Anna Williams

The other evening, I was happily plowing my way through an overview of British History, when I came across a brief chapter on Samuel Johnson. Towards the end of the chapter, we learn that after the death of his wife, Johnson filled his house with what seemed like a happy bunch of misfits including "blind, ill-tempered poet, Anna Williams."

What a way to go down in history, I thought.

Anna Williams (1706-1783) is, so far as I've found, out of print. There seems to have been one collection of her work put out during her lifetime, Miscellanies, published in 1766.

I was able to rustle up a copy today over lunch and had a quick peruse. At first glance, much of it seems worthy of having been left to the side of the canon, but this one struck me as interesting, at first simply due to the subject matter, but also the sentiment behind it.

On the DEATH of STEPHEN GREY, F. R. S.
The Author of The Present Doctrine of ELECTRICITY

Long hast thou born the burthen of the day,
Thy task is ended, venerable Grey!
No more shall Art thy dext'rous hand require
To break the sleep of elemental fire;
To rouse the pow'rs that actuate Nature's frame,
The momentaneous shock, th'electrick flame,
The flame which first, weak pupil of thy lore,
I saw, condemn'd, alas! to see no more.

Now, hoary Sage, pursue thy happy flight,
With swifter motion haste to purer light,

Where Bacon waits with Newton and with Boyle
To hail thy genius, and applaud thy toil;
Where intuition breaks through time and space,
And mocks experiment's successive race;
Sees tardy Science toil at Nature's laws,
And wonders how th'effect obscures the cause.

Yet not to deep research or happy guess
Is ow'd the life of hope, the death of peace.
Unblest the man whom philosophick rage
Shall tempt to lose the Christian in the Sage;
Not Art but Goodness pour'd the sacred ray
That cheer'd the parting hour of humble Grey.