal Society. His proposers were William Jones (mathematician) and the Rev Zachary Pearce (vicar of St Martin-in-the-Fields).

1732

Thomas Anson and Lord Sandwich founded the Dilettanti Society - to promote the study of Ancient Greek Art and Buildings. An exclusive Dining-Club advancing the cultured tastes of Gentlemen who had been on the Grand Tour to Italy.

1740

Thomas Anson visited Alexandria, Rosetta, Cairo and Aleppo, amongst other places.

1744

George Anson returned from his circumnavigation of the Globe in the Centurion with a fortune in Spanish treasure.

1745

Transformations began at Shugborough.

1747

George Anson created Lord Anson.

Thomas Anson elected Member of Parliament for Lichfield.

1748

George Anson married Elizabeth Yorke (daughter of Philip Yorke, Lord Chancellor Hardwicke).

The astronomer/architect, Thomas Wright, started work at Shugborough, designing the rustic arch for the Shepherds' Monument, and the bas-relief copy of Guido Reni's Apollo and the Hours preceded by Aurora, for the ceiling in the dining room at Shugborough Hall.

1751

George Anson becomes First Lord of the Admiralty.

1758

First known reference to the Shepherds' Monument, contained in a poorly composed poem about a hermit, partially written by a young Anna Seward (1742-1809), to be known as the future 'Swan of Lichfield'.

1760

Lady Elizabeth Anson died - buried in the Colwych parish church of St Michael and All The Angels.

1762

Dr Sneyd Davies' poem dedicated to Lord Admiral George Anson, which includes the following lines:

"Where now the dance, the lute, the nuptial feast,

The passion throbbing in the lover's breast?

Life's emblem here, in youth and vernal bloom,

But Reason's finger pointing at the tomb!"

1762

J. Stuart and N. Revett, The Antiquities of Athens.

1763

Philip Yorke's Journal:

"...the Stucco ceilings by Vassalli (who lives in the neighbourhood) are the best I ever saw, particularly that in the great room, which is a copy of Guido Reni's Aurora".

1767

Long anonymous Shugborough poem which includes the lines:

"Let not the Muse inquisitive presume,

With rash interpretation to disclose,

The mystic ciphers that conceal her name."  

Possible reference to the inscription on the Shepherds' Monument -

1769

N. T. Dall's paintings of Shugborough Hall and Park.

1772

Sir William Bagot of Blithfield's short poem:

"O could you see how Nature pours,

Profuse her verdure and her flowers,

Her earliest, freshest bloom,

Embroidering all the hallow'd ground,

With blue-bells, daisies, violets, round

Your Shepherdesses Tomb."

1780

Moses Griffiths' drawings of Shugborough Hall.

1782

Thomas Pennant, Journey From Chester To London:

"The scene is laid in Arcadia. Two lovers, expressed in elegant pastoral figures, appear attentive to an antient shepherd, who reads to them an inscription on the tomb, Et In Arcadia Ego! The moral resulting from this seems to be that there are no situations of this life so delicious, but which death must at length snatch us from. It was placed here by the amiable owner, as a memento of the certainty of that event. Perhaps as a secret memorial of some loss of a tender nature in his early days, for he was wont often to hang over it in affectionate and firm meditation."

1790-1806

Viscount Anson commissioned Samuel Wyatt to undertake extensive alterations and additions to the House, introducing in 1794 the octostyle Ionic portico without pediment extending the full width of the central block.

1842

Entire contents of the House auctioned to meet the gambling debts incurred by the 2^nd Viscount Anson, First Earl of Lichfield, Thomas William Anson (1795-1854), except for the Family portraits. All of Thomas Anson's books were dispersed, except for Wincklemann's Lettre découverte a Herculaneum (1764).

1843

Ann Margaret Coke died - executed the Teniers-style Hermits painting, and was married to the first Viscount Anson, Thomas Anson (1767-1818).

1895

Possible portrait of Thomas Anson bought for the House - not part of its original contents. Possible Dilettanti Portrait by John Vanderbank (1694-1739), who also painted Lady Elizabeth Anson as a shepherdess holding a rose (prior to her marriage to Admiral George Anson).

