VERSES WRITTEN AT DUNWICH, BY HENRY DELL. Dunwich, once an important, opulent and commercial city, but now a mean välage, stands on a cliff of considerable height, commanding an extensive view of the German ocean. The present ruinous state of this once flourishing place is owing chiefly to the repeated encroachments of the sea. Seated upon a hill composed of loam and sand of a loose texture, on a coast destitute of rocks, it is not surprising that its buildings should have successively yielded to the impetuosity of the billows, breaking against, and easily undermining the foot of the precipices; and probably in a few years they may oblige the constituent body to betake themselves to a boat, whenever the king's writ shall summon them to the exercise of their elective franchise; as the necessity of adhering to forms, in the farcical solemnity of borough elections, is not to be dispensed with. This town once contained eight parish churches; three chapels; a house belonging to the knights templars; two monasteries; and two hospitals; and a mint. All Saints is now the only church of which any portion remains. In former times a wood, called east wood or the king's forest, extended several miles south-east of the town, but it has been for many ages swallowed up by the sea. Contiguous to this was another wood, from its relative situation denominated west wood. Though many of the traditionary accounts relative to this town are probably fabulous, yet it is certain that it is a place of very high antiquity. It is conjectured by some to have been a station of the Romans from the number of their coins that have been discovered here. So much is certain, that in the reign of Sigebert, king of the East Angles, Felix, the Burgundian bishop, fixed his episcopal see at Dunwich in the year 636; and here by succession it continued for about two hundred years. In 1754 was published in 4to "An Historical Ac"count of Dunwich, &c. by THOMAS GARDNER, "illustrated with copperplates;" which has now become the scarcest of the Suffolk Topographical works. YE venerable walls with ivy crown'd, The sad remains of ancient Gothic state, Whose scatter'd honors, strew the hallow'd ground; The spoils of time and unrelenting fate. Thy pomp, thy pow'r, O Dunwich, now's no more; Thy pleasant hills, thy vales, thy rich domains, Ah what avails that once those sacred dead, All sublunary things thus pass away, Old ocean's self, shall thus a period find; Here oft the Muse with rapture loves to stray, In pensive mood, indulging melancholy. Beneath these moss-grown stones, the waste of years, Lies many a heart now mouldered into dust, Whose kindred spirits grace the angelic spheres; Completely blest, and perfect with the just. By the continual falling of the cliff, the remains of the dead are frequently washed from the repositories, and scattered upon the beach. Like me, they flourish'd once in youthful bloom Like them, I soon must pass death's cheerless gloom, SONNET TO THE RIVER ORWELL, BY I. T. SHEWELL. The banks of this beautiful river are in general highly picturesque, especially when it becomes an Estuary at Downham Reach, about three or four miles below Ipswich; to which place it is navigable for ships of considerable burthen. The banks there rise into pleasing elevations, clothed with a rich luxuriancy of wood, and adorned with several good seats: and the river assumes the feature of a large lake, being to all appearance land-locked on every side. Vessels fitted up for the accommodation of passengers sail every tide from Ipswich to Harwich, a distance of about twelve miles, and back again; an excursion that is rendered truly delightful by the beauty of the surrounding scenery. The port of Ipswich is almost dry at ebb; but the returning tide generally rising about twelve feet, converts it into a magnificient sheet of water. ORWELL, delightful stream, whose waters flow While all around enchantment seems to reign: These glories still, with filial love, I taste, STANZAS Addressed to the Inhabitants of Yoxford, in 1787. BY ANN CANDLER, A SUFFOLK COTTAGER. Yoxford is a remarkably pleasant village, situated about four miles to the north of Saxmundham, on the Yarmouth road. On the north side of it is Cockfield Hall, formerly the seat of the Brook family, but now the residence of sir Charles Blois, bart. Here is also the neat mansion of David Elisha Davy, esq. receiver general of the land-tax for the eastern division of the county. This gentleman, in conjunction with Henry Jermyn, of Sibton, esq. has been long engaged in the compilation of a "History of Suffolk," a work devoutly to be wished, and for the completion of which their valuable and abundant collections, as well as their extensive knowledge in the antiquities and topography of the county, render them fully competent. That Suffolk should have remained so long without its legitimate historian, a county so respectable for its antiquities, and presenting so many topics of useful amusive speculation, may justly be esteemed a matter of surprise. DEAR Village! sweet delightful spot! Yet still thy name I will repeat; Say, wilt thou love me in return Still let this pleasing hope be mine, And ye, who in this darling spot, Be ev'ry bliss in life your lot, Still unembitter'd may you taste The sweets of health and peace; While plenty decks the choice rèpast, And Ceres gives increase. May commerce flourish unrestrain❜d, While neighb'ring swains admiring stand, To see your prosp'rous state. May justice all her rights assert And bear impartial sway, While truth and friendship, void of art, Their native charms display. |