Illi mm piiiiiii II^^K^ Y-' 1:^'-' f^y A THE -COMPLETE , POETICAL WORKS OF WILLIAM COWPER, ESQ., THE HYMNS AND TRANSLATIONS FEOM MADAME GUION, MILTON, ETC. A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR, BY THE REV. H. STEBBING, A.M. ^ lESITT] fUlSj^^EW YORK: D. APPLETON & CO., 90, 92 & 94 GRAND ST. 1869. ■ i "^ • t r < C^Tf^ •^x?-^:^ Of THB [MIVBRSITY] COIs TENTS. ' PAGK Memoir op "William Cowpeu ... 11 Table Talk 25 The Progress op Error 44 Truth 60 Expostulation 75 Hope 93 Charity 112 CoNVEKSATioj^f 128 ' ^ Human frailty ', IV. The Winter Evening. 2: XY. Ti»e Winter Mornin; ^ r , ^YI. The Winter Walk at '• ' Noon 273 Tirocinium ; or, a Keview of Schools.. 298 Minor Poems : An Epistle to Joseph Hill, Esq. 821 To the Kev.William Cawthorne Unwin 822 Thp. rliv^^tini!^ historjr of John page ^ little note recorded in the Bi- t-' . ographia Britannica 335 On the i)romotion of Edward Thurlow, Esq., to "tlie Lord Hii^h Chancellorship of Eng- land 83.'^ Ode to peace 336 5. The modern patriot 838 * Report of an adjudged case not found in any of the books 338 the burning of Lord Mans- field's library, together with his MSS., by the mob 339 On the same 340 — «^ % Keport e^-. to he 190 ^ On the Walk 251 \ The love of the world reproved (Jn ft froldhiich, SliirveU to c! he-. 379 34 The waiting soul 380 35 Welcome cross 381 o6 Afflictions sanctified by the Word 881 37 Temptation 382 38 Looking upwards in a storm . 383 89 Valley of the shadow of death 3S3 ^0 Peace after a storm 384 41 Mourning and longing 385 42 Self-acquaintance ^.... 886 PAGK 43 Prayei- for patience 386 44 Submission 387 45 The happy change \^. .. 388 46 Retirement ^ . . 389 47 The hidden life 869 48 Joy and peace in believing . , 390 49 True pleasures 891 50 The Christian 392 51 Lively hope and gracious fear 392 52 For the poor 893 53 My soul thirsteth for God .... 394 54 Love constraining to obe- dience , 394 55 The heart healed and changed bv mercy \ 395 56 Hatred of sin . .V,^ 396 57 The new convert 397 58 True and false comforts 897 59 A living and a dead faith .... 398 60 Abuse of the Gospel 399 61 The narrow Avay 399 62 Dependence 400 . 63 Not of works *4ni 64 Praise for faith ,401 65 Grace and Providence 402 66 I will praise the Lord at al^ times 403 67 Longing to be with Christ . . ■, 403 68 Light shining out of darkness 404 ■ MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Lines addressed to Dr. Darwin . . 406 On Mrs. Montagu's feather-hang- e^L- ings r 40'J« "^^*^^n ^''^ dfn*^' "f I^*^''"!. I'^ivockmor- jj>^ ^■' Ttorrs ImMSch .^" . .-: . . .'. . . ^ TiTeTTosoTrTT ;. 410 Ode to Apollo. On an inkglass . 411 The Poet's New Years Gift. To Mrs. Throckmorton 411 Pairing time anticipated. A fable l e dog and water-lily. No fabl ■y .^^. ^iLjrT^JiTfg iiiimiiimiir ■^. •^Z Pity Ibr pooPT?uricaffsH The morning dream 418 Epistle to an afflicted lady in France 419 Catharina: Part First 421 y^ Catharina : Part Second 422 ^ M The moralizer corrected. A tale 423 •^ The faithful bird . m/\JV^\ 425 ^iH^^Tlie needless alarm. A tf^ 420 ♦"^^jOn the receipt- of m y mother's _-«^ , Fi-Tentftmi) 432 On a mischievous bull 438 j Annus memorabilis, 1789 438 'Verses on finding the heel oT a ^sho^ 440 *■ Uymn for Sunday-school at 01- I ney ....'. 441 Stanzas subjoined to the yearly bill of mortality of tlJe parish of All-Saints in the year 1787 442 For the year 1788 444 For the year 17S9 445 - For the vear 179© 446 , For the year 179^ 447 For the year 1793 448 Ode on reading Kichardsori's « " History of Sir'Charles Grand- ison" .' 450 Epistle to liobert tiloyd, Esq. . , . 451 A tale, founded on ii fact 453 To the liev. Mr. Ne-svton on his return from Eamsgate ^ Xove abused 7 Poetical epistle to Lady Austeo. • The Colubriad , . Song. On Peace Song 454 4o5 455 459«« 459 460 coNTj:Nrs. PAGK Verses selected from an occasion- al poem entitled " Valediction*' 461 !» ' Rpitaph ftji Dr. Johnson . . . , 463 'Vq Miss C , on her birthday. . 462 «iratitude. Addressed to Lady Hesketh 462 Lines for a memorial of Ashley \ Cowper, Esq 464^ On the Queen's visit to London . 464 The cock-fighter's garland 467 n/To Warren Hastins-s, Esq 469" To Mrs. Throckmorton ,469 To the immortal raenlory of the V 'halibut on which I dined '470-(- I ascription for a sto'ne erected at the sowing of a grove of oaks, 1790, 471 Another inscriptVotv for a stone erected in the following year.. 471 To Mrs. King, on her kind pres- ent lo the author 472 In memory of the late John - Thornton, Esq 473 I Tlie four ages 474 I The retired cat 475 f^hc judgment of the poets 4JS B^ffiiigjJii^ (H^ •'lo iii'e mgfftingale ^S^ Lines written on an album of Miss Patty More's 4S4 Sonnet to William Wilberforce, Esq 4S4 Epigram printed in the "North- ampton Mercury ■' 4S4 To Dr Austin 4S5 PAGE To the Spanish Admiral, Count Gravina 491 462«i^ Inscription for the ttunb of Mr. Hamilton. Ei2 nest. A tale J^ Epitaph on Fop 4S5" "On a plant of Virgin's Bower bl Mary and John 4S6 On receiving Heyne's Virgil from ^ '^ '^ ""nr Mr. Hay ley ^. 514 Lines on a sleeping infant 514 Lines addressed to Miss Theodo- ra Jane Cowper 514 To the same 515 /To Mrs. Unwiii 48?H^ines 510 To John Job n^n, Esq -48^ Inscription for a moss-housQ in To a young friend, on arriving at ' . .^ Cambridge wet 488 ^To a spaniel, called Beau, on kill- •* ing a young bird 4S9 Sonnet to George Itomney, Esq.. 48< Epitaph on Mr.''Chester .... 4S6 To my cousin, Anne Bodham.. . 487 Inscription for a hermitage in the author's garden 487 lo bu- JosliiHTltevi lo bu- Jos'liflfflteynolds . On the author of "Letters on • Literature" 500 The distressed travellers j.. 500 Stanzas dn the late inde.cenX lib- erties /taken with the rem.ains of Miljon 503 To the 4ev. William Bull 503 Epitaph on Mrs. M. Iliggins 595 Sonnet to a young lady on her birthday ." 50G On a mistake in his translation of Homer 506 On the benefit received by his majesty from sea-bathing 506 Addressed to Miss , on read- in'g the " Prayer for Inditfer- ence'' 507 roin a letter to the liev. Mr. Newton 510 'he fiatting-mill. An illustration 511 Epitaph on a free but tame red- breast 511 Sonnet addressQ(|a, to Wm. Hay- ley, Esq :;;. 512 An epitaph 513 On receiving Hay ley's picture. . . 513 the shrubbery at Weston. 5iQ Lines on the death of Sir Wil- liam Eussel 517 To Mrs. Newton 517 ^Beau's reply 4S9"*Verses printed by himself, on a To William Hay ley, 'Esq 490 Answer to stanzas addressed to Lady Ilesketh 491 On Elaxman's Penelope ........ 491 flood at Olney 518 On the receipt of a hamper 519 On the neglect of Homer 519 On the high price of fish 519 CONTENTS. LATIN POEMS AND TRANSLATIONS. k. — PAGE ^^lontos Glaciales, in (Tceano Ger- "^ ^. .. manico Natantes 521 On the ice islands seen floating in the (German Ocean !• 522 Monnniental Inscription to Wil liani Northeot 52 Translation 524^ In seditioneiii horrendam Londi- ^ ni nuper exortam 524 Translation 525 blotto on a clock 525 A simile Latinized 525 Verses to the memory of Dr. Lloyd 525 Englisli version 52G Populetuni 527 PAGE The poplar field 527' Lilium atque rosa 52S The lily and the rose. , 529 In submersionem navigii, cui Georgius Itegale nomen indi- tum ,0n the loss of tlie lloyal Geor^^e/53ll -VX)tuih . Epitaphium 532% Simile in Taradise Lost 533 Dryden's Epigram on Milton 533 Translation of Prior's Chloe and Euplielia 533 Translations from the Fables of Gay 534 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE FRENCH OF MADAME DE LA MOTHE GUION. The Nativity 537 God neither known nor loved by the world 541 The swallow 543 The triumph of heavenly love desired v 543 A figurative description of the procedure of Divine love 544 A child of God longing to see him beloved 546 Asi)irations of the soul after God 547 Gratitude and love to God 54S Happy solitude— unhappy men . 549 Living water 550 Truth and divine love rejected by the world 550 Divine justice amiable 551 The soul 'that loves God finds him everywhere 552 The testim'ony of Divine adop- tion 553 Divine love endures no rival 554 Self-diffidence 555 The acquiescence of pure love . . 550 Repose in God ^ 556 Giory to God alone 557 Self-love and truth incompatible 558 The love of God the end of life. . 559 Love faithful in the absence of . the beloved 559 Love pure and fervent 560 The entire surrender 560 The perfect sacrifice 561 God hides his people 561 Xhe secrets of Divine love are to ~be kept 562 The vicissitudes experienced in the Christian life 566 Watching unto God in the night season , 570 On the same 571 On the same 572 The joy of the Cross 574 Joy in martyrdom 576 Simple trust 576 The necessity of self-abasement. 577 Love increased by sutt'ering 578 Scenes favorable to meditation . . 580 TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. The glow-worm 5S2 The jackdaw 583 The cricket 584 The parrot 585 The Tlraciai! 586 Reciprocal kindness the primary law of nature 586 A manual more ancient than the art of printing ^ 5S7 An enigma 5S9 ^^^T^fU^ Contents. y PAGE Sparrows self-domesticated in Trinity College, Cauibridgo.. . 590 Familiarity dangerous 590 Invitation to the redbreast 591 iStrada's nightingale 592 Ode on the death of a lady who lived a hundred years 592 The cause won 594 PAGR The silk- worm 594 The innocent thief 595 Denncr's old woman 596 Tiie tears of a painter 596 The maze , 597 No sorrow peculiar to the suHerer 598 Tlie snail 59S The Cantab 599 TRANSLATIONS OF THE LATIN AND ITALIAN POEMS OF MILTON. Elciry I. To Charles Deodati. . . . 600 ^ II. On the death of tlie Uni- versity Beadle at Cam- bridge 602 III. On the death of the Bishop of Winchester. 603 IV. To his tutor, Thomas Young 605 V, On the approach of Spring 60S VI. To Charles Deodati .... 612 VII 614 The cottager and his landlord ... 617 Epigrams : On the inventor of guns 617 To Leonora singing at Kome. . 617 To the same 618 To Christina, Queen of Sweden 61S On the death of the vice-chan- cellor 618 On the death of the Bishop of Ely 620 Nature unimpaired by time 622 On the Platonic idea as it was un- derstood by Aristotle 624 To his father 625 To Salsillus, a Roman poet 628 To Giovanni Battista Manso .. . 630 On the death of Damon 6:^3 Ode, addressed to Mr. John Rousei 640 Translations of the Italian Poets : \ Sonnet. 643 Sonnet 643 Canzone 644 Sonnet, to Cliarles Deodati 644 Sonnet 645 Sonnet 645 TRANSLATIONS FROM VIRGIL, OVID, HORACE, HOMER, &c. The Salad, by Vircil 646 Virgil, ^neid, Book viii., line 18 650 Ovid, Trist Book v. Eleg. xii. . . . 660 Horace, Book i. Ode ix 661 Book i. Ode xxxviii , 602 Book i. Ode xxxviii 662 Book ii. Ode X 663 A reflection on the above ode. . '^'^^ Book ii. Ode xvi 604 Fifth satire of first book 605 Ninth satire of first book 670 Epigram from Homer 674 Translations of Greek verses : From the Greek of Julianus ..,^75 On the same, by Palladas. ^.'f 675 An epitaph jf... 676 Another, M.... 676 Another \. 676 Another , 676 By Calliniachus 677 Greek verses (contiJiued) : On Miltiades 077 On an infant 677 By Ileraclides 677 On the reed 677 To health 678 On invalids 67S On the astrologers 678 On an old woman 679 On flatterers 679 On a true friend -^iip- On the swallow ....'.'. 6T9 On late acquired jjieatth CSU On a bath, by PTato .-. 6S« On a fowler, by Isidorus 6S0 On a good man 6^0 On a miser 6S0 Another 6^1 Another 6Sl From Menander 6^1 10 CONTENTS. PAGE Greek verses {continued) : OnNiobe 6S2 On female inconstancy 6S2 On the grasshoi)per 6S2 On Pallas bathing 683 To Demosthenes 6S3 On a similar character 683 On an iialy fellow 6S4 On a thief 6S4 On envy 684 On a battered beauty 684 By Moschus 685 PAGE Greek verses {continued) : By Philemon .685 On pedigree. From Epichar- mus 685 On Hermocratia 686 Epigrams from the Latin of Owen : On one ignorant and arrogant . 6S6 Prudent simplicity 686 Snnset and sunrise 687 To a friend in distress 687 KetaliatioD 6S7 MEMOIR OF WILLIAM COWPER. The misfortunes of high -minded, but suffering genius, have strongest of all claims upon our sympathies. Men of fine intel are more exposed than any other class to the attacivs of advers because they are less ready at providnig the means of defei They have a trust, a strong and powerful trust, in their own pc liar sources of happiness. X]XPal't,c^C''^ti<^"s of their imagi tion keep them in a gay and summer Eden of delight, and t, rcKt contented in the luxury of their thoughts, till the coldnesi^ tlic world in which tliey are rouses them to a sense of lonelir or dependence. That which other men are only in their yoi men of genius are to their latest days, living on hopes which not to l)e fullilled, and dreaming on thnigs which do not ex But it is to tlie spirit that thus wanders, and mistakes the assura of its owji thoughts for the substance of existence, that the w( owes its best means of felicity, aitd humanity its noblest devel ment. Conquerors and princes, when they sailer, sutler onb men, but the sensitive and nnaginativc author feels the stmg: misfortune like the being of another world, like one who ■ destined to be a teacher upon earth, hut has found iiis calling u lected and despised — a spirit too noble to change its nature, but weak not to feel the bitterness of its fate. The adversities to wl: men of talent are exposed, are always thus afflicting, and in n cases destructive of their very being ; but there is a species of to which more than one child of genius has been subjected, t throws a still darker cloud upon their path, and invests them m a gloom which makes all other afflictions seem ligiit and tolera To have the mind itself made prisoner — the faculties that deli in their free and unhesitating course bound up in a dark and he; melancholy— and the thoughts converted into iiideous shapes 12 MEMOIR OF WILLIAM COWPER. moment they rise in the soul, — this is to suffer indeed — to pay a price for genius which would be far too high for any other pos- session. The life of Cowper is a melancholy chapter in the history of the human mind. But it is fraught with interest of a peculiar kind, and when rightly considered, gives rise to a train of reflections which, painful as they may be, leave an impression on the mind partaking more of the nature of tranquillized sorrow than of de- spondency. This great and afflicted poet was born at Berkhampstead, No- vember 26, 1731. His fiither was rector of that place, and Chap- lain to his Majesty George the Second. The family of the Cowpers was one of the oldest in the kingdom, and numbered among its members several men distinguished for their virtues and their talents. The great uncle and grandfather of the poet had been both raised to the peerage for their distinguished legal abilities ; and the latter, who died in the year 1728, united in himself the offices of Chief-Justice of Chester, and of a judge in the Court oi Common Pleas. The subject of our memoir was from his earliest youth a prey to ill-health, and gave signs, it is said, in infancy oJ that nervous sensibility which, as his years increased, gradually assumed the character of a morbid melancholy. This natural ten- dency of his constitution was considerably strengthened by its being unfortunately deemed necessary to send him, at a very earl} age, to a distance from home. Delicate as he was, both in mine and person, neither a school nor a boarding-house was likely t( improve his health, or give greater elasticity to his spirits. He hat nota sufficient stock of either, to meet the quick demand that is made for them amid a set of joyous and robust boys, and hii little depressed heart shrunk back, in mere self-defence, agains his unsympathizing companions. " I have been," said he, m afte years still remembering the miseries of his youth, "all my life sub ject to inflammations of the eye, and in my boyish days had speck on both, that threatened to cover them. My father, alarmed fo the consequences, sent me to a female oculist of great renown f that time, in whose house I abode two years, but to no good pui pose. From her I went to Westminster school, where, at the ag of fourteen, the small-pox seized me, and proved the better oculif of the two, for it delivered me from them all ;" but it did n( render him better qualified to bear with a good grace the bitt( annoyances to which he was subject, and we find him declarin that his timidity made him a constant object of persecution to h unfeeling school-fellows. MEMOIR OF WILLIAM COWPER. 13 Cowpcr remained at Westminster till he was eighteen, and not- withstandnig the unfitness of his character for a public school, left it with the reputation of an excellent and accomplished classic. But the whole of his early life appears to have been misdirected, not, as Mr. Ilayley says, by a perverse destiny, but by a most cul- pably erroneous judgment in those who liad the superintendence of his education. It must have been evident to the most incon- siderate observer, that the only chance he had of gaining strength, or of possessing a sufferable existence, was liis being allowed to pass his life in tranquillity and retirement. But, in defiance of every warning, which all the eighteen years of his life had given, he was devoted to the study of the law, and niatle to place his hopes of fortune on the exercise of a profession which must every hour do. violence to his character. Notwithstanding l\is unfitness for the pursuit, lie wijs immediately on leaving Westminster arti- cled to Mr. Chapman, a solicitor, in whose Jiouse lie resided for three years, gaining the love of every one around him by the gen- tleness of his manners, and amiable temper, but still suffering deeply from that incipient melancholy which Was secretly ruining his mind. Having completed the term for which he was articled to Mr. Chapman, he took chambers in the Temple, for the purpose of finishing his studies as a barrister ; but which design, as might have been expected, he never accomplished. It was now, how- ever, that he began to assume the character of a literary man, and having formed an intimacy with the parties who conducted the Connoisseur, lie contributed several papers to that periodical, wliich were admired for the superior talent they exhibited. He also commenced the constant practice of versification, and produced a variety of translations, several of which it is believed were pub- lished anonymously in the different periodicals of the time. It is also to the same era, perhaps, we may refer the rapid growth of that ardent attachment to his beautiful and accomplished cousin, which gave rise to so many distressful feelings in the bosoms of both these amiable beings. Theodora Jane Cowper was, if tradition is to bo believed, in every way worthy of the poet's love, but her father, Ashley Cowper, considered the relation- ship between his daughter and nephew as too close to admit of their union, and after a long struggle with the parent's feelings on the subject, and between love and filial obedience, they resigned the hopes which, it appears, they had long and warmly cherished. It is impossible to say how fur this might not contribute to Cow- per's inherent melancholy. It certainly served to exercise his 14 MEMOIR OF WILLIAM COWPER. mus<3 ; and the verses which he wrote to his cousin before their fate was quite decided, exhibit all that thoughtful Inimor and that l^ayety which seems imbued with a sense of its transitiveness, and is therefore deeper and more precious, which forms an essential feature of his poetry. We abnost think we hear the dejected and middle-aged man in one of his gayer moods in the following stanzas, which show that his passion was returned with equal warmth : WRITTEN IN A QUARREL. The Delivery of it prevented by a Iieconciiiaiio?i. Think, Delia, with what cruel haste Our fleeting pleasures move, Nor heedless thus \u sorrow waste The moments due to love Re wise, my fair, and gently treat The few that are our friends ; Think, thus abused, what sad regret Their speedy flight attends. Sure in those eyes I loved so well And wish'd so long to see, Anger I thought could never dwell, Or anger aim'd at me. No bold offence of mine I knew Should e'er provoke your hate ; And early taught to think you true, Still hoped a gentler fate. With kindness bless the present hour, Or, oh ! we meet in vain ! What can we do in absence more Than suffer and complain?. Fated to ills beyond redress, We must endure our woe ; The days allow'd us to possess, 'Tis madness to forego. There is the same delicacy of thought and expression in the following, written, it would seem, on a similar occasion as the prc- 'Ceding verses : This evening, Delia, you and I Have managed most delightfully, For with a frown we parted : Having contrived some trifle that We both may be much troubled at, And sadly disconcerted. 1 MEMOIR OF WILLIAM COWPER. 15 Yet well as each perform 'd their part, We might perceive it was but art ; And that we both intended To sacrifice a little ease : For all such petty flaws as these Are made but to be mended. You knew, Dissembler I all the while, How sweet it was to reconcile After this lieavy pelt ; That we should gain by this allay When next we met, and laugh away The care we never lelt. Happy ! when we but seek to endure A little pain, then find a cure By double joy requited ; For friendship, like a sever'd bone, . Improves and joins a stronger tone When aptly "reunited. Time, however, gradually convinced the lovers that they hoped in vain, and with what a heavy and sickening heart the delicate- minded Cowper watched the fitding vision of happiness depart, may be imagined from these verses : Hope, like the short-lived ray, that gleams awhile, Through wintry skies, upon the frozen waste, Cheers e'en the face of misery to a smile ; Kut soon the momentary pleasure's past. How oft, my Delia, since our last farewell, (Years that have roll'd since that distressful hour,) Grieved, I have said, When most our hopes prevail, Our promised happiness is less secure I Oft I have thought the scene of trouble closed, And hoped once more to gaze upon your charms ; As oft some dire mischance has interposed. And snatch'd the expected blessing from ray arms. The seaman thus, his shatter'd vessel lost, Still vainly strives to shun the threatening death ; And while he thinks to gain the friendly coast. And drops his feet, and feels the sands beneath : Borne by the wave, steep sloping from the shore. Back to the inclement deep, again he beats The surge aside, and seems to tread secure ; And now the refluent wave his baffled toil defeats. Had you, my love, forbade me to pursue My fond attempt, disdainfully retired, And with proud scorn compell'd me to subdue The ill fated passion by yourself inspired ; 16 MEMOIR OF WILLIAM COWPER. Then haply to some distant spot removed, Hopeless to gain, nnwillinjr to molest With fond entreaties whom I dearly loved, Despair or absence had redeem'd my rest. But now sole partner in my Delia's heart. Yet doom'd far ofif in exile to complain, Etei'nal absence cannot ease my smart, And hope subsists but to prolong my pain Oh then, kind Heaven ! be this my latest breath ; Here end my life, or make it worth my care Absence from whom we love is worse than death, And frustrate hope severer than despair. Bnt to proceed : a period was now approach inf^ in Cowper's life which presented the peculiarities of'liis cliaracterin their strongest light. Possessing connections from wliich any other individual would confidently have looked for powerful patronage, he was only desirous of obtaining some situation which would enable him, should he gain the object of his wishes, to marry with u prospect of support, and at the same time save him from pursuing the more toilsome road of his profession. In conformity with these wishes, the interest of his friends was employed to this purpose, and they succeeded in obtaining for liim, in his thirty-first year, the offices of Keading Clerk, and Clerk of the Private Committees to the House of Lords. There are faw persons, however nervous, whose timidity would prevent them from performing the slight duties of these offices, but to Cowper they presented an idea of pubhcity and exposure. He would be obliged to read aloud before several persons, and he shrunk with terror from the performance of duties which would thus bring him out of his self-retirement. His friends, therefore, findmg it would be of no avail to j>ress Jiim into this situation, obtained him the appointment of Clerk of the Journals. The state of his feelings while these circumstances were passing was painful in the extreme, and causctl at last so fearful an agitation of mind, that Ins acquaintance began to apprehend the most serious consequences. Unfortunately, a dispute occurring in Parliament on some contested point, it became necessary that he should, notwithstanding the nature of his present office, appear at the Bar of the House of Lords. After the struggle which he had already undergone, this was too much for his diseased nervous system to contend with, and the friends who were to accompany him to the House found him in so melancholy a condition of de- spondency on the day appointed, that they advised him to relin- quish any further contest with liis apprehensions. MEMOIR OF WILLIAM COWPER. 11 The situation, accordinofly, on wliich lie had placed many hopes of prosperity, and to which he looked as alone likely to provide him with a fit provision for marrying, was given up; bnt it is dis- tressing to know that it was not resigned till the delicate and suf- fering mind of Cowper was almost irretrievably ruined by the anx- iety he had experienced. From this period his intellect gave signs of disorder, and it was deemed advisable to place him under the care of Doctor Cotton, a physician at St. Alban's, and a man of great talent and virtue. By the kindness and professional skill of this gentleman, the afflicted condition of the Poet was considerably alleviated, and in the course of six or seven months his mind began to recover from the fearful depression it had suffered. We must here not pass over without observation, the opinion which has been often brought forward, that the principal cause of Cowper's melancholy lay in his religion. '"3- ni<^^^^^^^'^'Ga,^oiua(j;ic^ suppbsltr6"ir~c6l!nTrhTfcTl3^n5c^ The whole tendency of Jus 'character, in youth, led to the afflictioifi5:"}Te"?uffercd in after years. ^^■^"\vas weak in his physical constitution, timid in his temper, ' quick and' sensitive in his feelings, and had a morbidness of tem- pcHineiiY^frfdh gave to his fears a constant and substantial gloom. ISTany other men have suffered from too great sensibility, from irri- tation or delicacy of mind, but no one, perhaps, ever experienced like Cowper the miseries of such a constitution, united with a heavy gloom of melancholy which rendered them permanent. It was not as the air changed, or with the capriciousness of an invalid, that he was gay or melancholy. The blood at his heart was in- fected with disease, and it required a change as well in his physical as mental constitution to relieve his distress. Every thing which we know of the life of this amiable man tends to conviuce us that f no abstract opinions of any kind could reasonably be assigned as \ the cause of his gloom, either at the period of wliich we are now ; speaking, or at any other. His melancholy, indeed, might strongly influence his religious belief; it might embitter the waters of life even as they were poured out fresh into his cup — it might make him think of God as of man with terror, and imagine that the dark shadow of his earthly fate was thrown far as he could see over the abyss of futurity ; but it could do no more. Religion never clogs the veins, nor distempers the intellect, and when its revelations are made a subject of unnatural fear, it is after the mind has learned to see shapes of terror wiierever it turns ; when the sun and stars are as fraught with signs, as the Scriptures with declarations, of ^^^truction. 18 MEMOIR OF WILLIAM COWPER. or the riatnrc of his melanclioly, than the followin": letters: the tirst, exhibiting the broken-hearted liiimility which had been con- verted by disease into terror; the second, the tenderness of a noble sold examining mysteries to discover its own condemnation. On being asked to compose some hymns, he writes : "Ask possibilities, and they sliall be performed; but ask no hymns from a man suffering by despair, as I do. I could not sing the Lord's Song were it to save my life, banished as I am, not to a strange land, but to a remoteness from his presence, in comparison with which the distance from cast to west is no distance, is vicinity and cohesion. 1 dare not, cither in prose or verse, allow myself to express a frame cf mind which 1 am conscious does not belong to me; least of all can 1 venture to use the language of absolute res- ignation, lest, only counterfeiting, I should for that very reason be taken strictly at my word, and lose all my remaining comfort. Can there not be found among those translations of Madame Guion, somewhat that might serve the purpose? I should think there might. Submission to the will of Christ, my memory tells me, is a theme that pervades them all. Jf so, your request is performed already; and if an-y alteration in them should be necessary, I will with all my heart make it. 1 have no objection to giving the graces of the foreigner an English dress, but insuperable ones to all false pretences and affected exhibitions of what I do not feel." The next is a still more melancholy evidence of his unconquer- able gloom.: " I rejoice that you and yours reached London safe, especially when I reflect that you performed the journey on a day so fiital, as I understand, to others travelling the same road. I found those comforts in your visit which have formerly sweetened all our In- terviews, in part restored. I knew you : knew you for the same shepherd who was sent to lead me out of the wilderness into the pasture where the chief Shepherd feeds his flock, and felt my sen- timents of affectionate friendship for you the same as ever. But one thing was still wanting, and that thing the crown of all. I shall find it in God's time, if it be not lost forever. When I say this, I say it trembling: for at what time soever comfort ehall come, it will not come without its attendant evil ; and whatever good thing may occur in the interval, I have sad forebodings of the event, having learned, by experience, that I was born to be per- secuted with peculiar fury, and assuredly believing, that such as my lot has been, it will be so to the end. This belief is connected in my mind with an observation I have often made, and is, per- haps, founded, in great part, upon it ; that there is a certain sti/U MEMOIR OF WILLIAM COWPER. 19 of dispensations maintained by Providence in the dealings of God witli every man, whicli, however the incidents of hi^ life may vary, and though he may be thrown into many different situations, is never exchanged for another." As the mind of Cowper regained some degree of tranqiiillity, the dread with which his religious feelings had inspired him, was gradually changed into a humble and comforting trust in the Divine goodness. Shortly after this improvement in his mental state, he was induced, by the persuasions of his brother, a clergyman, res- ident at Cambridge, to make his home at Huntingdon, at which place he accordingly took a lodging, and determined upon leading a life of quiet and retirement. liis removal to Huntingdon took place in June, 1765, and was followed l^y the formation of a strict and affectionate friendship with the family of Mr. Unvvin. It was under the roof of this clergyman that Cowper found the greatest comfort of his existence, ^which, though subjected to the distressing disorders of his constitution, was rendered comparatively happy by the solicitous attention of affection. He has forcibly described, in one of his letters to his cousin, Lady Hesketh, the pleasure he felt on first forming an intimacy with these friends of his solitude. "Since I wrote the above," says lie, "I met Mrs. Unwin in the street, and went home with her. She and I walked together near two hours in the garden, and had a conversation, which did mo more good than I should have received from an audience of the first prince in Europe ; that woman is a blessing to me, and I never see her without being the better for her company. I am treated in th-c family as if I was a near relation, and have been repeatedly in- vited to call upon them at all times. You know what a shy fellow I am : I cannot prevail with myself to make so much use of this privilege, as I am sure they intend I should ; but, perhaps, this awkwardness will wear off hereafter. It was my earnest request, before I left St. Alban's, that whenever it might please Providence to dispose of me, I might meet with such an acquaintance as 1 find in Mrs. Unwin. How happy it is to believe with a steadtast assurance that our petitions are heard, even while we are making them !" His acquaintance with this amiable woman and her family was, as we have seen, quickly ripened into an ardent friendship, but the juelancholy death of Mr. Unwin, which was occasioned by a fall from his horse, made it necessary that the widow and her son and daughter should find another residence, and Olney being fixed on^ Cowper removed thither with his affectionate friends. At his new place of abode he became acquainted with the Eeverend Mr. New- ton, and spent with him many of the hours which he devoted to 20 MEMOIR OF WILLIAM COWPER. the tranquillizing contemplation of religious truth. The manner in which he passed his time in this retreat is an interesting exem- plification of the goodness of his nature. The charity of his heart furnished him with his chief employment. To his own means of doing good, the estimation in which he was held added the benevo- lence of others, and he was appointed by more than one wealthy person who admired his goodness, to administer their alms. It is, however, to be doubted, as his friend and biographer, Mr. Hayley, justly observes, whether the life he was then leading was not too recluse for the state of his mind. But for a long period during his residence at Olucy, he appears to have been tranquil, and with his peculiarly constituted nature, as free as lie could be from depres- sion. There cannot, perhaps, be a better proof of his i^iproved health than the knowledge, that he had about this time 'to suffer many severe trials in the afflictions of his brother and other parts of his family. The former, after a long illness, fell a victim to the disease, and the subject of our memoir lost in him a most kind and affectionate as well a beloved relative. On looking at tiie corre- spondence of Cowper during this period, we find little which could induce us to believe, that cither enthusiasm or melancholy had been the consequence of his deep and fervent piety. The account which he gives of his brother's death is calm and thoughtful — exhibiting only the sublime feelings of a man who had just conquered the regrets of nature by a contemplation of divine truth. It was not till several months after the loss of his brother, that Cowper's mind relapsed into its former depression. Hitherto it had been not only composed, but to a cei'tain degree active. At Mr. Newton's request, he composed the sixty-eight hymns wliich appeared with his initials in the Olney Collection, and had originally intended to contribute more, but was prevented by the sickness to which we have alluded, and which commenced its afflicting attacks in the year 1773. The patient and devoted kindness, with which Mrs. Unwin attended him during this season of helplessness, affords an affecting picture of female friendship. Through the many years that his illness lasted, his gentle nurse watched over him with an unwearying constancy, which Cowper himself likened to that of a mother, and in doing this he gave all that the human heart can give in gratitude for attention. For more than a year the malady continued at its height, but fifter that time his health had an appearance of improvement, and he began to employ himself in taming the three hares which are celebrated in the account he gave of his pursuits. But it was not till the year 1780, that we find him regaining sufficient command over himself, to trust his faculties with literary exertions, which it MEMOIR OF WILLIAM COWPER. 21 is extraordinary were nearly all subsequent to the alarming attack of which we are speaking. In the year above mentioned he read considerably, and composed "The Nightingale and Glow-worm," and towards its termination began to write with the serious inten- tion of appearing before the public as an author. This determina- tion, however, he kept known to himself alone, but proceeded steadily with his work, and in March, 1781, " Table Talk," " The Progress of Error," "Truth," and " Expostulation," were ready for the press. The publication of these was undertaken by Mr. Jo'hnson, of St. Paul's Church-Yard, and the following season they were ushered into the world, with the additional compositions of " Hope," " Charity," " Conversation," and "Ketirement." About the period to which we now allude, rnwpAr j^f^nnm^^ nn- j|vum^i£dl3yi<^1i T.nrly .An^tpn, and_to_JieiL_suggestbn^^ e xistence ^ of_tlig "Task," and_tliat _ admirable pie ce of humor, " diilllLGilpin." The greaterpart of the former wasToiiTpletecl in February, 1784, and in October it was sent to press. The accounts which are given of his situation at this period afford a refreshing contrast to the details which describe his condition both in the earlier and later portions of his existence. In the society of a few select friends he now divided his time between the pleasures of conversation and the gently exciting labor of composition. His mind thus gradually assumed a more cheerful east, and was, per- haps, in the healthiest state which it was capable of attaining. Shortly after the completion of the above-named works he began the translation of Homer, a production which, whatever merit it possesses, was better adapted to furnish the poet with amusement than add to his popularity. To be admired in his own naked! sublimity, Homer must be read by the scholar, and in his own! language ; to engage the attention of readers of a different descrip-l tion, he must be changed in form and spirit as well as language. \ In 1787, a slight attack of his old complaint made it necessary that he should intermit his pursuits, but it passed off without seriously affecting him, and he shortly after resumed his work of translating, which was completed on the 25th August, 1790. He was em- ployed about the same time on an edition of Milton, and soon after became acquainted with his Avell-known biographer, Mr. Hayley, of whom he uniformly spoke with the warmest affection. Under these circumstances, his spirits continued to hold good till the year 1794, when his mind began rapidly to sink into its most mehincholy state of despondency. The health of his watch- ful friend, Mrs. Unwin, had also undergone an alarming change, and.the united weight of time and sickness had brought her to the lust stage of helpless and imbecile old age. Mr. Hayley and his I Co 22 MEMOIR OF WILLIAM COWPER. Other affectionate acquaintances continued to visit liim and use every means to restore his health, but their solicitude was vain, and he continued sunk in a melancholy which could neither be re- moved nor alleviated. It was at length determined to try the cx- penment of a change of air, and his amiable relative, the Rev. Dr. Johnson, look upon himself the charge of conducting him into Korfolk. While residing at Dunham Lodge, and afterwards at Mundsley, liis spirits with slight exceptions continued in the same state, and though an occasional glimpse of hope now and then en- couraged liis desponding friends, they at length saw the gradual and certain approaches of decay under the most distressing circum- stances in which death can visit an intellectual and reasoning be- ing. Cowper had continued to compose several minor pieces of poetry, and to employ himself occasionally in reading during some time past, but in January, 1800, his strength began rapidly to de- cline, and on the 25th of April of the same year, he yielded up his gentle and suffering spirit. Morality never found in genius a more devoted advocate than owper; nor has moral wisdom, in its plain and severe precepts, been ever more successfully combined with the delicate spirit of poetry than in his works.4 The austerity of tone in which virtue arraigns the conscience is feo strongly in contrast with the strtTaiid lulling voice ofJiiOG^yXb^tMQ rarely expect to see thtJTlTTft-h'armony. Even when the muses were worshipped as~^dTvimXT(ri§,^alf(r'men re- ceived laws and religion from their lips, they only gained their authority by veiling themselves in the rich robes of ancient fable, and submitting the pure and essential glory of truth to creations in which men might find their passions as well as their spirit in- terested. Their lessons were taught by the side of magic fountains, or in the green bowers of leafy solitudes— they were heard amid the singing of birds, the sighing of the lover's lute, and the mystic voices of a thousand attendant ministers of delight. Thus they were worshipped because they gave new beauty to the world by the light they breathed upon its surface, and they were hearkened to because they adapted themselves as well to the weakness as to the good of man's mind ; and, in telling of the majesty of nature, and of the might that lies hidden in the bosom of truth, invested him with the attributes of its divinity. The moral, didactic verses of antiquity are almost too plain and destitute of grace to be re- ceived as pretty. The writings of Lucretius are philosophical, and have, therefore, a splendor about them which belongs to a source different to that from which the ethical poet derives his materials of ornament. It is in modern times only that morality, as such, has been successfully invested with the grace of poetry. But ex.