Amelia Opie was born at Norwich, daughter of James Alderson, M.D. by whom she is buried.
In 1798 she married the painter John Opie; upon his death in 1807 she divided her time between Norwich, where she lived with her father, and London.
In 1825 she joined the Quakers, devoting herself to charitable causes.
Samuel Austin Allibone: "Amelia Opie (1769-1853), the daughter and only child of James Alderson, M.D., of Norwich, of which city she was a native, lost her mother in 1784, and, succeeding to her place as entertainer of the doctor's literary and musical guests, was early introduced to the society of which she was destined to become so distinguished an ornament. Her taste for letters thus stimulated by example, she soon ventured to contribute prose and poetical compositions to the columns of the (Norwich) Cabinet, the London Magazine, and other periodicals of less pretensions; and she even went so far as to publish anonymously a novel, bearing the excellent title of The Dangers of Coquetry. This moral production may have done much good, but certainly attracted little notice and perhaps less applause. In 1798 she married John Opie, the painter, and, on his death in 1807, returned to Norwich, where she remained unmarried for the rest of her life. In 1825 she renounced the Unitarian tenets in which she had been educated, and became a member of the Society of Friends, — adopting the garb, though not all the peculiar opinions, of that religious community. In all the relations of life she was truly amiable, and did not confine her benevolence of disposition to her immediate circle of friends" Critical Dictionary of English Literature (1858-71; 1882) 2:1458.
Twilight
by Amelia Opie
Friend of the pensive wanderer, Twilight, hail!
I joy to see thee roll thy sea of clouds
Athwart the crimson throne
Of the departing sun.
For then what various objects, dimly seen,
By wonder-working Fancy touch'd, acquire
An awe-inspiring air,
And urge Fear's hurried step.
Lo! thine attendant, the low-sailing bat,
Flaps his brown wing, begins his circling flight;
E'en Midnight's tuneful bird,
To hail thee, pours the strain.
I love thy simple garb; no brilliant stars
Adorn thy dusky vest, unlike to that
Worn by thy sister Night,
Save when she reigns in storms.
Nor canst thou boast the many-tinted robe
Worn by thy beauteous herald, dewy Eve,
Thine is a veil of grey,
Meet for the cloister'd maid.
Thou nurse of saddening thoughts, prolong thy stay,
Let me adore thee still! Eve's glowing grace,
Night's fire-embroider'd vest,
Alike displease my eye;
For I am Sorrow's child, and thy cold showers,
Thy mist-encircled forms, thy doubtful shapes,
Wake a responsive chord
Within my troubled soul.
For oh! to me futurity appears
Wrapt in a chilling veil of glooms and mists,
Nor seems one tint or star
To deck her furrow'd brow,
But slowly cross her path, imperfect shapes
Of danger, sorrow, frenzy, and despair,
Force their uneasy way,
And pale my cold, sunk cheek.
But see — the unwelcome moon unveils her head,
(Those hours are gone in which I hail'd her beams)
Distinctness spreads around,
And mimic day appears.
I loathe the cheerful sight, as still my fate,
O Twilight! bears a hue resembling thine;
And envy-struck, I shun
The scene I cannot share.
I'll to my couch, yet not alas to rest;
By artificial gloom I'll suit my soul,
And e'en from pity hide
My dim and sleepless eyes.
In 1798 she married the painter John Opie; upon his death in 1807 she divided her time between Norwich, where she lived with her father, and London.
In 1825 she joined the Quakers, devoting herself to charitable causes.
Samuel Austin Allibone: "Amelia Opie (1769-1853), the daughter and only child of James Alderson, M.D., of Norwich, of which city she was a native, lost her mother in 1784, and, succeeding to her place as entertainer of the doctor's literary and musical guests, was early introduced to the society of which she was destined to become so distinguished an ornament. Her taste for letters thus stimulated by example, she soon ventured to contribute prose and poetical compositions to the columns of the (Norwich) Cabinet, the London Magazine, and other periodicals of less pretensions; and she even went so far as to publish anonymously a novel, bearing the excellent title of The Dangers of Coquetry. This moral production may have done much good, but certainly attracted little notice and perhaps less applause. In 1798 she married John Opie, the painter, and, on his death in 1807, returned to Norwich, where she remained unmarried for the rest of her life. In 1825 she renounced the Unitarian tenets in which she had been educated, and became a member of the Society of Friends, — adopting the garb, though not all the peculiar opinions, of that religious community. In all the relations of life she was truly amiable, and did not confine her benevolence of disposition to her immediate circle of friends" Critical Dictionary of English Literature (1858-71; 1882) 2:1458.
