tfc ;..:..:. .... t __^________. THE WORKS OP COWPER AND THOMSON, ***/ INCLUDING MANY .NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED IN THIS COUNTRY WITH NEW AND INTERESTING MEMOIR OF THE COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME PHILADELPHIA: LIPPING OTT, GRAMBO & CO., SUCCESSORS TO GRIGG, ELLIOT & CO., No. 14, NORTH FOURTH STREET. 1851. Prmtt'd l.y T. K. & I' (). Contents Page. l Sketch of the Lite of William Cowper, Esq. . TubleTalk, Progress of Error, ...... Truth, . . ?Py ''. Expostulation ....... Hope, Charity, Conversation, Retirement, ..*:.. Task, Book I. The Sofa, k-# - H. The Time-Piece, - Bl The Garden, - - V. IV. The Winter Evening, *-- V. The Winter Morning Walk, l^ "85 VL The Winter Walk at Noon, . 93 Epistle to Joseph Hill, Esq. 102 Tirocinium; or, a Re view of Schools, ... 103 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The Yearly Distress, or Tithing Time at Stock, in Essex, 112 Sonnet to Henry Cowper, Esq. ib. Lines addressed to Dr. Darwin, / 113 On Mrs. Mont^gu?s Feather Hangings, - . ib, Verses supposedto be written by Alexander Selkirk, On the Promgiini \ft Edward Thurlow, Esq. . -114 Ode to Peace, . x ib. Human Frailty, ". / ib. The Modern Patriot, 115 On observing some names of little note recorded in the ^"%iographia Britahnj^a, ib. Report of an adjudged case, noVto be found in any of the books, I - <* f .....' r ' : '. . . ib. On the burning of ^^Mansfield's library, . . 116 dJhXe same, ib. Throve of the world reproved. ib. ^I[On the death of Lady Thrrckmorton's Bulfinch, - . ib. r TheTlose,l^ - ^ . W. '.,.- . . .11? The Doves, ib. A Fable, 118 A Comparison, ....... j^. ib. Another, addressed to a young lady, W . ib. The Poet's New- Yeas's Gift, ib. Ode J> Apollo, 119 Pairing Time anticipated. A fable, .... ib. Dog and the Water Lily, * - 120 The Poet, the Oysteu and the Sensitive Plant, . . ib. The Shruooery, 121 The Winter Nosegay, ...... ib. Mutual forbearance nepessary to the happiness of the mar- ried state, 4arhe Negro's complaint, p v Pity for poor Africans, The Morning Dream, LThe Nightingale and Glow Worm,/-'*- "** - On a Goldfinch starved to death^p his cage, The ^Tfl^Syple andthe Bee, ...... Horace, Book 1L Odb X, A reflection on the foregoing ode, ..... The Lily and the Rose, l^f dem Latine Redditum, The Poplar field, \^ .... Idem Latine Redditum, Votum, ' - Translation of Prior's Chloe and Euphelia,. 3 ftThe history of John QUpin^^ * EpisUTtb an afflicted To the Rev. W. C. Unwin, ( To the Rev. Mr. Newton, Catharina, The Moralizer cbVrected, The FaiAful Bird, . ^ The Neeffless Alarm, /.; Boadicea, . Heroism, e receipt of my mother's picture out of Norfolk^ ~"I34 (khip, 135, O^mischievous Bull,* - ... 137 Annus Memorabilis, 1789, ...... ib. Hymn for the use of the Sunday School at Olney, - 138 Stanzas subjoined to a bill of mortality for the year 1787, ib. The same for 1788, 139 The same for 1789, ib. The same for 1790, - 140 The same for 1792, ib. The same for 1793, ib. .Epitaph on Mr. Hamilton, 141 Epitaphium Alterum, ib. Stanzas on the first publication of Sir Charles Grandison, 142 Address to Miss , on reading the Prayer for Indifference, ib. A Tale founded on a fact, 143 To the Rev. Mr. Newton, on his return from Ramsgate, ib. Poetical epistle to Lady Austen, 144 Song, written at the request of Lady Austen, - . 145 Verses from a poem entitled Valediction, ib. Epitaph on Johnson, ib. To Miss C , on her birth-day, ib. Gratitude, 145 The Flatting Mill, ib. To Mrs. Throckmorton, ib. On thalate indecent liberties taken with the remains of MUton, To Mrs. King, The Judgment of the Poets, .... Epitaph on Mrs. M. Higgins, of Weston, The Retired Cat, ....... To the Nightingale, 147 ib. ib. - 148 ib. 149 Sonnet to W. Wilberforce, Esq. ib. ib. . ib. - 150 . ib. ib. . ib. ib. 151 ib. fb. ib. ib. - 152- ib. 153 Epigram, - To Dr. Austin, ..... Sonnet, addressed to William Hayley, Esq. Catharina, Sonnet to George Romney, Esq. Qnjeceiving Hayley's picture, 9 plant of Virgin's-bower, . To my cousin, Anne Bodham, To Mrs. Unwin, To William Hayley, Esq. - On a Spaniel, called Beau, killing a bird, Beau's Reply,- 1 Jii_Mary, /,^- . . . * On the Ice Islands, .... way, ^ Translations from Vincent Bourne. L The Glow Worm, IL- The Jackdaw, - ib. 122 ib. 123 ib. 121 ib. ib. 12-5 ib. ib.kh J54 CONTENTS. } ,} Page IH. The Cricket/ .y 154 -IV. The Parrot, .... ?&:lTTff V. The Thracian, 155 VI. Reciprocal Kindness, ib VIL A Manual, ib VUI. An Enigma, 156 IX. Sparrows self-domesticated, ib X. Familiarity dangerous, 15 XL Invitation to the Red-breast, ib XIL Strada'sNiging4|* : .... ib Xm. Ode on the dejith of a Lady, - ib XIV. The Cause Won, .... 158 XV. The Silk Worm, ib XVI. The Innocent Thief, ib XVIL Denner's Old Woman, 159 XVIII. The Tears of a Painter, - $ ib XIX. The Maze, - - - . - Ib XX. No Sorrow peculiar to the Sufferer, ib XXL The Snail, ib. The Contrite Heart, 161 The Shining Light, ib Thirsting for God, - ib A Tale, . . . . .; . . ib Song on Peace, 16 Sonnet to John Johnson, 162 Inscription on a grove of Oaks, \ Love Abused, ib Memorial for Ashley Cowper, Esq. .... ib JTo the memory of John Thornton, Esq. . ib To a Young Friend, 163 To the memory of Dr. Lloyd, . Epitaph on Fop, a dog, ...'.. itr. LETTERS. Letter. 1763. 1 To Lady Hesketh. Journals of the House of Lords ; reflection on the singular temper of hia mind, Aug. 9 164 1765. B To Joseph Hill, Esq. Account of hia situation at Huntingdon, June 24 ib. 3 To Lady Hesketh. On his illness and subsequent recovery, July 1 165 4 To the same. Salutary effects of affliction on the hu- man mind, July 4 ib. 5 To the same. Account of Huntingdon; distance from his brother, &c. July 5 166 6 To the same. Newton's Treatise on the Prophecies ; reflections of Dr. Young on the truth of Christiani- ty, July 12 167 7 To the same. On the beauty and sublimity of scrip- tural language, Aug. 1 ib. 8 To the same. Pearsall's Meditations; definition of faith, Aug. 17 168 9 To the same. On a particular prpvidence ; experi- ence of mercy, &c, Sept. 4 169 10 To the same. First introduction to the Unwin fami- ly ; their characters, Sept. 14 170 11 To the same. On ^ thankfulness of the heart, its inequalities, &c. Oct. 10 ib. 12 To the same. Miss Unwin, her character and pie- ' ty, Oct. 18 ib. 13 To Major Cowper. Situation at Huntingdon; his perfect satisfaction, &c- \ Oct. 18 171 14 To Joseph Hill, Esq. On th^se who confine all me- rits to their own acquaintance, Oct. 25 172 1766. 15 To Lady Hesketh. On solitude ; on the desertion of his friends, March 6 ib, 16 To Mrs. Cowper. Mrs. Unwin and her son ; his cou- sin Martin Madan, March 12 173 Letter. 17 To the same. Letters the fruit of friendship; his conversion, April 4 173 18 To the same. The probability of knowing each other in a future state, April 17 174 19 To he same. On the recollection of earthly affairs by departed spirits, April 18 175 20 To the same. On the same subject; on his own state of body and mind, Sept 3 170 21 To the same. His manner of living ; reasons for his not taking orders, Oct. 20 177 1767. 22 To the same. Reflections arising from reading Mar- shall, March 11 ib. 23 To the same. Introduction of Mr. Unwin's son ; his gardening ; on Marshall, March 14 178 24 To the same. On the motive of his introducing Mr. Unwin's son to her, * April 3 ib. 25 To the same. Mr. Unwin's death; doubts concern- 4f ing his future abode, July 13 179 126 To Joseph Hill, Esq. Reflections arising from Mr. Unwin's death, July 16 ib 1768. 27 To the same. On the occurrences during his visit at StAlban's, July 16 ib. 1769. 28 To the same. On the difference of dispositions ; his love of retirement, 180 29 To Mrs. Cowper. His new situation; reasons for the insufficiency of the world to confer happiness, ib. 30 To Mrs. Cowper. The consolations of religion on the death of her husband, + * Aug. 31 ib. 1770. 31 To the same. Dangerous illness of his Brother, March 5 181 32 To the Rev. John Newton. Sickness and death of his brother, March 31 ib. 33 To J. Hill, Esq. Religious sentiments of his bro^ , ther, ' May 8 182 34 To Mrs. Cowper. The same subject, June 7 ib. 35 To J. Hill, Esq. Expression of his^ratitucfe for in- stances of friendship, . Sept. 25^183 36 To the Rev. William Unwin. The same subject;' of supplicatory letters, &c. June 8 ib. ^ 1779. 37 To the same. Johnson's Lives of the Poets, May 26 184 38 To the same. His hot-house ; tame pigeons ; visit to Gavhurst, Sept 21 ib. 39 To Mpsame. Johnson's biography ; his treatment of Milton, Oct. 31 ib. 40 To the same. Quick succession of human events ; modern patriotism, Dec. 2 185 1780. . 41 To the same. Burke's speech on the reformation; ^ Nightingale and Glow-worm, Feb. 27 ib. 42 To the Rev. J. Newton. On the danger of innova- tion, March 18 186 43 To the Rev. W. Unwin. On keeping the Sabbath, r- March 28 ib. 44 To the same. Pluralities in the Church, April 6 187 45 To the Rev. J.Newton. Distinction between a travel- ed man, and a travel^ gentleman, April 16 ib. 46 To the same. Serious reflections on rural scenery, May 3 188 47 To J. Hill, Esq. The Chancellor's (T w'' illnessj May 6 ib. 48 To the Rev. W. Unwin. His passion for landscape drawing ; modern politics, May 8 ib, 49. To Mrs. Cowper. On her brother's death, May 10 189 50 To the Rev. J. Newton. Pedantry 6f commenta- tors ; Dr. Bentley, &c. May 10 190 CONTENTS. Letter. Page. 61 To the Re?. W. Unwin. Danger of endeavouring to excel ; versification of a thought, June 8 190 62 To the Rev. J. Newton. On the riots in 1780 ; dan- ger of associations, June 12 19 53 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Latin verses on do. June 18 ib 54 To the same. Robertson's History ; Biographia Bri- tannica, June 22 192 55 To the Rev. J. Newton. Ingenuity of slander ; lace- makers' petition, June 23 ib 66 To the Rev. W. Unwin. To touch and retouch, the secret of good writing; an epitaph, July 2 193 57 To J. Hill, Esq. Recommendation of the lace-ma- kers' petition, July 8 194 58 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Translation of the Latin verses on the riots in 1780, July 11 ib. 59 To Mrs. Cowper. On the insensible progress of age, July 20 ib. 60 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Olney Bridge, July 27 195 61 To the Rev. J. Newton. A riddle, July 30 ib. 62 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Human nature not chan- ged ; a modern only an ancient in a different dress, Aug. 6 196 63 To the Rev. J. Newton. Escape of one of his hares, Aug. 21 ib. 64 To Mrs. Cowper. Lady Cowper's death; age a friend to the mind, Aug. 31 197 65 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Biographia; verses, par- son and clerk, ( Sept. 3 ib. 66 To the same. On education, Sept 7 198 67 To the same. Public schools, Sept. 17 199 68 To the same. On the same subject, Oct. 5 ib. 69 To Mrs. Newton. On Mr. Newton's arrival at Rams- gate, Oct. 5 200 70 To the Rev. W. Unwin. On a goldfinch starved to death in a cage, Nov. 9 ib. 71 To J. Hill, Esq. With the memorable law case be- tween nose and eyes, Dec. 25 201 72 To the Rev. W. Unwin. With the same, Dec. ib. 1781. 73 To J. Hill, Esq. On metrical law cases ; old age, Feb. 15 ib. 74 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Consolations on the asperi- ty of a critic, April 2 202 75 To the same. Publication of his first volume, May 1 ib. 76 To Joseph Hill, Esq. On the composition and pub- lication of his first volume, May 9 203 77 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Reasons for not showing his preface to Mr. Unwin, May 10 ib. 78 To the same. Delay of his publication ; Vincent Bourne and his poems, May 23 204 79 To the same. Correction of his proofs ; on his horse- manship, May 205 80 To the same. Mrs. Uuwin's criticisms; a distinguish- ing providence, June 5 ib. 81 To the same. On the design of his poems ; Mr. Un- win's bashfulness, t June 24 206 82 To the same. Thanks for some rugs ; on the fashion of wearing wigs, July 6 207 83 To the Rev. J. Newton. In rhyme ; on his poetry, July 12 ib. 84 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Duty of submitting to inju- ry ; story of an Abbe, July 29 208 85 To the same. His poem, Retirement ; Lady Aus- ten's fettling at Olney, Aug. 25 209 86 To the same. Brighton amusements ; his projected authorship, Oct. 6 ib. 87 To Mrs. Cowper. His first volume ; death of a friend, Oct. 19 210 88 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Brighton dissipation ; edu- cation of young Unwin, Nov. 5 211 Letter. 89 To the same. Origin and Page, of social feeling, Nov. 26 211 1782. 90 To the same. Johnson's characters of Prior and Pope, Jan. 5 212 91 To the same. Danger of criticism to the taste; young Unwin's education, Jan. 17 213 92 To the Rev. J. Newtoa His intended publication, Feb. 2 214 93 To the Rev. W. Unwin. On some verses of Lowth's ; on the origin of his c^respondence with Lady Austen, Feb. 9 215 94 To the Rev. J. Newton* Pleasures of Authorship, Feb. 16 216 Character of Caraccioli, ib. 95 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Mr. Newton's preface ; the dignity of authorshfb, Feb. 24 217 96 To Lord Thurlow. With his first volume of poems, Feb. 25 ib. 97 To the Rev. J. Newton. Thoughts on reproving kings, Feb. 218 98 To the same. Past and present politics, March 6 ib. 99 To the Ref . W. Unwin. On the newspapers, March 7 219 100 To the Rev. J. Newton. Mr. Newton's preface, and Johnson's criticisms, March 14 ib. 101 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Observations on religious characters, 220 102 To the same. On his own volume of poems ; on his letter to the chancellor, March 18 221 103 To the Rev. W. Bull, March 24 ib, 104 To the Rev. W. Unwin. On the same subject as Letter 102, April 1 222 105 To the same. The dignity of the Latin language ; on parenthesis, April 27 ib 106 To the same. Dr. Franklin's letter ; providential es- cape of Captain Cook, May 27 223 107 To the same. On the anxiety of an author, June 12 224 108 To the same. Dispensations of Providence, July 16 ib. 109 To the same. Account of a viper in the green-house ; poems of Madame Guion, Aug. 3 225 110 To Lady Austen. A billet and verses, Aug. 12 226 111 To the Rev. W. Bull, Oct. 27 227 112 To the Rev. W. Unwin. John Gilpin's feats, Nov. 4 ib. 113 To the same. On a charitable donation to the poor of Olney, Nov. 18 ib. 114 To the same. Dr. Beattie's translation of Madame Guion's poems, 223 115 To the Rev. W. .Unwin. Mr. 's charity and be- nevolence, Jaa 19 229 116 To the Rev. J. Newton. Nations act under the direc- tion of Providence, Feb. 8 ib. 117 To J. Hill, Esq. Favourable reception given to his poems, Feb. 13 & 20 ib. 118 To the same. Dr. Franklin's letter tAnscribed, Feb. 20 23C 119 To the same. Nations like antf; etching of the Chancellor (Thurlow,) ib. 120 To the Rev. J. Newton. Reflections on the illness of a friend, ^ I April 5 ib. 21 To the same. On simplicity in preaching, May 5 231 22 To the Rev. W. Unwin. On a sermon of Paley 's, May 12 10. 123 To J. Hill, Esq. Loss of friends ; a tax on long life, May 26 232 24 To the Rev. J. Newton. Death of Mrs. C. May 31 ib. 25 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Character of the Rev. Mr. Bullj June 8 ib. 26 To the Rev. J. Newton. On his ecclesiastical histo- ry ; remarkable mists, June 12 233 27 To the same. On religious zeal, June 17 231 VI CONTENTS. Letter. Page. 128 To the Rev. J. Newton. Translation of Mr. New ton's letter into Dutch, June 19 234 129 To the same. His love of home ; styles of Robertson and Gibbon, July 27 ib. 130 To the Rev. W. Bull, Aug. 3 235 131 To the Rev. W. Unwin. On ballads; anecdote of his goldfinch, Aug. 4 ib. 132 To the same. Madame Guion's poems, Sept 7 236 133 To the Rev. J. Newton. On his recovery from a fe- ver ; story of a clerk in a public office, Sept. 8 237 134 To the same. Description of a visit to Mr. * > Sept. 23 ib. 135 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Philosophers happ^; air balloons, Sept. 29 238 136 To the Rev. J. Newton. Tendency of the Gospel to promote the happiness of mankind, Oct. 6 239 137 To the same. On the American loyalists, Oct. 240 138 To J. Hill, Esq. Comforts of a winter evening, Oct 20 241 139 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Reflections on the unkind behaviour of acquaintance, Nov. 10 ib. 140 To the same. The same subject ; L'Estrange's Jo- sephus, Nov. 24 242 141 To the same. Account of Mr. and Mrs. Tlrockmor- ton, ib. 1784. M2 To the same. East India Company's Charter, Jaa 3 243 143 To the Rev. J. Newton. Departure of the old year, Jan. 18 244 144 To the Rev. W. Unwin. State of departed spirits, Jan. 245 145 To the Rev. J. Newton. On East India affairs ; Lines of Dr. Jortin translated, Jan. 25 246 146 To the same. Title and motto for a work of Mr. Newton's, Feb. ib. 147 To the same. Our forefathers not nervous ; Adam, as he appeared in a dream, Feb. 10 247 148 To the Rev. W. Bull, Feb. 22 248 149 To the Rev. J. Newton. Secret charity at Olney; parliamentary debates, Feb. ib. 150 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Difficulty in writing to strangers, Feb. 29 ib. 151 To the Rev. J. Newton. On the Theological Miscel- lany ; Caraccioli, March 8 249 152 To the same. Style and spirit of Mr. Newton's Apo- logy ; East India patronage, March 11 ib. 153 To the same. Works of Caraccioli, March 19 250 154 To the same. Visit of a Candidate, March 29 ib. 155 To the same. Danger of trifling with our Maker; earthquake in Calabria, April 251 156 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Bsattie and Blair; origin of language, April 5 252 157 To the same. Observations on Blair's Lectures,Apri 1 25 253 158 To the Rev. J. Newton. Difference of style between Beattie and Blair, April 26 ib. 159 To the Rev. W. Unwin. On face-painting, May 3 254 160 To the same. Declines writing a sequel to John Gil- pin, May 8 255 161 To the Rev. J. Newton. Dr. Johnson's favourable opinion of his poems, \ May 22 256 162 To the same. Same subject/ June 5 ib. 163 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Tax on candles, July 3 ib. 164 To the Rev. J. Newton. Mythology of the ancients ; new taxes, July 5 257 165 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Vincent Bourne ; Hume's Essay on Suicide, July 12 258 136 To the Rev. J. Newton. Madness sometimes hu- morous and sometimes whimsical, July 19 259 157 To the same. Pleasant situation of Lymington ; Mr. Gilpin, July 28 ib. >68 To the Rev. W. Unwin. On the inhabitants of the islands in the Pacific Ocean, * Aug. 14 260 Letter. 1 69 To the Rev. J. Newton. Captain Cook's last voyage, Aug. 16 260 170 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Publication of the Task, Sept 11 261 171 To J. Hill, Esq. Dr. Cotton truly a philosopher, Sept 11 262 172 To the Rev. J. Newton. Effect of sounds, Sept 18 ib. 173 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Punctuation of blank verse, Oct 2 263 174 To the Rev. J. Newton. On unconnected thoughts ; death of Captain Cook, Oct. 9 ib. 175 To the Rev. W. Unwin. The tendency of the Task, and of all his writings, Oct. 10 264 176 To the same. On his poem, Tirocinium, Oct. 20 265 177 To the Rev. J. Newton. Sandwich islanders, Oct. 30 266 178 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Reasons why an author may wish to keep his works secret, Nov. 1 267 179 To the Rev. W. Bull, Nov. 8 ib. 180 To Joseph Hill, Esq. On the death of his mother, Nov. 268 181 To the Rev. J. Newton. His poems, the Task and Tirocinium, Nov. 27 ib. 182 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Tirocinium, 1784, 269 133 To the same. His poems; picture of Lunardi, Nov. 29 ib. 184 To the Rev. J. Newton. On the titles to the different books of the Task, Dec. 13 270 185 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Inscription of Tirocinium ; compliment to Bishop Bagot, Dec. 18 271 186 To the Rev. J. Newton. On his poem being called the Task, Dec. 24 ib. 1785. 187 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Death of Dr. Johnson, and an epitaph on him, Jan. 15 272 188 To the Rev. W. Unwin. On two pmall poems, the Poplar Field and the Rose, Feb. 7 273 189 To the same. Reflections on the impatience of au- thors, March 20 ib. 190 To the same. Celebrity of John Gilpin, April 30 274 191 To J. Hill, Esq. Description of his boudoir at Ol- ney, June 25 275 192 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Account of a violent thun- der storm, July 27 ib. 193 To the same. Dr. Johnson's Journal, Aug. 27 276 194 To Lady Hesketh. On her return to England, Oct. 12 277 195 To the Rev. W. Unwia Translation of Homer, Oct. 22 278 196 To Lady Hesketh. Obligations to a friend not irk- some ; some account of his affairs, Nov. 9 ib, 197 To the same. Disinterestedness of his aflections, 280 198 To the Rev. Walter Bagot Bishop Bagot's charge, Nov. 9 ib. 199 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Publishing his Homer by subscription, Dec. 24 ib. 200 To J. Hill, Esq. Same subject, Dec. 24 281 201 To the Rev. W. Unwin. Same subject; anecdotes of the poor at Olney, Dec. 31 ib. 1786. 202 To Lady Hesketh. Correcting, his poems, Jan. 10 283 203 To the Rev. W. Unwia On his visiting Lady Hes- keth ; on Homer, Jan. 14 ib. 204 To the Rev. W. Bagot Translation of Honw, Jan. 15 283 205 To the same. Dr. Maty's opinion of the Task, Jan. 23 ib, 206 To Lady Hesketh. On receiving a snuff-box with portraits of his three toares, %an. 31 284 207 To the same. On her promised visit to Olney, Feb. 9 285 208 To the same. Vexations attendant on a variety of criticisms ; the Chancellor's promise, Feb. 11 ib. 209 To the same. On their expected meeting at Olney, Feb. 19 286 210 To the Rev. W. Bagot Death of Mrs. Bagot, Feb. 27 287 CONTENTS. Letter. Page. 211 To Lady Heeketh. Elisions in some instances allowa- ble, March 6 287 212 To the Rev. W. Unwin, On the translation of Ho- mer, March 13 288 213 To J. Hill, Esq. Same subject, April 5 289 214 To Lady Hesketh. On her postponing her visit ; de- scription of the vicarage, April 17 ib. 215 To the same. Her letters his comfort, April 24 290 216 To the same. Dr. Maty's critique on hia Homer; description of his own feelings^ May 8 ib. 217 To the same. Pain and pleasure* on the sight of a long-absent friend, fw May 15 292 218 To the Rev. W. Bagot Submission to the will of God ; Horace's advice to authors, May 20 293 219 To Lady Hesketh. Gives up meeting her at New- port; lines in the Task; state of his nerves, May 25 294 220 To the same. Beauties of the spring ; his spirits less depressed, May 29 295 221 To the same. His feelings on her expected arrival ; Mr. and Mrs. Throckmorton, June 4 and 5 296 222 To J. Hill, Esq. His time much occupied by Ho- mer; the Chancellor's illness, June 9 297 223 To the same. Lady Hesketh's visit, and the village of Weston, June 19 ib. 224 To the Rev. W. Unwin. The arrival of Lady Hes- keth; residence in Olney ; Latin books for young readers, July 3 ib. 225 To the Rev. W. Bagot Revisal of his Homer, July 4 298 226 To the Rev. W. Unwin. On his Homer, Aug. 24 299 227 To the same. On his compositions, ib. 228 To the same. His state of mind; verses to Miss C. on her birth-day, 300 229 To the same. On declining to write on a subject pro- posed to him, ib. 230 Letter-writing, illustrated by a simile in rhyme ; state of the nation, / 301 231 To the same. On his poem of the Lily and the Rose, ib. 232 To the same. ' The poet Churchill, ib. 233 To the same. First poetry, a translated elegy of Ti- bullus, 302 234 To the Rev. W. Bagot. Milton's blank verse, and revisal of his Homer, Aug. 31 303 235 To J. Hill, Esq. Mischance that happened to part of his translation of Homer, Oct. 6 ib. 236 To the Rev. W. Bagot. (Jhange of habitation, Nov. 17 ib. 237 To Lady Hesketh. A poet's hermitage, Nov. 26 304 238 To the same. On Jhe death of Mr. Unwin, Dec. 4 305 239 To Robert Smhh, Esq. (the present On the same subject, 240 To Lady Hesketh. On the 241 To J. Hill, Esq. On the samf subject, 242 To Lady Hesketh. On praise to a poet, 1787. 243 To the Rev. W. Bagot. Homer's description of slaughter ; praise of the author and Mr. Unwin, Jan. 3 ib. 244 To Lady Hesketh. On Homer, and his song of the Rose, Jan. 8 ib. 245 To the same. Obliged by indisposition to suspend his Homer ; on dreams, and a visit from Mr. Rose, Jan. 18 308 246 To Samuel Rose, Esq. His indisposition ; Burns' Poems, July 24 309 247 To the same. On his reviving health; Barclay's Argenis and Burns, Aug. 27 ib. 248 To Lady Hesketh. On the family at Weston Hall, Aug. 30 310 99 To the same. Books he had read, Sept 4 ib. 20 To the same. On a lady whom he met at the Hall, Sept 15 ib. Letten Page. 251 To the same. On the Memoirs of Baron de Tott, Sept 29 311 252 To S. Rose, Esq. On leaving the country after the death of his father, Qct 19 ib 253 To Lady Hesketh. On a kitten and a leech, Nov. 10 312 254 To J. Hill, Esq. On his own studies, Nov. 16 ib. 255 To Lady Hesketh. Beauties of Weston ; the clerk of Northampton; on a paper in the Mirror; anec- dote of a beggar, Nov. 27 ib. 256 To the same. On his neighbours, Dec. 4 313 257 To the Rev. W. Bagot Oji his Homer, and Bishop Bagot, Dec. 6 ib. 258 To Lady Hesketh. On a ball, and his translation, Dec. 10 314 259 To S. Rose, Esq. On his Homer ; talents given by nature, Dec. 13 ib. 1788. 260 To Lady Hesketh. On verses by Mr. Merry ; inocu- lation, Jan. 1 315 261 To the Rev. W. Bagot On Bishop Bagot, and his Homer, Jan. 5 316 262 To Lady Hesketh. Reasons for writing few occa- sional poems ; on a print of Bunbury's, Jan. 19 ib. 263 To the same. On his own anxiety, Jan. 30 317 264 To the same. On trouble as the portion of mortali- ty; on reading a book of his Iliad to Mr. Great- heed, Feb. 1 ib. 265 To. S. Rose, Esq. Improvement of time ; on the re- flection of Glaucus, Feb. 14 318 266 To Lady Hesketh. On his own melancholy; Han- nah More, and Hastings's trial, Feb. 16 319 267 To the same. On Burke's invective, Feb. 22 ib. 268 To the same. A fox chase, March 3 320 269 To the same. On the book entitled, "The Manners of the Great," March 12 ib. 270 To General Cowper. On his poem upon the slave trade ; the Morning Dream, a ballad, 321 271 To the Rev. W. Bagot On "The Manners of the Great," and his Homer fc March 19 ib. 272 To S. Rose, Esq. Depression of spirits ; Dr. Clarke, March 29 322 273 To Lady Hesketh. On hw poem upon the slave trade, March 31 ib. 274 To the same. Smollett's Ddj Quixote ; on his friend Mr. Rowley, May 6 323 275 To J. HUT, Esq. Books that le had lost, May 8 ib. 276 To Lady Hesketh. On Mrs. Montague, May 12 ib. 277 To J. Hill, Esq. On two pri^s, Crazy Kate and the Lace-maker; bust of 1 278 To Lady Hesketh. May 24 324 ; Mrs. Montague, ^^Si May 27 ib. 279 To the same. Sufferings from the east wind ; extra- ordinary advertisement of laancing-master, June 3 325 280 To J. Hill, Esq. Death of Ashley Cowper, Esq. June 8 ib. 281 To Lady Hesketh. On the same subject, June 10 ib. 282 To the same. On the same subject, June 15 326 283 To the Rev. W. Bagot On scenes of horror, June 17 ib. 284 To S. Rose. Esq. On a dry season, June 23 327 285 To Lady Asketh. On his own expectations ; anec- dote of*is dog Beau, June 27 ib. 286 To the same. On the Lime Walk at Weston ; ac- count of living authors, July 2S 323 287 To the same. Favourable reception of the Task ; Mr. Bacon, the sculptor, Aug. 9 ib. 288 To S. Rose, Esq. Solicitude for a friend, Aug. 18 329 289 To the same. On the oak called Judith ; on impro- per fears, Sept 11 ib, 290 To the same. A riddle; on finishing the Iliad; death of a bullfinch, Sept 25 39 viii CONTENTS. Letter. Page 291 To S. Rose, Esq. Vincent Bourne ; invitation to his friend, Nov. 30 330 292 To. J. Hill, Esq. Introduction of Mr. Rose, Dec. 2 331 293 To Robert Smith, Esq. Dec. 20 ib 1789. 294 To S. Rose, Esq. On memory ; Sir J. Hawkins, Jan. 19 ib, 295 To the same. On accidents, Jan. 24 ib. 296 To the Rev. W. Bagot Progress in Homer, Jan. 29 332 297 To S. Rose, Esq. On Hawkins Brown, May 20 ib. 298 To the same. Cuckow clocks ; Boswell's Tour, June5 ib. 299 To the Rev. W. Bagot Compliments on the mar- riage of his friend, June 16 333 300 To S. Rose, Esq. On Hawkins and Boswell, June 20 ib. 301 To Mrs. Throckmorton. Poetical talents of a friend ; incidents at the Hall, July 18 ib. 302 To S. Rose, Esq. Improvement of time in early life, July23 334 303 To the same. Mrs. Piozzi's Travels, Aug. 8 ib; 304 To the same. Variations in our summers ; remark onMr.J , Sept. 24 ib. 305 To the same. On receiving several presents , a spor- tive imitation of the Odyssey, Oct. 4 335 306 To J. Hill, Esq. French revolution, Dec. 18 ib. 307 To the Rev. W. Bagot. On Vitloison's Homer, " ib. 308 To the same. The same subject, \ 336 1790. 309 To S. Rose, Esq. On his health ; remarks on a pas- sage in Homer, jln. 3 ib. 310 To Lady Hesketh. On his kinsman's poem ; expec- tation of the critics on his Homer, Jan. 23 337 311 To S. Rose, Esq. Bentley's remarks on Homer, Feb. 2 ib. 312 To Lady Hesketh. Verses to Mrs. Throckmorton, Feb. 9 ib. 313 To Mr. Johnson. Remarks of Mr. Fuseli on his po- em, Feb. 11 333 314 To Lady Hesketh. Anxifty for a female relation ; on receiving his mother's picture, Feb. 26 ib. 315 To Mrs, Bodham. On hi! mother's picture, Feb. 27 ib. 316 To John Johnson, Esq. | Praise of Mrs. Bodham; invitation to Weston, * Feb. 28 339 317 To Lady Hesketh. On the Test Act, March 8 340 318 To S. Rose, Esq. Solidftude for his friend's health, March 11 ib. 319 To Mrs. Throckmorton* On a lady's remarks on his Homer, March 21 341 320 To Lady Hesketh. On the style he introduced in his translation of Homey, March 22 ib. 321 To J.Johnson, Esq. Remarks on Longinus, March 23 342 322 To the same. On Lav&er ; particular studies recom- mended, April 17 ib. 323 To Lady Hesketh. Completion of his translation, April 19 343 324 To the same. On pictures of both his parents, April 30 ib. 325 To Mrs. Throckmorton. Village incidents, May 10 ib. 326 To Lady Hesketh, May 28 344 327 To the same. On a poetical application, f June 3 ib. 328 To J. Johnson, Esq. On particular studies. June 7 ib. 329 To S. Rose, Esq. On early marriages ; a riddle, June 8 345 330 To Lady Hesketh. Reflections on seeing an old wo- man ; inscriptions for a grove of oaks, June 17 ib. 331 To the Rev. W. Bagot. African serpents and ants^ on Bishop Bagot's removal, ***tfune 22 346 332 To Mrs. Bodham, On letter-writing, June 29 ib. 333 To Lady Hesketh, Mrs. Unwin's illness; on the French revolution, \ July 7 347 BJ To J. Johnson, Esq. Danger of music eng\>ssing too much time, July 8 ib. Letter. Pag* 335 To the same. Cautions against an heedless inatten- tion to friends, July 31 347 336 To Mr. Johnson. Mr. Fuseli's strictures on his Ho- mer, Sept. 7 343 337 Td Mrs. Bodham. Mr. Johnson's carrying his Ho- mer to London, Sept. 9 ib. 338 To S. Rose, Esq. On his marriage ; preface to Ho- mer, Sept. 13 ib. To Mr. Johnson. Mr. Newton's preface, &c. Oct. 3 349 340 To Mrs. Bodham. On the joys and sorrows of infan- cy, Nov. 21 ib. 341 To J. Johnson, Esq. Visit from the Dowager Lady Spencer, Nov. 26 ib. 342 To S. Rose, Esq. Prediction of future eminence in his profession, Nov. 30 350 343 To the Rev. W. Bagot. Translation of Homer ; on the office of Poet Laureat, Dec. 1 ib. 344 To'J. Johnson, Esq. King's College subscription; family of the Donnes, Dec. 18 351 1791. 345 To the Rev. W. Bagot. Long and short syllables in the English language, Jan. 4 ib. 346. To Mr. Johnson. On a line in one of his poems hav- ing been tampered with, ib. 347 To J. Johnson, Esq. Playful remarks on his charac- ter, Jan. 21 352 348 To S. Rose, Esq. His present of Pope's Homer, Feb. 5 ib. 349 To Lady Hesketh. Fame not an empty breath, Feb. 13 353 350 To the Rev. W. Bagot Blank verse the English he- roic, Feb. 26 Ib. 351 To J. Johnson, Esq. On the subscriptions from Cam- bridge, Oxford, and the Scotch Universities, Feb. 27 ib. 352 To J. Hill, Esq. Preface to the translation of Ho- mer, March 6 354 353 To the Rev. Mr. Hurdia Invitation to Weston ; Sir Thomas More, March 6 ib. 354 To J. Hill, Esq. Achilles in the attitude of a dancing. master, March 10 ib. 355 To the Rev. W. Bagot On the critical talents of Dr. Johnson, March 18 ib. 356 To J. Johnson, Esq. On the poems of the Norwich maiden, March 19 355 357 To S. Rose, Esq. His Homer calculated at less than the 7th part of a farthing per line, March 24 ib. 358 To Ladv Hesketh. God no more a respecter of wit ;:ian he is of persons, March 25 35 359 To Mis. Throckmorton. Little success of applica- tion to the University of Oxford, April 1 ib. 360 To J. Johnson, Esq. flrilliant collection of names from Cambridge, April 6 357 361 To S. Rose, Esq. General success of the subscrip- tion, April 29 ib. 362 To the Rev. W. Bagot Mr. Bagot ; Milton's Poems, May 2 ib. 363 To the Rev. Mr. Buchanan, May 11 358 364 To Lady Hesketh. Letter from Dr. Cogswell, from New York, May 18 Ib. 565 To J. Johnson, Esq. Translation of the Frogs and Mice, May 23 ib. J66 To Lady Hesketh. Delays of printers; confidence in government, May 27 ib. 167 To J. Johnson, Esq. On his procuring him the Cam- bridge subscriptions to his Homer, June 1 359 368 To the Rev. Mr. Hurdis. On the time of the publi- cation of his Homer, June 13 ib. 369 To S. Rose, Esq. Man an ungrateful animal, June 15 3bf 370 To Dr. James Cogswell. On the Task, and his other poems, June 15 CONTENTS. Letter. Page. 371 To the Rer. W. Bagot. Lady Bagot's visit to Wes- ton, Aug. 2 361 372 To the Rev. Mr. Hurdis. On hia mode of study at Weston> Aug. 9 ib. 373 To J. Johnson, Esq. On the subject of a new work, Aug. 9 362 374 To S. Rose, Esq. Translation of Milton's Italian and Latin Poems, Sept. 14 ib. 375 To the Rev. W. Bagot. Milton's Elegy on the death of the Bishop of Winchester, Sept. 21 ib. 376 To the same. Upon a poem of Lord Bagot's, Oct. 25 363 377 To J. Johnson, Esq. On hia sister's recovery, Oct. 31 ib. 378 To J. Hill, Esq. On the antipathy to compound epi- thets, Nov. 14 ib. 379 To the Rev. W. Bagot. Translation of Homer and Milton, Dec. 5 364 380 To the Rev. Mr. Hurdis. , On original composition and translation, Dec. 10 Ib. 381 To S. Rose, Esq. Mrs. Unwin's illness, ' Dec. 21 365 1792. 382 To the Rev. W. Bagot. On his children's recove- ry, Feb. 14 ib. 383 To the Lord Thurlow. On his translation of Homer, 366 To William Cowper, Esq. from Lord Thurlow. On rhyme; on translation; hi? lordship's version of the speech of Achilles to Phanix, ib. 384 To the Lord Thurlow. On the same subject, ib. 385 To the same. His satisfaction at his lordship's being pleased with his translation, 367 To William Cowper Esq. from Lord Thurlow. Blank verse fittest for a translation of Homer, 368 386 To the Rev. Mr. Hurdis. Acknowledgment of his friendly remarks on Homer, Feb. 21 ib. 387 To the same. Continuation of the same, March 2 ib. 388 To J. Johnson, Esq. Mildness of the Spring, March 11 369 389 To the Rev. Mr. Hurdis. On his tragedy of Sir Tho- mas More, March 23 ib. 330 To Lady Hesketh. On receiving the first letter from Mr. Hayley, March 25 ib. 391 To S. Rose, Esq. On a poem of Mr. Park's, March 30 370 392 To the same. Printers tiresome, April 5 ib. 393 To W. Hayley, Esq. Invitation to Weston ; charac- ter of Mrs. Unwin, April 6 ib. 394 To the Rev. Mr. Hurdis. Comparison of his unan- swered letters with the leaves in autumn, April 8 371 395 To Lady Throckmorton. On appropriating the pro- ductions of others to ourselves ; on calumniation ; sonnet to Mr. Wilberforce, ^. A PJ 16 ib> 3% To the Rev. J. Jekyll Rye. AbhorrencJw the slave trade, April 16 372 397 To Lady Hesketh. With some lines to Warren Has- tings, May 5 ib. 398 To J. Johnson, Esq. On the subject of his ordina- tion, May 20 373 399 To Lady Hesketh. Mrs. Unwin's second attack, May 24 ib. 400 To the same. The same subject, May 26 374 401 To Mrs. Bodham. On the subject of early ordina- tion, June 4 ib. 402 To William Hayley, Esq. On Mrs. Unwin's amend- ed health, June 4- ib. 403 To the same. Same subject, June 5 ib. 404 To the same. His attachment to Mr. Hayley, and his own melancholy, June 7 375 405 To the same. Resignation of Mrs. Unwin ; a poem to Dr. Darwin, June 10 ib. 406 To Lady Hesketh. Mrs. Unwin's gradual recovery, June 11 376 407 To W. Hayley, Esq. On the projected visit to Earth- am, June 19 ib. Letter. Pag e . 408 To the same. Same subject; lines to Catharina, June 27 376 409 To the same. Upon the life of Milton, July 4 377 410 To the same. On Abbott's picture of him, July 15 ib. 411 To the same. The day fixed for their journey to Eartham, July 22 ib. 4^2 To the same. Fears and distresses beforeaetting out ; his picture finished, July 29 378 413 To the Rev. Mr. Greatheed. Description of Earth- am; the journey thither, Aug. 6 ^ib. 414 To Mrs. Courtenay. Same subject, Aug. 12 379 415 To S. Rose, Esq. Wishes him at Eartham, Aug. 14 ib. 416 To the same. Same subject, Aug. 18 380 417 To Mrs. Courtenay. Manner of spending his time at Eartham ; epitaph on Fop, Aug. 25 ib. 418 To Lady Hesketh. Improvement in his health ; hia portrait by Romney, Aug. 26 ib. 419 To the Rev. Mr. Hurdis. On the death of his sister ; invitation to Eartham, Aug. 26 381 420 .To the same. On the beautiful scenery of Eartham ; regrets on leaving it, Sept. 9 ib. 421 To W. Hayley, Esq. Account of his journey, Sept. 18 382 422 To the same. Same subject, Sept. 21 ib. 423 To the same. His spirits sink on the approach of winter, Oct. 2 ib. 424 To the same. Full of affectionate regard ; on Hay- ley's verses to Dr. Austin, Oct. 13 383 425 To J. Johnson, Esq. Regret for his absence ; sonnet to Romney, Oct. 19 ib. 426 To the same Moral reflection on sitting for a pic- ture, Oct. 22 ib. 427 To W. Hayley, Esq. Difficulty of exertion ; sonnet to Romney, Oct. 28 384 428 To S. Rose, Esq. Compliment on his professional industry; hopes of future success, Nov. 9 ib. 429 To J. Johnson, Esq. Difficulty in commencing his Milton; lowness of spirits, Nov. 30 ib. 430 To W. Hayley, Esq. Same subject, Nov. 25 385 431 To J. Hill, Esq. Politics of the day, Dec. 16 ib. 432 To W. Hayley, Esq. On his confinement in conse- quence of his translating Milton, Dec. 26 386 1793. 