- MEMOIR OF WILLIAM COWPER. 23 tensive as has been the popularity of the writers who have snc- eecdecl in tiiis species of composition, their number is less than that of any other class. Nor is it difficult to trace the causes of this circumstance. Poetry naturally deals in dreams and shadows, wiiich, bright and faithful images of reality as they may be, are still but dreams and shadows. Let it take only the actual substance of things — the present and living forms of the earth, uninvested with the sunny and glorifying atmosphere of imagination — and it loses the property which makes it poetry. A mind, therefore, wliich is unendowed with that strange faculty by which the airy nothingnesses of an ideal world are moulded into form — or with that power, equally strange, by which it can sublimate the things of earth, till they make a part of its own ethereal creation — an intel- lect migifted with these faculties can never possess the proper materials of poetry. But it need not be said, that the mind they inspire is not likely to employ itself on subjects incapable of being invested with the charm which it can bestow on others more adapted to its endowments; nor need it scarcely more to be observed, that a simple lesson of morality is not a subject on which such a mind is naturally likely to exert its powers. Whatever is plain and ob- vious to honest reason — whatever has been matter of instruction for centuries, and is of so fixed a character that it can neither be changed nor modified by imagination, can only be made a part of poetry by incorporation with matter more shadowy and ethereal, and more completely under the dominion of the poet's mind. And here again we find an obstacle to the successful production of ethical poetry. I Although it is very possible for an imaginative writer to blend morpl precepts with his inventions, it is, it nuist be confessed, far more agreeable to the true and proper nature of poetry, to teach virtue and inculcate its sublime truths, by an ap- peal from the imagination to the imagination— by presenting char- acters already made beautiful by the action of noi)le }«rinciples, in- stead of naked principles out of which to invent the characters. And so powerful, indeed, is the action of the imaofination where it exists, that it will seldom suflfer the mind to operate independently of its influence. It takes possession of the thoughts, whether they spring from the head or the heart, whether they are born in reason or passion ; and it is only when the poet has a singular self- possession — a rare union of poetical feeling with the energy of cool thought — that he wiUingly and deliberately subjects his mind to the composition of moral verse. Among the few, the very few, who have possessed that gift of a spirit full of the sweetness and the music of poetry, with this pure morality of purpose, is Cowpcr.j The mind of this admirable I 24 MEMOIR OF WILLIAM COWPER. writer was marked with tlie genuine traits whicli distinguisli a poetical from other minds, lie is, it is true, not to be compared with the great masters of tlie art, whose lofty j^nd creative imagi- nations place them in a sphere of their own, but he had a power of collecting the scenes and harmonies of nature into the focus of his own heart, and of embuing them there with light and graces He had an intensity and delicacy of feeling which made him pe^ ceive what is most beautiful in the complicated character of hiV manity, and he had that intuitive sense of the mind's action, which enabled him to present to others the objects and sentiments which influence with the greatest strength. I By these qualities of his intellect, by the tenderness of his heart, and the extreme suscepti- bility of his nature, he was possessed of all the qualities, with the exception of a powerful imagination, which form the character of a poetifand in being denied the stronger excitements of fancy, ho seems to have been formed by Providence to produce the works he composed. / He was endowed witli all the powers which a poet could want who was to be the moralist of the world-^thc reprover, but not the satirist, of men — tlie teacher of simple truths, which were to be rendered gracious without endangering their simpli- city. TABLE TALK. Si te forte meoe gravis uret sarcina chart?© Abjicito. lIoK. Lib. i. Epist. 13. THE ARGUMENT. True glory and false, 1— Man not made for kings, but kings for man, 47— Kingly glories of England, 63— Quevedo's sarcasm on royalty, 94— Kings not to be envied, but pitied, 108— The objects of vulgar animadversion, 152— Britons' scorn of arbitrary power, 205— French character, as contrasted with English, 235— Blessings of freedom, 261— Restraint of just laws necessary to true liberty, 311 -Riot the result of unrestrained freedom, 319— Patriots . tribute to Chatham, 337— Political dangers of England, 363— To be averted only by penitence and prayer, 391— National corruption portends national destruction. 415— Public events instruments of judgment in the hand of Providence. 439— The true poet gifted in part with the prophetic office, 481— Lofty subjects necessary to poetic excellence, 507— Homer, Virgil, Milton, 557— Progress of poetic genius, 569— Re- ligion the highest theme of poetry, 718. A. You told me, 1 remember, glory, built On seltish 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 Tlie laurel that the very lightning si)ares, G Brings down the warrior's trophy to the dust, »And eats into his bloody sword like rust. I). I grant that, men continuing what they are, Fierce, avaricious, proud, there must be war; And never meant the rule should be ai)plied »To him that fights Avitli justice on his side. Let laurels, drench'd in pure Parnassian dews, Keward his memory, dear to every Muse, Who, with a courage of unshaken root, In honor's field advancing his firm foot, Plants it upon the line that Justice draws, 17 3 I 26 COWPEr's rOETICAL WORKS. 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 tliat fought and died, AVhere duty placed them, at their country's side; The man that is not moved with what he reads, That takes not lire at their heroic deeds, Unworthy of the blessings of the brave, 27 Is base in kind, and born to be a slave. But let eternal infamy ])ursue •^The wretch to naught but his ambition true ; AVho, for the sake of filling 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, Some royal mastiff panting at their heels, With all the savage thirst a tiger feels; Then view him self-proclaimM in a gazette, Chief monster that has plagued the nations yet! 38 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 his power. Then grace the bony phantom in their stead "With the king's slioulder-knot and gay cockade, Clothe the twin brethren in each other's dress, The same their occu])ation 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, 49 Who think, or seem to think, man made for them. B. Seldom, alas ! the power of logic reigns AVith 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, GO TABLE TALK. 27 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, IIow seldom used, how little understood! To pour in Virtue's lap her just reward ; Keep Vice restrained behind a double guard ; 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 ; 70 To give Religion her unbridled scope, forjudge by statute a believer's hope; AVith close fidelity and love unfeign'd, To keep the matrimonial bond unstain'd ; Covetous only of a virtuous praise. His life a lesson to the land he sways ; To touch the sword with conscientious awe, ISTor draw it but when duty bids him draw ; To sheathe it in the peace-restoring close, With joy beyond what victory bestows; — Bless'd country, where these kingly glories shine ! 81 Bless'd England, if this happiness be thine! A. Guard what you say ; the patriotic tribe Will sneer and charge you with a bribe. i?. A bribe? The Avorth 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 flatters 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 address'd, 92 Seems to imply a censure on the rest. B. Quevedo, as lie tells his sober tale, Ask'd, 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!" — replied the Don — "there are but few." Ilis black interpreter the charge disdain'd — " Few, fellow ? — there are all that ever reign'd." Wit, undistinguishing, is apt to strike The guilty and not guilty both alike : 103 I 28 cowper's poetical works. 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 the 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 laureate pays His quit-rent ode, his peppercorn of praise ; And many a dunce whose fingers itch to write, Adds as he can his tributary mite. 112 A subject's faults a subject may proclaim, A monarch's errors are forbidden game ! Thus, 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 hfe's narrow stage ; Then leave their crimes for history to scan. And ask, with busy scorn, Was this the man ? I pity kings, whom worship waits upon Obsequious from the cradle to the throne ; Before whose infant eyes the flatterer bows, 124 And binds a wreath about their baby brows; Whom education stiflens 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, skill'd 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 pamper'd steed. That wants no driving, and disdains the lead ; 135 If guards, mechanically form'd 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. Even when he labors for his country's good ; To see a band call'd patriot for no cause. But that they catch at popular applause. Careless of all the anxiety he feels, 146 TABLE TALK. 29 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 the unwash'd artificer repairs; To indulge his genius after long fatigue, By diving into cabinet intrigue (For what kings deem a toil, as well they may, 156 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 favorites 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 calPd extravagance and waste ; — If these attendants, and if such as these. Must follow royalty, then welcome ease ! However humble and confined the sphere, 167 Happy the state that has not these to fear ! A. Thus men, whose thoughts contemplative have dwelt On situations that they never felt, Start up sagacious, cover'd 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. 178 Could you contrive the payment, and rehearse The mighty plan, oracular, in verse, No bard, howe'er majestic, old or new. Should claim my fix'd attention more than yon. B, Not Brindley nor Bridgewater would essay To turn the coarse of Helicon that way ; Nor would the Nine consent the sacred tide Should j)url amidst the trafiSc of Cheapside, Or tinkle in 'Change Alley, to amuse ^^The leathern ears of stockjobbers and Jews. 30 cowper's poetical works. To themes more pertinent, if less sublime. AVhen ministers and ministerial arts ; Patriots, who love good places at their hearts ; When admirals, extolPd for standing still. Or doing nothing with a deal of skill ; Generals, 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, 199 I hear as mute as if a siren 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, though 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. 210 Winter invades the spring, and often pours A chilling flood on summer's drooping flowers ; Unwelcome vapors 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 rigor, for his good design'd. She rears her favorite man of all mankind. His form robust, and of elastic tone, Proportion'd well, half muscle and half bone, Supplies with Avarm activity and force 221 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, woe 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 ; 232 J TABLE TALK. 31 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 form'd like us, with such Herculean powers, The Frenchman, easy, debonair, and brisk, Give him his lass, his fiddle, and his frisk, Is always 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, 242 We never feel the alacrity and joy With which he shouts and carols, Vive le Roi ! Fill'd 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 tln-oughout his works prevail. And weighs the nations in an even scale ; He can encourage slavery to a smile, 253 And till 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. B. 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 ; 264 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 favor of the skies. Stands most reveal'd before the freeman's eyes; No shades of superstition blot the day, Liberty chases all that gloom away ; The soul, emancipated, unoppressM, Free to prove all things and hold fast the best, Learns much j and to a thousand listening minds, 275 fe 32 cowper's poetical works. Communicates witli joy tlie good she finds; Courage in arms, and ever prompt to show His manly forehead to tlie fiercest foe ; Glorious in war, hut 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-horn son. Slaves fight for what were better cast away — The chain that binds them, and a tyrant's sway ; But they that fight for freedom, undertake 285 The noblest cause mankind can have at stake ; Religion, virtue, truth, whatever 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 thee the 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 ; 296 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'crleaping every mound, Spread anarchy and terror all around ? B. Agreed. But would you sell or slay your horse For bounding and curvetting in his course ? Or if, when ridden with a careless rein, 307 He break away, and seek the distant i)lain? 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. 318 TABLE TALK. 33 When Tumult lately burst liis prison door, And set plebeian thousands in a roar ; When lie usurped Authority's just place, And dared to look his master in the face ; When the rude rabble''s watchword was — Destroy ! And blazing London seem'd a second Troy, — Liberty blush'd, and hung her drooping head, Beheld their progress with the deepest dread, BlusliVl, that eifects like these she should produce. Worse than the deeds of galley-slaves broke loose. 328 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 witli 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 ; 339 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 him 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. His 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. 350 No sycophant or slave, that dared oppose Her sacred cause, but trembled when he rose ; And every venal stickler for the yoke Felt himself crush'd at the first word he spoke. Such men are raised to station and command, When Providence means mercy to a land. He speaks, and tliey appear ; to liiin tliey owe Skill to direct, and strength to strike the blow, To manage wit*li address, to seize with power The crisis of a dark decisive hour. So Gideon earn'd a victory not his own, 361 I 34 COWPERS POETICAL WORKS. 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 swann around thee, and thou stand'st at bay. Undaunted still, though wearied and i)erplex'd ; Once Chatham saved thee, but who saves thee next ? Alas! the tide of pleasure sweeps along All that should be the boast of British song. 'Tis not the wreath that once adornM thy brow, 871 The prize of happier times, will serve thee now. Our ancestry, a gallant Christian race, Patterns of every virtue, every grace, ConfessM a God ; they kneel'd 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, 382 Than virtue quickens with a warmth divine The powers that sin has brought to a decline. A. The inestimable estimate of Brown Rose like a paper kite, and charmM 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 err'd, was merely this — He tliought the dying hour already come, 893 And a complete recovery struck him dumb. But that eflfeminacy, folly, lust. Enervate and enfeeble, and needs must ; And that a nation shamefully debased AVill be despised and trampled on at last. Unless sweet penitence her powers renew, ]s 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 puuisli'd, and down comes the thunderbolt. 404 TABLE TALK. 35 If Mercy then put b}^ the threatening blow, Must she perform the same kind office now ? 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 Iiere. 414 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 le 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 just made, To turn a penny in the way of trade ; When Avarice starves (and never liicles his face) Two or three millions of the human race. And not a tongue inquires how, where, or when, 425 Though conscience will have twinges now and 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 that 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 times, and times to come ; They cry aloud in every careless ear, "Stop, while ye may; suspend your mad career I 436 Oh, 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 usurp'd command, And bend her polish \1 neck beneath his Jiand (x\ dire eifect, by one of Nature's laws IJnchangeably connected with its cause); But Providence himself will intervene, ^^ To throw his dark displeasure o'er the scenCc 3G cowper's poetical works. What burns at home, or threatens from afar ; Nature in arms, her elements at strife, The storms tliat overset the joys of hfe. Are but his rods to scourge a gnilty hiiul, And waste it at tlie bidding of liis hand. He gives the word, and mutiny soon roars . In all her gates, and shakes her distant sliores ; The standards of all nations are unfurl'd ; She has one foe, and tliat one foe the world. And if he doom that people with a frown, 457 And mark them with the 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^ But nothing scares them from the course they love; To the lascivious pipe and w^anton song. That charm dowm 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 ; 468 They trust in armies, and their courage dies ; In wisdom, wealtlj, in fortune, and in lies ; But all they trust in withers, as it must, "When He commands in whom they place no trusr. Vengeance at last pours down upon tlieir coast A long despised, but now victorious, host ; Tyranny sends the chain that must abridge The noble sweep of all their privilege. Gives liberty the last, the mortal shock, Slips the slave's collar on, and snaps the lock. A. Such lofty strains embellish what you teach, 479 Mean you to prophesy, or but to preach ? B. I know the mind that feels indeed the fire The Muse imparts, and can command the lyre, Acts with a force, and kindles with a zeal, AVhate'er the theme, that others never feel. If 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 Fire indignation and a sense of scorn, 490 ■ VT. I TABLE TALK. 37 The strings are swept with such a power, so loud, The storm of music shakes the astonisli'd crowd. So, when remote futurity is brought Before the keen inquiry of her tliought, A terrible sagacity informs The poet's heart ; he looks to distant storms, 'He hears the thunder ere the tem])est lowers, And, armVl with strength surpassing human powers, Seizes events as yet unknown to man, And darts his soul into the dawning })]an. 500 Hence, in a Roman mouth, the graceful name Of prophet and of poet was the same ; Hence British poets too tlie i)riesthood shared, And every liallowVl Druid was a bard. But no pr()i)hetic fires to me belong, I play with syllables, and sport in song. A. At Westminster, wliere little poets strive To set a distich upon six and five, AVJiere Discipline helps opening buds of sense, And makes his pu])ils proud with silver pence, 1 was a poet too : but modern taste 511 Is so refined, and delicate, and chaste. That verse, whatever fire the fancy warms, Without a creamy smoothness has no charms. Thus, all success depending on an ear, And thinking I might purchase it too dear, If sentiment were sacrificed to sound, And truth cut short to make a period round, I judged a man of sense could scarce do worse Than caper in the morris-dance of verse. B. Thus reputation is a spur to wMt, And some wits flag through fear of losing it. 522 Give me the line that ploughs its stately course Like a j)roud swan, conquering the stream by force; That, like some cottage beauty, strikes the lieart, Quite unindebted to the tricks of art. AVhen labor and when dulness, club in hand, Like the two figures at St. Dunstan's stand, Beating alternately, in measured time. The clockwork tintinnabulum of rhyme, Exact and regular the sounds will be, But such mere quarter-strokes are not for me. 38 cowfer's poetical wokks. To him wlio strains liis all into a song, Perhaps some bonny Caledonian air, All hirks and braes, though he was never there ; Or, having ivhelpM a ])rologue with great pains, Feels himself spent, and fumbles for his brains ; A prologue interdasliM with many a stroke — An art contrived to advertise a joke. So that the jest is clearly to be seen. Not in tlie words — but in the gap between; Manner is all in all, whatever is writ, 543 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 labor is whipp'd cream. As if an eagle flew aloft, and then — Stooped from its highest pitch to pounce a wren. 554 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 lengtlis unknown before. To give a Milton birth, ask'd ages more. Tims genius rose and set at ordered times, And shot a dayspring into distant climes, Ennobling every region that he chose ; lie sunk in Greece, in Italy he rose. And, tedious years of Gothic darkness past, 565 i Emerged all splendor 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? Prove this, and forfeit all pretence to praise. Make their heroic powers your own at once, Or candidly confess yourself a dunce. B. These were the chief; each interval of night Was graced with niany an undulating light. In less illu^^trious bards his beauty shone A nicteur or a star ; in these, the sun. 576 TABLE TALK. 30 The nightingale may claim the topmost bough, While the poor grasshopper must chirp below. Like liim unnoticed, I, and siich as I, Spread little wings, and rather skip than fly; PerchM on the meagre produce of the land, An ell or two of prospect we connnand ; But never peep beyond the thorny bound, Or oaken fence, that hems tlie paddock round. In Eden, ere yet innocence of heart Had faded, poetry was not an art ; 586 Language — above all teaching, or if taught, Only by gratitude and glowing thought, Elegant as simplicity, and warm As ecstasy, unmanacled by form, INTot promi>ted, as in our degenerate days. By low ambition and the thirst of praise — "Was natural as is tlie flowing stream. And yet magnificent, — a God the tlieme! That theme on earth exhausted, though above 'Tis found as everlasting as his love, Man lavished all his thoughts on human things — 597 The feats of heroes and tlie wrath of kings; But still, wliile 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 crownVl The brimming goblet, seized the thyrsus, bound His brows with ivy, rush'd into the field Of wild imagination, and there reel'd, The victim of his own lascivious fires, And, dizzy with delight, profaned the sacred wires. 608 Anacreon, Horace, i)lay'd in Greece and Rome Tliis bedlam part ; and others nearer home. When Cromwell fought for power, and while he reign'd Tlie proud protector of the power he gaiiiM, Jvcligion, harsh, intolerant, austere. Parent of manners like herself severe. Drew a rough copy of tlie Christian face Without the smile, the sweetness, or the grace; The dark and sullen humor of the time Judged every effort of the Muse a crime ; Yerse, in the finest mould of fancy cast, 619 ■ 40 cowper's poetical w-orks. 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 constrainM 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, Swarm'd 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. 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, WhippVl out of sight, with satire just and keen. The puppy pack that had defiled the scene. In front of these came Addison. In him, Humor 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 tliat 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 mirtii, 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. TABLE TALK. 41 A. Are we then left? — J^. Not wliolly in til e dark : AVit now and then, strnck 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 tlie road, Snuffs up the wind, and flings himself abroad. Contemporaries all surpassVl, see one, 672 Short his career indeed, but ably run, — Churchill ; himself unconscious of his powers, In penury consumed his idle liours. And, like a scattered seed at random sown, Was left to spring by vigor 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. 683 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 disdainVI the rules he understood, The laurel seem'd to wait on his command ; He snatchVl it rudely from the Muses' hand. Nature, exerting an unwearied power. Forms, opens, and gives scent to every flower, Spreads the fresh verdure of tlie field, and leads 694 The dancing Naiads through tlie dewy meads : She fills profuse ten thousand little throats With music, modulating all their notes, And charms the v/oodland scenes and wilds unknown, 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 excpiisitely sought ; Fancy, that from the bow that spans the sky Brings colors dipp'd in heaven, that never die ; 705. 42 COWPER^S POETICAL WORKS. A soul exalted above earth, a mind Skiil'd in the characters that form mankind; — And as the sun, in rising beauty dress'd, Ix)oks to the westward from tlie 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, — 715 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 Avhere'er she deign'd to stray, And every Muse attend her in her way. Virtue indeed meets many a rhyming friend, And many a compliment pohtely penn'd ; But, unattired in that becoming vest Rehgion weaves for her, and half undress'd, Stands in the desert shivering and forlorn, 726 A wintry figure, like a withered thorn. The shelves are full, all other themes are sped, Hackney'd and worn to the last flimsy thread ; Satire has long since done his best, and curst And loathsome ribaldry has done his worst; Fancy has sported all her [)owers away In 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 Are, TouchVl with a coal from Heaven, assume the lyre, 737 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. Inspires the song, and that his name is Love. For, after all, if merely to beguile, By flowing numbers and a flowery style. The tedium that the lazy rich endure, "Which now and then sweet i)oetry may cure ; Or, if to see the name of idol self. Stamped on the well-bound quarto, grace the shelf. To float a bubble on the breath of fame, 748 TABLE TALK. 43 Prompt his endeavor, and engage liis aim, Debased to servile purposes ^f pride, How are the powers of genius misa«pplied ! 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 dehght; Distorted from its use and just design. To make the pitiful possessor shine; To purchase, at the fool-frequented fair 758 Of vanity, a wreath for self to wear. Is profanation of the basest kind — Proof of a trilling and a worthless mind. A. Hail, Sternhold, then; and Hopkins, hail! — U. 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 polish'd periods as they tall, 769 One madrigal of theu-s is worth them all. A. 'Twould 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. THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. Si quid loquar audientlum.— IIor. Lib. iv. Od. 2. THE APwGUMENT. Rise of error, 1— Man endowed with free-will, 23— Motives to action, 45— Allure- ments of pleasure, 57— Music, 63— The chase^ 82— Such amusements uusuited to the clerical character, 96— Occiduus, an inconsistent pastor, 124— His pernicious example, 142— Sabbath desecration, 152— Cards and dancing, 1G9— The trifler, as well as .the drunkard, condemned, 199— Gluttony, 209— Sensual pleasures, 225— Lawful and virtuous pleasures, 243— pleasures in excess pernicious, 269— The pen a dangerous implement, 301— Corrupting tendency of some works of imagina- tion, 307 — Apostrophe to Chesterfield, 335— Importance of early education, 353 — Foreign travel, 369— Its effects, 401— Accomplishments take place of virtue, 417— Qualities required in the critic of the sacred volume, 452 — Invocation to the press, 460— Effects of enthusiasm, 470— Partiality of authors for their literary progeny, 516— The dunce impatient of contradiction, 536— Faults of the life and errors of the understanding reciprocally produce each other, 564— Evil habits unrestrained lead to destruction, 580. SiXG, Muse (if such a theme, so dark, so long, May find a Muse to grace it with a jsong), By what unseen and unsuspected arts The serpent Error twines round human hearts ; Tell where she lurks, beneath what llow^ery shades, 5 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 their end; 16 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 45 Discern the fraud beneath the specious hire, Prevent the danger, or prescribe the cure. The clear harangue, and cold as it is clear, Tails soporific on the listless ear ; Like quicksilver, the rhetoric they display Shines as it runs, but, grasp'd at, slips away. Placed for his trial on this busthng stage, From thoughtless youth to ruminating age. Free in his will to choose or to refuse, Man may improve the crisis, or abuse : 26 Else, on the fatalist's unrighteous plan. Say, to what bar amenable were man ? With naught in charge, he could betray no trust; * And, if he fell, would fall because he must ; If love reward liim, or if vengeance strike. His recompense 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 tlie reins. Heaven from above, and conscience from within, 37 Cries in his startled ear — iVbstain 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 Kemorse, 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 : 48 These open on the spot their honey'd store ; Those call him loudly to pursuit of more. His unexhausted mine the sordid vice Avarice shows, and virtue is the price. Here various motives his ambition raise — Power, pomp, and splendor, and the thirst of praise ; There Beauty woos him with expanded arms; Even 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, 59 46 COWPEIl's POETICAL WORKS. Or lead him devious from the path of truth, Hourly allurements on his passions press, Safe in themselves, but dangerous in the excess. Hark ! how it floats upon the dewy air; — Oh what a dying, dying close was there ! 'Tis harmony from yon sequestered boAver, Sweet harmony, that soothes the midnight hour! Loiig ere the charioteer of day had run His morning course, the enchantment was begun; And he shall gild yon mountain's height again, CO Ere yet the pleasing toil becomes a pain. Is this the rugged patlj, the steep ascent. That virtue points to ? 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 uTireal joy. Love makes the music of the blest above, Heaven's harmony is universal love; And earthly sounds, though sweet and well combined, And lenient as soft opiates to the mind, 80 Leave vice and folly unsubdued behind. Gray dawn ai)pears ; the sportsman and his train Speckle the bosom of the distant plain ; 'Tis he, the Nimrod of the neighboring lairs. Save that liis scent is less acute than theirs, For persevering chase, and headlong leaps, True beagle as the stanchest hound he keeps. Charged with the folly of his life's mad scene. He takes oftence, and wonders what you mean ; The joy, the danger, and the toil o'erpays ; 'Tis exercise, and health, and length of days. 91 Again impetuous to the field he flies, Leaps every fence but one — there falls, and dies ; Like a slain deer, the tumbril brings him home, Unmiss'd 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 view'd with fear ; The comet's baneful influence is a dream, Yours real, and pernicious in the extreme. What then! are appetites and lusts laid down 102 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 47 With the same ease that man puts on his gown? Will avarice and concupiscence give place, Chann'd 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 cassock'd huntsman and a fiddling priest ! He from Italian songsters takes his cue : 112 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 Avanderer from the narrow way. His silly sheep, what wonder if they stray ? Go, cast your orders at your Bishop's feet. Send your dishonor\l gown to Monmouth-street ! The sacred function, in your hands is made. Sad sacrilege! no function, but a trade! 123 Occiduus is a pastor of renown ; When he has pray'd and preach'd thq 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 the employment seems to suit, Psaltery and sackbut, dulcimer and flute. Oh fie! 'tis evangelical and pure : 134 Observe each face, how sober and demure ! Ecstasy sets her stamp on every mien, Chins fallen, and not an eyeball to be seen. Still I -insist, though music heretofore Has charm'd me much, not even Occiduus more, Love, joy, and peace make harmony more meet For Sabbath evenings, and perhaps as sweet. I Will not the sickliest sheep of every flock Resort to this example as a rock ; There stand and justify the foul abuse 48 cowper's poetical works. 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. O Italy ! — thy Sabbaths will be soon Our Sabbaths, closed with mummery and buffoon. Preaching and pranks Avill share the motley scene, Ours parceird out, as thine have ever been, 155 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 distinguishVl above all the six. By deeds in which the world must never mix. Hear him again. lie 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. 16G But triflers are engaged, and cannot come ; Their answer to .the call is — Not at home. Oh the dear pleasures of the velvet plain, The painted tablets, dealt and dealt again ! Cards, with what rapture, and the polish'd 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, 177 Views constellations brighter than her own. 'Tis innocent, and harmless, and refined, The balm of care, Elysium of the mind. Innocent! Oh, if venerable Time Slain at the foot of Pleasure, be no crime. Then, with liis 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. 188 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 49 Kufillus, exquisitely formVl by rule, Kot of the moral, but the dancing school, "Wonders at Clodio's folhes, in a tone As tragical as others at his own. He cannot drink five bottles, billv 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 ; 198 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, View'd 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, 209 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 tlie slave of sense. Daniel ate pulse by choice — example rare ! Heaven bless'd the youth, and made him fresh and fair. Gorgonius sits, abdominous and wan. Like a fat squab upon a Chinese fan : He snuflfe far off the anticipated joy ; Turtle and venison all his thoughts employ ; 220 Prepares for meals as jockeys take a sweat, Oh, nauseous! — an emetic for a whet! — "Will Providence overlook the wasted good? Temperance Avere 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 tlireaten virtue less, Still hurtftd in the abuse, or by the excess. Is man then only for his torment placed, The centre of deliglits he may not taste ? Like fabled Tantalus, condemn'd to hear 231 I 50 cowper's poetical works. The precious stream still purling in his ear, Lip-deep in what lie longs for, and yet curst With prohibition and perpetual thirst? [N'o, w^rangler — destitute of shame and sense ! The precept that enjoins him abstinence. Forbids him none but the licentious jo}^. Whose fruit, though fair, tempts only to destroy. Remorse, the fatal egg by Pleasure laid In every bosom wiiere her nest is made, Hatch'd by the beams of Truth, denies him rest, 241 And proves a raging scorpion in his breast. No pleasure ? Are domestic comforts dead ? Are all the nameless sweets of friendship fled ? Has time worn out, or fashion put to shame Good sense, good health, good conscience, and good fame ? 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? Or if yourself, too scantily supphed. Need help, let honest ind-ustry provide. 252 Earn, if you want; if you abound, impart: These both are pleasures to the feeling heart. No pleasure? Has some sickly eastern waste Sent us a wind to parch us at a blast ? Can British Paradise no scenes afford To please lier sated and indifferent lord? Are sweet philosophy's enjoyments run Quite to the lees? And has religion none? Brutes capable would tell you 'tis a lie. And judge you from the kennel and the sty. Delights like these, ye sensual and profane, 203 Ye are bid, begg'd, besought to entertain ; Caird to these crystal streams, do ye turn off Obscene to swill and swallow at a trough ? 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. 274 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 51 The heart, snrrender'd to the ruling powei Of some imgovern'd 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 pass'd. Till Ca3sar's image is elTaced at last. The breach, though 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. 284 As creeping ivy clings to Avood 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 w^ill 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, 295 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. Worse than a poniard in the basest hand. It stabs at once the morals of a land. 306 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 rake-hell baronet ; Ye pimps, Avho, under virtue's fair pretence, Steal to the closet of young innocence. And teach her, inexperienced yet and green, 317 52 cowper's poetical works. 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 — Oh 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 there ! Howe'er disguised the inflammatory tale, 327 And cover'd 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-pinionVl, has in view A quarry more important still than you ; Down, down the wind she SAvims, and sails away, Now stoops upon it, and now grasps the prey. Petronius ! , all the Muses weep for tliee ; But every tear shall scald thy memory. The Graces too, while Virtue at their shrine Lay bleeding under that soft hand of thine, 838 Felt each a mortal stab in her own breast, Abhorr'd the sacrifice, and cursed the priest. Thou polished and high-finish'd 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, wliile the poison all high life pervades. Write, if thou canst, one letter from the shades, One, and one only, charge'd with deep regret, 349 That thy worst part, tliy 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 liolds fiist the clue That Education gives iier, false or true. Plants raised with tenderness are seldom strong; Man's coltish disposition asks the thong ; 360 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 53 And without discipline the favorite cliild, 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, w^e think, the best we can, Praise his proficiency, and dub him man. From school to 0am or Isis, and thence home ; And thence with all convenient speed to Eome, 870 "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 tlie 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 oflf a wanderer into foreign lands. ^Surprised at all they meet, the gosling pair. With awds:ward gait, stretch'd neck, and silly stare, ■ Discover huge cathedrals built with stone, 881 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 wiieresoe'er they tread, Such as, when legible, were never read, 392 But being canker'd now and half Avorn out. Craze antiquarian brains with endless doubt: Some headless hero, or some Caesar shows — Defective only in his Roman nose ; Exhibits elevations, drawings, plans. Models of Ilerculanean 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 lights he draws. The squire, once bashful, is shamefaced no more, 4-03 54 cowper's poetical works. But teems with powers lie 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 ; Eeturning, he proclaims, by many a grace, 413 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 : * AYe slight the precious kernel of the stone, And toil to polish its rough coat alone. A just deportment, manners graced with ease, Elegant phrase, and figure form'd to please, Are qualities that seem to comprehend ' Whatever parents, guardians, schools intend ; 4 Hence an unfurnish'd 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, 4 To cheat themselves and gain the world's assent. The worst is— Scripture warp'd 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 fill'd with all its fumes a critic's brain, The text that sorts not with his darling, whim, 4 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 55 Though plain to others, 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, 456 Kor touch the page he cannot 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? By thee, religion, liberty, and laws. Exert their influence, and advance their cause; By thee, worse plagues than Pharaoh's land befell, Diffused, make earth the vestibule of hell ; Thou fountain, at which drink the good and wise; Thou ever-bubbling spring of endless lies ; 467 Like Eden's dread probationary tree. Knowledge of good and evil is from thee ! 