1953-1954

Christopher Hussey, Shugborough, Staffordshire (Country Life).

1982

David Watkins, Athenian Stuart - Pioneer of the Greek Revival (George Allen & Unwin, London).

1983

Andrew Baker, The Shepherdess' Secret - unpublished MS deposited in the Staffordshire Record Office, Stafford.

1989

John Martin Robinson, Shugborough (The National Trust).

This portion undated

Kind Shepherd,

Since I left the pleasant banks of your beautiful Lignon, I have not ceased to complain of jealous Time which with such swiftness has carried me away from the happy moments I spent there (i.e., Shugborough Hall). For sure, if there is one place on the turning Globe of this World where one spends days spun with Gold and Silk, it is among those flowery Vales, those shady hills, those clear rippling waters, and especially those very friendly Shepherds and Shepherdesses found there. It is so that one can admire nothing else in any other plains, not even the herds that wander there. I believe then that there is no need to tell you how vexed I am to be so far removed from such great happiness, and from you, my kind Shepherd, to whom I owe so much of what I have tasted of it: Alas, I wish I could be more worthy and more capable of making a similar return, but poor as I am, I can only assure you that as my heart merits better the name of Mirror of True Recognition, unlike the fountain in the gardens of the Palace of the Louvre, the one of the Fountain of True Love, such that if you looked into it you could see yourself, as lovers one could see each other in this beautiful Spring, before the bad Fairy cast a spell on it.

Wimpole, Sept.20^th.

So far, Dear Sir, Astrée has helped me to thank for your kindest Entertainment, and tho' the Language is drawn from Fiction, the Sentiments are most sincere. I think I have nothing to add to my acknowledgements, except mentioning that our journey was as prosperous as it was wrong way Bias (as you say at Bowls) and we made a very material discovery by it, wh. is, that we may prolong our next visit to you, by a day or two saved in the journey by Relays of Horses. We found all the Congress here in good health, tho' it is not yet quite full as Mr & Mrs Heathcote are expected to-morrow or next day, John's Right Leg too is returned to its duty, tho' he still swallows doses in abundance. Mr Miller has completed his Scheme for the Ruin to the approbation of every body, and when it is finished it is to be called Chicheley Castle, the ancient Seat of Archbishop Chicheley, in the Reign of Henry the 5^th. My Shepherd has gone to the city on business, but I hope he will return the day after tomorrow, or on Sunday, and soon after we shall go there together until he is obliged to go overseas, a prospect I do not look forward to with pleasure. We learn here that the King does not intend leaving Hanover 'till the 20^th wch. I should think more probable than that he designs being in England by that time.

My Lord said he would write to you by this Post, but I did not think that certain enough to be depended upon, and besides I was afraid he would not do justice to the Regard & Gratitude with which I am

Dear Mr Anson's most obliged and most faithful Sister & Servant: E Anson.

Will you be so good to make those compliments from me to the Ladies wch. I do not write to themselves mostly to avoid troubling them. In my compliments presented from hence.

And it, that Mr & Mme de Mirepoix will return to England in about a Month. Duc & Duchesse de Levé wch. Rank it is said she went into Lorraine to prevail with King Stanislaus to obtain for them.

 

HERMIT POEM

On an Emblematical Basso Relievo,

after a famous Picture of Nicolas Poussin,

Representing Shepherds pointing to the following

Inscription on a Monument in Arcadia;

Et In Arcadia Ego.

---------------------

The silent Monk, in lonely cell immared,

From every folly, vice, and care secured,

Should inward turn calm Meditations Eye,

And Life imploy in studying how to Die.

But harsh confinement adds to Passions force.

