SOURCE: "The Character of Elizabeth Singer Rowe," in Elizabeth Singer Rowe, the Poetess of Frome: A Study in Eighteenth-Century English Pietism, Peter Lang, 1973, pp. 176–214.

[In the following excerpt from a full-length study of Rowe, Stecher analyzes the use of sentimentality and romanticism in Rowe's work and life.]

Despite Mrs. Rowe's love for solitude and meditation, and her praise of reason, she often showed great interest and even enthusiasm for mundane pleasures. At first glance, it appears paradoxical, if not entirely inconsistent with her pious reputation, to find remarks in her published and unpublished letters which indicate a degree of social irresponsibility, spleen, and worldliness. It seems to be an inconsistency in her character to find her condemning the world for its deceitfulness and yet delighting in romantic illusions and secular show. She, of course, qualified such pleasures by insisting they be edifying and moral, but it is, nonetheless, surprising to encounter such aspects of her personality at all. These discrepancies of character appear less incongruous when it is seen that she was fundamentally motivated by sentiment and her imaginative fancies. In a sense, she was a "romantic," and many of her temperamental remarks, as well as her religious effusions and seemingly worldly inclinations, are simply indicative of a highly volatile imagination.

Considering that she thought her age corrupt and vain, and in view of her opposition to secular life in general, it is almost startling to find her remarking to Lady Hertford, for example, that she found her age "one of the most happy and glorious periods, that ever the English nation enjoyed." (Works, 1796, 102)

Despite all she wrote about the evils of the court and her desire to shun the world, her letters indicate that she did enjoy London, the theater, pomp and shows, such as the opera and "trumpets and kettle-drums." (Works, 1796, 85) She scorned earthly life, and yet besought Lady Hertford for news of the court and social world. She seems to have considered the amorous poetic correspondence that passed between Mrs. Knight (Henrietta St. John), an associate of the court and a friend of Lady Hertford's, and John Dalton harmless and even admirable. This is all the more surprising as Mrs. Knight was eventually banned from the court and separated from her husband and family, and forbidden any communication with the countess, as a result of the ensuing scandal. Although others saw something improper in the Knight-Dalton correspondence, Elizabeth found "something … perfectly polite and sprightly" (Alnwick 110, f. 338) in the verses they had sent each other. This letter exchange also seems to have involved Lady Hertford and Mrs. Rowe. One of Mrs. Knight's poetic pieces was not quite so harmlessly entitled, "Venus in Town to Adonis at Oxford." Mr. Dalton had paid Lady Hertford a poetic compliment in "To the Honorable Mrs. Knight," and Elizabeth replied with "To Mr. Dalton upon the above written poem," and she may also have been responsible for the verses entitled, "To Mr. Dalton Who is often visited by Apollo particularly when he travels on the Road."¹⁴ Above all, Elizabeth was captivated by the extravagance of sentiment which marked this exchange of poetic epistles.

On the one hand, Elizabeth opposed novels that were amorous and licentious, but praised, on the other, heroic and sentimental literature, especially that sort dealing with noble and virtuous heroes in exotic lands. She found Madam de Lambert's novel, Tullia, a rare example of such writing and stated that "it delights the reader to find two persons of the greatest merit happy without a crime." (Works, 1796, 110)

Tragedy, as has already been noted, held an especial appeal for her, for she found it "superior to the common way of life," and it raised in her a wish "for the regal dignity, that I might speak in the sublime, and act the heroine." (Works, 1796, 32) She wrote:

Of all public entertainments, a tragedy to me would be the most agreeable and inchanting; but I shall never repent that I have so strictly kept my promise not to see any performance of that kind; unless my high delight the opera was a breach of it, as I am a little afraid it was.

(Works, 1796, 29)

Frivolous romantic poetry delighted her although she avowed her true interest in divine matters.