'No wild enthusiast ever j^et could rest Till half mankind were like himself possess'd. Philosophers, who darken and put out Eternal truth by everlasting doubt ; Church quacks, Avith 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, 478 Deposit in those shallows all their spawn. The wriggling fry soon fill the creeks around. Poisoning the waters where their swarms abound; Scorn'd by the nobler tenants of the flood. Minnows and gudgeons gorge the unwholesome food : The propagated myriads spread so fast. Even Leuwenhoeck himself would stand aghast, Employ'd to calculate the enormous sum. And own his crab-computing powers o'ercome. Is this hyperbole ? The world well known, Your sober thoughts will hardly find it one. 489 56 cowper's poetical works. Fresli confidence the speculatist takes From every hair-brain'd proselyte lie makes, And therefore prints: — himself but half deceived, Till others have the soothing tale believed. Hence comment after comment, spun as line 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 ; 499 If languages and copies all cry, No ! — Somebody ])roved it centuries ago. Like trout pursued, the critic in despair Darts to the mud, and finds his safety there. Women, Avliom custom has forbid to fly The scholar's pitch (the scholar best knows why). With all the simple and unletterM poor. Admire his learning, and almost adore. Whoever errs, the priest can ne'er be wrong, AVith such tine words familiar to his tongue. Ye ladies! (for, indifferent in your cause, 510 I should deserve to forfeit all ai)i)lause), Wliatever 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, Or Fancy's fondness for the child she bears. Committed once into tlie public arms. The baby seems to smile with added charms. Like something precious ventured far from shore, 'Tis valued for the danger's sake tlie more. 521 He vieAVS it with complacency supreme. Solicits kind attention to his dream ; And daily more enamor'd of the cheat. Kneels, and asks Heaven to bless the dear deceit. So one,' whose story serves at least to show Men loved their own productions long ago, Woo'd an unfeeling statue for his wife, Nor rested till the gods had given it life. If some mere driveller suck the sugar'd fib. One that still needs his leading-string and bib, * Pygmalion. THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 57 And praise his genius, he is soon repaid In praise applied to the same part — his head. For 'tis a rule that holds forever true, Grant nie discernment, and I grant it you. Patient of contradiction as a child, Affahle, humble, diffident, and mihl, 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 liim right. 541 First Appetite enlists In'm Truth's sworn foe. Then obstinate Self-will contirms him so. Tell liim he wanders; that his error leads To fatal ills ; that, though the path he treads Be flowery, and he see 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 lie still repeats, New-raised objections with new quibbles meets ; Till, sinking in the quicksand he defends, 552 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 lose the race. 663 Faults in the life breed errors in the brain, And these, reci[)rocally, those again. The mind and conduct mutually inq-)rint And stanq) 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 flrst forsakes the elastic string, It err but little from the intended line. 58 cowper's poetical works. 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 caution taste the sweet Circean cup ; lie that sips often, at last drinks it up. Habits are soon assumed, but when we strive To stri]) them off, 'tis being flay VI alive. Call'd to the temple of im])ure delight, 584 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 powder Almighty save you not ! There hardening by degrees, till double steelVl, Take leave of nature's God, and God revealVl ; Then laugh at all you trembled at before, And, joining the freethinkers' brutal roar. Swallow the two grand nostrums they dispense — That Scripture lies, and blasphemy is sense : 595 If clemency revolted by abuse Be damnable, then danm'd without excuse. Some dream that they can silence, when they will, The storm of passion, and say, Peace^ he still ; But Thus far and no farther^ when address'd To the wild wave, or wilder human breast, Implies authority that never can. That never ouglit to be the lot of man. But, Muse, forbear ; long flights forebode a fall ; Strike on the deep-toned chord the sum of all. Hear the just law, the judgment of the skies! 606 He that hates truth shall be the dupe of lies ; And he that Avill be cheated to the last, Delusions, strong as hell, shall bind him fost. But if the wanderer his mistake discern. Judge his own ways, and sigh for a return, Bewilder'd once, must he bewail his loss' Forever and forever? No — the Cross! There, and there only (though the deist rave, And atheist, if earth bear so base a slave) ; Tliere, and there only, is the power to save. There no delusive hope invites despair, 517 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 59 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 lie that hung there, suffered all his pain, Bled, groan'd, and agonized, and died in vain. TRUTH. Pensantur trutina. — IIor. Lib. ii. Ep. 1. THE ARGUMENT. Erfor leads to destrnction, 1— Grace conducts to righteousness and peace, 17— Its ofiFers despised, 32— The self-complacency of the Pharisee, 44— Humility of the true Christian, 66— Works of righteousness of the hermit and Brahmin alike con- demned, 79— A sanctimonious prude, 131— Cheerfulness and freedom of true piety, 171— Willing obedience the test of love, 197— The Gospel the sure refuge of the sinner, 238— False grounds of peace, 283— Infidelity ; Voltaire, 301— Simplicity of faith, 317— Xot many rich called, 337— Offers of the Gospel free to all, 345— Poverty the best soil for the Gospel seed, 361— Sinfulness and weakness of man, 383 — His pride and self-esteem, 403— Unbelief terminating in suicide, 429— Scripture the cure of woe, 451— Pride the greatest opponent of tlie truth, 463— The atonement not for the self-righteous, 503— Plea for the conscientious heathen, 515— TeiTors of the law, 547— The last judgment, 563— Humility crowned, faith triumphant, 571. Man, on the dubious waves of error tost, His ship half fonnder'd and his compass lost, Sees, far as human optics may command, A sleeping fog, and fancies it dry land; Spreads all his canvas, every sinew plies ; Pants for't, aims at it, enters it, and dies! Then foreAvell all self-satisfying schemes, 7" His well-built systems, philosophic dreams ; 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 Avould win the race' must guide his horse Obedient to the customs of the course; Else, though unequallM to the goal he flies, A meaner than himself shall gain the prize. Grace leads the right way; if you choose the wrong Take it and perish, but restrain your tongue; 13 TRUTH. 61 Charge not, with light sufficient and left free, Your wilful suicide on God's decree. Oh how unlike the complex works of man, Heaven's easy, artless, unencumbered plan ! No meretricious graces to beguile, No clustering ornaments to clog the pile ; From ostentation as from weakness free. It stands like the cerulean arcPi we see. Majestic in its own simplicity. Inscribed above the portal, from afar 28 Conspicuous as the brightness of a star. Legible only by the light they give, Stand the soul-quickening words — Believe, and live. Too many, shock'd at what should charm them most, Despise the plain direction, and are lost. Heaven on such terms ! (they cry with proud disdain) — Incredible, impossible, and vain ! — Kebel 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 ; 39 The rest too busy, or too gay, to w^ait On the sad theme, tlieir everlasting state, Sport for a da}', and perish in a night. The foam upon the waters not so light. Who judged the Pharisee? What odious cause Exposed him to the vengeance of the laws? Had he seduced a virgin, wrong'd a friend. Or stabb'd a man to serve some private end ? Was blasphemy his sin? or did he stray From the strict duties of the sacred day? Sit long and late at the carousing board? 50 (Such were the sins with wdiich he charged his Lord.) No — the man's morals were exact, — what then ? 'Twas his ambition to be seen of men; His virtues Avere his pride; and that one vice Made all his virtues gewgaws of no price; He wore them as fine trap])ings for a show, A ]u\aying, synagogue-freijuenting beau. Tlie self- applauding bird, the peapock, see — Mark what a sumptuous Pharisee is he! Meridian sunbeanis tempt him to unfold His radiant glories, azure, green, and gold ; Gl 6 62 cowper's poetical works. He treads as if, some solemn music near, His measured step Avere governed by his ear. And seems to say. Ye meaner fowl, give place, I am all splendor, dignity, and grace ! Not so the pheasant on his charms presumes. Though he too has a glory in his plumes. He, Ohristian-like, retreats with modest mien, To the close copse or far sequester'd green. And shines witliout desiring to be seen. The plea of works, as arrogant and vain, 71 Heaven turns from Avith abhorrence and disdain : I^ot more affronted by avow'd neglect, Than by the mere dissembler's feign'd respect. What is all rigliteousness that men devise, "What, but a sordid bargain for the skies? But Christ as soon would abdicate his own. 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 canvas dressVl, Girt with a bell-rope that the Pope has bless'd ; 82 Adust Avith stripes told out for every crime. And sore tormented long before his time ; His prayer preferr'd to saints that cannot 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 alloAv'd, You tliink him liumble — God accounts him proud: High in demand, though lowly in pretence, 93 Of all his conduct, this the genuine sense — My penitential stripes, my streaming blood. Have purcliased heaven, and prove my title good. Turn eastward now, and fancy shall apply To your Aveak siglit her telescopic eye. The Brahmin kindles on his OAvn bare head The sacred tire, self-torturing his trade; His voluntary pains, severe and long, AVould give a barbarous air to British song; No grand inquisitor could Avorse iuA'ent, Than he contrives to suffer, Avell content. 104 TRUTH. 63 Wliicli is tlie saintlier wortliy of the two? Past all dispute, yon anchorite, say yon. Yonr sentence and mine differ. AVhat's a name? I say the Brahmin has the foirer claim. If sufferings Scripture nowhere recommends, Devised hy 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 i)rejudice have left a passage clear), 114 Pride has attain'd its most luxuriant growth. And poison'd every virtue in them both. Pride may be pamperd while the flesh grows lean; Humility may clothe an English dean ; Tliat grace was Cowper's — his confessed by all — "^^ Though ])laced 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, t\iat condescending vice. Than abstinence, and beggary, and lice. It thrives in misery, and abundant grows; 125 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, Eeform'd and well instructed? You shall hear. Yon ancient prude, whose withered features show She might be young some forty years ago, Her elbows pinion'd close U];)on her hips. Her head erect, her fan upon her lips. Her eyebrows arch'd, her eyes both gone astray To watch yon amorous couple in their play, 136 AVith bony and unkerchief'd 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 parsiuKmy 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 are yet doom'd to share ; Carries her Bible tuck'd beneath his arm, 14T 64 cowper's poetical works. And hides liis liands, to keep his fingers warm. — She, half an angel in her own account, Douhts not hereafter with the saints to mount. Though not a grace appears on strictest searcli, But that slie 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, wdiere'er he came, Scrawl'd upon glass Miss Bridget's lovely name ; Who stole her slipper, fill'd it with tokay, 157 And drank the little bumper every day. Of temper as envenomVl 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 tlie 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 Brahmins meet Avith theirs! Yaur portion is with them : nay, never frown, 169 B'ut, 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 Sainit? Throw tints and all away — True Piety is cheerful as the day. Will weep indeed and heave a pitying groan Fo.r others' woes, but smiles upon her owm What purpose has the King of Saints in view? 179 Why falls the Gospel like a gracious dew ? To call up plenty from the teeming earth. Or curse the desert with a tenfold dearth ? Is it that Adam's offspring may be saved From servile fear, or be the more enslaved ? To loose the links that gall'd mankind before, Or bind them faster on, and add still more? The freeborn Christian has jio chains to prove, Or if a chain, the golden one of love ; No fear attends to cpiench his glowing fires, What fear he feels his gratitude inspires. 190 TRUTH. 65' Shall he, for siicli deliverance freely wrought, Recompense ill? lie trembles at the thought : His Master's interest and his own combined. Prompt every movement of his lieart 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 lie perceives their force; His utmost he can render is but small, The principle and motive all in all. 20O You liave 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, Ex'pert 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. 212 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, Ricbly 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; 222 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 the omniscient Judge Scorns the base hireling and the slavish drudge. Where dwell these nuitchless saints? old Curio cries. Even at your side, sir, and before your eyes. The favor'd few, the enthusiasts you despise. And, pleased at heart because on holy ground : Sometimes a canting hypocrite is found, 233 66 cowper's poetical works. Reproach a people with his single fall, And cast his filthy raiment at them all. Attend! — an apt similitude shall show 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 tlie ground ; Now flashing wide, now glancing as in play, Swift beyond thought the lightnings dart away : 243 Ere yet it came the traveller urged his steed, And hurried, but with unsuccessful speed ; IN'ow drench'd througliout, and hopeless of his case. He drops the rein, and leaves him to his pace. Suppose, unlook'd for in a scene so rude, Long hid by interposing hill or wood, Some mansion, neat and elegantly dressM, By some kind hospitable heart possessed, Otfer him warmth, security, and rest; Think with Avhat pleasure, safe, and at his ease, He hears tlie tempest howling in the trees; 254 What glowing thanks his lips and heart employ. While danger past is turn\l 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, Lash'd into foaming waves, begins to roar; The law, grown clamorous, though silent long. Arraigns hiin, cliarges him with every wrong. Asserts tJie rights of his offended Lord, And death, or restitution, is the word: The last impossible, lie fears the first, 265 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! je 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 ; 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 ; 276 67 And Justice, guardian of t Drops tlie red vengeance from liis willing hand. A soul redeemVl demands a life of praise ; Hence the complexion of his future days, Hence a demeanor holy and unspeck'd, And the "vvorLcFs hatred, as its sure effect. Some lead a life unblamable and just. Their own dear virtue their unshaken trust. They never sin — or if (as all offend) Some trivial slips their daily walk attend, 286 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, sljall be their home at last. Come, then — a still, small whisper in your ear — 297 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 (Mention him, if you please. Voltaire? — The same), With spirit, genius, eloquence supplied. Lived long, wrote much, laugh VI heartily, and died: The Scripture Avas his jest-book, whence he drew Bon-mots to gall the Christian and the Jew : 308 An infidel in liealth, but wdiat when sick ? Oh — then a text would touch him at the quick! View him at Paris in his last career, Surrounding throngs the demigod revere. Exalted on liis pedestal of pride. And fumed with frankincense on every side. He begs their flattery with his latest breath. And, smother'd 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, 319 8 COWPER S POETICAL WORKS. 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 329 Her title to a treasure in the skies. O happy peasant ! O 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? 340 No — the voluptuaries, who ne'er forget One pleasure lost, lose heaven without regret; Regret Avould 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 govern'd 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, 351. No slaves on earth more welcome were than they : But royalty, nobility, and state. Are such a dead, preponderating weight. That endless bliss (hoAV strange soe'er it seem). In counterpoise, flies up and kicks the beam. 'Tis open, and ye cannot enter; why? Because ye will not, Conyers would reply — And he says much that many may dispute And cavil at with ease, but none refute. Oh, bless'd eflTect of penury and want. The seed sown there, how vigorous is the plant ! 362 TRUTH. 69 Ko 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 walk by, kindled from above, Shows them the shortest way to life and love : They, strangers to the controversial field. Where deists, always foiPd, yet scorn to yield, 372 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 : AYe 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 one upon the topmost bough. How readily, upon the Gospel plan,- That question has its answer — What is man? Sinful and weak, in every sense a wretch, 383 An instrument whose chords, upon the stretch, And strained to the last screw tliat he can bear. Yield only discord in his Maker's ear; Once the blest residence of 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, Kow scatter'd wide, and nowhere to be found, 394 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 wandering 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, 405 10 cowper's poetical works. His mind liis kingdom, and his will liis law ; Grace in Lis mien, and glory in Lis eyes. Supreme on earth, and wortLy of tlie skies ; Strength in his heart, dominion in his nod. And, thunderbolts excepted, quite a God ! So sings he, charm'd 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 fix'd, 415 Pleasure and wonder in his features mixVl, His passions tamed and all at liis control, How perfect the composure of his soul ! Complacency has breathed a gentle gale O'er all his thoughts, and swell'd his easy sail : His books, well trimm'd, 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 ; 426 And, like an infant, troublesome awake, Is left to sleep for peace and quiet' sake. What shall the man deserve of human kind, Whose happy skill and industry combined Shall prove (what argument could never yet) The Bible an imposture and a cheat ? The praises of the libertine professM, The worst of men, and curses of the best. "Where should the living, weeping o'er his woes 5 The dying, trembling at their awful close; Where the betray'd, forsaken, and oppressed, 437 The thousands whom tlie world forbids to rest; — Where should they find (those comforts at an end The Scripture yields), or hope to find, a friend? Sorrow might muse herself to madness then, And, seeking exile from the sight of men. Bury herself in solitude profound. Grow frantic with her pangs, and bite the ground. Thus often Unbelief, grown sick of life, Flies to the tempting pool or felon knife : The jury meet, the coroner is short. And lunacy the verdict of the court. 448 TRUTH. Yl Reverse the sentence, let tlie truth be known, Such hinacy is ignorance ah,)ne : They knew not, what some bisliops may not know, That Scripture is the only cure of woe: That field of promise, how it flings abroad Its odor o'er the Christian's thorny road ! The soul, reposing on assured relief. Feels herself happy amidst all her grief, Forgets her labor as she toils along. Weeps tears of joy, and bursts into a song. 458 But the same word that, like the polisli'd share, Ploughs up the roots of a believer's care. Kills too the tlowery weeds, where'er they grow^, That bind the sinner's bacchanalian brow. Oh, that umvelcome voice of heavenly love. Sad messenger of mercy from above! How does it grate upon his thankless ear. Crippling his pleasures with the cramp of fear ! His will and judgment at continual strife. That civil war embitters all his life; In vain he points his powers against the skies, 4G0 In vain he closes or averts his eyes. Truth will intrude — she bids him yet beware; And shakes the skeptic in the scorner's chair. Though various foes against the truth combine, Pride above all opposes her design ; Pride, of a growth superior to the rest. The subtlest serpent with the loftiest crest, Swells at the thought, and kindling into rage, "Would hiss the cherub Mercy from the stage. And is the soul indeed so lost ? she cries; Fallen from her glory, and too weak to rise? 480 Torpid and dull, beneath a frozen zone. Has she no spark that may be deem'd her own? 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 unborrow'd wings. Possess herself of all that's good or true. Assert the skies, and vindicate her due. Past indiscretion is a venial crime ; 491 72 cowper's poetical works. And if the youth, unmellow'd yet by time, Bore on his brancli, 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 her bold appeal, And leave to Mercy, with a tranquil mind, The worthless and unfruitful of mankind. Hear then how Mercy, slighted and defied, 501 Eetorts the affront against the crown of Pride. Perish the virtue, as it ought, abhorr'd. 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, when Heaven denies it thee. 512 Of all tliat wisdom dictates, this the drift — That man is dead in sin, and life a gift. Is virtue, then, unless of Cliristian growth, Mere fallacy, or foolishness, or both? Ten tliousand sages lost in endless woe, For ignorance of what they could not know ? — That speecli betrays at once a bigot's tongue ; Charge not a God witli such outrageous wrong! Truly, not I.— the partial light men have. My creed persuades me, well employ'd, may save ; While he that scorns tlie noonday beam, perverse, 528 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 guides the Christian in his swifter race; 5841 TRUTH. V-] Their judge was Conscience, and her rnle their law; That rule, pursued with reverence and with awe, Led them, however faltering, faint, and slow, From what they knew to what they wish'd to know : But let not liim that shares a brighter day Traduce the splendor of a noontide ray, Prefer the twilight of a darker time, And deem his base stupidity no crime ; The wretch who slights the bounty of the skies, And sinks, while favor'd with the means to rise, 544 Shall find them rated at their full amount. The good he scorn'd all carried to account. Marshalling 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 he would disclaim, 555 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 slanderous tongue. The thought that meditates a brother's Avrong : Brings not alone the more conspicuous part. His conduct, to the test, but tries his heart. Hark! universal Nature shook and groan'd, 'Twas the last trumpet — see the Judge enthroned ! Eouse all your courage at your utmost need, Now summon every virtue, stand and plead. 5G6 "What ! silent ? Ls your boasting heard no more ? That self-renouncing wisdom, learn'd before, Had shed immortal glories on your brow. That all your virtues cannot 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, I never trusted in an arm but thine, Nor hoped, but in thy righteousness divine: My prayers and alms, imperfect and defiled, 577 1 74 cowper's poetical works. Were but the feeble efforts of a child ; Howe'er performM, it was their briglitest part, That they proceeded from a grateful heart : Cleansed in thine own all-purifying blood, Forgive their evil, and accept their good ; I cast them at thy feet — my only ])lea Is what it was, dependence upon Thee; While struggling in the vale of tears below, That never failVl, nor shall it fail me now." Angelic gratulations rend the skies, 587 Pride falls uni)itied, never more to rise. Humility is crown'd, and Faith receives the prize. EXPOSTULATION. Tantane, tam patiens, nullo certamine tolli' Dona fines ? ViRQ. THE ARGUMENT. Why should the Muse weep for England? her outward prosperity great, 1— Sinful condition of Israel, when, the prophet wept for her, 33— His warnings despised, 69— The captivity, 73— When nations are to perish, the decay commences in the Church, 95— State of the Jewish Church and people, when Messiah came, 123— The unequalled privileges of the Jews, '161— Their day of grace abused, 213— Their fall and dispersion, 225— Warning and lesson from their history, especially to Britain, 241 — Her sins and dangers, 272 — Untoward public events traced to an adverse Providence, 310— Call to the nation to self judgment, 3^0- Her unsanctified pride and ambition, 346— Her conduct to India, 364— Abuse of the sacrament, and false swearing, 376— Long deferred and hypocritical fasts, 390— Character of the priesthood, 438— Of the people, 450— Ancient history and origin of the nation, 466— Benefits of the Roman conquest, 474— Introduction of the Gospel, 5U0— Darkened by Popish tyranny, 508— Degraded and enslaved condition of the peo- ple, 526— Subsecjuent blessings of Providence, cause of gratitude and love to Him, 562— Duty to serve him and secure his favor, 644— Under his guardianship, all dangers may be defied, 694— The poet believes that his expostulation is iu Tain, 718. Why weeps tlie Muse for England? What appears In England's case to move the Muse to tears? From side to side of lier delightful isle, Is she not clothed witli a i)erpetual smile ? Can Nature add a cliarm, or Art confer A new-found luxury not seen in her? "Where under heaven is pleasure more pursued, Or Avhere does cold reflection less intrude ? Her fields a rich expanse of wavy corn Pour'd out from Plenty's overflowing horn; Ambrosial gardens, in which art supplies The fervor and the force of Indian skies ; Her peaceful shores, where busy Commerce waits 13 YG cowper's poetical works. To ponr his golden tide through all her gates ; "Whom fiery suns, that scorch the russet spice Of eastern groves, and oceans floored with ice, Porbid 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 tke 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, 23 The scenes to w^hich 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 liappy : 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 wiierefore w^eep for England? What appears In England's case to move the Muse to tears? The prophet wept for Israel ; wish'd his eyes Were fountains fed with infinite supplies; 34 For Israel dealt in robbery and w^rong ; 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 neighbor's door ; Oppression laboring 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-caress'd, 45 By Vanity's unwearied finger dress'd. Forgot the blush tliat virgin fears impart To modest cheeks, and borrow'd one from art; Were just such trifles, without worth or use. As silly pride and idleness produce : Curl'd, scented, furbelow'd, and flounced around, "With feet too delicate to touch the ground. They stretch'd the neck, and roll'd the wanton eye, And sigli'd for every fool that flutter'd by. He saw his people slaves to every lust, Lewd, avaricious, arrogant, unjust; 5G I EXPOSTULATION. 77 lie 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 soiPd, Iler princes captive, and her treasures spoiled ; Wept till all Israel heard his bitter cry, StampVl with his foot, and smote upon his thigh : But w^ept, and stamp'd, and smote his thigh in vain; Pleasure is deaf, when told of future pain, G6 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 wing'd the fleeting hours. Till the foe found them, and down fell the towers. Long time Assyria bound them in her chain, Till penitence had purged the public stain, And Cyrus, with relenting i)ity moved, Eeturn'd them happy to the land they loved ; There, proof against Prosperity, awhile 77 They stood the test of her ensnaring smile. And had the grace in scenes of peace to show The virtue they had learn VI in scenes of w^oe. But man is frail, and can but ill sustain A long immunity from grief and pain; And after all tlie joys that Plenty leads. With tiptoe step. Vice silently succeeds. When lie 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, 88 He found concealed beneath a fair outside. The filth of rottenness, and worm of pride ; Their piety a system of deceit. Scripture employ'd to sanctify the cheat; The Pharisee the dupe of his own art, Selfridolized, and yet a knave at heart. When nations are to perish in their sins, 'Tis in the Church the leprosy begins : The priest, whose office is, with zeal siacere. To watch the fountain, and jireserve it clear, Carelessly nods and sleeps upon the brink, 99 *IS cowper's poetical works. While others poison what the flock must drink; Or, waking at the call of lust alone, Infuses 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 forerunner of a general rot. Then Truth is hushVl, that Heresy may preach, And all is trash that Reason cannot reach ; Then God's own image on the soul impress'd 109 Becomes a mockery and a standing jest; And Faith, the root whence only can arise The graces of a life that wins the skies, Loses at once all value and esteem, Pronounced by graybeards a pernicious dream : Then Ceremony leads her bigots forth. Prepared to fight for shadows of no worth ; While truths, on which eternal things depend, Pind not, or hardly find, a single friend : As soldiers watch the signal of command. They learn to bow, to kneel, to sit, to stand ; 120 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, fVilse, absurd. And yet exalted above God's own Word ; They drew a curse from an intended good, Puft^'d up with gifts they never understood. He judged them with as terrible a frown, 131 J 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; Ehetoric is artifice, the work of man, And tricks and turns, that fancy may devise. Are far too mean for Him that rules the skies. The astonish'd vulgar trembled while he tore The mask frorA faces never seen before ; He stripp'd the impostors in the noonday sun, Show'd that they follow'd all they seem'd to shun ; 142 EXPOSTULATION. Y9 Their prayers made public, their excesses kept As private as the chambers wliere tliey slept; The temple and its holy rites profaned By mummeries lie that dwelt in it disdain\l ; Uplifted hands, that at convenient times Could act extortion and the worst of crimes, "Wash'd with a neatness scrupulously nice. And fre-e from every taint but that of vice. Judgment, however tardy, mends her pace When Obstinacy once has conquerVl Grace. 152 They saw distemper heal'd, and" life restored, In answer to the fiat of his word ; Confess'd the wonder, and with daring tongue Blasphemed the authority from whicli 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 every age ; Display with busy and laborious hand 163 The blessings of the most indebted land ; What nation will you find, whose annals prove So rich an interest in Almighty love? Where dwell they now, where dwelt in ancient day A people planted, water'd, blest, as they ? Let Egypt's plagues and Canaan's woes proclaim The favors pour'd 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; 174 For them, the State they left made waste and void ; For them, the States to which they went destroy'd ; A cloud to measure out their march by day, By night a fire to cheer the gloomy w^ay ; That moving signal summoning, when best, Their host to move, and, when it stayVl, to rest. For them the rocks dissolved into a flood. The dews condensed into angelic food ; • Their very garments sacred, old yet new, And Time forbid to touch them as he flew ; Streams, swell'd above the bank, enjoin'd to stand 185 80 COWPEll's POETICAL WORKS. While they pass\l through to their appointed land; Their leader arniVl with meekness, zeal, and love, And graced with clear credentials from above; Themselves secured beneath the Almighty wing, Their God their captain, lawgiver, and king; CrownVl with a thousand victories, and at last Lords of the concjuer'd soil, there rooted fast, In peace possessing what they w^on by w^ar, Their name far publisli'd, and revered as far; • Where will you find a race like theirs, endowed 195 With all that man e'er Avish'd, or heaven bestowed? They, and they only, amongst all mankind, Eeceived the transcript of the Eternal Mind; Were trusted with his owm engraven laws, And constituted guardians of his cause; Tlieirs were the pro])hets, 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 -Ky powder divine, and skill that could not err. 206 Had they maintain'd allegiance firm and sure. And ke[»t the faith immaculate and ])ure, Then the proud eagles of all-concjuering Rome Had found one city not to be overcome ; And the twelve standards of the tribes unfurPd, Had bid defiance to the warring world. Hut grace abused brings forth the foulest deeds. As richest soil the most luxuriant w^eeds ; -Cured of the golden calves, their fathers' sin, "They set up self, that idol god within; Yiew'd a Deliverer with disdain and hate, 21T WHio left them still a tributary state; Seized fast his hand, held out to set them free From a worse yoke, and nail'd 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 repeal'd, thence date them all. Thus fell the best instructed in her day. And the most favor'd land, look wiiere we may. Philosophy indeed on Grecian eyes Had pour'd the day, and clear'd the Roman skies : 228 EXPOSTULATION. 81 In otlier climes perhaps creative Art, With power surpassing theirs, performVI her part; Might give more life to marble, or might fill The glowing tablets with a juster skill; Might shine in ftible, and grace idle themes AVith all the embroidery of poetic dreams : 'Twas theirs alone to dive into the plan That Truth and Mercy had reveaPd to man. And wliile the World beside, that plan unknown, Deified useless wood or senseless-stone, 238 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 w^e escaped not, if Heaven spared not us, PeeFd, scatterVl, and exterminated thus ; If Vice received her retribution due When we were visited, what hope for you? When God arises with an awful frown, 249 To puni.sli lust, or pluck presumption down; When gifts perverted, or not duly prized, Pleasure overvalued, 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. O Israel, of all nations most undone ! Thy diadem displaced, thy sceptre gone ; Thy temple, once thy glory, ftdlen and razed. And thou a worshipper even where thou mayst; 2G0 Thy services, once holy without spot, Mere shadows now, their ancient pomp forgot ; Thy Levities, once a consecrated host. No longer Levites, and their lineage lost; And thou thyself o'er every country sown. With none on earth that thou canst call thine own ; 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 thestorm appears, But raise the shrillest cry in British ears. 271 62 "What ails tliee, restless as tlie waves that roar, And fling their foam against thy chalky shore? Mistress, at least while Providence shall please. And trident-hearing queen of the wide seas — Why, having kept good faith, and often shown Triendship and truth to others, lind'st thou none ? Thou that hast set the persecuted free, [None interposes now to succor thee ; Countries indebted to thy power, that shine "With light derived from thee, would smother thine ; 281 Thy very children watch for thy disgrace, A lawless brood, and curse thee to thy fiice ; Thy rulers load thy credit, year by year, "With sums Peruvian mines could never clear; As if, like arclies built witli skilfal hand, The more 'twere press'd the iirmer it would stand. The cry in all thy ships is still the same, Speed us away to battle and to lame! Thy mariners explore the wild expanse. Impatient to descry the flags of France : l^ut, though they flght as tliine have ever fought, 292 IReturn ashamed without the wreaths they sought. Thy senate is a scene of civil jar, Chaos of contrarieties at war, "Where sharp and solid, phlegmatic and light, Discordant atoms meet, ferment, and fight ; "Where Obstinacy takes his sturdy stand, To disconcert what Policy has plann'd ; "Where Policy is busied all night long In setting right wdiat Faction has set wrong ; Where flails of oratory thresh the floor, That yields them chaff and dust, and nothing more. 303 Thy rack'd inhabitants repine, complain, Tax'd till the brow of Labor 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 ponder'd well, So dimly writ, or difficult to spell. Thou canst not read witli readiness and ease. Providence adverse in events like these? Know then, that heavenly wisdom on this ball 314 EXPOSTULATION. 83 Creates, gives birth to, guides, consummates all; That, while laborious and quick-thoughted man Snuffs up the praise of what he seems to plan, lie first conceives, then perfects his design, As a mere instrument in hands divine: Blind to tlie working of that secret power That balances the wings of every hour, The busy trifler dreams himself alone, Frames many a puri)Ose, and God works his own. States thrive or whither as moons wax and wane, 324' Even as his will and his decrees ordain ; While honor, virtue, piety bear swa}^. They flourish ; and as these decline, decay. In just resentment of his injured laws. He pours contempt on them and on their 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 Gn the chief strength and glory of the frame. 835 None ever yet impeded what He wrought, None bars Him out from his most secret thought: Darkness itself before His eye is light. And helFs close mischief naked in His sight. Stand now and judge thyself— Ilast thou incurred 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 Avhose aw^ful sight all nations seem As grasshoppers, as dust, a drop, a dream ? Hast thou (a sacrilege his soul abhors) 346 Claim'd 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 learn'd, 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 rumor and sad presage hung, 357 86 COWPER^S POETICAL WORKS. As meek as the man Moses, and withal As bold as in Agrippa's presence Paul, Should fly tlie world's contaminating touch, Holy and unpolluted : — are thine such ? Except a few with Eli's spirit blest, Ilophni and Phineas may describe the rest, AVhere shall a teacher look, in days like these, For ears and hearts that he can hope to i)lease ? Look to the poor — the simple and the plain "Will hear perhaps thy salutary strain ; 453 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 clioose, 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 ; AVhere beckoning Pleasure leads them, wildly stray ; 464 Have burst the bands, and cast the yoke away. Now borne upon the wings of truth sublime, Heview thy dim original and prime! This island, spot of unreclaim'd rude earth. The cradle that received thee at thy birth, "Was rock'd by many a rough Norwegian blast, And Danish bowlings scared thee as they pass'd ; Eor thou wast born amid the din of arms, And suck'd a breast that panted with alarms. "While yet thou w^ast a grovelling, puling chit. Thy bones not fashion'd, and thy joints not knit, 475 The Roman taught thy stubborn knee to bow, - Though twice a Cffisar 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 nmch the country to the conqueror owes; Expressive, energetic, and refined. It sparkles Avith 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 pink'd and painted hide, s% 01 THIS --ct ;^ I E'XPOSTULATION. 87 And grace thy figure with a soldier's pride ; He s()w\l tlie seeds of order where lie went, Improved thee far heyond his own intent, And, while he ruled thee by the sword alone, Made thee at last a warrior like his own. Religion, if in heavenly truths attired, Needs only to be seen to be admired ; But thine, as dark as witcheries of the night, "Was form'd to harden hearts and shcK'k ilie sight: Thy Druids struck the well-strung harps they bore, 496 With fingers deeply dyed in liunian gore; And while tlie victim slowly bled to death, Upon the rolling chords rung out his dying breath. Who brought the lamp that with awaking beams Dispeird 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. 507 But Rome, with sorceries and magic wand. Soon raised a clQud that darkened every land ; And thine was smothered in the stench and fog Of Tiber''s marshes and the papal bog. Then priests, Avith bulls and briefs, and shaven crowns. And griping fists, and unrelenting frowns. Legates and delegates with i)owers from hell. Though heavenly in pretension, fieeced thee well ; And to this hour, to keep it fresh in mind. Some twigs of that old scourge are left behind.^ Thy soldiery, the Pope's well-managed pack, 518 Were train'd beneath his lash, and knew the smack^ And when he laid them on the scent of blood, W\)uld hunt a Saracen through fire and fiood. 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, Ilis worthless absolution all the prize. Thou wast the veriest slave, in days of yore, That ever dragg'd a chain or tugg'd an oar; Thy monarchs arbitrary, fierce, unjust, 1 Which may be found at Doctors' Common*. 