As bows drawn in to impel the Arrows course:

And while he slowly treads the cloisters gloom,

Repining at his melancholy doom,

Through Fancy's flatterine glass he fondly views,

that World, those joys he must for ever lose,

Nor lost his social active Bliss alone;

With these soft Peace, and white-winged Hope are flown:

First too the native Freedom of his Mind,

In inperstition's rankling Chains confined,

Hence black Despair, with Envy pale arise

Fell Persecution smiles at Miseries cries;

And Piety expels from Paradise ----

By hopes ill-placed, of Happiness bereav'd;

By faithless Mistress, or base Friend deceiv'd

Lamenting trend or Rapine's useless hoard,

By power despoiled, or Justice hand restored;

His rash ambitions bold attempts subdu'd,

By disappointments falling Lash pursu'd

The hoary hermit flies the World he hates:

Set midst the Deserts Wilds, the Cave's Retreats,

Sharp-toothed Reflection tears his angry Heart,

Nor thought of Death allays the cank'ring Heart,

For nought but anguish can he thence receive,

Whose Life is worn e'er he has learnt to live.

Not thus the votary of sensual Bliss.

A different path he takes fair Truth to miss.

Sage Awe of Death he shuns as pois'nous bane;

Despising virtue, Shame, Remorse & Pain,

He gnaffs Destruction in loose Pleasure's Bowl,

Till the large measure of his Riot's fall:

Now first he thinks; doubts, dreads a Deity,

Then madly plunges in Eternity.

But he, the Man whom Reason calls her own,

In vertue places Happiness alone.

Industrious Bee, awhile the World he'll roam,

Craveying Peace & Wisdom safely home.

He seeks no Convent, Gaile & Strifes sad Seat,

Nor Wilds, still contemplations lone retreat;

The Nymph sublime, forsakes her darksome cell,

And in his fair Arcadia loves to dwell,

Where Nature's charms to Art's perfection wrought,

Then his full Mind with various Knowledge fraught;

Each Nations Taste their pleasing Powers unite,

And the gay Landskip glads the admiring Sight.

Here with the Friend, the Sage, or Poets Lay,

Life's fleeting moments gently steal away.

At others good no envious clouds arise;

No Disappointment fills his streaming eyes:

Without regrets his thoughts recall the past;

Without concern forerunning e'en the last:

Candour and Social Love snide each Design;

Temperate enjoy, obedient to resign,

His view extends before this vale of Tears;

His Hopes securely fixed admit no Tears;

With calm Delight he hails the rising Day;

And feels no gloom attend its parting Ray:

Eye's Natures change with constancy serene,

And bids this beauteous Marble Moralize the Scene.

 

S. Seward, 1758.

Sir,

You will most likely be surprised at the inclosed fantastical inventory of certain of your goods and chattels. If it sho'd amuse You for half an hour, the author of it will have fully obtained his end. He is under no apprehensions of your suspecting who he is: but, if he keeps his own council, he is sure You can never convict him. Certain as he is of remaining concealed, he has so insuperable an objection to anything of his composition appearing in print, that he most seriously enjoins You by no means to let it escape to the press. This request he is confident You will comply with, as Your doing otherwise wo'd give him real uneasiness.

He has nothing further to add but to assure You he thinks all he says, tho' said in verse, & is

very sincerely

your obedient

humble Servant.

 

July.7.1767.

Anson, to no man the celestial Muse

Her festive strain of merited applause

Bears gladlier, than to him whose generous aid

Protects & cherishes the sister arts

Of imitation. From the Muse proceeds

All Harmony however to the sense

Directed, immaterial: in the grace

Of fair proportion, & harmonious form

Perceptible, as in the number'd notes

Of melting music, or of measured verse:

The Muse's gift in either: Her's the lyre

Of ORPHEUS, Her's the SYRACUSAN reed,

A RAPHAEL'S pencil Her's & Her's the touch

Whose exquisite sensation shapes the block

To forms of GRECIAN beauty. She well pleased

On the green margin of the Silver TRENT

Sees at thy bidding ANSON, SCENES ARISE

That might adorn ILISSUS, or the vale

of TEMPE: glittering domes, & obelisks,

Pillars & pyramids with pointed top

Piercing the lawrel's shade: or where the slope

Ascending gradual opens to the sun,

Full to his orient beam the trophied Arch

Turns it's vast portal, worthy to bestride

The sacred road triumphant heroes passed via sacra

To ROME'S dread CAPITOL. Along the mead,

Reflected by the clear translucent stream,

See where the stately colonnade extends

It's pillar'd length: to shade the sculptured forms

Of Demigods or Heroes, & protect

From the cold northern blast each tenderer plant,

The fragrant progeny of milder climes;

Orange, or lime, or cedro from the banks

Of ARNO, or PARTHENOPE'S soft shore.