Though she claimed to like "the scenes of low life" in painting, because "fields and cottages seem to be the abodes of innocence and peace," she admitted to Lady Hertford "that scenes of grandeur and art please me better." As if sensing the inconsistency of this attraction to splendor and pomp with her pious nature, she tried to justify these interests by adding:

… but then 'tis only in speculation and at a distance; for without pretending to be more philosophical than I really am, I should chuse to be confined to the peaceful shade of some remote wilderness, rather than to the hurry of the most splendid court.

(Works, 1796, 111)

In other words, she admitted her preference for the simple life, while, at the same time, revealing her delight in imaginative scenes directly the opposite. She seems to have been aware of this paradox herself when she wrote that "the pleasures of the imagination are of an inferior class…." Even if she actually believed this last statement, she does not appear to have ever been free from the predominance of imagination in her behavior and taste. She once wrote Lady Hertford:

I know Your Ladyship will pity my stupidity, that can read a history in folio. I had once the same sprightly taste, to despise every thing that had the air of plain unartful truth and probability; but now it is much more agreeable to me than the gayest fiction.

(Works, 1796, 73)

but her own testimony shows that she never really harnassed her imagination and emotions.

Carried away by her feelings she often lacked a sense of true discernment, and thus a discrepancy sometimes existed between her principles and the attitudes she actually held towards secular life. It may be appropriate to make reference at this point to what appear to be major incongruities in her personality, namely to examples of her apparent spleen and social indifference.

An occasional impatience with society can be found in Elizabeth's letters, and sometimes she sounded overly harsh in her criticism of others, as, for example, when she was angry with Rolli for misplacing a book:

I will not give my service to him till he has found Milton, how cou'd the careless, negligent mortal lose it? he'll shake of his ears next and lose them.

(Alnwick 110, 36)

Rolli also seems to have been the object of her irony in a letter written the countess in which she one moment stated her delight in Watts's sermons and in the next added that it was "an easy transition from those sermons to Mr. Rolli's songs, which are exceeding fine." (Works, 1796, 38) This remark was either a breach in good taste or was meant facetiously, for the lines by Rolli were an Anacreontic praise of drinking, youth, and pleasure. She called them a good paraphrase on St. Paul to the Corinthians: "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die." Of course, there was no relationship between Rolli's lines and the biblical text. Indeed, what St. Paul had censured, Rolli had extolled! Elizabeth quoted the biblical text and chapter in her letter and added that she hoped Rolli would read the whole, as "it will do him no matter of harm." If she was not sincere in her praise of his lines, which is scarcely likely, although she did call them "exceeding fine," then she was acting somewhat self-righteously by calling his attention to St. Paul's admonition.

There is a tone of self-satisfied smugness in the remark she made on another occasion:

… for my part I am allways easie as long as I can persuade my self not to call in Question my own Merit which however imaginary leaves me in perfect tranquility, till a fitt of modesty raises some doubts & scruples to interrupt my felicity.

(Alnwick 110, 77)

Elizabeth's readiness to correct others and her desire for personal complacency in matters of conscience almost have a pharisaical ring.

Although she engaged in numerous charities, she, nonetheless, expressed little concern for social injustice and simply ignored painful realities. Hughes called attention to the fact that war was accepted as a matter of course by eighteenth-century ladies of the upper class,¹⁵ and Elizabeth seems to have shared this irresponsible attitude when she wrote:

Rumors of war do not much terrify me. I have such a partial opinion of the English, that I can't but fancy they must still be victorious, whatever wars they engage in.

(Works, 1796, 35)

Another example of social indifference is a reference in a letter to Lady Hertford (Alnwick 110, 60) to the discomfort caused her by a tumult in which great noise was made by the grenadiers' firing their powder to frighten a mob of thousands of the clothiers' workmen. Her greatest concern, as she stated, was to get her letter posted, and it does not appear as though she took any interest in the plight of the workers.

From these examples, it is clear that Mrs. Rowe was not always as pacific in temperament as her official biographer wished to show, and it is obvious that she simply ignored oppression and misery if it disturbed her sentimental view of life, but, as will be shown, this sentimental life was perhaps the only life she was capable of appreciating.

