Cedmond.
(This poem introduces Tweddell’s chapter on Cadmon in his book The Bards and Authors of Cleveland and South Durham 1872. You can down load the book on the Tweddell Hub here http://georgemarkhamtweddell.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/bards-and-authors-of-cleveland-and.html
and in Old Cleveland by WH Burnett – here http://georgemarkhamtweddell.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/old-cleveland-local-writers-and-local.html

“The old Brigantes from our bosky brooks
And heather-covered hills far were driven;
The Roman legions had been call’d away
From Britain’s isle, to cross their swords with men
Who, rear’d in savage wilds, had over-run 5
Fair Italy, and sought to rule the world;
The hardy Saxons, from Teutonic woods,
Had made our shores their own, and fixed their feet
So firmly on the sod, that nought could shake
Their footsteps from our soil; when he arose, 10
Cedmon, the humble herdsman of the swine
That fed on mast of Cleveland’s oaks and beeches,
Or tended beeves that then were wont to graze
In Cleveland’s pastures. He heard old ocean
Dash his wild waves in fury at his feet 15
Of Cleveland’s Iron cliffs, and saw them foam
As if with rage,—anon lie sleeping on
Our silver sands, their motion as serene
As maiden’s breasts, which merely heave with breathing;
He saw the morning sun rise in its beauty, 20
Shine in its glory, and in splendour set;
The moon and stars for him adorn’d the night,
As they had done for Homer; flowers came forth
In all their rustic beauty at his feet;
And birds and bees made music for his ears; 25
And he became—a poet!”

George Markham Tweddell
[Bards and Authors p. 21, under ‘Peter Proletarius’]

To the Rev. E.G. Charlesworth
Vicar of Acklam and Author of “Ecce Christus,” &c
(Composed whilst Smoking and Evening Pipe of some Choice Tobacco,

which he had considerately sent me, as “a Christmas Present.”


Some, Friend and brother Bard, would call it Sin
For thee to encourage Smoking: they would let
Poor Poets o’er a thousand troubles fret,
And break the Pipes that soothe them. There is in
The “fragrant weed,” when it is rightly used, 5
An innocent pleasure, which they never knew,
That to the o’ertasked brain brings solace true;
Though, like all other bounties, oft abused.
All Evil is mis-use of something Good;
And every Good Thing in excess is Bad! 10
That which in moderation most will add
To human happiness, poisons the blood
When over-indulged in; and the Passions we
Allow to master us alone bring Misery.

George Markham Tweddell


Book by
Rev. E.G. Charlesworth
http://www.ebooksread.com/authors-eng/edward-lamplough/yorkshire-battles-ala/1-yorkshire-battles-ala.shtml

Edward Marsh Heaviside
(Born at Stockton-on-Tees, November 20th 1820; resided at Stokesley

four years, 1843-47, of which place his Mother was a native, and here
he composed and published his “Songs of the Heart, the Meeting of
the Minstrels, and Miscellaneous Poems,” 1845; and Died at his
native place, of Asiatic Cholera, September 6th 1849, Æ 28 Years.)


Son of a sterling Bard, himself as true
A Poet as e’er felt the inspiration;
Cut off from earth ere half his neighbours knew
Their Minstrel’s manly worth; yet will our nation
Honour his name, as one who laboured well 5
To spread the light of poësy o’er the land;
And they who knew the Man, will ofttimes tell
Of all his virtues. Ye who understand
The Poet’s art divine; will comprehend
The claims of genius; deem not a friend 10
Too partial claims a merit more than due.
I knew his soul, and much it long’d to give
To earth a treasure that for aye might live;
And so he gave us Poems as musically sweet as true.

E. M. Heaviside’s Flute.
“Like the old English Minstrels and provencal Troubadours,
our Poet was equally distinguished as a Musician; and they
who but once had the pleasure of listening to his sweet
performance on the German Flute, will not soon forget his
pleasing strains. But he was taken from us ere half his talents
were fairly developed”.—PETER PROLETARIUS.