433 To the Rev. W. Hurdis. On the illness of Miss Hur- dis, Jaa6 ib, 434 To W. Hayley, Esq. On the arrival of Mr. Hay ley's picture, Jan. 20 ib. 435 To the same. On the death of a friend, Jan. 29 387 436 To S. Rose, Esq. His translation of Homer, Feb. 5 ib. 437 To Lady Hesketh. Toryism of Lady Hesketh and Mrs. Rose, Feb. 10 ib 438 To S. Rose, Esq. On the Analytical Review of his Homer, Feb. 17 ib. 439 To the Rev. Mr. Hurdis. Professorship of poetry; discoveries in natural history, Feb. 23 38S 440 To W. Hayley, Esq. His dream respecting Milton, Feb. 24 ib. 441 To the Rev. W. Bagot Republicans of France, March 4 389 442 To Mr. Thomas Hayley. On Mr. Thomas Hayley's strictures on his Homer, March 14 ib. 443 To W. Hayley, Esq. Revisal of his Homer, March 19 390 444 To S. Rose, Esq. Revised translation of Homer, March 27 ib. 445 To J. Johnson, Esq. Mr. Johnson's resolution to take holy orders, April 11 ib. 446 To W. Hayley, Esq. On uie notes to his Homer, April 23 391 447 To the Rev. W. Bagot. On the death of those we love, May 4 ib 448 To S. Rose, Esq. On the notes of Ids Homer, May 5 ib CONTENTS. tetter. Page. 449 To Lady Hesketh, Toryism of Lady Hesketh, May 7 392 450 To W. Hayley, Esq. Distribution of his time, May 21 ib. 451 To Lady Hesketh. With his verses to a young friend on his arrival at Cambridge wet, when n rain had fallen there, June 1 393 452 To W. Hayley, Esq. On the proposal of a joint com- position, June 29 ib. 453 To the same. On his projected poem of the Four Ages, July? ib. 454 To the Rev. Mr. Greatheed. On Mr. Greatheed's in- vitation, July 23 394 455 To W. Hayley, Esq. Improvements in his garden, July 24 ib. 456 To Mrs. Charlotte Smith. July 25 395 457 To Lady Hesketh. On his lines and acknowledg- ments to Miss Fanshaw, Aug. 11 ib. 458 To W. Hayley, Esq. On his new buildings and im- provements, Aug. 15 ib 459 To Mrs. Courtenay. The treatment of Bob Archer by a roguish fiddler, Aug. 20 396 460 To S. Rose, Esq. Notes to his Homer, Aug. 22 ib. 461 To W. Hayley, Esq. On Flaxman's monument to Lord Mansfield, Aug. 27 397 462 To Lady Hesketh. On Lady Hesketh's visit to Wes- ton, Aug. 29 ib. 463 To the Rev. John Johnson. Mr. Johnson's present of a sun-dial, Sept. 6 398 464 To W. Hayley, Esq. On his affected mirth and real melancholy, Sept. 8 ib. Letter. page. 465 To Mrs. Courtenay. On Mr. Johnson's present of a sun-dial, Sept. 15 ib. 466 To the Rev. J. Johnson. On Mr. Johnson's visit to Weston, Sept. 29 399 467 To W. Hayley, Esq. On the visits and civilities which wasted his time, Oct. 5 ib. 468 To the same. On Mr. Hayley and his son's visit to Weston, Oct. 18 400 469 To the Rev. J. Jekyll Rye. On Mr. Hurdis's election to the Professorship of poetry at Oxford, Nov. 3 ib. 470 To Mrs. Courtenay. Mr. Hayley's visit, Nov. 4 ib, 471 To J. Hill, Esq. Beauties of Weston, Nov. 5 401 472 To the Rev. W. Bago't. Reflections on the French Revolution, Nov. 10 ib. 473 To the Rev. Mr. Hurdis. On Hayley's Life of Mil- ton, his own commentary, Nov. 24 Ib 474 To S. Rose, Esq. Subjects for painting recommend- ed ; idea of a joint work with Hayley, Nov. 29 408 475 To the same. Thanking him for books ; Jonathan Wild ; Man as he is, Dec. 8 ib 476 To W. Hayley, Esq. Uneasy at not hearing from him ; plan of continuing the Four Ages, Dec. 8 ib. 477 To the same. Criticism on the address of Hector to his son, Dec. 17 403 1794. 478 To the same. Same subject, 1798. 479 To Lady Hesketh, Jan. 5 ib, Oct. 13 404 SKETC OF THE OF THE INNER TEMPLE. WILLIAM COWPER was born at Berkhamstead, Herts, November 26, 1731. His father, the rec- tor of the parish, was the reverend John Cowper, D. D., son of Spencer Cowper, one of the justices of the common pleas, a younger brother of the lord chancellor Cowper. He received his early educa- tion at a school in his native county, whence he was removed to that of Westminster. Here he adquired a competent portion of classical know- ledge; but, from the delicacy of his temperament, and the timid shyness of his disposition, he seems to have endured a species of martyrdom from the rudeness and tyranny of his more robust compan- ions, and to have received, indelibly, the impres- sions that subsequently produced his Tirocinium, in which poem his dislike to the system of public education in England is very strongly stated. Oi} leaving Westminster, he was articled, for three years, to an eminent attorney, during which time he appears to have paid very little attention to his profession ; nor did he alter on this point after his entry at the Temple, in order to qualify himself for the honourable and lucrative place of clerk to the house of lords, which post his family interest had secured for him. While he resided in the Temple, he appears to have been rather gay and social in his intercourse, numbering among his companions Lloyd, Churchill, Thornton and Col- man, all of whom had been his companions at Westminster school, and the two latter of whom he assisted with some papers in the Connoisseur. His natural disposition, however, remained timid and diffident, and his spirits so constitutionally in- firm, that, when the time arrived for his assuming the post to which he had been destined, he was thrown into such unaccountable terror at the idea of making his appearance before the assembled peerage, that he was not only obliged to resign the appointment, but was precipitated, by his agitation of spirits, into a state of great mental disorder. At this period, he was led into a deep consideration of his religious state; and, having imbibed the doctrine of election and reprobation in its most ap- palling rigor, he was led to a very dismal state of apprehension. We are told, "that the terror of eternal judgment overpowered and actually disor- dered his faculties; and he remained seven months in a continual expectation of being instantly plung- ed into eternal misery." In this shocking condi- tion, confinement became necessary, and he was placed in a receptacle for lunatics, kept by the amiable and well-known doctor Cotton of St. Al- ban's. At length, his mind recovered a degree of serenity, and he retired to Huntingdon, where he formed an acquaintance with the family of the reverend Mr. Unwin, which ripened into the strict- est intimacy. In 1773, he was again assailed by religious despondency, and endured a partial alien- ation of mind for some years, during which afflic- tion he was highly indebted to the affectionate care of Mrs. Unwin. In 1778, he again recovered ; in 1780, he was persuaded to translate some of the spiritual songs of the celebrated madame Guion. In the same and the following year, he was also induc- ed to prepare a volume of poems for the press, which was printed in 1782. This volume did not attract any great degree of public attention. The princi- pal topics are, Error, Truth, Expostulation, Hope, Charity, Retirement and Conversation ; all of which are treated with originality, but, at the same time, with a portion of religious austerity, which, with- out some very striking recommendation, was not, at that time, of a nature to acquire popularity. They are in rhymed heroics; the style being rather strong than poetical, although never flat or insipid. A short time before the publication of this volume. Mr. Cowper became acquainted with lady Austen, widow of sir Robert Austen, who subsequently LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. resided, for some time, at the parsonage-house at OIney. To the influence of this lady, the world is indebted for the exquisitely humorous ballad of John Gilpin, and the author's master-piece, the Task. The latter admirable poem chiefly occupi- ed his second volume, which was published in 1785, and rapidly secured universal admiration. The Task unites minute accuracy with great ele- gance and picturesque beauty; and, after Thom- son, Cowper is probably the poet who has added most to the stock of natural imagery. The moral leflections in this poem are also exceedingly im- pressive, and its delineation of character abounds in genuine nature. His religious system, too, al- though discoverable, is less gloomily exhibited in this than in his other productions. This volume also contained his Tirocinium a piece strongly written, and abounding with striking observations, whatever may be thought of its decision against public education. About the year 1784, he began his version of Homer, which, after many impedi- ments, appeared in July, 1791. This work pos- sesses much exactness, as to sense, and is certain- ly a more accurate representation of Homer than the version of Pope; but English blank verse can not sufficiently sustain the less poetical parts of Homer, and the general effect is bald and prosaic. Disappointed at the reception of this laborious work, he meditated a revision of it, as also the su- perintendence of an edition of Milton, and a new didactic poem, to be entitled the Four Ages; but, although he occasionally wrote a few verses, and revised his Odyssey, amidst his glimmerings of reason, those and all other undertakings finally gave way to a relapse of his malady. His disor- der extended, with little intermission to the close of life ; which, melancholy to relate, ended in a state of absolute despair. In 1794, a pension of 300Z. per annum was granted him by the crown. In the beginning of 1800, this gifted, but afflicted man of genius, exhibited symptoms of dropsy, which carried him off on the 25th of April follow- ing. Since his death, Cowper has, by the care and industry of his friend and biographer, Hay- ley, become known to the world, as one of the moat easy and elegant letter-writers on record. OF WILLIAM COWPER, ESQ. OF THE INNER TEMPLE. Si te fort6 meae gravis uret sarcina chart, Abjicito Hor. Lib. 1. Epist. 13. A. YOU told me, I remember, glory, built 3n selfish principles, is shame and guilt; The deeds that men admire as half divine, Stark naught, because corrupt in their design. Strange doctrine this! that without scruple tears The laurel, that the very lightning spares; Brings down the warrior's trophy to the dust, And eats into his bloody sword like rust. B. I grant that, men continuing what they are, Fierce, avaricious, proud, there must be war; And never meant the rule should be applied To him, that fights with justice on his side. Let laurels drenched hi pure Parnassian dews, Reward his memory, dear to every muse, Who, with a courage of unshaken root, In Honour's field advancing his firm foot, Plants it upon the line that Justice draws, And will prevail or perish in her cause. 'Tis to the virtues of such men, man owes His portion in the good that Heaven bestows. And when recording History displays Feats of renown, though wrought in ancient days, Tells of a few stout hearts, that fought and died, Where duty placed them, at their country's side; The man, that is not moved with what he reads, That takes not fire at their heroic deeds, Unworthy of the blessings of the brave, Is base in kind, and born to be a slave. But let eternal infamy pursue The wretch to nought but his ambition true, Who, for the sake of fillfflg with one blast The post-horns of all Europe, lays her waste. Think yourself stationed on a towering rock, To see a people scattered like a flock, B Some royal mastiff panting at their heels, With all the savage thirst a tiger feels; Then view him self-proclaimed in a gazette Chief monster that has plagued the nations yet: The globe and sceptre in such hands misplaced, Those ensigns of dominion, how disgraced ! The glass, that bids man mark the fleeting hour, And Death's own scythe would better speak big power; Then grace the bony phantom in their stead With the king's shoulder-knot and gay cockade; Clothe the twin brethren in each other's dress, The same their occupation and success. A. 'Tis your belief the world was made for man ; Kings do but reason on the self-same plan : Maintaining yours, you cannot theirs condemn, Who think, or seem to think, man made for them, B. Seldom, alas! the power of logic reigns With much sufficiency in royal brains; Such reasoning falls like an inverted cone, Wanting its proper base to stand upon. Man made for kings! those optics are but dim, That tell you so say, rather, they for him. That were indeed a king-ennobling thought, Could they, or would they, reason as they ought The diadem, with mighty projects lined, To catch renown by ruining mankind, Is worth, with all its gold and glittering store, Just what the toy will sell for, and no more. Oh ! bright occasions of dispensing good, How seldom used, how little understood! To pour hi Virtue's lap her just reward; Keep Vice restrained behind a double guard COWPER'S WORKS, To quell the faction, that affronts the throne, By silent magnanimity alone; To nurse with tender care the thriving arts; Watch every beam Philosophy imparts; To give Religion her unbridled scope, Nor judge by statute a believer's hope; / With close fidelity and love unfeigned, To keep the matrimonial bond unstained; Covetous only of a virtuous praise; His life a lesson to the land he sways; To touch the sword with conscientious awe, Nor draw it but when duty bids him draw; To sheathe it in the peace-restoring close, With joy beyond what victory bestows; Blest country, where these kingly glories shine! Blest England, if this happiness be thine! A. Guard what you say, the patriotic tribe Will sneer, and charge you with a bribe B. A bribe! The worth of his three kingdoms I defy, To lure me to the baseness of a lie : And, of all lies (be that one poet's boast,) The lie that natters I abhor the most. Those arts be theirs, who hate his gentle reign; But he that loves him has no need to feign. A. Your smooth eulogium to one crown addrest, Seems to imply a censure on the rest. B. duevedo, as he tells his sober tale, Asked, when in hell, to see the royal jail; Approved their method in all other things: But where, good sir, do you confine your kings'? There said his guide the group is full in view. Indeed 1 replied the don there are but few. His black interpreter the charge disdained Few, fellow 1 there are all that ever reigned. Wit, undistinguishing, is apt to strike The guilty and not guilty both alike: I grant the sarcasm is too severe, And we can readily refute it here; While Alfred's name, the father of his age, And the sixth Edward's grace th' historic page. A. Kings then, at last, have but the lot of all: By their own conduct they must stand or fall. B. True. While they live, the courtly laureat pays His quitrent ode, his peppercorn of praise; And many a dunce, whose fingers itch to write, Adds, as he can, his tributary mite. A subject's faults a subjecc may proclaim, A monarch s errors are forbidden game! Tnus, free from censure, overawed by fear, And praised for virtues that they scorn to wear, The fleeting forms of majesty engage Respect, while stalking o'er life's narrow stage; Then leave their crimes for history to scan, And ask, with busy scorn, was this the man 7 I pity kings, whom Worship waits upon Obsequious from the cradle to the throne; Before whose infant eyes the flatterer bows, And binds a wreath about their baby brows; Whom Education stiffens into state, And Death awakens from that dream too late. Oh! if Servility, with supple knees, Whose trade it is to smile, to crouch, to please; If smooth Dissimulation, skilled to grace A devil's purpose with an angel's face; If smiling peeresses, and simpering peers, Encompassing his throne a few short years; If the gilt carriage and the pampered steed, That wants no driving, and disdains the lead; If guards, mechanically formed in ranks, Playing, at beat of drum, their martial pranks, Shouldering and standing as if struck to stone, While condescending majesty looks on! If monarchy consist in such base things, Sighing, I say again, I pity kings! To be suspected, thwarted, and withstood, E'en when he labours for his country's good; To see a band called patriot for no cause, But that they catch at popular applause, Careless of all th' anxiety he feels, Hook disappointment on the public wheels; With all their flippant fluency of tongue, Most confident when palpably most wrong; If this be kingly, then farewell for me All kingship; and may I be poor and free ! To be the table talk of clubs up-stairs, To which th' unwashed artificer repairs, T' indulge his genius after long fatigue, By diving into cabinet intrigue; (For what kings deem a toil, as well they may, To him is relaxation and mere play;) To win no praise when well-wrought plans prevail But to be rudely censured when they fail; To doubt the love his favourites may pretend, And in reality to find no friend; If he indulge a cultivated taste, His galleries with the works of art well graced, To hear it called extravagance and waste; If these attendants, and if such as these, Must follow royalty, then welcome ease; However humbled and confined the sphere, Happy the state that has not these to fear. A. Thus men, whose thoughts contemplativt have dwelt On situations that they never felt, Start up sagacious, covered with the dust, Of dreaming study and pedantic rust, And prate and preach about what others prove, As if the world and they were hand and glove. Leave kingly backs to cope with kingly cares ; They have their weight to carry, subjects theirs, Poets, of all men, ever least regret Increasing taxes and the nation's debt. Could you contrive the payment, and rehearse The mighty plan, oracular, in verse, w. TABLE TALK. No bard, howe'er majestic, old or new, Should claim my fixed attention more than you. B. Not Brindley nor Bridgewater would essay To turn the course of Helicon that way; Nor would the Nine consent the sacred tide Should purl amidst the traffic of Cheapside, Or tinkle in 'Change Alley, to amuse The leathern ears of stockjobbers and Jewtf. A. Vouchsafe, at least, to pitch the key of rhyme To themes more pertinent, if less sublime. When ministers and ministerial arts; Patriots, who love good places at their hearts; When admirals, extolled for standing still, Or doing nothing with a deal of skill; Gen'rals, who will not conquer when they may, Firm friends to peace, to pleasure, and good pay; When Freedom, wounded almost to despair, Though Discontent alone can find out where; When themes like these employ the poet's tongue, I hear as mute as if a syren sung. Or tell me, if you can, what power maintains, A Briton's scorn of arbitrary chains: That were a theme might animate the dead, And move the lips of poets cast in lead. B. The cause, tho' worth the search, may yet elude Conjecture and remark, however shrewd. They take perhaps a well-directed aim, Who seek it in his climate and his frame. Liberal in all things else, yet Nature here With stern severity deals out the year, Winter invades the spring, and often pours A chilling flood on summer's drooping flowers; Unwelcome vapcurs quench autumnal beams, Ungenial blasts attending curl the streams: The peasants urge their harvest, ply the fork With double toil, and shiver at their work ; Thus with a rigour for his good designed, She rears her favourite man of all mankind. His form robust and of elastic tone, Proportioned well, half muscle and half bone, Supplies with warm activity and force A mind well lodged, and masculine of course. Hence Liberty, sweet Liberty inspires And keeps alive his fierce but noble fires. Patient of constitutional control, He bears it with meek manliness of soul; But if Authority grow wanton, wo To him that treads upon his free-born toe; One step beyond the boundary of the laws Fires him at once in Freedom's glorious cause. Thus proud Prerogative, not much revered, Is seldom felt, though sometimes seen and heard; And in his cage, like parrot fine and gay, Is kept to strut, look big, and talk away. Born in a climate softer far than ours, Not formed, like us, with such Herculean powers, The Frenchman, easy, debonair, and brisk, Give him his lass, his fiddle, and his frisk, [s alwas happy, reign whoever may, And laughs the sense of misery far away. He drinks his simple beverage with a gust; And, feasting on an onion and a crust, We never feel th' alacrity and joy With which he shouts and carols Vine la JRoi, Filled with as much true merriment and glee, As if he heard his king say Slave, be free. Thus happiness depends, as Nature shows, Less on exterior things than most suppose, Vigilant over all that he has made, Kind Providence attends with gracious aid; Bids equity throughout his works prevail, And weighs the nations in an even scale; He can encourage Slavery to a smile, And fill with discontent a British isle. A. Freeman, and slave then, if the case be such. Stand on a level; and you prove too much: If all men indiscriminately share His fostering power, and tutelary care, As well be yoked by Despotism's hand, As dwell at large in Britain's chartered land. JB. No. Freedom has a thousand charms to show, That slaves, howe'er contented, never know. The mind attains beneath her happy reign, The growth, that Nature meant she should attain; The varied fields of science, ever new, Opening and wider opening on her view, She ventures onward with a prosperous force, While no base fear impedes her in her course. Religion, richest favour of the skies, Stands most revealed before the freeman's eyes; No shades of superstition blot the day, . Liberty chases all that gloom away: The soul emancipated, unopprest, Free to prove all things, and hold fast the best, Learns much; and to a thousand listening mind* Communicates with joy the good she finds: Courage in arms, and ever prompt to show His manly forehead to the fiercest foe; Glorious in war, but for the sake of peace, His spirits rising as his toils increase, Guards well what arts and industry have won, And Freedom claims him for her first-born son. Slaves fight for what were better cast away The chains that binds them, and a tyrant's sway But they that fight for freedom, undertake The noblest cause mankind can have at stake ; Religion, virtue, truth, whate'er we call A blessing freedom is the pledge of all. O Liberty! the prisoner's pleasing dream, The poet's muse, his passion, and his theme ; Genius is thine, and thou art Fancy's nurse: Lost without th' ennobling powers of verse; Heroic song from thy free touch acquires Its clearest tone, the rapture it inspires: Place me where Winter breathes his keenest air, And I will sing, if Liberty be there ; COWPER'S WORKS. And I will sing at Liberty's dear feet, In Afric's torrid clime, or India's fiercest heat. A. Sing where you please; in such a cause I grant &*#;' An English poet's privilege to rant; But is not Freedom at least is not ours Too apt to play the wanton with her powers, Grow freakish, and, o'erleaping every mound, Spread anarchy and terror all around'? B. Agreed. But would you sell or slay your horse For bounding and curveting in his course'? Or if, when ridden with a careless rein, He break away, and seek the distant plain 1 No. His high mettle, under good control, Gives him Olympic speed, and shoots him to the goal. Let discipline employ her wholesome arts; Let magistrates alert perform their parts; Not skulk or put on a prudential mask, As if their duty were a desperate task; Let active laws apply the needful curb, To guard the peace that Riot would disturb; And Liberty, preserved from wild excess, Shall raise no feuds for armies to suppress. When Tumult lately burst his prison-door, And set plebeian thousands in a roar; When he usurped Authority's just place And dared to look his master in the face When the rude rabble's watch-word was De- stroy, And blazing London seemed a second Troy; Liberty blushed and hung her drooping head, Beheld their progress with the deepest dread; Blushed, that effects like these she should pro- duce, V T Worse than the deeds of galley-slaves broke loose. She loses in such storms her very name, And fierce Licentiousness should bear the blame. Incomparable gem! thy worth untold; Cheap though blood-bought, and thrown away when sold; May no foes ravish thee, and no false friend Betray thee, while professing to defend! Prize it, ye ministers; ye monarchs, spare; Ye Patriots, guard it with a miser's care. A. Patriots, alas! the few that have been found Where most they flourish, upon English ground, The country's need have scantily supplied, . And the last left the scene, when Chatham died. B. Not so the virtue still adorns our age, Though the chief actor died upon the stage. In liim Demosthenes was heard again; Liberty taught him her Athenian strain; She clothed him with authority and awe, Spoke from his lips, and in his looks gave law. H is speech, his form, his action, full of grace, And all his country beaming in his face, He stood, as some inimitable hand Would strive to make a Paul or Tully stand. No sycophant or slave, that dared oppose Her sacred cause, but trembled when he rosej And every venal stickler for the yoke Felt himself crushed at the first word he spoke. Such men are raised to station and command, When Providence means mercy to a land, He speaks, and they appear; to him they owe Skill to direct, and strength to strike the blow; To manage with address, to seize with power The crisis of a dark decisive hour; So Gideon earned a victory not his own; Subserviency his praise, and that alone. Poor England ! thou art a devoted deer, Beset with every ill but that of fear. The nations hunt; all mark thee for a prey; They swarm around thee, and thou stand'st at bay, Undaunted still, though ^vearied and perplexed; Once Chatham saved thee ; but who saves thee nextl Alas ! the tide of pleasure sweeps along All, that should be the boast of British song. 'Tis not the wreath, that once adorned thy brow, The prize of happier tunes, will serve thee now Our ancestry, a gallant, chieftain race, Patterns of every virtue, every grace, Confessed a God; they kneeled before they fought, And praised him in the victories he wrought. Now from the dust of ancient days bring forth Their sober zeal, integrity, and worth; Courage, ungraced by these, affronts the skies, Is but the fire without the sacrifice. The stream, that feeds the wellspring of the heart Not more invigorates life's noblest part, Than virtue quickens, with a warmth divine, The powers, that Sin has brought to a decline. A. Th' inestimable Estimate of Brown Rose like a paper kite, and charmed the town; But measures, planned and executed well, Shifted the wind that raised it, and it fell. He trod the very self-same ground you tread, And victory refuted all he said. B. And yet his judgment was not framed amiss Its error, if it erred, was merely this He thought the dying hour already come, And a complete recovery struck him dumb. But that, effeminacy, folly, lust, Enervate and enfeeble, and needs must ; And that a nation shamefully debased, Will be despised and trampled on at last, Unless sweet Penitence her powers renew; Is truth, if history itself be true. There is a time, and Justice marks the date, For long-forbearing Clemency to wait; That hour elapsed, the incurable revolt Is punished, and down comes the thunderbolt. If Mercy then put by the threat'ning blow, Must she perform the same kind office now? TABLE TALK. May she! and, if offended Heaven be still Accessible, and prayer prevail, she will. 'Tis not, however, insolence and noise, The tempest of tumultuary joys, Nor is it yet despondence and dismay Will win her visits, or engage her stay ; Prayer only, and the penitential tear, Can call her smiling down, and fix her here. But when a country (one that I could name) In prostitution sinks the sense of shame: When infamous Venality, grown bold, Writes on his bosom, to be let or sold ; When Perjury, that Heaven-defying vice, Sells oaths by tale, and at the lowest price; Stamps God's own name upon a lie iust made, To turn a penny in the way of trade; When Avarice starves (and never hides his face) Two or three millions of the human race, And not a tongue inquires, how, where, or when Though conscience will have twinges now anc3 then; When profanation of the sacred cause In all its parts, times, ministry, and laws, Bespeaks a land, once Christian, fallen and lost, In all, that wars against the title most; What follows next let cities of great name, And regions long since desolate proclaim. Nineveh, Babylon, and ancient Rome, Speak to the present time, and times to come; They cry aloud, in every careless ear, Stop, while ye may; suspend your mad career; O learn from our example and our fate, - Learn wisdom and repentance, ere too late. Not only Vice disposes and prepares The mind, that slumbers sweetly in her snares, To stoop to Tyranny's usurped command, And bend her polished neck beneath his hand, (A dire effect, by one of Nature's laws, Unchangeably connected with its cause;) But Providence himself will intervene, To throw his dark displeasure o'er the scene. All are his instruments; each form of war, What burns at home, or threatens from afar, Nature in arms, her elements at strife, The storms, that overset the joys of life, Are but the rods to scourge a guilty land, And waste it at the bidding of his hand. He gives his word, and Mutiny soon roars In all her gates, and shakes her distant shores ; The standards of all nations are unfurled ; She has one foe, and that one foe the world'. And, if he doom that people with a frown, And mark them with a seal of wrath pressed down , Obduracy takes place; callous and tough, The reprobated race grows judgment-proof: Earth shakes beneath them, and Heaven roars above; 3ut nothing scares them from the course they love. 2 B 2 To the lascivious pipe and wanton song, That charm down fear, they frolic it along, With mad rapidity and unconcern, Down to the gulf, from which is no return. They trust in navies, and their navies fail God's curse can cast away ten thousand sail ! They trust in armies, and their courage dies; In wisdom, wealth, in fortune, and in lies; But all they trust in withers, as it must, When He commands, in whom they place no trust, Vengeance at last pours down upon their coast A Iphg despised, but now victorious host; Tyranny sends the chain that must abridge The noble sweep of all their privilege ; ~ives liberty the last, the mortal shock; Slips the slave's collar on, and snaps the lock. A. Such lofty strains embellish what you teach; Mean you to prophesy, or but to preach 1 ? B. I know the mind, that feels indeed the firo The muse imparts, and can command the lyre, Acts with a force, and kindles with a zeal, Whate'er the theme, that others never feel. [f human woes her soft attention claim, A tender sympathy pervades the frame ;. She pours a sensibility divine Along the nerve of every feeling line. But if a deed, not tamely to be borne, r^ire indignation and a sense of scorn, The strings are swept with a power, so loud, The storm of music shakes the astonished crowd So, when remote futurity is brought Before the keen inquiry of her thought, A terrible sagacity informs The poet's heart; he looks to distant storms; -Le hears the thunder ere the tempest lowers ; And, armed with strength surpassing human powers, Seizes events as yet unknown to man, And darts his soul into the dawning plan, lence, in a Roman mouth, the graceful name Of prophet and of poet was the same; ; , lence British poets too the priesthood shared, And every hallowed druid was a bard. ut no prophetic fires to me belong; play with syllables, and sport in song. A. At Westminster, where little poets strive 7o set a distich upon six and five, Vhere discipline helps th' opening buds of sense, And makes his pupils proud with silver pence, was a poet too; but modern taste s so refined, and delicate, and chaste, hat verse, whatever fire the fancy waims, Vithout a creamy smoothness has no charms. hus, all success depending on an ear, Vnd thinking I might purchase it too dear, f sentiment were sacrificed to sound, \.nd truth cut short to mak6 a period rouruJ, judged a man of sense could scarce do worn*- ""han caper in the morris-dance of verse COWPER'S WORKS. B. Thus reputation is a spur to wit, And some wits flag through fear of losing it. Give me the line that ploughs its stately course Like a proud swan, conquering the stream by force, That, like some cottage beauty, strikes the heart, Q.uite unindebted to the tricks of art. When Labour and when Dullness, club in hand ? Like the two figures at St. Dunstan's stand, Beating alternately, in measured time, The clock-work tintinabulum of rhyme, '- Exact and regular the sounds will be ; But such mere quarter-strokes are not for me. From him, who rears a poem lank and long, To him who strains his all into a song; ' Perhaps some bonny Caledonian, air, All birks and braes, though he was never there; Or, having whelped a prologue with great pains; Feels himself spent, and fumbles for his brains; A prologue interdashed with many a stroke An art contrived to advertise a joke, So that the jest is clearly to be seen, Not in the words but in the gap between : Manner is all in all, whate'er is writ, The substitute for genius, sense, and wit. To dally much with subjects mean and low Proves that the mind is weak, or makes it so. Neglected talents rust into decay, And every effort ends in pushpin play. The man, that means success, should soar above A soldier's feather, or a lady's glove ; Else, summoning the muse to such a theme, The fruit of all her labour is whipped cream. As if an eagle flew aloft, and then , Stooped from its highest pitch to pounce a wren. As if the poet, purposing to wed, Should carve himself a wife in gingerbread. Ages elapsed ere Homer's lamp appeared, And ages ere the Mantuan swan was heard. To carry nature lengths unknown before, To give a Milton birth, asked ages more. Thus Genius rose and set at ordered tunes, And shot a dayspring into distant climes, Ennobling every region that he chose; He sunk in Greece, in Italy he rose: And tedious years of Gothic darkness past, Emerged, all splendour, in our isle at last. Thus lovely halcyons dive into the main, Then show far off their shining plumes again. A. Is genius only found in epic lays 1 Prove tnis, and forfeit all pretence to praise. Make their heroic powers your own at once, Or candidly confess yourself a dunce. D. These were the chief: each interval of night Was graced with many an undulating light. In less illustrious bards his beauty shone A meteor, or a star ; in these the sun. The nightingale may claim the topmost bough, Wlule Ihe poor grasshopper must chirp below. Like him unnoticed, I, and such as I, Spread little wings, and rather skip than fly; Perched on the meagre produce of the land, An ell or two of prospect we command ; But never peep beyond the thorny bound Or oaken fence, that hems the paddock round. In Eden, ere yet innocence of heart Had faded, poetry was not an art : Language, above all teaching, or, if taught, Only by gratitude and glowing thought, Elegant as simplicity, and warm As ecstacy, unmanacled by form ; Not prompted, as in our degenerate days, By low ambition and the thirst of praise ; Was natural as is the flowing stream, And yet magnificent. A God the theme ! That theme on earth exhausted, though above 'Tis found as everlasting as his love. Man lavished all his thoughts on human things The feats of heroes, and the wrath of kings; But still, while Virtue kindled his delight, The song was moral, and so far was right. 