A number of personal remarks indicate that Elizabeth was aware of what she herself called an "ungoverned imagination":

… but you know my penetration is always on the extreme, either it falls Short, or goes beyond the reason and nature of things….

(Alnwick 110, 118)

Strength of reason, and fortitude of mind! what pompous words are these? but how little do they signify to a mind so unguarded and effeminate as mine?

(Works, 1796, 143)

Writing to Lady Hertford, she discussed the nature of her letters and felt they ought to be more modest, but quickly added:

… I am resolv'd to stifle all those motions of modesty and to go on through Sense and Nonsense, Moral and Immoral Subjects to fill up my paper and defye any Peer in Great Britain to imitate my Stile unless his imagination takes as many Shapes as Proteus.

(Alnwick 110, 36)

Several examples may be given showing the workings of her imaginative faculties. She always considered Lady Hertford's estate at Marlborough a place of enchantment, with its "verdant Labyrinths and flow'ry mazes," and on one of her visits wrote to Mrs. Marrow:

Amidst this confusion of languages, 'tis a great delight to me to find everybody in as visionary a disposition as myself whether 'tis the Effect of the hurry, or the nature of this climate that has put everybody in this strange way is yet uncertain.

It was an easy matter for Elizabeth, who once stated her belief in fairies, whom she called "happy beings … possessed of a great many privileges which unhappy mortals want" (Works, 1796, 38), to consider herself in a kind of wonderland, to which she could have applied any of a number of her fanciful epithets, such as "poetical existence," "pleasing dream," "glittering fallacy," or "a fairy vision":

Whether we are got into fairy land, or if 'tis the nature of the climate that lull'd us all in a golden dream is very uncertain, but for my part I am so pleas'd with the place and company that I am unwilling to indulge the charming madness without envying the most sedate reasoner on earth.

(Alnwick 110, 72)

On many occasions Elizabeth's remarks show that the poetical and spiritual realms of her imagination were more real for her than the actual material world. Isolated in Frome during a period of snowy weather, she imagined herself to be "the sole possessor of the earthly globe" (Works, 1796, 56), all others simply being imagined out of existence. She once felt she could not draw the poetical regions of her imagination, which she said were more romantic than Lady Hertford's solitude on the Thames, for, in the drawing, such scenes lost half their quality (Alnwick 110, 155). Beauty, it would appear, lay for her in the abstract tracts of her fancy as well as in the concrete world about her, the latter often only serving as a means of stimulating her imagination.

A not uncommon theme was her thought of leaving the dull earth behind while soaring to the heavens and the stars above:

Were I permitted to make my tour among the starry worlds, I should leave you very gladly to make the best of whatever enjoyment the sea or dry land could give you.

(Works, 1796, 167)

She often expressed her dissatisfaction with the narrowness of creation:

… the narrow creation is my complaint. In a more modest disposition, I may be content with the limits of the universe, and think the world wide enough; but at present it seems as diminutive as the painted globe in Queen Elizabeth's hand, or the soap-bubbles my Lord blows in the air.

(Works, 1796, 98)

and desired knowledge of the invisible world, which she expected would be a resplendent revelation. It will be recalled that one of the basic reasons for her retirement after 1715 was the desire to overcome restrictions and to gain the freedom necessary for indulging in imaginative caprices and romantic fantasies. Her attitudes towards worldly pomp, no doubt, reflected her changeable dispositions; mundane show was despicable when she felt confined and melancholy, but aroused her enthusiasm when she was stirred by the splendor of ceremony.

In October 1726 Elizabeth and Lady Hertford both had witnessed a Northern Lights phenomenon in the sky. Lady Hertford was prompted to write "A Meditation caused by Light in the Element" (Alnwick 115, fols. 10–11), and Mrs. Rowe commented rapturously on the event in the style of "The Last Day":

A propos, now I am in the sublime, I will let you know how much I wished to converse with you last night, while I was looking at the Northern Streamers. The skies seemed all in a glorious confusion. I must own the novelty of the scene pleased me beyond the regular beauty of the moon and stars. When time has run his course, such a glittering disorder, perhaps, will be the prelude to the general dissolution of nature. However, I could not but form in my imagination the grandeur of that period, when the powers of heaven shall be shaken, and the wreck of the universe shall grace the triumphs of the day; and as I am exceedingly pleased with Dr. Young's descriptions on this subject, I am glad of an excuse to repeat them.