88 cowper's poetical works. Themselves the slaves of bigotry or lust, Disdain'd 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 harass'd, in return plagued thee ; Caird tliee 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, 538 The sovereignty tliey were convened to please; Whate'er was ask'd, too timid to resist, Complied with, and were graciously dismissM ; 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. Oh, slave! with powers thou didst not dare exert, Verse cannot stoop so low as thy desert! It shakes the sides of splenetic Disdain, Thou self-entitled ruler of the main, 549 To trace thee to the date when yon fair sea That clips thy shores, had no such charms for thee; When other nations tlew from coast to coast. And thou hadst neither fleet nor flag to boast. Kneel now, and lay thy foreliead 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, 560 Hour after hour, thy gratitude and love. Has he not hid thee and thy favorVl land, For ages, safe beneath his slieltering hand — Given thee his 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? 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, EXPOSTULATION. 89 AftkM of the waves that broke upon Ins coast, What tidings? and the surge rephed — x\ll lost! And wiien the Stuart, leaning on the Scot, Tlien too much fear'd, 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 tliee could have pluck'd thee down. Peculiar is the grace by thee possess'd, Tliy foes implacable, thy land at rest; 581 Thy thunders travel over earth and seas, And all at home is pleasure, wealth, and ease. 'Tis thus, extending his tempestuous arm, Tliy Maker fills the nations Avith 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 splendor upon thine; Thou hast as bright an interest in her rays As ever Roman liad in Rome's best days. True freedom is where no restraint is known 592 Tliat 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 tliy powers, That won a nymph on that immortal plain. Like her the tabled Phoebus woo'd in vain: He found the laurel only — happier you, The unfading laurel ancl the virgin too!^ Now think, if Pleasure have a thought to spare; If God himself be not beneath her care ; 603 If Business, constant as the wheels of time. Can pause an hour to read a serious rhyme; If the new mail thy merchants now receive. Or expectation of the next, give leave; Oh, tliink, 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 swelPd the debt ! 1 Alluding to the grant of Magna Charta, which was extorted from King: John by the barons at Kunnymede, near Windsor. 90 co"\vper's poetical works. "Wlien persecuting zeal made royal sport "VVitii tortured innocence in Mary's court; And Bonner, blithe as shepherd at a wake, Enjoy'd 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 dilferent race ; Meek, modest, venerable, wise, sincere, In such a cause they could not dare to fear ; 621 They could not purchase earth with sucli a prize, Or spare a life too short to reach the skies. From them to thee conveyed along the tide. Their streaming liearts pour'd freely when they died • Those truths, which neither use nor years impair, Invite thee, avoo thee, to the bliss they share. What dotage will not Vanity maintain? What web too weak to catch a modern brain? The moles and bats in full assembly find. On special search, the keen -eyed eagle bhnd. And did they dream, and art thou wiser now ? 632 Prove it : if better, I submit and bow. Wisdom and Goodness are twm-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, Leap'd out of nothing, calPd 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, form'd thee for his praise. 643 To praise him is to serve him, and fulfil. Doing and suffering, his unquestion'd will ; 'Tis to believe what men inspired of old, Faithfulj and faithfully informed, unfold ; Candid and just, with no false aim in view. To take for truth what cannot but be true ; To learn in God's own school the Christian part, And bind the task assign'd 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 ? by what name C54 EXPOSTULATION. Ol Shall I adjure thee not to court thy shame?' By theirs whose bright example, unimpeach'd, Directs thee to that eminence they reacli'd, Heroes an'd worthies of days past, tliy sires? Or His, who touch VI their hearts with hallow'd. fires? Their names, alas! in vain reproach an. age, AVhom all the vanities they scorn'd engage; And His, tliat serai)hs tremble at, is hung Disgracefully on every trifler's tongue, Gr serves the champion in forensic war 604 To flourish and parade with at the bar. Pleasure herself perhaps suggests a plea, If interest move thee, to persuade even thee; By every charm that smiles uj)on her face. By joys possess'd, and joys still held in chase, If dear society be worth a thought. And if the feast of freedom cloy thee not, Keflect that these, and all that seems 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 Avord; C75 That gratitude, and temperance in our use Of what he gives, unsparing and profuse, Secure the favor, and enhance the joy. That thankless waste and wild abuse destroy. But above all reflect, how cheap soe'er Those rights that millions envy thee, 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, 686 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 push'd 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 l^ot quickly found if negligently sought. Thy soul as ample as thy bounds are small, Endurest the brunt, and darest defy them all : 697 92 cowper's poetical works. And wilt thou join to this hold enterprise A bolder still, a contest with the skies? 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. 70T Say not (and if the thought of such defence Should spring within thy bosom, drive it thence) What nation amongst all my foes is free From crimes as base as any charged on me? Their measure fillM, they too shall pay the debt, Which God, though long forborne, will not forget: But know, that Wrath divine, when most severe, Makes justice still the guide of his career. And will not punish, in one mingled crowd. Them without light, and thee without a cloud. Muse, hang tkis harp upon yon aged beech, Y18 Still murmuring with the solenm 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 liear, and i'ewQv heed the strain: But if a sweeter voice, and one design'd A blessing to my country and mankind. Reclaim the wandering thousands, and bring home A flock so scattered, and so wont to roam, 729 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. HOPE. - doceas iter, et sacra ostia j)an(las. YiiiQ. j^n. vi. 109. THE ARGUMENT. Human life, different views of, 1— Nature always the same, althoufrh she appears in different hues to youth and age, 27— Vanity and weariness of fashionable life, 75— Life a gilt of infinite value, 115— The attributes of the Creator inscribed on all his ■works, 133— Nature the handmaid of grace, 145 — Birth and character of Hope, 152 —Corruption of humun nature shown in early youth, 179— Farther evidenced in more advanced life, 197— Conscience awakened to a sense of sin, 215 — False peace and formal devotion, 229— Empty honors attending a hopeless death, 260— Each man's belief right in his own eyes, 276— Only one right way lo eternal life, 302— Offers of salvation by free grace repugnant to human pride, 322— Loose ideas of the •way of salvation, 357— Notwithstanding the light of science, and the spread of the Gospel, 439— Reception of the simple truth in distant Greenland, 465— Its inhabit- ants in their unconverted and converted state, 495— Vindication of Whitelield, 554 —The lover of pleasure the greatest of bigots, 594— Any hope preferred to the hope^of the Gospel, 614— Folly ends where genuine hope begins, 635— Apostrophe lo Truth, 663— The sinner couvicted, G7i— i'ardoued, 710- Works ol truth imperish- able, 742— Conclusion, 754. Ask what is liniiian life — tlie sage replies, With disappointment h)wering in Jiis eyes,-— A painful passage o'er a restless flood, A vain pursuit of fugitive false good, 4 A scene of fancied bliss and heartfelt care, Closing at last in darkness and despair. — The poor, inured to drudgery and distress, Act without aim, think little, and feel less. And nowhere but in feignVl Arcadian scenes. Taste happiness, or know what pleasure means. Riches are pass'd away from hand to hand, As fortune, vice, or folly may command; As in a dance tlie pair that take the lead Turn downward, and the lowest pair succeed, Bo shifting and so various is the plan 15 94 cowper's poetical works. By which Heaven rules the inix'd affairs of man ; Vicissitude wheels round the motley crowd, The rich grow poor, the poor hecome purse-proud: Business is labor, and man's weakness such, Pleasure is labor too, and tires as much ; The very sense of it foregoes its use, By repetition pall'd, by age obtuse. Youth lost in dissipation Ave deplore Through life's sad remnant, what nc sighs restore ; Our years, a fruitless race without a prize-, 25 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 eye 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, Renew'd desire would grace with other speech Joys always prized, when placed within our reach. 86 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 Avears ; [sounds, Banks clothed Avith floAvers, groves fill'd Avith sprightly The yellow tilth, green meads, rocks, rising grounds. Streams edged Avith osiers, fottening every field 47 AVhere'er they floAv, noAv seen and now conceaPd ; From the blue rim, where skies and mountains meet, DoAvn to the very turf beneath thy feet, Ten thousand charms, that only fools despise. Or pride can look at Avith indifierent eyes. All speak one language, all Avith one sAveet A^oice 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, 58 HOPE. 95 Tlie wretcli mcay pine, while to his smell, taste, sight, She hokls 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 Avhat they seem, That only shadows are dispensed below, And earth has no reality but woe. 68 Thus tliings terrestrial wear a different hue, As youth or age persuades — and neither true ; So Flora's wreath through color'd crystal seen, The rose or lily appears blue or green, But still the imputed tints are those alone The medium represents, and not their own. To rise at noon, sit slipshod and undress'd, 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 Avhen evening turns tlie blue vault gray, 79 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 ; Tlirough mere necessity to close his eyes eTust when the larks and when the shepherds rise; — Is such a life, so tediously the same. So void of all utility or aim. That poor Jonquil, with almost every breath. Sighs for liis exit, vulgarly call'd death : 90 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 Avitliout a plan, As useless as the moment it began. Serves merely as a soil for discontent To thrive in; an encumbrance, ere half spent. Oh ! Aveariness beyond what asses feel. That tread the circuit of the cistern-wheel; , A dull rotation, never at a stay, 101 I 96 cowper's poetical works. Yesterday's face twin image of to-day ; While conversation, an exhausted stock, Grows drowsy as the chcking of a clock. No need, he cries, of gravity stuff 'd 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, 111 Yet seldom sought where only to be found. While passion turns aside from its due scope The inquirer's aim, that remedy is Hope. Life is His gift, from whom whatever life needs, With every good and perfect gift, proceeds ; Bestowed on man, like all that we partake, Koyally, freely, for his bounty's sake ; Transient, indeed, as is the fleeting hour, And yet the seed of an immortal flower; DesignVl, in honor of his endless love, To fill with fragrance his abode above ; 122 1^0 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 witli their play, AVho first misuse, 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, 133 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 blind. His gracious attributes, and prove the share His offspring hokl in his paternal care. 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. HOPE. 97 Nature, employed in her allotted place, Is handmaid to the purposes of Grace ; By good vouchsafed, makes known superior good, And bliss not seen, by blessings understood : That bliss, reveaFd in Scripture, Avith a glow Bright as the covenant-insuring 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 deenrd substantial since the fall; 154 Yet has the wondrous virtue to educe From emptiness itself a real use; And while she takes, as at a fatherVs hand, What health and sober appetite demand, From fading good derives, with chemic art, That lasting happiness, a thankful Iieart. Hope, with u[)lifted foot, set free from earth, Pants for the place of her ethereal birth. On steady wings sails through the immense abyss. Plucks amaranthine joys from bowers of bliss. And crowns the soul, while yet a mourner here, 165 With wreaths like those triumphant spirits wear. Hope, as an ancljor lirm and sure, holds fast The Christian vessel, and defies the blast: Hope ! nothing else can nourish and secure His new-born virtues, and ])reserve him pure : Hope! let the wretch, once conscious of the joy. Whom noAV 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, 1V6 The fragrant grove, the inestimable mine, Were light when weiglrd against one smile of thine. Though clasp'd and cradled in his nurse's arms, He shine witli all a cherub's artless charms, Man is the genuine offspring of revolt, Stubborn and sturdy, a wild ass's colt ; His ])assions, like the watery stores that sleep Beneath the smiling surface of the deep, AVait but the lashes of a wintry storm, To frown and roar, and shake his feeble form. From infancy, through childhood's giddy maze, 187 9 98 cowper's poetical works. Froward at school, and fretful in his plays, The puny tyrant burns to subjugate Tlie free republic of the whip-gig state. If one, his equal in athletic frame, Or, more provoking still, of nobler name, Dares 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 lieaviest hand prevails. Now see him launchVl into the world at large ; 197 If priest, supinely droning o'er his charge. Their fleece his pillow, and his weekly drawl. Though short, too long, the price he pays for all. If lawyer, loud Avhatever cause he plead, But proudest of the worst, if that succeed. Perhaps a grave physician, gathering fees. Punctually paid for lengthening out disease ; ISTo CoTTOX, 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: 208 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, resign'' 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, or some fearful dream. Reminds him of religion, hated theme I Starts from the down on which she lately slept, 219 And tells of laws despised, at least not kept ; Shows Avith a pointing finger, but no noise, A pale procession of past sinful joys. All witnesses of blessings foully scorn'd, And life abused — and not to be suborn'd. Mark these, she says ; these, summonM 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 even while they live ; 230 HOPE. 99 Born capaLle indeed of heavenly truth, But (h)wn to latest age, from earliest youth. Their mind a wilderness through want of care, The plough of wisdom never entering there. Peace (if insensihility may claim A right to the meek honors 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 unenliglitenM swains 240 Revere tlie laws they dream that Heaven ordains, Eesort on Sundays to the house of prayer. And ask, and fancy they find, blessings there; Themselves, perhaps, Avhen weary they retreat To enjoy cool nature in a country-seat. To exchange the centre of a thousand trades. For clumps, and lawns, and temples, and cascades, 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. 251 Kind souls! to teach their tenantry to prize AVhat they themselves, without remorse, despise! Nor hope have they, nor fear, of aught to come. As well for them had prophecy been dumb ; 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. Tliey die. — Death lends them, pleased, and as in sport. All the grim honors of his ghastly court. Par other paintings grace the chamber now, 2C2 Where late we saw the mimic landscape glow : The busy heralds hang the sable scene With mournful scutcheons, and dim lamps between ; Proclaim their titles to the crowd around. But they that wore them move not at the sound ; The coronet, placed idly at their head, Adds nothing now to the degraded dead, And even the star that glitters on the bier, Can only say — ISTobility lies here. Peace to all such! — 'twere pity to olTend By useless censure, whom we cannot mend ; 273 100 cowper's poetical works. Life without hope can dose but in despair, 'Twas there we found them, and must leave tliem there. As, when two pilgrims in a forest straj', 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; 283 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 the hyssop on the wall. Of all that deck the lanes, the fields, tlie bowers, "What parts the kindred tribes of weeds and fiowers? Sweet scent, or lovely form, or both 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 204 Esteem them, sow them, rear them, and protect, If wild in nature, and not duly found, Gethsemane! in thy dear, hallowxl ground. That cannot bear the blaze 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. Diverging each from each, like equal rays;. Himself as bountiful as April rains, Xord ])aramount of the surrounding plains, 305 Would give relief of bed and board to none. But guests that sought it in the appointed One; And they might enter at his open door. Even till his spacious hall would hold no more. He sent a servant forth by every road. To sound liis horn and publish it abroad, That all miglit mark — knight, menial, high and low — An ordinance it concerned them nuich to know. If, after all, some headstrong, hardy lout. Would disobey, though sure to be sliut out, Could he with reason murmur at his case, 310 HOPE. ' > ' ' ' ' ^Q2 Himself sole fiutlior of Iiis own disgrace? No! the decree was Just and without Haw, And lie 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 Witli 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 insures, S26 Accept it only, and the boon is yours. And sure it is as kind to smile and give, As witli a frown to say. Do this, and live. Love is not pedler's truin})ery, 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, AYill trust him for a faithful, generous part, Nor set a price upon a willing heart. 837 Of all the ways that seem 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 stuccoVl walls smart arguments rebound : And beaux, adepts in every thing profound. Die of disdain, or whistle otf the sound. 348 Such is the clamor of rooks, daws, and kites, The explosion of the levelled tube excites, AYhere 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 w^arn him never to repeat His bold intrusion on their dark retreat. Adieu, Vinosa cries, ere yet he sips The purple buniper trembling at his lips, — Adieu to all morality ! if Grace 350 102 cowper's poetical works. Make Avorks a vain ingredient in the case. The Christian hope is — Waiter, draw the cork — If I mistake not — Bh)ckhead ! with a fork ! — Without good works, wliatever some may boast, Mere folly and delusion — Sir, your toast. — My lirni persuasion is, at least sometimes, That Heaven will weigh man^s virtues and his crimes, AVith nice attention, in a rigliteous scale, And save or damn as these or those prevail. I plant my foot upon this ground of trust, 869 And silence every fear Avith — God is just. But if perchance, on some dull drizzling day, A thought intrude, that says, or seems to say. If thus the important cause is to be tried, Suppose the beam should dip on the wrong side? 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 witli heaven in view. And, — pardon me, the bottle stands with you. 380 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 etjuity than man. If appetite, or what divines call lust, W^hich men comply with, even because they must, Be punishM with perdition, who is pure? 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 falUble and frail 391 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 liere, Is to discharge the duties of his sphere. A lawyer's dealings should be just and fair. Honesty shines with great advantage there. 402 HOPE. 103 Fasting and prayer sit well upon a priest, A decent caution and reserve at least. A soldier's best is courage in the Held, 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 endowVl, who never shrinks, Nor closets up his thoughts, whatever he thinks, Who scorns to do an injury by stealth. Must go to lieaven — and I must drink his health. 412 Sir Smug ! lie 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 suffer\l, sat Sir Smug), Your office is to winnow false from true; Come, prophet, drink, and tell us. What tliink you? ' Sighing and smiling as he takes his glass. Which they that woo preferment rarely ])ass — Fallible man, the church-bred youth replies. Is still found fallible, however wise; And differing judgments serve but to declare, 423 That truth lies somewhere, if we knew but where. *0f all it ever was my lot to read, Of critics now alive or long since dead, The book of all the world that charm VI me most Was, — well-a-day, the title-page was lost; — The writer well remarks, a iieart 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; 434 But these — excuse the liberty I take — 1 waive just now, for conversation's sake. — Spoke like an oracle, they all exclaim. And add Right Reverend to Smug's honor'd name. And yet our lot is given us in a land AVhcre busy arts are never at a stand; Where Science points her telescopic eye, Familiar wilii the wonders of the sky; Where bold inquiry, diving out of sight. Brings many a precious pearl of truth to light; Where naught eludes the persevering quest, • 445 104 cowper's poetical works. That fasliioii, taste, or luxury suggest. — But above all, in her own ligljt array'd, See Mercy's grand apocalypse displayed ! The sacred Book no longer suifers wrong, Bound in the fetters of an unknown tongue; But speaks with plainness art conld never mend, AYhat simplest minds can soonest comprehend. God gives the Avord, the preachers throng around, Live from his lips, and spread the glorious sound : Tiiat sound bespeaks salvation on her way, Tlie trumpet of a life-restoring day ! 'Tis heard wdiere England's eastern glt)ry 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 rigor of a polar sky, Ami i)lant successfully sweet S]iaron\s Rose On icy plains and in eternal snows. Oh blest witJiin the inclosure of your rocks, • Kor herds have ye to boast, nor bleating tlocks; No fertilizing streams your fields divide, That show, reversed, the villas on their side; No groves liave ye; no cheerful sound of bird, Or voice of turtle in your land is heard ; Nor grateful eglantine regales tlie smell Of those that walk at evening where ye dwell — But Winter, arraVl with terrors here unknown. Sits absolute on his unshaken throne; Piles u}) 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 liiake your land a prey ; Proclaims the soil a conquest he lias won. And scorns to share it witli the distant Sun. — 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 sjdendor of the true, A false religion, is unknown to you. Nature indeed vouclisafes for our delight J The Moravian missionaries in Greenland. See Krantz. HOPE. 105 Tlie sweet vicissitudes of day and niglit; Soft airs and genial moisture feed and cheer Field, fruit, and flower, and every creature here; But brighter beams than Jiis wlio flres the skies, Have risen at length on your admiring eyes, Tliat shoot into your darkest caves the day. From whicli our nicer optics turn away. Here see the encouragement Grace gives to vice. The dire effect of mercy without price ! "What were they ? What some fools are made by art, 497 They were by nature — atlieists, head and heart. Tlie gross idolatry blind heatliens teach Was too refined for tiiem, beyond their reach. Not even tlie glorious sun, though men revere The monarch most that seldom will appear, And thougli his beams, that quicken where they shine, May claim some right to be esteemed divine — Not even tlie sun, desirable as rare. Could bend one knee, engage one votary there ; They were, wliat base Credulity believes True Christians are, dissemblers, drunkards, thieves. 5CB 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. W^iat are they now ? — Morality may spare Her grave concern, her kind suspicions there : The wretch who once sang wildly, danced, and laugh'd. And suck'd in dizzy madness with his draught. Has wept a silent flood, reversed his ways, 519 Is sober, meek, benevolent, and prays ; Feeds sparingly, communicates his store. Abhors the craft he boasted of before. And he that stole has learn'd to steal no more. Well spake the prophet. Let the desert sing; Where sprang the thorn, the spiry fir shall spring. And where unsightly and rank thistles grew, Shall grow the myrtle and luxuriant yew. Go now, and with im[)ortant tone demand, On what foundation virtue is to stand. If self-exalting claims be turnVl adrift, 106 COWPEIl's rOETICAL WORKS. And grace be grace indeed, and life a gift: Tlie poor reclaimM inhabitant, Ids eyes Glistening at once witli i)ity and surprise, Amazed that shadows sliould obscure the sight Of one whose birth was in a land of liglit, Shall answer, Hope, sweet IIo|)e, has set nie free, And made all pleasures else mere dross to me. Tliese, amidst scenes as waste as if denied The common care that waits on all beside, Wikl as if Nature tliere, void of all good, 540 Play\l only gambols in a frantic mood (Yet cliarge not heavenly skill witli liaving plannM A plaything world unworthy of liis liand). Can see his love, thouglj secret evil lurks In all Ave toucli, stamp'd plainly on his works; Deem life a blessing with its numerous woes, Nor si)urn away a gift a God bestows. Hard task indeed, o'er arctic seas to roam! Is IIoi)e exotic? groAvs it not at home? Yes ; but an object, bright as orient morn, May press the eye too closely to be borne ; 551 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 stnge. 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 sneer d and hissVl ; Ills crimes were such as Sodom never knew, 562 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 passM ; Die when he might, he must be damuM at last. Now, Truth, perform thine office ; Avaft aside The curtain draAvn by Prejudice and Pride, Keveal (the man is dead) to wondering eyes J Whitefieia. HOPE. 107 Tills more tlian monster in liis proper guise. — lie loved the world tliat hated him; the tear That droppM upon his Bihle was sincere ; AssailM by scandal and the tongue of strife, His only answer was, a blameless life; And he that forged, and }ie that threw the dart, Had each a brother's interest in bis heart. Paul's love of Christ, and steadiness unbribed, Were copied .close in him, and well transcribed. lie follow'd Paul; his zeal a kindred flame, 582 His apostolic charity the same. Like him, cross'd cheerfully tempestuous seas, Forsaking country, kindred, friends, and ease; Like him, he hdxn'M, and, like him, content To bear it, sulfer'd shame where'er he went. Blush, Calumny ! and write upon his tomb, If honest eulogy can s})are thee room. Thy dee}) repentance of thy thousand lies, "Which, aimVl at him, have pierced the offended skies; And say, Blot out my sin, confessM, de[)lored, Against thine image in tliy saint, O Lord ! 593 No blinder bigot, I maintain it still. Than he wbo must have pleasure, come what will: He laughs, whatever weapon Truth may draw. And deems her sharp artillery mere straw. Scri})ture 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 flt to give; Supple and flexible as Indian cane. To take the bend his a])petites ordain; Contrived to suit frail Nature's crazy case, 604 And reconcile his lusts with saving grace. By this, with nice precision of design. He draws upon life's map a zig-zag line, That shows how far 'tis safe to follow sin. And Avhere 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 flnds 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, /;»» M vm'mn cffm fs^ 108 cowper's poetical works. Your hope shall stand unhlamed, perhaps admired, If not that liope the Scripture has required: The stranij^e conceits, vain projects, and wild dreams, With which hypocrisy forever teems (Though other follies strike the public eye, And raise a laugli), pass unmolested by ; But if, unblamable in word and thought, A Man arise, a man whom God has taught, IVith all Elijah's dignity of tone,. And all the love of the beloved John, To storm the citadels they build in air, 626 And smite the untemi)er\l wall ; 'tis death to spare — To sweep away all refuges of lies. And place, instead of quirks themselves devise. Lama Sabactiiani before their eyes; To ])rove that without Christ all gain is loss. All hope despair, that stands not on liis cross : — Except the few his God may have impress\l, A tenfold frenzy seizes all the rest. Throughout mankind, the Christian kind at least. There dwells a consciousness in every breast, 636 That folly ends Avhere 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 deej) sincerity the true: For this, of all that ever influenced man, Since Abel worshipp'd, or the world 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, 647 Of an eternal, universal war ; Kejects all treaty, penetrates all wiles. Scorns with the same indilference 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 tlie heart. Insensible of Truth's almighty charms. Starts at her tirst approach, and sounds to arms! While Bigotry, with well-dissembled fears, His eyes shut fast) his lingers in his ears, 658 HOPE. 100 Miglity to parry and piisli by God's Word AVitli senseless noise, his argument the sword, Pretends a zeal for godliness and grace. And spits abliorrence in tlie Oliristian's face. Parent of Hope, immortal Trutli ! make known Tliy deathless wreaths and triumplis all thine own! The silent progress of tliy power is such, Thy means so feeble, and despised so much, That few believe the wonders thou hast wrought, And none can teacli them but whom thou hast taught. Oh see me sworn to serve thee, and command 669 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 tliou hast felt anotlier's pain. If ever when he sigh'd hast sigh'd again. If ever on thine eyelid stood the tear That pity liad engendered, drop one here. Tliis man was happy — had the w^orld's good word, And with it every joy it can afford ; 679 ' Friendship and love seem'd tenderly at strife, Which most sliould SAveeten his untroubled life: Politely learn'd, and of a gentle race; Good breeding and good sense gave all a grace, And whether at the toilet of the fair lie laugh'd and trifled, made him welcome there; Or if in masculine debate he shared. Insured him mute attention and regard. Alas! how changed! Expressive of Ids mind, His eyes are sunk, arms folded, head reclined ; Those awful syllables, hell, death, and sin, 690' Though whisper'd, plainly tell what works within ; That Conscience there performs lier proper part. And writes a doomsday sentence on his heart! Forsaking and forsaken of all friends, lie 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 unmark'd away, A dark importance saddens every day ; He hears the notice of the clock, perplex'd, And cries. Perhaps eternity strikes next! 701 10 110 cowper's poetical works. 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 wlience alone Must spring that hope he pants to make his own. Now let the bright reverse be known abroad ; Say, man's a worm, and power belongs to God. 711 As w^hen a felon, whom liis country's laws Have' justly doom'd for some atrocious cause. Expects in darkness and heart-chilling fears The shameful close of all his misspent years; If chance, on heavy ])inions slowly borne, A tempest usher in the dreaded morn, Upon liis dungeon walls the lightnings 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 tlien, just then, all thouglits of mercy lost, 722 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, possesses, and o'erwhehns 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 ; 73.3 'Tis nwre, — 'tis God diffused through every part, 'Tis God himself triumphant in his heart. Oh, welcome now the sun's once hated light; His noonday beams were never half so bright: Not kindred minds alone are call'd to employ Their hours, tlieir 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, J Tlie scoff of wither'd age and beardless youth ; % Thei^e move the censure and illiberal grin • 744 HOPE. Ill Of fools that hate thee and delight in sin: But these shall last when night has quencli'd 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 tliy 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 754 To him that blends no foble 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 lie till a thankful soil. And fruit reward his honorable 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; 765 Nor labor they, nor time nor talents waste, In sorting Howers to suit a fickle taste ; But, while they speak the wisdom of the skies, Which art can only darken and disguise, The abundant harvest, recompense divine, liepays their work — the gleaning only mine. CIIAPiITY. Quo nihil mnjus nieliusvp terris Fata donavere, bonique divi; Nee dabunt, qnainvis redeant in aurum Tempora [)riscurn. IIoR. Lib. iv. Od. 2. THE ARGUMENT. Invocation to Charity or Christian Love, 1— Ties of society, 15— Captain Cook's respect tor social ties, even among savages, 23— Cook and Cortez contrasted, 35— Degraded state of Spain, the eflfect of divine retribution, 65— Commerce designed to promote national intercourse and improvement, 83— F^ncourages art, 97— A blessing invoked on lawful commerce, 123— Denunciation of the slave-trade, 137— Slavery the most degrading of ills, 155— Unchristian, 180— Unlawful in the sight of the Almighty, 196— Blessed privilege of mitigating the sorrows of slavery, 218 — Luxury of doing good, 244— Apostrophe to Liberty, 254— Tribute to Howard, 290 —Pursuits of philosophy, 313— Aid of Revelation necessary to reason, 337— Divine truth the parent of Charity, 377— Supposed case of an optician lecturing to a blind nation, 379— Apitlied to a world spiritually blind, 395— Apostle's definition of cliarity, 422— Its heavenly fragrance, 435— Almsgiving as a means of lulling the conscience, 447— Satire deprecated, 485— Works of charity alone acceptable in the judgment-day. 557— Charity exemplified in the works of Christ, 579— Blessed effects that would flow from the universal diffusion of charity, 604. Fairest and foremost of the train that wait On man's most dignitied and happiest state, Whether we name thee Charity or Love, 3 Chief grace below, and all in all above, Prosper (I press thee with a pow^erfal plea) A task I venture on, impelPd by tliee: Oh, never seen but in thy blest effects. Nor felt but in the soul that Heaven selects ; AVho seeks to praise thee, and to make thee known To other hearts, must have thee in his own. Come, prompt me with benevolent desires, Teach me to kindle at thy gentle fires. And, though disgraced and slighted, to redeem A poet's name, by making thee the theme. * 14 CHARITY. 113 God, working ever on a social plan, By various ties attaches man to man : He made at first, tlioiigli free and nnconfined, One man the common father of tlie kind; Tliat every tribe, though placed as he sees best, Wliere seas or deserts part tliem from the rest, Differing in language, manners, or in fiice, Might feel themselves allied to all the race. When Cook — lamented, and with tears as just As ever mingled with heroic dust — 24 Steer'd Britain's oak into a Avorld unknown. And in his country's glory sought his own ; AVherever he found man to nature true, The rights of man were sacred in his view; lie soothed with gifts, and greeted with a smile, The simple native of the new-found isle; lie spurn'd the wretch that slighted or withstood The tender argument of kindred blood ; Nor would endure that any should control His freeborn brethren of the southern pole. But, though some nobler minds a law respect, 35 That none shall with impunity neglect, In baser souls unnumber'd 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, where then, Thou tutelary friend of helpless men? Wast thou in monkish cells and nunneries found. Or building liospitals on English ground? No! — Mammon makes the world his legatee Through fear, not love ; and Heaven abhors the fee : 46. 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 liis throne As vain imperial Philip on his own, Trick'd out of, all liis royalty by art. That stripped him bare, and broke his honest heart, Died by the sentence of a shaven priest. For scorning what they taught him to detest. How dark the veil that intercepts the blazo 57" 114 cowper's poetical works. Of Heaven's mysterious purposes and ways! God stood not, though he seem'd to stand, aloof; And at this hour the conqueror feels the proof: The wreath lie won drew down an instant curse, The fretting plague is in the public purse, The canker'd spoil corrodes the pining state. Starved by that indolence their mines create. Oh, could their ancient Incas rise again, How would they take up Israel's taunting strain ! Art thou too fallen, Iberia? Do we see G7 The robber and the murderer weak as we ? 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 oppress'd. Art thou the god, the thunder of whose hand RolPd over all our desolated land : Shook principalities and kingdoms down. And made the mountains tremble at his frown? 78 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 To 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, 89 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 : 100 CHARITY. 115 Capricious Taste itself can crave no more Than she snpphes from lief ahounding store: She strikes out all that Luxury can ask, And gains new vigor at her endless task. Hers is the spacious arch, the shapely spire, The painter's pencil, and the poet's lyre ; From her the canvas borrows light and shade, And verse more lasting, hues that never fade. She guides the finger o'er the dancing keys, Gives difficulty all the grace of ease, 110 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 enricird 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 learn and teach ; "While Providence enjoins to every soul 121 A union with the vast terraqueous whole. Heaven speed the canvas, gallantly unfurPd, To furnish and accommodate a world. To give the pole the produce of the sun, And knit the unsocial chmates into one! Soft airs and gentle heavings of the wave Impel the fleet whose errand is to save. To succor wasted regions, and replace The smile of Opulence in Sorrow's tace! Let nothing adverse, nothing unforeseen. Impede the bark that ploughs the deep serene, 132 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, AVho drive a loathsome traffic, gauge 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, 143 116 cowper's poetical works. A stroke as fatal as the scythe of Death. The sable warrior, frantic Avith regret Of her lie leaves, and never can forget, Loses in tears the far-receding shore, But not tlie thought that they must meet no more; Deprived of lier and freedom at a blow, What has he left that he can yet forego? Yes, to deep sadness sullenly resign'd, lie feels his body's bondage in his mind ; Puts ofi* his generous nature ; and to suit 153 Ills manners witli 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 tlian half a cure ; Gi'ief is itself a medicine, and bestow'd To improve the fortitude tliat bears the load ; To teacli the w^anderer, as his woes increase, The patli of Wisdom, all whose paths are peace; But slavery ! — Virtue dreads it as her grave : Patience itself is meanness in a slave : 164 Or if the will and sovereignty of God Bid suffer it awhile, 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 whatever we see. That lias a heart and life in it. Be free! The beasts are charterM — neitlier age nor force Can quell the love of freedom in a horse: He breaks the cord that held him at the ^-ack, And, conscious of an iinencumber'd back, Snuffs up the morning air, forgets the rein, 175 Loose fly his forelock and his ample mane; Responsive to the distant neigh he neighs, Nor stops, till, overleaping all delays, lie finds the pasture where his fellows graze. Canst thou, and honor'd 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 ? 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, 18G CIIARITV. 117 Dagger in hand, steals close to your Ledsiae: Not he, hut liis emergence forced the door, He found it inconvenient to he poor. Has God tlien given its sweetness to the cane, Unless his laws he trampled on — in vain? Built a hrave world, whicli cannot yet suhsist, Unless his right to rule it he dismissVl ? Impudent hlaspliemy ! So Folly pleads, And Avarice heing judge, with ease succeeds. J)Ut grant the plea, and let it stand for just, 19G That man make man his prey, because he must; Still there is room for i)ity to abate And soothe 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. 