These in fair order rainged, stage above stage;

Rear to the lofty roof their green heads, crowned

At once with flowers profuse, & golden fruit,

Asilvan theatre! & intermixt

Each aromatic shrub or scented leaf,

Myrtle, & sweet geranium, cassia, balms,

And balsams from ARABIA'S spicy vales.

Here while we breathe perfume, the ravish'd eye

Surveys the miracles of GRECIAN art

In living sculptures, godlike shapes, & forms

Excelling human! Light-robed FLORA first,

Protectress of the place, with garlands crowned,

Scatters with liberal hand a waste of flowers.

Nor shall the learned eye deem here misplaced,

O smooth ADONIS, thy transcendent form.

How shall the Muse address Thee, lovely Youth,

How celebrate? a mortal or a God,

Doubtfull! for wide extended thy renown,

And various: through mysterious EGYPT'S bounds

In temples, & with sacrifice adored,

OSIRIS! while on TYRE'S resplendent shore

With annual obsequies, & plaintive song

SIDONIAN virgins mourn their TAMMUZ slain.

But every GRECIAN Muse, thro' DORIC land,

Thro' SICILY'S resounding vales, still chaunts

ADONIS' fate & CITHEREA'S woe.

Thus varying they record Thee: but thy grace,

And matchless beauty, under every name,

In every situation, all extoll,

In life, in death, in action, or repose,

Or sleeping in PROSPERINA'S cold lap,

Or walking in CIPRIGNA'S rosy arms.

Thy godlike semblance next commands the song,

O BROMIUS, O LENËAN; thy curle'd locks

With ivy-berries crowne'd, thy awfull head

Averted, air majestic, & thy youth

Celestial, brightest progeny of JOVE!

But what that Hero form, whose gloomy brow

Contracted, speaks the workings of his soul?

Eager his looks & piercing, but with care

Emaciate his sunk cheek: The Dagger marks

Th'Assertor of ROME'S liberties in vain

CASSIUS the last of ROMANS. How shall words

Paint the firm station, spirit, strength & grace

Of the young ATHLETE? How, MELPOMINÈ,

Thy flowering figure? o'er thy vocal she;

Inclined, in act preluding, to excite

Notes, that resounding thro' the star-paved courts

Of high JOVE feasting with th'immortal Gods

Redouble their beatitude, & take

On earth the ravish'd souls of righteous men

And wrap them in ELYSIUM: but th'accursed,

And reprobate, to wrath devoted, them

Strange horror seizes, flight, & mild despair,

Troubled, & frantic at the sacred sound.

Nor to these proud arcades alone confined

The works of ancient art; behold the lawn,

With circling woods surrounded, skirted wide

With many a Term, & many a laurel'd bust,

Poet or Caesar; many a swelling urn,

ETRUSCAN wrought, emboss'd with high relief,

Of various argument. A Virgin here

Dire sacrifice to NEMESIS DIVINE,

Bleeds on the horrid altar. To the shore

Here PHRIGIAN PARIS leads his ravished bride

Bright ARGIVE HELLEN, source of endless woes.

Observe you rising hillock's form,

Whose verdant top the spiry cypress crowns,

And the dim ilex spreads her dusky arms

To shade th'ARCADIAN Shepherdesses tomb:

Of PARIAN stone the pile: of modern hands

The work, but emulous of ancient praise.

Let not the Muse inquisitive presume

With rash interpretation to disclose

The mystic ciphers that conceal her name.

Whate'er her country, or however call'd

Peace to her gentle shade. The Muse shall oft

Frequent her honour'd shrine, with solemn song

Lyric, or elegiac: oft when eve

Gives respite from the long days weary task,

And dewy HESPER brightens in the west,

Here shall the constant hind, & plighted maid

Meet, & exchange their tokens, & their vows

Of faith, & love. Here weeping Spring shall shed

Her first pale snowdrops, bluebells, violets,

And Summer's earliest roses blossom here.