'Twas thus, till Luxury seduced the mind To joys less innocent, as less refined ; Then genius danced a bacchanal ; he crowned The brimming goblet, seized the thyrsus, bound His brows with ivy, rushed into the field Of wild imagination, and there reeled, The victim of his own lascivious fires, And dizzy with delight, profaned the sacred wires. Anacreon, Horace played in Greece and Rome This bedlam part ; and others nearer home. v When Cromwell fought for power, and while he reigned The proud protector of the power he gained, Religion, harsh, intolerant, austere, ; Parent of manners like herself severe, Drew a rough copy of the Christian face, Without the smile, the sweetness, or the grace ; The dark and sullen humour of the time Judged every effort of the muse a crime ; Verse, in the finest mould of fancy cast, Was lumber in an age so void of taste : But when the Second Charles assumed the sway, And arts revived beneath a softer day; Then, like a bow long forced into a curve, The mind, released from too constrained a nerve, Flew to its first position with a spring, That made the vaulted roofs of pleasure ring. His court, the dissolute and hateful school Of Wantonness, where vice was taught by rule, Swarmed with a scribbling herd, as deep inlaid With brutal lust as ever Circe made. From these a long succession, in the rage Of rank obscenity, debauched their age ; Nor ceased, till, ever anxious to redress The abuses of her sacred charge, the press, The muse instructed a well-nurtured train Of abler votaries to cleanse the stain, COWPER'S WORKS. And claim the palm for purity of song, That Lewdness had usurped and worn so long. Then decent Pleasantry and sterling Sense, That neither gave, nor would endure offence, Whipped out of sight, with satire just and keen, The puppy pack, that had defiled the scene. In front of these came Addison. In him Humour in holiday and sightly trim, Sublimity and Attic taste combined, , To polish, furnish, and delight the mind.' Then Pope, as harmony itself exact, In verse well disciplined, complete, compact, Gave virtue and morality a grace, That, quite eclipsing Pleasure's painted face, Levied a tax of wonder and applause, Even on the fools that trampled on their laws. But he (his musical finesse was such, So nice his ear, so delicate his touch) Made poetry a mere mechanic art ; And every warbler has his tune by heart. Nature imparting her satiric gift, Her serious mirth, to Arbuthnot and Swift, With droll sobriety they raised a smile At Folly's cost, themselves unmoved the while. That constellation set, the world in vain Must hope to look upon their like again. A. Are we then left B. Notwholly in the dark Wit now and then, struck smartly, shows a spark Sufficient to redeem the modern race From total night and absolute disgrace. While servile trick and imitative knack Confine the million in the beaten track, Perhaps some courser, who disdains the road, Snuffs up the wind, and flings himself abroad. Contemporaries all surpassed, see one ; Short his career indeed, but ably run ; Churchill, himself unconscious of his powers, In penury consumed his idle hours ; . - t -. And, like a scattered seed at random sown, Was left to spring by vigour of his own. Lifted at length, by dignity of thought And dint of genius, to an affluent lot, He laid his head in Luxury's soft lap, And took, too often, there his easy nap. If brighter beams than all he threw not forth, 'Twas negligence in him, not want of worth. Surly, and slovenly, and bold, and coarse, Too proud for art, and trusting in mere force, Spendthrift alike of money and of wit, Always at speed, and never drawing bit, He struck the lyre in such a careless mood, And so disdained the rules he understood, The laurel seemed to wait on his command, He snatched it rudely from the Muses' hand. Nature exerting an unwearied power, Forms, opens, and gives scent to every flower ; Spreads the fresh verdure of the fields, and leads The dancing Naiads through the dewy meads : She fills profuse ten thousand little throats With music, modulating all their notes ; And charms the woodland scenes, and wilds un- known, With artless airs and concerts of her own: But seldom (as if fearful of expense) Vouchsafes to man a poet's just pretence- Fervency, freedom, fluency of thought, Harmony, strength, words exquisitely sought} Fancy, that, from the bow that spans the sky, Brings colours, dipped in Heaven, that never die j A soul exalted above Earth, a mind Skilled in the characters that form mankind; And, as the Sun in rising beauty drest, Looks to the westward from the dappled east, And marks, whatever clouds may interpose, Ere yet his race begins, its glorious close ; An eye like his to catch the distant goal ; Or, ere the wheels of verse begin to roll, Like his to shed illuminating rays On every scene and subject it surveys : Thus graced, the man asserts a poet's name, And the world cheerfully admits the claim. Pity Religion has so seldom found A skilful guide into poetic ground ! The flowers would spring where'er she deigned to stray, / . And every muse attend her in her way. Virtue indeed meets many a rhyming friend, And many a compliment politely penned ; But unattired in that becoming vest Religion weaves for her, and half undrest, Stands in the desert, shivering and forlorn, A wintry figure, like a withered thorn. The shelves are full, all other themes are sped ; Eackneyed and worn to the laot flimsy thread, Satire has long since done his best ; and curst And loathsome Ribaldry has done his worst ; Tancy has sported all her powers away n tales, in trifles, and in children's play ; And 'tis the sad complaint, and almost true, Whate'er we write, we bring forth nothing new. Twere new indeed to see a bard all fire, Touched with a coal from Heaven, assume the And tell the world, still kindling as he sung, With more than mortal music on his tongue, That He, who died below, and reigns above, nspires the song, and that his name is Love.. For, after all, if merely to beguile, 3y flowing numbers and a flowery stye, ?he tedium that the lazy rich endure, /Vhich now and then sweet poetry may cure t )r, if to see the name of idle self, tamped on the well-bound quarto, grace the shelf, 'o float a bubble on the breath of Fame, 'rompt his endeavour and engage his aim, )ebased to servile purposes of pride, How are the powers of genius mis applied' 10 COWPER'S WORKS. The gift, whose office is the Giver's praise, To trace him in his word, his works, his ways ! Then spread the rich discovery, and invite Mankind to share in the divine delight ; Distorted from its use and just design, To make the pitiful possessor shine, To purchase, at the fool-frequented fair Of vanity, a wreath for self to wear, Is profanation of the basest kind Proof of a trifling and a worthless mind, p A. Hail, Sternhold, then! and Hopkins, hail! B. Amen. If flattery, folly, lust, employ the pen; If acrimony, slander, and abuse, Give it a charge to blacken and traduce; Though Butler's wit, Pope's numbers, Prior's ease, With all that fancy can invent to please, Adorn the polished periods as they fall, One madrigal of theirs is worth them all. A. 'T would thin the ranks of the poetic tribe, To dash the pen through all that you proscribe. B. No matter we could shift when they were not; And should, no doubt, if they were all forgot. & of SStror. Si quid loquar audiendura. HOT. Lib. iv. O'd. 2. SING, muse, (if such a theme, so dark, so long, May find a muse to grace it with a song,) By what unseen and unsuspected arts The serpent Error twines round human hearts; Tell where she lurks, beneath what flowery shades, That not a glimpse of genuine light pervades, The poisonous, black, insinuating worm Successfully conceals her loathsome form. Take, if ye can, ye careless and supine, Counsel and caution from a voice like mine ! Truths, that the theorist could never reach, And observation taught me, I would teach. Not all, whose eloquence the fancy fills, Musical as the chime of tinkling rills, Weak to perform, though mighty to pretend, Can trace her mazy windings to then 1 end ; Discern the fraud beneath the specious lure, Prevent the danger, or prescribe the cure. The clear harangue, and cold as it is clear, Falls soporific on the listless ear; Like quicksilver, the rhetoric they display, Shines as it runs, but grasped at slips away. Placed for his trial on this bustling stage, From thoughtless youth to ruminating age, Free in his will to choose or to refuse, Man may improve the crisis, or abuse; Else on the fatalist's unrighteous plan, Say to what bar amenable were man 1 With nought in charge, he could betray no trust; And, if he fell, would fall because he must; If Love reward him, or if Vengeance strike, His recompence in both unjust alike. Divine authority within his breast Brings every thought, word, action, to the test; Warns him or prompts, approves him or restrains, As Reason, or as Passion, takes the reins. Heaven from above, and Conscience from within, Cries in his startled ear Abstain from sin! The world around solicits his desire, And kindles in his soul a treacherous fire, While, all his purposes and steps to guard, Peace follows Virtue as its sure reward ; And Pleasure brings as surely in her train Rdmorse, and Sorrow, and Vindictive Pain. Man, thus endued with an elective voice, Must be supplied with objects of his choice; Where'er he turns, enjoyment and delight, Or present, or in prospect, meet his sight ; Those open on the spot their honeyed store These call him loudly to pursuit of more His unexhausted mine the sordid vice Avarice shows, and virtue is the price. Her various motives his ambition raise Power, pomp, and splendour, and the thirst of praise; There beauty woos him with expanded arms ; E'en Bacchanalian madness has its charms. Nor these alone, whose pleasures less refined, Might well alarm the most unguarded mind, Seek to supplant his inexperienced youth, Or lead him devious from the path of truth; Hourly allurements on his passions press, Safe in themselves, but dangerous in th' excess. Hark- how it floats upon the dewy air! O what a dying, dying close was there! 'Tis harmony from yon sequestered bower, Sweet harmony that soothes the midnight hour! Long ere the charioteer of day had run His morning course, th' enchantment was begun And he shall gild yon mountain's height again, Ere yet the pleasing toil becomes a pain. Is this the nigged path, the steep ascent, That Virtue points to 1 Can a life thus spent Lead to the bliss she promises the wise, Detach the soul from earth, and speed her to the skies'? Ye devotees to your adored employ, Enthusiasts, drunk with an unreal joy, Love makes the music of the blest above, Heaven's harmony is universal love: THE PROGRESS OF ERRO 11 And earthly sounds, tho' sweet and well combined And lenient as soft opiates to the mind, Leave Vice and Folly unsubdued behind. Gray dawn appears; the sportsman and his train Speckle the bosom of the distant plain; 'Tis he, the Nimrod of the neighbouring lairs; Save that his scent is less acute than theirs; For persevering chase, and headlong leaps, True beagle as the staunchest hound he keeps. Charged with the folly of his life's mad scene, He takes offence, and wonders what you mean; The joy the danger and the toil o'erpays 'Tis exercise, and health, and length of days. Again impetuous to the field he flies ; Leaps every fence but one, there falls and dies; Like a slain deer, the tumbrel brings him home, Unmissed but by his dogs and by his groom. Ye clergy, while your, orbit is your place, Lights of the world, and stars of human race; But if eccentric ye forsake your sphere, Prodigies ominous, and viewed with fear; The comet's baneful influence is a dream; Yours, real and pernicious in th' extreme. "What then! are appetites and lusts laid down, With the same ease that man puts on his gown 1 Will Avarice and concupiscence give place, Charmed by the sounds Your Reverence, or Your Grace? No. But his own engagement binds him fast ; Or, if it.does not, brands him to the last, "What atheists call him a designing knave, A mere church juggler, hypocrite, and slave. Oh, laugh or mourn with me the rueful jest, A cassocked huntsman, and a fiddling priest ! He from Italian songsters takes his cue: Set Paul to music, he shall quote him too. He takes the field, the master of the pack Cries Well done, saint! and claps him on the back. Is this the path, of sanctity? Is this To stand a waymark in the road to bliss? Himself a wanderer from the narrow way, His silly sheep, what wonder if they stray ? Go, cast your orders at your bishop's feet, Send your dishonoured gown to Monmouth-street ! The sacred function in your hands is made Sad privilege! no function, but a trade! Occiduus is a pastor of renown, When he has prayed and preached the sabbath down, With wire and catgut he concludes the day, Quavering and semiquavering care away The full concerto swells upon your ear; All elbows shake. Look in, and you would swear The Babylonian tyrant with a nod Had summoned them to serve his golden god. So well that thought th' employment seems to suit, Psaltery and sackbut, dulcimer and flute. Ofie! 'tis evangelical and pureT*' Observe each face, how sober and demure ! Ecstacy sets her stamp on every mien; Chins fallen, and not an eye-ball to be seen . Still I insist, though music heretofore Has charmed me much, (not e'en Occiduus more,) Love, joy, and peace, make harmony more meet For sabbath evenings, and perhaps as sweet. Will not the sickliest sheep of every flock Resort to this example as a rock; There stand, and justify the foul abuse Of sabbath-hours with plausible excuse ? If apostolic gravity be free To play the fool on Sundays, why not we? If he the tinkling harpsichord regards As inoffensive, what offence in cards? Strike up the fiddles, let us all be gay, Laymen have leave to dance, if parsons play. Oh Italy! Thy sabbaths will be soon Our sabbaths, closed with mummery and buffoon. Preaching and pranks will share the motley sceac, Ours parcelled out, as thine have ever been, God's worship and the mountebank between. What says the prophet ? Let that day be blest With holiness and consecrated rest. Pastime and business both it should exclude, And bar the door the moment they intrude* Nobly distinguished above all the six By deeds, in which the world must never mir. Hear him again. He calls it a delight, A day of luxury observed aright, When the glad soul is made Heaven's welcome guest, Sits banqueting, and God provides the feast. But triflers are engaged and can not come; Their answer to the call is Not at home. O the dear pleasures of the velvet plain, ! ^ * The painted tablets, dealt and dealt again ! ards with what rapture, and the polished die, The yawning chasm of indolence supply ! Then to the dance, and make the sober moon Witness of joys that shun the sight of noon. Blame, cynic, if you can, quadrille or ball, The snug close party, or the splendid hall, Where night, down-stooping from her ebon throne, Views constellations brighter than her own. Tis innocent, and harmless, and xefined, The balm of care, Elysium of the mind. Innocent! Oh, if venerable Time Slain at the foot of Pleasure be no crime, Then, with his silver beard and magic wand, Let Comus rise archbishop of the land; Let him your rubric and your feasts prescribe, Grand metropolitan of all the tribe. Of manners rough, and coarse athletic cast, The rank debauch suits Clodio's filthy taste. Rufillus, exquisitely formed by rule, Not of the moral but the dancing school. 12 COWPER'S WORKS. Wonders at Clodio's follies, in a tone As tragical, as others at his own. He can not drink five bottles, bilk the score, Then kill a constable, and drink five more ; But he can draw a pattern, make a tart, And has the ladies' etiquette by heart. Go, fool; and, arm in arm with Clodio, plead Your cause before a bar you little dread; But know, the law that bids the drunkard die, Is far too just to pass the trifler by. Both baby-featured, and of infant size, Viewed from a distance, and with heedless eyes, Folly and Innocence are so alike, The difference, though essential, fails to strike. Yet Folly ever has a vacant stare, A simpering countenance, and a trifling air; But Innocence, sedate, serene, erect, Delights us, by engaging our respect. Man, Nature's guest by invitation sweet, Receives from her both appetite and treat; But, if he play the glutton and exceed, His benefactress blushes at the deed; For Nature, nice, as liberal to dispense, Made nothing but a brute the slave of sense. Daniel ate pulse by choice example rare ! Heaven blessed the youth, and made him fresh and fair. Gorgonius sits, abdominous and wan, . Like a fat squab upon a Chinese fan : He snuffs far off th' anticipated joy; Turtle and ven'son all his thoughts employ; Prepares for meals as jockeys take a sweat, Oh, nauseous! an emetic for a whet! Will Providence o'erlook the wasted good 1 Temperance were no virtue if he could. That pleasures, therefore, or what such we call, Are hurtful, is a truth confessed by all; And some, that seem to threaten virtue less, Still hurtful in th' abuse, or by th' excess. Is man then only for his torment placed The centre of delights he may not taste; Like fabled Tantalus, condemned to hear The precious stream still purling in his ear, Lip-deep in what he longs for, and yet curst With prohibition, and perpetual thirst 1 No, wrangler destitute of shame and sense The precept, that enjoins him abstinence, Forbids him none but the licentious joy, WTiose fruit, though fair, tempts only to destroy. Remorse, the fatal egg by Pleasure laid In every bosom where her nest is made, Hatched by the beams of Truth, denies him rest, And proves a raging scorpion in his breast. No pleasure's Are domestic comforts dead! Are all the nameless sweets of friendship fled ; ilas time worn out, or fashion put to shame, Good sense, good health, good conscience, and good fame 1 All these belong to virtue, and all prove, That virtue has a title to your love. Have you no touch of pity, that the poor Stand starved at your inhospitable door 1 Or if yourself too scantily supplied Need help, let honest industry provide. Earn, if you want ; if you abound, impart : These both are pleasures to the feeling heart. No pleasure 1 Has some sickly eastern waste Sent us a wind to parch us at a blast 1 Can British Paradise no scenes afford To please her sated and indifferent lord 1 Are sweet philosophy's enjoyments run duite to the lees 1 And has religion none 1 Brutes capable would tell you 'tis a lie, And judge you from the kennel and the stye. Delights like these, ye sensual and profane, Ye are bid, begged, besought to entertain; Called to these crystal streams, do ye turn off Obscene to swill and swallow at a trough 1 Envy the beast then, on whom Heaven bestows Your pleasures, with no curses in the close. Pleasure admitted in undue degree Enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free. 'Tis not alone the grape's enticing juice Unnerves the moral powers, and mars their use ; Ambition, avarice, and the lust of fame, And woman, lovely woman, does the same. The heart, surrendered to the ruling power Of some ungoverned passion every hour, Finds by degrees the truths, that once bore sway, And all their deep impressions, wear away ; So coin grows smooth, in traffic current passed, Till Caesar's image is effaced at last. The breach, tho' small at first, soon opening wide, In rushes folly with a full-moon tide, Then welcome errors of whatever size, To justify it by a thousand lies. As creeping ivy clings to wood or stone, And hides the ruin that it feeds upon. So sophistry cleaves close to and protects Sin's rotten trunk, concealing its defects. Mortals, whose pleasures are their only care, First wish to be imposed on, and then are. And, lest the fulsome artifice should fail, Themselves will hide its coarseness with a veil Not more industrious are the just and true, To give to Virtue what is Virtue's due The praise of wisdom, comeliness, and worth, And call her charms to public notice forth Than Vice's mean and disingenuous race, To hide the shocking features of her face. Her form with dress and lotion they repair ; Then kiss their idol, and pronounce her fair The sacred implement I now employ Might prove a mischief, or at best a toy; A trifle, if it move but to amuse ; But, if to wrong the judgment and abuse, THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 13 Worse than a poniard in the basest hand, It stabs at once the morals of a land. Ye writers of what none with safety reads, Footing it in the dance that Fancy leads ; Ye novelists, who mar what ye would mend, Snivelling and drivelling folly without end ; Whose corresponding misses fill the ream, With sentimental frippery and dream, Caught in a delicate soft silken net By some lewd earl, or rakehell baronet: Ye pimps, who, under virtue's fair pretence, Steal to the closet of young innocence, And teach her, unexperienced yet and green, To scribble as you scribbled at fifteen ; Who kindling a combustion of desire, With some cold moral think to quench the fire ; Though all your engineering proves in vain. The dribbling stream ne'er puts it out again: - O that a verse had power, and could command Far, far away these flesh-flies of the land ; Who fasten without mercy on the fair, And suck, and leave a craving maggot therel Howe'er disguised the inflammatory tale, And covered with a fine-spun specious veil ; Such writers, and such readers, owe the gust And relish of their pleasure all to lust. But the muse, eagle-pinioned, has in view A quarry more important still than you ; Down, down the wind she swims, and sails away, Now stoops upon it, and now grasps the prey. Petronius ! all the muses weep for thee ; But every tear shall scald thy memory : The graces too, while Virtue at their shrine Lay bleeding under that soft hand of thine, Felt each a mortal stab in her own breast, Abhorred the sacrifice, and cursed the priest. Thou polished and high-finished foe to truth, Graybeard corrupter of our listening youth, To purge and skim away the filth of vice, That so refined it might the more entice, Then pour it on the morals of thy son ; To taint his heart, was worthy of thine own ! Now, while the poison all high life pervades, Write, if thou canst, one letter from the shades; One, and one only, charged with deep regret, That thy worse part, thy principles, live yet: One sad epistle thence may cure mankind Of the plague spread by bundles left behind. 'Tis granted, and no plainer truth appears, Our most important are our earliest years ; The mind, impressible and soft, with ease Imbibes and copies what she hears and sees, And through life's labyrinth holds fast the clew That Education gives her, false or true. Plants raised with tenderness are seldom strong ; Man's coltish disposition asks the thong; And without discipline, the favourite child, Like a neglected forester, runs wild. But we, as if good qualities would grow Spontaneous, take but little pains to sow ; We give some Latin, and a smatch of Greek, Teach him to fence and figure twice a week; And having done, we think, the best we can> Praise his proficiency, and dub him man. From school to Cam or Isis, and thence home; And thence with all convenient speed to Rome, With reverend tutor clad in habit lay, To tease for cash, and quarrel with all day ; With memorandum-book for every town, And every post, and where the chaise broke down, His stock, a few French phrases got by heart, With much to learn, but nothing to impart; The youth obedient to his sire's commands, Sets off a wanderer into foreign lands. Surprised at all they meet, the gosling pair, With awkward gait, stretched neck, and silly stare, Discover huge cathedrals built with stone, And steeples towering high much like our own; But show peculiar light by many, a grin, At popish practices observed within. Ere long, some bowing, smirking, smart abbe Remarks two loiterers that have lost their way; And being always primed with politesse For men of their appearance and address, With much compassion undertakes the task, To tell them more than they have wit to ask; Points to inscriptions wheresoe'er they tread, Such as, when legible, were never read, But, being cankered now and half worn out, Craze antiquarian brains with endless dpubt; Some headless hero, or some Caesar shows- Defective only in his Roman nose; Exhibits elevations, drawings, plans, Models of Herculanean pots and pans ; And sells them medals, which, if neither rare Nor ancient, will be so, preserved with care. Strange the recital ! from whatever cause His great improvement and new light he draws, The squire, once bashful, is shamefaced no more, But teems with powers he never felt before: Whether increased momentum, and the force, With which from clime to clime he sped his course. As axles sometimes kindle as they go) Chafed him, and brought dull nature to a glow Or whether clearer skies and softer air, That make Italian flowers so sweet and fair, Freshening his lazy spirits as he ran, Unfolded genially and spread the man; Returning he proclaims by many a grace, By shrugs and strange contortions of his face, How much a dunce, that has been sent to roam, Excels a dunce, that has been kept at home. Accomplishments have taken virtue's place, And wisdom falls before exterior grace: We slight the precious kernel of the stone, And toil to polish its rough coat alone 14 COWPER'S WORKS. A just deportment, manners graced with ease, Elegant phrase, and figure formed to please, Are qualities, that seem to comprehend Whatever parents, guardians, schools intend; Hence an unfurnished and a listless mind, Though busy, trifling; empty, though refined; Hence all that interferes, and dares to clash With indolence and luxury, is trash: While learning, once the man's exclusive pride, Seems verging fast towards the female side. Learning itself, received into a mind By nature weak, or viciously inclined, Serves but to lead philosophers astray, Where children would with ease discern the way And of all arts sagacious dupes invent, To cheat themselves and gain the world's assent, The worst is Scripture warped from its intent. The carriage bowls along, and all are pleased If Tom be sober, and the wheels well greased; But if the rogue have gone a cup too far, Left out his linchpin, or forgot his tar, It suffers interruption and delay, And meets with hindrance in the smoothest way. When some hypothesis, absurd and vain, Has filled with all its fumes a critic's brain, The text, that sorts not with his darling whim, Though plain toothers, is obscure to him. The will made subject to a lawless force, All is irregular and out of course; And Judgment drunk, and bribed to lose his way, Winks hard, and talks of darkness at noonday. A critic on the sacred book should be Candid and learned, dispassionate and free: Free from the wayward bias bigots feel, From fancy's influence, and intemperate zeal: But, above all, (or let the wretch refrain, Nor touch the page he can not but profane,) Free from the domineering power of lust; A lewd interpreter is never just. How shall I speak thee, or thy power address, Thou god of our idolatry, the Press 1 By thee religion, liberty, and laws, Exert their influence, and advance their cause ; By thee worse plagues than Pharaoh's land befel, Diffuse, make Earth the vestibule of Hell: Thou fountain, at which drink the good and wise; Thou ever-bubbling spring of endless lies; Like Eden's dread probationary tree, Knowledge of good and evil is from thee. No wild enthusiast ever yet could rest, Till half mankind were like himself possessed. Philosophers, who darken and put out Eternal truth by everlasting doubt; Church quacks, with passions under no command, Who fill the world with doctrines contraband, Discoverers of they know not what, confined Within no bounds the blind that lead the blind; To streams of popular opinion drawn, Deposit in those shallows all their spawn. The wriggling fry soon fill the creeks around, Poisoning the waters where their swarms abound. Scorned by the nobler tenants of the flood, Minnows and gudgeons gorge th' unwholsomefood. The propagated myriads spread so fast, E'en Lewenhoeck himself would stand aghast, Employed to calculate th' enormous sum, And own his crab-computing powers o'ercome. Is this hyperbole 1 ? The world well known, Your sober thoughts will hardly find it one. Fresh confidence the speculatist takes From every hair-brained proselyte he makes; And therefore prints. Himself but half deceived, Till others have the soothing tale believed. Hence comment after comment, spun as fine As bloated spiders draw the flimsy line: Hence the same word, that bids our lusts obey, Is misapplied to sanctify their sway. If stubborn Greek refuse to be his friend, Hebrew or Syriac shall be forced to bend : If languages and copies all cry, No Somebody proved it centuries ago. " Like trout pursued, the critic in despair Darts to the mud, and finds his safety there. Women, whom custom has forbid to fly, The scholar's pitch (the scholar best knows why,) With all the simple and unlettered poor, Admire his learning, and almost adore. Whoever errs, the priest can ne'er be wrong, With such fine words familiar to his tongue. Ye ladies ! (for indifferent in your cause, [ should deserve to forfeit all applause,) Whatever shocks or gives the least offence To virtue, delicacy, truth, or sense, Try the criterion, 'tis a faithful guide,) Nor has, nor can have, Scripture on its side. None but an author knows an author's cares, Dr Fancy's fondness for the child she bears. ommitted once into the public arms, The baby seems to smile with added charms, like something precious ventured far from shore, Tis valued for the danger's sake the more. 3e views it with complacency supreme, Solicits kind attention to his dream ; And daily more enamoured of the cheat, kneels, and asks heaven to bless the dear deceit. So one, whose story serves at least to show Vlen loved their own productions long ago, Wooed an unfeeling statue for his wife, Vor rested till the gods had given it life, f some mere driveller suck the sugared fib, Dne that still needs his leading-string and bit, &nd praise his genius, he is soon repaid n praise applied to the same part his head: ^or 'tis a rule that holds for ever true, jrant me discernment, and I grant it you. Patient of contradiction as a child, Affable, humble, diffident, and mild; TRUTH. Such was Sir Isaac, and such Boyle and Locke: Your blunderer is as sturdy as a rock. The creature is so sure to kick and bite, A muleteer's the man to set him right. First Appetite enlists him Truth's sworn foe, Then obstinate Self-will confirms him so. . Tell him he wanders; that his error leads To fatal ills; that, though the path he treads Be flowery, and he sees no cause of fear, Death and the pains of hell attend him there: In vain; the slave of arrogance and pride: He has no hearing on the prudent side. His still refuted quirks he still repeats; New raised objections with new quibbles meets; Till sinking in the quicksand he defends, He dies disputing, and the contest ends-^- But not the mischiefs; they, still left behind, Like thistle-seeds, are sown by every wind. .Thus men go wrong with an ingenious skill; Bend the straight rule to their own crooked will; And with a" clear and shining lamp supplied, First put it out, then take it for a guide. Halting on crutches of unequal size, One leg by truth supported, one by lies; They sidle to the goal with awkward pace, Secure of nothing but to loose the race. Faults in the life breed errors in the brain, And these reciprocally those again. The mind and conduct mutually imprint And stamp their image in each other's mint: Each, sire and dam, of an infernal race, Begetting and conceiving all that's base. None sends his arrow to the mark in view, Whose hand is feeble, or his aim untrue. For though ere yet, the shaft is on the wing, Or when it first forsakes th' elastic string, It err but little from the intended line, It falls at last far wide of his design: So he who seeks a mansion in the sky, Must watch his purpose with a steadfast eye; That prize belongs to none but the sincere ; The least obliquity is fatal here. With cautious taste the sweet Circean cup: He that sips often, at last drinks it up. Habits are soon assumed; but. when we strive To strip them off, 'tis being flayed alive. Called to the temple of impure delight, He that abstains, and he alone, does right. If a wish wander that way, call it home; He cannot long be safe whose wishes roam. But, if you pass the threshold you are caught; Die then, if power Almighty save you not. There hardening by degrees, till double steeled, Take leave of nature's God, and God revealed; Then laugh at all you trembled at before; And, joining the free-thinker's brutal roar, Swallow the two grand nostrums they dispense That Scripture lies, and blasphemy is sense: If clemency revolted by abuse Be damnable, then damned without excuse. Some dream that they can silence, when the? will, The storm of passion, and say, Peace, be still; But " Thus far and no further" when addressed To the wild wave, or wilder human breast, Implies authority that never can, That never ought to be the lot of man. But, muse forbear; long flights forbode a fall; Strike on the deep-toned chord the sum of all. Hear the just law the judgment of the skies He that hates truth shall be the dupe of lies: And he that will be cheated to the last, Delusions strong as Hell shall bind him fast. But if the wanderer his mistake discern,, Judge his own ways, and sigh for a return, Bewildered once, must he bewail his loss For ever and for everl No the cross! There and there only (though the deist rave, And atheist, if earth bear so base a slave;) There and there only is the power to save. There no delusive hope invites despair; No mockery meets you, no deception there. The spells and charms, that blinded you before, All vanish there, and fascinate no more. I am no preacher, let this hint suffice The cross once seen is death to every vice: Else he that hung there suffered all his pain, Bled, groaned, and agonized, and died, in vain. JErtttfu Pensanturtrutina. Hor. Lib. ii. Eplst. 1. MAN, on the dubious waves of error tossed, His ship half-foundered, and his compass lost, Sees, far as human optics may command, A sleeping fog, and fancies it dry land: Spreads all his canvass, every sinew plies; Pants for 't, aims at it, enters it, and dies ! Then farewell all self-satisfying schemes, His well-built systems, philosophic dreams; U Deceitful views of future bliss farewell He reads his sentence at the flames of Hell. Hard lot of man to toil for the reward Of virtue, and yet lose it! Wherefore hard! He that would win the race must guide his hors- Obedient to the customs of the course ; Else, though unequalled to the goal he flies, A meaner than himself shall gain the priw 16 COWPER'S WORKS. Grace leads the right way ; if you choose the wrong, Take it and perish; but restrain your tongue; Charge not, with light sufficient, and left free, Your wilful suicide on God's decree. O how unlike the complex works of man, Heaven's easy, artless, unincumbered plan ! No meretricious graces to beguile, No clustering ornaments to clog the pile ; From ostentation as from weakness free, It stands like the cerulean arch we see, Majestic in its own simplicity. Inscribed above the portal, from afar Conspicuous as the brightness of a star, Legible only by the light they give, Stand the soul-quick'ning words Believeandlive. Too many, shocked at what should charm them most Despire the plain direction, and are lost. Heaven on such terms ! (they cry with proud dis- dain,) Incredible, impossible, and vain ! Rebel, because 'tis easy to obey ; And scorn, for its own sake, the gracious way. These are the sober, in whose cooler brains Some thought of immortality remains ; The rest, too busy or too gay to wait On the sad theme, their everlasting state, Sport for a day, and perish in a night, The foam upon the waters not so light. Who judged the pharisee? WTiat odious cause Exposed him to the vengeance of the laws? Had he seduced a virgin, wronged a friend, Or stabbed a man to serve some private end? Was blasphemy his sin 1 Or did he stray From the strict duties of the sacred day? Sit long and late at the carousing board ? (Such were the sins with which he charged his Lord.) No the man's morals were exact, what then ? 