207 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 usurpVl command : Not Mexico could i)urchase 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 brook'd, 218 While life's sublimest joys are overlooked: We wander o'er a sunburnt thirsty soil, Murmuring and weary of our daily toil. Forget to enjoy the palm-tree's olierVl shade. Or taste the fountain in the neighboring glade; Else who would lose, that had the i)ower to improve The occasion of transmuting fear to love ? Oh, 'tis a godlike privilege to save! And he that scorns it is Jiimself a slave. — Inform his mind; one tlash of heavenly day Would heal his heart, and melt his chains away. 220 118 COWPEr's I'OETICAL WORKS. ^' Beauty for ashes" is a gift indeed, And slaves, by trntli enlarged, are doubly freed. Then would lie say, submissive at thy feet, While gratitude and love made service sweet, — My dear deliverer out of hopeless niglit; " Whose bounty bought me but to give me light, I was a bondman on my native plain, Sin forged, and Ignorance made fast, the chain ; Thy li[)S lijive shed instruction as the dew. Taught me what path to shun, and what pursue; 239 Farewell my former joys! I sigh no more For Africa's once loved, beniglited shore, — Serving a benefactor, I am free ; At my best home, if not exiled from thee. Some men make gain a fountain, whence proceeds A stream of liberal and heroic deeds; The SAvell of pity, not to be confined Within the scanty limits of the mind. Disdains the bank,' and throws the golden sands, A. rich deposit, on tbe bordering lands: These have an ear for His i)aternal call, 250 Who makes some rich for the sup])ly of all; God's gift with pleasure in his praise employ; And TiroiiXTOx is familiar with the joy. Oh, C()uld I worship aught beneath the skies That earth hath seen, or fancy can devise. Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand, J^uiit by no mercenary vulgar hand, With fi-agrant turf, and flowers as wild and fair As ever dress\l a bank or scented summer air! Duly, as ever on the mountain's height The peep of Morning shed a dawning light; 261 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 my fjiirest days: But that were sacrilege — praise is not thine. But His who gave thee, and preserves thee mine: Else I would say, and as 1 spake bid fly A captive bird into the boundless sky, — This tri[)le realm adores thee — thou art come From Si>arta iiither, and art here at home. We feei thy force still active— at this hour 273] 1 CHARITV. 119 Enjoy immunity from priestly power, Willie Conscience, happier tlian in ancient 3'ears, Owns no superior but the God she fears. Propitious spirit ! yet expunge a wrong Thy rights have sutferVl, and our land, too long, Teach mercy to ten tliousand 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, tire, and flood, 282 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 ; 293 I may alarm thee, but I fear the shame (Charity chosen as my theme and aim) I must incur, forgetting Howakd's name. Blest with all wealth can give thee, to resign Joys d(nibly sweet to feelings quick as thine ; To quit the bliss thy rural scenes bestow, To seek a nobler amidst scenes of woe ; To traverse seas, range kingdoms, and bring home, Not the proud monuments of Greece or Rome, But knowledge such as only dungeons teach. And only sympathy like thine could reach ; 304 Tliat grief, se(]uester\l 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. Oh that tlie voice of chunor and debate. That pleads for peace till it disturbs the State,' Were hush'd in favor of thy generous ])lea, The poor thy clients, and Heaven's smile thy fee! Philosophy, that does not dream or stray^ Walks arm in arm with Nature all his way; Compasses earth, dives into it, ascends 315 120 cowper's poetical works. Whatever steep Inquiry recommends, Sees planetary wonders smoothly roll Round other systems under her control, Drinks wisdom at the milky stream of light That cheers the silent journey of the night, And brings, at his return, a bosom charged With rich instruction, and a soul enlarged. The treasured sweets of the capacious plan That Heaven spreads wide before the view of man, All prompt his pleased pursuit, and to pursue 325 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^ew 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. 836 But Reason still, unless divinely taught. Whatever she learns, learns nothing as she ought ; The lamp of Revelation only shows "What human, wisdom cannot 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, 347 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 ; AVhether he measure earth, compute the sea, Weigh sunbeams, carve a fly, or spit a flea ; The solemn trifler with his boasted skill Toils nmch, and is a solemn trifler still: Blind was he born, and his misguided eyes Grown dim in trifling studies, blind he dies. 358 CHARITY. 121 Self-knowledge truly learn'd, of conrse implies The rich possession of a nolj4er prize ; For self to self, and God to man, reveal'd (Two themes to Nature's eye forever seal'd), Are taught by rays that fly with equal pace From the same ceiitre of enlightening grace. Here stay thy foot ; how copious, and liow clear, The o'ertioAving well of Charity springs here! Hark ! 'tis the music of a thousand rills, Some thro' the groves, some down the sloping hills, 868 "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, w^ithout his heavenly guide. May blow up self-conceit, and nourish pride ; But wdiile his province is the reasoning part, Has still a veil of midnight on his heart : 'Tis Truth divine, exhibited on earth. Gives Charity her being and her birth. Suppose (when thought is warm, and fancy flows, 379 "What will not argument sometimes suppose ?) An isle possess'd 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 cannot give it, or make darkness light. He reads Avise lectures, and describes aloud A sense they know not, to the wondering crowd; 390 He talks of light, and the prismatic hues, As men of depth in erudition use; But all he gains for liis harangue is — "Well — "What monstrous lies some travellers will tell ! The soul wliose sight all-(}uickening grace renews, Takes the resemblance of the good she views, As diamonds strijip'd of their opake disguise, Reflect the noonday glory of the skies. Slie speaks of Him, her author, guardian, friend, "Whose love knew no beginning, knows no end, lu language Avarm a^ all that love inspires ; 4:01 11 122 coavper's poetical works. And, in the glow of lier intense desires, Pants to communicate hef noble tires. Slie sees a world stark blind to what employs Her eager thought, and feeds her Howing 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, acquitt-ed 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 tliey discern not, they deny ; Laugh at their only remedy, and die. But still a soul thus toucli'd can never cease, Whoever threatens war, to speak of peace. Pure in her aim, and in her temper mild. Her wisdom seems the meekness of a child; She makes excuses wliere she might condemn — Reviled by tliose 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 Avaives than will dispute her right ; And, injured, makes forgiveness her delight. Such was tlie 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 fiird his urn Avhere tliese pm^e waters rise, And once more mingles with us meaner things, 'Tis even as if an angel shook his wrings ; Immortal fragrance hlls the circuit wide, That tells us whence liis treasures are supplied. So when a ship well freighted with the stores The sun matures on Lidia's spicy shores. Has dropp'd her anchor, and lier canvas fmTd, In some safe haven of our western world ; CHARITY. 123 'Twere vain4nqniry to wliat port she went, Tlie gale informs us, laden witli tlie scent. Some seek, when queasy conscience has its qualms, To lull the painful malady witli alms ; But charity not fcign'd, intends alone Another's good — theirs centres in their own; And, too short-lived to reach the realms of peace. Must cease forever when the poor shall cease. Flavia, most tender of her own good name. Is rather careless of a sister's fame : 454 Her superfluity the poor supi)lies, But if she touch a character, it dies. The seeming virtue w^eigh'd against tlie vice. She deems all safe, for she lias paid the price : No charity but alms auglit values slie. Except in porcelain on lier mantel-tree. Plow many deeds with wliich the world has rung. From Pride, in league Avith 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, 465 Has left some liundreds without home or food : Extravagance and Avarice shall subscribe, While fame and self-complacence are the bribe. The brief i)roclaim'd, it visits every pew. But first the squire's, a complinient but due, With slow deliberation he unties His glittering purse, that envy of all eyes ; x\nd, while the clerk just i)uzzles out the psalm, Slides guinea behind guinea in his palm ; Till finding, what he might have found before, A smaller piece amidst the ])recious store, 470 Pinch'd close between his finger and liis thumb. He half exhibits, and then drops the sum. Gold, to be sure! — throughout the town 'tis told How the good squire gives never less than gold. From motives such as his, though not the best. Springs in due time supply for the distress'd. Not less eflfectual than what love bestows. Except that office clips it as it goes. l^ut lest I seem to sin against a friend. And wound the grace 1 mean to recommend (Though vice derided with a just design 487 124 . COWPEll's POETICAL WORKS. 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 ; He hides behiad a magisterial air His own offences, and strips others' bare; Affects, indeed, a most humane concern. That men, if gently tutorM, will not learn ; That mulish Folly, not to be reclaimed 497 By softer methods, must be made ashamed, — But (I might instance in St. Patrick's dean) Too 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 stirr'd, The milk of their good purpose all to curd. Their zeal begotten, as tlieir Avorks rehearse, By lean despair upon an empty purse, The wild assassins start into the street. Prepared to poniard whomsoe'er they meet. 508 No skill in swordsmanship, however just. Can be secure against a madman's thrust; And even Virtue, so unfairly match'd, Although immortal, may be prick'd or scratch'd. When Scandal has new minted an old lie, Or tax'd invention for a fresh supply, 'Tis call'd a satire, and the world appears Gathering around it with erected ears; A thousand names are toss'd into the crowd ; Some whisper'd softly, and some twang'd aloud ; Just as the srfi)ience of an author's brain 519 Suggests it safe or dangerous to be plain. Strange ! how the frequent interjected dash Quickens a market, and helps off the trash; The important letters that include the rest. Serve as a key to those that are suppress'^ ; Conjecture gripes the victims in his paw. The Avorld is charm'd, and Scrib escapes the law. So, Avhen 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 Avith little pity, no redress ; 530 CHARITY. 125 Plunged in the stream, they lodge upon the mud, Food for the faniish'd rovers of the flood. All zeal for a reform, that gives offence To peace and cliarity, is mere pretence : A hold remark, — hut which, if well applied, Would humble many a towering poet's pride. Perhaps the man w^as in a sportive fit, And had no other i)lay-place for his Avit ; Perhaps, enchanted with the love of fame. He sought the jewel in his neighbor's shame; 640 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 polish'd points surprise ; But shine with cruel and tremendous charms, That, while they i)lease, possess us with alarms : So have I seen (and hastened to the sight On all the wings of holiday delight), AVhere stands that monument of ancient power, Named with emphatic dignity, the Tower, Guns, halberts, swords, and pistols, great and small, 551 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 the exact designer's skill, Account them implements of mischief still. No works shall find acceptance in that day Wl^^en all disguises shall be rent aAvay, That square not truly with the Scripture plan. Nor spring from love to God, or love to man. As lie ordains things ^sordid in their birth To be resolved into their parent earth ; 563 And, though tlie soul shall seek superior orbs, Wliate'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 motiv^e 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 reward, The Judge of all men owes them no regard. ^ True Charity, a plant divinely nursed, 573 126 cowpbr's poetical works. Fed by the love from which it rose at first, Thrives against hope, and in the rudest scene, Storms but enUven its unfading green; Exuberant is the shadow it suppHes, Its fruit on ear.th, its growth above the skies. To look at llim wlio form'd us and redeemed, So glorious now, though once so disesteem'd ; To see a God stretch forth his human hand. To uphold the boundless scenes of his command; To recollect that, in a form like ours, 583 He bruised beneath his feet the 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 the exertion of his beams, And shines, as if impatient to bestow Life and a kingdom upon worms below; That sight imi)arts a never-dying flame, Though feeble in degree, in kind the same. 594 Like Him, the soul, thus kindled from above, Spreads wide her arms of universal love. And, still enlarged as she receives the grace. Includes creation in her close ejnbrace. 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 ! AVere love, in these the world's last doting years, As frequent as the want of it appears, 605 The church's warm'd, they Avould no longer hold Such frozen figures, stiff as they are cold ; Relenting forms would lose their power, or cease; And even the dipp'd and sprinkled, live in peace; Each heart would quit its prison in the breast, And fiow in free communion with the rest. The statesman, skilPd in projects dark and deep. Might burn his useless Machiavel, and sleep ; His budget, often fill'd, yet always poor. Might swing at ease behind his study door, No longer prey upon our annual rents, 616 i CHARITY. 127 "Nor scare the nation witli 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 tlie 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 626 "What few can learn, and all suppose they know. Thus have I sought to grace a serious lay With many a wild, indeed, but fiowery spray, In hopes to gain, what else I must have lost, The attention pleasure has so much engross'd. But if, unhappily deceived, I dream. And prove too Aveak 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. CONYERSATION. Nam Tieqne mc tantum venientis sibiUis austri, Noc percussa juvant fluctu tarn iitora, nee qnsa Saxosas inter decurrunt fiumina valles. YiEG. Eel. 5. THE ARGUMENT. Conversation a gift, but dependent on culture, 1— To talk not always to converse, 8— Results often worthless, 15 — Impure conversation reprobated, 31— Profane swear- ing condemned, 55— Unprofitable debates, 81— Dogmatism and sophistry, 91— The scrupulously cautious in conversation, 119— Opposite error of positive assertion, 145— Point of honor erroneously deemed useful, 163— Duelling savage and dastard- ly, 171— Encounters with fists recommended in preference, 195 — Tiresomeness of long tales, 203— Truthfulness enforced, 217— Judicious story-telling, 235— Smoking condemned, 245— Emphatic speakers, 269— Coxcombry of different sorts, 283— State of health made a subject of conversation, 311— Fretful tempers, 325— Bashfulness, 347— Often the effect of vanity, 363— Its influence, 379— The sportsman, 405— True idea of conversation, 427— Corrupted by fashion, 457— Converse on the way to Enimaus, 505— Such as God approves, 537— Divine truth the only lasting subject of conversation, 547— Objections made to it, 575— The result of ignorance, 587— Christian converse, 595— Age mellows the speech, 639— Fanaticism, 651— Commu- nion of the good, 679— Conversation should be spontaneous, not forced, 703— True religion suspected and branded as hypocrisy. 719— Vindicated from the charge, 7-19 —Apology for digressing. 789— The ])oet's ignorance of the world may have led him into error. 798- Conversation refined and purified by religion, 887. Though Nature weigh onr talents, and dispense To every man liis 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 cul ture, and the sowing of the soil. "Words learird by rote, a parrot may reliearse, 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 unletter'd boy, 12 CONVERSATIOX. 129 Sorting and puzzling with a deal of glee Those seeds of science calPd his ABC: 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 Avhat the day hrought forth, Compress the sum into its solid worth, And if it weigh the importance of a fly, The scales are false, or algebra a lie. 23 Sacred interpreter of human thought, "* How few respect or use thee as they ought But all shall give account of every wrong, Who dare dishonor or defile the tongue ; Who prostitute it in the cause of vice, . Or sell their glory at a market price ; Who vote for hire, or point it with lampoon, The dear-bought placeman, and the cheap buflfoon. There is a prurience in the speech of some. Wrath stays him, or else God would strike them dumb ; His wise forbearance has their end in view, 83 They fill their measure, and receive their due. The heathen lawgivers 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. Oh, 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 tlie promised flower; , Its odor perish'd and its charming hue. Thenceforth 'tis hateful, for it smells of you. 44 Not even the vigorous and lieadlong 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 vapor of a vault. ^ So witherM 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 — 55 130 cowper's poetical works. Some men have surely then a peaceful life. Whatever subject occupy discourse, The feats of Yestris, 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 even when sober truth prevails throughout, 65 f They swear it, till affirmance breeds a doubt. A Persian, Immble servant of the Sun, Wlio, though devout, yet bigotry had none, Hearing a lawyer, grave in his address, With adjurations every word impress, Supposed the man a bishop, or at least, God's name so much upon his lips, a priest ; Bow'd at the close with all his graceful airs. And begg'd an interest in his frequent prayers. Go, quit the rank to which ye stood preferred. Henceforth associate in one common herd; Y6 Religion, virtue, reason, common sense, Pronounce your human form a false pretence, — A mere disguise, in which a devil lur!:^, Who yet betrays liis secret by his works. Ye powers who rule the tongue, if such there are. And make colloquial liappiness 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, 87 For opposition gives opinion strength, — ^ Divert the champions, prodigal of breath. And put tlie peaceably disposed to death. Oh, tliwart me not, Sir Soph, at every turn, Nor carp at every flaw you may discern ; Though syllogisms hang not on my tongue, I 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 — tliere I grant the privilege I claim. 98 CONVERSATION. 181 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 ; 108 Adopt his own, 'tis equally in vain. Your thread of argument is snapp'd again; Tlio wa-angler, rather than accord with. you, Will judge himself deceiv'd, — 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 w^ainscot a distressful stare, And, Avhen I hope his blunders are all out, Keply discreetly — To be sure — no doubt! DuBius is such a scrupulous good man — 119 Yes — you may catch him tripj)ing, if you can. He would not, with a peremptory tone, Assert the nose upon his face his own; "With hesitation admirably slow^, IJe humbly hopes — presumes — it may be so. His evidence, if he were call'd by law To swear to some enormity he saw. For want of prominence and just relief, AVould hang an honest man and save a thief. Through constant dread of giving truth offence. He ties up all his hearers in suspense; 130 IvnoAvs what he knows, as if he knew it not ; AVhat 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 balk your listening ear, He makes one useful point exceeding clear; llowe'er ingenious on his darling theme A skeptic in philosophy may seem. Reduced to practice, his beloved rule AVould only prove him a consummate fool. Useless in him alike both brain and speech, 141 132 cowper's poetical works. Fate havinor 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 way, 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, 151 Their nimble nonsense takes a sliorter 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 in every case, Hate their own likeness in a brotlier'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. 162 The point of honor has been deem'd of use, To teach good manners, and to curb abuse : Admit it true, the consequence is clear. Our polish'd manners are a mask we wear. And at the bottom barbarous still and rude, • We are restrain'd 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 173 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 compell'd 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 sneer. At least to trample on our Maker's laws, And hazard life for any or no cause, 184- CONVERSATION'^^ To rush into a fix'd eternal state, Oat of tlie very flames of rage and hate, Or send another shivering to tlie har AVith all the guilt of such unnatural war, AVhatever use may urge, or honor 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 ? l^o — A moral, sensible, and well-bred man AVill not affront me, and no other can. 194 Were I empower'd 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 liis admiring friends, In honorable bumps his rich amends. And carry, in contusions of his skull, A satisfactory receipt in full. A story, in which native humor reigns. Is often useful, always entertains ; A graver fact, enlisted on your side, 20lj May furnish illustration, well applied ; But sedentary weavers of long tales Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails. 'Tis the most asinine emplo}^ on earth. To hear them tell of parentage and birth, And echo conversations, dull and dry, Embellisli'd with, lie said, and, So said I At every interview their route tlie same, The repetition makes attention lame : AYe bustle up with unsuccessful speed. And in the saddest part cry — Droll indeed! 216 The path of narrative with care pursue, Still making probability your clue ; On all the vestiges of truth attend. And let them guide you to a decent end. Of all ambitions man may entertain, The Avorst that can invade a sickly brain. Is that which angles hourly for surprise. And baits its hook with prodigies and lies. Credulous infimcy, or age as weak, Are fittest auditors for such to seek, AVho to please others will themselves disgrace, 227 12 134 cowper's poetical works. 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 not, had I seen it with my own. A tale should be* judicious, clear, succinct; The language plain, and incidents well link'd; Tell not as new what everybody knows, 237 And, new or old, still hasten to a close ; There centering in a focus round and neat, Let all your rays of information meet r "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 puff. Makes half a sentence at a time enough ; The dozing sages drop the drowsy strain. Then pause, and puff — and speak, and pause again. 248 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 259 As little mercy as^he 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 floodgates of licentious mirth ; For seaborn 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. The emphatic speaker dearly loves to oppose, In contact inconvenient, nose to nose, 270 CONVERSATION. 135 As if the gnomon on liis neighbor's phiz, Touch'd witli a magnet, liad attracted his. His whisper'd theme, dihited and at large, Proves alter all a wind-gun's airy charge, — An extract of his diary — no more, A tasteless journal of the day before. He walk'd abroad, overtaken in the rain, Call'd on a friend, drank tea, stepp'd home again ; Kesumed his purpose, had a world of talk With one he stumbled on, and lost his walk. 280 I interrupt him with a sudden bow. Adieu, dear sir ! lest you should lose it now. I cannot 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 raree-show? His odoriferous attempts to please Perhaps might prosper Avitli a swarm of bees; But we that make no honey, thougli we sting, Poets, are sometimes apt to maul the thing. 'Tis wrong to bring into a mix'd resort, 291 AVhat makes some sick, and others a-la-mor% An argument of cogence, we may say, AVhy such a one should keep himself away. A graver coxcomb we may sometimes see, Quite 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; He says but little, and that little said Owes all its weight, like loaded dice, to lead. 802 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 wlien un])ack'd, your disappointment groans To find it stuff \1 with brickbats, earth, and stones. Some men emi)l{)y their liealth, an ugly trick, In making known how oft they have been sick, And give us, in recitals of disease, 313 lo6 cowper's poetical works. A doctor's trouble, but witbout tbc fees ; Relate bow many weeks tbey kept tbeir bed, How an emetic or catbartic sped ; Notbiug is sligbtly toucb'd, miicb less forgot, Nose, ears, and eyes seem present on tbe spot. Now tbe distemper, spite of drangbt or pill. Victorious seem'd, and now tbe doctor's skill ; And now — alas for unforeseen misbaps! Tbey put on a damp nigbtcap and relapse ; Tbey tbougbt tbey must bave died, tbey were so bad ; 323 Tbeir peevisb bearers almost wisb tbey bad. Some fretful tempers wince at every toucb, You always do too little or too mucb : You speak witb life, in bopes to entertain, Your elevated voice goes tbrougb tbe brain ; You fall at once into a lower key, Tbat's worse — tbe drone-pipe of an bumble-bee. Tbe soutbern sasb admits too strong a ligbt, You rise and drop tbe curtain — now 'tis nigbt. lie sbakes witb cold — you stir tbe fire and strive To make a blaze — tbat's roasting bim alive. 334 Serve bim witb venison, and be cbooses fisb ; Witb sole — tbat's just tbe sort be would not wisb. lie takes Avbat be at first profess'd to loatbe, And in due time feeds beartily on botb ; Yet still, o'erclouded witb a constant frown, lie does not swallow, but be gulps it down. Your bope to i)lease bim vain on every plan, Himself sbould work tbat wonder if be can. Alas! bis efforts double bis distress, He likes yours little, and bis own still less. Tbus always teasing otbers, always teased, 345 His only pleasure is — to be displeased. 1 pity basbful men, wbo feel tbe pain Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain. And bear tbe marks, upon a blusbing face. Of needless sbame and self-imposed disgrace. Our sensibilities are so acute, Tbe fear of being silent makes us mute. We sometimes tbink we could a speecb produce Mucb to tbe pur[)ose, if our tongues were loose; Hut being tied, it dies upon tbe li{). Paint as a cbicken's note tbat bas tlie pip : 350 CONVERSATION". 137^ Our wasted oil nnprofihibly burns, ^ Like liidden liinii)s in old sepulchral urns. Few Frenchmen of this evil have complained; It seems as if we Britons were ordainM, }3y 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, ConcealM within an imsuspected part. The vainest corner of our own vain heart: 366 Forever 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 tlie proper i)lace; But counterfeit is blind, and skulks through fear, Where 'tis a shame to be ashamed to appear: Humility the parent of the lirst, 377 The last by Vanity produced and nursed. The circle form'd, we sit in silent state. Like figures drawn upon a dial-plate ; Yes, ma'am, and No, ma'am, utter'd softly, show Every five minutes how the minutes go; Each individual sufiering a constraint Poetry may, but colors cannot, 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 refiection and well-timed discourse. 388 We next inquire, but softly and by stealth. Like conservators of the public health. Of epidemic throats, if such there are. And ct)ughs, and rheums, and phthisic, and catarrh. That theme exhausted, a wide chasm ensues, Fill'd u[) at last with interesting news. Who danced with whom, and who are like to Aved, And who is hang'd, 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 ecstasy we come, 390 138 COWPEr's rOETICAL WORKS. As from a seven years' transportation, lionie, And there resume an unembarrassed brow, Recovering wliat we lost we know not how, The faculties tliat seem'd reduced to naught, Expression and tlie privilege of thouglit. The reeking, roaring hero of the chase, I give him over as a desperate case. Physicians write in hopes to work a cure, [N'ever, if honest ones, when death is sure ; And thougli the fox he follows may be tamed, 409 A mere fox-follower never is reclaimed. Some farrier should prescribe his proper course, Wliose only fit companion is his horse, Or if, deserving of a better doom, The noble beast Judge otherwise, his groom. Yet even the rogue that serves liim, though lie stand To take his honor's orders, cap i'n hand. Prefers liis fellow-grooms witli 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? 420 Oh, 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 lie can. Till none but beasts acknowledge him a man. Man's heart had been impenetrably sealM, Like theirs that cleave the Hood 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 inferr'd 431 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 Avould. The mind, dispatch'd upon her busy toil, Sliould range where Providence has bless'd the soil; Visiting every llower with labor meet, And gathering all her treasures sweet by sweet, Slie should imbue the tongue with what she sips, And shed the balmy blessing on the lips, 442 CONVERSATION. 130 That good diffused may more abundant grow, And speech may praise the Power that bids it flow. Will tlie sweet warbler of the livelong night, That fills the listening lover with delight, Forget his harmony, with rapture heard, To learn tlie twittering of a meaner bird? Or make the parrot's mimicry his choice, That odious libel on a human voice? No — Nature, unsopliisticate by man, Starts not aside from her Creator's plan ; 452 The melody that was at first design'd To chiier the rude forefathers of mankind, Is note for note deliver'd 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 usurp'd dominion o'er -his tongue; There sits and prompts him with his own disgrace, 463 Prescribes the theme, the tone, and the grimace. And, when accomplish'd in her Avayward school, 'Calls gentleman whom she has made a fool. 'Tis an unalterable fix'd 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 esteem'd polite ; 474 That he who dares, when she forbids, be grave, Shall stand proscribed, a madmun 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 ^11 your eyes, 485 140 cowper's poetical works. And veil your daring crest that braves tlie 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, 495 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 hallo w'd ground. Sure to succeed, the remedy tliey found : Touch'd 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 lie that was our Surety died, 506 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: Tliey spake of Ilim they loved, of Ilim whose life. Though blameless, had incurr'd 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, enrichVl them still the more ; They thought him, and they justly thought him, one 517 Sent to do more than he appeared to have done* To exalt a people, and to place them high Above all else, and wonder'd he should die. Ere yet they brought their journey to an end, A stranger join'd them, courteous as a friend. And asked them, with a kind, engaging air, What their affliction was, and begg'd a share. Inform'd, he gatherVl up the broken thread, And, truth and wisdom gracing all he said, Explain'd, illustrated, and searched so well. The tender theme on which they chose to dwell, 528 CON VERS ATIOX. 141 That, rcvaching home, — Tlie night, they said, is near, We must not now be parted ; sojourn here. Tlie new acquaintance soon became a guest, And, made so welcome at their simple feast, He bless'd the bread, but vanishM at the word, And left them both exclaiming, 'Twas the Lord! Did not our hearts feel all he deign'd to say, Did they not burn within us by the way? Now theirs was converse such as it behooves Man to maintain, and such as God api)roves; 538 Their views indeed were indistinct and dim, But yet successful, being ainiM 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 lose 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 Match'd against truths, as lasting as sublime? Can length of years on God himself exact, 549 Or make that fiction Avhich was once a fact? 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 forever stands secure, Its head as guarded as its base is sure; Fix'd in the rolling flood of endless years, The pillar of the eternal plan appears. The raving storm and dasliing wave defies, Built by that Architect who built the skies. 560 Hearts may be found that harbor at this hour That love of Christ in all its quickening power; And lips unstain'd by folly or by strife. Whose wisdom, drawn from the deep well of life, 7'astes of its healthful origin, and flows A Jordan for the ablution of our woes. O days of heaven, and nights of equal praise. Serene and peaceful as those heavenly days, Wlien souls drawn upwards in counnunion sweet Enjoy the stillness of some close retreat. Discourse, as if released and safe at home, 571 142 COWPERS POETICAL WORKS. Of dangers past, and wonders yefc to come, And spread the sacred treasures of the breast Upon tlie 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? — fanatic and absnrd! 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, 581 And chase the splenetic dull liours away ; Content on eartli in earthly things to shine, Who waits for heaven ere he becomes divine, Leaves saints to 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, The fix'd fee-simple of the vain and light? Can hopes of heaven, bright prospects of an hour, That come to waft us out of Sorrow's power, 592 Obscure or quench a faculty that finds Its happiest soil in the serenest minds? Eeligion 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 insure its healthful state, 603 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 Christian field, AYho never saw the sword he could not wield ; Grave without dulness, learned without pride. Exact, yet not precise, though meek, keen-eyed ; A man that would have foil'd at their own play, A dozen would-be's of the modern day ; Who, when occasion justified its use. Had wit as bright as ready to produce, 614 CONVERSATION, 143 Could fetcli from records of an earlier age, Or from pliiiosopliy's enligliteiiVl 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 seem'd there at home, Ambitious, not to shine or to excel. But to treat justly what he loved so well. 624 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, Embalm'd forever in its own perfume: And to say truth, though in its early prime. And when unstainVl with any grosser crime. Youth has a sprightliness and lire to boast, 635 That in the valley of decline are lost. And Virtue with peculiar charms appears, Crown'd with the garland of life's blooming years ; Yet Age, by long experience well inform'd, Well read, well temperVl, with religion warm'd, 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 honor and a joy to pay. 646 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 rigors unimpair'd endure. What is fanatic frenzy, scorn'd so much, And dreaded more than a contagious toucli ? 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 657 144 COWPEk's rOETICAL WORKS. Ought fit the view of an Ahniglity power) Before His presence, at whose awful throne All tremble in all Avorlds, except our own; To supplicate his mercy, love his ways, And prize them above pleasure, wealth, or praise, Though connnon sense, allow'd a casting voice, And free from bias, must approve the choice, Convicts a man fanatic in the extreme, And wild as madness in the world's esteem. But that disease, wlien soberly defined, G67 Is the false lire of an o'erheated mind; It views the truth with a distorted eye. And eitlier 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 favorite of the skies. 'Tis such a light as putrefaction breeds In fly-blown flesh, whereon the maggot feeds, Shines in the dark, but, usherM into day, The stench remains, the lustre dies away. 678 True bliss, if man may reach it, is composed Of hearts in union mutually disclosed : And, farewell else all bope of ])ure delight. Those hearts should be recjaim'd, rencwM, upright. Bad men, profaning friendship's hallow'd 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 witli dreadful skill, As bastions set point-blank against God's will; Enlarge and fortify the dread redoubt, 689 r)eei)ly resolved to shut a Saviour out; Call legions up from hell to back the deed, And, cursed with con(piest, finally succeed : But souls that carry on a blest exchange Of joys they meet with in 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 in their pleasant course; Feel less the Journey's roughness and its-length. Meet their opposers with united strength, 700 CONVERSATION. 145 And, one in heart, in interest, and design, Gird up each other to the race divine. But Conversation, choose wliat theme we may, And 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 ui)on its current worth, 710' W^ill 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 Are, he does not feel. The song of Ziou 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 treat All but their own experience as deceit! Will they believe, though credulous enough 721 To swallow mucli upon much weaker ])r()of, That tliere are blest inhabitants of earth. Partakers of a new ethereal birth. Their hopes, desires, and jyurposes estranged From things terrestrial, and divinely changed. Their very language of a kind that speaks The souFs sure interest in the good she seeks, Who deal with Scrii)ture, its importance felt. As Tully with ])hilosoi)hy once dealt. And, in the silent watches of the night, And through the scenes of tod-renewing light, 732; The social walk, or solitary ride, Keep still the dear companion at their side? No — shame upon a self-disgracing age, God's work may serve an ape upon a stage "With such a jest as flll'd Avith hellish glee Certain invisibles as shrewd as he; But veneration or respect finds none. Save from the subjects of that work alone. The W\)rld grown old, her deep discernment shows, Claps spectacles on her sagacious nose, Peruses closely the true Christian's face, 743- 13 146 cowper's poetiCx\l works. And finds it a mere mask of sly grimace, Usurps God's office, lays his bosom bare. And finds hypocrisy close lurking there ; And, serving God herself through mere constraint, Concludes his unfeign'd love of him a feint. And yet, God knows, look human nature through (And in due time tlie World shall know it too), That since the flowers of Eden felt the blast. That after man's defection laid all waste. Sincerity towards the heart-searching God 753 Has made the new-born creature her abode, Nor shall be found in unregenerate souls Till the last fire burn all between the poles. Sincerity! why, 'tis his only pride ; Weak and imperfect in all grace beside. He knows that God demands his heart entire, And gives him all his just demands require. Without it, his pretensions Avere as vain As, having it, he deems the World's disdain; Tliat great defect w^ould cost him not alone Man's favorable. judgment, but his own; 764 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, 775 She mocks her Maker, and herself deceives ; Her utmost reach, historical assent, The doctrines warpxl to what they never meant; That truth itself is in her head as dull And useless as a candle in a skull ; And all her love of God a groundless claim, A trick upon the canvas, 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 ; 780 CONVERSATION'. 147 That in lier heart the Christian slie reveres, And while she seems to scorn liini, only fears. A |)oet does not work by square or line, As smiths and joiners perfect a design ; At least we moderns, our attention less, Ik^yond the example of 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; 796 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, And I have lived recluse in rural shades. Which seldom a distinct report pervades. Great changes and new manners have occurr'd, And blest reforms that I have never lieard, And she may now be as discreet and wise, As once absurd in all discerning eyes. Sobriety perhaps may now be found 807 Where once Intoxication ])ress\l the ground; The subtle and injurious may be just. And he grown chaste that was the slave of lust ; Arts once esteemVl may be with shame dismiss^ ; ' Charity may relax the miser's list ; The gamester may have cast liis cards away, Forgot to curse, and only kneel to pray. It has indeed been told me (with what Aveight, How credibly, 'tis hard for me to state) That fables old, that seem'd forever mute, Eevived, are hastening into fresh repute, 818 And gods and goddesses, discarded long. Like useless lumber, or a stroller's song. Are bringing into vogue their heathen train, And Ju[>iter bids fair to rule again ; Tliat certain feasts are instituted now, Where Venus hears the lovers tender vow; That all Olympus through the country roves. To consecrate our few remaining groves. And Echo learns politely to repeat The X)raise of names for ages obsolete; That having proved the weakness, it should seem, 820 H8 cowpek's poetical works. Of Revelation's ineffectual beam, To bring the passions under sober sway, And give the moral 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, 839 Reclaim his taste, and brighten up his parts, Make him athletic as in days of old, Learn'd 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 sliall it matter aught Wlio works the wonder, if it be but wrought. 'Tis time, however, if the case stands 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, 850 The strife now stands upon a fair award, If Israers Lord be God, then serv^e the Lord; If lie be silent, fjiith is all a whnn, Then Baal is the God, and worship him. Digression is so much in modern use. Thought is so rare, and fancy so profuse. 