Now new scenes open, other fabrics rise,

Unusual forms! from climates far remote,

Farther than DORIC, or IÖNIAN arts

Extended, or ROME'S conquering eagles flew:

By thy adventurous Race not unexplored,

ANSON, whose indefatigable course

Proceeding circled the terraqueous globe:

Hence on the TRENT, SINËAN trophies shine:

Airy Pagodas, elegant & light,

With painted balustrades, & gilded spires;

And Temples, that like broad pavilions spread

Their ample roofs, with listed colours gay,

Green, azure, purple, & distinct with gold;

Here 'mid circumfluous waters aptly placed

Cast a mixt radiance o'er the trembling stream.

From hence, in wide expanse, the level mead

Spreads her smooth surface of continued green,

Not boundless, tho' extensive: all around

High grounds, & waving woods, at distance due

Close the fair landscape: INGESTRE'S awfull shades,

TIXAL'S grey towers, & CHARTLEY'S castled hill.

Westward, with near approach, & bolder swell,

The wavy hills rise mountainous, befringed

With gloomy groves of never-changing leaf,

Cedar, or pine, or fir: plantations vast,

And venerable! not in curious lines

Restrained, & cramp'd, nor on the summits clump'd

Bleak, & unthrifty; but profusely spread

Along the mountain slope for many a mile

To shade a country. Such the groves that grace

The shaggy sides of APPENNINE, or huge

PIRENE. Underneath a limpid lake

The molten chrystal of an hundred rills

Gushing from purple CANK'S salubrious sides

Collects, expansion pure, with verdant isles

Inlaid it's lucid bosom, & it's shores

With marble temples, glittering structures, crowned,

And cheif thy stately tower ANDRONICUS

CYRRHESTES, TEMPLE OF THE WINDS since call'd.

Mark, on the gorgeous frize in high relief

Embossed, the powers of air, gigantic forms.

First BOREAS, tyrant of the northern blast,

Known by his surly frown, & weathered shell,

Trump of the howling tempest. Caecias keen

Shakes from his brazen shield the rattling hail.

A youthfull form the next, of aspect mild,

Bright Genius of the morning's fragrant gale,

Sheds from his robe's loose bosom fruits & flowers,

APELIOTES messenger of day.

Then EURUS, NOTUS, ZEPHYRUS, & LIBS,

And SKIRON hot, whose magazine of fire

Burns the green herb, & blast the sickening year:

High on the roof the glittering TRYTON poised,

The adverse shore a TUSCAN colonnade

Superbly bounds, beneath whose marble floor

The glassy wave escapes with liquid lapse

Smooth sliding; but a non precipitant

Roars o'er the rough cascade with dashing sound,

And rushes into TRENT. Recoiling TRENT

Shrinks from the mighty tribute. But too long

The pompous works of art engross the strain

Inanimate & lifeless, while with life

The landscape round us swarms: earth, air, & flood

Peopled! with stately herds the meadows throng'd

With generous steeds the pastures, & the hills

With sheep, of various climes, & varied fleece,

Innumerable! On the lakes & streams

The aquatic fowl their silver bosoms have,

Of every size & colour, from the swan's

Majestic port, & shelldrake's glossy plume,

To the dun shoals of waterhens & cootes,

Whose dusky myriads darken half the wave.

To every creature that the vital air

Sustains, is ANSON'S kind benevolence

Extended: beasts of chace, & fowl of game

Secure in his protection roam at large

Unpersecuted. Never here was heard

The hunter's barbarous shout, or clam'rous horn

To fright the peacefull shades; or murd'ring gun

To stain the hospitable fields with blood.

Nor to the love of arts alone (tho' that

Well understood is praise) ascribe we all

These stately fabrics, this so splendid scene:

Humanity, attention to relieve

Industrious want, instruct, emply the poor,

His better motive. Sacred Charity

Bids every pile with happier auspice rise.