'T was his ambition to be seen of men ; Qis virtues were his pride ; and that one vice Made all his virtues gewgaws of no price ; He wore them as fine trappings for a show, A praying, synagogue-frequenting beau. The self-applauding bird, the peacock see Mark what a sumptuous pharisee is he ! Meridian sun-beams tempt him to unfold His radiant glories, azure, green, and gold : He treads as if, some solemn music near, His measured step were governed by his ear: And seems to say Ye meaner fowl, give place, I am all splendour, dignity, and grace ! Not so the pheasant on his charms presumes, Though he too has a glory in his plumes. He, Christian like, retreats with modest mien To the close copse, or far-sequestered green, And shines without desiring to be seen. The plea of works, as arrogant and vain, Heaven turns from with abhorrence and disdain ; Not more affronted by avowed neglect, Than by the mere dissembler's feigned inspect. What is all righteousness that men devuu? What but a sordid bargain for the skies? But Christ as soon would abdicate his o\vn, As stoop from Heaven to sell the proud a throne. His dwelling a recess in some rude rock, Book, beads, and maple dish, his meagre stock In shirt of hair, and weeds of canvass, dressed, Girt with a bell-rope that the pope has blessed ; Adust with stripes told out for every crime, And sore tormented long before his time ; His prayer preferred to saints that can not aid ; His praise postponed, and never to be paid ; See the sage hermit, by mankind admired, With all that bigotry adopts inspired, Wearing out life in his religious whim, Till his religious whimsy wears out him. His works, his abstinence, his zeal allowed. You think him humble God accounts him proud j High in demand, though lowly in pretence, Of all his conduct this the genuine sense My penitential stripes, my streaming blood, Have purchased Heaven and prove my title good. Turn Eastward now, and Fancy shall apply To your weak sight her telescopic eye. The bramin kindles on his own bare head The sacred fire, self-torturing his trade; His voluntary pains, severe and long, Would give a barbarous air to British song ; No grand inquisitor could worse invent, Than he contrives to suffer, well content. Which is the saintlier worthy of the two? Past all dispute, yon anchorite say you. Your sentence and mine differ. What's a name* I say the bramin has the fairer claim. If sufferings, Scripture no where recommends, Devised by self to answer selfish ends, Give saintship, then all Europe must agree Ten starveling hermits suffer less than he. The truth is (if the truth may suit your ear, And prejudice have left a passage clear,) Pride has attained its most luxuriant growth, And poisoned every virtue in them both. Pride may be pampered while the flesh grows lean, Humility may clothe an English dean ; That grace was Cowper's his, confessed by all Though placed in golden Durham's second stall. Not all the plenty of a bishop's board, His palace, and his lackeys, and " My Lord," More nourish pride, that condescending vice, Than abstinence, and beggary, and lice ; It thrives in misery, and abundant grows : In misery fools upon themselves impose. But why before us protestants produce An Indian mystic, or a French recluse? Their sin is plain ; but what have we to fear, Reformed and well instructed? You shall hear. TRUTD. Yon ancient prude, whose withered features show She might be young some forty years ago, Her elbows pinioned close upon her hips, Her head erect, her fan upon her tips, Her eye-brows arched, her eyes both gone astray To watch yon amorous couple in their play) ' With bony and unkerchiefed neck defies ^ The rude inclemency of wintry skies, And sails with lappet-head and mincing airs Duly at clink of bell to morning prayers. To thrift and parsimony much inclined, She yet allows herself that boy behind ; The shivering urchin, bending as he goes, With slipshod heels, and dewdrop at his nose ; His predecessor's coat advanced to wear, "Which future pages yet are doomed to share, Carries her Bible tucked beneath his arm, And hides his hands to keep his fingers warm. She, half an angel in her own account, Doubts not nereafter with the saints to mount, Though not a grace appears on strictest search, But that she fasts, and item, goes to church. Conscious of age, she recollects her youth, And tells, not always with an eye to truth, Who spanned her waist, and who, where'er he came, Scrawled upon glass Miss Bridget's lovely name; Who stole her slipper, filled it with tokay, And drank the little bumper every day. Of temper as envenomed as an asp, . \ Censorious, and her every word a wasp ; In faithful memory- she records the crimes, Or real or fictitious, of the times ; Laughs at the reputations she has torn, And holds them dangling at arm's length in scorn. Such are the fruits of sanctimonious pride, Of malice fed while flesh is mortified : Take, Madam, the reward of all your prayers, Where hermits and where bramins meet with theirs ; Your portion is with them. Nay, never frown, But, if you please, some fathoms lower down. Artist attend your brushes and your paint Produce them take a chair now draw a saint. Oh sorrowful and sad ! the streaming tears Channel her cheeks a Niobe appears ! Is this a saint 1 Throw tints and all away True piety is cheerful as the day, Will weep indeed and heave a pitying groan For others' woes, but smiles upon her own. What purpose has the King of saints in view? Why falls the Gospel like a gracious dew? To call up plenty from the teeming earth, Or curse the desert with a tenfold dearth 1 Is it that Adam's offspring may be saved From servile fear, or be the more enslaved? To loose the links that galled mankind before, Or bind them faster on, and add still more? The freeborn Christian has no chains to prove, Or, if a chain, the golden one of love ; No fear attends to quench his glowing fires, What fear he feels, his gratitude inspires. Shall he, for such deliverance freely wrought, Recompense ill? He trembles at the thought. His Master's interest and his own combined, Prompt every movement of his heart and mind : Thought, word, and deed his liberty evince, His freedom is the freedom of a prince. Man's obligations infinite, of course , His life should prove that he perceives their force; His utmost he can render is but small The principle and motive all in all. You have two servants Tom, an arch, sly rogue From top to toe the Geta now in vogue, Genteel in figure, easy in address, Moves without noise, and swift as an express, Reports a message with a pleasing grace, Expert in all the duties of his place; Say, on what hinge does his obedience move? Has he a world of gratitude and love ? No, not a spark 'tis all mere sharper's play; He likes your house, your housemaid and your pay; Reduce his wages or get rid of her, Tom quits you, with Your most obedient, Sir. The dinner served, Charles takes his usual stand, Watches your eye, anticipates command ; Sighs if perhaps your appetite should fail ; And, if he but suspects a frown, turns pale ; Consults all day your interest and your ease, Richly rewarded if he can but please; And, proud to make his firm attachment known, To save your life would nobly risk his own. Now which stands highest in your serious thought? Charles, without doubt, say you and so he ought ; One act, that from a thankful heart proceeds, Excels ten thousand mercenary deeds. Thus Heaven approves, as honest and sincere, The work of generous love and filial fear ; But with averted eyes th' omniscient Judge Scorns the base hireling, and the slavish drudge. Where dwell these matchless saints ? old Curio cries. E'en at your side, Sir, and before your eyes, The favoured few th' enthusiasts you despise. And pleased at heart, because on holy ground Sometimes a canting hypocrite is found, Reproach a people with his single fall, And cast his filthy garment at them all. Attend ! an apt similitude shall snow, Whence springs the conduct that offends you so. See where it smokes along the sounding plain, Blown all aslant, a driving, dashing rain, Peal upon peal redoubling all around, Shakes it again and faster to the ground ; Now flashing wide, now glancing as in play, Swift beyond thought the lightnings dart away. IS COWPER'S WORKS. Ere yet it came the traveller urged his steed, And hurried, but with unsuccessful speed ; Now drenched throughout, and hopeless of his case, He drops the rein, and leaves him to his pace. Suppose, unlooked-for in a scene so rude, Long hid by interposing hill or wood, Some mansion, neat and elegantly dressed, By some kind hospitable heart possessed, Offer him warmth, security, and rest ; Think with what pleasure, safe and at his ease, He hears the tempest howling in the trees ; What glowing thanks his lips and heart employ, While danger past is turned to present joy. So fares it with the sinner, when he feels A growing dread of vengeance at his heels : His conscience, like a glassy lake before, Lashed into foaming waves, begins to roar ; The law grown clamorous, though silent long, Arraigns him charges him with every wrong Asserts the rights of his offended Lord, And death or restitution is the word : The last impossible, he fears the first, And, having well deserved, expects the worst, Then welcome refuge, and a peaceful home ; Oh for a shelter from the wrath to come ! Crush me, ye rocks ! ye falling mountains hide, Or bury me in ocean's angry tide. The scrutiny of those all seeing eyes 1 dare not And you need not, God replies j 1 The remedy you want I freely give : The Book shall teach you read, believe, and live ! 'Tis done the raging storm is heard no more, Mercy receives him on her peaceful shore : And Justice, guardian of the dread command, Drops the red vengeance from his willing hand. A soul redeemed demands a life of praise ; Hence the complexion of his future days, Hence a demeanour holy and unspecked, And the world's hatred, as its sure effect. Some lead a life umblameable and just, Their own dear virtue their unshaken trust ; They never sin or if (as all offend) Some trivial slips their daily walk attend, The poor are near at hand, the charge is small, A slight gratuity atones for all. For though the pope has lost his interest here, And pardons are not sold as once they were, No papist more desirous to compound, Than some grave sinners upon English ground. That plea refuted, other quirks they seek Mercy is infinite, and man is weak ; The future shall obliterate the past, And Heaven no doubt shall be their home at last. Come then a still, small whisper in your ear He has no hope who never had a fear ; And he that never doubted of his state, He may perhaps perhaps he may too late. . The path to bliss abounds with many a snare ; Learning is one, and wit, however rare. The Frenchman, first in literary fame, (Mentionhimif you please.) Voltaire 7 Thesame. With spirit, genius, eloquence, supplied, Lived long, wrote much, laughed heartily, and died. The Scripture was his jest-book, whence he drew Bon mots to gall the Christian and the Jew ; An infidel in health, but what when sick 1 Oh then a text would touch him at the quick : View him at Paris in his last career, Surrounding throngs the demi-god revere ; Exalted on his pedestal of pride, And fumed frankincense on every side, He begs their flattery with his latest breath, And smothered in 't at last, is praised to death. Yon cottager, who weaves at her own door, Pillow and bobbins all her little store ; Content though mean, and cheerful if not gay, Shuffling her threads about the livelong day, Just earns a scanty pittance, and at night, Lies down secure, her heart and pocket light ; She, for her humble sphere by nature fit, . (Has little understanding, and no wit, Receives no praise ; but, though her lot be such, Toilsome and indigent) she renders much ; Just knows, and knows no more, her Bible true A truth the brilliant Frenchman never knew ; And in that charter reads with sparkling eyes Her title to a treasure in the skies. Oh happy peasant ! Oh unhappy bard ! His the mere tinsel, hers the rich reward ; He praised perhaps for ages yet to come, She never heard of half a mile from home : He lost in errors his vain heart prefers, She safe in the simplicity of hers. Not many wise, rich, noble, or profound In science, win one inch of heavenly ground. And is it not a mortifying thought The poor should gain it, and the rich should not 7 No the voluptuaries, who ne'er forget One pleasure lost, lose Heaven without regret ; Regret would rouse them, and give birth to prayer; Prayer would add faith, and faith would fix them there. Not that the Former of us all, in this, Or aught he does, is governed by caprice ; The supposition is replete with sin, And bears the brand of blasphemy burnt in. Not so the silver trumpet's heavenly call Sounds for the poor, but sounds alike for all : Kings are invited, and would kings obey, No slaves on earth more welcome were than they : But royalty, nobility, and state, Are such a dead preponderating weight, That endless bliss (how strange soe'er it seem) In counterpoise, flies up and kicks the beam. 'Tis open, and ye can not enter why 1 Because ye will not, Conyers would reply And he says much that many may dispute, And cavil at with ease, but none refute. TRUTH. O blessed effect of penury and want ; The seed sown there how vigorous is the plant ! No soil like poverty for growth divine, As leanest land supplies the richest wine. Earth gives too little, giving only bread, , To nourish pride, or turn the weakest head : To them the sounding jargon of the schools Seems what it is a cap and bells for fools : The light they walked by, kindled from above, Shows them the shortest way to life and love : They, strangers to the controversial field, Where deists, always foiled, yet scorn to yield, And never checked by what impedes the wise, Believe, rush forward, and possess the prize. Envy, ye great, the dull unlettered small : Ye have much cause for envy but not all. We boast some rich ones whom the Gospel sways, And one who wears a coronet and prays ; Like gleanings, of an olive-tree they show, Here and there onq upon the topmost bough. How readily upon the Gospel plan, That question has its answer What is man 1 Sinful and weak, in every sense a wretch ; An instrument, whose chords upon the stretch, And strained to the last screw that he can bear, Yield only discord in his Maker's ear : Once the blest residence jf truth divine, Glorious as Solyma's interior shrine, Where, in his own oracular abode, Dwelt visibly the light-creating God,; But made long since, like Babylon of old, A den of mischiefs never to be told : And she, once mistress of the realms around, Now scattered wide, and no where to be found, As soon shall rise and reascend the throne, By native power and energy her own, As Nature, at her own peculiar cost, Restore to man the glories he has lost. Go bid the winter cease to chill the year, Replace the wand'ring comet in his sphere ; Then boast (but wait for that unhoped-for hour) The self-restoring arm of human power; But what is man in his own proud esteem'? Hear him himself the poet and the theme : A monarch clothed with majesty and awe, His mind his kingdom, and his will his law, Grace in his mien, and glory in his eyes, Supreme on earth, and worthy of the skies, Strength in his heart, dominion in his nod, And, thunderbolts excepted, quite a God ! So sings he, charmed with his own mind and form, The song magnificent the theme a worm ! Himself so much the source of his delight, His Maker has no beauty in his sight. See where he sits, contemplative and fixed, Pleasure and wonder in his features mixed, His passions tamed and all at his control How rierfect the composure of his soul! c 2 Complacency has breathed a gentle gale O'er all his thoughts, and swelled his easy sail : His books well trimmed and in the gayest style, Like regimental coxcombs, rank and file, Adorn his intellects as well as shelves, And teach him notions splendid as themselves: The Bible only stands neglected there, Though that of all most worthy of his care; And, like an infant troublesome awake, Is left to sleep for peace and quiet's sake. What shall the man deserve of humankind, Whose happy skill and industry combined Shall prove (what argument could never yet) The Bible an imposture and a cheat 7 The praises of the libertine professed, The worst of men, and curses of the best. Where should the living, weeping o'er his woes; The dying, trembling at the awful close; Where the betrayed, forsaken, and oppressed, The thousands whom the world forbids to rest; Where should they find (those comforts at an end The Scripture yields,) or hope to find, a friend 1 Sorrow might muse herself to madness then, And, seeking exile from the sight of men, Bury herself in solitude profound, row frantic with her pangs, and bite the ground Thus often Unbelief, grown sick of life, Plies to the tempting pool, or felon knife. The jury meet, the coroner is short, And lunacy the verdict of the court : Reverse the sentence, let the truth be known, Such lunacy is ignorance alone; They knew not, what some bishops may not know, That Scripture is the only cure of wo; That field of promise, how it flings abroad ts odour o'er the Christian's thorny road! The soul, reposing on assured relief, Feels herself happy amidst all her grief, 'orgets her labour as she toils along, Weeps tears of joy, and bursts into a song. But the same word, that, like the polished share. Roughs up the roots of a believer's care, ills too the flow'ry weeds, where'er they grow, That bind the sinner's Bacchanalian brow. Dh that unwelcome voice of heavenly love, Sad messenger of mercy from above ! low does it grate upon his thankless ear, Crippling his pleasures with the cramp of feai ! lis will and judgment at continual strife, ?hat civil war imbitters all his life : n vain he points his powers against the skies, n vain he closes or averts his eyes, ruth will intrude she bids him yet beware ; nd shakes the sceptic in the scorner's chair. Though various foes against the truth combine, 'ride above all opposes her design; ride, of a growth superior to the rest, The subtlest serpent with the loftiest crest. 30 COWPER'S WORKS. Swells at the thought, and, kindling into rage, Would hiss the cherub Mercy from the stage. Anu is the soul indeed so lost 1 she cries, Fallen from her glory, and too weak to rise 1 Torpid and dull beneath a frozen zone, Has she no spark that may be deemed her own 1 Grant her indebted to what zealots call Grace undeserved, yet surely not for all Some beams of rectitude she yet displays, Some love of virtue, and some power to praise; Can lift herself above corporeal things, And, soaring on her own unborrowed wings, Possess herself of all that's good or true, Assert the skies, and vindicate her due. Past indiscretion is a venial crime, And if the youth, unmellowed yet by time, Bore on his branch, luxuriant then and rude, Fruits of a blighted size, austere and crude, Maturer years shall happier stores produce, And meliorate the well-concocted juice. Then conscious of her meritorious zeal, To justice she may make ner DOid appeal, And leave to mercy, with a tranquil mind, The worthless and unfruitful of mankind. Hear then how m'ercy, slighted and defied, Retorts the affront against the crown of Pride. Pensh the virtue, as it ought, abhorred, And the fool with it, who insults his Lord. The atonement, a Redeemer's love has wrought, Is not for you the righteous need it not. Seest thou yon harlot, wooing all she meets, The worn-out nuisance of the public streets, Herself from morn to night, from night to morn, Her own abhorrence, and as much your scorn; The gracious shower, unlimited and free, Shall fall on her, w,hen heaven denies it thee. Of all that wisdom dictates, this the drift, That man is dead in sin, and life a gift. Ts virtue, then, unless of Christian growth, Mere fallacy, or foolishness, or both 1 Ten thousand sages lost in endless wo, For ignorance of what they could not know 1 That speech betrays at once a bigot's tongue, Charge not a God with such outrageous wrong. Truly not I the partial light men have, My creed persuades me, well-employed, may save : While he that scorns the noonday beam, perverse, Shall find the blessing unimproved a curse. Let heathen worthies, whose exalted mind Left sensuality and dross behind, Possess for me their undisputed lot, And take unenvied the reward they sought: But still in virtue of a Saviour's plea, Not blind by choice, but destined not to see. Their fortitude and wisdom were a flame Celestial, though they knew not whence it came, Derived from the same source of light and grace, That jfuides the Christian in his swifter race; Their judge was conscience, and her rule their law That rule, pursued with reverence and with awe, Led them, however faltering, faint, and slow, From what they knew, to what they wished to know. But let not him, that shares a brighter day, Traduce the splendour of a noontide ray, Prefer the twilight of a darker tune, And deem his base stupidity no crime: The wretch, who slights the bounties of the skies, And sinks, while favoured with the means to rise. Shall find them rated at their full amount; The good he scorned all carried to account. Marshaling all his terrors as he came, Thunder, and earthquake, and devouring flame, From Sinai's top Jehovah gave the law, Life for obedience, death for every flaw. When the great Sovereign would his will express, He gives a perfect rule; what can he less'? And guards it with a sanction as severe As vengeance can inflict, or sinners fear: Else his own glorious rights ne would disclaim, And man might safely trifle with his name. He bids him glow with unremitting love To all on earth, and to himself above ; Condemns the injurious deed, the sland'roug tongue, The thought that meditates a brother's wrong: Brings not alone the more conspicuous part, His conduct, to the test, but tries his heart. Hark ! universal nature shook and groaned, Twas the last trumpet see the judge enthroned Rouse all your courage at your utmost need, Now summon every virtue, stand and plead. What! silent 1 Is your boasting heard no more? That self-renouncing wisdom, learned before, Had shed immortal glories on your brow, That all your virtues can not purchase now. All joy to the believer! He can speak Trembling yet happy, confident yet meek. Since the dear hour, that brought me to thy foot And cut up all my follies by the root, ! never trusted in an arm but thine, STor hoped, but in thy righteousness divine: Vly prayers and alms, imperfect and defiled, Were but the feeble efforts of a child; Howe'er performed, it was their brightest part, That they proceeded from a grateful heart: Cleansed in thine own all purifying blood, forgive their evil, and accept their good; '. cast them at thy feet my only plea 's what it was, dependence upon thee; WTiile struggling in the vale of tears below, That never failed, nor shall it fail me now. Angelic gratulations rend the skies, 5 ride falls unpitied, never more to rise, lumility is crowned, and Faith receives the prize EXPOSTULATION. 21 Tantane tarn patiens, nullo certamine toll! Dona sines 1 Virg. Mn. Lib. V. WHY weeps the muse for England? What ap- pears In England's case, to move the muse to tears'? . From side to side of her delightful isle Is she not clothed with a perpetual smile? Can nature add a charm, or art confer A new-found luxury not seen in her? Where under heayen is pleasure more pursued, Or where does cold reflection less intrude 1 Her fields a rich expanse of wavy corn, Poured out from plenty's overflowing horn; Ambrosial gardens, in which art supplies The fervour and the force of Indian skies; Her peaceful shores, where busy commerce waits To pour his golden tide through all her gates; Whom fiery suns, that scorch the russet spice Of eastern groves, and oceans floored with ice, Forbid in vain to push his daring way To darker climes, or climes of brighter 'day; Whom the winds waft where'er the billows roll, From the world's girdle to the frozen pole; The chariots bounding in her wheel-worn streets, Her vaults below, where every vintage meets; Her theatres, her revels, and her sports; The scenes to which not youth alone resorts, But age, in spite of weakness and of pain, Still haunts, in hope to dream of youth again; All speak her happy : let the Muse look round From East to West, no sorrow can be found; Or only what, in cottages confined, Sighs unregarded to the passing wind. Then wherefore weep for England? What ap- pears In England's case to move the muse to tears'? The prophet wept for Israel; wished his eyes Were fountains fed with infinite supplies; For Israel dealt in robbery and wrong; There were the scorner's and the slanderer's tongue. Oaths, used as playthings or convenient tools, As interest bias'd knaves, or fashion fools; Adultery, neighing at his neighbour's door; Oppression, lab'ring hard to grind the poor; The partial balance, and deceitful weight; The treacherous smile, a mask for secret hate; Hypocrisy, formality in prayer, And the dull service of the lip were there. Her women, insolent and self-caressed, By Vanity's unwearied finger dressed, Forgot the blush, that virgin fears impart To modest cheeks, and borrowed one from art; Were just such trifles, without worth or use, As silly pride and idleness producej Curled, scented, furbelowed, and flounced around, With feet too delicate to touch the ground, They stretched the neck, and rolled the wanton eye, And sighed for every fool that fluttered by. He saw his people slaves to every lust, Lewd, avaricious, arrogant, unjust; He heard the wheels of an avenging God Groan heavily along the distant road; Saw Babylon set wide her two-leaved brass To let the military deluge pass; Jerusalem a prey, her glory soiled, Her princes captive, and her treasures spoiled; Wept till all Israel heard his bitter cry, Stamped with his foot, and smote upon his thigh: But wept, and stamped, and smote his thigh in vain; Pleasure is deaf when told of future pain, And sounds prophetic are too rough to suit Ears long accustomed to the pleasing lute; They scorned his inspiration and his theme. Pronounced him frantic, and his fears a dream; With self-indulgence winged the fleeting hours, Till the foe found them, and down fell their towers. Long time Assyria bound them in her chain, Till penitence had purged the public stain, And Cyrus, with relenting pity moved, Returned them happy to the land they loved; There, proof against prosperity, awhile They stood the test of her ensnaring smile, And had the grace in scenes of peace to show The virtue they had learned in scenes of wo. But man is frail, and can but ill sustain A long immunity from grief and pain; And after all the joys that Plenty leads, With tiptoe step Vice silently succeeds. When he that ruled them with a shepherd's rod In form a man, in dignity a God, Came, not expected in that humble guise, To sift and search them with unerring eyes, He found, concealed beneath a fair outside, The filth of rottenness, and worm of pride; Their piety a system of deceit, Scripture employed to sanctify the cheat; The Pharisee the dupe of his own art, Self-idolized, and yet a knave at heart. When nations are to perish in their sins 'Tis in the church tho leprosy begins ; COWPER'S WORKS. The priest, whose office is with zeal sincere To watch the fountain, and preserve it clear, Carelessly nods and sleeps upon the brink, While others poison what the flock must drink; Or, waking at the call of lust alone, [nfuses lies and errors of his own: His unsuspecting sheep believe it pure ; And, tainted by the very means of cure, Catch from each other a contagious spot, The foul fore-runner of a general rot. Then Truth is hushed, that Heresy may preach: And all is trash, that Reason can not reach: Then God's own image on the soul impressed, Becomes a mock'ry, and a standing jest; And faith, the root whenbe only can arise The graces of a life that wins the skies, Loses at once all value and esteem, Pronounced by gray-beards a pernicious dream; Then Ceremony leads her bigots forth, Prepared to fight for shadows of no worth ; While truths, on which eternal things depend, Find not, or hardly find, a single friend; As soldiers watch the signal of command, They learn to bow, to kneel, to sit, to stand ; Happy to fill Religion's vacant place With hollow form, and gesture, and grimace. Such, when the Teacher of his church was there, People and priest, the sons of Israel were; Stiff in the letter, lax in the design And import of their oracles divine; Their learning legendary, false, absurd, - And yet exalted above God's own word; They drew a curse from an intended good, Puffed up with gifts they never understood. He judged them with as terrible a frown, As if not love, but wrath, had brought him down: Yet he was gentle as soft summer airs, Had grace for others' sins, but none for theirs; Through all he spoke a noble plainness ran Rhet'ric is artifice, the work of man; And tricks and turns, that fancy may devise, Are far too mean for Him that rules the skies. Th' astonished vulgar trembled while he tore The mask from faces never seen before ; He stripped th' impostors in the noonday sun, Showed that they followed all they seemed to shun ; Their pray'rs made public, their excesses kept As private as the chambers where they slept; The temple and its holy rites profaned By mumm'ries he that dwelt in it disdained ; Uplifted hands, that at convenient times Could act extortion and the worst of crimes, Washed with a neatnew scrupulously nice, And free from every taint but that of vice. Judgment, however tardy, mends her pace When Obstinacy once has conquered Grace. They saw distemper healed and life restored, [n answer to the fiat of his word; Confessed the wonder, and with daring tongue Blasphemed th' authority from which it sprung. They knew by sure prognostics seen on high, The future tone and temper of the sky; But, grave dissemblers could not understand That Sin let loose speaks punishment at hand Ask now of history *s authentic page, And call up evidence from ev'ry age ; Display with busy and laborious hand The blessings of the most indebted land ; What nation will you find whose annals prove So rich an interest in almighty love 1 Where dwell they now, where dwelt in ancient dav A people planted, watered, blest as they 1 Let Egypt's plagues and Canaan's woes proclaim The favours poured upon the Jewish name; Their freedom purchased for them at the cost Of all their hard oppressors valued most; Their title to a country not their own, Made sure by prodigies till then unknown ; For them the states they left, made waste and void; For them the states to which thew went, destroyed; A cloud to measure out their march by day, By night a fire to cheer the gloomy way ; That moving signal summoning, when best, Their host to move, and when it stayed to rest. For ^hem the rocks dissolved into a flood, The dews condensed into angelic food, Their very garments sacred, old yet new, And Tune forbid to touch them as he flew ; Streams, swelled above the bank, enjoined to stand While they passed through to their appointed Ian d f Their leader armed with meekness, zeal, and lovo And graced with clear credentials from above ; Themselves secured beneath th' Almighty wing ! Their God their captain,* lawgiver, and king; Crowned with a thousand vict'ries, and at last Lords of the conquered soil, there rooted fast, In peace possessing what they won by war, Their name far published, and revered as far; Where will you find a race like theirs, endowed With all that man e'er wished or Heav'n bestow- ed'? They, and they only, amongst all mankind, Received the transcript of th' eternal mind ; Were trusted with his own engraven laws, And constituted guardians of his cause; Theirs were the prophets, theirs the priestly call- And theirs by birth the Saviour of us all. In vain the nations, that had seen them rise With fierce and envious yet admiring eyes, Had sought to crush them, guarded as they were By power divine, and skill that could not err. Had they maintained allegiance firm and sure, And kept the faith immaculate and pure, Then the proud eagles of all-conquering Rome Had found one city not to be o'ercome; * Vide Joshua v. 14. EXPOSTULATION. And the twelve standards of the tribes unfurled Had bid defiance to the warring world. But grace abused brings forth the foulest deeds, As richest soil the most luxuriant weeds. Cured of the golden calves, their father'^ sin, They set up self, that idol god within; Viewed a Deliv'rer with disdain and hate, Who left them still a tributary state ; Seized fast his hand, held out to set them free From a worse yoke, and nailed it to the tree: There was the consummation and the crown, The flower of Israel's infamy full blown ; Thence date their sad declension and their fall, Their woes, not yet repealed, thence date them all. Thus fell the best instructed in her day, And the most favoured land, look where we may. Philosophy indeed on Grecian eyes Had poured the day, and cleared the Roman skies: In other climes perhaps creative art, With power surpassing theirs, performed her part, Might give more life to marble, or might fill The glowing tablets with a juster skill, Might shine in fable, and grace idle themes With all th' embroidery of poetic dreams; 'Twas theirs alone to dive into the plan, That truth and mercy had revealed to man; And while the world beside, that plan unknown, Deified useless wood, or senseless stone, They breathed in faith their well-directed prayers, And the true God, the God of truth, was theirs. Their glory faded, and their race dispersed, The last of nations now, though once the first; They warn and teach the proudest, would they learn, Keep wisdom, or meet vengeance in your turn ; If we escaped not, if Heaven spared not us, Peeled, scattered, and exterminated thus ; If vice received her retribution due, When we were visited, what hope for you 1 When God arises with an awful frown To punish lust, or pluck presumption down ; When gifts perverted, or not duly prized, Pleasures o'ervalued, and his grace despised, Provoke the vengeance of his righteous hand, To pour down wrath upon a thankless land ; He will be found impartially severe, Too just to wink, or speak the guilty clear. Oh Israel, of all nations most undone ! Thy diadem displaced, thy sceptre gone ; Thy temple, once thy glory, fallen and rased, And thou a worshipper e'en where thou mayst ; Thy services, once holy, without a spot, Mere shadows now, their ancient pomp forgot; Thy Levites, once a consecrated host, No longer Levites, and their lineage lost, And thou thyself o'er country sown, With none on earth that thou canst call thine Cry aloud, thou that sittest in the dust, Cry to the proud, the cruel, and unjust ; Knock at the gates of nations, rouse their fears Say wrath is coming, and the storm appears; But raise the shrillest cry in British ears. What ails thee, restless as the waves that roar, And fling their foam against thy chalky shore ? Mistress, at least while Providence shall please, And trident-bearing queen of the wide seas Why, having kept good faith, and often shown Friendship and truth to others, find'st thou none 1 Thou that hast set the persecuted free, None interposes now to succour thee. Countries indebted to thy power, that shine With light derived from thee, would smother thine^ Thy very children watch for thy disgrace A lawless brood, and curse thee to thy face. Thy rulers load thy credit, year by year, With sums Peruvian mines could never clear ; As if, like arches built with skilful hand, ' The more 'twere pressed the firmer it would stand. The cry in all thy ships is still the same, Speed us away to battle and to fame. Thy mariners explore the wild expanse. Impatient to descry the flags of France ; But, though they fight as thine have ever fought, Return ashamed without the wreaths they sought Thy senate is a scene of civil jar, Chaos of contrarieties at war ; WTiere sharp and solid, phlegmatic and light, Discordant atoms meet, ferment, and fight ; Where Obstinacy takes his sturdy stand, To disconcert what Policy has planned ; Where Policy is busied all night long In setting right what Faction has set wroijg ; Where flails of oratory thrash the floor, That yields them chaff and dust, and nothing more. Thy racked inhabitants repine, complain, Taxed till the brow of Labour sweats in vain, W^ar lays a burden on the reeling state, And peace does nothing to relieve the weight; Successive loads succeeding broils impose, And sighing millions prophesy the close. Is adverse Providence, when pondered well, So dimly writ, or difficult to spell, Thou canst not read with readiness and ease Providence adverse in events like these? Know then that heavenly wisdom on this ball Creates, gives birth to, guides, consummates all That while laborious and quick-thoughted man Snuffs up the praise of what he seems to plan, He first conceives, then perfects his design, As a mere instrument in hands divine: Blind to the working of that secret power, That balances the wings of every hour, The busy trifler dreams himself alone, Frames many a purpose, and God works his OWB '24 COWPER'S WORKS. States thrive or wither as moons wax and wane, Even as his will and his decrees orduin; While honour, virtue, piety, bear sway, They flourish; and as these decline, decay; In just resentment of hia injured laws, He pours contempt on them and on ther cause; Strikes the rough thread of error right athwart The web of every scheme they have at heart; Bids rottenness invade and bring to dust The pillars of support, In which they trust, And do his errand of disgrace and shame On the chief strength and glory of the frame. None ever yet impeded what he wrought, None bars him out from his most secret thought: Darkness itself before his eye is light, ' |t ^ , And hell's close mischief naked in his siglijt. Stand now and judge thyself Hast' thou in- curred His anger, who can waste thee with a word, Who poises and proportions sea and land, Weighing them in the hollow of his hand, And in whose awful sight all nations seem As grasshoppers, as dust, a drop, a dream? Hast thou (a sacrilege his soul abhors) Claimed all the glory of thy prosperous wars'? . Proud of thy fleets and armies, stolen the gem Of his just praise, to lavish it on them'? Hast thou not learned, what thou art often told, A truth still sacred, and believed of old, That no success attends on spears and swords Unblest, and that the battle is the Lord's ? That courage is his creature; and dismay The post, that at his bidding speeds away, Ghastly in feature, and his stammering tongue With doleful humour and sad presage hung, To quell the valour of the stoutest heart, And teach the combatant a woman's part 1 That he bids thousands fly when none pursue, Saves as he will by many or by few, And claims for ever, as his royal right, The event and sure decision of the fight*? Hast thou, though suckled at fair Freedom's breast, Exported slavery to the conquered East 1 Pulled down the tyrants India served with dread, And raised thyself, a greater, in their stead 7 Gone thither armed and hungry, returned full, Fed from the richest veins of the Mogul, A despot big with power obtained by wealth, And that obtained by rapine and by stealth ? With Asiatic vices stored thy mind, But left their virtues and thine own behind'? And. having trucked thy soul, brought home the fee, i'o tempt the poor to sell himseL' to thee 1 Hast thou by statute shoved from its design The Saviour's feast, his own blest bread and wine, AIM.' made the symbols of atoning grace An office-key, a picklock to a place. That infidels may prove their title good By an oath dipped in sacramental blood? A blot that will be still a blot, in spite Of all that grave apologists may write ; And though a bishop toil to cleanse the stain, He wipes and scours the silver cup in vain. And hast thou sworn on every slight pretence, Till perjuries are common as bad pence, While thousands, careless of the damning sin, Kiss the book's outside, who ne'er looked within Hast thou, when Heaven has clothed thee with disgrace, (And, long provoked, repaid thee to thy face, For thou hast known eclipses, and endured . Dimness and anguish, all thy beams obscured, When sin had shed dishonour on thy brow; And never of a sabler hue than now,) Hast thou, with heart perverse and conscience seared, Despising all rebuke, still persevered, And having chosen evil, scorned the voice That cried, Repent? and gloried in thy choice? Thy fastings, when calamity at last Suggests the expedient of a yearly fast, What mean they? Canst thou dream there is a power In lighter diet at a later hour, To charm to sleep the threatening of the skies, And hide past folly from all-seeing eyes ? The fast, that wins deliverance, and suspends The stroke, that a vindictive God intends, Is to renounce hypocrisy; to draw Thy life upon the pattern of the law; To war with pleasure, idolized before; . To vanquish lust, and wear its yoke no more. All fasting else, whate'er be the pretence, Is wooing mercy by renewed ofFence. Hast thou within the sin. that in old time Brought fire from Heaven, the sex-abusing crime, Whose horrid perpetration stamps disgrace, Baboons are free from, upon human race ? Think on the fruitful and well-watered spot, That fed the flocks and herds of wealthy Lot, Where Paradise seemed still vouchsafed on earth, Burning and scorched into perpetual dearth, Or, in his words who damned the base desire, Suffering the vengeance of eternal fire : Then nature injured, scandalized, defiled, Unveiled her blushing cheek, looked on, and smiled; Beheld with joy the lovely scene defaced, And praised the wrath, that laid her beauties waste. Far be the thought from any verse of mine, And farther still the formed and fixed design, To thrust the charge of deeds that I detest, Against an innocent, unconscious breast, I The man that dares traduce, because he can i With safety to himself, is not a man : EXPOSTULATE An individual is a sacred mark, Not to be pierced in play, or in the dark ; But public censure speaks a public foe, Unless a zeal for virtue guide the blow. The priestly brotherhood, devout, sincere, From mean self-interest and ambition clear, Their hope in heaven, servility their scorn, Prompt to persuade, expostulate, and warn, Their wisdom pure, and given them from above, Then- usefulness ensured by zeal and love, As meek as the man Moses, and withal As bold as in Agrippa's presence Paul, Should fly the world's contaminating touch, Holy and unpolluted: are thine suchl Except a few with Eli's spirit blest, Hophni and Phineas may describe the rest. Where shall a teacher look, in days like these, For ears and hearts, that he can hope to please 1 Look to the poor the simple and the plain Will hear perhaps thy salutary strain : Humility is gentle, apt to learn, Speak but the word, will listen and return. Alas, not so ! the poorest of the flock Are proud, and set their faces as a rock ; Denied that earthly opulence they choose, God's better gift they scoff at and refuse. The rich, the produce of a nobler stem, Are more intelligent at least try them. Oh vain inquiry ! they without remorse Are altogether gone a devious course ; Where beck'ning Pleasure leads them, wildly stray ; Have burst the bands, and cast the yoke away. Now borne upon the wings of truth sublime, Review thy dim original and prime. This island, spot of unreclaimed rude earth, The cradle that received thee at thy birth, Was rocked by many a rough Norwegian blast, And Danish bowlings scared thee as they passed ; For thou wast born amid the din of arms, And sucked a breast that panted with alarms. While yet thou wast a groveling puling chit, Thy bones not fashioned, and thy joints not knit, The Roman taught thy stubborn knee to bow, Though twice a Caesar could not bend thee now. His victory was that of orient light, When the sun's shafts disperse the gloom of night. Thy language at this distant moment shows How much the country to the conqueror owes ; Expressive, energetic, and refined, It sparkles with the gems he left behind ; He brought thy land a blessing when he came, He found thee savage, and he left thee tame ; Taught thee to clothe thy pinked and painted hide. And grace thy figure with a soldier's pride. He sowed the seeds of order where he went, Improved thee far beyond his own intent, And, while he ruled thee by the sword alone, Made thee at last a warrior like his own. Religion, i Needs only to be seentole admired ; But thine, as dark as witcheries of the night, Was formed to harden hearts and shock the sight ; Thy Druids struck the well-hung harps they bore With fingers deeply died in human gore ; , And while the victim slowly bled to death, Upon the rolling chords rung out his dying breath. Who brought the lamp, that with awakening beams Dispelled thy gloom, and broke away thy dreams, Tradition, now decrepit and worn out, Babbler of ancient fables, leaves a doubt : But still light reached thee ; and those gods of thine, Woden and Thor, each tottering in his shrine, Fell broken and defaced at his own door, As Dagon in Philistia long before. But Rome, with sorceries and magic wand, Soon raised a cloud that darkened every land ; And thine was smothered in the stench and fog Of Tiber's marshes and the papal bog. Then priests, with bulls and briefs, and shaven crowns, ' And griping fists, and unrelenting frowns, Legates and delegates with powers from hell, Though heavenly in pretension, fleeced thee well ; And to this hour, to keep it fresh in mind, Some twigs of that old scourge are left behind.