Anna Laetitia Barbauld

Delia, an Elegy

DELIA,
AN ELEGY.
---tecum ut longæ sociarem gaudia vitæ,

Tibullus epigraph

[CONTEXT] Barbauld quotes the Roman elegist Tibullus, who wrote about rural retirement with a beloved. She's claiming classical authority for her pastoral fantasy—this isn't just sentimental daydreaming, it's a recognized literary tradition.

Inque tuo caderet nostra senecta sinu.
Tibul.
YES, Delia loves! My fondest vows are blest;
Farewell the memory of her past disdain;
One kind relenting glance has heal'd my breast,
And balanc'd in a moment years of pain.
O'er her soft cheek consenting blushes move,

Blushes as proof

The speaker reads Delia's involuntary physical response as evidence of authentic love. Her body betrays what her words might hide—a common 18th-century assumption that women's emotions are readable on their faces.

And with kind stealth her secret soul betray;
Blushes, which usher in the morn of love,
Sure as the red'ning east foretels the day.
Her tender smiles shall pay me with delight
For many a bitter pang of jealous fear;
For many an anxious day, and sleepless night,
For many a stifled sigh, and silent tear.
Delia shall come, and bless my lone retreat;
She does not scorn the shepherd's lowly life;
She will not blush to leave the splendid seat,
And own the title of a poor man's wife.
The simple knot shall bind her gather'd hair,

Russet garment

Specific fabric choice signals humble status. Russet (coarse, undyed wool) was working-class clothing. The fantasy isn't just about love—it's about Delia abandoning wealth and status to join the speaker's poverty.

The russet garment clasp her lovely breast:
Delia shall mix amongst the rural fair,
By charms alone distinguish'd from the rest.
And meek Simplicity, neglected maid,
Shall bid my fair in native graces shine:
She, only she, shall lend her modest aid,
Chaste, sober priestess, at sweet beauty's shrine!

Simplicity as priestess

Personification of an abstract virtue. 'Simplicity' becomes a religious figure attending to beauty—Barbauld elevates rural plainness to sacred status, making it a moral good, not a lack.

How sweet to muse by murmuring springs reclin'd;
Or loitering careless in the shady grove,
Indulge the gentlest feelings of the mind,
And pity those who live to aught but love!
When Delia's hand unlocks her shining hair,
And o'er her shoulder spreads the flowing gold,
Base were the man who one bright tress would spare

India's ore comparison

Colonial wealth reference. A single hair is worth more than precious metals from empire—but the comparison assumes India's gold is 'coarser' and less valuable. Barbauld uses imperial hierarchy to measure love's value.

For all the ore of India's coarser mold.
By her dear side with what content I'd toil,
Patient of any labour in her sight;
Guide the slow plough, or turn the stubborn soil,
Till the last, ling'ring beam of doubtful light.
But softer tasks divide my Delia's hours;
To watch the firstlings at their harmless play;
With welcome shade to screen the languid flowers,
That sicken in the summer's parching ray.
Oft will she stoop amidst her evening walk,
With tender hand each bruised plant to rear;
To bind the drooping lily's broken stalk,
And nurse the blossoms of the infant year.
When beating rains forbid our feet to roam,
We'll shelter'd sit, and turn the storied page;

Storied page pivot

Shift from outdoor labor to reading together. The couple will consume stories about 'mad ambition' and 'ungovern'd rage'—tales of public power and passion—from their private retreat. They watch chaos from safety.

Storied page pivot

Shift from outdoor labor to reading together. The couple will consume stories about 'mad ambition' and 'ungovern'd rage'—tales of public power and passion—from their private retreat. They watch chaos from safety.

There see what pasions shake the lofty dome
With mad ambition or ungovern'd rage:
What headlong ruin oft involves the great;
What conscious terrors guilty bosoms prove;
What strange and sudden turns of adverse fate
Tear the sad virgin from her plighted love.
Delia shall read, and drop a gentle tear;
Then cast her eyes around the low-roof'd cot,
And own the fates have dealt more kindly here,
That bless'd with only love our little lot.
For love has sworn (I heard the awful vow)

Love as tyrant

Love 'scorns to share' what it cannot 'rule'—personified as a jealous deity with absolute demands. This isn't romantic; it's possessive. The speaker's heart is so 'fully blest' it has 'no room' for other joy, which sounds like confinement.

The wav'ring heart shall never be his care,
That stoops at any baser shrine to bow;
And what he cannot rule, he scorns to share.
My heart in Delia is so fully blest,
It has no room to lodge another joy;
My peace all leans upon that gentle breast,
And only there misfortune can annoy.
Our silent hours shall steal unmark'd away
In one long tender calm of rural peace;
And measure many a fair unblemish'd day
Of cheerful leisure and poetic ease.

World's scorn dismissed

The final stanza anticipates criticism—others will mock their poverty and obscurity. But Barbauld suggests only 'youth, for gentler passions born' will understand. She's dividing humanity into those capable of true love and those incapable.

The proud unfeeling world their lot shall scorn
Who 'midst inglorious shades can poorly dwell:
Yet if some youth, for gentler passions born,
Shall chance to wander near our lowly cell,
His feeling breast with purer flames shall glow;
And leaving pomp, and state, and cares behind,
Shall own the world has little to bestow
Where two fond hearts in equal love are join'd.
Source Wikipedia Poetry Foundation

Reading Notes

The Pastoral Retreat as Escape Fantasy

This elegy constructs an elaborate fantasy of rural withdrawal with a beloved—a standard 18th-century literary mode, but Barbauld's version is notably anxious about its own sustainability. The speaker doesn't simply celebrate retirement; he repeatedly defends it against imagined judgment ('The proud unfeeling world their lot shall scorn'). He's aware this fantasy is fragile.

The poem's structure reveals the fantasy's internal contradictions. Early stanzas promise equality and simple labor, but later sections show the speaker imagining Delia's work as decorative (watching flowers, reading) while he does the actual ploughing. His vision of rural peace depends on Delia's willingness to abandon her social position entirely—she must leave 'the splendid seat' and 'own the title of a poor man's wife.' The fantasy requires her sacrifice to work.

Barbauld also stages a subtle critique through what the couple reads together: stories of 'mad ambition' and 'ungovern'd rage' in 'lofty domes.' They consume narratives of public power and corruption from their private cottage, suggesting that their retreat is defined by what they've escaped. The pastoral isn't self-sufficient; it's parasitic on the world's chaos, which gives it meaning by contrast.

Love as Possession, Not Liberation

The poem's language of love reveals possessive rather than mutual desire. The speaker's 'heart in Delia is so fully blest, / It has no room to lodge another joy'—this isn't expansion but confinement. His peace 'all leans upon that gentle breast,' making Delia the sole source of his emotional stability. When love itself is personified, it appears as a tyrant: 'love has sworn...The wav'ring heart shall never be his care, / That stoops at any baser shrine to bow; / And what he cannot rule, he scorns to share.' Love demands absolute loyalty and will destroy what it cannot control.

Barbauld complicates the elegy form (traditionally a lament for loss or death) by making it a celebration of anticipated domestic life—but the emotional logic is elegiac. The speaker mourns his years of 'jealous fear' and 'sleepless night' before Delia's acceptance. His happiness is built on past suffering, which he's now repaid through her 'kind relenting glance.' The poem never questions whether this exchange—his pain for her compliance—is actually love or simply transaction.