’T is forty years since last I heard the Flute,
Breathed by the Poet’s lips, whilst Music came
Forth, as he touched its keys, to raise the flame
Of patriotism,—or, like an Aeolian lute,
Breathed by the lips of zephyrs, rendered mute 5
The soul, subdued to silence by the power
Of too much feeling in that sacred hour
When finest senses all were too acute
For aught save tears. And yet at times I seem
To clearly listen to its tones once more, 10
As I so loved to do in days of yore,
And cannot rouse me from my waking dream:
Yea, do not wish,—for Recollection then
Seems to restore him to my hearth again!

George Markham Tweddell


Read more about Edward Marsh Heavisides in W.H. Burnett’s Old Cleveland – Local Writers and Local Poets – which can be downloaded on the Tweddell Hub. http://georgemarkhamtweddell.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/old-cleveland-local-writers-and-local.html

And more about his father Henry Heavisides – here http://georgemarkhamtweddell.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/henry-heaviside-stockton-printer.html

Read on Line or download EM Heaviside‘s book The Poetical and prose remains of EM Heavisides – here
http://archive.org/details/poeticalandprose00heavuoft

In Bards and Authors of Cleveland and South Durham – GM Tweddell wrote about Stockton poet TJ Cleaver – The intro to EM Heavisides book contains a poem by him about EM Heaviside here –

Richard Wright Proctor (“Sylvan”)
(Born in Salford in December, 1816; Died in Long Millgate,

Manchester, September 11th, 1881.)

I
A genuine lover of all rural life,
Fitted, methinks, with dryads well to mate,
In city close pent up, was a hard fate
For such a sylvan soul. How much at strife
Were inclination and the pressing need 5
Of earning bread! Well loved he the green fields
And wildflowers gay; songs such as the throstle yields
Singing uncaged: each tree, bush, herb, and weed;
The whimpling brooks; the mountains, and the dales,
All charm’d him with their beauty: but instead 10
Of a bucolic life, the one he led
Was that pent up where Commerce closely jails
Her slaves as prisoners. Yet, even there,
His gentle heart ne’er bow’d down to Despair.

II
’T is not alone on banks of bosky streams— 15
In dells or woodlands—by old Ocean’s shore—
On the hill tops—on battle-fields of yore—
Or where some ruin’d castle or abbey gleams
In beauty, lit by Sol’s or Luna’s beams—
That Poësy is found. 20
’T is true that these to her are hallow’d ground;
But where’er human hearts beat, there she deems
Is her fit dwelling-place. My dear friend knew
That not one street of Manchester but teems
With history and romance, beyond the dreams 25
Of all her gifted bards,—and so he drew
These unto him, till he became, perchance,
The only man to give them fitting utterance.

George Markham Tweddell




Protor writes about many of the poets that GM Tweddell knew in his Manchester book – John Critchley Prince, James Montgomery, Rogerson etc.


From http://www.mancuniensis.info/Chronology/Chronology1881FPX.htm“11th. September Sunday
Mr. Richard Wright Procter, barber and author, died at his residence, Long Millgate, on September 11. He was born in Salford on December 19, 1816, and at ten years of age was apprenticed to a barber. In this business he remained all his life. In 1840 he endeavoured to improve his income by establishing a circulating library in the house in which he lived. His first attempts in authorship were some verses which he sent to the Manchester and Salford Advertiser under the assumed name of “Sylvan.” In 1855 he issued a volume named Gems of Thought and Flowers of Fancy, and shortly afterwards a book of much pure humour entitled The Barber’s Shop. In 1860 appeared his Literary Reminiscences; in 1862, Our Turf, Stage, and Ring; in 1866, Manchester in Holiday Dress; in 1874, Manchester Streets; and in 1880, Bygone Manchester. His quiet and kindly disposition won him deserved respect. There is a biographical sketch of him by Mr. W. E. A. Axon prefixed to the second and posthumous edition of the Barber’s Shop.”