* The soldiery, the Pope's well-managed pack, Were trained beneath his lash, and knew the smack; And, when he laid them on the scent of blood, Would hunt a Saracen through fire and flood. Lavish of life to win an empty tomb, That proved a mint of wealth, a mine to Rome, They left their bones beneath unfriendly skies, His worthless absolution all the prize. Thou wast thb veriest slave in days of yore, That ever dragged a chain or tugged an oar; Thy monarchs, arbitrary, fierce, unjust, Themselves the slaves of bigotry or lust, Disdained thy counsels, only in distress Found thee a goodly sponge for power to press. Thy chiefs, the lords of many a petty fee, Provoked and harassed, in return plagued theej Called thee away from peaceable employ, Domestic happiness and rural joy, To waste thy life in arms, or lay it down In causeless feuds and bickerings of their own. Thy parliaments adored on bended knees The sovereignty they were convened to please ; Whate'er was asked, too timid to resist, Complied with, and were graciously dismissed; And if some Spartan soul a doubt expressed, And, blushing at the tameness of the rest, Dared to suppose the subject had a choice, He was a traitor by the general voice. Which may be found at Doctors' Commons COWPER'S WORKS. O slave ! with powers thou didst not dare exert, Verse can not stoop so low as thy desert ; It shakes the sides of splenetic Disdain, Thou self-entitled ruler of the main, To trace thee to the date when yon fair sea, That clips thy shores, had no such charms for thee ; When other nations flew from coast to coast, And thou hadst neither fleet nor flag to boast. Kneel now, and lay thy forehead in the dust ; Blush, if thou canst ; not petrified, thou must : Act but an honest and a faithful part ; Compare what then thou wast with what thou art ; And God's disposing providence confessed, Obduracy itself must yield the rest Then thou art bound to serve him, and to prove, Hour after hour, thy gratitude and love. Has he not bid thee, and thy favoured land, For ages safe beneath his sheltering hand, Given thee YAs blessing on the clearest proof, Bid nations leagued against thee stand aloof, And charged Hostility and Hate to roar Where else they would, but not upon thy shore 7 His power secured thee, when presumptuous Spain Baptized her fleet invincible in vain ; Her gloomy monarch, doubtful and resigned To every pang that racks an anxious mind; Asked of the waves, that broke upon his coast, What tidings 1 and the surge replied All lost ! And when the Stuart leaning on the Scot, Then too much feared, and now too much forgot, Pierced to the very centre of the realm, And hoped to seize his abdicated helm, 'Twas but to prove how quickly with a frown He that had raised thee could have pluck'd thee down. Peculiar is the grace by thee possessed, Thy foes implacable, thy land at rest ; Thy thunders travel over earth and seas, And all at home is pleasure, wealth, and ease. 'Tis thus, extending his tempestuous arm, Thy Maker fills the nations with alarm, While his own Heaven surveys the troubled scene, And feels no change, unshaken and serene. Freedom, in other lands scarce known to shine, Pours out a flood of splendour upon thine ; Thou hast as bright an interest in her rays As ever Roman had in Rome's best days. True freedom is where no restraint is known, That Scripture, justice, and good sense disown, Where only vice and injury are tied, And all from shore to shore is free beside. Such freedom is and Windsor's hoary towers Stood trembling at the boldness of thy powers, That won a nymph on that immortal plain Like her the fabled Phoebus wooed in vain ; He found the laurel only happier you Th' unfading laurel, and the virgin too !* " Alluding to the grant of Magna Charta, which lotted from King John by the barons at Runnyn Windsor was ex- barons at Runnymede near Now think, if Pleasure have a thought to spare ; If God himself be not beneath her care ; If business, constant as the wheels of time, Can pause an hour te read a serious rhyme ; If the new mail thy merchants now receive, Or expectation of the next, give leave; Oh think! if chargeable with deep arrears For such indulgence gilding all thy years, How much, though long neglected, shining yet, The beams of heavenly truth have swelled the debt. When persecuting zeal made royal sport With tortured innocence in Mary's court, And Bonner, blithe as shepherd at a wake, Enjoyed the show, and danced about the stake The sacred Book, its value understood, Received the seal of martyrdom in blood. Those holy men, so full of truth and grace, Seem to reflection of a different race ; Meek, modest, venerable, wise, sincere, In such a cause they could not dare to fear; They could not purchase earth with such a prize. Or spare a life too short to reach the skies. From them to thee conveyed along the tide, Their streaming hearts poured freely when they died; Those truths, which neither use nor years impair, Invite thee, woo thee, to the bliss they share. WTiat dotage will not vanity maintain 1 What web too weak to catch a modern brain 1 The moles and bats in full assembly find, On special search, the keen eyed eagle blind. And did they dream, and art thou wiser nowl Prove it if better, I submit and bow. Wisdom and goodness are twin-born, one heart Must hold both sisters, never seen apart. So then as darkness overspread the deep, Ere Nature rose from her eternal sleep, And this delightful earth, and that fair sky, Leaped out of nothing, called by the Most High; By such a change thy darkness is made light, Thy chaos order, and thy weakness might; And He, whose power mere nullity obeys, Who found thee nothing, formed thee for his praise To praise him is to serve him, and fulfil, Doing and suffering, his unquestioned will; 'Tis to believe what men inspired of old, Faithful, and faithfully informed, unfold ; Candid and just, with no false aim in view, To take for truth, what can not be but true; To learn in God's own school the Christian part, And bind the task assigned thee to thine heart: Happy the man there seeking and there found, Happy the nation where such men abound. How shall a verse impress thee 1 by what name Shall I adjure thee not to court thy shame 1 By theirs, whose bright example unimpeached, Directs thee to that eminence they reached, EXPOSTULATION. Heroes and worthies of days past, thy sires 1 Or his, who touched their hearts with hallowed fires Their names, alas! in vain reproach an age, Whom all the vanities they scorned engage! And His, that seraphs tremble at, is hung Disgracefully on every trifler's tongue, Or serves the champion in forensic war, To flourish and parade with at the bar. Pleasure herself perhaps suggests a plea, If interest move thee, to persuade e'en thee; By every charm that smiles upon her face, By joys possessed, and joys still held in chase, If dear society be worth a thought, And if the feast of freedom cloy thee not, Reflect that these, and all that seem thine own, Held by the tenure of his will alone, Like angels in the service of their Lord, Remain with thee, or leave thee at his word; That gratitude and temperance in our use Of what he gives, unsparing and profuse, Secure the favour, and enhance the joy, That thankless waste and wild abuse destroy > But above all reflect, how cheap soe'er Those rights, that millions envy fhee, appear, And, though resolved to risk them, and swim down The tide of pleasure, heedless of His frown, That blessings truly sacred, and when given Marked with the signature and stamp of Heaven, The word of prophecy, those truths divine, Which make that Heaven, if thou desire it, thine, (Awful alternative! believed, beloved, Thy glory, and thy shame if unimproved,) Are never long vouchsafed, if pushed aside With cold disgust or philosophic pride ! And that, judicially withdrawn, disgrace, Error, and darkness occupy their place. A world is up in arms, and thou, -a spot Not quickly found, if negligently sought, Thy soul as ample as thy bounds are small, Endures the brunt, and darest defy them all. And wilt shou join to this bold enterprise A bolder still, a contest with the skies 1 Remember, if He guard thee and secure, Whoe'er assails thee, thy success is sure; But if He leave thee, though the skill and power Of nations sworn to spoil thee and devour, Were all collected in thy single arm, And thou couldst laugh away the fear of harm, That strength would fail, opposed against the push And feeble onset of a pigmy rush. Say not (and if the thought of such defence Should spring within thy bosom, drive it thence) What nation amqhgst all my foes is free From crimes as base as any Charged on me 1 Their measure filled, they too shall pay the debt, Which God, though long forborne, will not forget. But know what wrath divine, when most severe, Makes justice still the guide of his career, t And will not punish, in one mingled crowd, Them without light, and thee without a cloud. Muse, hang this harp upon yon aged beach, Still murmuring with the solemn truths I teach; And while at intervals a cold blast sings Through the dry leaves, and pants upon the strings, My soul shall sigh in secret, and lament A nation scourged, yet tardy to repent. I know the warning song is sung in vain; That few will hear, arid fewer heed the strain; But if a sweeter voice, and one designed A blessing to my country and mankind, Reclaim the wandering thousands, and bring home A flock so scattered and so wont to roam, Then place it once again between my knees; The sound of truth will then be sure to please: And truth alone, where'er my life be cast, In scenes of plenty, or the pining waste, Shall be my chosen theme, my glory to the last doceas iter, et sacra oetia pandas. Virg. JEn. 6. ASK what is human life the sage replies, With disappointment lowering in his eyes, A painful passage o'er a restless flood, A vain pursuit of fugitive false good, A scene of fancied bliss and heart-felt care, Closing at last in darkness and despair. The poor inured to drudgery and distress, Act without aim, think little, and feel less, And no where, but in feigned Arcadian scenes, Taste happiness, or know what pleasure means. Riches are passed away from hand to hand, As fortune, vice, or folly may command; D As in a dance the pair that take the lead Turn downward, and the lowest pair succeed, So shifting and so various is the plan, By which Heaven rules the mixed affairs of man; Vicissitude wheels round the motley crowd, The rich grow poor, the poor become purse-proud; Business is labour, and man's weakness such, Pleasure is labour too, and tires as much. The very sense of it foregoes its use, By repetition palled, by age obtuse. Youth lost in dissipation we deplore, Through life's sad remnant, what no sighs restore j 28 COWPER'S WORKS. GUI years, a fruitless race without a prize, Too many, yet too few to make us wise. Dangling his cane about, and taking snuff, Lothario cries, What philosophic stuff O querulous and weak! whose useless brain Once thought of nothing, and now thinks in vain ; Whose eyes reverted weeps o'er all the past, Whose prospect shows thee a disheartening waste; Would age in thee resign his wintry reign, And youth invigorate that frame again, Renewed desire would grace with other speech, Joys always prized, when placed within our reach. For lift thy palsied head, shake off the gloom That overhangs the borders of thy tomb, See Nature gay, as when she first began, With smiles alluring her admirer man ; She spreads the morning over eastern hills, Earth glitters with the drops the night distils; The Sun obedient at her call appears, To fling his glories o'er the robe she wears; Banks clothed with flowers, groves filled with sprightly sounds, The yellow tilth, green meads, rocks, rising grounds, Streams edged with osiers, fattening every field, Where'er they flow, now seen and now concealed; From the blue rim, where skies and mountains meet, Down to the very turf beneath thy feet, Ten thousand charms, that only fools despise, Or pride can look at with indifferent eyes, All speak one language, all with one sweet voice Cry to her universal realm, Rejoice! Man feels the spur of passions and desires, And she gives largely more than he requires; Not that his hours devoted all to Care, Hollow-eyed Abstinence, and lean Despair, The wretch may pine, while to his smell, taste, sight, She holds a paradise of rich delight; But gently to rebuke his awkward fear, To prove that what she gives, she gives sincere; To banish hesitation, and proclaim His happiness, her dear, her only aim. 'Tis grave philosophy's absurdest dream, That Heaven's intentions are not what they seem. That only shadows are dispensed below, And earth has no reality but wo. Thus things terrestrial wear a different hue, As youth or age persuades; and neither true. So Flora's wreath through coloured crystal seen, The rose or lily appears blue or green, But still th' imputed tints are those alone The medium represents, and not their own. To rise at noon, sit slipshod and undressed, To read the news, or fiddle, as seems best, Till half the world comes rattling at his door, To fill the dull vacuity till four; And, just when evening turns the blue vault gray, To spend two hours in dressing for the day; To make the sun a bauble without use, Save for the fruits his heavenly beams produce; Quite to forget, or deem it worth no thought, Who bids him shine, or if he shine or not; Through mere necessity to close his eyes Just when the larks and when the shepherds nse; Is such a life, so tediously the same, So void of all utility or ami, That poor Jonquil, with almost every breath Sighs for his exit, vulgarly called death; For he, with all his follies, has a mind Not yet so blank, or fashionably blind, But now and then perhaps a feeble ray Of distant wisdom shoots across his way, By which he reads, that life without apian, As useless as the moment it began, Serves merely as a soil for discontent To thrive in; an encumbrance ere half spent Oh weariness beyond what asses feel, That tread ths circuit of the cistern wheel ; A dull rotation, never at a stay, Yesterday's face twin image of to-day; While conversation, an exhausted'stock, Grows drowsy as the clicking of a clock. No need, he cries, of gravity stuffed out With academic dignity devout, To read wise lectures, vanity the text: Proclaim the remedy, ye learned, next ; For truth self-evident, with pomp impressed, Is vanity surpassing all the rest. That remedy, not hid in deeps profound, Yet seldom sought where only to be found, WTiile poison turns aside from its due scope Th' inquirer's aim, that remedy is hope. Life is His gift, from whom whate'er life needs With every good and perfect gift, proceeds; Bestowed on man, like all that we partake, Royally, freely, for his bounty's sake; Transient indeed, as is the fleeting hour, And yet the seed of an immortal flower; Designed in honour of his endless love, To fill with fragrance his abode above; No trifle, howsoever short it seem, And, howsoever shadowy, no dream ! Its value, what no thought can ascertain, Nor all an angel's eloquence explain; Men deal with life as children with their play, Who first misusCj then cast their toys away Live to no sober purpose, and contend That their Creator had no serious end. When God and man stand opposite in view, Man's disappointment must of course ensue. The just Creator condescends to write, In beams of inextinguishable light, His names of wisdom, goodness, power, and love On all that blooms below, or shines above, To catch the wandering notice of mankind , And teach the world, if not perversely blin^ HOPE. His gracious attributes, and prove the share His offspring hold in his paternal earn. If, led from earthly things to things divine, His creature thwart not his august design, Then praise is heard instead of reasoning pride, And captious cavil and complaint subside. Nature, employed in her allotted place, Is hand-maid to the purposes of Grace; By good vouchsafed makes known superior good, And bliss not seen by blessings understood : That bliss, revealed in Scripture, with a glow Bright as the covenant-ensuring bow, Fires all his feelings with a noble scorn Of sensual evil, and thus Hope is born. Hope sets the stamp of vanity on all That men have deemed substantial since the fall, Yet has the wondrous virtue to educe From emptiness itself a real use;' And while she takes, as at a father's hand, "What health and sober appetite demand, From fading good derives, with chymic art, That lasting happiness, a thankful heart. Hope, with uplifted foot set free from earth, Pants for the place of her ethereal birth, On steady wings sails through th' immense abyss, Plucks amaranthine joys from bowers of bliss, And crowns the soul, while yet a mourner here, "With wreaths like those triumphant spirits wear. Hope, as an anchor firm and sure, holds fast The Christian vessel, and defies the blast. Hope! nothing else can nourish and secure His new-born virtues, and preserve him pure. Hope ! let the wretch, once conscious of the joy, "Whom now despairing agonies destroy, Speak, for he can, and none so well as he, What treasures centre, what delights in thee. Had he the gems, the spices, and the land That boasts the treasure, all at his command ; The fragrant grove, th' inestimable mine, Were light, when weighed against one smile of thine. Though, clasped and cradled in his nurse's arms, He shines with all a cherub's artless charms-, Man is the genuine offspring of revolt, Stubborn and sturdy, as a wild ass' colt; His passions, like the watery stores that sleep Beneath the smiling surface of the deep, Wait but the lashes of a wintry storm, To frown and roar, and shake his feeble form. From infancy through childhood's giddy maze, Froward at school, and fretful in his plays, The puny" tyrant burns to subjugate The free republic of the whip-gig state. If one, his equal in athletic frame, Or, more provoking still, of nobler name, Dare step across his arbitrary views, An Iliad, only not in verse, ensues: The little Greeks look trembling at the scales, Till the best tongue, or heaviest hand, prevails. Now see him launched into the world at large; If priest, supinely droning o'er his charge, Their fleece his pillow, and his weekly drawj, Though short, too long, the price he pays for all. If lawyer, loud, whatever cause he plead, But proudest of the worst, if that succeed. Perhaps a grave physician, gathering fees, Punctually paid for lengthening out disease; No COTTON, whose humanity sheds rays, That make superior skill his second praise. If arms engage him, he devotes to sport His date of life, so likely to be short; A soldier may be any thing, if brave", So may a tradesman, if not quite a knave. Such stuff' the world is made of; and mankind To passion, interest, pleasure, whim resigned, Insist on, as if each were his own pope, Forgiveness, and the privilege of hope. But Conscience, in .some awful silent hour, When captivating lusts have lost their power, Perhaps when sickness, cr some fearful dream, Reminds him of religion, Abated theme! Starts from the down, on which she lately slept And tells of laws despised, at least not kept: Shows with a pointing finger, but no noise, A pale procession of past sinful joys, All witnesses of blessings foully scorned, And life abused, and not to be suborned. Mark these, she says; these summoned from afar, Begin their march to meet thee at the bar; There find a Judge inexorably just, And perish there, as all presumption must. Peace be to those (such peace as Earth can give) Who live in pleasure, dead e'en while they live; Born capable indeed of heavenly truth; But down to latest age, from earliest youth Their mind a wilderness through want of care, The plough of wisdom never entering there. Peace, (if in sensibility may claim A right to the meek honours of her name) To men of pedigree, their noble race, Emulous always of the nearest place To any throne, except the throne of Grace. Let cottagers and unenlightened swains Revere the laws they dream that Heaven ordains: Resort on Sundays to the house of prayer, And ask, and fancy they find blessings there. Themselves, perhaps, when weary they retreat T' enjoy cool nature in a country seat, T' exchange the centre of a thousand trades, For clumps, and lawns, and temples, and cascade*, May now and then their velvet cushions take, And seem to pray for good example's sake; Judging, in charity no doubt, the town Pious enough, and having need of none. Kind souls! to teach their tenantry to prize What they themselves, without remorse, despise : Nor hope have they, nor fear, of aught to come, As well for them had prophecy been dumb- 30 COWPER'S WORKS. They could have held the conduct they pursue, Had Paul of Tarsus lived and died a Jew; And truth, proposed to reasoners wise as they, Is a pearl cast completely cast away. They die Death lends them, pleased, and as in sport, All the grim honours of his ghastly court. Far other paintings grace the chamber now, Where late we saw the mimic landscape glow: The busy heralds hang the sable scene With mournful 'scutcheons, and dim lamps be- tween ; Proclaim their titles to the crowd around, But they that woVe them move not at the sound; The coronet, placed idly at their head, Adds nothing now to the degraded dead; And e'en the star, that glitters on the bier, Can only say Nobility lies here. Peace to all such 'twere pity to offend, By useless censure, whom we can not mend; Life without hope can close but in despair, 'Twas there we found them, and must leave them there. As, when two pilgrims in a forest stray, Both may be lost, yet each in his own way; So fares it with the multitudes beguiled In vain Opinion's waste and dangerous wild ; Ten thousand rove the brakes and thorns among, Some eastward, and some westward, and all wrong. But here, alas! the fatal difference lies, Each man's belief is right in his own eyes ; And he that blames what they have blindly chose,, Incurs resentment for the love he shows. Say, botanist, within whose province fall The cedar and (he hyssop on the wall, Of all that deck the lanes, the fields, the bowers, What parts the kindred tribes of weeds and flowers'? Sweet scent, or lovely form, or botli combined, Distinguish every cultivated kind; The want of both denotes a meaner breed, And Chloe from her garland picks the weed. Thus hopes of every sort, whatever sect Esteem them, sow them, rear them, and protect, If wild in nature, and not duly found, Gethscmane ! in thy dear hallowed ground, That can not bear the blazs of Scripture light, Nor cheer the spirit, nor refresh the sight, Nor animate the soul to Christian deeds, (Oh cast them from thee!) are weeds, arrant weeds. Ethelred's house, the centre of six ways, 1 )iverging each from .each, like equal rays, Himself as bountiful as April rains, Lord paramount of the surrounding plains, Would give relief of bed and board to none Hut guests that sought it in th' appointed One; And they might enter at his open door, E'en till his spacious nail would hold no more. He sent a servant forth by every road, To sound his horn, and publish it abroad, That all might mark knight, menial, high, anil low, An ordinance it concerned them all to know. If, after all, some headstrong hardy lout Would disobey, though sure to be shut out, Could he with reason murmur at his case, Himself sole author of his own disgrace 1 No! the decree was just and without flaw; And he, that made, had right to make, the law: His sovereign power and pleasure unrestrained, The wrong was his who wrongfully complained. Yet half mankind maintain a churlish strife With Him, the donor of eternal life, Because the deed, by which his love confirms The largess he bestows, prescribes the terms. Compliance with his will your lot ensures, Accept it only, and the boon is yours. And sure it is, as kind to smile and give, As with a frown to say, Do this, -and li ve. Love is not pedler's trumpery bought and sold : He will give freely, or he will withhold ; His soul abhors a mercenary thought, And him as deeply who abhors it not ; He stipulates indeed, but merely this, That man will freely take an unbought bliss, Will trust him for a faithful generous part, Nor set a price upon a willing heart. Of all the ways that seems to promise fair, To place you where his saints his presence share, This only can ; for this plain cause, expressed In terms as plain, Himself has shut the rest. But oh the strife, the bickering, and debate, The tidings of unpurchased Heaven create ! The flirted fan, the bridle, and the toss, All speakers, yet all language at a loss. From stuccoed walls smart argument rebound ; And beaux, adepts in every thing profound, Die of disdain, or whistle off the sound. Such is the clamour of rooks, daws, and kites, Th' explosion of the levelled tube excites, Where mouldering abbey-walls o'erhang the glade, And oaks coeval spread a mournful shade ; The screaming nations, hovering in mid air, Loudly resent the stranger's freedom there, And seem to warn him never to repeat His bold intrusion on their dark retreat. Adieu, Vinosa cries, ere yet he sips The purple bumper trembling at his lips, Adieu to all morality ! if Grace Make works a vain ingredient in the case. The Christian hope is Waiter, draw the cork- If I mistake not Blockhead ! with a fork! Without good works, whatever some may boast. Mere folly and delusion Sir, your toast. My firm persuasion is, at least sometimes, That Heaven will weigh man's virtues and hi crimes HOPE. With nice attention, in a righteous scale, And save or damn as these or those prevail. I plant my foot upon this ground of trust, And silence every fear withGod is just. But if perchance on some dull drizzling day A thought intrude, that says, or seems to say, If thus th' important cause is to be tried, Suppose the beam should dip on the wrong I soon recover from these needless frights, And God is merciful sets all to rights. Thus between justice, as my prime support, And mercy, fled to as the last resort, . I glide and steal along with Heaven in view, And, pardon me, the bottle stands with you. I never will believe,, the Colonel cries, The sanguinary schemes, that some devise Who make the good Creator on their plan A being of less equity than man. If appetite, or what divines call lust, Which men comply with, e'en because they must, Be punished with perdition, who is pure 1 Then theirs, no doubt, as well as mine, is sure. If sentence of eternal pain belong To every sudden slip and transient wrong, Then Heaven enjoins the fallible and frail A hopeless task, and damns them if they fail My creed (whatever some creed-makers mean By Athanasian nonsense, or Nicene) My creed is, he is safe-that does his best, And death's a doom sufficient for the rest. Right, says an ensign ; and, for aught I see, Your faith and mine substantially agree ; The best of every man's performance here Is to discharge the duties of his sphere. A lawyer's dealings should be just and fair, Honesty shines with great advantage there. Fasting and prayer sit well upon a priest, A decent caution and reserve at least. A soldier's best is courage in the field, With nothing here that wants to be concealed ; Manly deportment, gallant, easy, gay; A hand as liberal as the light of day. The soldier thus endowed who never shrinks, Nor closets up his thoughts, whate'er he thinks, Who scorns to do an injury by stealth, Must go to Heaven and I must drink his health. Sir Smug, he cries, (for lowest at the board, Just made fifth chaplain of his patron lord, His shoulders witnessing, by many a shrug, How much his feelings suffered, sat Sir Smug,) Your office is to winnow false from true; Come, prophet, drink, and tell us what think you 1 ? Sighing and smiling as he takes his glass, Which they that woo preferment rarely pass, fallible man, the church-bred youth replies, still found fallible, however wise; \nd differing judgments serve but to declare, Thai truth lies somewhere, if we knew but where. Of all it ever was my lot to read, Of critics now alive, or long since dead, The book of all the world that charmed me most Was, welladay,>the title-page was lost; The writer well remarks, a heart that knows To take with gratitude what Heaven bestows. With prudence always ready at our call, To guide our use of it,- is all in all. Doubtless it is. To .which of my own, store I superadd a few essentials more ; But these, excuse the liberty I take, I waive just now, for conversation's sake. Spoke like an oracle, they all exclaim, And add Right Reverend to Smug's honoured name. And yet our lot is given us in a land, Where busy arts are never at a stand; Where Science points her telescopic eye, Familiar with the wonders of the sky; Where bold Inquiry, diving out of sight, Brings many a precious pearl of truth to light; Where nought eludes the persevering quest That fashion, taste, or luxury, suggest. But, above all, in her own light arrayed, See Mercy's grand apocalypse displayed ! The sacred book no longer suffers wrong, Bound in the fetters of an unknown tongue: But speaks with plainness, art could never mend, "What simplest minds can soonest comprehend. God gives the word, the preachers throng around Live from his lips, and spread the glorious sound That sound bespeaks Salvation on her way, The trumpet of a life-restoring day; 'Tis heard where England's eastern glory shines, And in the gulfs of her Cornubian mines. And still it spreads. See Germany send forth Her sons* to pour it on the farthest north: Fired with a zeal peculiar, they defy The rage and vigour of a polar sky, And plant successfully sweet Sharon's rose On icy plains, and in eternal snows. O blest within th' enclosure of your rocks, Nor herds have ye to boast, nor bleating flocks; No fertilizing streams your fields divide, That show reversed the villas on their side; No groves have ye; no cheerful sound of bird, Or voice of turtle, in your land is heard : Nor grateful eglantine regales the smell Of those, that walk at evening where ye dwell: But Winter, armed with terrors here unknown, Sits absolute on his unshaken throne ; Piles up his stores amidst the frozen waste, And bids the mountains he has built stand fast, Beckons the legions of his storms away From happier scenes, to make your land a prey, Proclaims the soil a conquest he has won, And scorns to share it with the distant sun. The Moravian Missionaries in Greenland. See Krani t COWPER'S WORKS. Yet Truth is yours, remote, unenvied isle! And Peace, the genuine offspring of her smile; The pride of lettered Ignorance, that binds In chains of error our accomplished minds, That decks, with all the splendour of the true, A false religion, is unknown to you. Nature, indeed, vouchsafes for our delight The sweet vicissitudes of day and night: Soft airs and genial moisture feed and cheer Field, fruit, and flower, and every creature here; But brighter beams than his who fires the skies, Have risen at length on your admiring eyes, That shoot into your darkest caves the day, From which our nicest optics turn away. Here see th' encouragement Grace gives to vice, The dire effect of mercy without price ! What were they'? what some fools are made by art, They were by .nature, atheists, head and heart. The gross idolatry blind heathens teach Was too refined for them, beyond their reach. Not e'en the glorious Sun, though men revere The monarch most, that seldom will appear, And though his beams that quicken where they shine, May claim some right to be esteemed divine, Not e'en the sun, desirable as rare, Could bend one knee, engage one votary there; They were, what base Credulity believes , True Christians are,dissemblers,drunkards, thieves. The full-gorged savage, at his nauseous feast, Spent half the darkness, and snored out the rest, Was one whom Justice, on an equal plan, Denouncing death upon the sins of man, Might almost have indulged with an escape, Chargeable only with a human shape. What are they now? Morality may spare Her grave concern, her kind suspicions there: The wretch, who once sang wildly, danced and laughed And sucked in dizzy madness with his draught, Has wept a silent flood, reversed his ways, Is sober, meek, benevolent, and prays, Feeds sparingly, communicates his store, Abhors the craft he boasted of before, And he that stole, has learned to steal no more. Well spake the prophet, Let the desert sing, Where sprang the thorn, the spiry fir shall spring, A.nd where unsightly and rank thistles grew, Shall grow the myrtle and luxuriant yew. Go now, and with important tone demand On what foundation virtue is to stand, If self-exalting claims be turned adrift, And grace be grace indeed, and life a gift; The poor reclaimed inhabitant, his eyes Glistening at once with pity and surprise, Amazed that shadows should obscure the sight Qf one whose birth was in a land of light, Shall answer, Hope, sweet Hope, has set me free. And made all pleasures else mere dross to me. These, amidst scenes as waste as if denied The common care that waits on all beside, Wild as if Nature there, void of all good, Played only gambols in a frantic mood, (Yet charge not heavenly skill with having planned A plaything world, unworthy of his hand,) Can see his love, though secret evil lurks In all we touch, stamped plainly on his works, Deem life a blessing with its numerous woes, Nor spurn away a gift a God bestows. Hard task, indeed, o'er arctic seas to roam! Is hope exotic? grows it not at home? Yes, but an object, bright as orient morn, May press the eye too closely to be borne ; A distant virtue we can all confess, It hurts our pride, and moves our envy, less. Leuconomus (beneath well sounding Greek I slur a name a poet must not speak) Stood pilloried on Infamy's high stage, And bore the pelting scorn of half an age; The very butt of Slander, and the blot For every dart that Malice ever shot. The man that mentioned him at once dismissed All mercy from his lips, and sneered and hissed; His crimes were such as Sodom never knew, And Perjury stood up to swear all true; His aim was mischief, and his zeal pretence, His speech rebellion against common sense ; A knave, when tried on honesty's plain rule; And when by that of reason, a mere fool; The world's best comfort was, his doom was passed; Die when he might, he must be damned at last. Now, Truth, perform thine office; waft aside The curtain drawn by Prejudice and Pride, Reveal (the man is dead) to wondering eyes This more than monster, in his proper guise. He loved the world that hated him: the tear That dropt upon his Bible was sincere : Assailed by scandal and the tongue of strife, His only answer was a blameless life; And he that forged, and he that threw the dart, Had each a brother's interest in his heart. Paul's love of Christ, and steadiness unbribed, Were copied close in him, and well transcribed. He followed Paul, his zeal a kindred flame, His apostolic charity the same. Like him, crossed cheerfully tempestuous seas, Forsaking country, kindred, friends, and ease; Like him he laboured, and like him content To bear it, suffered shame where'er he went. Blush, Calumny! and write upon his tomb, If honest Eulogy can spare thee room, Thy deep repentance of thy thousand lies, Which, aimed at him, have pierced the offendeJ skies! And say, blot