The sumptuous Mansion claims the closing song,

Adorned with all that elegance or taste

Can furnish, to content the judging eye,

Amuse or satisfie the curious search

Of leisure or of learning. Forms that boast

A RAPHAEL'S touch, breathe on the glowing walls,

And vaulted roofs: whatever modern art

Can add, in stucco raised, or fretted gold;

Or ATTIC STUART'S learned hand supply

Of ornament antique, & chaste design.

Nor shall the CLASSIC Library remain

Unsung, replete with learning's genuine stores:

Not metaphysic dream, or sceptic doubt,

Or fierce polemic wrangle; but the songs

Of ancient GREECE, that universal strain

That earth, & Heaven applauded, & the Gods

With rapture stoop'd to hear: And what (tho' cramp'd

In language to severer tone confined)

Imperial ROME in manly cadence sung.

That too which later in no barbarous age,

When every art revived, & LEO reigned,

On ARNO'S flowery banks, the TUSCAN Muse

Warbled at will in pleasure's myrtle bower.

The song was careless, but the harmony

(What can it less when TUSCAN Muses sing?)

Still takes the list'ning ear with ravishment,

And braves the snarling Critic's idle rage.

Here by no country, in no age, surpass'd,

SHAKESPEAR'S immortal page, & MILTON'S song

Celestial. Nor to books alone confined

Thy learned Archives: here whate'er remains

Of rare antiquity (or for design

Curious, or circumstance, or workmanship

Inimmitable) in Coins, or graven Gemms,

Camëo or Intaglio; sardonix,

Cenilean ophite, amethyst, the blood

Cornelian, & the jasper's flowery vein.

Endless the task & the irksome to attempt

Particular discription, & the song

Already droops, tho' gorgeous the detail.

Let Envy snarle, & Ignorance condemn

And scouling Critics censure - All within

Profuse of ornament, the scene without

Too crowded! - Little matters their applause,

Or blame, while Science & the Muse approve.

The Muse thy works, e'en Piety approves

Thy filial attachment to the soil,

The seat where fortune cast thy humbler lott

In no unpleasing scene: not BRITAIN boasts,

Throughout her varied isle, a fairer hill,

A greener meadow, or a clearer stream.

Along the sunny ridge that overhangs

Eastward thy fair demesnes,& wide commands,

Oft let me wander, when the morning ray

First gilds thy groves & streams, & glittering towers,

And meditate my uncouth DORIC lay:

While the bright prospect to my mind recalls

Scenes once beheld with rapture, from the heights

Of CUMA, or HERCULEAN TIBUR'S brow.

These to Thee, ANSON, from a nameless Bard,

Who seeks nor praise, nor patron: One whose Muse,

Conscious of all her dignity (for Heaven

Of old ordained the Muse, by firm decree,

Severe dispens'eress of authentic fame

When virtue claims the wreath) will ne'er disgrace

Her genuine function, prostitute her praise

To curs'd Ambition, Power, or worthless Wealth,

With servile adulation: Pleased to bear

Her writings to Benevolence like Thine.

NOTES.

- Godlike shapes & forms

Excelling human.

That the Grecian Statuaries, especially in the figures of their Deities, attempted a degree of beauty not to be found in nature, there is no doubt. The Apollo Belvidere is still a proof of it: his proportions are not human: his air (the result of those proportions) is divine. Raphael did the same in his letter to Count Balthazar Castiglione, speaking of his Galatea, he says "Perfect beauty being so seldom found, I avail myself of a certain Idëal image.

Nor shall the learned eye deem here misplaced,

O smooth Adonis, thy transcendent form.

Adonis, Thammuz, & Osiris, are Greek, Phenician & Egyptian names for the same person. - His statue not misplaced in a Greenhouse, because under all these denominations, he is looked upon by the best Mythologists as the Power of Vegitation: particularly the Vegitation of Corn: whence the fable that six months he lieth in Prosperine's lap, that is, whilst the seed of corn continueth under ground, & the other six months, that is Spring & Summer, he lieth with Venus.

- In act preluding, to excite

Notes, that resounding &c.

(Quotes from Pindar, in ancient Greek)

- But the accursed,

And reprobate, to wrath devoted, them

Strange horror seizes - &c.