Much later she wrote Sarah Rowe about a similar experience, which she had found to be a glorious and extraordinary spectacle, not terrible or frightening, and immediately attributed further significance to the phenomenon saying: "A light so agreeable can fortell nothing but happiness and prosperity."

You know my temper is soft and credulous to the last extreme, therefore 'twill not be hard for you to think, what a deep impression such an appearance must make on my imagination … I confess I saw nothing terrible, but all was glorious and extraordinary … My father and all the family, wanting my curiosity, went to bed, and left nobody but me and my maid to view the wonders in the heavens: and in spight of the cold, and my own indisposition, I staid till near two o'clock in the morning in the open air, while, as far as I know, all the town besides lay drowned in stupid slumbers. But I never saw a sight so magnificent as the streams of glory that seemed to flow over the firmament, just at midnight. With what rapture, at that silent hour, did I survey the wonders of God's power and greatness in the skies! 'Twas the most agreeable scene my eyes ever beheld: but I hope, one time or other, to see a brighter, at the dawn of the eternal morning.

(Works, 1796, 133)

One can detect Elizabeth's pride in having been alert and attentive to the extraordinary event, unlike the indifferent sleepers, "drowned in stupid slumbers." She seems to be speaking with the voice of the later romantic who prides himself on the superiority of his appreciative faculties.

On occasion, she was completely out of touch with reality; she even idealized nature and envisioned country life as consisting of humble cottagers tending their fleecy (and very clean) flocks, or engaged in making garlands and pastoral poems for a ceaseless round of country holidays. A passage from a letter to Lady Hertford indicates that if Elizabeth was sensible of natural beauty and the charms of rural life she was by no means a rustic in the sense of the later romantics:

I have visited your cleanly farm without any ceremony, and wandered in the green pastures stocked with lowing herds and bleating fields. Only your domestics are not quite so elegant as I could wish. Instead of such nice romantic damsals as Almeda, I meet harmless, unthinking, round fac'd lasses; and for powdered beaus in shining liveries, mimicking opera airs and songs, I meet Colin and Lubberkin, with russet-coats and sun-burnt faces, whistling some aukward tune, or roaring out a country ballad, with voices as harsh as their fellow-animals which bellow on the mountains. However, to make you amends for this, everything else is as elegant as the abode of some sylvan goddess; joy and festivity surround you, and nature pours out all her blessings for you.

(Works, 1796, 66)

It is not surprising that Elizabeth's imaginative tendencies affected her writing style, and Dr. Johnson's reference to her luxuriance, copiousness, brightness of imagery, and purity of sentiment, requires little additional commentary except to mention that even her ordinary correspondence reveals a fantastic note on occasion. It was Theophilus Rowe who remarked that "She could hardly write a familiar letter, but it bore the stamp of a poet," and Elizabeth herself acknowledged her need for a rapturous style when she said:

… the language of mortal men does not seem expressive of my thoughts.

(Works, 1796, 47)

She was most impassioned when she wrote about nature and her expectations in the celestial regions, and set no restraint on her pen on these occasions. These mystical-like transports are purely irrational and highly reminiscent of earlier mystical literature. Her writing then often contained impressive imagery, as for example in the following excerpt:

Perhaps this impatience to retire from this tempestuous world may be the effect of cowardice. I own these public rumours of war, and nation rising against nation, have a dismal prospect. The angel standing in the sun (as he is described in Revelations) seems to be making his solemn invitation to all the fowls that fly in the midst of heaven, "to gather themselves together to the supper of the great God, that they may eat the flesh of kings, and the flesh of captains, and the flesh of horses, and of those that sit on them." This invitation has in it a surprising grandeur.