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 zig-zags in a book, 861 Such drunken reelings, have an awkward look, And I had rather creep to what is true. Than rove and stagger witli no mark in view ; Yet to consult a little, seemM no crime. The freakish humor of the present time. 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 riiy wisest part. And first, let no man charge me that I mean To clothe in sable every social scene, 872 CONVERSATION. 14? And give good company a face severe, As if they met around a father's bier; For tell some men, that pleasure all tlieir bent, And laughter all their work, is life misspent, Their wisdom bursts into this sage reply. Then mirth is sin, and we should always cry. 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, 882 "Whose glory, with a light that never fades. Shoots between scattered rocks and opening shades j And while it shows the land the soul desires, The language of the land she seeks inspires. Thus touch'd, the tongue receives a sacred cure Of all that was absurd, profjine, impure ; Held within modest bounds, the tide of speech Pursues the course that Truth and Nature teach ; No longer labors merely to produce The pomp of sound, or tinkle without use: "Where'er it winds, the salutary stream, 893 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 form VI 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, 904 In gentle sounds it seems as it c'omplain'd 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. EETIREMENT. - studiis florens ignobilis oil— Virq, Geoko Lib. ir. THE ARGUMENT. Retirement from busy life generally desired, 1— Rarely improved, 40— Happy, if consecrated to the service of God and to meditation on his works, 45— Retirement favorable to spiritual improvement, 117— Panorama of human life, 147 — Various motives for courting retirement, 169— The poet's motives, 187— The lover's, 219— Hypochondria, 279— Meets with little sympathy, 301— Cure to be sought in the favor of God, 343— The retired statesman, 365— His anticipations of enjoyment, 381— Set free from the cares of life, 391— Requires society, and selects a friend, 437 His employment begins to pall, 457— Returns to the world, 479— Suburban villas, 481— The citizen's idea of country life, 487— Seaside enjoyments, 515— The ocean, 625— The spendthrift's involuntary retirement, 559— The sportsman turned ostler, 575— Difficulty of managing leisure, 611 — Its responsibilities, 649— Good books necessary to retirement, 683— Friends, 719— And divine communion, 743— Religion does not forbid harmless enjoyments, 783— The poet's own employment ot retire- ment, 801. Hackxey'd ill business, wearied at that oar "VVhicli 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, 5 Pants for the refuge of some rural shade, AVhere, all his long anxieties forgot Amid the charms of a sequestered spot, vQr 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 tritler, die a man. Thus Conscience pleads her cause within the breast, Though long rebell'd against, not yet suppress'd, 16 RETIREMENT. 151 And calls a creature form'd for God alone, For Heaven's lii^di purposes, and not liis own, Calls him away from selfisli ends and aims, From what dehilitates and what intlames. From cities hunnning with a restless crowd. Sordid as active, ignorant as loud, "Whose highest praise is that tliey live in vain. The dupes of pleasure, or the slaves of gain; "Where works of man are clustered close around, And works of God are hardly to be found, 2G To regions where, in spite of sin and woe, Traces of Eden are still seen below, Where mountain, river, forest, field, and grove. } Ivemind him of his Maker's power and love. 'Tis well if, look'd for at so late a day. In the last scene of such a senseless l>lay, True wisdom will attend his feeble call. And grace his action ere the curtain fall. Souls that have long despised their heavenly birtli. Their wishes all impregnated with earth. For threescore years employed with ceaseless care 37 In catching smoke and feeding upon air. Conversant only with the ways of men. Rarely redeem the short remaining ten. Inveterate habits choke the unfruitful heart. Their fibres penetrate its tenderest pnrt, And draining its nutritious powers to feed Their noxious growth, starve every better seed. Happy, if full of days — but liappier far, If, ere we yet discern life's evening star. Sick of the service of a world tliat feeds Its patient drudges with dry chaff and weeds, 48 "We can escape from Custom's idiot sway. To serve the Sovereign we were born to obey. Then sweet to nmse upon his skill display'd • (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, express'd with ease, Where unassisted sight no beauty sees. The shapely limb and lubricated joint, AVithin the small dimensions of a point, Muscle and nerve mii*aculously spun, 59 152 COWPEll's rOETICAL WORKS. His miglity work, who speaks and it is done, The invisible in things scarce seen reveal'd, To wlioni an atom is an ample tield ; To wonder at a thousand insect forms, These hatcliM, and those resuscitated worms, ISTew life ordainM, and brighter scenes to share, Once prone on earth, now buoyant upon air, AVhose shape would make them, had they bulk and size. More hideous foes than foncy can devise ; With helmet heads and dragon scales adorn'd, 69 The mighty myriads, now securely scorn'd, AVould 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. Ten thousand rivers pour'd at his command. From urns that never fail, through every land ; These like a deluge with impetuous force. Those Avinding modestly a silent course; The clcMid-surmounting Alps, the fruitful vales; Seas on which every nation spreads lier sails; 80 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 tiame. And with a rapture like his own exclaim, These are tliy glorijous works, thou Source of Good! How dimly seen, how faintly understood! Thine, and upheld by thy paternal care. This universal frame, thus wondrous fair; Thy power divine, and bounty beyond thought, 91 Adored and praised in all that thou hast wrought. Absorbed in that inmiensity I see, I shrink abased, and yet aspire to thee ; Instruct me, guide me to tliat heavenly day Tliy words, more clearly than thy works, display, That, Avhile thy truths my grosser thoughts reiine, 1 may resemble thee, and call thee mine. O blest proficiency ! surpassing all That men erroneously tlieir glory call, The recompense that arts or arms can yield, The bar, the senate, or the tented Held. 102 RETIREMENT. 153 Compared Avitli this sublimest life below, Ye kings and rulers, wliat liave courts to show? Tiius studied, used, and consecrated thus. On earth what is, seems form'd indeed for us; Not as tlie plaything of a fro ward child, Fretful unless diverted and beguiled. Much less to feed and Ian 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, 112 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 to approve, or would enforce, A superstitious and monastic course; Truth is not local, God alike pervades And fills the world of traffic and the shades, And may be fear\l amid the busiest scenes. Or scorn'd where business never intervenes. But 'tis not easy with a mind like ours, 123 Conscious of weakness in its noblest i)()wers, And in a world wliere, other ills apart, The roving eye misleads the careless heart. To limit Thought, by nature prone to stray Wherever freakish Fancy points the way; To bid the pleadings of Self-love be still, Resign our own and seek our Maker's will ; To spread the page of Scii[)ture, and compare Our conduct with tlie laws engraven there; To measure all that passes in the breast, Faithfully, lairly, by that sacred test; 134 To dive into the secret deeps within, To spare no ])assion and no favorite sin. And search the tiiemes, important above all, Ourselves, and our recovery from our fall. But leisure, silence, and a mind released From anxious thoughts how wealth may be increased; How to secure, in some i)ro[)iti()US hour, The iK>int of interest or the post of power; A soul serene, and eriually retired From objects too nnich dreaded or desired, Safe from the clamors of perverse dispute, 14j 1*54 cowper's poetical works. At least are friendly to tlie great pursuit. — Opening the map of God's extensive plan, We find a little isle, this life of man; Eternity's unknown ex})anse appears Circling around and limiting his years. Tlie busy race examine and explore Each creek and cavern of the dangerous shore, AYith care collect what in their eyes excels, Some, shining pebbles, and some, Aveeds and shells; Tlius 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 nndtitudes away; They shriek and sink, survivors start and weep, Pursue their s])ort, and follow to the deep: A few forsake the throng; with lifted eyes Ask wealth of Heaven, and gain a real i)rize. Truth, wisdom, grace, and I'cace like that above, Seal'd with His signet whom they serve and love; Scorn'd by the rest, with patient hoi)e they wait A kind release from their im[)erfect state, And unregretted are soon snatch'd away From scenes of sorrow into glorious day. Nor these alone prefer a lite recluse, Who seek retirement for its ])roper 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 avers-e 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, Wliate'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. Are luxuries excelling all the glare The world can boast, and her chief tavorites share. Witli eager step, and carelessly array'd, For such a cause the poet seeks the shade : 188 RETIREMENT. 155 From all lie sees he catches new deliglit, Pleased Fancy claps lier pinions at the sight ; The rising or the setting orh of day, The clouds that tlit, or slowly lloat away, Nature in all the various shapes she Avears, Frowning in storms, or hreathing gentle airs, The snowy robe her wintry state assumes, Iler sunnner heats, her fruits, and her perfumes, — All, all alike transport the glowing bard. Success in rhyme his glory and reward. 198 Nature ! whose Elysian scenes disclose His bright perfections at whose word they rose. Next to that power who fornrd 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 tire 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 enrich\l by what it ]xays, 209 That builds its glory on its Maker's i)raise. Woe to the man whose wit disclaims its use, Glittering in vain, or only to seduce, AVho studies nature with a wanton eye. Admires the work, but slips the lesscm by. His hours of leisure and recess employs In drawing i)ictures of forbidden joys. Retires to bhizon his own worthless name, Or shoot the careless with a surer aim! The lover too shuns business and alarms. Tender idolater of absent charms. 220 Saints oiFer 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; xVdores a creature, and, devout in vain, AVins in return an answer of disdain. As woodbine weds the plants within her reach, ^ Rough elm, or sinooth-grain'd ash, or glossy beech. In spiral rings ascends the trunk, and lays " 231 156 cowper's poetical works. 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 the 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 Kefines his speech and fashions his address ; But farewell promises of happier fruits, 241 Manly designs, and learning's grave pursuits ; Girt with a chain he cannot wish to break, His only bliss 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 an ear. And lovers, of all creatures, tame or wild. Can least brook management, howev^er mild, 252 Yet let a poet (poetry disarms The fiercest animals with magic charms) Kisk 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 dreams, Are all enchantments in a case like thine. Conspire against thy peace with one design. Soothe thee to make thee but a surer prey, 263 And feed the fire that wastes thy powers away. JJpl — God has form'd 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 design'd a Paradise below. The richest earthly boon his hands aff'ord, Deserves to be beloved, but not adored. Post away swiftly to more active scenes. Collect the scatter'd truths that study gleans, 274 I RETIREMENT. 157 Mix with the worhl, but with its wiser part, No longer give an image all thine heart ; Its 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 cannot well fulfil, Gives Melancholy up to Nature's care, And sends the patient into purer air. Look where he comes! — in this embower'd alcove Stand close conceaFd, and see a statue move : 284 Lips busy, and eyes fix'd, foot falling slow, Arms hanging idly down, hands clasp'd below, Interpret to the marking eye distress. Such as its symptoms can alone express. That tongue is silent now ; — that silent tongue Could argue once, could jest, or join the song. Could give advice, could censure or commend, Or charm the sorrows of a drooping friend. Kenounced alike its office and its sport. Its brisker and its graver strains fall short; Both fail beneath a fever's secret sway, 295 And, 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 groan'd beneath the rod, And the barb'd arrows of a frowning God ; And such emollients as his friends could spare, Friends such as his for modern Jobs prepare. 306 Blest, rather curst, with hearts that never feel, Kept snug in caskets of close-haminer'd 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 ever felt the sting Of sorrow, sorrow is a sacred thing; Not to molest, or irritate, or raise »317 U 158 cowper's poetical works. A langli at his expense, is slender praise; He that has not usurp'd the name of man Does all, and deems too litlle, all he can. To assuage the throbbings of the fester'd part, And stanch the bleedings of a broken heart. 'Tis not, as heads that never ache suppose, Forgery of fancy, and a dream of Avoes ; Man is a harp, whose chords elude the sight, Each yielding harmony, disposed aright; The screws reversed (a task which, if he please, 827 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, 338 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 chastening hand : To thee the dayspring and the blaze of noon, The purple Evening and resplendent moon, "^ The stars that, sprinkled o'er the vault of night, 349 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 favor life is found. All bliss beside, a shadow or a sound : Then heaven, eclipsed so long, and this dull earth, Shall seem to start into a second birth ; Nature, assuming a more lovely foce. Borrowing a beauty from the works of grace. Shall be despised and overlook'd no more. Shall fill thee with delights unfelt before, 360 ^-y^ or IBM ^< [UII7BESIT?] RETIREMENT. 159 u.mpart to things 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 treasure and my pride. Beneath your shades your gray possessor hide ! Receive me, languishing for tliat repose The servant of the public never knows. 370 Ye saw me once (ah, those regretted days, AVhen 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 ardor 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 press'd His undissembling virtue to my breast; Receive me now, not uncorrupt as then, 381 Nor guiltless of corrupting other men. But versed in arts that, Avhile 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, 392 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? — he was always free: To carve his rustic name npon a tree. To snare the mole, or with ill-fashion'd hook To draw the incautious minnow from the brook, Are life's prime pleasures in his simple view, 403 160 COWPEr's rOETlCAL WORKS. Eis flock tlie clilef concern lie ever knew : She shines but httle in Iiis lieedless 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'd, In freedom lost so long, now repossessVl ; The tongue whose strains w^ere cogent as commands, Kevered at home, and felt in foreign lands. Shall own itself a stammerer in that cause, 413 Or plead its silence as its best applause. He knows indeed that, whether dress'd or rude, Wild without art, or artfully subdued, E'ature in every form inspires delight,' - But never markM her with so just a sight. Her hedgerow shrubs, a variegated store. With woodbine and wild roses mantled o'er. Green balks and furrowed lands, the stream that spreads Its cooling vapor o'er tlie dewy meads. Downs that almost escape the inquiring eye, That melt and fade into the distant sky; 424 Beauties he lately slighted as he pass'd. Seem all created since he travelled last. Master of all the enjoyments he designed, No rough annoyance rankling in his mind, "What 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, 435 Slips to his hammock, and forgets the blast. He chooses company, but not the squire's, "Whose wit is rudeness, whose good breeding tires ; Nor yet the parson's, who would gladly come, _ Obsequious when abroad, though proud at home; Nor can he much affect the neighboring 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, — 446 RETIREMENT. IGl Who comes when calFd, and at a Avord withdraws, Speaks with reserve, and hstens with applause ; Some plain mechanic, who without pretence To birth or wit, nor gives nor takes oflfence; On Avhom he rests, well pleased, Iiis 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. 456 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 short the date of all we gather here ; Nor 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, 467 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 liis 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, 4T8 Flies to the levee, and, received with grace. Kneels, kisses hands, and shines again in place. Suburban villas, highway-side retreats. That dre^d the encroachment of our growing streets, Tight boxes, neatly sash'd, and in a blaze With all a July sun's collected rays, Delight the citizen, who, gasping there. Breathes clouds of dust, and calls it country air. O sweet retirement, who would balk the thought. That could a^ord retirement, or could not? 'Tis such an easy walk, so smooth and straight, — 489 162 cowper's poetical works. The second milestone fronts the garden gate; A step if fair, and, if a shower approach, You lind safe shelter in the next stage-coach. There, prison'd in a parlor snug and small, Like bottled wasps upon a southern wall. The man of business and his friends compress\l, Forget their labors and yet tind no rest; But still 'tis rural — trees are to be seen From every window, and the fields are green ; Ducks paddle in tlie pond before tlie door, 499 And Avliat could a remoter scene show more?* A sense of elegance we rarely find The portion of a mean or vulgar mind. And ignorance of better things makes man, AVho cannot much, rejoice in what lie can, And he that deems Ins 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 accomi)lish'd taste. 510 Yet hence, alas! insolvencies, and hence The unpitied victim of ill-judged expense, From all his wearisome engagements freed. Shakes hands with business, and retires indeed. Your prudent grandmammas, ye modern belles. Content with Bristol, Bath, and Tunbridge Wells, When health required it, would consent to roam, Else more attached to pleasures founfl at home ; But now alike, gay widow, virgin, wife, Ingenious to diversify dull life. In coaches, chaises, caravans, and hoys, 521 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. He swathes about the swelling of the deep. That shines and rests, as infants smile and sleep Vast as it is, it answers as it flows The breathings of the lightest air that blows ; Curhng and whitening over all the waste. The rising waves obey the increasing blast, 532 IlETIREMENT. 163 Abrupt and horrid as the tempest roars, Thunder and flash upon the steadfast shores; Till lie that rides the whirlwind checks the rein, Then all the w^orld of w^aters sleeps 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. Oh, grant a poet leave to recommend (A poet fond of nature, and your friend) 542 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 the impertinence of tongue. That, while it courts, aflronts and does you wrong, Mark well the finishM plan without a fault, The seas globose and huge, the overarching vault. Earth's millions daily fed, a w^orld employed 553 In gathering plenty yet to be enjoy'd. Till gratitude grew vocal in the praise Of God, beneficent in all his ways ; — Graced with such wisdom, how w^ould beauty shine ! Ye w^ant 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, 564 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 retreats, When Pope describes them, have a thousand sweets ; He likes the country, but in truth must own, Most likes it, when he studies it in towm. Poor Jack — no naatter who — for when I blame 575 1G4 COWPERS POETICAL WORKS. I pity, and must therefore sink tlie name, — Lived in liis saddle, loved the cliase, the course, And always, ere he mounted, kisyM his horse. The estate his sires had o\vn\l in ancient years, Was quickly distanced, match VI against a peer's. Jack vanish 'd, 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, 585 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 look'd another way. Convinced at last, upon a nearer view, 'Twas he, the same, tlie very Jack he knew% O'erwhelmM at once with wonder, grief, and joy. He press'd him much to quit his base employ, — His countenance, his purse, his heart, his hand. Influence, and power, Avere all at his command: 596 Peers are not always generous as well-bred ; But Granby was, meant truly what he said: Jack bow'd, 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 year. Thus some retire to nourish hopeless woe; Some seeking happiness not found below ; Some to comply with humor, and a mind To social scenes by nature disinclined ; Some sway'd by fashion, some by deep disgust; 607 Some self-impoverish'd, 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 even a dunce the 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, 618 RETIREMENT. 16^ He finds the labors of that state exceed His utmost facuhies, 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 distressVl. The veteran steed, excused his task at length, In kind compassion of his failing strength, And. turn'd into the park or mead to graze, Exempt from future service all his days, 628 There feels a pleasure perfect in its kind. Ranges at liberty, and snufts the wind : But when his lord would quit the busy road. To taste a joy like that he has bestowal, He proves, less happy than his favor'd brute, A life of ease a dithcult pursuit. Thought, to the man that never thinks, may seem 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, 639 Attain not to the dignity of thought : Nor yet the swarms that occupy the brain, AVhere dreams of dress, intrigue, and pleasure reign; Nor such as useless conversation breeds, Or lust engenders, and indulgence feeds. "Whence, and what are we? to what end ordain'd? "What means the drama by the world sustained ? Business or vain amusement, care or mirth, Divide the frail inhabitants of earth. Is duty a mere sport, or an employ? Life an intrusted talent, or a toy? 650 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 the 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? Pardon me, ye that give the midnight oil 661 166 cowper's poetical works. To learned cares or philosophic toil, Though I revere your humble names, Your useful labors, and important aims. And hold the world indebted to your aid, EnricliM with the discoveries ye have made ; Yet let me stand excused, if I esteem A mind employVl 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, 671 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 highest in renown, can justly boast. A mind unnerved, or indisposed to bear The weiglit of subjects worthiest of her care, AVliatever 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. 682 Books, therefore, — not the scandal of the shelves, In which lewd sensualists print out themselves; IKor those in wliich the stage gives vicl- a blow, With what success, let modern manners show ; Nor his who, for the bane of thousands born. Built* God a church, and laugh \1 his Word to scorn, Slvilful alike to seem devout and just. And stab religion with a sly side-thrust; Nor those of learn'd philologists, who chase A panting syllable through time and space, Start it at home, and hunt it in the dark 693 To Gaul, to Greece, and into Noah's ark ; But such as Learning, without folse pretence. The friend of Truth, the associate of sound Sense, And sucli as, in the zeal of good design, Strong judgment laboring in the Scripture mine, All such as manly and great souls produre, Wortliy to live, and of eternal use; Behold in these what leisure liours demand, Amusement and true knowledge hand in hand. Luxury gives the mind a chddish cast, 1 Voltaire, with the inscriiition, Deo erexit Voltaire. RETIREMENT. 167 And, wliile she polishes, perverts the taste ; Habits of close attention, thinking heads, Becoiiie more rare as dissipation spreads. Till aiithoi^s 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 makes Fancy lame ; Till Farce itself, most mournfully jejune, Calls for the kind assistance of a tune ; And novels (witness every month's Revieic) 713 Belie their name, and offer nothing new. Tlie mind, relaxing into needful sport, Sliould turn to writers of an abler sort, AVhose wit well managed, and whose classic style, Give Truth a lustre, and make Wisdom smile. Friends (for I cannot stint, as some have done, Too rigid in my view, that name to one; Though one, I grant it, in the generous breast AVill stand advanced a step above the rest; Flowers by that name i)romiscuously we call, But one, tlie rose, the regent of them all) — 724 Friends, not adopted with a sclioolboy's haste, But chosen with a nice discerning taste, AVell born, well disci [dined, who, [)lace(l apart From vulgar minds, have honor much at heart, And (though the Avorld nuiy think the 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, 735 Seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave, A sepulchre, in which the living lie, Where all good (pialities 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 wliisper — Solitude is sweet. Yet neitlier these delights, nor aught beside. That appetite can ask, or wealth provide, Can save us always from a tedious day, 1 BruyOre. 168 cowper's poetical works. Or shine the duhiess of still life away IJ)ivine communion, carefully enjoy'd, Or sought Avith energy, must fill the void. O sacred art ! to which alone life owes Its happiest seasons, and a peaceful close ; Scorn'd in a world, indebted to that scorn For evils daily felt and hardly borne, Not knowing thee, we reap, with bleeding hands, Flowers of rank odor upon thorny lands. And, while Experience cautions us in vain, 755 Grasp seeming happiness, and find it pain. Despondence, self-deserted in her grief, Lost by abandoning her own relief; Murmuring and ungrateful Discontent, That scorns afflictions mercifully meant ; Those humors, tart as wines upon the fret. Which idleness and weariness beget, — These, and a thousand plagues that haunt the breast. Fond of the phantom of an earthly rest. Divine communion chases, as the day Drives to their dens the obedient beasts of prey. 766 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'erwhelm'd with sorrow, yet rejoice ; No womanish or wailing grief has part, No, not a moment, in his royal heart; 'Tis manly music, such as martyrs make, Suffering with gladness for a Saviour's sake ; His soul exults, hope animates his lays, 777 The sense of mercy kindles into praise. And wilds, familiar with the lion's roar, Eing with ecstatic sounds unheard before : 'Tis love like his that can alone defeat The foes of man, or make a desert sweet. Eehgion does not censure or exclude Unnumber'd 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 ; 788 RprriUEMENT. 169 To clierisli virtue in an humble state, And share the joys 3'our bounty may create; To mark the matchless workings of the power That shuts within its seed the future flower, Bid these in elegance of form excel, In color these, and those delight the smell, Sends Nature forth the daughter of the skies, To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes; To teach the canvas innocent deceit, Or lay the landscape on the snowy sheet; — 798 These, these are arts pursued without a crime, That leave no stain upon the wing of Time. Me poetry j^or, ratlier, notes that aim Feebly and vainly at poetic 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. 15 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 sub- ject. 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, instead of the trifle which he at first intended, a serious aff'air — a volume. In the Poem on the subject of Education, he would be very sorry to stand suspected of having aimed his censure at any particular school. His objections are such as naturally apply themselves to schools in general. If there were not, as for the most part there is, wilful neglect in those wdio manage them, and an omission even of such discipline as they are susceptible of, the objects are yet too numerous for minute attention ; and the aching hearts of ten thousand parents, mourning mider 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 in- stance of it. THE TASK. BOOK I. -THE SOFA. THE AEGUMENT. flistoncal deduction of seats, from the stool to the Sofa, l—A schoolboy's ramble, 109— A walk in the comitry, 140— The scene described, 159— Rural sounds as well as sights delightful, ISl— Another walk, 210— Mistake concerning the charms of solitude corrected, 233— Colonnades commended, 252 — Alcove, and the view from it, 278— The wilderness, 350— The grove, 854— The thresher, 356— The necessity and the benefits of exercise, 367— The works of nature superior to, and in some in- stances inimitable by, art, 409— The wearisoraeness of what is commonly called a life of pleasure, 462— Change of scene sometimes expedient, 506— A common described, and the character of Crazy Kate introduced, 526— Gipsies, 557 — The blessings of a civilized life, 592— The state most favorable to virtue, 600— The South Sea Islanders compassionated, but chiefly Omai, 620— His present* state of mind supposed, 651— Civilized life friendly to virtue, but not great cities, 678— Great * cities, and London in particular, allowed their due praise, but censured, 693— Fete champetre, 739— The book concludes with a reflection on the fatal efifects of dissi- pation and effeminacjLjipon our public tSeiisures, 749. i~^ ^ ~~ I sixa the Sofa. T who lately sang Truth, Hope, and Charity, and tonchVl with awe The solemn chords, and with a trembling hand, Escaped Avith pain from tliat adventurous flight, Now seek rei)Ose upon an humbler theme; Tlte theme thouf,di humble, yet august and proud The occasion — foi**'^^. Fair commands tlie song. Tiii;^e w\as, when clothing, sumptuous or for nse, j S*av(ytheir own painted skins, our sires had none. As \|et black breeclies were not ; satin smooth, Or velvet soft, or plush with shaggy pile: Tlie hardy chief u[)on tlie rugged rock Washed by the sea, or on the gravelly bank Thrown up by wintry torrents roaring loud, 14 172 cowi>er\s poetical works. Fearless of wrong, reposed ms weary strength. Those barbarous ages past, succeeded next • Tlie birthday of Invention ; weak at first. Dull in design, and chunsy to perform, "oint-stools were tlien created; on three legs Upborne they stood — tliree legs upholding iirm A niassy slab, in fashion square or round. On such a stool immortal AltV^^d sat, And swayVl the sceptre of Jiis mfant realms. And such in ancient halls and mansions drear 24 May still be seen ; but perforated sore, And drill'd in holes, the solid oak is^ found. By Avorms voracious eating througlTand through. At length a generation more refined Im[>roved the simple ])lan; made three legs four. Gave tliem a twisted form vermicular. And o^er the seat, Avith plenteous wadding stuft:''d. Induced a splendid cover, green and blue, ■» Yellow and red, of tapestry richly wrought And woven close, or needlework sublime. There miglit ye seethe peony spread wide, 35 The full-blown rose, the shepherd and his lass, Lai)d()g and lambkin with black staring eyes. And parrots with twin cherries in tlieir beak. Now came the cane from India, smooth and bright With Nature's yarnisli; sever 'd into stripes That interlaced each other ; these supplied Of texture firm a lattice-work, that braced The new machine, and it became a chair. But restless "Avas the chair; the back erect S^;"' Distressed the weary loins, that felt no ease; , ' The slippery seat betrayM the sliding part, That press'd it, and the feet hung dangling tlown\ Anxious in vain to find the distant fioor. ^ rThese for the rich : the rest, whom Fat^ had placed In modest mediocrity, content / With base materials, sat on well tanilM-4iides,--f^l)^fi Obdurate and unyielding, glassy smooith, ' ' ' With here and there a tuft of crimson yarn. Or scarlet crewel, in tlie cushion fix\l. If cushion might be callVl wliat harder seeni'd Than the firm oak of which the frame was form^V No want of timber then was felt or fearVl THE TASK. 173 In Albion's liappy isle. Tlic lumber stood Ponderous, and lixM by its own liinssy weight. ,But elbows still Avere wanting; these, some say, An alderman of Cnp[)legatc contrived; • And some ascribe the invention to a priest. Burly and big, and studions of his ease. vBut, rude at lirst, and not with easy slope 'Keceding wide, they press'd against the ribs, And bruised tlie side; and elevated high, ♦Taught the raised shoulders to invade the ears. 07 Long time elapsed or e'er our rugged sires Comi)lain\l, 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 to acconnnodate the foir, Heard the sweet moan Avith pity, and devised ♦The soft settee ; one elbow at each end. And in tlie nndst an elbow it received. United yet divided, twain at once. So sit two kings of Brentford on one throne; 78 And so two citizens, who take the air, Close ])ack'd, and smiling, in a chaise and one. But relaxation of the languid* frame, By soft recumbency of outstretch'd limbs, AYas bliss reserved for ha])pier days. So slow The growth of what is excellent; so hard To attain perfection in this nether world. Thus first Necessity invented stools, \ Convenience next suggested elbow-chairs, iAn<] T.n^-]]|y Ibp nPPrnnp]]>^]|^(] ^^t? k last. The nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to watch the sick, ' 89 Whom snoring she disturbs. As sweetly he "Who quits the coach-box at the midnight lioiir To sleep within the carriage more secure, His legs depending at the open door. Sweet sleep enjoys the curate in his desk, The tedious rector drawling o'er his head ; And sweet the clerk below. But neither sleep Of lazy nurse, who snores the sick man dead, Nor his who quits the box at midnight hour To slumber in tlie carriage more secure, Nor sleep enjoy'd by curate in his desk, 100 174 cowper's poetical works. JN'or yet the dozings of tlie clerk, are sweet, Compared Avitli the repose tlie Sofa yields. Oh may I live exempted (while I live ' Guiltless of pamper'd appetite obscene) From pangs arthritic that infest the toe \ Of libertine. Excess ! The Sofa suits y ^ The gouty limb, 'tis true; but gouty limb, a^'' [Tho ugh on a Sofa, may 1 never feel : '^^^ V f Fol' I have loved the rural w nlk lli^-onn-l' lon^^ {){ grassy swarth . c lose croppM bv nib bling^ shec^p, 110 Ant] ^K-irf«^(1 tl.ir.y Avitl. infprfpvfnrp firm Of |1u>rny hono-lLg ; liave loved the rural walk O'er hills, through valleys, and by river's brink, E'er since a truant boy 1 pass'd my bounds To enjoy a ramble on the banks of Thames : And still remember, nor without regret. Of hours that sorrow since has much endear'd, How oft, my slice of pocket store consumed, Still hungering, penniless, and far from home, I fed on scarlet hips and stony haws, Or blushing crabs, or berries that emboss 121 The bramble, black as jet, or sloes austere. Hard fare! but such as boyish appetite Disdains not, nor the palate, nndepraved By culinary arts, unsavory deems. No Sofa then awaited my return ; Nor Sofa tlien I needed. Youth repairs His wasted spirits quickly, by long toil Incurring short fatigue ; and though our years. As life declines, speed rapidly away. And not a year but pilfers, as he goes, Some youthful grace, that age would gladly keep ; 132 A tooth or auburn lock, and by degrees Their length and color from the locks they spare ; The elastic spring of an unv/earied foot. That mounts the stile with ease, or leaps the fence ; That play of lungs, inhaling and again Respiring freely the fresh air, that makes Swift pace or steep ascent no toil to me, Trine have not pilfer'd yet ; nor yet impair'd My relish of fair prospect; scenes that soothed Or charm'd me young, no longer young, I find Still soothing, and of power to charm me still. THE TASK. 175 And witness, dear companion* of my walks, Whose arm this twentieth winter I perceive Fast locked in mine, with pleasure such as love, Confirm'd by long experience of thy worth And well-tried virtues, could alone ins})ire — ^Witness a joy that thou liast doubled long. ^^ Thou know'st n ^y pr^i>^^ '^^ nntnrA most sincere, And that my raptures are not conjured up To serve occasions of poetic pomp, But genuine, and art partner of them all. ♦ 153 IIow oft upon yon eminence our pace • Has slackeird to a, pause, and we have borne The ruffling wind, scarce conscious that it blew; • AVhile Admiration, feeding at the eye, * And still unsated, dwelt upon the sce ne. 2 Thence with what pleasure Jiave we just discernM The distant ])hmLdL slow movin «r. and beside II js lahoijng teau ^ , that swerved not from the track, Tl u^stuydy §wnin (1iiiiip|s|iVl to a hoy ! y^ Here Ouse, slow winding through a level plain Of spacious mea^^s. ivitli cattle sprinkled oy. 1 G4 Conducts the eye along his sinuous coarse Delighted. There, fast rooted in their bank> Stand, never overlooked, our favorite elmi ^> That screen the herUsHitnr^ solitary liut; While far beyond, and overthwart the stream, That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale, The sloping hind recedes into the clouds; Displaying on its varied side the grace Of hedgerow beauties numberless, square tower, Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells Just undulates upon the listening ear; 175 Groves, heaths, and smoking villages remote. Scenes must be beautiful which, daily view'd, Please daily, and whose novelty survives Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years — Praise justly due to those that I describe. y Kor rural sights alone, but rural sounTIs ' "^^lliilM'iLt V' i .!^.'^' fV^V i ^'^ nd restor e T he tone of ianaMiuT Matu re. !^Tightv winds, That sweep the skirt of s(mie far-spreading wood Of ancient growth, make music not unlike 1 Mrs. Unwin. 176 cowper's poetical works. ^ The dasli of Ocean on liis winding shore, And lull the spirit while they lill the inind; Unnuniber'd branches waving in the blast, And all their leaves fost flattering, all at once. ITor less composure waits upon t he ro(^ r^ Of distant floods, or on the softer voice Of neighboring fountain, or of rills that slip Through tho cleft rock, and, chiming as they fall Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length In matted gi-ass, that with a livelier green 1 95 Betrays the secret of their silent course.. Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds, But animated Nature sweeter still. To soothe and satisfy the human ear. • Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one The livelong nighty nor thes'e alone, whose notes Nicp-finger'd Art must emulate in vain. But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime In still-repeated ch-cles, screaming loud, The jay, the pie, and even the boding owl JThat hails the rising moon, have charms for me. 20C Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh, Yet, heard in scenes where peace forever reigns, And only there, please liighly for their sa k e. / " Peace to the artist, whose ingenious thought Devised the weather-house, that useful toy ! Fearless of humid air anTTgathering rains, Forth steps the man — an emblem of myself ! More delicate his timorous mate retires.- "When Winter soaks the fields, and female feet, Too weak to struggle with tenacious clay, Or ford t^ie rivulets, are best at home, 217 Thejask of new discoveries falls on me, "At such" a season, and with such a charge, Once went I forth ; and found, till then unknown, A cottage, whither oft we since repair: 'Tis perch'd ui)on the green hilhto}), but close .Environed with a ring of brandling elms, ** That overhang the tliatch, itself un^ni Peeps at the vale below ; so tliick beset With foliage of such dark redundant growth, I caird the low-roof \1 lodge tlie^^crt^ce/i^'s nedt. And, hidden as it is, and far renioie THE TASK. 1*77 From such iinpleasing sounds as liaunt the ear In village or in town, the bay of curs Incessant, clinking hammers, grinding wheels, And infants clamorous whether pleased or pain'd — Oft have I wish\l the peaceful covert mine. Here, I have said, at least I should ])Osses§^ The poet's treasure, silence, and indulge The dreams of fancy, tranquil and secure. Vain thought! — the dweller in that still retrea Dearly obtains the refuge it affords. 