out my sin, confessed, deplored Against thine image, in 'thy saint, O Lord! HOPE. 33 No blinder bigot, I maintain it still, Than he who must have pleasure, come what will : Me laughs, whatever weapon Truth may draw, And deems her sharp artillery mere straw. Scripture indeed is plain; but God and he On Scripture ground are sure to disagree; Some wiser rule must teach him how to live, Than this his Maker has seen fit to give; Supple and flexible as Indian cane, To take the bend his appetites ordain; Contrived to suit frail Nature's crazy case, And reconcile his lusts with saving grace. By this, with nice precision of design, He draws upon life's map a zigzag line, '*'; That shows how far 'tis safe to follow sin, And where his danger and God's wrath begin. By this he forms, as pleased he sports along, His well-poised estimate of right and wrong; And finds the modish manners of the day, Though loose, as harmless as an infant's play. Build by whatever plan Caprice decrees, With what materials, on what ground you please; Your hope shall stand unblamed, perhaps admired, If not that hope the Scripture has required. The strange conceits, vain projects and wild dreams, With which hypocrisy for ever teems, (Though other follies strike the public eye, And raise a laugh,) pass unmolested by ; But if, unblameable in word or thought, A man arise, a man whom God has taught, With all Elijah's dignity of tone, And all the love of the beloved John, To storm the citadels they build in air, And smite the untempered wall ; 'tis death to spare. To sweep away all refuges of lies, And place, instead of quirks themselves devise, Lama Sabacthani before their eyes; To prove, that without Christ all gain is loss, All hope despair, that stands not on his cross ; Except the few his God may have impressed, A tenfold frenzy seizes all the rest. Throughout mankind, the Christian kind at least, There dwells a consciousness in every breast, That folly ends where genuine hope begins, And he that finds his Heaven must lose his sins. Nature opposes with her utmost force This riving stroke, this ultimate divorce ; And, while religion seems to be her view, Hates with a deep sincerity the true : For this, of all that ever influenced man, Since Abel worshipped, or the wond began, This only spares no lust, admits no plea, But makes him, if at all, completely free ; Sounds forth the signal, as she mounts her car, Of an eternal, universal war ; Rejects all treaty, penetrates all wiles, Scorns with the same indifference frowns and smiles ; Drives through the realms of Sin, where riot reels, And grinds his crown beneath her burning wheels ! Hence all that is in man, pride, passion, art, Powers of the mind, and, feelings of the heart, Insensible of Truth's almighty charms, Starts at her first approach, and sounds to arms ' While Bigotry, with well-dissembled fears. His eyes shut fast, his fingers in his ears, -" ' Mighty to parry and push by God's word, With senseless noise, his argument the sword, Pretends a zeal for godliness and grace, And spits abhorrence in the Christian's face. Parent of Hope, immortal Truth ! make knowi Thy deathless wreaths, and triumphs all thine own The silent progress of thy power is such, Thy means so feeble, and despised so much, That few believe the wonders thou hast wrought, And none can teach them, but whom thou hast taught. O see me sworn to serve thee, and command A painter's skill into a poet's hand, That, while I trembling trace a work divine, Fancy may stand aloof from the design, And light, and shade, and every stroke be thine. If ever thou hast felt another's pain, If ever when he sighed hast sighed again, If ever on thy eyelid stood the tear, That pity had engendered, drop one hem This man was happy had the world's good word, And with it every joy it can afford ; Friendship and love seemed tenderly at strife, Which most should sweeten his untroubled life ; Politely learned, and of a gentle race, Good breeding and good sense gave all a grace, And whether at the toilette of the fair, He laughed and trifled, made him welcome there, Or if in masculine debate he shared, Ensured him mute attention and regard. Alas, how changed ! Expressive of his mind, His eyes are sunk, arms folded, head reclined ; Those awful syllables, hell, death, and sin, Though whispered, plainly tell what works within ; That conscience there performs her proper part, And writes a doomsday sentence on his heart ; Forsaking, and forsaken of all friends, He now perceives where earthly pleasure ends ; Hard task ! for one who lately knew no care, And harder still as learnt beneath despair ; His hours no longer pass unmarked away, A dark importance saddens every day ; He hears the notice of the clock perplexed, And cries, perhaps eternity strikes next ; Sweet music is no longer music here, And laughter sounds like madness in his ear: His grief the world of all her power disarms, Wine has no taste, and beauty has no charms. God's holy word, once trivial in his view, Now by the voice of his experience true, Seems, as it is, the fountain whence alone Must spring that hope he pants to make his own 34 COWPER'S WORKS. Now let the bright reverse be known abroad ; Say man's a worm, and power belongs to God. As when a felon, whom his country's laws Have justly doomed for some atrocious cause, Expects in darkness and heart-chilling fears, The shameful close of all his mispent years ; If chance, on heavy pinions slowly borne, A tempest usher in the dreaded morn, Upon his dungeon walls the lightning play, The thunder seems to summon him away, The warder at the door his key applies, Shoots back the bolt, and all his courage dies : If then, just then, all thoughts of mercy lost, When hope, long lingering, at last yields the ghost, The sound of pardon pierce his startled ear, He drops at once his fetters and his fear ; A transport glows in all he looks and speaks, And the first thankful tears bedew his cheeks. Joy, far superior joy, that much outweighs The comfort of a few poor added days, Invades, possessed, and o'erwhelms the soul Of him, whom Hope has with a touch made whole. 'Tis Heaven, all Heaven descending on the wings Of the glad legions of the King of kings ; 'Tis more 'tis God diffused through every part, 'Tis God himself triumphant in his heart. O welcome now the sun's once hated light, His noonday beams were never half so bright. Not kindred minds alone are called t' employ Their hours, their days, in listening to his joy ; Unconscious nature, all that he surveys, Rocks, groves, and streams, must join him in his praise. These are thy glorious works, eternal Truth, The scoff of withered age and beardless youth ; These move the censure and illiberal grin Of fools, that hate thee and delight in sin : But these shall last when night has quenched the pole, And Heaven is all departed as a scroll ; And when, as Justice has long since decreed, This earth shall blaze, and a new world succeed, Then these thy glorious works, and they who share That hope which can alone exclude despair, Shall live exempt from weakness and decay, The brightest wonders of an endless day. Happy the bard, (if that fair name belong To him, that blends no fable with his song,) Whose lines uniting, by an honest art, The faithful monitor's and poet's part, Seek to delight, that they may mend mankind, And, while they captivate, inform the mind : Still happier, if he till a thankful soil, And fruit reward his honourable toil : But happier far, who comfort those, that wait To hear plain truth at Judah's hallowed gate : Their language simple, as their manners meek, No shining ornaments have they to seek ; Nor labour they, nor time nor talents waste, [n sorting flowers to suit a fickle taste ; But while they speak the wisdom of the skies. Which art can only darken and disguise, Th' abundant harvest, recompense divine, Hepays their work the gleaning only mine. Quo nihil majus meliusve terris Fata doriavere, bonique divi : Nee dabunt, quamvis redeant in aurum Tempora priscum. HOT. Lib. iv. Ode 2. FAIREST and foremost of the train, that wait On man's most dignified and happiest state, Whether we name thee charity or love, Chief grace below, and all in all above, Prosper (I press thee with a powerful plea^ A task I venture on, impelled by thee ; never seen but in thy blest effects, Or felt but in the soul that heaven selects ; Who seeks to praise thee, and to make thee known To other hearts, must have thee in his own. 1 yome, prompt me with benevolent desires, Teach me to kindle at thy gentle fires, And, though disgraced and slighted, to redeem A jioet's name, bv making thee the theme. God, worKing ever on a social plan, 3y various ties attaches man to man : He made at first, though free and unconfined, One man the common father of the kind ; That every tribe, though placed as he sees best Where seas or deserts part them from the rest Differing in language, manners, or in face, Might feel themselves allied to all the race. When Cook lamented, and with tears as just As ever mingled with heroic dust, Steered Britain's oak into a world unknown, And in his country's glory sought his own, Wherever he found man, to nature true, The rights of man were sacred in his view; He soothed with gifts, and greeted with a smile, The simple native of the new-found isle; He spurned the wretch, that slighted or withstood The tender argument of kindred blood. CHARITY. Nor would endure, that any should control His freeborn brethren of the southern pole. But though some nobler minds a law respect, That none shall with impunity neglect, In baser souls unnumbered evils meet, To thwart its influence, and its end defeat. While Cook is loved for savage lives he saved, See Cortez odious for a world enslaved! Where wast thou then, sweet Charity 7 where then, Thou tutelary friend of helpless men"? "Wast thou in monkish cells and nunneries found, Or building hospitals on English ground 1 No. Mammon makes the world his legatee Through fear, not lore; and Heaven abhors the fee, Wherever found, (and all men need thy care,) Nor age nor infancy could find thee there. The hand, that slew till it could slay no more, Was glued to the sword hilt with Indian gore. Their prince, as justly seated on his throne As vain imperial Philip on his own. Tricked out of all his royalty by art, That stripped him bare, and broke his honest heart, Died by the sentence pf a shaven priest, For scorning what they taught him to detest. How dark the veil, that intercepts the blaze Of Heaven's mysterious purposes and ways ; God stood not, though he seemed to stand, aloof; And at this hour the conqueror feels the proof: The wreath he won drew down an instant curse, The fretting plague is in the public purse, The cankered spoil corrodes the pining state, Starved by that indolence their mines create. O could their ancient Incas rise again, How would they take up Israel's taunting strain 1 Art thou too fallen, Iberia 1 Do we see The robber and the murderer weak as we 7 Thou, that hast wasted earth, and dared despise Alike the wrath and mercy of the skies, Thy pomp is in the grave, thy glory laid Low in the pits thine avarice has made. We come with joy from our eternal rest, To see the oppressor in his turn oppressed. Art thou the god, the thunder of whose hand Rolled over all our desolated land, Shook principalities and kingdoms down, And made the mountains tremble at his frown ! The sword shall light upon thy boasted powers, And waste them, as thy sword has wasted ours. 'Tis thus Omnipotence his law fulfils, And Vengeance executes what Justice wills. Again the band of commerce was designed T' associate all the branches of mankind: And if a boundless plenty be the robe, Trade is the golden girdle of the globe. Wise to promote whatever end he means, God opens fruitful nature's various scenes: Each climate needs what other climes produce, And offers something to the general use; No land but listens to the common call, And in return receives supply from all. This genial intercourse, and mutual aid, Cheers what were else a universal shade, Calls Nature from her ivy-mantled den, And softens human rock-work into men Ingenious Art, with her expressive face, Steps forth to fashion and refine the race; Not only fills Necessity's demand, But overcharges her capacious hand: Capricious Taste itself can crave no more, Than she supplies from her abounding store; She strikes out all that luxury can ask, And gains new vigour at her endless task. Hers is the spacious arch, the shapely spire, The painter's pencil, and the poet's lyre; From her the canvass borrows light and shade, And verse, more lasting, hues that never fade. She guides the fingers o'er the dancing keys, Gives difficulty all the grace of ease, And pours a torrent of sweet notes around, Fast as the thirsting ear can drink the sound. These are the gifts of Art, and Art thrives most Where commerce has enriched the busy coast; He catches all improvements in his flight, Spreads foreign wonders in his country's sight, Imports what others have invented well, And stirs his own to match them, or excel. 'Tis thus reciprocating, each with each, Alternately the nations' leam and teach; While Providence enjoins to every soul A union with the vast terraqueous whole. Heaven speed the canvass, gallantly unfurled To furnish and accommodate a world, To give the pole the produce of the sun; And knit th' unsocial climates into one. Soft airs and gentle heavings of the wave Impel the fleet, whose errand is to save, To succour wasted regions, and replace The smile of Opulence in Sorrow's face. , Let nothing adverse, nothing unforeseen, Impede the bark, that ploughs the deep serene. Charged with a freight transcending in its worth The gems of India, Nature's rarest birth, That flies, like Gabriel on his Lord's commands, A herald of God's love to pagan lands. But ah ! what wish can prosper, or what prayer, For merchants rich in cargoes of despair, Who drive a loathsome traffic, guage, and span, And buy the muscles and the bones of man! The tender ties of father, husband, friend, All bonds of nature in that moment end; And each endures, while yet he draws his breath, A stroke as fatal as the scythe of Death. The sable warrior, frantic with regret Of her he loves, and never can forget, Loses in tears the far-receding shore, But not the thought, that they must meet no more: 36 COWPER'S WORKS. Depnved of her and freedom at a blow, What has he left that he can yet forego 1 Yes, to deep sadness sullenly resigned, He feels his body's bondage in his mind; Puts off his generous nature ; and, to suit His manners with his fate, puts on the brute. O most degrading of all ills, that wait On man, a mourner in his best estate ! All other sorrows Virtue may endure, And find submission more than half a cure; Grief is itself a medicine, and bestowed T' improve the fortitude that bears the load, To teach the Wanderer, as his woes increase, The path of Wisdom, all whose paths are peace; But slavery 1 Virtue dreads it as her grave: Patience itself is meanness in a slave : Or if the will and sovereignty of God Did suffer it a while, and kiss the rod, W^ait for the dawning of a brighter day, And snap the chain the moment when you may. Nature imprints upon whate'er we see, That has a heart and life in it, Be free; The beasts are chartered neither age nor force Can quell the love of freedom in a horse : He breaks the cord that held him at the rack; And, conscious of an unencumbered back, Snufts up the morning air, forgets the reiii; Loose fly his forelock and his ample mane. Responsive to the distant neigh he neighs; Nor stops till, overleaping all delays, He finds the pasture where his fellows graze. Canst thou, and honoured with a Christian name, Buy what is woman-born, and feel no shame ; Trade in the blood of innocence, and plead Expedience as a warrant for the deed 1 So may the wolf, whom famine has made bold, To quit the forest and invade the fold: So may the ruffian, who, with ghostly glide, Dagger in hand, steals close to your bed side ; Not he, but his emergence forced the door, He found it inconvenient to be poor. Has God then given its sweetness to the cane, Unless his laws be trampled on in vain 7 Built a brave world, which can not yet subsist, Unless his right to rule it be dismissed 1 Impudent blasphemy ! So Folly pleads, And, Avarice being judge, with ease succeeds. But granc the plea, and let it stand for just, That man make man his prey, because he must ; Still there is room for pity to abate, And sooth the sorrows of so sad a state. A Briton knows, or if he knows it not, The Scripture placed within his reach, he ought, That souls have no discriminating hue, Alike important in their Maker's view ; ^ . That none are free from blemish since the fall, And Love divine has paid one price for all. The wretch, that works and weeps without relief; Has one that notices his silent grief. He, from whose hands alone all power proceeds, Ranks its abuse among the foulest deeds, Considers all injustice with a frown ; But marks the man that treads his fellow down. Begone the whip and bell in that hard hand Are hateful ensigns of usurped command. Not Mexico could purchase kings a claim To scourge him, weariness his only blame. Remember Heaven has an avenging rod : To smite the poor is treason against God. Trouble is grudgingly and hardly brooked, While life's sublimest joys are overlooked We wander o'er a sunburnt thirsty soil, Murmuring and weary of our daily toil, Forget t' enjoy the palm-tree's offered shade, Or taste the fountain in the neighbouring glade: Else who would lose, that had the power t' im prove, The occasion of transmuting fear to love 1 'tis a god-like privilege to save, And that scorns it is himself a slave. Inform his mind ; one flash of heavenly day Would heal his heart, and melt his chains away. " Beauty for ashes" is a gift indeed, And slaves, by truth enlarged, are doubly freed. Then would he say, submissive at thy feet, While gratitude and love made service sweet, My dear deliverer out of hopeless night, Whose bounty bought me but to give me light, 1 was a bondman on my native plain, Sin forged, and Ignorance made fast, the chain; Thy lips have shed instruction as the dew, Taught me what path to shun, and what pursue; Farewell my former joys ! I sigh no more For Africa's once loved, benighted shore; Serving a benefactor I am free; At my best home, if not exiled from thee. Some men make gain a fountain, whence pro- A stream of liberal and heroic deeds ; The swell of pity, not to be confined Within the scanty limits of the mind, Disdains the bank, and throws the golden sands, A rich deposite, on the bordering lands : These have an ear for his paternal call, Who makes some rich for the supply of all ; God's gift with pleasure in his praise employ; And Thornton is familiar with the joy. O could I worship aught beneath the skies, That earth has seen, or fancy can devise, Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand, Built by no mercenary vulgar hand, With fragrant turf, and flowers as wild and fair As ever dressed a bank, or scented summer air. Duly, as ever on the mountain's height The peep of Morning shed a dawning light, CHARITY. - Again, when Evening, in her sober vest, Drew the gray curtain of the fading west, My soul should yield , thee willing thanks and praise. For the chief blessings of ray fairest days: But that were sacrilege praise is not thine, But his who gave thee i and preserves thee mine ; Else I would say, and as I spake bid fly A captive bird into the boundless sky, This triple realm adores thee thou art come From Sparta hither, and art here at home. We feel thy force still active, at this hour Enjoy immunity from priestly power, While Conscience, happier than in ancient years, Owns no superior but the God she fears. Propitious spirit! yet expunge a wrong Thy rights have suffered, and our land, too long. Teach mercy to ten thousand hearts, that share The fears and hopes of a commercial care. Prisons expect the wicked, and were built To bind the lawless, and to punish guilt; But shipwreck, earthquake, battle, fire, and flood, Are mighty mischiefs, not to be withstood ; And honest merit stands on slippery ground, Where covert guile and artifice abound. Let just restraint, for public peace designed, - Chain up the wolves and tigers of mankind; The foe of virtue has no claim to thee, But let insolvent Innocence go free. Patron of else the most despised of men, Accept the tribute of a stranger's pen; Verse, like the laurel ; its immortal meed, Should be the guerdon of a noble deed; I may alarm thee, but I fear the shame (Charity chosen as my theme and aim) I must incur, forgetting Howard's name. .Blest with all wealth can give thee, to resign Joys doubly sweet to feelings quick as thine, To quit the bliss thy rural scenes bestow, To seek a nobler amidst scenes of wo, To traverse seas, range kingdoms, and bring home, Not the proud monuments of Greece or Rome, But knowledge such as only dungeons teacii, And only sympathy like thine could reach; That grief sequestered from the public stage, Might smooth her feathers, and enjoy her cage; Speaks a divine ambition, and a zeal, The boldest patriot might be proud to feel. O that the voice of clamour and debate, That pleads for peace till it disturbs the state, Were hushed iri favour of thy generous plea, The poor thy clients, and Heaven's smile thy fee? flfream of tight, v of the night, Philosophy, that does not dream or stray, Walks arm in arm with nature all his way; Compasses earth, dives into it, ascends Whatever steep Inquiry recommends, Sees planetary wonders smoothly roll Round other systems under her control, Drinks wisdom That cheers the And brings at his return a bo.som With nch instruction, and a soul enlarged. The treasured sweets of the capacious plan, That Heaven spreads wide before the view of mattj All prompt his pleased pursuit, and to pursue Still prompt him, with a pleasure always new; He too has a connecting power, and draws Man to the centre of the common cause, Aiding a dubious and deficient sight With a new medium and a purer light. All truth is precious, if not all divine; And what dilates the powers must needs refine. He reads the skies, and, watching every change, Provides the .faculties an ampler range; And wins mankind, as his attempts prevail, A prouder station on the general scale. But Reason still, unless divinely taught, Whate'er she learns, learns nothing as she ought The lamp of revelation only shows, What human wisdom can not but oppose, That man, in nature's richest mantle clad And graced with all philosophy can add, Though fair without and luminous} within, Is still the progeny and heir, of sin. Thus taught, down falls the plumage of his pride; He feels his need of an unerring guide, And knows that falling he shall rise no more, Unless the power that bade him stand restore. This is indeed philosophy ; this known Makes wisdom, worthy of the name, his own; And, without this, whatever he discuss; Whether the space between the stars and us; Whether he measure earth, compute the sea; Weigh sunbeams, carve a fly, or spit a flea; The solemn trifler with his boasted skill Toils much, and is a solemn trifler still: Blind was he born, and his misguided eyes ^rown dim in trifling studies, blind he dies. Self-knowledge truly leanied of course implies The rich possession of a nobler prize ; For self to self, and God to man revealed, Two themes to Nature's eye for ever sealed) Are taught by rays, that fly with equal pace Prom the same centre of enlightening grace. Here stay thy foot; how copious, and how clear, Th' o'erflo wing well of Charity springs here! Hark! 'tis the music of a thousand rills, Some through the groves, some down the sloping hills, Winding a secret or an open course, And all supplied from an eternal source. The ties of Nature do but feebly bind, And Commerce partially reclaims mankind ; Philosophy, without his heavenly guide, May blow up self-conceit, and nourish pride But, while his promise is the reasoning part. t Has still a veil of midnight on his heart- COWPER'S WORKS. Tis Truth divine, exhibited on earth. Gives Charity her being and her birth. Suppose (when thought is warm and fancy flows, What will not argument sometimes suppose 1 ' An isle possessed by creatures of our kind, Endued with reason, yet by nature blind, Let supposition lend her aid once more, And land some grave optician on the shore : He claps his lens, if haply they may see, Close to the part where vision ought to be; But finds, that, though his tubes assist the sight, They can not give it, or make darkness light. He reads wise lectures, and describes aloud A sense they know not, to the wondering crowd ; He talks of light, and the prismatic hues, As men of depth in erudition use ; But all he gains for his harangue is rWell, What monstrous lies some travellers will tell ! The soul, whose sight all-quickening grace re- news, Takes the resemblance of the good she views, As diamonds, stripped of their opaque disguise, Reflect the noonday glory of the skies. She speaks of him, her authoi, guardian, friend, Whose love knew no beginning, knows no end, In language warm as all that love inspires, , And in the glow of her intense desires, Pants to communicate her noble fires. She sees a world stark blind to what employs Her eager thought, and feeds her flowing joys ; Though Wisdom hail them, heedless of her call, Flies to save some, and feels a pang for all: Herself as weak as her support is strong, She feels that frailty she denied so long; And, from a knowledge of her own disease, Learns to compassionate the sick she sees. Here see, acquitted of all vain pretence, The reign of genuine Charity commence. Though scorn repay her sympathetic tears, She still is kind, and still she perseveres; The truth she loves a sightless world blaspheme, 'Tis childish dotage, a delirious dream; The danger they discern not, they deny; Laugh at their only remedy, and die. But still a soul thus touched can never cease, Whoever threatens war, to speak of peace. Pure in her aim, and in her temper mild, Her wisdom seems the weakness of a child : She makes excuses where she might condemn, Reviled by those that hate her, prays for them: Suspicion lurks not in her artless breast, The worst suggested, she believes the best; Not soon provoked, however stung and teased, And, if perhaps made angry, soon appeased ; She rather waives than will dispute her right, And, injured, makes forgiveness her delight. Such was the portrait an apostle drew, The bright original was one he knew; Heaven held his hand, the likeness must be true. When one, that holds communion with the skies, Has filled his urn where these pure waters riso, And once more mingles with us meaner thing 'Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings; Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide, That tells us whence his treasures are supplied. So when a ship, well freighted with the stores The sun matures on India's spicy shores, Has dropped her anchor, and her canvass furled, In some safe haven of our western world, 'Twere vain inquiry to what port she went The gale informs us, laden with the scent. Some seek, when queasy conscience has its qualms, To lull the painful malady with alms; But charity not feigned intends alone Another's good theirs centres in their own ; And, too short'h'ved to reach the realms of peace, Must cease for ever when the poor shall cease. Flavia, most tender of her own good name, Is rather careless of her sister's fame : Her superfluity the poor supplies, But, if she touch a character, it dies. The seeming virtue weighed against the vice, She deems all safe, for she has paid the price : No charity but alms aught values she, Except in porcelain on her mantel-tree. How many deeds, with which the world has rung From Pride, in league with Ignorance, have sprung But God o'errules all human follies still, And bends the tough materials to his will. A conflagration, or a wintry flood, Has left some hundreds without home or food ; Extravagance and Avarice shall subscribe, While fame and self-complacence are the bribe. The brief proclaimed, it visits every pew, But first the squire's, a compliment but due : With slow deliberation he unties His glittering purse, that envy of all eyes, And, while the clerk just puzzles out the psalm, Slides guinea behind guinea in his palm; Till finding, what he might have found before, A smaller piece amidst the precious store, Pinched close between his finger and his thumb, He half exhibits, and then drops the sum. Gold to be sure ! Throughout the town 'tis told, j How the good squire gives never less than gold, j From motives such as his, though not the best, Springs in due time supply for the distressed ; Not less effectual than what love bestows, Except that office clips it as it goes. But lest I seem to sin against a friend, And wound the grace I mean to recommend, (Though vice derided with a just design Implies no trespass against love divine,) Once more I would adopt the graver style, A teacher should be sparing of his smile. Unless a love of virtue light the flame, Satire is, more than those he brands, to blame j CHARITY. B o hides behind a magisterial air His own offences, and strips others bare; Affccts, indeed, a most humane concern, That men, if gently tutored, will not learn; That mulish Folly, not to be reclaimed By softer methods, must be made ashamed; But (I mighJ instance in St. Patrick's dean) T often rails to gratify his spleen. Most satirists are indeed a public scourge; Their mildest physic is a farrier's purge; Their acrid temper turns, as soon as stirred, The milk of their good purpose all to curd. Their zeal begotten, as their works rehearse, By lean despair upon an empty purse, The wild assassins start into the street, Prepared to poniard whomsoe'er they meet. No skill in swordmanship, however just, Can be secure against a madman's thrust; And even Virtue, so unfairly matched, Although immortal, may be pricked or scratched. When scandal has new minted an old lie, Or taxed invention for a fresh supply, 'Tis called a satire, and the world appears Gathering around it with erected ears.: A thousand names are tossed in to the crowd; Some whispered softly, and some twanged aloud ; Just as the sapience of an author's brain Suggests it safe or dangerous to be plain. Strange ! how the frequent interjected dash duickens a market and helps off the trash; The important letters, that include the rest, Serve as a key to those that are suppressed; Conjecture gripes the victims in his paw, The world is charmed, and Scrib escapes the law. So, when the cold damp shades of night prevail, Worms may be caught by either head or tail; Forcibly drawn from many a close recess, They meet with little pity, no redress; Plunged in the stream, they lodge upon the mud, Food for the famished rovers of the flood. All zeal for a reform, that gives offence To peace and charity, is mere pretence: A bold remark, but which, if well applied, Would humble many a towering poet's pride. Perhaps the man was in a sportive fit, And had no other play-place for his wit; Perhaps enchanted with the love of fame, He sought the jewel in his neighbour's shame ; Perhaps whatever end he might pursue, The cause of virtue could not be his view. At every stroke wit flashes in our eyes ; The turns are quick, the polished points surprise, But shine with cruel and tremendous charms, That, while they please, possess us with alarms; So have I seen (and hastened to the sight On all the wings of holiday delight,) Where stands that monument of ancient power, Named, with emphatic dignity, the Tower, 4 E Guns, halberts, swords, and pistols, great and small, In starry forms disposed upon the wall; We wonder, as we gazing stand below, That brass and steel should make so fine a show; But though we praise th' exact designer's skill, Account them implements of mischief still. No works shall find acceptance in that day. When all disguises shall be rent away, That square not truly with the Scripture plan, Nor spring from love to God, or love to man. j As he ordains things sordid in their birth To be resolved into their parent earth; And, though the soul shall seek superior < Whate'er this world produces, it absorbs; So self starts nothing, but what tends apace Home to the goal, where it began the race. Such as our motive is, our aim must be ; If this be servile, that can ne'er be free: If self employ us, whatsoe'er is wrought, We glorify that self, not him we ought: Such virtues had need prove their own The Judge of all men owes them ntti True Charity, a plant divinely nursed, Fed by the love from which it rose at first, Thrives against hope, and, in the rudest scene, Storms but enliven its unfading green: < '_' j, Exuberant is the shadow it supplies, Its fruits on earth, its growth above the skies. To look at Him, who formed us and redeemed, So glorious now, though once so discstcemed, To see a God stretch forth his human hand, T' uphold the, boundless scenes of his command To recollect, that, in a form like ours, He bruised beneath his feet th' infernal powers. Captivity led captive, rose to claim The wreath he won so dearly in our name; That, throned above all height, he condescends To call the few that trust in him his friends; That, in the Heaven of heavens, that space he deems Too scanty for th' exertion of his beams, And shines as if impatient to bestow Life and a kingdom upon worms below; That sight imparts a never-dying flame, Though feeble in degree, in kind the same. Like him the soul, thus kindled from above, Spreads wide her arms of universal love ; And, still enlarged as she receives the glace, Includes creation in her close embrace. Behold a Christian ! and without the fires The founder of that name alone inspires, Though all accomplishment, all knowledge meet, To make the shining prodigy complete, Whoever boasts that name behold a cheat! Were love, in these the world's last doting years, As frequent as the want of it appears, The churches warmed, they would no long Such frozen figures, stiff as they are cold; COWPER'S WORKS. flelenting forms would lose their power or cease; And e'en the dipped and sprinkled live in peace: Each heart would quit its prison in the breast, And flow in free communion with the rest. The statesman, skilled in projects dark and deep, Might burn his useless Machiavel, and sleep; His budget often filled, yet always poor, Might swing at ease behind his study door, No longer prey upon our annual rents, Or scare the nation with its big contents: Disbanded legions freely might depart, And slaying man would cease to be an art. No learned disputants would take the field, Sure not to conquer, and sure not to yield; Both sides deceived, if rightly understood, Pelting each other for the public good. Did Charity prevail, the press would prove A vehicle of virtue, truth, and love; And I might spare myself the pains to show What few can learn, and all suppose they know. Thus I have sought to grace a serious lay With many a wild, indeed, but flowery spray, In hopes to gain, what else I must have lost, Th' attention pleasure has so much engrossed. But if, unhappily deceived, I dream, And prove too weak for so divine a theme, Let Charity forgive me a mistake, That zeal, not vanity, has chanced to make, And spare the poet for his subject's sake. Nam neque me tantum venientis sibilus austri, Nee [lercussa juvant fluctu tarn litora, nee quaa Saxoeas inter decurrunt flumina valles. Virg. EcL 5. THOUGH Nature weigh our talents, and dispense To every man his modicum of sense, And conversation in its better part May be esteemed a gift, and not an art, Yet much depends, as in the tiller's toil, On culture, and the sowing of the soil. Words learned by rote a parrot may rehearse, But talking is not always to converse; Not more distinct from harmony divine, The constant creaking of a country sign. As alphabets in ivory employ, Hour after hour, the yet unlettered boy, Sorting and puzzling with a deal of glee Those seeds of science called his A B c; So language in the mouths of the adult, Witness its insignificant result, Too often proves an implement of play, A toy to sport with, and pass time away. Collect at evening what the day brought forth, Compress the sum into its solid worth, And if it weigh th' importance of a fly, The scales are false, 'or algebra, a lie, Sacred interpreter of human thought, How few respect or use thee as they ought! But all shall give account of every wrong, Who dare dishonour or defile the tongue ; Who prostitute it in the cause of vice, Or sell the glory at the market-price ; Who vote for hire, or point it with lampoon, The dear-bought placeman, and the cheap buffoon. There is a prurience in the speech of some, Wiath stays him, or eke God would strike them dumb: His wise forbearance has their end in view, They fill their measure, and receive their due. The heathen law-givers of ancient days, Names almost worthy of a Christian's praise, Would drive them forth from the resort of men, And shut up every satyr in his den. O come not ye near innocence and truth, Ye worms that eat into the bud of youth ! Infectious as impure, your blighting power Taints in its rudiments the promised flower, Its odour perished and its charming hue, Thenceforth 'tis hateful, for it smells of you. Not e'en the vigorous and headlong rage Of adolescence, or a firmer age, Affords a plea allowable or just For making speech the pamperer of lust; But when the breath of age commits the fault, 'Tis nauseous as the vapour of a vault. So withered stumps disgrace the sylvan scene, No longer fruitful, and no longer green ; The sapless wood, divested of the bark, Grows fungous, and takes fire at every spark. Oaths terminate, as Paul observes, all strife Some men have surely then a peaceful life ; Whatever subject occupy discourse, The feats of Vestris, or the naval force, Asseveration blustering in your face Makes contradiction such a hopeless case : In every tale they tell, or false or true, Well known, or such as no man ever knew, They fix attention, heedless of your pain. With oaths like rivets forced into the brain; And e'en when sober truth prevails throughout. They swear it, till affirmance breeds a doubt, A Persian, humble servant of the sun, Who, though devout, yet bigotry had none CONVERSATION. 