Twilight
by Amelia Opie
Friend of the pensive wanderer, Twilight, hail!
I joy to see thee roll thy sea of clouds
Athwart the crimson throne
Of the departing sun.
For then what various objects, dimly seen,
By wonder-working Fancy touch'd, acquire
An awe-inspiring air,
And urge Fear's hurried step.
Lo! thine attendant, the low-sailing bat,
Flaps his brown wing, begins his circling flight;
E'en Midnight's tuneful bird,
To hail thee, pours the strain.
I love thy simple garb; no brilliant stars
Adorn thy dusky vest, unlike to that
Worn by thy sister Night,
Save when she reigns in storms.
Nor canst thou boast the many-tinted robe
Worn by thy beauteous herald, dewy Eve,
Thine is a veil of grey,
Meet for the cloister'd maid.
Thou nurse of saddening thoughts, prolong thy stay,
Let me adore thee still! Eve's glowing grace,
Night's fire-embroider'd vest,
Alike displease my eye;
For I am Sorrow's child, and thy cold showers,
Thy mist-encircled forms, thy doubtful shapes,
Wake a responsive chord
Within my troubled soul.
For oh! to me futurity appears
Wrapt in a chilling veil of glooms and mists,
Nor seems one tint or star
To deck her furrow'd brow,
But slowly cross her path, imperfect shapes
Of danger, sorrow, frenzy, and despair,
Force their uneasy way,
And pale my cold, sunk cheek.
But see — the unwelcome moon unveils her head,
(Those hours are gone in which I hail'd her beams)
Distinctness spreads around,
And mimic day appears.
I loathe the cheerful sight, as still my fate,
O Twilight! bears a hue resembling thine;
And envy-struck, I shun
The scene I cannot share.
I'll to my couch, yet not alas to rest;
By artificial gloom I'll suit my soul,
And e'en from pity hide
My dim and sleepless eyes.
Amelia Opie was born at Norwich, daughter of James Alderson, M.D. by whom she is buried.
In 1798 she married the painter John Opie; upon his death in 1807 she divided her time between Norwich, where she lived with her father, and London.
In 1825 she joined the Quakers, devoting herself to charitable causes.
Samuel Austin Allibone: "Amelia Opie (1769-1853), the daughter and only child of James Alderson, M.D., of Norwich, of which city she was a native, lost her mother in 1784, and, succeeding to her place as entertainer of the doctor's literary and musical guests, was early introduced to the society of which she was destined to become so distinguished an ornament. Her taste for letters thus stimulated by example, she soon ventured to contribute prose and poetical compositions to the columns of the (Norwich) Cabinet, the London Magazine, and other periodicals of less pretensions; and she even went so far as to publish anonymously a novel, bearing the excellent title of The Dangers of Coquetry. This moral production may have done much good, but certainly attracted little notice and perhaps less applause. In 1798 she married John Opie, the painter, and, on his death in 1807, returned to Norwich, where she remained unmarried for the rest of her life. In 1825 she renounced the Unitarian tenets in which she had been educated, and became a member of the Society of Friends, — adopting the garb, though not all the peculiar opinions, of that religious community. In all the relations of life she was truly amiable, and did not confine her benevolence of disposition to her immediate circle of friends" Critical Dictionary of English Literature (1858-71; 1882) 2:1458.
Twilight
by Amelia Opie
Friend of the pensive wanderer, Twilight, hail!
I joy to see thee roll thy sea of clouds
Athwart the crimson throne
Of the departing sun.
For then what various objects, dimly seen,
By wonder-working Fancy touch'd, acquire
An awe-inspiring air,
And urge Fear's hurried step.
Lo! thine attendant, the low-sailing bat,
Flaps his brown wing, begins his circling flight;
E'en Midnight's tuneful bird,
To hail thee, pours the strain.
I love thy simple garb; no brilliant stars
Adorn thy dusky vest, unlike to that
Worn by thy sister Night,
Save when she reigns in storms.
Nor canst thou boast the many-tinted robe
Worn by thy beauteous herald, dewy Eve,
Thine is a veil of grey,
Meet for the cloister'd maid.