(More quotes from Pindar, in ancient Greek)

By thy adventurous Race not unexplored.

If there is any weight in the trifling criticism of the impropriety in general of mixing Greek & Chinese buildings in the same scene, the above circumstance is an ample justification of their extream propriety here, exclusively of their real beauty & situation.

From the heights

Of Cuma, or Herculean Tibur's brow.

The former commanding the bay of Baia, & the Elysian fields, the latter Rome & her Campagna.

The end.

'Tis not your palace in the square,

Nor all the glorious colours there

By Guido's pencil spread,

Nor the warm tints of Claude Lorain,

That now can vie with Haywood plain,

Or Shuckboro's gay mead.

O co'd you see how Nature pours

Profuse her verdure & her flowers,

Her earliest, freshest bloom,

Embroid'ring all the halow'd ground

With blue-bells, daisies, violets, round

Your Shepherdesses tomb!

 

Sir William Bagot of Blithfield; 1772.

ODE to the Hon. Miss YORKE, (afterwards Lady Anson,) on her copying a Portrait of Dante by Clorio. By her Brother, the (late) Hon. Charles Yorke, Esq; 

FAIR artist! well thy pencil hass essay'd

To lend a poet's fame thy friendly aid;

Great Dante's image in thy lines we trace;

And while the Muses train thy colours grace,

The Muse propitious on the draught shall smile,

Nor, envious, leave unsung the gen'rous toil.

Picture and Poetry just kindred claim,

Their birth, their genius, and pursuits the fame;

Daughters of Phœbus and Minerva, they

From the same sources draw the heavenly ray

Whatever earth, or air, or ocean breeds,

Whatever luxury or weakness needs;

All forms of beauty Nature's scenes disclose,

All images inventive arts compose;

What rudder passions tear the troubl'd breast,

What mild affections sooth the soul to rest,

Each thought to Fancy magic numbers raise

Expressive picture to the sense conveys.

Hence in all times with social zeal conspire

Who blend the tints, and who attune the lyre.

See! in reviving learning's infant dawn,

Ere yet in precepts from old ruins drawn,

Sham'd the mock ornaments of Gothic taste,

New artists form'd, each Grecian bust replac'd;

Ere Leo's voice awaked the barb'rous age,

Oppress'd by monkish law and Vandal rage;

See! Dante, Petrarch, thro' the darkness strive,

And Giotto's pencil bid their forms survive!

When now maturer growth fair Science knew,

Titian her favour'd sons ambitions drew;

Not half so proud with princes to adorn

His tablets, as with wits less nobly born,

Ariotto, Aretine, yet better skill'd

On letters and on virtue fame to build:

These in their turn instruct the willing song,

The painter's fading glories to prolong

In later times, hear Waller's polished verse

The various beauties of Vandyke rehearse;

And Dryden, in sublimer strains impart

To Kneller praise more lasting than his art.

Friendships like these from time receive no law,

Contracted oft with those we never saw;

In ev'ry art who court an endless fame,

Through distant ages catch the sacred flame

See Zeuxis, warm'd by Homer's rage divine,

With rapture read, and what he reads, design!

See Julio, bred on the Parnassian soil,

With Virgil's grandeur dignify his toil!

Clovio, perhaps, like aid to Dante flow'd;

Intent his figure on the canvas glow'd:

To Dante's fame the grateful colours flow,

And wreaths of laurel bind his honour'd brow.

Thou, too, whom Nature and the Muse inspire

List'ning the poet's lore hast caught his fire;

With so much spirit ev'ry feature fraught,

Clovio might own this imitated draught;

And Dante, were he conscious of the praise!

Would sing thy labours in immortal lays;

His melancholy air to gladness turn'd,

Nor longer his unthankful Florence mourn'd:

Fair Beatrice's charms would ore their force

No more her steps o'er heav'n direct his course

To thee the bard would grant the nobler place

And ask thy guidance through the paths of peace.