Memorials of Manchester Streets,’ 1874 can be downloaded or read on line here – 

http://archive.org/details/memorialsbygone00procgoog

From Wiki – here – http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Procter,_Richard_Wright_(DNB00)
“PROCTER, RICHARD WRIGHT (1816-1881), author, son of Thomas Procter, was bom of poor parents in Paradise Vale, Salford, Lancashire, on 19 Dec. 1816. When very young he bought books and sent poetical contributions to the local press. In due time he set up in business for himself as a barber—the trade to which he had been apprenticed—in Long-Millgate, Manchester. Part of the shop was used by him for a cheap circulating library. In this dismal city street he remained to the end of his days. When his shyness was overcome, he was found to be, like his books, full of geniality, curious information, and gentle humour. In 1842 he was associated with Bamford, Prince, Rogerson, and other local poets in some interesting meetings held at an inn, afterwards styled the ‘Poet’s Corner,’ and he contributed to a volume of verse entitled ‘Festive Wreath,’ which was an outcome of these gatherings. He also had some pieces in the ‘City Muse,’ edited by William Reid, 1853. He died at 133 Long-Millgate, Manchester, on 11 Sept. 1881, and was buried at St. Luke’s, Cheetham Hill. He married, in 1840, Eliza Waddington, who predeceased him, and left five sons.

He published:
‘Gems of Thought and Flowers of Fancy,’ 1855, 12mo; a volume of poetical selections, of which the first and last pieces are by himself.
‘The Barber’s Shop, with illustrations by William Morton,’ 1856,8vo; containing admirably written sketches of the odd characters he met. A second edition incorporated much lore relating to hairdressing and to notable barbers, published, with a memoir by W. E. A. Axon, 1883.
‘Literary Reminiscences and Gleaning with Illustrations,’ 1860, 8vo; devoted chiefly to Lancashire poets.
‘Our Turf, our Stage, and our Ring,’ 1862, 8vo; being historical sketches of racing and sporting life in Manchester.
‘Manchester in Holiday Dress,’ 1866, 8vo; notices of theatres and other amusements in Manchester, prior to 1810.
‘Memorials of Manchester Streets,’ 1874, 8vo and 4to.
‘Memorials of Bygone Manchester, with Glimpses of the Environs,’ 1880, 4to.”

John Bolton Rogerson.
(Born in Manchester, where he resided nearly all his life, January
20th, 1809; Died at the Isle-of-Man, October 15th, 1859, Æ 50 years.)

I
I often think of thee, dear ROGERSON!
And of the happy hours we spent together,
With sunshine in our hearts whate’er the weather;
Talking of Bards that from the earth were gone,
But whose sweet songs still solace many a soul. 5
For both our minds were steep’d in poësy,
And we had love for that philosophy
Which teaches us our actions to control.
And when I saw thee dire afflictions bear
With Christian resignation, thou to me 10
Set an example how to follow thee
In life’s most trying hours. I can compare
Thee only to the wise in days of old,
And warmly in my memory thee enfold.
II
But though on earth we two no more must meet, 15
In “flow of soul” to pass the fleeting hours,
Loving to linger in the Muses’ bowers,
Reluctant from them ever to retreat,
Yet in thy Works we seem to meet again;
For Rhyme, Romance, and Revelry are there, 20
And sound Philosophy for all the share;
But not one word to cause the virtuous pain,
Or bring a blush of shame on maiden’s cheek:
For we though knew that they who wield the pen
Should seek to elevate their fellow-men,
And make all women kindly, pure, and meek.
Thy life and conversation were the same, 25
And hence through all my years I honour thy dear name.