238 Its elevated site forbids the wretch To drink sweet waters of the crystal well ; He dips his bowl into the weedy ditch, ^ And, heavy laden, brings his beverage honie, Far fetched and little worth ; nor seldom waits, Dependent on the baker's punctual call, To hear his*cre*aking panniers at the door, Angry and sad, and his last crust consumed. So farewell envy of the peasanVs nest ! If solitude jnake scant the means of life,// Society for me! — thou seeming sweet, 1/ j j249 Be still a j)leasing object in my view; My visit still, but never mine abode ! y Not distant far, a length of colonnacCel Invites us : monument of ancient taste, \ Now scorn'd, but worthy of a better fate. Our fathers knew the value of a screen From sultry suns ; and in their shaded walks And long-protracted bowers, enjoy'd at noon The gloom and coolness of declining day. "VVe bear our shades about us ; self-deprived Of other screen, the thin umbrella spread, •' 260 And range an Indian waste without a tree. Thanks to Benevolus;' he spares me yet These chestnuts ranged in corresponding lines; And though himself so polish'd, still reprieves The obsolete prolixity of shade. Descending now (but cautious, lest too fast) A sudden steep, upon a rustic bridge Wq l)ass a gulf, irf which the willows dip Their pendent boughs, stooping as if to drink Hence, ankle-deep in moss and tiowery thyme, * John Courtney Throckmorton, Esq., of Weston Underwood. 178 cowper's poetical works. We mount again, and feel at every step Our foot bait sunk in liillocks green and soft, Baised by tlie mole, tlie miner of tbe soil. I He, not unlike tbe great ones of mankind, I Disfigures Eartb ; and, plotting in tlie dark, iToils mucli to earn a monumental pile, Tbat may record tbe miscliiefs be bas done^^ Tbe sunnnit gain'd, bebold tbe proud alcove Tbat crowns it! yet not all its j:)ride secures Tbe grand retreat from injuries impressed 280 By rural carvers, wbo Avitb knives deface Tbe panels, leaving an obscure, rude name, * In cbaracters uncoutb, and spelt amiss. So strong tbe zeal to immortalize bimself Beats in tbe breast of man, tbat even a few, Few transient years, won from tbe abyss abhorr'd Of blank oblivion, seem a glorious prize. And even to a clown. Now roves tbe eye. And, posted on tbis speculative beigbt. Exults in its command. Tb e. s|]^e]yfold bere * Pours out it -^ ^c-c^oy tonnnf^ oVr tiq!^, L^lebe . "^ 291 At first , progressive as a stream , tbey seek Tbe mTddie Ij eid ; but, scattered by degrees, • ,^ Eacli to bis cIToice, soon wbiteii_(ill.tjhie^^j^^ Tbere, from tbe sun-burnt bayfield bomeward creeps Tbe loaded wain; wbile, ligbten\l of its cbarge, Tbe wain tbat meets it passes^ swiftly by — Tbe boorisb driver leaning o'er bis teem Vociferous, and impatient of delay. I^or less attractive is tbe woodland scene, Diversified witb trees of every growtb — Alike, yet various. Hei'e tbe gray smooth trunks 302 or linip ^ pv hppcb^ d'^^^^ ctlv sbinq^ /jtbjn th(^ twiljcHit-, of tli'^^ir distant sbad^ s ; tbere^lost bebind a rising ground, tbe wood Seems sunk, and sborten'd to its toi)most boughs. No tree in all tbe grove but bas its charms, Tbnn^nt, tliough \A an afHluon.4 4^Jv ; The powers of fancy and stronc^ thonglit aretheirs ; Even age itself seems privileged in them AVith clear exemption from its own defects. A sparkling eye beneath a wrinkled front The veteran shows, and, gracing a gray beard AVith yonthful smiles, descends towards the grave Sprightly and old almost without deca^\ / 408 Like a coy maiden. Ease, when courted most, * Farthest retires — an id(^, at whose slirine Who ofteiwst sacrifice arelfavor'd least. iThe love of Nature, and the scenes she draws, Is Nature's dictate. Strange! there should be found, AVho, self-imprison'd in their proud saloons, ' Eenounce the odors of the open field For the unscented fictions of the loom ; "VVho, satisfied with only pencill'd scenes. Prefer to the performance of a God The inferior wonders of an artist's liand, 41J)' y.ovely indeed the mimic works of Art; l^ut Nature's works far lovelier. I admire — None more admires — the painter's magic skill, AVho shows me that Avhich I shall never see. Conveys a distant country into mine. And throwsTtalian light on English walls r JUit imitative strok-es can do no more 'lllian please the eye- — sweet Nature every sense jTlje air salubrious of her lofty hills, 'The cheering fragrance of her dewy vales. And music of her woods — no works of man 430^ .^lay rival these; these all bespeak a power Peculiar, and exclusively her own. Beneath the open sky she spreads the feast; 'Tis free to all — 'tis every day renewed ; Who scorns it, starves deservedly at home. lie does not scorn it, who, imprison'd long In some unwholesome dungeon, and a prey To sallow sickness, which the vapors, dank And clammy, of his dark abode have bred^ Escapes at last to liberty and liglit: Ills cheek recovers soon its healthful hue ; 441 IG X 182 cowper's poetical works. His eye reliimines its extinguisliVl fires; He walks, lie leaps, lie runs — is wiiigVl with joy, And riots in the sweets of every breeze. He does not scorn it wlio has long endured , A fever's agOnies, and fed on drugs. Nor yet the mariner, his bl'O^'intianiQd - "■■ Witli acrid salts; liis very h^rt athirst To gaze at Nature in her green array, Upon the ship's tall side he stands, possess'd Witli visions prompted by intense desire: 45] f'air fields appear below, sucli as he left Far distant, such as lie would die to find — He seeks them headlong, and is seen no more. 4 The spleen is seldom felt where Flora reigns ; The lowering eye, the petulance, the frown, And sullen sadness, that o'ershade, distort, And mar the face of Beauty, when no cause For such immeasurable woe appears — These Flora banish es, and gives the fair ~ weet smile s, a ndljloom less transient than her o wn.J ' is the coiistant revolution, s tale ._ " 4G! d tasteless, ot tlie same repeated joys, That palls and satiates, and makes languid life A pedler's pack, tliat bows tlie bearer down. Health suflfers, and the spirits ebb,; the lieart Recoils from its own choice — at the full feast Is famish'd — finds no music in the^song. No smartness in the jest; and wonders wdiy. Yet thousands still desire to journey on, Though halt, and weary of the path they tread, The paralytic, who can hold her cards. But cannot play them, borrows a friend's hand 47i To deal and shuffle, to divide and sort Her mingled suits and sequences ; and sits, Spectatress both and spectacle, a sad And silent cipher, while her proxy plays. Others are dragg'd into the crowded room Between supporters ; and, once seated, sit, Through downright inability to rise. Till the stout bearers lift the corpse again. These speak a loud memento. Yet even these Themselves love life, and cling to it, as he That overhangs a torrent, to a twig. 8- \ An- THE TASK. 1S3 They love it, and yet loatlie it; fear to die, '/ Yet scorn tlie purposes for wliich tliey live. Tlien wlierefore not renounce them ? No — the dread, The slavish dread of s olitude, that breeds Reflection and remorse, the tear of sl iame, I And their inveterate habits, all forbid! ' Whom call we gay? That honor has been lonut save me from the gayety oi' those , Whose headaches nail them to a noonday bed; And save me too from theirs, whose haggard eyes Flash desperation, and betray their pangs For ])ropcrty strippM off by cruel chance; From gayety, that tills the bones with pain, Tlie mouth with blasphemy, the heart with w oe. / 505 The earth was made so various, that the mind j Of desultory man, studious of change, And pleased with novelty, might be indulged. Prosj^ects, however lovely, may be seen Till half their beauties ftide; the weary sight. Too well acquainted with their smiles, slides oflf Fastidious, seeking less familiar scenes. "Then snug inclosures in the shelter'd vale, AVhere frequent hedges intercept the eye, Delight us; happy to renounce awhile, Ni)t senseless of its clyi rnis. what still we love, 516 Tliat sucIj short absence may endear it more. *- ^Then forests, or the savage rock, may please, Tliat hides the sea-mew in his hollow clefts Above the reach of man. > His hoary head, Conspicuous many a league, the mariner. Bound homeward, and in ho])e already there, Greets Avith three cheers exidting. At his waist A girdle of lialf-witherd shrubs he shows, And at his feet the batlled billows die. J f The c And, breathing wholesome air, and wandering much, ] Jyf^ Need other physic none to heal the effects *J Of loathsome diet, penury, and cold^ 59 1, Blest he^ though undistijiguish^d from the cra w d By wealth or di gnity, who (1 wells s ecur e, uh ere niah, by MtTire flt^r ge^ has lai fnifiirlft. n i s iiercenes f^, Imving |pnrr^t,^ ^IlPJi gh slow t^ lea rn. Th e manners and the arts of civil life. ^^^ His wants, indeed, are" many; but sirp]^)iy Is obvious, placed within the easy reach Of temperate wishes and industrious han ds, j . Here Virtue thrives as in her proper soil ;v^ Not rude and sui-ly, and beset with thorns, And terrible to sight, as when she springsj ^ 602 (If e'er she springs spontaneous) in remote And barbarous^climes, wliere violence prevails, And strength is lord of all ; but gentle, kind. By culture tamed, by liberty refresh'd, And all her fruits by radiant truth matured. War and tjie chase engross the savage whole : War loiiowM for revenge, or to supplant The envied tenants of some happier spot: The chase for sustenance, precarious trust ! His hard condition with severe constraint Binds all his facullies, forbids all growth 613: 1 186 cowper's poetical works. Of wisdom, proves a school in which he learns Sly circumvefttion, unrelenting'liate, ' Mean self-attacliment, and scarce aught beside- •*— Thus fare the shivering natives of the north, And thus the rangers of;the western world^ "Wherje it advances far inV> the deep, \ Towards the Antarcti^^ Even the favor'd isles So lately found, althougli the Tionstant sun * Cheer all their seasons with a grateful smile,* Can boast but little virtue ; and inert • 623 "^Through plenty, lose in morals what they gain' In manners — victims of luxurious ease. These therefore I can pity, placed remote From all that^cience traces, art invents, Or inspiration teaches; and inclosed ~n boundless oceans, never to be pass'd By navigators uninformM as they. Or ploughed perhaps by British bark again. But far beyond the rest, and with most cause, '^lee, gentle savage!^ Avhom no love of thee Or thine, but curiosity perhaps, 634 Or else vain-glory, prompted us to draw Forth from thy native bowers, to show thee here AYith Avhat superior skill we can abuse The gifts of Providence, and squander life. The dream is past; and thou hast found again Thy cocoas and bananas, palms and yams. And homestall thatch'd with leaves. But hast thou found Their former charms? And, having seen our state, Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp Of equipage, oilr gardens, and our sports. And heard our music ; are tliy simple friends, 645 Thy simple fair, and all thy plain delights. As dear to thee as once?/ And have thy joys Lost nothing by comparison with ours? Kude as thou art (for we returned thee rude And ignorant, except of outward show), I cannot think thee yet so dull of heart And spiritless, as never to regret Sweets tasted here, and left as soon as kno wn.] Methinks I see thee straying on the beach. And asking of the surge, that bathes thy foot, 1 Oraai. THE TASK. 187 If ever it lias wash 'd our distant sliore. I see thee weep, and thine are lionest tears, A patriot's for his country. Thou art sad At thought of her fork)rn and abject state, ' From which no power of thinfe can raise lier up. ^ Thus Fancy paints thee, and, though apt to err, \Perhaps errs httle wlien she paints thee thus. ^ She tells nie too, that duly every morn Thou climb'st tlie mountain-top, with eager eye Exploring far and wide the watery waste 665 For sight of ship from England. Every speck Seen in the dim horizon turns thee pale With conllict of contending hopes and fears. But comes at last the dull and dusky eve. And sends thee to thy cabin, well prepared To dream all niglit of what the day denied. ^ Alas ! expect it not. AVe found no bait To tempt us in thy country. Doing gQod,"! \^ Disinterested good, is not our trade. — -^ * AVe travel far, 'tis true, but not for naught; ^ And must be bribed to compass Earth again 676 By other hopes and richer fruits than yours^/ But thougl^nie wort h and viH ue in the miJld | And genial soTTof <^lTlTlVatea lite^ TlinvejiK)st^nd ma^p£HlIl7)?rtlLiiY^.onlv^the ; ) ^ -^"et not in cities oft — in proud, and gay, ' ■ And gain-devoted cities. Thither flow. As to arcoiiiiiicitllind most noisome sewer. The dregs and feculence of ever}^ land. In cities, foul example on most minds Begets its likeness. Rank abundance breeds, ♦ * In gross and pamper'd cities, slotlj, and lust, -Cr 687 And wantonness, and gluttonous excess. Cr In cities, vice is hidden with most ease, Or seen with least reproach ; and virtue, taught By frequent lapse, can hope no triumph there / Beyond the achievement of successful fli dit. f- \ -"l do confess them nurseries of th e_arts. In which they flourish most; where, in the beams Of warm encouragement, and in the eye Of public note, they reach th eir perfect _si ze. Such London is, by taste and%ealth proclaim'd ^ The fairest capital of all the world, 188 cowper's poetical works. By riot and incontinence the worst. • ^^'liere, toucli'd by Reynolds, a dull blank becomes A lucid mirror, in which Nature sees All her reflected features. Bacon there •- Gives more than female beajity to a stone, And Chatham's eloquence to marble lips. Nor does the chisel occupy alone T he powers of sculpture, but the style as much ; Eaqli provmce of her art her equal carer "With nice incision of her guided steel 708 She ploughs a brazen field, and clothes a soil So sterile, with what charms soe'er^he will, ' nl^nf ni . 1mn|T . nri^ w " bhe has her ppgid©^ Now mark a spot or two, That so much beaivfe^sjuiijld do well to purge ; And show this Queen oH^ities, that so fair May yet be foul ; so witty, yet not wise. It is not seemly, nor of good report, ,, iThat she i^jjae k in disci plii Tc — more prompt 730 ^To avenge than to prevent the breach of law : That she is rigid in denouncing death f-^On petty robbers, and indulges life ^ And liberty, and ofttimes honor too. To peculators of the public gold : Zat thieves at home must hang ; but 1"^ that puts .0 his overgorged and bloated purse ,^-The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes^ , Nor is it well, nor can it come to good, That, through profane and infidel contempt Of Holy Writ, she has presumed to annul 741 THE TASK. 189 And abrogate, as roundly as she may, The total ordinance and will of God ; Advancing Fashion to tlie post of Triith,-^ And centering all authority in modes And customs of her own, till Sabbath rites I Have dwindled into unrespected form?, Aiid knees and hassocks are well-nigh divorced^ -^ CGod made the countrv^ nnd man innjlr tllP ^'^^^"^ ' ) ^ What wonder, then, that health and virtue, gift:^ That can alone make sweet the bitter draught 751 That life holds out to all, should most abound And least be threatened in the fields and groves?} Possess ye therefore, ye who, borne about-'- — • In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue . But that of idleness, and taste no scenes ' But such as art contrives — possess ye still Your element; there only ye can shine; There only minds like yours can do no harm. * Our groves were planted to console at noon The pensive w^anderer in their shadesy^At eve The mpojQ beam ^^-alidimr^ oftly in between 762 Th e sleeping leay ^s. is all the light they^vish — Birds warbling all the music. We can spare ^ The splendor of your lamps ; they but eclipse Our softer satellite. Your songs confound Our more harmonious notes. The thrush departs Scared, and the offended niglitingale is mute. There is a public mischief in your mirth; It plagues your country. Folly such as yours, Graced with a sword, and wi^rthier of a fan, Has :^Uafl e. whnt Pl^^n^jp^ ^rwilrl noVv Imv.^ t^\c^x^c^^ Our arch nf pmpii^^^ ^^^H^lfllf^t hv^ ^''^'' y^^^ 773 BOOK II.-TIIE TIME-PIECE. THE APwGUMENT. Reflections suggested by the conclusion of the former book, 1— Peace among the nations recommended on the ground of their common fellowship in sorrow, 48 — Prodigies enumerated, 53— Sicilian earthquakes, 75— Man rendered obnoxious to these calamities by sin, 133— God the agent in them, 161— The philosophy that stops at secondary causes reproved, 174— Our owp late miscarriages accounted for, 206— Satirical notice taken of our trips to Fontainebleau, 2554-But the pulpit, not satire, the prop'er engine of reformation, 2854-The reverend advertiser of engraved sermons, 351— Petit-maitre parson, 372— ^ffe good preacher, 395— Picture of a theatrical clerical coxcomb, 414— Story-tellers and jesters in the pulpit re- proved, 463— Apostrophe to popular applause, 481— Retailers of ancient philosophy expostulated with, 499— Sum of the whole matter, 531— Effects of sacerdotal mis- management on the laity, 545— Their folly and extravagance, 574— The mischiefs of profusion, 667— Profusion itself, with all ifs consequent evils, ascribed, as to its principal c;iu>«, to the w.iiit orUisciplino in the universities, 699. On for a hd^Q in somo vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, AVhere rumor of oppression and deceit^ Of unsuccessful or successful wqx^,, J Might never reach me more! ,/My ear is pain'd, [My soul is sick, with every day's report vOf wrong and outrage with which earth is fill'd. There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart; It does not feel for man. The natural bond 9 • Of brotherhood is sever'd, as the flax That falls asunder at tlie touch of fire. I Tx -^He finds his fellow guilty of a skin ^^ot color'd like his own ; and having power I To enforce the wrong, for sucli a worthy cause --1 -Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey. /Lands intersected by a narrow frith ^Abhor each other. Mountains interposed Make enemies of nations, who had else Like kindred dro])s been mingled into one. Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys ; ^ > THE TASK. 191 And, worse than all, and most to be deplored. As human nature's broadest, foulest blot, —Chains him, and tasks. him, and exacts his sweat » With stripes, thatTIercy, with a bleeding heart, AVeeps when slie sees inflicted on a beast. Then what is man? And what man, seeing this, And having human feelings, does not blush And hang his head, to think himself a man? ^^ I would not have a slave to till my ground,'r — To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, 30 And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth That sinews bought and sold have ever earn'd. No: dear as freedom is, and in my heart's Just estimation prized above all price, . x I had much ratlier be myself the slave, j And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. ( • We have no slaves at home — then Avhy abroad? And they themselves, once ferried o'er the wave That parts us, are emancipate and loosed. Slaves cannot breathe in England ; if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free; 41 They touch oui* country, and their shackles fall. That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then. And let it circulate through every Vein Of all your empire ! that, where Britain's power Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy ido^/ Sure there is need of social intercourse, , Benevolence, and peace, and mutual aid, ' Between the nations in a world that seems To toll the death-bell of its own decease, ^ And by the voice of all its elements 52 To preach the general doom.^ \ When were the winds Let slip with such a warrant to destroy ? When did the waves so haughtily o'erleap Their ancient barriers, deluging the dry? Fires from beneath, and meteors^ from above, Portentous, unexampled, unexplain'd. Have kindled beacons in the skies ; and the old And crazy, Earth has had her shaking fits More frequent, and foregone her usual rest. Is it a time to Avrangle, when the props 1 Alluding to the calamities in Jamaica. — ^ August IS, 1783. s^ 192 cowper's poetical works. r'' And pillars of our planet seem to fail, V And Nature^ with a dim and sickly eye To wait tlie close of all ? But grant her end More distant, and that prophecy demands A longer respite, unaccomplished yet; Still they are frowning signals, and bespeak Displeasure in His breast who smites the Earth Or heals it, makes it languish or rejoice. And 'tis but seemly, that where all deserve And stand exposed by common peccancy 72 To what no few have felt, there sliould be peace, f And brethren in calamity should love. ] -» Alas for Sicily ! rude fragments nrnv Lie scattered where the shapely column stood. Her palaces are dust. In all her streets The voice of singing and the sprightly chord Are silent. Revelry, and dance, and show, ) Suffer a syncope and solemn pause ; AYhile God performs upon the trembling stage Of his Own works his dreadful part alone. How does the Earth receive him? — with what si^rns 83 (Vy Of gratulation and deliglit her Kin, ^ Pours she n not all her choicest fruits abroad, Her sweetest flowers, heral'omatic gums. Disclosing Paradise where'er he treads ? She quakes at his approach. Her hollow womb, Conceiving thunders, tlirough a thousand deeps And fiery caverns, roars beneath his foot. The hills move lightly, and the mountains smoke, Eor He has touch'd them. From the cxtremest point Of elevation down into the abyss. His wrath is busy, and his frown is felt. 04 The rocks fall headlong, and the valleys rise ; The rivers die into offensive pools. And, charged with putrid verdure, breathe a gross And mortal nuisance into all the air. What solid was, by transformation strange, Grows fluid ; and the flx'd and rooted earth. Tormented into billows, heaves and swells, Or with vortiginous and hideous whirl ^ Alluding to the fog that covered both Europe and Asia during the whole summer of 17S3. THE TASK. 193 Sucks down its prey insatiable. Immense The tiinmlt and the overthrow, the pangs And agonies of human and of brute Multitudes, fugitive on every side, And fugitive in vain. The sylvan scene* ' Migrates uplifted ; and with all its soil Alighting in far distant fields, finds out A new possessor, and survives the change. Ocean has caught the frenzy, and, upwrought To an enormous and overbearing height, 112 Not by a mighty wind, but by that voice Which wincb and waves obey, invades the shore Resistless. Never such a sudden flood, Upridged so high, and sent on such a charge, PossessVl an inland scene. Where now the throng That press'd tlie beach, and, hasty to depart, Loolv'd to the sea for safety ? They are gone, Gone with the refluent wave into the deep — A prince with half his people ! Ancient towers, And roofs embattled high^ the gloomy scenes, AVhere beauty oft and lettered worth consume 123 Life in the unproductive shades of death, Fall prone ; the pale inhabitants come forth, And, happy in their unforeseen release From all the rigors of restraint, enjoy The terrors of the day that sets them free. Who then, that has thee, would not hold thee fast. Freedom ! whom they .that lose thee so regret, "^^ That even a judgment, making way for thee. Seems in their eyes a mercy for thy sake?_/ Such evils Sin hath wrought; and sucna flame Kindled in heaven, that it burns down to Earth, 134 And, in the furious inquest that it makes On God's behalf, lays waste his fairest works. The very elements, though eacli be meant The minister of man, to serve his wants, Conspire against him. With his breath he draws A plague into his blood ; and cannot use Life's necessary means, but he must die. Storms rise to o'erwhelm hfm : or if stormy winds liise not, the waters of the deep shall rise. And, needing none assistance of the storm, Shall roll themselves ashore, and reach him there. 17 / 194 cowper's poetical works. The earth shall shake him out of all his holds, Or make his liouse his grave : nor so content, Shall counterfeit the motions of the flood, And drown him in her dry and dusty gulfs. > What then ! — were they the wicked above all, And we the righteous, whose fiXst-anchor\l isle Moved not, while theirs was rock'd, like a light skiff, tThe sport of every wave ? No : none are clear, And none than we more guilty. But, where all Stand chargeable witli guilt, and to the shafts 1 Of wrath obnoxious, God may choose his mark : May punish, if he i^lease, the less, to warn SThe more malignant. If lie spared not them. Tremble and be amazed at thine escape. Far guiltier England, lest he spare not theelj A Happy the man who sees a God employ^3 -^i , in all the good and ill that checker life! J I Resolving all events, Avith their effects / And manifold results, into the will 1 And arbitration wise of the Supreme. Did not his eye rule all things, and intend 161 The least of our concerns (since from the least i^ " Tlw?. greatest oft originate) — co^ild cjiance ^ Find place inJji|s^dpmhiion, or dispose One laVless 'particle to thwart his plan — I Then God might be surprised, and unforeseen Contingence might alarm him, and disturb The smooth and equal course of his affiiirs./ . jThis truth. Philosophy, though eagle-eyed, bn [N'ature's tendencies, oft overlooks ; ■ And, having found his instrument, forgets. Or disregards, or, more presumptuous stiU, I 171 Denies the power that wields it. God proclaims His hot displeasure against foolish men, > That live an atheist life : involves the heaven In tempests ; quits his grasp upon the winds. And gives them all their fury ; bids a plague Kindle a fiery boil upon the skin. And putrefy the breath of blooming Health. He calls for Famine, and the meagre fiend Blows mildew from between his shrivelFd lips. And taints the golden ear. He springs his mines, And desolates a nation at a blast. 18( THE TASK. 195 / Forth steps the spruce philosopher, and tells j Of homogeiieal and discordant springs And principles ; of causes, how they Avork By necessary laws their sure effects ; Of action and reaction: he has found The source of the disease that Nature feels, And bids the world take heart and banish fear.| Thou fool ! will thy discovery of the cause Suspend the effect, or heal it? Has not God Still wrought by means since first he made the world ? 108 And did he not of old em[)loy his means To drown it? "What is his creation less Than a capacious reservoir of means Form'd for his use, and ready at his will ? Go, dress thine eyes with eye-salve ; ask of him, j Or ask of whomsoever he has taught ; [ And learn, though late, the genuine cause of all. England, with all thy faults^ I loveJLlifi,e .,&till - My country! and, while yet a nook is left, AVhere English minds and manners may be found. Shall be constrained to love thee. Though thy clime Be fickle, and thy year most part deform'd 209 '^Vith dripping rains, or witlier'd by a frost — I would not yet excliange thy sullen skies, And fields without a flower, for warmer France AYith all her vines ; nor for Ausonia^s groves Of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bowers. To shake thy senate, and from heiglits sublime Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire Upon thy foes, was never meant my task:, j^,'^ Thy joys and sorrows, with as tr.uje..a huart 220 As aiTy'ilTTln^Wi^lierer'^And I can feel Thy'foftte^ttR)';"arrd with a just disdain Frown at effeminates, whose very looks lieflect dishonor on the land I love, '^low, in the name of soldiership and sense, Should England pros|)er, when such things, as smooth And tender as a girl, all essenced o'er With odors, and as profligate as sweet — "Who sell their laurel for a myrtle wreath, ^ And love when they should fight; when such as these Presume to lay their hand upon the ark 231 196 cowper's poetical works. Of her magnificent and awful cause? Time was when it was praise and boast enough In every chme, and travel where we might, That we were born her children. Praise enough * To fill the ambition of a private man, That Chatham's language was his motlier tongue, And Wolfe's great name compatriot with his own. Farewell those honors, and farewell with them The hope of such hereafter ! They have fallen Each in his field.of glory ; one in arms, , ^^ _^ 241 And one in council — Wolfe upon the lap Of smiling Victory that moment won. And Chatham, heart-sick of his country's shame ! They made us many soldiers. Chatham still Consulting England's happiness at home, Secured it by an unforgiving frown, If any wrong'd her. Wolfe, where'er he fought, Put so much of his heart into his act. That his example had a magnet's force. And all were swift to follow Avhom all loved. Those suns are set. Oh, rise some other such ! 252 Or all that we have left is empty talk Of old achievements, and despair of new\J Now hoist the sail, and let the streamers float Upon the wanton breezes. Strew tht3 deck AVith lavender, and sprinkle li(|uid sweets, That no rude savor maritime invade The nose of nice nobility ! l^reathe soft, Ye clarionets; and softer still, ye flutes; That winds and waters, lull'd by magic sounds, May bear us smoothly to the Gallic shore ! k^''True, we have lost an empire — let it pass. 263 True, we may thank the perfidy of France, That pick'd the jewel out of England's crown, With all the cunning of an envious shrew. And let that pass — 'twas but a trick of state ! A brave maji knows no malice, but at once Forgets in peace the injuries of war. And gives his direst foe a frien'd's embrace. And, shamed as we have been, to the very beard Braved and defied, and in our own sea proved Too weak for_ those decisive blows, that once Insured us mastery there, we yet retain 274 THE TASK. ^ . 197 Some small pre-eminence; we justly boast. -::::2;s3SS^" At least superior jockeysliip, and claim The honors of the turf as all our own ! Go then, well worthy of the praise ye seek, And show the shame, ye might conceal at home, In foreign eyes ! — he grooms, and win the plate, AVhere once your nobler fathers won a crown ! — 'Tis generous to communicate your skill ,. To those that need it. Folly is soon learned ; J^ ^>^^'y \ A'^^"'i ^md^M- ^^^'A\ piT^^]^t^*T;, nnd ri\]V^] To adorn the Sofa wntli eu 1^>^>'!nn-| fln^^ JToTell its slumbers, and to ^aint its dreams , ^Ilave rambled Avidp^ In coimtry, city, seat* Of acadeimc fame (howe'er deserved). Long held, and scarcely disengaged at last. But now with pleasant pace, a cleanlier road I mean to tread. I feel myself at large. Courageous, and refresh'd for future toil, If toil await me, or if dangers new. 20 V THE TASK. 211 Sjj3.ce puluitsjai], find sonnding-bonrds reflect Most patt an empty ineffectual sound, AVhat cliance tliat I, to fame so little known, Nor conversant with men or manners much, Slioiild speak to purpose, or with better hope Crack the satiric thong? 'Twere wiser far For me, enamorVl cf seqnester'd scenes, And c hai-m^d with rural beauty, to repose, Where chance may throw me^ beneath elm or v ine, My^languidlimbs. wh orL-samnnpr sp^^v^^a plm'ng- ^?j.Vvt*uv. • Oi^ wherTrbugh winter rages, on the sof t • - t v-vc^^j, J-^^^ "^^ An d slieflerVl Soia^ while the nitrous air Teeds a blue flame, and makes a cheerful hearth ; There, undisturbed by Folly, and apprised How great the danger of disturbing her, To muse in silence, or at least confine Remarks that gall so many, to the few, My partners in retreat. Disgust conceaPd I Is ofttimes proof of wisdom, when the fault / Is obstinate, and cure beyond our reach. / / liUPS^c,Jla£|iin^s, thou only blis^ ' "" - 41 Of Pai-adise ^tkaiJias^sur vi ved tl te fall ! Though few now taste tliee unimpairVl and pure, Or tasting, long enjoy thee!, too infirm. Or too incautious, to preserve thy SAveets Unmix'd with drops of bitter, which neglect Or temper sheds into thy crystal cup : Thou art t he nurse oLX ii±Li£. In thine arms She smiT^, appearing, as in truth she is, Heaven-born, and destined to tlie skies again. Thou art not known where Pleasure is adored, That reeling goddess with the zoneless waist 52 And wandering eyes, still leaning on the arm Of Spvelty, tier fickle, fj^^il^JujlIKiliL For thoif "art meeTTandT constant, hatmg change, And finding in the calm of truth-tried love Joys that her stormy raptures never yield. Forsaking thee, what shipwreck have we made Of honor, dignity, and fiur renown! Till prostitution elbows us aside In all our crowded streets ; and senates seeBi Convened for purposes of empire less Than to release the adulteress from her bond. C3 212 cowper's poetical works. The adultere ss ! what a theme for angry verse ! AVhat provocation to the indignant heart, That feels for injured love ! hut I disdain The nauseous task to paint her as she is — Cruel, abandon 'd, glorying in her shame ! No : let her pass, and charioted along In guilty splendor, sliake the public ways ! The frequency of crimes has washed tliem white, And verse of mine shall never brand the w^ret^ h. "Whom matrons now, of character unsmirch'd, And chaste themselves, are not ashamed to own. Virtue and vice had boundaries in old time^ ^ Not to be pass'd : and she that had renounced Her sex's honor, was renounced herself By all that prized if; not for prudery's sake, But ^nityX-.resentful of the wrong. 'Twas hard perliaps on here and there a waif, Desirous to return, and not received; But was a wholesome rigor in the main. And taught the unblemish'd to preserve with care That puritj:, wliose loss w^as loss of all. 84 Men too were nice in honor in those days. And judged offenders well. And he that sharp'd, And pocketed a prize by fraud obtained. Was mark'd and shunn'd as odious. He that sold His country, or was slack wlien she required His every nerve in action and at stretcli. Paid, w^ith the blood that he had basely spared, The price of his default. But now, yes, now, We are become so candid and so fair. So liberal in construction, and so rich In Christian charity, a good-natured age ! 95 Thnt thpy nvf^ sfifc^ sinnors f^f ^itliPf spjjt^ Transgress what laws they may. Well dress VI, well bred, well equipaged, is ticket good enough To pass us readily through every door. Hypocrisy , detest her as we may (And no man's hatred ever wrong'd her yet), May claim this merit still, that she admits The worth of what she mimics with such care, And thus gives virtue indirect applause ; But she has burnt her mask, not needed here, Where vice has such allowance, that her shifts 106 f H THE TASK. 213 And specious semblances have lost their nse./ — I was a strickerL ile£rp, kinrl fo flip, ppor hrnfpc; W e persecute, annihilate th^ tribes Thf^t.(\vf^^v tf)A spnvtsmm-^^ ^vp.r li jlland dale. _ 810; Fearless, and rapt away from all his cares ; Should never game^fowl hatch her eggs again, ISTor baited hook deceive the fish's eye ; Could pageantry and dance, and feast and song. Be quell'd in all our summer-months' retreats ; How many self-deluded ji ymphs an d_.swains. Who dream tl Te"y"harrg"a taste for fields and groves, "Would find tlTem indeou^iuTi5«ri^3^of the spleen. And crowd tliaroads, ijiijpjUiin^JbiLtlie tow They love the country, and none else, who seek v tor their own sake its silence and its shade: " ^ 321 -tt COWPERS POETICAL WORKS. Delights which who would leave, that has a heart Susceptible of pity, or a mind Cultured and capable of sober thought, For all the savage din of the swift pack. And clamors of the field ? — Detested sport, «^ That owes its pleasures to another's pain ; That feeds upon the sobs and dying shrieks Of harmless nature, dumb, but yet endued With eloquence that agonies inspire. Of silent tears and heart-distending sighs ! 381 Vain tears, alas ! and sighs that never find A corresponding tone in jovial souls!/ Well — one at least is safe. One'sHelter'd hare lias never heard the sanguinary yell Of cruel man, exulting in her woes. Innocent partner of my peaceful home, Whom ten long years' experience of my care Has made at last familiar ; she has lost Much of her vigilant instinctive dread, Kot needful here, beneath a roof like mine. Yes — thou mayst eat thy bread, and lick the hand o ' ! , That feeds thee ; thou mayst frolic on the floor j At evening, and at night retire secure "" i To thy straw couch, and slumber unalarm'd ; For I have gain'd thy confidence, have pledged xVll that is human in me, to protect Thine unsuspecJting gratitude and love. If I survive thee, I will dig thy grave ; j And when I place thee in it, sighing say, | I knew at least one hare that had a friej3,(l.; J How various his employments, whom the world J Calls idle; and who justly, in return, 353 Esteems that busy world an idler too ! Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen, Delightful industry enjoy 'd at home. And Nature in her cultivated trim I / Dress'd to his taste, inviting him abroad :l \/ I Can he want occupation who has these ? Will he be idle who has much to enjoy? Me therefore studious of laborious ease, Not slothful, happy to deceive the time, I Not waste it, and aware that human life / Is but a loan to be repaid with use, 304 THE TASK. 219 TVhen He shall call liis debtors to account, From whom are all our blessings, business finds Even here. AVhile sedulous I seek to improve. At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd. The mind he gave me ; driving it, though slack Too oft, and nmch impeded in its work By causes not to be divulged in vain, To its just point — the service of mankind. ^ He that attends to his interior self. That has a heart, and keeps it ; has a mind 374 That hungers, and supplies it ; and who seeks A social, not a dissipated life. Has business ; feels himself engaged to achieve 'No unimportant, though a silent task. A life all turbulence and noise may seem, To him that leads it, wise, and to be praised ; But wisdom is a pearl with most success i^" — '" Sought in still water, and beneath clear skijes : He that is ever occupied in storms. Or dives not for it, or brings up instead, Vainly industrious, a disgraceful prize. 385 The morning finds the self-sequester'd man Fresh for his task, intend what task he may. Whether inclement seasons recommend / His warm but simple home, wiiere he enjoySj_ With her wTio shares bis pleasures and his "heart, Sweet converse, sipping calm the fragrant lymph Which neatly she prepares ; then to his book Well chosen, and not sullenly perused In selfish silence, but imparted oft. As aught occurs that she may smile to hear. Or turn to nourishment, digested well. 896 Or if the garden with its many cares. All well repaid, demand him, he attends The welcome call, conscious how much the hand Of lubbard Labor needs his watchful eye, Oft loitering lazily, if not overseen. Or misapplying his unskilful strength. Nor does he govern only or direct. But much performs himself. No works indeed * That ask robust, tough sinews, bred to toil, ; Servile employ ; but such as may amuse, 1 Not tire, demanding rather skill than force. . I 407 220 cowper's poetical works. Proud of his well-spread walls, he views his trees^ That meet (no barren interval between), "With pleasure more than even their fruits afford ; Which, save himself who trains them, none can feel. These therefore are his own peculiar charge ; 'No meaner hand may discipline the shoots — ITone but his steel approach them. What is weak, DistemperVl, or has lost prolific powers, Impair'd by age, his unrelenting hand Dooms to the knife : nor does he spare the soft 41'? And succulent, that feeds its giant growth. But barren, at the expense of neighboring twigs Less ostentatious, and yet studded thick With hopeful gems. The rest, no portion left That may disgrace his art, or disappoint Large expectation, he disposes neat At measured distances, that air and sun. Admitted freely, may atford their aid. And ventilate and warm the swelhng buds. Hence Summer has her riches. Autumn hence, And ?ience even Winter fills his wither'd hand 42S With blushing fruits, and plenty not his OAvn.^ Fair recompense of labor well bestow'd, And wise precaution, which a clime so rude Makes needful still, whose Spring is but the child Of churlish Winter, in her fro ward moods .. Discovering much the temper of her si^ie./ For oft, as if in her the stream of mild Maternal nature had reversed its course, ' She brings her infants forth with many smiles ; But once deliverM, kills them with a frown. He therefore, timely warn'd, himself supplies 439 Her want of care, screening and keeping warm The plenteous bloom, that no rough blast may sweep His garlands from the boughs. Again, as oft As the sun peeps and vernal airs breathe mild. The fence withdrawn, he gives them every beam, And spreads his hopes before the blaze of day.^ ' To raise the prickly and green-coated gourd/ So grateful to the palate, and when rare So coveted, else base .and disesteem'd — Food for the vulgar merely — is an art i Miraturque novos fructus et non sua poma.