(Works, 1796, 116)

She referred to her imaginative contemplations as bold "excursions into these infinite regions, where I behold beauty in all its exquisite variety, and hear the sound of immortal harmony" (Works, 1796, 141), and on these occasions, as she groped for expressions to denote her inner turbulence, style and good taste were sometimes only of secondary importance.

Writing William Rowe in a high pitch of spiritual fervor, she transported herself momentarily into the longed-for celestial regions:

I walk among the mansions of the Gods,
The soft recesses, and the blest abodes.

and seemed to be severing all ties with mankind in her unrestrained rapture:

I am got into the celestial stile, and would fain forget, that I am writing to a beau, a mere terrestial creature.

until a more sober mood terminated her ecstatic flight:

But oh!
I sink at once, and leave the skies.
How transient are the flights of devotion!
how soon do earthly objects return with all
their seducing advantages!
(Works, 1796, 141)

She told William that, indeed, she would rather write him "from the morning star, or the argent fields of the moon," than from a little Somerset village, but she was still "confined to these dusky regions, breathing the gross element of air, and drinking tea instead of nectar, and incumbered with a body of clay, instead of sparkling in a vehicle of light." Her unconfined imagination, though, makes "gay excursions to the realms of day, wanders through the Elysian fields, and reclines beneath myrtle shades," and thus she finds compensation for her unsatisfying mortal state. Mortality, however, claimed her again, and it was with vehemence that she recognized the situation:

But the soothing vision quickly takes its flight, the celestial scenes vanish, and, for an ethereal enlargement, I find myself limited to a den, a dwelling in the dust: instead of feasting on ambrosia, and banqueting with angels, I am reduced to the common food of mortals; and, instead of the music of the spheres, am serenaded with a ploughman's whistle, or some rustic shepherd's jovial roundelay.

(Works, 1796, 142)

Intense spiritual fervor called forth much of her rhapsodic writing, but human passion was responsible for the equally enthusiastic tone found in the following advice which she imparted to William:

But oh! indulge this noble delicacy, it may guide you to perfect happiness. For sure the charming passion has a divine original, for God himself is Love; by him the sacred flame was kindled, and fills the soul with generous sentiments and elegant desires; it breaks thro' all created perfection, and keeps on its restless course to the first pattern of whatever is excellent or fair.

You see, my dear brother, whether I tread the paths of perdition, or those that guide me to the stars, Love is the moving principle….

(Works, 1796, 140)

In a passage such as this, human love and divine love cease to be differentiated; they are ultimately the same for the romantically-inclined poetess.

It can also be shown that even Mrs. Rowe's approach to religion differed in no great extent from that of her other imaginative fantasies. Her devotional practices frequently betrayed an overly refined sentimentality, and her piety was often merely religious Schwärmerei:

'Tis not from any affected sanctity that I am pleased with everything that has an air of devotion, but purely from the grandeur and solemnity of the action, for you know a prayer in an opera as much touches my passions as perhaps in a more sacred place, and an address to a true or fancied deity appears to me the most graceful part that human nature can perform.¹⁶

Death was merely a transference from this world to a realm of pastoral beauty and bliss:

And may some gentle spirit have command,
To waft my soul to the celestial land …
(Works, 1796, 70)

There, amid green fields and under serene skies, she pictured herself mingling with the happy shades, listening to celestial music, and viewing the fragrant bowers, golden palaces, crystal towers, and meandering streams. Her most visual poetry was that describing paradise, which was fundamentally no more than a transplanted pastoral scene inhabited by blissful spirits instead of amorous shepherds, although Fairchild noted that these spirits also seem to "spend a great deal of their time in loving each other."¹⁷ The verses contained in a letter to Mrs. Nevinson are a vivid representation of her concept of heaven:

No Stormy Winter enters here
'Tis Jovial Spring thro' all the year
Soft Gales thro' Groves of Cassia blow
The Streams ore Golden Pebbles flow
Fresh Youth & Love their Sportive train
Lead on the ever Verdant plain
Etherial Forms in bright Array
Along the blissful Currents Stray
Or wander in Romantick Groves
Or Banquet in their gay Alcoves
And oft in Amaranthine Bowers
Repose on Fragrant Beds of Flowers
While Musick with Her sweetest strains
Soothes the list'ning woods and plains
The Fountains Hills & Dales Arround
With Heav'nly Harmony resound.
(Alnwick 110, 128)

The same imagery was used in her spiritual raptures as in her amorous poetry, so that it seems she conceived of the hereafter as a continuation of the beauties and the highest bliss of this world. She must have been aware of this similarity, for in the same letter she stated:

I confess these flow'ry scenes seem to be the least Circumstances of immortal Bliss but in what its greatest Elevation consists never enter'd into the Heart of Man to concieve (sic).

Elizabeth did not describe Heaven in theological terms, but rather envisioned a rococo elysium where human love and earthly happiness continued without interruption or disillusionment. In her letter to Isaac Watts regarding the publication of the Devout Exercises she had written:

These unbounded desires, which the wide creation cannot limit, shall be satisfied for ever. I shall drink at the fountain-head of pleasure, and be refreshed with the emanations of original life and joy. I shall hear the voice of uncreated harmony speaking peace and ineffable consolation to my soul.

Thus, there does not appear to have been any sizable difference between her personal concept of paradise and her fictional portrayals of the spiritual realms. In a sense, literature and life were the same, the gap between fiction and reality was bridged. The "fictionalization" of metaphysical truths is indicative of her customary manner of thinking. Nature affording her some of her greatest joys on earth, her concept of perfect bliss was based on an idealized view of nature set in the invisible regions. This tendency in Elizabeth Rowe seems to be more than an artistic device for expressing religious beliefs; rather it was the literal representation of her own spiritual expectations.

In conclusion, this analysis shows that Mrs. Rowe felt herself attracted to piety and spirituality, while, at the same time, disposed towards the allurements of the sensible world. She was aware of a conflict between earthly passion and heavenly longing:

Faint are the efforts of my will,
And mortal passion charms my soul astray.
(Works, 1796, 141)

but was unable to resolve this duality, because the rational faculty, which she prized so highly, played a minor role in all her thoughts and actions:

I want to be interrupted; like Sancho, I cannot reason
long without some convenient pause and intermission…
(Works, 1796, 71)

Perhaps my Aversion to Gaming may proceed from the prejudices of Education (Puritanism), or a Natural Aversion to everything that looks like Fatigue & application of Thought.

(Alnwick 110, 159)

This intellectual indolence suggests that though she desired to be "a reasonable creature," she was, nevertheless, emotionally high-strung and, consequently, just as easily fell into raptures over a piece of sentimental poetry as over a magnificent theatrical spectacle or an intense devotion.

This emotional bias of her personality was noted by Theophilus Rowe when he alluded to the "unusual sprightliness in her temper,"¹⁸ and Wright captured the essence of her character when he referred to her as "a puritan Sappho."¹⁹ The life affixed to a London edition of the Devout Exercises (1811) made the following discerning remarks: "We must confess she was a woman of uncommon ideas; for in her contemplating the perfections of Deity, as held forth in the covenant of redemption, she seems to affix no rule to taste or genius. Transported with joy and delight, she seems almost to travel to heaven to fetch new ideas. Warm herself with her one subject, she warms and ravishes her reader. She was happily blessed with a corrective for overheated enthusiastic extravagances, by having as a counterpoise to an embellished fancy, a strong understanding."²⁰

Following the spontaneous dictates of her emotions, Elizabeth's thoughts took the form of poetic rhapsodies in which she depicted successively the soaring of her joyful soul and the anxiety of her more pensive moods. She could just as easily turn to elevated as to mundane subjects, and treat both with equal enthusiasm. To counteract her unruly imagination, she attempted to concentrate her attention on pious and moral concerns, and to channel the ardency of her feelings into devotional writing. The Devout Exercises represents the most spontaneous outpourings of this emotional fervor.