George Markham Tweddell


“15th. October Saturday
Mr. John Bolton Rogerson died in the Isle of Man, October 15th. He was born at Manchester, January 20, 1809, and was for many years a leading spirit in the literary coteries of the city. He wrote Rhyme, Romance, and Reverie, 1840; A Voice from the Town, 1842; Musings in Many Moods, 1859, and other poetical works. There is a portrait of him in Procter’s Literary Reminiscences.” From http://www.mancuniensis.info/Chronology/Chronology1859FPX.htm

From http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Rogerson,_John_Bolton_(DNB00) – Read more on that site...
“ROGERSON, JOHN BOLTON (1809–1859), poet, was born at Manchester on 20 Jan. 1809. At the age of thirteen he left school and began work in a mercantile firm, but was afterwards placed with a solicitor. Law being distasteful, he opened in 1834 a bookshop in Manchester, which he carried on until 1841. The next few years were devoted to literary work, and in 1849 he was appointed registrar of the Manchester cemetery at Harpurhey. He was a clever amateur actor, was president for some years of the Manchester Shakespearean Society, and was for a short time on the staff of the Manchester Theatre Royal. In youth he had written a play in three acts, called ‘The Baron of Manchester,’ which was produced at a local theatre. He also lectured on literary and educational subjects.

From early years he was an eager, desultory reader, and soon became a writer of verse, but had enough discretion to destroy most of his juvenile efforts. He first appeared in print in 1826 in the ‘Manchester Guardian,’ and in the following year wrote for the ‘Liverpool Kaleidoscope.’ In 1828 he joined John Hewitt in editing the ‘Phœnix, or Manchester Literary Journal,’ a creditable performance, which lasted only a few months. He was joint-editor of the ‘Falcon, or Journal of Literature,’ Manchester, 1831; and edited the ‘Oddfellows’ Magazine’ from 1841 to 1848; the ‘Chaplet, a Poetical Offering for the Lyceum Bazaar,’ 1841, and the ‘Festive Wreath,’ 1842 (both published at Manchester).”

William Wordsworth.
(Born at Cockermouth in Cumberland, April 7th, 1770; partly Educated at Hawkshead, in Furness; Died at Rydal Mount, April 23rd, and was Buried in Grasmere Churchyard, Westmoreland, April 27th, 1850.)

Through a long life our WORDSWORTH bravely strove
To bring man back to Nature. She to him
Was a true mother,—not an ogre grim
To shun or to despise. In dell or grove—
Upon the mountain—in the rustic lane— 5
By river or by mere—in cottage home—
Wherever in his musings he might roam,
He found inspiration to sustain
His Muse in giving to his fellow-men
A truer taste of all that’s good and fair; 10
Teaching a wisdom which is all too rare,
And ever has been, in all lands. His pen
Was a most potent sceptre, and his reign
O’er willing subjects will for aye remain.

George Markham Tweddell

Ebenezer Elliot.
(Sonnets I. & II., first published Dec. 15th 1849, were written on

hearing of the Death of my esteemed Literary Correspondent, who I
was to have visited in his “Den,” as he humorously called his retired
abode at Hargitt Hill. Born at Masborough, March 17th, 1781; resided
for the greater part of his long and useful Life at Sheffield; and Died
at Hargitt Hill, near Great Houghton, Dec. 1st, 1849.)

I
And he is dead!—the Bard who sweetly sung,
In stirring strains, the wrongs of bread-tax’d men;
And for the rights of Labour used his pen
Unceasingly. Few lyres have louder rung
For equal rights, and equal laws for all: 5
A million hearts obey’d his patriot-call,
A million tongues have echoed all its strains;
And whilst one wrong remains to be redress’d,
Whilst man by fellow-man is still oppress’d,
Yea, whilst one word of SHAKSPEAR’s tongue remains, 10
Will ELLIOT be adored. Much was he bless’d
With that calm spirit which on hills and plains,
By brooks, in woods, field-paths, or rustic lanes,
From Mammon’s gyves the Poet’s soul unchains.

