WOMEN ROMANTIC POETS
by John H. Lienhard
Click here for audio of Episode 868.
Today, we meet the female side of Romantic poetry.
The University of Houston's College of Engineering
presents this series about the machines that make
our civilization run, and the people whose
ingenuity created them.
When I was much younger I
sang pieces from a book of old Scottish songs. One
But, it seems, the lord of Cockpen was
too proud for proper courting. Instead, he summoned
poor-but-respectible Mistress Jean to announce he
would marry her. She just laughed and said, "Na." The
lord of Cockpen was dumfounded. The song finishes
The laird o' Cockpen, he's proud an he's
His mind is ta'en up wi' things o' the State;
He wanted a wife his fine house to keep, ...
It turns out this incrimination of male
arrogance was written by an aristocrat -- Carolina
Nairne. She was one of many women poets writing
alongside Burns, Blake, Byron, and Coleridge.
An' aften he thought, as he rode through the
'She's daft to refuse the laird o' Cockpen.'
Those poets wove an odd web. They told us we create
reality by dreaming it. They loved nature because
nature is not just external reality. It is shaped
in our dreams. That notion touches engineers and
inventors with special poignancy, because we also
create realities out of our dreams. Dorothy
Wordsworth sounded that theme much the way her
famous brother might've done.
Still, 18th-century male domination was
stifling women's dreams, and they expressed anger.
Letitia Landon was downright vengeful when another
woman jilted her former lover:
Harmonious Powers with Nature work
On sky, earth, river, lake, and sea:
Charles Lamb's sister Mary suffered a
mental breakdown and murdered her own mother. She
took up writing during her recovery. Her poetry not
only attacked the institution of slavery. It flatly
spoke her, and our, need for reconciliation and
But this is fitting punishment,
to live and love in vain, --
O my wrung heart, be thou content,
and feed upon his pain.
These women treated the drama of their
male counterparts in an ironic, down-to-earth way.
They agreed that nature is shaped in the human soul.
But there was a lot less Victor Frankenstein in that
creative process. I think Mary Shelley understood as
clearly as anyone. Hear the simple force of her
lament on the early death of Percy Shelley:
... when distress
Does on poor human nature press,
We need not be too strict in seeing
The failings of a fellow being.
So these little-known women cast an odd
light on the creativity of the male Romantic poets.
They warn them -- as they warn us -- not to let our
inventive genius cut us off from the more commonplace
dimensions of the human heart.
There is an anguish in my Breast
A sorrow all undreamed, unguessed --
And but one thought remains to me
My heart's lone dull deep agony --
I'm John Lienhard, at the University of Houston,
where we're interested in the way inventive minds
Breen, J., Women Romantic Poets 1785-1832: An
Anthology. Rutland, VT: Charles E. Tuttle Co.,
Mellor, A.K., Mary Shelley: Her Life, Her
Fiction, Her Monsters. New York: Methuen,
I am grateful to Julie Price Hutchinson, Blue Rock
Books, Champaign, IL, for giving me the Breen book,
and to James Pipkin, Dean of Humanities and Fine
Arts, UH, for his counsel. During her lifetime,
Carolina Oliphant Nairne published her poetry under
the pseudonym Mrs. Bogan of Bogan. The actual text
of Nairne's poem is done in a pretty thick brogue,
which I've altered for the radio. The full poem
goes like this:
THE LAIRD O' COCKPEN
The laird o' Cockpen, he's proud an he's great, His
mind is ta'en up wi' things o' the State;
He wanted a wife his braw house to keep,
But favour wi' wooin' was fashious to seek.
Down by the dyke-side a lady did dwell,
At his table he thought she'd look well,
McClish's ae daughter o' Clavers-ha Lee,
A penniless lass wi'a land pedigree.
His wig was well pouther'd and as gude as new,
His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue;
He put on a ring, a sword, and cock'e hat,
And wha could refuse the laird wi' a' that?
He took the grey mare, and rade cannily,
An' rapp'd at the yett o' Clavers-ha Lee;
'Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben --
She's wanted to speak to the Laird o' Cockpen.'
Mistress Jean was makin' the elder-flower wine;
'An what brings the laird at sic a like time?'
She pat aff her aprin, and on her silk gown,
He mutch wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa' down.
An' when she cam' ben he boued fu' low,
An' what was his errand he soon let her know;
Amazed was the laird when the lady said, 'Na,'
And wi' a laigh curtsie she turned awa.'
Dumfounder'd was he, nae sigh did he gie,
He mounted his mare -- he rade cannily;
An' aften he thought, as he gaed through the
'She's daft to refuse the laird o' Cockpen.'
The Engines of Our Ingenuity is
Copyright © 1988-1997 by John H.
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