I should be miserable, if my mind was always in that impertinent situation, that I find it, amidst the noise and amusements of this world; a train of inconsistent images, a succession of chimera's run through my imagination, without the least propriety or order. I could compare my head to nothing but the case of a raree-show; and if the figures had been visible, I might have entertained the mob with the ridiculous pageantry. How superior to these vanities are the satisfactions of reason and virtue! If religion is a cheat, let me be still deceived; let me indulge the gay delusion, and recreate my soul with the transporting expectation. Stand forth, ye glorious phantoms, and entertain my attention in all your visionary splendours! Let me be well deceived, and at least be happy till death shall put a period to the pleasing dream. Were the Christian's heaven as fabulous as the poet's Elysium, I would meet the height of human censure and contempt, rather than be undeceived and cured of the charming delirium. But the present pleasures of virtue are to me a full demonstration how bright its future reward must be.

(Works, 1796, 76)

The question can be raised in what sense Elizabeth Rowe may be considered an early romanticist. It has been shown that while she manifested great interest in natural beauty and conceived of nature as a state of purity, of "guiltless happiness," and seems to have rejected the evils of civilization and town life in the fashion of the eighteenth-century primitivists, she showed little sympathy for true rusticity and lower class life. Her pastoral characters are as unnatural as rococo porcelain figures. Nonetheless, she shared the pre-romanticists' love for natural settings, melancholy, and solitude:

If there is a spot on earth to which my imagination is fixed and inchanted, it is there (reference is to one of Lady Hertford's estates, possibly the Hermitage or Marlborough): I haunt the Grove, ascend the mount, trace the rivulets, and wander through every verdant walk. It is true, in my solitary caprices, I take full possession of the house and gardens, and banish every intelligent being from the place, except your Ladyship and the angels …

(Works, 1796, 101)

and there are many passages in her writings reminiscent of Young and Lady Winchilsea, as well as of the poets of the Graveyard School.

Further, she possessed an insatiable longing for the realms of infinity and immortality which sometimes approached that of the later romantics. Fairchild stated this condition in poetic terms when he wrote: "The serenely pensive twilight in which she moves is but the earthly shadow cast by the wings of an unattainable bliss."²¹ Her enthusiasm and lack of restraint, her emotional style and delight in the strange and awesome, as well as her uncommon subject matter, indicate she was a forerunner of the new school of poetry.

Although she is related to the classical tradition by the didactic nature of her compositions, she introduced a subjective tone in her works which was indicative of a new trend in poetic expression. Although an admirer and occasional imitator of Milton, her poetic style was, nonetheless, entrenched in the conventions of the age. Yet, her deviation from a consistent use of the rhymed couplet was a mark of the pre-romantic style.

The romantic poet frequently thought himself to be a special kind of bard or prophet, and if he did not actually create his own truth, he was often, at least, the discloser of hidden mysteries. Mrs. Rowe, though she did not consider herself a poetic prophetess, may be, nonetheless, considered to be related to this concept of the poet for she felt she had a moral mission to accomplish. All her important writings were motivated, certainly in part, by her need to communicate to others her own belief in the soul's immortality.

If not a true romanticist, Elizabeth Rowe, plainly, evinced tendencies in her life and works that have come to be associated with nascent eighteenth-century preromanticism….

Notes

…¹⁴ Hughes, The Gentle Hertford, pp. 178–180.

¹⁵Ibid., p. 223.

¹⁶Percy Family Letters and Papers, XXII, 100–101.

¹⁷ Hoxie Neale Fairchild, Religious Trends in English Poetry, 5 vols. (New York, 1949), I, 138.

¹⁸Miscellaneous Works, I, xii.

¹⁹ Thomas Wright, Isaac Watts, p. 200.

²⁰ Elizabeth Rowe, Devout Exercises of the Heart (London, 1811), p. xiii–xiv. It is obvious that the writer of this preface felt himself obliged to counterbalance his remarks on Mrs. Rowe's "embellished fancy" with a reference to her "strong understanding."

²¹ Fairchild, op. cit., I, 136….