Thou nurse of saddening thoughts, prolong thy stay,
Let me adore thee still! Eve's glowing grace,
Night's fire-embroider'd vest,
Alike displease my eye;
For I am Sorrow's child, and thy cold showers,
Thy mist-encircled forms, thy doubtful shapes,
Wake a responsive chord
Within my troubled soul.
For oh! to me futurity appears
Wrapt in a chilling veil of glooms and mists,
Nor seems one tint or star
To deck her furrow'd brow,
But slowly cross her path, imperfect shapes
Of danger, sorrow, frenzy, and despair,
Force their uneasy way,
And pale my cold, sunk cheek.
But see — the unwelcome moon unveils her head,
(Those hours are gone in which I hail'd her beams)
Distinctness spreads around,
And mimic day appears.
I loathe the cheerful sight, as still my fate,
O Twilight! bears a hue resembling thine;
And envy-struck, I shun
The scene I cannot share.
I'll to my couch, yet not alas to rest;
By artificial gloom I'll suit my soul,
And e'en from pity hide
My dim and sleepless eyes.
In 1798 she married the painter John Opie; upon his death in 1807 she divided her time between Norwich, where she lived with her father, and London.
In 1825 she joined the Quakers, devoting herself to charitable causes.
Samuel Austin Allibone: "Amelia Opie (1769-1853), the daughter and only child of James Alderson, M.D., of Norwich, of which city she was a native, lost her mother in 1784, and, succeeding to her place as entertainer of the doctor's literary and musical guests, was early introduced to the society of which she was destined to become so distinguished an ornament. Her taste for letters thus stimulated by example, she soon ventured to contribute prose and poetical compositions to the columns of the (Norwich) Cabinet, the London Magazine, and other periodicals of less pretensions; and she even went so far as to publish anonymously a novel, bearing the excellent title of The Dangers of Coquetry. This moral production may have done much good, but certainly attracted little notice and perhaps less applause. In 1798 she married John Opie, the painter, and, on his death in 1807, returned to Norwich, where she remained unmarried for the rest of her life. In 1825 she renounced the Unitarian tenets in which she had been educated, and became a member of the Society of Friends, — adopting the garb, though not all the peculiar opinions, of that religious community. In all the relations of life she was truly amiable, and did not confine her benevolence of disposition to her immediate circle of friends" Critical Dictionary of English Literature (1858-71; 1882) 2:1458.
Twilight
by Amelia Opie
Friend of the pensive wanderer, Twilight, hail!
I joy to see thee roll thy sea of clouds
Athwart the crimson throne
Of the departing sun.
For then what various objects, dimly seen,
By wonder-working Fancy touch'd, acquire
An awe-inspiring air,
And urge Fear's hurried step.
Lo! thine attendant, the low-sailing bat,
Flaps his brown wing, begins his circling flight;
E'en Midnight's tuneful bird,
To hail thee, pours the strain.
I love thy simple garb; no brilliant stars
Adorn thy dusky vest, unlike to that
Worn by thy sister Night,
Save when she reigns in storms.
Nor canst thou boast the many-tinted robe
Worn by thy beauteous herald, dewy Eve,
Thine is a veil of grey,
Meet for the cloister'd maid.
Thou nurse of saddening thoughts, prolong thy stay,
Let me adore thee still! Eve's glowing grace,
Night's fire-embroider'd vest,
Alike displease my eye;
For I am Sorrow's child, and thy cold showers,
Thy mist-encircled forms, thy doubtful shapes,
Wake a responsive chord
Within my troubled soul.
For oh! to me futurity appears
Wrapt in a chilling veil of glooms and mists,
Nor seems one tint or star
To deck her furrow'd brow,
But slowly cross her path, imperfect shapes
Of danger, sorrow, frenzy, and despair,
Force their uneasy way,
And pale my cold, sunk cheek.
But see — the unwelcome moon unveils her head,
(Those hours are gone in which I hail'd her beams)
Distinctness spreads around,
And mimic day appears.
I loathe the cheerful sight, as still my fate,
O Twilight! bears a hue resembling thine;
And envy-struck, I shun
The scene I cannot share.
I'll to my couch, yet not alas to rest;
By artificial gloom I'll suit my soul,
And e'en from pity hide
My dim and sleepless eyes.
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