41 Hearing a lawyer, grave in his address, With abjuration every word impress, Supposed the man a bishop, or, at least, God's name so much upon his lips, a priest ; Bowed at the close with all his graceful airs, And begged an interest in his frequent prayers. Go, quit the rank to which ye stood preferred, Henceforth associate in one common herd; Religion, virtue, reason, common sense, Pronounce your human form a false pretence ; A mere disguise, in which a devil lurks, Who yet betrays his secret by his works. Ye powers who rule the tongue, if such there are, And make colloquial happiness your care, Preserve me from the thing I dread and hate, A duel in the form of a debate. The clash of arguments and jar of words, Worse than the mortal brunt of rival swords, Decide no question with their tedious length, For opposition, gives opinion strength. Divert the champions prodigal of breath ; And put the peaceably-disposed to death. thwart me not, sir Soph, at every turn, Nor carp at every flaw you may discern ; Though syllogisms hang not on my tongue, 1 am not surely always in the wrong ; 'Tis hard if all is false that I advance, A fool must now and then be right by chance. Not that all freedom of dissent I blame ; No there I grant the privilege I claim. A disputable point is no man's ground ; Rove where you please, 'tis common all around. Discourse may want an animated No, To brush the surface, and to make it flow ; But still remember, if you mean to please, To press your point with modesty and ease. The mark, at which my juster aim I take, Is contradiction for its own dear sake. Set your opinion at whatever pitch, Knots and impediments make something hitch ; Adopt his own, 'tis equally in vain, Your thread of argument is snapped again ; The wrangler, rather than accord with you, Will judge himself deceived, and prove it too. Vociferated logic kills me quite, A noisy man is always in the right : I twirl my thumbs, fall back into my chair, Fix on the wainscot a distressful stare, And, when I hope his blunders are all out, Reply discreetly To be sure no doubt ! Dubius is such a scrupulous good man Yes you may catch him tripping if you can. He would not, with a peremptory tone, Assert the nose upon his face his own ; With hesitation admirably slow, He humbly hopes presumes it may be so. His evidence, if he were called by law To swear to some enormity he saw, For want of prominence and just relief Would hang an honest man, and save a thief. Through constant dread of giving truth offence, He ties up all his hearers in suspense ; Knows what he knows, as if he knew it not ; What he remembers, seems to have forgot; His sole opinion, whatsoe'er befall, Centering at last in having none at all. Yet, though he tease and baulk your listening ear, He makes one useful point exceeding clear ; Howe'er ingenious on his darling theme A sceptic in philosophy may seem, Reduced to practice, his beloved rule Would only prove him a consummate fool ; Useless in him alike both brain and speech, Fate having placed all truth above his reach, His ambiguities his total sum, ' . He might as well be blind, and deaf, and dumb. Where men of judgment creep and feel their wa>, The positive pronounce without dismay ; Their want of light and intellect supplied By sparks absurdity strikes out of pride. Without the means of knowing right from wrong, They always are decisive, clear, and strong ; Where others toil with philosophic force, Their nimble nonsense takes a shorter course ; Flings at your head conviction in the lump, And gains remote conclusions at a jump : Their own defect, invisible to them, Seen in another, they at once condemn; And, though self-idolized hi every case, Hate their own likeness in a brother's face. The cause is plain, and not to be denied, The proud are always most provoked by pride ; Few competitions but engender spite ; And those the most where neither has a right The point of honour has been deemed of use, To teach good manners, and to curb abuse ; Admit it true, the consequence is clear, Our polished manners are a mask we wear, And at the bottom barbarous still and rude, We are restrained, indeed, but not subdued. The very remedy, however sure, Springs from the mischief it intends to cure, And savage in its principle appears, Tried, as it should be, by the fruit it bears. 'Tis hard, indeed, if nothing will defend Mankind from quarrels but their fatal end ; That now and then a hero must decease, That the surviving world may live in peace. Perhaps at last close scrutiny may show The practice dastardly, and mean, and low; That men engage in it compelled by force, And fear, not courage, is its proper source ; The fear of tyrant custom, and the fear Lest fops should censure us, and fools should sner At least, to trample on our Maker's laws, And hazard life for any or no cause, 42 COWPER'S WORKS. To rush into a fixed eternal state Out of the very flames of rage and hate, Or send another shivering to the bar With all the guilt of such unnatural war, Whatever use may urge, or honour plead, " ,. On reason's verdict is a madman's deed. Am I to set my life upon a throw, ' Because a bear is rude and surly 7 ? No A moral, sensible and well-bred man Will not affront me; and no other can. Were I empowered to regulate the lists, They should encounter with well-loaded fists; A Trojan combat would be something new, Let Dares beat Entellus black and blue; Then each might show, to his admiring friends, In honourable bumps his rich amends, And carry in contusions of his skull, A satisfactory receipt in full. A story, in which native humour reigns, Is often useful, always entertains: A graver fact, enlisted on your side, May furnish illustration, well applied; But sedentary weavers of long tales Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails. 'Tis the most asinine employ on earth, To hear them tell of parentage and birth, And echo conversations dull and dry, Embellished with He said, and So said I. At every interview their route the same, The repetition makes attention lame: We bustle up with unsuccessful speed, Ai;d in the saddest part cry Droll indeed! The path of narrative with care pursue, Still making probability your clew: On all the vestiges of truth attend, And let them guide you to a decent end. Of all ambitions man may entertain, The worst that can invade a sickly brain, Is that, which angles hourly for surprise, And baits its hook with prodigies and lies. Credulous infancy, or age as weak, Are fittest auditors for such to seek, Who to please others will themselves disgrace, Yet please not, but affront you to your face. A great retailer of this curious ware Having unloaded and made many stare, Can this be true! an arch observer cries, Yes, (rather moved) I saw it with these eyes; Sir! I believe it on that ground alone; I could riot, had I seen it with my own. A tale should be judicious, clear, succinct; The language plain, and incidents well linked ; Tell not as new what every body knows, And, new or old, still hasten to a close; There, centering in a focus round and neat, Let all your rays of information meet. What neither yields us profit nor delight Is like a nurse's lullaby at night; Guy Earl of Warwick and fair Eleanore, Or giant-killing Jack, would please me more The pipe, with solemn interposing pufT, Makes half a sentence at a time enough; The dozing sages drop the drowsy strain, Then pause, and puff and speak, and p-xua* again. Such often, like the tube they so admire, Important triflers: have more smoke than fire. Pernicious weed ! whose scent the fair annoys, Unfriendly to society's chief joys, Thy worst effect is banishing for hours The sex, whose presence civilizes ours: Thou art indeed the drug a gardener wants, To poison vermin that infest his plants; But are we so to wit and beauty blind, As to despise the glory of our kind, And show the softest minds and fairest forms As little mercy, as the grubs and worms'? They dare not wait the riotous abuse, Thy thirst-creating steams at length produce, When wine has given indecent language birth, And forced the flood-gates of licentious mirth; For sea-born Venus her attachment shows Still to that element, from which she rose, And with a quiet, which no fumes disturb, Sips meek infusions of a milder herb. Th' emphatic speaker dearly loves t' oppose In contact inconvenient, nose to nose, As if the gnomon on his neighbour's phiz, Touched with the magnet, had attracted his. His whispered theme, dilated and at large, Proves after all a wind-gun's airy charge, An extract of his diary no more, A tasteless journal of the day before. He walked abroad, o'ertaken in the rain, Called on a friend, drank tea, stepped home again, Resumed his purpose, had a world of talk With one he stumbled on, and lost his walk. I interrupt him with a sudden bow, Adieu, dear sir! lest you should lose it now. I can not talk with civet in the room, A fine puss-gentleman that's all perfume; The sight's enough no need to smell a beau- Who thrusts his nose into a rareeshow 1 His odoriferous attempts to please, Perhaps might prosper with a swarm of bees, But we that make no honey, though we sting, Poets, are sometimes apt to maul the thing. 'Tis wrong to bring into a mixed resort, What makes some sick, and others a la-mort An argument of cogence, we may say, Why such a one should keep himself away. A graver coxcomb we may sometimes see Gtuite as absurd, though not so light as he; A shallow brain behind a serious mask, An oracle within an empty cask, The solemn fop; significant and budge; A fool with judges, amongst fools a judge; CONVERSATION. He says but little, and that little said Owes all its weight, like loaded dice, to lead. His wit invites you by his looks to come, But when you knock, it never is at home. 'Tis like a parcel sent you by the stage, Some handsome present, as your hopes presage; 'Tis heavy, bulky, and bids fair to prove An absent friend's fidelity and love ; But when unpacked, your disappointment groans To find it stuffed with brickbats, earth, and stones. Some men employ their health, an ugly trick, In making known how oft they have been sick, And give us in recitals of disease A doctor's trouble, but without the fees; Relate how many weeks they kept their bed, How an emetic or cathartic sped ; Nothing is slightly touched, much less forgot, Nose, ears, and eyes, seem present on the spot. Now the distemper, spite of draught or pill, Victorious seemed, and now the doctor's skill ; And now alas for unforeseen mishaps ! They put on a damp nightcap and relapse ; They thought they must have died, they were so bad; Their peevish hearers almost wish they had. Some fretful tempers wince at every touch, You always do too little or too much : You speak with life, in hopes to entertain, Your elevated voice goes through the brain; You fall at once into a lower key, That's worse the drone-pipe of an humblebee. The southern sash admits too strong a light, You rise and drop the curtain now 'tis night. He shakes with cold you stir the fire and strive To make a blaze that's roasting him alive. Serve him with venison, and he chooses fish; With soal that's just the sort he does not wish. He takes what he at first professed to loath, And in due time feeds heartily on both; Yet still, o'erclouded with a constant frown, He does not swallow, but he gulps it down. Your hope to please him vain on every plan, Himself should work that wonder if he can Alas! his efforts double his distress, He likes yours little, and his own still less. Thus always teasing others, always teased, His only pleasure is to be displeased. I pity bashful men, who feel the pain Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain, And bear the marks upon a blushing face Of needless shame, and self-imposed disgrace. Our sensibilities are so acute, The fear of being silent makes us mute. "We sometimes think we could a speech produce Much to the purpose, if our tongues were loose ; But being tried, it dies upon the lip, Faint as a chicken's note that has the pip : Our wasted oil unprofitably burns-, Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns. Few Frenchmen of this evil have complained; It seems as if we Britons were ordained, By way of wholesome curb upon our pride; To fear each other, fearing none beside. The cause perhaps inquiry may descry, Self-searching with an introverted eye, Concealed within an unsuspected part, The vainest corner of our own vain heart; For ever aiming at the world's esteem, Our self-importance ruins its own scheme; In other eyes our talents rarely shown, Become at length so splendid in our own, We dare not risk them into public view, Lest they miscarry of what seems their due. True modesty is a discerning grace, And only blushes in the proper place ; But counterfeit is blind, and skulks through fear, Where 'tis a shame to be ashamed t' appear : Humility the parent of the first, The last by vanity produced and nursed. The circle formed, we sit in silent state, Like figures drawn upon a dial plate; Yes ma'am and no ma'am, uttered softly show Every five minutes how the minutes go; Each individual suffering a constraint Poetry may, but colours can not paint; As if in close committee on the sky, Reports it hot or cold, or wet or dry; And finds a changing clime a happy source Of wise reflection, and well timed discourse. We next inquire, but sdftly and by stealth, Like conservators of the public health, Of epidemic throats, if such there are, And coughs, and rheums, and phthisic, and catarrh, The theme exhausted, a wide chasm ensues, Filled up at last with interesting news, Who danced with whom, and who are like to wed, And who is hanged, and who is brought to bed : But fear to call a more important cause, As if 'twere treason against English laws. The visit paid, with ecstacy we come, As from a seven years transportation, home, And there resume an unembarrassed brow, Recovering what we lost we know not how, The faculties, that seemed reduced to nought, Expression and the privilege of thought. The reeking, roaring hero of the chase, [ give him over as a desperate case. Physicians write in hopes to work a cure, Never, if honest ones, when death is sure, And though the fox he follows may be tamed, A mere fox-follower never is reclaimed. Some farrier should prescribe his proper course, Whose only fit companion is his horse; Or if, deserving of a better doom, The noble beast judge otherwise, his groom. Yet e'en the rogue that serves him, though he stand. To take his honour's orders, cap in hand, COWPER'S WORKS. Prefers his fellow-grooms with much good sense, Their skill a truth, his master's a pretence. If neither horse nor groom affect the squire, Where can at last his jockeyship retire 1 O to the club, the scene of savage joys, The school of coarse good fellowship and noise; There in the sweet society of those, Whose friendship from his boyish years he chose, Let him improve his talent if he can, Till none but beasts acknowledge him a man. Man's heart had been impenetrably sealed, Like theirs that cleave the flood or graze the field, Had not his Maker's all-bestowing hand Given him a soul, and bade him understand; The reasoning power vouchsafed of course inferred The power to clothe that reason with his word ; For all is perfect, that God works on earth, And he, that gives conception, aids the birth. If this be plain, 'tis plainly understood, What uses of his boon the Giver would. The Mind, despatched upon her busy toil, Should range where Providence has blessed the soil; Visiting every flower with labour meet, And gathering all her treasures sweet by sweet, She should imbue the tongue with what she sips, And shed the balmy blessing on the lips, That good diffused may more abundant grow, And spee6h may praise the power that bids it flow. Will the sweet warbler of the livelong night, That fills the listening lover with delight, Forget his harmony with rapture heard, To learn the twittering of a meaner bird] Or make the parrot's mimicry his choice, That odious libel on a human voice 7 No Nature, unsophisticate by man, Starts not aside from her Creator's plan; The melody, that was at first designed To cheer the rude forefathers of mankind, Is note for note delivered in our ears, In the last scene of her six thousand years. Yet Fashion, leader of a chattering train, Whom man, for his own hurt, permits to reign, Who shifts and changes all things but his shape, And would degrade her votary to an ape, The fruitful parent of abuse and wrong, Holds a usurped dominion o'er his tongue; There sits and prompts him with his own disgrace, Prescribes the theme, the tone, and the grimace, And when accomplished in her wayward school, Calls gentleman whom she has made a fool. 'Tis an unalterable fixed decree, That none could frame or ratify but she, That heaven and hell, and righteousness and sin, Snares in his path, and foes that lurk within, God and his attributes (a field of day Where 'tis an angel's happiness to stray,) Fruits of his love and wonders of his might, Be never named in ears esteemed polite. That he who dares, when she forbids, be grave, Shall stand proscribed, a madman or a knave, A close designer not to be believed, Or, if excused that charge, at least deceived. Oh folly worthy of the nurse's lap, Give it the breast, or stop its mouth with pap! Is it incredible, or can it seem A dream to any, except those that dream, That man should love his Maker, and that fire, Warming his heart, should at his lips transpire! Know then, and modestly let fall your eyes, And veil your daring crest that braves the skies; That air of insolence affronts your God, You need his pardon, and provoke his rod: Now, in a posture that becomes you more Than that heroic strut assumed before, Know, your arrears with every hour accrue For mercy shown, while wrath is justly due. The time is short, and there are souls on earth, Though future pain may serve for present mirth, Acquainted with the woes, that fear or shame, By fashion taught forbade them once to name, And, having felt the pangs you deem a jest, Have proved them truths too big to be expressed. Go seek on revelation's hallowed ground, Sure to succeed, the remedy they found: Touched by that power that you have dared to mock, That makes seas stable, and dissolves the rock, Your heart shall yield a life-renewing stream, That fools, as you have done, shall call a dream. It happened on a solemn eventide. Soon after He that was our surety died, Two bosom friends, each pensively inclined, The scene of all those sorrows left behind, Sought their own village, busied as they went In musings worthy of the great event : They spake of him they loved, of him whose life, Though blameless, had incurred perpetual strife, Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts, A deep memorial graven on their hearts. The recollection, like a vein of ore, The farther traced, enriched them still the more; They thought him, and they justly thought him, one Sent to do more than he appeared t' have done; T' exalt a people, and to place them high Above all else, and wondered he should die. Ere yet they brought their journey to an end, A stranger joined them, courteous as a friend, And asked them with a kind, engaging air, What their affliction was, and begged to share. Informed, he gathered up the broken thread, And, truth and wisdom gracing all he said, Explained, illustrated, and searched so well The tender theme on which they chose to dwell, That, reaching home, The night, they said, u near, We must not now be parted, sojourn here- CONVERSATION. The new acquaintance soon became a guest, And, made so welceine at their simple feast, He blessed the bread, but vanished at the word, And left them both exclaiming, 'Twas the Lord! Did not our hearts feel all he deigned to say'? Did they not burn within us on the way 7 Now theirs was converse, such as it behoves Man to maintain, and such as God approves: Their views, indeed, were indistinct and dim, But yet successful, being aimed at him, Christ and his character their only scope, Their object, and their subject, and their hope, They felt what it became them much to feel, And, wanting him to loose the sacred seal, Found him as prompt, as their desire was true, To spread the new born glories in their view. Well what are ages and the lapse of time, Matched against truths, as lasting as sublime! Can length of years on God himself exact 7 Or make that fiction, which was once a fact 1 No marble and recording brass decay, And, like the graver's memory, pass away; The works of man inherit, as is just, Their author's frailty, and return to dust: But truth divine for ever stands secure, Its head is guarded, and its base is sure. Fixed in the rolling flood of endless years, The pillar of th' eternal plan appears, The raving storm and dashing wave defies, Built by that architect who built the skies. Hearts may be found, that harbour at this hour That love of Christ, and all its quickening power ; And lips unstained by folly or by strife, Whose wisdom, drawn from the deep well of life, Tastes of its healthful origin, and flows A Jordan for th' ablution of our woes. O days of heaven and nights of equal praise, Serene and peaceful as those heavenly days, When souls drawn upwards in communion sweet, Enjoy the stillness of some close retreat, Discourse, as if released and safe at home, Of dangers past, and wonders yet to come, And spread the sacred treasures of the breast Upon the lap of covenanted Rest. What, always dreaming over heavenly things, Like angel-heads in stone with pigeon -wings'? Canting and whining out all day the word, And half the night 1 Fanatic and absurd! Mine be the friend less frequent in his prayers, Who makes no bustle with his soul's affairs, Whose wit can brighten up a wintry day, And chase the splenetic dull hours away; Content on earth in earthly things to shine, Who waits for heaven ere he becomes divine Leave saints t' enjoy those altitudes they teach, And plucks the fruit placed more within his reach, Well spoken, advocate of sin and shame, Known by thy bleating, Ignorance thy name. Is sparkling wit the world's exclusive right 1 The fixed fee-simple of the vain and light] Can hopes of heaven, bright prospects for an hour, That come to waft us out of Sorrow's power, Obscure or quench a faculty, that finds Its happiest soil in the serenest minds 1 Religion curbs indeed its wanton play, And brings the trifler under rigorous sway, But gives it usefulness unknown before, And, purifying, makes .it shine the more. A Christian's wit is inoffensive light, A beam that aids, but never grieves the sight ; Vigorous in age as in the flush of youth, 'Tis always active on the side of truth; Temperance and peace ensure its healthful state, And make it brightest at its latest date. Oh I have seen (nor hope perhaps in vain, Ere life go down, to see such sights again) A veteran warrior in the Chistian field, Who never saw the sword he could not wield ; Grave without dullness, learned without pride, Exact, yet not precise, though meek, keen-eyed; A man that would have foiled at their own play A dozen would-be's of the modem day ; Who, when occasion justified its use, Had wit as bright a$ ready to produce, Could fetch from records of an earlier age, Or from philosophy's enlightened page, His rich materials, and regale your ear With strains it was a privilege to hear : Yet, above all, his luxury supreme, And his chief glory, was the Gospel theme: There he was copious as old Greece or Rome, His happy eloquence seemed there at home, Ambition not to shine or to excel, But to treat justly what he loved so well. It moves me more perhaps than folly ought, When some green heads, as void of wit as thought, Suppose themselves monopolists of sense, And wiser men's ability pretence. Though time will wear us and we must grow old Such men are not forgot as soon as cold ; Their fragrant memory will outlast their tomb, Embalmed for ever in its own perfume. And to say truth, though in its early prime, And when unstained with any grosser crime, Youth has a sprightliness and fire to boast, That in the valley of decline are lost, And Virtue with peculiar charms appears, Crowned with the garland of life's blooming years Yet Age, by long experience well informed, Well read, well tempered, with religion warmed, That fire abated, which impels rash youth, Proud of his speed, to overshoot the truth, As time improves the grape's authentic juice, Mellows and makes the speech more fit for use. And claims a reverence in its shortening day. That 'tis an honour and a joy to pay. COWPER'S WORKS. The fruits of age, less fair, are yet more sound, Than those a brighter season pours around ; And, like the stores autumnal suns mature, Through wintry rigours unimpaired endure. What is fanatic frenzy, scorned so much, And dreaded more than a contagious touch ? I grant it dangerous, and approve your fear, That fire is catching if you draw too near ; But sage observers oft mistake the flame, And give true piety that odious name. To tremble (as the creature of an hour Ought at the view of an almighty power) Before his presence, at whose awful throne All tremble in all worlds, except our own, To supplicate his mercy, love his ways, And prize them above pleasure, wealth, or praise. Though common sense, allowed a casting voice, And free from bias, must approve the choice, Convicts a man fanatic in th' extreme, And wild as madness in the world's esteem. But that disease, when soberly defined, Is the false fire of an o'erheated mind ; It views the truth with a distorted eye, And either warps or lays it useless by ; 'Tis narrow, selfish, arrogant, and draws Its sordid nourishment from man's applause; And while at heart sin unrelinquished lies, Presumes itself chief favourite of the skies. 'Tis such a light as putrefaction breeds In fly-blown flesh, whereon the maggot feeds, Shines in the dark, but, ushered into day, The stench remains, the lustre dies away. True bliss, if man may reach it, is composed Of hearts in union mutually disclosed : And, farewell else all hopes of pure delight, Those hearts should be reclaimed, renewed, up- right. Bad men, profaning friendship's hallowed name, Form, in its stead, a covenant of shame, A dark confederacy against the laws Of virtue, and religion's glorious cause : They build each other up with dreadful skill, As bastions set point blank against God's will; Enlarge and fortify the dread redoubt, ' \ Deeply resolved to shut a Saviour out ; Call legions up from hell to back the deed ; And, cursed with conquest, finally succeed. But souls, that carry on a blest exchange Of joys, they meet within their heavenly range, And with a fearless confidence make known The sorrows sympathy esteems its own, Daily derive increasing light and force From such communion m their pleasant course, Feel less the journey's roughness and its length, Meet their opposers with united strength, And, one in heart, in interest, and design, Gird up each other to the race divine. But conversation, choose what theme we may, Am' chiefly when religion leads the way, Should flow, like waters after summer showers, Not as if raised by mere mechanic powers. The Christian, in whose soul, though now distressed; Lives the dear thought of joys he once possessed, When all his glowing language issued forth With God's deep stamp upon its current worth, Will speak without disguise, and must impart, Sad as it is, his undissembling heart, Abhors constraint, and dares not feign a zeal, Or seem to boast a fire he does not feel. The song of Zion is a tasteless thing, Unless, when rising on a joyful wing, The soul can mix with the celestial bands, And give the strain the compass it demands. Strange tidings these to tell a world, who treut All but their own experience as deceit ! Will they believe, though credulous enough To swallow much upon much weaker proof, That there are blest inhabitants on earth, Partakers of a new ethereal birth, Their hopes, desires, and purposes estranged From things terrestrial, and divinely changed, Their very language, of a kind, that speaks The soul's sure interest in the good she seeks, Who deal with Scripture, its importance felt, As Tully with philosophy once dealt, And in the silent watches of the night, And through the scenes of toil-renewing light, The social walk, or solitary ride, Keep still the dear companion at their side ! N"o shame upon a self-disgracing age, God's work may serve an ape upon a stage With such a jest, as filled with hellish glee ertain invisibles as shrewd as he ; But veneration or respect finds none, Save from the subjects of that work alone. The world grown old her deep discernment shows laps spectacles on her sagacious nose, Peruses closely the true Christian's face, And finds it a mere mask of sly grimace : . Jsurps God's office, lays his bosom bare, A.nd finds hypocrisy close lurking there ; And, serving God herself through mere constraint, Concludes his unfeigned love of him a feint. And yet, God knows, look human nature through, And in due time the world shall know it too) That since the flowers of Eden felt the blast, That after man's defection laid all waste, incerity towards the heart-searching God las made the new-born creature her abode Sor shall be found in unregenerate souls, Pill the last fire burn all between the poles, incerity ! why 'tis his only pride, Weak and imperfect in all grace beside, le knows that God demands his heart entire, And gives him all his just demands require. iVithout it his pretensions were as vain, As having it he deems the world's disdain ; CONVERSATION. 47 That great defect would cost him not alone Man's favourable judgment, but his own ; His birthright shaken, and no longer clear, Than while his conduct proves his heart sincere. Retort the charge, and let the world be told" She boasts a confidence she does not hold ; That, conscious of her crimes, she feels instead A cold misgiving, and a killing dread : That while in health the ground of her support Is madly to forget that life is short ; That sick she trembles, knowing she must die, Her hope presumption, and her faith a lie ; That while she dotes, and dreams that she believes, She mocks her Maker, and herself deceives, Her utmost reach, historical assent, The doctrines warped to what they never meant ; That truth itself is in her head as dull And useless as a candle in a scull, And all her love of God a groundless claim, A trick upon the canvass, painted flame. Tell her again, the sneer upon her face, And all her censures of the work of grace, Are insincere, meant only to conceal A dread she would not, yet is forced to feel : That in her heart the Christian she reveres, And while she seems to scorn him, only fears. A poet does not work by square or line, As smiths and joiners perfect a design ; At least we moderns, our attention less, Beyond th' example cf our sires digress, And claim a right to scamper and run wide, Wherever chance, caprice, or fancy guide. The world and I fortuitously met ; I owed a trifle, and have paid the debt ; She did me wrong, I recompensed the deed, And, having struck the balance, now proceed. Perhaps, however, as some years have passed, Since she and I conversed together last, i And 1 have lived recluse in rural shades, Which seldom a distinct report pervades, Great changes and new manners have occurred, And blest reforms, that I have never heard, And she may now be as discreet and wise, As once absurd in all discerning eyes. Sobriety perhaps may now be found, Where once Intoxication pressed the ground ; The subtle and injurious may be just, And he grown chaste, (hat was the slave of lust ; Arts once esteemed may be with shame dismissed ; Charity may relax-the miser's fist ; The gamester may have cast his cards away, Forgot to curse, and only kneel to pray. It has indeed been told me (with what weight, How credibly, 'tis hard for me to state) That fables old, that seemed for ever mute, Revived are hastening into fresh repute, And gods and goddesses, discarded long, Like useless lu alter, or a stroller's song, , Arc bringing into vogvio thrir heathen train, And Jupiter bids fair to rule .again ; "That certain feasts are instituted now; Where Venus hears the lover's tender vow ; That all Olympus through the country roves, To consecrate our few remaining groves, And Echo learns politely to repeat The praise of names for ages obsolete: That having proved the weakness, it should seem, Of revelation's ineffectual beam, To bring the passions under sober sway, And give the mortal springs their proper play, They mean to try what may at last be done, By stout substantial gods of wood and stone, And whether Roman rites may not produce , The virtues of old Rome for English use. May such success attend the pious plan, May Mercury once more embellish man, Grace him again with long forgotten arts, Reclaim his taste, and brighten up his parts, Make him athletic, as in days of old, Learned at the bar, in the palaestra bold, Divest the rougher sex of female airs, And teach the softer not to copy theirs: The change shall please, nor shall it matter aught Who works the wonder, if it be but wrought. 'Tis time, however, if the case stand thus, For us plain folks, and all who side with us, To build our altar, confident and bold, And say as stern Elijah said of old, The strife now stands upon a fair award, If Israel's Lord be God, then serve the Lord : If he be silent, faith is all a whim, Then Baal is the God, and worship him. Disgression is so much in modern use, Thought is so rare, and fancy so profuse, f Some never seem so wide of their intent, As when returning to the theme they meant; As mendicants, whose business is to roam, , Make every parish but their own their home. Though such continual zigzags in a book, 'Snch drunken reelings have an awkward look, And I had rather creep to what is-true, Than rove and stagger with no mark in view; Yet to consult a little, seemed no crime, The freakish humour of the present tune; But now to gather up what seems dispersed, And touch the subject I designed at first, May prove, though much beside the rules of art Best for the public, and my wisest part. And first, let no man charge me, that I mean To clothe in sable every social scene, And give good company a face severe, As if they met around a father's bier; For tell some men, that pleasure all their bchl, And laughter all their work, is life mispent, Their wisdom bursts into the sage reply, Then mirth is sin, and we should always en 48 COWPER'S WORKS. To find the medium asks some share of wit, And therefore 'tis a mark fools never hit. But though life's valley be a vale of tears, A brighter scene beyond that vale appears, Whose glory, with a light that never fades, Shoots between scattered rocks and opening shades, And, while it shows the land the soul desires, The language of the land she seeks inspires. Thus touched, the tongue receives a sacred cure Of all that was absurd, profane, impure; Held within modest bounds, the tide of speech Pursues the course that Truth and Nature teach; No longer labours merely to produce The pomp of sound, or tinkle without use: Where'er it winds, the salutary stream, Sprightly and fresh, enriches every theme, While all the happy man possessed before, The gift of nature, or the classic store, Is made subservient to the grand design, For which Heaven formed the faculty divine, So should an idiot, while at large he strays, Find the sweet lyre, on which an artist plays, With rash and awkward force the chords he shakes, And grins with wonder at the jar he makes; But let the wise and well -instructed hand Once take the shell beneath his just command, In gentle sounds it seemed as it complained Of the rude injuries it late sustained, Till tuned at length to some immortal song, It sounds Jehovah's name, and pours his praise along. studiis florens ignobilis oti. Virg. Gear. Lib. 4. HACKNEYED in business, wearied at the oar Which thousands, once fast chained to, quit no more, But which, when life at ebb runs weak and low, All wish, or seem to wish, they could forego; The statesman, lawyer, merchant, man of trade, Pants for the refuge of some rural shade, Where, all his long anxieties forgot Amid the charms of a sequestered spot, Or recollected only to gild o'er, And add a smile to what was sweet before, He may possess the joys he thinks he sees, Lay his old age upon the lap of Ease, Improve the remnant of his wasted span, And, having lived a trifler, die a man. Thus Conscience pleads her cause within the breast, Though long rebelled against, not yet suppressed, And calls a creature formed for God alone, For Heaven's high purposes, and not his own: Calls him away from selfish ends and aims, From what debilitates and what inflames, From cilftes humming with a restless crowd, Sordid as active, ignorant as loud, Whose highest praise is that they live in vain, The dupes of pleasure, or the slaves of gain, Where works of man are clustered close around, Arid works of God are hardly to be found, To regions where, in spite of sin and wo, Traces of Eden are still seen below, Where mountain, river, forest, field, and grove, Remind him of his Maker's power and love. 