II
But he is dead—all of him that can die! 15
For the true poet liveth on for aye:
Of ELLIOT but the body can decay;
His well-tried soul has now soar’d up on high.
To swell the choir of angel-harmony,
And yet his spirit will on earth remain, 20
And down the stream of Time his songs be borne,
To cheer the weak, to solace those in pain,
To teach the patriot he ne’er toils in vain,
Though tyrants for a time may bind the world!
For Freedom will her long-lost rights regain, 25
And Tyranny to ruin swift be furl’d.
Class-legislator, partial magistrate,
Ye were the objects of his sternest hate.

III
Thy who are truest heroes in the strife
For Liberty, are the most meek of men 30
When peace prevails: and ELLIOT’s powerful pen
Loves to depict all gentle scenes of life,
And soothe the soul as much as rouse its ire.
Dearly he doted on wildflowers and birds;
Deftly his well-skill’d hand swept the sweet chords, 35
Bringing true music from his noble lyre,
E’en when the hand of Death had gripp’d him hard,
And his brave life was near upon its close
On earth for ever, at his window rose
The robin’s much-loved song; ’t was then the Bard 40
Trill’d his last lay, by loving hand writ down,
And in a little time his soul to heaven had flown.

George Markham Tweddell


The excellent Ebenezer Elliott site well worth a visit with biography and his poems http://www.judandk.force9.co.uk/elly.htm

They say of Tweddell’s tribute
“Tweddell sums up the Corn Law Rhymer very well in the first two sonnets which make an excellent tribute to the Rabble’s Poet. The third sonnet refers to the touching poem about a robin which Elliott composed on his death bed: “Last Lines” was dictated to his daughter, Fanny Ann.”

And also a page about the links between Ebenezer Elliott ( The Corn Law Rhymer & Poet of the Poor) and George Markham Tweddell. http://www.judandk.force9.co.uk/Tweddell.html

To The Bramble Flower” by Ebenezer Elliott

Brave Elliott loved “thy satin-threaded flowers,”
Dear Bramble! All who appreciate those things
Of beauty which Nature as largess flings
So freely over valleys, plains, and moors,
Must share the Corn Law Rhymer’s healthy love.
And who in Autumn does not like to taste
Thy pleasant Dewberries? There is no waste
Throughout the universe; for all things move
In strict obedience to the unchanging laws
Wisely laid down by Him who cannot err;
And He alone is His true worshipper
Who studies to obey them. The Great First Cause
Adorns our very brakes with fruit and flowers, –
As if to teach us all that happiness may be ours.

Mark Akenside.
(Born at Newcastle-on-Tyne, November 9th, 1721;

Died in London, June 23rd, 1770.)


Imagination need not stretch her wings
To flee away from Reason’s stern control,
To feel how AKENSIDE can lead the soul
To highest tastes: for he o’er all things flings
No wicked glamour; but he nobly sings 5
In classic strains of purest poësy,
All that can cherish truest liberty.
Seems it as though some Greek had struck the strings
Of AKENSIDE’s sweet lyre. We feel to rove
With Pericles or Plato hand in hand. 10
Would every poet took as true a stand,
And show’d as wise and energetic love
Of all that’s pure and fit for bard to sing,—
Then Earth would cease her constant sorrowing.