Oh! could thy eloquence, like his, persuade

To leave the bounded walks by others made,

Thro' Nature's wilds bid thy free genius rove,

Copy the living race, or waving grove;

Or boldly rising with superior skill,

The work with heroes or with poets fill;

Then might I claim deserv'd the laurel cry,

My verse not quite neglected or unknown,

Then should the world thy glowing pencil see,

Extend the friendship of its art to me.

Transcript of a letter from Margaret, Countess of Lichfield.

18th May, 1987 

Dear Mr. Smith,

Please forgive me in being so long in writing to you, I sent you a quick little post card to let you know that I was going to write. You must take what I am going to tell you for what it is worth, because I still don't know if this is a 'fluke' or fact, but it is astounding how well it fits and this is how it happened.

I was always fascinated by the fact that nobody knew the meaning of OUOSVAVV and then the D and M on either side below, and I used to stand in front of it for ages and ages trying to wrack my brains as to all the myths and stories I had ever been told. When I was a child we had a curate called Mr. Prince who helped our very old Rector. He was a wonderful man with children, for although he was extremely learned and a great Greek scholar he was also full of the most enormous amount of Greek mythology and legends which, as you will know, are utterly fascinating. I always felt that as these were Roman letters on the Shepherdess monument that it would not be Greek mythology, so I wracked my brains to try to remember the Roman ones which he told us. Suddenly one day the penny dropped, and I remembered the following story:

He told us that outside Rome are seven hills and one of the hills had a shepherdess called Alicia which I think means 'Joy and Happiness'. The beauty of Alicia's character was her utter simplicity devoid of all vanity. She was very beautiful and completely unselfconscious and unaware, for her whole life was dedicated to the care of her sheep and seeing they came to no harm from the roaming wolves. He had a marvellous little book and he used to read the poems that went with these stories, but I could not remember the one about Alicia. It was many years before one day I was showing some friends round the garden and when we came to the Shepherd monument I told them the story about Alicia the Shepherdess and suddenly I looked at the letters and the penny dropped, and I quoted "Out of your own sweet vale Alicia vanish vanity twixt Deity and Man, thou Shepherdess the way". I was absolutely astounded and positively shaken that suddenly these words had come to me. The people who I was showing it to were rather dull and not very impressed with anything, so I could not go into it further with them, but when they went I told my husband and he said to me "Are you sure you aren't making it up?" and I said "NO, how could I have, it was all so quick and spontaneous and vivid."

Now having told you this I suppose you do realise that this monument was put up to the Admiral's wife, Lady Anson. (Incidentally, she is not called 'Lady Elizabeth' as she would have had to be the daughter of an Earl, a Marquis or a Duke if she was called that, but her correct title is 'Lady Anson' and her Christian name is Elizabeth, but it is not put into the title. You may wonder why I am 'Margaret, Countess of Lichfield', but that is correct because I could choose to be called either 'Dowager' or 'Margaret' when my husband died. I do hope you don't mind me telling you this, but as you are writing a book it is as well to get these kind of details right and I am sure you will see that it is.)

To go further, this lovely picture of Lady Anson dressed as a Shepherdess goes to show Thomas Anson's line of thought concerning her. Do you think that your interpretation, which I think is correct and agree with, marries up with mine? I am not well up in these matters but would love to see if anybody could show any connection between the two. I still prefer yours to mine, as I still don't know if mine was a fluke or a fact, but it is quite extraordinary how the letters fit. I would love to know who gave you the translation of the letters OUUSVAVV - D.M. which I gave to the National Trust and to the present Lord Lichfield.

I think I ought to tell you what gave me the tip-off to my own translation, it was the V V at the end of the top line and 'Vanishes Vanity' popped straight into my head, and the rest followed. As you know from the time that Thomas Anson put this monument up everybody from great scholars to ordinary everyday people have been trying to find out what these letters meant, but none had succeeded - and suddenly the words came to me!

With best wishes,

Yours sincerely,

Margaret Lichfield.

Margaret, Countess of Lichfield.

P.S. By the way the "U" in OUOSVAVV stands for "your" because one of the

D M

"lover codes" in those days when young men scratched with a diamond on the glass of his loved ones window, he scratched "I L U" for I love you.

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