Little is known about Miss Evance, apart from two volumes of poetry, published in 1808 and 1818 respectively. Somewhere between these publications she married a Mr. Hooper, and it is suggested she had children, and a brother in the navy.
Although reviews of her first collection were favourable, the second volume received little attention and, sadly, she dropped out of sight - and was quickly forgotten.
Her first volume (1808) has an 'Advertisement by the editor', which reads:
TO introduce the following poems to the attention of the public, will require very few observations.- In the present day of literary light and liberality, it is a rare circumstance if merit of any kind long escape notice and approbation.- The sentiments diffused through the following compositions, as well as the style and language in which they are written, will, I conceive, at least please the ear; may they affect and amend the heart.
The melancholy strain of some pieces in the following collection, has a sanction in the mournful
Sonnets of Charlotte Smith; but this excess of feeling, though often highly interesting, ought to be seldom or never admitted.- I know of no situation in life in which it can be right to indulge the petrifying gloom of lonely wretchedness, or the deep horror of wild despair.- The afflictions which we are called to endure, are to be regarded by us as the acts of a merciful and affectionate Being, calculated to teach us important lessons of virtue, and to prepare us for a happier state of existence.
If the satisfaction and pleasure I have enjoyed in the perusal of these poems, shall, by their publication, be more generally diffused, I shall rejoice to have employed my influence in bringing them before the public.
JAMES CLARKE.Organford- Dorset,
20th Oct.1808
PALE ruthless Demon! terrible Despair!
Whose step is horror, and whose voice is death!
Thou rid'st on blasts that rend the midnight air,
Mingling with wintry storms thy baleful breath.
...
IN the lone hall my harp is hung,
While dusky twilight reigns around;
I hear light fingers o'er it flung,
They wake a sad and solemn sound.
...
FAREWELL seducing Hope! no more
Upon thy pinions wild I soar;
No more pursue thy sportive train
Through lovely Fancy's flowery maze,
...
SOFT as the dews of weeping Night
Fall on the bosom of the Rose,
Soft as the summer zephyr's flight,
When sighing thro' the leaves it blows; -
...