George Markham Tweddell


Mark Akenside (9 November 1721 – 23 June 1770) was an English poet and physician. Akenside was born at Newcastle upon Tyne, England, the son of a butcher. He was slightly lame all his life from a wound he received as a child from his father’s cleaver. All his relations were Dissenters, and, after attending the Royal Free Grammar School of Newcastle, and a dissenting academy in the town, he was sent in 1739 to Edinburgh to study theology with a view to becoming a minister, his expenses being paid from a special fund set aside by the dissenting community for the education of their pastors. He had already contributed The Virtuoso, in imitation of Spenser’s style and stanza (1737) to the Gentleman’s Magazine, and in 1738 A British Philippic, occasioned by the Insults of the Spaniards, and the present Preparations for War (also published separately). His politics, said Dr. Samuel Johnson, were characterized by an “impetuous eagerness to subvert and confound, with very little care what shall be established,” and he is caricatured in the republican doctor of Tobias Smollett’s The Adventures of Peregrine Pickle. He was elected a member of the Medical Society of Edinburgh in 1740. His ambitions already lay outside his profession, and his gifts as a speaker made him hope one day to enter Parliament. In 1740, he printed his Ode on the Winter Solstice in a small volume of poems. In 1741, he left Edinburgh for Newcastle and began to call himself surgeon, though it is doubtful whether he practised, and from the next year dates his lifelong friendship with Jeremiah Dyson (1722–1776). During a visit to Morpeth in 1738, Akenside had the idea for his didactic poem, The Pleasures of the Imagination, which was well received and later desecribed as ‘of great beauty in its richness of description and language’, and was also subsequently translated into more than one foreign language. He had already acquired a considerable literary reputation when he came to London about the end of 1743 and offered the work to Robert Dodsley for £120. Dodsley thought the price exorbitant, and only accepted the terms after submitting the manuscript to Alexander Pope, who assured him that this was “no everyday writer”. The three books of this poem appeared in January 1744. His aim, Akenside tells us in the preface, was “not so much to give formal precepts, or enter into the way of direct argumentation, as, by exhibiting the most engaging prospects of nature, to enlarge and harmonize the imagination, and by that means insensibly dispose the minds of men to a similar taste and habit of thinking in religion, morals and civil life”. His powers fell short of this ambition; his imagination was not brilliant enough to surmount the difficulties inherent in a poem dealing so largely with abstractions; but the work was well received. Thomas Gray wrote to Thomas Warton that it was “above the middling”, but “often obscure and unintelligible and too much infected with the Hutchinson jargon”. Read more here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mark_Akenside

Robert Southey.


(Born at Bristol, August 1st, 1774; Died at Greta Hall near Keswick, March
21st, 1843, after a residence of Thirty-Nine Years in the Lake District.)

SOUTHEY, ’t is most thy early verse I love,
Full of old lore, and musical to me
As songs of birds, or hum of humble bee;
Written before thou didst a recreant prove
To the grand cause of Human Liberty. 5
Strange that thou ever could’st degrade thy mind—
So well-inform’d, so studious and refined—
As unto Tyranny to bend the knee!
Thy industry was marvellous; thy heart
Kind to thy fellows; imagination too 10
Was fertile with thee; but thou knew not how
The feelings to control—no small part
Of the true poet’s duty: yet must we
Pay homage to thee for thy earliest poetry.

George Markham Tweddell


Robert Southey “12 August 1774 – 21 March 1843) was an English poet of the Romantic school, one of the so-called “Lake Poets”, and Poet Laureate for 30 years from 1813 to his death in 1843. Although his fame has been long eclipsed by that of his contemporaries and friends William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Southey’s verse still enjoys some popularity. Moreover, Southey was a prolific letter writer, literary scholar, essay writer, historian and biographer. His biographies include the life and works of John Bunyan, John Wesley,William Cowper, Oliver Cromwell and Horatio Nelson.Perhaps his most enduring contribution to literary history is the children’s classic The Story of the Three Bears, the original Goldilocks story, which first saw print in Southey’s prose collection The Doctor.” Read more here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Southey

“Pantisocracy (from the Greek “πάν” and “ισοκρατία” meaning “equal or level government by/for all”) was a utopian scheme devised in 1794 by the poets Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Robert Southey for an egalitarian community. They originally intended to establish such a community on the banks of the Susquehanna River in the United States, but by 1795 Southey had doubts about the viability of this and proposed moving the project to Wales. The two men were unable to agree on the location, causing the project to collapse.