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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;
Lost is thy splendor, sunk in endless night;
Fair trade and commerce have forsook thy shore,
And all thy pristine glories vanish'd quite.

Thy pleasant hills, thy vales, thy rich domains,
The sea's devouring surge hath wash'd away;
Disclosed the graves,
and gave their last remains
To the remorseless waves, a fated prey.

Ah what avails that once those sacred dead,
Supreme in arts, and arms, or glory shone?
Alas how vain! each high distinction's fled,
And all their blooming honors now are gone.

All sublunary things thus pass away,

Old ocean's self, shall thus a period find;
The cloud-capt tow'rs, the pompous domes decay,
All, all dissolve, nor leave a wreck behind.

Here oft the Muse with rapture loves to stray,
And o'er these ruins, far from noise and folly,
Thro' solitary glooms, she takes her way,

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
Now cold and silent in the peaceful urn;

Like them, I soon must pass death's cheerless gloom,
And earth to earth, and dust to dust return.

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
Fring'd with luxuriant beauty to the main!
Amid thy woodlands taught, the Muse could fain,
On thee, her grateful eulogy bestow.
Smooth and majestic though thy current glide,
And bustling Commerce plough thy liquid plain;
Tho' grac'd with loveliness thy verdant side,

While all around enchantment seems to reign:

These glories still, with filial love, I taste,
And feel their praise; yet thou hast one beside
To me more sweet; for on thy banks reside,
Friendship and Truth combin'd; whose union chaste
Has sooth'd my soul;-and these shall bloom sublime,
When fade the fleeting charms of Nature and of Time.

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!
Blest scene that gave me birth!
Though now, alas! unknown, forgot,
I wander o'er the earth.

Yet still thy name I will repeat;
A name how dear to me!
And, maugre this my wayward fate,
Will claim my part in thee.

Say, wilt thou love me in return
And love with pity join?
Not treat me with contempt or scorn,
Or blush to say I'm thine?

Still let this pleasing hope be mine,
Warm'd by a daily pray❜r:
And fav'ring heav'n to thee and thine,
Extend it's guardian care.

And ye, who in this darling spot,
Securely dwell serene,

Be ev'ry bliss in life your lot,
And pleasure paint each scene.

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,
In social strength elate,

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.

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