'Tis well if, looked for at so late a day, In the last scene of such a senseless play, True wisdom will attend his feeble call, And ^race his action ere the curtain fall. Souls, that have long despised their heavenly birth, Their wishes all impregnated with earth, For threescore years employed with ceaseless care In catching smoke and feeding upon air, Conversant only with the ways of men, Rarely redeem the short remaining ten. Inveterate habits choke th' unfruitful heart, Their fibres penetrate its tenderest part, And, draining its nutritious powers to feed Their noxious growth, starve every better seed. Happy, if full of days but happier far, , If, ere we yet discern life's evening star, Sick of the service of a world, that feeds ts patient drudges with dry chaff and weeds, e can escape from custom's idiot sway, 'o serve the sovereign we were born to obey. Then sweet to muse upon his skill displayed (Infinite skill) in all that he has made ! To trace in Nature's most minute design The signature and stamp of power divine, Contrivance intricate, expressed with ease, Where unassisted sight no beauty sees, The shapely limb and lubricated joint, Within the small dimensions of a point, Muscle and nerve miraculously spun, His mighty work, who speaks, and it is done, The invisible in things scarce seen revealed, To whom an atom is an ample field; To wonder at a thousand insect forms, These hatched, and those resuscitated worms, New life ordained and brighter scenes to share, Once prone on earth, now buoyant upon air, Whose shape would make them, had they bulk and size, More hideous foes than fancy can devise ; RETIREMENT. With helmet-heads and dragon-scales adorned, The mighty myriads, now securely scorned, "Would mock the majesty of man's high birth, Despise his bulwarks, and unpeople earth. Then with a glance of fancy to survey, Far as the faculty can stretch away, " f Ten thousand rivers poured at his command From urns, that never fail, through every landj This like a deluge with impetuous force, Those winding modestly a silent course ; The cloud-surmounting Alps, the fruitful vales; Seas, on which every nation spreads her sails; The sun, a world whence other worlds drink light, The crescent moon, the diadem of night; Stars countless, each in his appointed place, Fast anchored in the deep abyss of space At such a sight to catch the poet's flame, And with a rapture like his own exclaim, These are thy glorious works, thou source of good, How dimly seen, how faintly understood! Thine, and upheld by thy paternal care, This universal frame, thus wondrous fair; f[ Thy power divine, and bounty beyond thought, Adored and praised in all that thou hast wrought. Absorbed in that immensity I see, I shrink abased, and yet aspire to thee; Instruct me, guide me to that heavenly day Thy words more clearly than thy works display, That, while thy truths my grosser thoughts refine, I may resemble thee, and call thee mine. O blest proficiency! surpassing all That men erroneously their glory call, The recompense that arts or arms can yield, The bar, the senate, or the tented field. Compared with this sublimest life below, Ye kings and rulers, what have courts to show! Thus studied, used and consecrated thus, On earth what is, seems formed indeed for us: Not as the plaything of a froward child, Fretful unless diverted and beguiled, Much less to feed and fan the fatal fires Of pride, ambition, or impure desires, But as a scale, by which the soul ascends From mighty means to more important ends, Securely, though by steps but rarely trod, Mounts from inferior beings up to God, And sees, by no fallacious light or dim, Earth made for man, and man himself for him. Not that I mean t' approve, or would enforce, A superstitious and monastic course: j, I Truth is not local, God alike pervades [ I And fills the world of traffic and the shades, And may be feared amidst the busiest scenes, Or scorned were business never intervenes. But 'tis not easy with a mind like ours, Conscious of weakness in its noblest powers, And in a world where, other ills apart, The roving eye misleads the careless heart, y/ To limit Thought, by nature prone to stray Wherever freakish Fancy points the way; To Irid the pleadings of Self-love be still, Resign our own and seek our Maker's will; Tc spread the page of Scripture, and compare Our conduct with the laws engraven there; To measure all that passes in the breast, Faithfully, fairly, by that sacred test; To dive into the secret deeps within, To spare no passion and no favourite sin, And search the themes, important above all, Ourselves, and our recovery from our fall. But leisure, silence, and a mind 'released From anxious thoughts how wealth may be in- creased, How to secure, in some propitious hour, The point of interest or the post of power, A soul serene, and equally retired From objects too much dreaded or desired, Safe from the clamours of perverse dispute, At least are friendly to the great pursuit. Opening the map of God's extensive plan, We find a little isle, this life of man; Eternity's unknown expanse appears Circling around and limiting his years. The busy race examine and explore Each creek and cavern of the dangerous shore, With care collect what in their eyes excels, Some shining pebbles, and some weeds and sheila Thus laden, dream that they are rich and great, And happiest he that groans beneath his weight The waves o'ertake them in their serious play, And every hour sweeps multitudes away; They shriek and sink, survivors start and weep, Pursue their sport, and follow to the deep. A few forsake the throng : with lifted eyes Ask wealth of Heaven, and gain a real prize, Truth, wisdom, grace, and peace like that above, Sealed with his signet whom they serve and love; Scorned by the rest, with patient hope they wait A kind release from their imperfect state, And unregretted are soon snatched away From scenes of sorrow into glorious day. Now these alone prefer a life recluse, Who seek retirement for its proper use; The love of change, that lives in every breast, Genius and temper, and desire of rest, Discordant motives in one centre meet, And each inclines its votary to retreat. Some minds by nature are averse to noise, And hate the tumult half the world enjoys, The lure of avarice, or the pompous prize, That courts display before ambitious eyes; The fruits that hang on pleasure's flowery stem, Whate'er enchants them, are no snares to them. To them the deep recess of dusky groves Or forest, where the deer securely roves, The fall of waters, and the song of birds, And hills that echo to the distant herds, 60 COWPER'S WORKS. Are luxuries excelling all the glare The world can boast, and her chief favourites share. With eager step, and carelessly arrayed, For such a cause the poet seeks the shade, From all he sees he catches new delight, Pleased Fancy claps her pinions at the sight, The rising or the setting orb of day, The clouds that flit> or slowly float away, Nature in all the various shapes she wears, Frowning in storms, or breathing gentle airs; The snowy robe her wintry state assumes, Her summer heats, her fruits, and her perfumes : All, all alike transport the glowing bard, Success in rhyme his glory and reward. O Nature ! whose Elysian scenes disclose His bright perfections, at whose word they rose, Next to that power, who formed thee and sustains, Be thou the great inspirer of my strains. Still, as I touch the lyre, do thou expand Thy genuine charms, and guide an artless hand, That I may catch a fire but rarely known, Give useful light, though I should miss renown, And, poring on thy page, whose every line Bears proof of an intelligence divine, May feel a heart enriched by what it pays, That builds its glory on its Maker's praise. Wo to the man, whose wit disclaims its use, Glittering in vain, or only to seduce, Who studies nature with a wanton eye, Admires the work, but slips the lesson by; His hours of leisure and recess employs In drawing pictures of forbidden joys, Retires to blazon his own worthless name, Or shoot the careless with a surer aim. The lover too shuns business and alarms, Tender idolater of absent charms. Saints offer nothing in their warmest prayers, That he devotes not with a zeal like theirs; 'Tis consecration of his heart, soul, time, And every thought that wanders is a crime. In sighs he worships his supremely fair, And weeps a sad libation in despair; Adores a creature, and, devout in vain, Wins in return an answer of disdain. As woodbine weds the plant within her reach, Rough elm, or smooth-grained ash, or glossy beech, In spiral rings ascends the trunk, and lays Her golden tassels on the leafy sprays, But does a mischief while she lends a grace, Straitening its growth by such a strict embrace ; So love, that clings around the noblest minds, Forbids th' advancement of the soul he binds; The suitor's air indeed he soon improves, And forms it to the taste of her he loves, Teaches his eyes a language, and no less Refines his speech, and fashions his address ; But farewell promises of happier fruits, Manly designs, and learning's grave pursuits; Girt with a chain he can not wish to break, His only buss is sorrow for her sake; Who will may pant for glory and excel, Her smile his aim, all higher aims farewell! Thyrsis, Alexis, or whatever name May least offend against so pure a flame, Though sage advice of friends the most sincere Sounds harshly in so delicate a snare, And lovers, of all creatures, tame or wild, Can least brook management, however mild; Yet let a poet (poetry disarms The fiercest animals with magic charms) Risk an intrusion on thy pensive mood, And woo and win thee to thy proper good. Pastoral images and still retreats, Umbrageous walks and solitary seats, Sweet birds in concert with harmonious streams, Soft airs, nocturnal vigils, and day dreamy, Are all enchantments in a case like thine, Conspire against thy peace with one design, Sooth thee to make thee but a surer prey, And feed the fire that wastes thy powers away. Up God has formed thee with a wiser view, Not to be led in chains, but to subdue ; Calls thee to cope with enemies, and first Points out a conflict with thyself, the worst. Woman indeed, a gift he would bestow, When he designed a Paradise below, The richest earthly boon his hands afford, Deserves to be beloved, but not adored. Post away swiftly to more active scenes, Collect the scattered truths that study gleans, Mix with the world, but with its wiser part, No longer give an image all thine heart; [ts empire is not hers, nor is it thine, Tis God's just claim, prerogative divine. Virtuous and faithful HEBERDEN, whose skill Attempts no task it can not well fulfil, Gives melancholy up to Nature's care, And sends the patient into purer air. Look where he comes in this embowered alcove Stand close concealed, and see a statue move: Lips busy, and eyes fixed, foot falling slow, Arms hanging idly down, hands clasped below, [nterpret to the marking eye distress, uch as its symptoms can alone express. That tongue is silent now; that silent tongue ould argue once, could jest or join the song, ould give advice, could censure or commend, Or charm the sorrows of a drooping friend, denounced alike its office and its sport, Its brisker and its graver strains fall short; Both fail beneath a fever's secret sway, A.nd like a summer brook are past away. This is a sight for Pity to peruse, Till she resemble faintly what she views, Till sympathy contract a kindred pain, Pierced with the woes that she laments in vain. This, of all maladies that man infest, Claims most compassion, and receives! the least : Job felt it, when he groaned beneath the rod And the barbed arrows of a frowning God ; And such emollients as his friends could spare, Friends such as his for modern Jobs prepare. Blest, rather curst, with hearts that never feel, Kept snug in caskets of close hammered steel. With mouths made only to grin wide and eat, And minds, that deem derided pain a treat, With limbs of British oak, and nerves of wire, And wit that puppet-prompters might inspire, Their sovereign nostrum is a clumsy joke On pangs enforced with God's severest stroke. But with a soul, that never felt the sting Of sorrow, sorrow is a sacred thing : Not to molest, or irritate, or raise A laugh at his expense, is slender praise ; He, that has not usurped the name of man, Does all, and deems too little all, he can, T' assuage the throbbings of the festered part, And stanch the bleedings of a broken heart. 'Tis not, as heads that never ache suppose, Forgery of fancy, and a dream of woes ; Man is a harp, whose chords elude the sight, Each yielding harmony disposed aright ; The screws reversed (a task which, if he please, God in a moment executes with ease,) Ten thousand thousand strings at once go loose, Lost, till he tune them, all their power and use. Then neither heathy wilds, nor scenes as fair As ever recompensed the peasant's care, Nor soft declivities with tufted hills, Nor view of waters turning busy mills, Parks in which Art preceptress Nature weds, Nor gardens interspersed with flowery beds, Nor gales, that catch the scent of blooming groves, And waft it to the mourner as he roves, Can call up life into his faded eye, That passes all he sees unheeded by ; No wounds like those a wounded spirit feels, No cure for such till God, who makes them, heals. And thou, sad sufferer under nameless ill, That yields not to the touch of human skill, Improve the kind occasion, understand A Father's frown, and kiss his chastning hand. To thee the day-spring, and the blaze of noon, The purple evening and resplendent noon, The stars, that, sprinkled o'er the vault of night, Seem drops descending in a shower of light, Shine not, or undesired and hated shine, Seen through the medium of a cloud like thine : Yet seek him, in his favour life is found, All bliss beside a shadow and a sound : Then heaven, eclipsed so long, and this dull earth, Shall seem to start into a second birth ; Nature, assuming a more lovely face, Borrowing a beauty from the works of grace, Shall be desoe no Shall fill thee wl^^iuifclt before', Impart to tilings inanimate a voice, And bid her mountains and her hills rejoice ; The sound shall run along the winding vales, And thou enjoy an Eden ere it fails. Ye groves (the statesman at his desk exclaims. Sick of a thousand disappointed aims,) My patrimonial pleasure and my pride, Beneath your shades your gray possessor hide, Receive me languishing for that repose The servant of the public never knows. Ye saw me once (ah, those regretted days, When boyish innocence was all my praise !) Hour after hour delightfully allot To studies then familiar, since forgot, And cultivate a taste for ancient song, Catching its ardour as I mused along ; Nor seldom, as propitious Heaven might send, What once I valued and could boast, a friend, Were witnesses how cordially I pressed His undissembling virtue to my breast ; Receive me now, not uncorrupt as then, Nor guiltless of corrupting other men, But versed in arts, that, while they seem to stay A falling empire, hasten its decay, To the fair haven of my native home, The wreck of what I -was, fatigued I come; For once I can approve the patriot's voice, And make the course he recommends my choice ; We meet at last in one sincere desire, His wish and mine both prompt me to retire. 'Tis done he steps into the welcome chaise, Lolls at his ease behind four handsome bays, That whirl away from business and debate The disencumbered atlas of the state. Ask not the boy, who, when the breeze of morn First shakes the glittering drops from every thorn. Unfolds his flock, then under bank or bush Sits linking cherry-stones, or platting rush, How fair is freedom 1 he was always free ; To carve his rustic name upon a tree, To snare the mole, or with ill-fashioned hook, To draw th' incautious minnow from the brook, Are life's prime pleasures in his simple view ; Eis flock the chief concern he ever knew ; She shines but little in his heedless eyes, The good we never miss we rarely prize : But ask the noble drudge in state affairs, Escaped from office and its constant cares, What charms he sees in Freedom's smile express ed, [n Freedom lost so long, now repossessed ; The tongue, whose strains were cogent as COED mands, Revered at home, and felt in foreign lands, Shall own itself a stammerer in that cause, Or plead its silence as its best applause. IBS COWPER'S WORKS. He knows indeed that whether dressed or rude, Wild without art or artfully subdued, Nature in every form inspires delight, But never marked her with so just a sight, Hei hedge-row shrubs, a variegated store, With woodbine and wild roses mantled o'er, Green balks and furrowed lands, the stream, that spreads Its cooling vapour o'er the dewy meads, Downs, that almost escape th' inquiring eye, That melt and fade into the distant sky, Beauties he lately slighted as he passed, Seem all created since he travelled last. Master of all the enjoyments he designed, No rough annoyance rankling in his mind, W^hat early philosophic hours he keeps, How regular his meals, how sound he sleeps ! Not sounder he, that on the mainmast head, While morning kindles with a windy red, Begins a long look-out for distant land, Nor quits till evening watch his giddy stand. Then swift descending with a seaman's haste, Slips to his hammock, and forgets the blast. He chooses company, but not the squire's, Whose wit is rudeness, whose good-breading tires ; Nor yet the parson's, who would gladly come, Obsequious when abroad, though proud at home; Nor can he much affect the neighbouring peer, Whose toe of emulation treads too near; But wisely seeks a more convenient friend, With whom, dismissing forms, he may unbend ! A man, whom marks of condescending grace Teach while they flatter him, his proper place; Who comes when called, and at a word with- draws, Speaks with reserve, and listens with applause ; Some plain mechanic, who, without pretence To birth or wit, nor gives nor takes offence; On whom he rests well-pleased his weary powers, And talks and laughs away his vacant hours. The tide of life, swift always in its course, May run in cities with a brisker force. But nowhere with a current so serene, Or half so clear, as in the rural scene. Yet how fallacious is all earthly bliss, What obvious truths the wisest heads may miss ; Some pleasures live a month, and some a year, But sho^t the date of all we gather here ; No happiness is felt, except the true, That does not charm the more for being new. This observation, as it chanced, not made, Or, if the thought occurred, not duly weighed, He sighs for after all by slow degrees ' The spot he loved has lost the power to please ; To cross his ambling pony day by day, Seems at the best but dreaming life away; The prospect, such as might enchant despair, - He views it not, or sees no beauty there ; With aching heart, and discontented looks, Returns at noon to billiards or to books, But feels, while grasping at his faded joys, A secret thirst of his renounced employs. He chides the tardiness of every post, Pants to be told of battles won or lost, Blames his own indolence, observes, though late, 'Tis criminal to leave a sinking state, Flies to the levee, and, received with grace, Kneels, kisses hands, and shines again in place. Suburban villas, highway-side retreats, That dread th' encroachment of our growing streets, Tight boxes neatly sashed, and in a blaze With all a July sun's collected rays, Delight the citizen, who, gasping there, Breathes clouds pf dust, and calls it country air, O sweet retirement, who would balk the thought, That could afford retirement, or could not 1 'Tis such an easy walk, so smooth and straight, The second milestone fronts the garden gate; A step if fair, and if a shower approach, You find safe shelter in the next stage-coach. There, prisoned in a parlour snug and small, Like bottled wasps upon a southern wall. The man of business and his friends compressed, Forget their labours, and yet find no rest; But still, 'tis rural trees are to be seen From every window, and the fields are green ; Ducks paddle in the pond before the door, And what could a remoter scene show more 1 A sense of elegance we rarely find The portion of a mean or vulgar mind, And ignorance of better things makes man, Who can not much, rejoice in what the can. And he, that deems his leisure well bestowed In contemplation of a turnpike-road, Is occupied as well, employs his hours As wisely, and as much improves his powers As he, that slumbers in pavilions graced With all the charms of an accomplished taste. Yet hence, alas ! insolvencies ; and hence Th' unpitied victim of ill-judged expense, From all his wearisome engagements freed, Shakes hands with business and retires indeed. Your prudent grand-mammas, ye modern belles Content with Bristol, Bath, and Tunbridge-wells. When health required it would consent to roam, Else more attached to pleasures found at home. But now alike, gay widow, virgin, wife, Ingenious to diversify dull life, In coaches, chaises, caravans, and hoys, Fly to the coast for daily, nightly joys ; And all, impatient of dry land, agree With one consent to rush into the sea. Ocean exhibits, fathomless and broad, Much of the power and majesty of God. RETIREMENT. He swathes about the swelling of the deep, That shines and rests, as infanta smile and sleep ; Vast as it is, it answers as it flows The breathings of the lightest air that blows ; Curling and whitening over all the waste, The rising waves obey th' increasing blast, Abrupt and horrid as the tempest roars, Thunder and flash upon the steadfast shores, Till he, that rides the whirlwind, checks the rain, Then all the world^f waters sleep again. Nereids or Dryads, as the fashion leads, Now in the floods, now panting in the meads, Votaries of Pleasure still, where'er she dwells, Near barren rocks, in palaces, or cells, grant a poet leave to recommend (A poet fond of Nature, and your friend) Her slighted works to your admiring view ; Her works must needs excel, who fashioned you. Would ye, when rambling in your morning ride, With some unmeaning coxcomb at your side, Condemn the prattler for his idle pains, To waste unheard the music of his strains, And, deaf to all th' impertinence of tongue, That, while it courts, affronts and does you wrong, Mark well the finished plan without a fault, The seas globose and huge, th' o'erarching vault, Earth's millions daily fed, a world employed, In gathering plenty yet to be enjoyed, Till gratitude grew vocal in the praise Of God, beneficent in aH his ways ; Graced with such wisdom, how would beauty sliine ! Ye want but that to seem indeed divine. Anticipated rents, and bills unpaid, Force many a shining youth into the shade, Not to redeem his time, but his estate, And play the fool, but at a cheaper rate. There, hid in loathed obscurity, removed From pleasures left, but never more beloved, He just endures, and with a sickly spleen Sighs o'er the beauties of the charming scene. Nature indeed looks prettily in rhyme ; Streams tinkle sweetly in poetic chime : The warblings of the blackbird, clear and strong, Are musical enough in Thomson's song ; And Cobham's groves, and Windsor's green re- treats, WTien Pope describes them , have a thousand sweets ; He likes the country, but in truth must own Most likes it, when he studies it in town. Poor Jack no matter who for when I blame 1 pity, and must therefore sink the name, Lived in his saddle, loved the chase, the course, And always, ere he mounted, kissed his horse. The estate, his sires had owned in ancient years, Was quickly distanced, matched against a peer's. Jack vanished, was regretted and forgot ; 'Tis wild good-nature's never-failing lot. At length, when all had long supposed him dead, By cold submersion, razor, rope, or lead, My lord, alighting at his usual place, The Crown, took notice of an ostler's face. Jack knew his friend, but hoped in that disguise He might escape the most observing eyes, And whistling, as if unconcerned and gay, Curried his nag, and looked another way. Convinced at last, upon a nearer view, 'Twas he, the same, the very Jack he knew O'erwhelmed at once with wonder, grief, and joy, He pressed him much to quit his base employ ; His countenance, his purse, ^his heart, his hand, Influence and power were all at his command : Peers are not always generous as well bred, But Granby was, meant truly what he said. Jack bowed, and was obliged confessed 'twas strange, That so retired he should not wish a change, But knew no medium between guzzling beer, And his old stint three thousand pounds a yeai Thus some retire to nourish hopeless wo ; Some seeking happiness not found below ; Some to comply with humour, and a mind To social scenes by nature disinclined ; Some swayed by fashion, some by deep disgust ; Some self-impoverished, and because they must ; But few, that court Retirement, are aware Of half the toils they must encounter there. Lucrative offices are seldom lost For want of powers proportioned to the post : Give e'en a dunce th' employment he desires, And he soon finds the talents it requires ; A business with an income at its heels Furnishes always oil for its own wheels. But in his arduous enterprise to close His active years with indolent repose, He finds the labours of that state exceed His utmost faculties, severe indeed. 'Tis easy to resign a toilsome place, But not to manage leisure with a grace ; Absence of occupation is not rest, A mind quite vacant is a mind distressed. The veteran steed, excused his task at length, In kind compassion of his failing strength, And turned into the park or mead to graze, Exempt from future service all his days, There feels a pleasure perfect in its kind, Ranges at liberty, and snuffs the wind : But when his lord would quit the busy road, To taste a joy like that he had bestowed, He proves less happy than his favoured brute, A life of ease a difficult pursuit. Thought, to the man that never thinks, may seen. As natural as when asleep to dream ; But reveries (for human minds will act) Specious in show, impossible in fact, Those flimsy webs, that break as soon as wrought Attain not to the dignity of thought : Nor yet the swarms that occupy the brain. Where dreams of dress, intrigue, and pleasure reign COWPER'S WORKS. Nor such as useless conversation breeds, Or lust engenders, and indulgence feeds. Whence, and what are we 1 to what end ordained 1 What means the dn.ma by the world sustained 7 Business or vain amusement, care or mirth, Divide the frail inhabitants of earth. Ts duty a mere sport, or an employ 1 Life an intrusted talent, or a toy 7 Is there, as reason, conscience, Scripture, say, Cause to provide for a great future day, When, earth's assigned duration at an end, Man shall be summoned and the dead attend ? The trumpet will it sound, the curtain rise, And show th' august tribunal of the skies ; Where no prevarication shall avail, Where eloquence and artifice shall fail, The pride of arrogant distinctions fall, And conscience and our conduct judge us all 1 Pardon me, ye that give the midnight oil To learned cares, or philosophic toil, Though I revere your honourable names, Your useful labours and important aims, And hold the world indebted to your aid, Enriched with the discoveries ye have made ; Yet let me stand excused, if I esteem A mind employed on so sublime a theme, Pushing her bold inquiry to the date And outline of the present transient state, And, after poising her adventurous wings, Settling at last upon eternal things, Far more intelligent and better taught The strenuous use of profitable thought, Than ye, when happiest, and enlightened most, And lu'ghest in renown, can justly boast. A mind unnerved, or indisposed to bear The weight of subjects worthiest of her care. Whatever hopes a change of scene inspires, Must change her nature, or in vain retires. An idler is a watch, that wants both hands, As useless if it goes, as when it stands. Books, therefore, not the scandal of the shelves, In which lewd sensualists print out themselves ; Nor those, in which the stage gives vice a blow, With what success let modern manners show ; Nor his, who, for the bane of thousands born, Built God a church, and laughed his word to scorn, Skilful alike to seem devout and just, And stab religion with a sly side-thrust ; Nor those of learned philologists, who chase A panting syllable through time and space, Start at it home, and hunt it in the dark, To Gaul, to Greece, and into Noah's ark ; But such as Learning without false pretence, Behold in these what leisure hours demand, Amusement and true knowledge hand in hand. Luxury gives the mind a childish cast, And, while she polishes, perverts the taste; Habits of close attention, thinking heads, Become more rare as dissipation spreads, Till authors hear at length one general cry Tickle and entertain us, or we die. The loud demand, from year to year the same, Beggars Invention, and makestf'ancy lame; Till farce itself, most mournfully jejune, Calls for the kind assistance of a tune ; And novels (witness every month's review Belie their name, and offer nothing new. The mind, relaxing into needful sport, Should turn to writers of an abler sort, Whose wit well managed, and whose classic style Give truth a lustre, and make wisdom smile. Friends (for I can not stint, as some have done, Too rigid in my view, that name to one ; Though one, I grant it, in the generous breast Will stand advanced a step above the rest ; Flowers by that name promiscuously we call, But one, the rose, the regent of them all) Friends, not adopted with a schoolboy's haste, But chosen with a nice discerning taste, Well-born, well-disciplined, who, placed apart From vulgar minds, have honour much at heart, And, though the world may think th' ingredients odd, The love of virtue, and the fear of God ! Such friends prevent what else would soon succeed, A temper rustic as the life we lead, And keep the polish of the manners clean As theirs who bustle in the busiest scene ; For solitude, however some may rave, Seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave, A sepulchre in which the living lie, Where all good qualities grow sick and die. I praise the Frenchman,* his remark was shrewd- How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude! But grant me still a friend in my retreat, Whom I may whisper solitude is sweet. Yet neither these delights, nor aught beside, That appetite can ask, or wealth provide, Can save us always from a tedious day, Or shine the dullness of still life away : Divine communion, carefully enjoyed, Or sought with energy, must fill the void. O sacred art, to which alone life owes Its happiest seasons, and a peaceful close, Scorned in a world, indebted to that scorn For evils daily felt and hardly borne, Not knowing thee, we reap with bleeding hands The friend of Truth, th' associate of good Sense, | Flowers of rank odour upon thorny lands, And such as, in the zeal of good design, And, while Experience cautions us in vain, Strong judgment labouring in the Scripture mine, All such as manly and great souls produce, Wcrthy to live, and of eternal use : Grasp seeming happiness, and find it pain. Bniyere. RETIREMENT. 55 Despondence, self-deserted in her grief, Lost by abandoning her own relief, Murmuring and ungrateful Discontent, That scorns afflictions mercifully meant, Those humours, tart as wine upon the fret, Which idleness and weariness beget; These, and a thousand plagues, that haunt the breast, Fond of the phanton of an earthly rest, Divine communiodjmses, as the day Drives to their dens th' obedient beasts of prey. See Judah's promised king bereft of all, Driven out an exile from the face of Saul, To distant caves the lonely wanderer flies, To seek that peace a tyrant's frown denies. Hear the sweet accents of his tuneful voice, Hear him, o'erwhelmed with sorrow, yet rejoice; No womanish or wailing grief has part, , No, not for a moment, in his royal heart; 'Tis manly music, such as martyrs .make, ,_,^_ Suffering with gladness fcr a Saviour's sake; His soul exults, hope animates his lays, The sense of mercy kindles into praise, And wilds, familiar with a lion's roar, Ring with ecstatic sounds unheard before: 'Tis love like his, that can alone defeat The foes of man, or make a desert sweet. Religion does not censure or exclude Unnumbered pleasures harmlessly pursued; To study culture, and with artful toil To meliorate and tame the stubborn soil; To give dissimilar yet fruitful lands The grain, or herb, or plant that each demands; To cherish virtue in an humble state, And share the joys your bounty may create ; To mark the matchless workings of the power That shuts within its seed the future flower, Bids these in elegance of form excel, In colour these, and those delight the smell, Sends Nature forth the daughter of the skies, To dance on darth, and charm all human eyes; To teach the canvass innocent deceit, Or lay the landscape on the snowy sheet ; . , These, these are arts pursued without a crime, That leave no stain upon the wing of Time. Me poetry (oj -rather notes that aim Faebly and vainly at pt>etic fame) Employs, shut out from more important views, Fast by the banks of the slow winding Ouse; Content if thus sequestered I may raise A monitor's though not a poet's praise, And while I teach an art too little known, To close life wisely, may not waste my own. ffiftr BOOKL ADVERTISEMENT. The history of the following' production is briefly this: A lady, fond of blank verse, demanded a poem of that kind from the author, and gave him the SOFA for a subject. He obeyed; and having much leisure, connected another subject with it; and pursuing the train of thought to which his situation and turn of mind led him, brought forth at length, nsiead of the trifle which he at first intended, a serious affair a Volume. In the poem on the subject of Education, he would be very sorry to stand suspected of having aimed his censure at ary particular school. His objections are such, as naturally apply themselves to schools in general. If there were not, as lor the most part there is, wilful neglect in those wnwmanage them, and an omission even of such discipline as they are sus- ceptible of, the objects are yet too numerous for minute attention; and the aching hearts often thousand parents, mourning under the bitterest of all disappointments, attest the truth of the allegation. His quarrel, therefore, is with the mischief at large, and not with any particular instance of it THE SOFA. ARGUMENT. Historical deduction of seats, from the Stool to the Sofa. A Schoolboy's ramble. A walk in the country. The scene described. Rural sounds as well as sights delightful. Another walk Mistake concerning the charms of solitude corrected. Colonnades commended. Alcove, and the view from it. The wilderness. The grove. The thresher. The necessity and the benefits of exercise. The works of nature superior to, and in some instances inimitable by, art. The wearisomeness of what is commonly called a life of pleasure. Change of scene sometimes expedient. A common described, and the character of crazy Kate introduced. Gipsies. The blessings of civilized life. That state most favourable to virtue. The South Sea islanders compassionated, but chiefly Oma!. His present state of mind supposed. Civilized life friendly to virtue, but not great cities. Great cities, and London in particular, allowed their due praises, but censured. rVfe Champetre. The book concludes with a reflection on the fatal effects of dissipation and effeminacy upon our public measures. I SING the Sofa, I, who lately sang Truth, Hope, and Charity, and touched with awe The solemn chords, and with a trembling hand, Escaped with pain from that adventurous flight, 5 F 2 Now seek repose upon an humbler theme ; The theme though humble, yet august and promJ Th' occasion for the Fair commands the song. Time was, when clothing sumptuous or for use, 56 COWPER'S WORKS. A Save their own painted skins, our sires had none. ') As yet black breeches were not; satin smooth, t Or velvet soft, or plush with shaggy pile ; The hardy chief upon the rugged rock Washed by the sea, or on the gravelly bank Thrown up by wintry torrents roaring loud, Fearless of wrong, reposed his weary strength. Those barbarous ages past, succeeded next The birth-day of invention ; weak at first, Dull in design, and clumsy to perform. Joint-stools were then created ; on three legs Upborne they stood. Three legs upholding firm A massj slab, in fashion square orWmTT DTrsucjra~stQolimmortn' Aifiwi s^ And swayed the sceptre of his infant realms : And such in ancient halls and mansions drear May still be seen ; but perforated sore, And drilled in holes, the solid oak is found, By worms voracious eaten through and through. At length a generation mojffije^ned Improved the simple plan ; made three legs four.^ f^ayp tb pr n a twisted form vermicular, And o'er the seat with plenteous wadding stuffed, Induced a splendid cover, green and blue, Yellow and red, of tapestry richly wrought And woven close, or needlework sublime. There might you see the piony spread wide, Th,e full blown rose, the shepherd and his lass, Lapdog and lambkin with black staring eyes, Arid parrots with twin cherries in their beak. TV,^ /. ai]Tlfi f fr*. r f mTT1 Jpdia. smooth and bright With Nature's varnish ; severed into stripes, Tha.t interlaced each other, these supplied Of texture firm a lattice-work, that braced The .new machine, and it became a chair. But restless was *.i:e chair ; the back erect Distressed the Tvery loins, that felt no ease ; The slippery seat betrayed the sliding part That.pressed it, and the feet hung dangling down, Anxious-in.yain.J-n find thn dirtnnt floor. These for the rich ; the rest, whom Fate had placed In_modest Wit base materials sat on welHanned hides. Obdurate and unyielding/ glassy smooth, With here and there a tuft of crimson yarn, Or scarlet crewel, in the cushion fixed, If cushior might be called, what harder seemed Than tile firm oak, of which the frame was formed. No want of timber then was felt or feared In Albion's happy isle. The lumber stood Ponderous and fixed by its own massy weight. But elbows still were wanting : these, some say An alderman of Cripplegate contrived ; And some ascribe th' invention to a priest, furlv,'and big, and studious of his ease. KU*. rude at first, and not with easy slope Receding wide, they pressed against the ribs, A ud bruisc-d the side ; and, elevated high, Taught the raised shoulders to invade the ears. Long time elapsed or e'er our rugged sires Complained, though incommodiously pent in, And ill at ease behind. The ladies first 'Gan murmur, as became the softer sex. Ingenious Fancy, never better pleased, Than when employed t' accommodate the fair, Heard the sweet moan with pity, and devised The soft settee ; one elbow at each end. An