— Yieq. THE TASK. 221 That toiling ages have but just matured^ And at this moment unassay'd in song. Yet gnats have had, and frogs and mice, long since, Their eulogy ; those sang the Mantuan bard, And these the Grecian, in ennobling strains ; And in thy numbers, Phillips, shines for aye The Solitary Shilling. Pardon, then. Ye sage dispensers of poetic fame ! The ambition of one meaner far, whose powers, Presuming an attempt not less sublime, 459 Pant for the praise of dressing to the taste Of critic appetite, no sordid fare, A cucumber, while costly yet and scarce. Tlie stable yields a stercoraceous heap, v Impregnated with quick fermenting salts. And potent to resist the freezing blast ; For, ere the beech and elm have cast their leaf Deciduous, when now iJTovember dark Checks vegetation in the torpid plant Exposed to his cold breath, thetask begins. Warily therefore, and with prucTent heed, 470 lie seeks a favor'd spot ; that where he builds ^ The agglomerated pile, his frame may front The sun's meridian disk, and at the back Enjoy close shelter, wall, or reeds, or hedge Impervious to the wind. First he bids spread Dry fern or litter'd hay, that may imbibe The ascending damps; then leisurely impose, And lightly, shaking it with agile hand From the full fork, the saturated straw. What longest binds the closest, forms secure The shapely side, that as it rises takes, 481 By just degrees, an overhanging breadth. Sheltering the base with its projected eaves; The uplifted frame, compact at every joint, And overlaid with clear translucent glass, He settles next upon the sloping mount, Wliose sharp declivity shoots off secure From the dash'd pane the deluge as it falls : He shuts it close, and the first labor ends. Tlirice must the voluble and restless Earth Spin round upon her axle, ere the warmth, Slow gathering in the midst, through the square mass. 222 cowper's poetical works. Diffused, attain the surface: -vvhen, behold! A pestilent and most corrosive steam, Like a gross fog Boeotian, rising fast, And fast condensed upon the dewy sash. Asks egress ; which obtained, the overcharged And drench'd conservatory breathes abroad, In volumes wheeling slow, the vapor dank ; And, purified, rejoices to have lost Its foul inhabitant. But to assuage The impatient fervor which it first conceives 502 "Within its reeking bosom, threatening death To his young hopes, requires discreet delay. Experience, slow preceptress, teaching oft The way to glory by miscarriage foul, Must prompt him, and admonish how to catch The auspicious moment, when the tempered heat, Friendly to vital motion, may afford Soft fomentation, and invite the seed. The seed, selected wisely, plump, and smooth, x\nd glossy, he commits to pots of size Diminutive, well fill'd with well-prepared 513 And fruitful soil, that has been treasured long. And drank no moisture from the dripping clouds : These, on the warm and genial earth that l:iides The smoking manure, and o'erspreads it all, He places lightly, and as time subdues The rage of fermentation, plunges deep In the soft medium, till they stand immersed. Then rise the tender germs, upstarting quick, And spreading wide their spongy lobes ; at first Pale, wan, and livid ; but assuming soon. If fann'd by balmy and nutritious air, 524 Strain'd through the friendly mats, a vivid green. • Two leaves produced, two rough indented leaves. Cautious he pinches from the second stalk A pimple,- that portends a future sprout. And interdicts its growth. Thence straight succeed The branches, sturdy to his utmost wish ; Prolific all, and harbingers of more. The crowded roots demand enlargement now, And transplantation in an ampler space. Indulged in what they wish, they soon supply Large foliage, overshadowing golden flowers, 535 THE TASK. 223 Blown on the summit of tlie apparent fruit. These have their sexes ; and, when summer shines, The bee transports the fertilizing meal From flow^er to flower, and even the breathing air Wafts the rich prize to its appointed use. Kot so when Winter scowls. Assistant Art Then acts in Nature's office, brings to pass The glad espousals, and insures the crop. Grudge not, ye rich (since Luxury must have His dainties, and the World's more numerous half 545 Lives by contriving delicates for you). Grudge not the cost. Ye little know the cares. The vigilance, the labor, and the skill. That day and night are exercised, and hang Upon the ticklish balance of suspense, That ye may garnish your profuse regales With summer fruits brought forth by wintry suns. Ten thousand dangers lie in wait to thwart The process. Heat and cold, and wind and steam. Moisture and drought, mice, worms, and swarming flies, Minute as dust, and numberless, oft work 556 Dire disappointment, that admits no cure, And which no care can obviate. It were long, Too long, to tell the expedients and tlie shifts Which he that fights a season so severe Devises, while he guards his tender trust ; And oft, at last, in vain. The learn'd and wise Sarcastic would exclaim, and judge the song Cold as its theme, and, like its theme, the fruit Of too much labor, w^orthless when produced.^^ Who loves a garden loves a green-house ^i oo, '^^ Unconscious of a less propitious clime, 567 There blooms exotic beauty, w^arm and snug, While the winds whistle and the snows descend. ..The spiry myrtle with unwithering leaf Shines there, and flourishes. The golden boast Of Portugal and Western India there. The ruddier orange, and the paler lime, VPeep through their polish'd foliage at the storm, And seem to smile at what they need not fear. The amomum there with intermingling flowers And cherries hangs her twigs. Geranium boasts Her crimson honors, and the spangled beau, 578 224 cowper's poetical works. Ficoides, glitters bright the winter long. • All plants, of every leaf, that can endure The winter's frown, if screen'd from his shrewd bite, Live there and prosper. Those Ausonia claims, Levantine regions these ; the Azores send Their jessamine, her jessamine remote Caffraria ; foreigners from many lands. They form one social shade, as if convened By magic summons of the Orphean lyre. Yet just arrangement, rarely brouglit to pass 588 But by a master's hand, disposing well The gay diversities of leaf and flower. Must lend its aid to illustrate all their charms, And dress the regular yet various scene. Plant behind plant aspiring, in the van The dwarfish, in the rear retired, but still Sublime above the rest, the statelier stand.) So once were ranged the sons of ancient Rome, A noble show ! wliile Roscius trod the stage, \^ And so, while Garrick, as renown'd as he, The sons of Albion — fearing each to lose 599 Some note of Nature's music from his lips, And covetous of Shakspeare's beauty, seen In every flash of his far-beaming eye. For taste alone and well-contrived display Suffice to give the marshall'd ranks the grace Of their complete effect. Much yet remains Unsung, and many cares are yet behind, And more laborious ; cares on which depends Their vigor, injured soon, not soon restored. Th(? soil must be renew'd, which, often wasli'd, Loses its treasure of salubrious salts, 610j And disappoints the roots ; the slender roots Close interwoven, where they meet the vase Must smooth be shorn away ; the sapless branch Must fly before the knife ; the wither'd leaf Must be detach'd, and where it strews the floor Swept with a woman's neatness, breeding else Contagion, and disseminating death. Discharge but these kind offices (and who Would spare, that loves them, offices like these ?) AVell they reward the toil. The sight is j)leased, The scent regaled ; each odoriferous leaf, 621 THE TASK. 225 Each opening blossom, freely breathes abroad V Its gratitude, and thanks him with its swe ets. / So manifold, all pleasing in tlieir kind, All healthful, are the employs of rural life, Eeiterated as the wheel of time Runs round ; still ending, and beginning still. Nor are these all. To deck the shapely knoll, That softly swelPd and gayly dress'd, appears A flowery island, from the dark green lawn Emerging, must be deem\l a labor due 631 To no mean hand, and asks the touch of taste. Here also grateful mixture of well match'd And sorted hues (each giving each relief, . And by contrasted beauty shining more), Is needful. Strength may wield the ponderous spado, May turn tlie clod, and wheel the compost home ; But elegance, chief grace the garden shows, \ And most attractive, is the fair result / Of thought, the creature of a polish'd mind. Without it, all is Gothic as the scene To Avhich the insipid citizen resorts 642 Kear yonder heath ; where Industry misspent. But proud of his uncouth ill-chosen task. Has made a heaven on earth ; with suns and moons Of close-ramm'd stones has charged the encumber'd soil, And fairly laid the zodiac in the dust. He therefore who would see his flowers disposed Sightly and in just order, ere he gives The beds the trusted treasure of their seeds, Forecasts the future whole ; and when the scene Shall break into its preconceived display, Each for itself, and all as with one voice 653 Conspiring, may attest his bright design. Nor even then, dismissing as perform'd His pleasant work, may he suppose it done. Few self-supported flowers endure the wind Uninjured, but expect the upholding aid Of the smooth-shaven prop ; and, neatly tied, Are wedded thus, like beauty to old age, For interest sake, the living to the dead. Some clothe the soil that feeds them, far diffused And lowly creeping, modest and yet fair. Like virtue, thriving most where little seen. 604 226 cowper's poetical avorks. Some, more aspiring, catch tlie neighbor shrub, ^Tith clasping tendrils, and invest his branch, Else unadorn'd, with many a gay festoon And fragrant chaplet, recompensing well The strength they borrow with the grace they lend. All hate the rank society of weeds, Noisome, and ever greedy to exhaust The impoverish'd earth ; an overbearing race. That, like the multitude made faction-mad. Disturb good order, and degrade true worth. , 674 O blest seclusion from a jarring world, . "Which he, thus occupied, enjoys ! ^Eetreat Cannot indeed to guilty man restore Lost innocenee, or cancel follies past ; V)\\t it has peace, and much secures the mkid Prom- all assaults of evil ; proving still \ A tjiithful barrier, not o'erleap'd with ease / By vicious^ Customj^raging uncontrolled I Abroad, anTTtesoTating public life. AVhen fierce Temptation, seconded within \ By traitor Appetite, and arm'd with darts 685 Tempered in hell, invades the throbbing breast — To combat may be glorious^ ajid success Perhaps may crown us ; (Tjut to " Hy is safo?^ Had I the choice of sublunary gooK, "What could I wish, that I possess not here? Health, leisure, means to improve it, friendship, peace, 'No loose or wanton, though a wandering. Muse, And constant occupation without care. Thus blest, I draw a picture of that bliss ; Hopeless, indeed, that dissipated minds. And profligate abusers of a world 696 Created fair so much in vain for them, Should seek the guiltless joys that I describe. Allured by my report : but sure no less, That, self-condenm'd, they must neglect the prize. And what they will not taste, must yet approve^ AVhat we admire we praise; and, when we praise, Advance it into notice, that, its worth Acknowledged, others may admire it too. I therefore recommend, though at the risk Of popular disgust, yet boldly still. The cause of piety and sacred truth, 70| THE TASK. 227 And virtue, and those scenes wliich God ordain'd . Should best secure them, and promote them most ; Scenes that I love, and with regret perceive Forsaken, or through fblly not enjoy'd., Pure is the nymph, though liberal of her smiles, And chaste, though nnconfined, whom I extol ; Not as the prince in Slmshan, wlien he calPd, Vainglorious of her cliarms, his Yashti forth To grace the full pavilion. His design Was but to boast his own peculiar good, 717 Which all might view with envy, none partake. My charmer is not mine alone ; my sweets, And she that sweetens all my bitters too, Nature^ enchanting- Nature, in whose form AncTlineaments divine I trace a hand^ Tliat errs not, and find raptures still renew-d, is-free to all men — universaXprize. S!range~tlTat"So fair a creature should yet Avant' Admirers, and be destined to divide / With meaner objects even the few she finds!-/ Stript of her ornaments, her leaves and flowers, 728 She loses all her influence. Cities then Attract us, and neglected Nature pines. Abandoned, as nnworthy of our love. But are not wholesome airs, though unperfumed By roses ; and clear suns, though scarcely felt ; And groves, if unharmonious, yet secure From clamor, and whose very silence charms ; To be preferr'd to smoke, to the eclipse That metropolitan volcanoes make. Whose Stygian throats breathe darkness all day long ; And to the stir of ^omr perce^ dr iving; slow, sJlS^ And thundering loud, with his ten thousand wheels? They WT)uld be, were not madness in the head. And folly in the heart; were England now | What England was, plain, hospitable, kind, I And undebauch'd. But we have bid farewell 1 To all the virtues of those better days, And all their honest pleasures. Mansions once Knew their own masters; and laborious hinds, Who had survived the fjither, served the son. Now the legitiniate and riglitful lord Is but a transient guest, newly arrived, ^ 750 228 cowper's poetical works. And soon to be supplanted. He that saw His patrimonial timber cast its leaf, Sells the last scantling, and transfers the price To some shrewd sharper, ere it buds again. Estates are landscapes, gazed upon awhile, Then advertised, and auctioneer'd away. The country starves, and tliey that feed the o'ercharged And surfeited lewd town with her fair dues. By a just judgment strip and starve themselv.gS#J The wings, that waft our riches out of sight, 760 Grow on the gamester's elbow ; and the alert And nimble motion of those restless joints, That never tire, soon fans them all away. Improvement too, the idol of the age. Is fed with many a victim. Lo, he comes ! The omnipotent magician. Brown, appears ! Down falls the venerable pile, the abode Of our forefathers — a grave whisker'd race, But tasteless. Springs a palace in its stead, But in a distant spot ; where more exposed, :It may enjoy the advantage of the north, 771 And aguish east, till time shall have transformed ,Those naked acres to a sheltering grove. !He speaks. The lake in front becomes a lawn ; ;AYoods vanish, hills subside, and valleys rise; And streams, as if created for his use. Pursue the track of his directing wand. Sinuous or straight, now rapid and now slow, N'ow murmuring soft, now roaring in cascades — Even as he bids ! The enraptured owner smiles. 'Tis finish'd ! and yet, linish'd as it seems. Still wants a grace, the loveliest it could show — 782 A mine to satisfy the enormous cost. Drain'd to the last poor item of his wealth. He sighs, departs, and leaves the accomplished plan, That he has touch'd, retouch'd, many a long day LaborM, and many a night pursued in dreams. Just when it meets his hopes, and proves the heaven He wanted, for a wealthier to enjoy ! And now perhaps the glorious hour is come, "When, having no stake left, no pledge to endear Iler interests, or that gives her sacred cause A moment's operation on his love, . 793 ^^^ Of XH3i [xrjriYBRSiTy! THE TASK. 229 He burns with most intense and flagrant zeal To serve his country. Ministerial grace Deals him out money from the public eldest ; Or, if that mine be shut, some private purse Supplies his need with a usurious loan, To be refunded duly, when his vote. Well managed, sliall have earn'd its worthy price. O innocent, compared wnth arts like these. Crape, and cock'd pistol, and the whistling ball Sent through the traveller's temples ! He that finds 803 One drop of Heaven's sweet mercy in his cup, Can dig, beg, rot, and perish well content. So he may wrap himself in honest rags At his last gasp ; but could not for a world Fish up his dirty and dependent bread From pools and ditches of the commonwealth, Sordid and sickening at his own success^/ Ambition, avarice, penury incurr'd r^ By endless riot, vanity, the lust Of pleasure and variety, dispatch, \^ As duly as the swallows disappear, ^ 814 The world of wandering knights and squires to town. liOndon engulfs them all ! The shark is there. And the shark's prey ; the spendthrift, and the leech That sucks him ; there the sycophant, and he "Who, with bareheaded and obsequious bows, Begs a Avarin office, doom'd to a cold jail And groat per diem, if Ids patron frown. The levee swarms, as if, in golden pomp, Were character'd on every statesman's door, " Battek'd and bankrupt fortunes mended here." These are the charms that sully and echpse 825 The charms of nature. 'Tis the cruel gripe ^'"' That lean, hard-handed Poverty inflicts. The hope of better things, the chance to win, The wish to shine, the thirst to be amused, That, at the sound of Winter's hoary wing, Unpeople all our counties of such herds Of fluttering, loitering, cringing, begging, loose, And wanton vagrants, as make London, vast And boundless as it is, a crowded coop. O thou, resort and mart of all the eartli, Checker'd with all complexions of mankind, 830 20 .10 COWPERS POETICAL WORKS. And spotted with all crimes ; in whom I see Much that I love, and more thlltTaJiaiH,^ And all that I abhor ; thou freckled fair, That pleases and yet shocks me, I can laugh, And I can weep, can hope, and can despond, Feel wrath and pity, when I think on thee ! Ten righteous would have saved a city once. And thou hast many righteous. — Well for thee, That salt preserves thee ; more corrupted else, And therefore more obnoxious, at this hour, 846 Than Sodom in her day had power to be, For whom God heard his Abraham plead in vain. BOOK IV. -THE WINTER EVENING. THE ARGUMENT. The post comes in, 1— The newspaper is read, 36— The -world contemplated at a dis- tance, 88— Address to Winter, 120 — The rural amusements of a winter eveninj? compared with the fashionable ones, 193— Address to Eveuing,'243— A brown study, 267 — Fall of snow in the exemngf^2 — The wagoner, 330 — A poor family piece, 374— The rural thief, 429 — rublic houses, 400- The multitude of them cen- sured, 500— The farmer's daughter, what she was, 513— What she is, 534— Tho simplicity of country manners almost lost, fi;^^— rn^sns nF thft change. D Tfi— Doso/- tioB of the country by th ^-ich, 587— Neglect of magisiraies, ^'Jl3— The militia priii- cipally in i'ault, U13— 'I'lie new recruit and his transformation, 623 — Refiection on bodies corporate, 059— The love of rural objects natural to all, and never to be totally extinguished, 691. IIaek ! 'tis the twanging horn ! o'er yonder bridge, That with its wearisome hut needful length Bestrides the wintry "flood, in Avhich the moon Sees her unwrinklea face reflected bright ; — "fie comes, the herald* of a noisy wGii'ld, AVith spatter'd bnt)ts, strapped waist, and frozen locks; Kews from all nations lumbering at his back. True to his charge, the close-pack'd load beliind. Yet careless Vvhat he brings, liis one concern 9 Is to conduct it to' the destined inn. And, having dropp'd the expected bag, pass on. lie wiiistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch, Cold And yet cheerful : messenger o£ grief Pc vhn^7?^ to t^l^^^^^f^nT^^lq^ and of joy to some ; To liim indifferent whether grief or joy . Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks, Birtlis, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet With tears tliat trickled down the w^riter's cheeks Fast as the periods from his fluent quill. Or charged with amorous siglis of absent swains, 20 232 cowper's poetical works. Or nymphs responsive, equally affect His horse and him, unconscious of- them all. But oh, the important budget! usher'd in "With such heart-shaking music, Avho can say AYhat are its tidings ? have our ^'oops awaked ? Or do they still, as if with opium drugged, Snore to the murmurs of the Atlantic Avave? Is India free? and does she wear her plumed And jewell'd turban with a smile of peace, Or do we grind her still ? The grand debate, 30 The popular harangue, the tart reply. The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit. And the loud laugh — I long to know them all ; I burn to set the imprison'd wranglers free. And give them voice and utterance once again. >Tnw_2tir thr firr;-^ nd o]n^9. th f^ ^huttp^--^ •^^^'^'^'j Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round. And, while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cui)s, That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in. 41 Not such his evening, who with shining face Sweats in the crowded theatre, and, squeezed And bored with elboAV-points througli both his sides, Outscolds the ranting actor on the stage ; Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb, And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath Of patriots, bursting with heroic rage. Or placemen, all tranquillity and smiles. This folio of four pages, liappy work ! "Which not even critics criticise ; that holds Inquisitive Attention, while I read, 52 Fast bound in chains of silence, which the fair, Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break ; — AVhat is it but a map of busy life. Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns ? Here runs the mountainous and craggy ridge That tempts Ambition. On the summit see The seals of ofBce glitter in his eyes ; He climbs, he pants, he grasps them. At his heels, Close at his heels, a demagogue ascends. And with a dexterous jerk soon twists him down, And wins them, but to lose them in his turn. 03 THE TASK. 233 ♦ Here rills of oily eloquence, in soft Meanders lubricate the course they take ; The modest speaker is ashamed and grieved To engross a moment's notice, and yet begs, Begs a propitious ear for his poor thoughts, However trivial all that he conceives. Sweet bashfulness! it claims at least this praise — The dearth of information and good sense, That it foretells us, always comes to pass. Cataracts of declamation thunder here ; 73 There forests of no meaning spread the page. In which all comprehension wanders lost ; While fields of pleasantry amuse us there With merry descants on a nation's woes. The rest appears a wilderness of strange But gay confusion ; roses for the cheeks. And lilies for the browns of faded age, Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald. Heaven, earth, and ocean, plunder'd of their sweets, Nectareous essences, Olympian dews, Sermons, and city feasts, and favorite airs, 84 Ethereal journeys, submarine exploits, And Katerfelto, with his hair on end At his ow^n wonders, w^ondering for his bread. 'Tis pleasant, th rough ..tlie.loopholes-ofretrea#^-'^ii To D'eeTr'aT'such a world ; to see the stir ! r (Irtlie great ijaDei, and' not feel the crowed ; To hear the roar she sends through all her gates At a safe distance, where the dy'mg sound Falls a soft murmur on the uninjured ear. Thus sitting, and surveying thus at ease The globe and its concerns, I seem advanced 95 To some secure and more than mortal height. That liberates and exempts me from them all. It turns submitted to my view, turns round With all its generations ; I behold The tumult, and am still. Tli^_souniLaL»aftr Grieves, but alarms me not. I mourn the pride And avarice that make man a ^volf to man ; Hear the faint echo of those brazen throats ]3y which he speaks the language of his heart And sigh, but never tremble at the sound. 106 234 cowper's poetical works. t He travels and expatiates, as the bee From flower to flower, so lie from land to land ; The manners, customs, policy of all Pay contribution to the store he gleans; He sucks intelligence in every clinie. And spreads the honey of his deep research At his return — a rich repast for me. He travels, and I. too. I tread his deck, Ascend his, topmast, through his peering eyes Discover countries, with a kindred heart 116 Suifer his woes, and share in his escapes; While fancy, hke the finger of a clock. Runs the great circuit, and is still at home. O Winter ! ruler of the inverted year. Thy scattered hair with sleet like ashes flU'd, Thy breath congeal'd upon thy hps, thy cheeks Fr inged witli a beard made whit e with other snows Than those ot age, tliy I'oreheacl wrapp'd in clouds., A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne A sliding car, indebted to no wheels. But urged by storms along its slij^pery way; 127 I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st. And dreaded as thou art ! Thou hokVst the sun A prisoner in the yet undawning east. Shortening his journey between morn and noon, And hurrying him, impatient of his stay, Down to the rosy west ; but kindly still Compensating his loss with added hours Of social converse and instructive ease. And gathering, at short notice, in one group, The family dispersed, and fixing thought, Not less dispersed, by daylight a^id its cares. •< 138 I crown thee king of intimate delights. Fireside enjoyments, homeborn happiness. And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturb'd Retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted evening, know. Ko rattling wheels stop short before these gates; 1^0 powderVl pert proficient in the art Of sounding an alarm assaults these dooj-s Till the street rings ; no stationary steeds Cough their own knell, while, heedless of the sound. The silent circle fan themselves, and quake: 1 i'J THE TASK. 235 But here the needle plies its busy task, The pattern grows, the well-depicted ilower, "Wrought patiently into the snowy lawn, Unfolds its bosom ; buds, and leaves, and sprigs, And curling tendrils, gracefully dis[)osed, Follow the nimble finger of tlie fair; A wreath that cannot fade, of flowers that blow With most success when all besides decay. The poet's or historian's page, by one Made vocal for the_amusement of the rest ; 159 The spri ghtly ly re, whose treasure of sweet sounds The toucli Ironi many a trembling chord shakes out ; And the clear voice, symphonious, yet distinct. And in the charming strife triumphant still, — Beguile the night, and set a keener edge On female industry : the threaded steel Flies swiftly, and unfelt the task proceeds. The volume closed, the customary rites ^ Of the last meal commence. A "Roman meal ; ^ Such as the mistress of the world once found Delicious, when her patriots of high note, 170 Perhaps by moonlight, at their huntble doors, And under an old oak's domestic shade, Enjoy'd, spare feast! a radish and an egg. Discourse ensues, not trivial, yet not dull, Is'or such as with a frown forbids the play Of fiinc}^, or proscribes the sound of-mirtlK "N"or do we madl y^ like an impious • "Who deem religion frenzy, and the God That made them an intruder on their joys. Start at his awful name, or deem his praise A jarring note. Themes of a graver tone, 181 Exciting oft our gratitude and love. While we retrace with Memory's pointing wand, That calls the past to our exact review, The dangers we have 'scaped, the broken snare, The disappointed foe, deliverance found Unlook'd for, life preserved, and peace restored — Fruits of onmipotent eternal love. O evenings worthy of the gods ! exclaimed The Sabine bard. O evenings, I reply. More to be prized and coveted than yours. As more illumined, and Avith nobler truths, 192 236 COWPEr's rOETICAL WORKS. . That I, and mine, and those we love, enjoy! •Is Winter liideous in a garb like tliis ? ^N'eeds he the tragic far, tlie smoke of lamps, The pent-up breath of an unsavory throng. To thaw him into feeling; or the smart And snappish dialogue, that flippant wits Call comedy, to prompt him with a smile? The self-complacent actor, when he views (Stealing a sidelong glance at a full house) The slope of faces froih the floor to the roof 202 ,(As if one master-spring controll'd them all) Relax'd into a universal grin. Sees not a countenance there that speaks a joy Half so refined or so sincere as ours. Cards w^ere superfluous here, with all the tricks That Idleness lias ever yet contrived To fill the void of an unfurnish'd brain. To palliate dulness, and give time a shove. Time, as he passes us, has a dove's wing, Unsoil'd and swift, and of a silken sound ; But the World's Time, is Time in masquerade! 213 Theirs, should I paint him, has his pinions fledged With motley plumes ; and, where the peacock shows His azure eyes, is tinctured black and red With spots quadrangular of diamond form, Ensanguined liearts, clubs typical of strife. And spades, the eihblem of untimely graves. What should be, and what was, an hour-glass once. Becomes a dice-box ; and a billiard-mace Well does the work of his destructive scythe. Thus deck'd, he charms a world whom Fashion blinds To his true worth, most pleased when idle most ; 22i Whose only happy are their wasted hours. Even misses, at wdiose age their mothers w^ore The backstring and the bib, assume the dress Of w'omanhood, fit pupils in the school Of card-devoted Time, and, niglit by night, Placed at some vacant corner of the board, Learn every trick, and soon play all the game. But truce with censure. Roving as I rove. Where shall I find an end, or how proceed? As he that travels far., oft tunis aside 235 THE TASK. 237 Whicli, seen, deliglits him not; then coming home, Describes and prints it, that the workl may know How far he went for what was notliing worth ; So I, with brush in hand and pallet spread, "With color's mix'd for a far different use, Paint cards, and dolls, and every idle tiling That Fancy finds in her excursive flights. Come, Evening, once again, season of peace; Return, sweet Evening, and continue long! ^ /^lethinks I see tliee in the streaky west, 245 AVith matron step slow moving, while the ISTjght Treads on thy sw^eeping train ; one hand employed • • In letting fall the curtain of repose On bird and beast, the other charged for man AYith sweet oblivion of the cares of day : Not sumptuously adorn'd, nor needing aid. Like lio'mely-featured Night, of clustering gems ; *7K. star or two, just twinkling on thy brow, \ ^Suffices thee; save that tlie moon is, thine J No less than hers, not worn indeed on high With ostentatious pageantry, but set 250 With modest grandeur in thy purple zone. Resplendent less, but of an am[)ler round. Come then, and thou shalt find thy votary calm, Or make me so! Composure is thy gift : And, whether I devote thy gentle hours " To books, to music, or the poet's toil ; To weaving nets ^or bird-alluring fruit ; Or twining silken threads round ivory reels, When they command whom man was born to please*, I slight thee not, but make thee welcome still. Just when our drawing-rooms begin to*blaze 267 With lights, by clear reflection multiplied From many a mirror, in which he of Gath, Goliath, might have seen his giant bulk Whole without stooping, towering crest and all, My pleasures too begin. But me perhaps The glowing hearth may satisfy awhile With faint illumination, that uplifts Tlie shadow to the ceiling, there by fits Dancing uncouthly to the quivering flame. I Not undelightful is an hour to mo ^S8 cowper's poetical wokks. Suits well the tlioiightful or unthinking mind, The mind contemplative, with some new theme Pregnant, or indisposed alike to all. Laugh ye, w^ho boast your more mercurial powers, Tliat never feel a stupor, know no pause, !N'or need one ; I am conscious, and confess, t Fearless, a soul that does not always thiiikJ Me oft has Fancy, ludicrous and wildT Sootlied with a waking dream of houses, towers. Trees, churches, and strange visages, express'd. 288 In the red cinders, while with poring eye I gazed, myself creating what I saw. Nor less amused have I quiescent watch'd The sooty films that play upon the bars Pendulous, and foreboding, in the view Of superstition, prophesying still, Though still deceived, some stranger's near approach. 'Tis thus the understanding takes repose In indolent vacuity of thought, And sleeps, and is refresh'd. Meanwhile the flice Conceals the mood lethargic Avith a mask 299 Of deep deliberation, as the man Were taskVl to his full strength, absorbed and lost. Thus oft, reclined at ease, I lose an liour At evening, till at length the freezing blast, That sweeps" the bolted shutter, summons home The recollected powers, and, snapping short The glassy threads w^ith which the fancy weaves Her brittle toys, restores me to myself. / How calm is my recess ; and how the frost, Rf|mng abr oad,' an d the rougli wind, endear The i^UuilUG iwul Lhe warmth enjoy'd within! 310 I saw the Avoods and fields, at close of day, A variegated show ; the meadows green, luirh fa(|l ed ; and the lands, Avhere lately Avaved The g olden har vest, of a melku^JiJ^own, Uptunrci so lately by tlie forceful share. I saAv far olf the Aveedy fallows smile With verdure not unprofitable, grazed By flocks, fast feeding, and selecting each His faA'orite herb ; Avhile all the leafless groves, Tliat skirt the horizon, Avore a sable hue, Scarce noticed in the kindred dusk of eve. 32 \,/ THE TASK. 239 To-niorrow brings a change, a total cliange! Wliicli even now, though silently perfonn'd, And slowly, and by most unfelt, the face Of universal nature undergoes. Fast falls a fleecy shower : the downy flakes Descending, and, with never-ceasing lapse, Softly alighting upon all below, Assimilate all objects. Earth receives Gladly the thickening mantle; and the green And tender blade, that fearVl the chilling blast, 331 Escaf)es unhurt beneath so warm a veil. In such a world, so thorny, and where noije / Findslmpptness uiiblighted, or, if found, \ ! Wltircrnt some thistly sorrow at its side^ ? ' It seems the part of wisdom, and no sin Against the law of love, to measure lots With less distiuguish'd than ourselves ; that thus We may Avith patience bear our moderate ills, And sympathize with others suftering more. Ill fares the traveller now, and he that stalks In ponderous boots beside his reeking team. 342 The wain goes heavily, impeded sore ^ By congregated loads adhering close To the clogg'd wheels ; and in its sluggish pace Noiseless appears a moving hill of snow. The toiling steeds expand the nostril wide ; While every breath, by respiration strong Forced downward, is consolidated soon Upon their jutting chests. He, form'd to bear The pelting brunt of tlie tempestuous night, With half-shut eyes, and pucker'd cheeks, and teeth Presented bare against the storm, plods on. 353 One liand secures his hat, save when Avith both He brandishes his pliant length of whip, Resounding oft, and never heard in vain. Oh, happy ! and, in my account, denied That sensibility of pain with wdiich Reflnement is endued, thrice happy thou! Thy frame, robust and. hardy, feels indeed The piercing cold, but feels it unimpair'd. The learned flnger never need explore Thy vigorous pulse ; and the unhealthful east, That breathes the spleen, and searches every bone 30 1 240 cowper's poetical works. Of the inlirin, is wliolesoine air to tliee. Thy days roll on exempt from household care; Thy Avagon is thy wife ; and the poor beasts That drag the dull companion to and fro, Thine helpless charge, dependent on thy care. Ah, treat them kindly ! rude as thou appeal ^s t, Yet show that thou hast mercy ; which the great, ^Ith needless hurry whirl'd from place to place, Humane as they would seem, not always show. Poor, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat — 374 Sucli claim compassion in a night like this, •• And have a friend in every feeling heart. "Warm'd, while it lasts, by labor, all day long They brave the season, and yet find at eve, 111 clad, and fed but sparely, time to cool. Tlie frugal housewife trembles when she lights Her scanty stock of brushwood, blazing clear. But dying soon, like all terrestrial joys. The few small embers left she nurses well ; And, while her infant race, with outspread hands. And crowded knees, sit cowering o'er the sparks, 385 Retires, content to quake, so they be warm'd. The man feels least, as more inured than slie To winter, and the current in his veins More briskly moved by his severer toil ; Yet he too finds his own distress in theirs. The taper soon extinguish'd, which I saw Dangled along at the cold finger's end Just when the day declined; and the brown loaf Lodged on the shelf, half-eaten without sauce Of savory cheese, or butter, costlier still ; Sleep seems their only refuge: for, alas! 30G "Where penury is felt the thought is chain'd. And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few. AVith all this thrift, they thrive not. All the care Ingenious parsimony takes, but just Saves the small inventory, bed and stool. Skillet and old carved chest, from public sale. Tliey live, and live without extyrted alms From grudging hands, but other boast have none To soothe their honest pride, that scorns to beg; . Nor comfort else, but in their mutual love. \ il P3ise you mucli, ye meek and patie nt pair, ^ 407 THE TASK. 241 F^i^^^iiiUlcjkVortlij ; choo_sing ratlicr _^ I | A^clry. -luit-imlependent crust hard e:irn'd, And eaten witli a sigh, tlian to ciidiiro TrieTiigged frowns and insolent rebuH'i' \ \ Oflfnaves in office, partial in tlie worlc^ \ O TcTlsIrilj ution ; liberal of their aid To^clanioroil'5'Importunity in rags. But ofttimes deaf to suppliants, who would blush To wear a tatter'd garb however coarse. Whom famine cannot reconcile to tikh : 417 These ask with painful shyness, and refused l^ecause deserving, silently retire. Ikit be ye of good courage ! Time itself Shall much befriend you. Time shall give increase; And all your numerous progeny, well train'd But helpless, in few years shall find their hands, And labor too. Meanwhile ye shall not want What, conscious of your virtues, we can spare ; Nor what a wealthier than ourselves may send. I mean the man,^ who, when the distant poor Need help, denies them nothing but his name. 428 But poverty, with most who whimper forth Their long complaints, is self-inflicted woe; The effect of laziness or sottisli waste. Now goes the nightly thief prowling abroad For plunder; much solicitous how best He may compensate for a day of sloth By works of darkness and nocturnal wn"ong. Woe to the gardener's pale, the farmer's hedge, Plash'd neatly, and secured with driven stakes ^ Deep in the loamy bank ! Uptorn by strength, Kesistless in so bad a cause, but lame 439 To better deeds, lie bundles up the spoil. An ass's burden ; and, when laden most And heaviest, light of foot steals fast away. Nor does the boarded hovel better guard The well-stack'd |)ile of riven logs and roots From his pernicious force. Nor will he leave Unwrench'd the door, ho\yever well secured, AVhere Chanticleer amidst his harem sleeps In unsuspecting pomp. Twitcli'd from the perch, He gives the princely bird, with all his wives, 1 John Thornton. 21 242 cowper's poetical works. To his Yoi-acious bag, struggling in vam, And loudly wondering at the sudden change. Kor this to feed his own. 'Twere some excuse, Did pity of their sufferings warp aside His principle, and tempt him into sin For their support, so destitute. But they ^Neglected pine at home ; tliemselves, as more Exposed than others, with less scruple made His victims, robb'd of their defenceless all. Cruel is all ho does. 'Tis quenchless thirst 45 Of ruinous ebriety that prompts His every action, and imbrutes the man. Oh for a law to noose the villain's neck AYlio starves his own! who persecutes the blood He gave them in his children's veins, and hates And wrongs the woman he has sworn to love ! Pass where we may, through city or through town, Village, or hamlet, of this merry land. Though lean and beggar'd, every twentieth pace Conducts the unguarded nose to such a whiff Of stale debauch, forth issuing from the styes 47 That Law has licensed, as makes Temperance reel. There sit, involved and lost in curling clouds Of Indian fume, and guzzling deep, the boor. The lackey, and the groom : the craftsman there Takes a Lethean leave of all his toil ; Smith, cobbler, joiner, he that plies the shears, And he that kneads the dough ; all loud alike, " All ]p{],]-]]{^f1i fi nd fill ^]mn k ! ^ The fiddle screams Plaintive and piteous, as it wept and wail'd Its wasted tones and harmony unheard : Fierce the dispute, whatever the theme : while she, 48 Fell Discord, arbitress of such debate, Perch'd on the sign-post, holds with even hand Iler undecisive scales. In this she lays A weight of ignorance ; in that of pride ; And smiles delighted with the eternal poise. Dire is the frequent curse, and its twin sound. The cheek-distending oath, not to be praised As ornamental, nmsical, polite. Like those which modern senators employ, Whose oath is rhetoric, ^nd who swear for fame! Behold the schools in which plebeian minds, 49 / TPIE TASK. 243 Once simple, are initiated in arts Wliicli some may practise witli politer grace, But none with readier skill ! 'Tis here they learn The road that leads from competence and peace To indigence and rapine ; till at last Society, grown weary of the load. Shakes her encumber'd lap, and casts them out. But censure profits little : vain the attempt To advertise in verse a public pest. That, like the filtli witlrwhich ttTQ peasant feeds 502 His hungry acres, stinks, and is of use. The excise is fattened with the rich result Of all this riot ; and ten thousand casks. Forever dribbling out their base contents, Touch'd by the Midas finger of the State, Bleed gold for ministers to sport away. Drink, and be mad, then ! 'tis your country bids ! Gloriously drunk, obey the important call ! Her cause demands the assistance of your throats ; — Ye all can swallow, and she asks no more. Would 1 had fallen upon those happier days 513 That poets celebrate ! those golden times. And those Arcadian scenes, that Maro sings. And Sidney, warbler of poetic prose. Nymphs were Dianas then, and swains had hearts That felt their virtues : Innocence, it seems. From courts dismissed, found shelter in the groves ; The footsteps of Simplicity, impress'd Upon the yielding herbage (so they sing). Then were not all effaced : then speech profane, And manners profligate, were rarely found. Observed as prodigies, and soon reclaimed. 524 Vain wish! those days w^ere never : airy dreams Sat for the picture ; and the poet's hand, Imparting substance to an empty shade, Imposed a gay delirium for a truth. Grant it : 1 still must envy them an age That favor'd such a dream ; in days like these Impossible, when Virtue is so scarce. That, to suppose a scene where she presides, Is tramontane, and stumbles all belief. No! We are polish \l now. The rural.Iass, .r Whom once her virgin modesty aiidJgSiGef — J 535 I 244 cowper's poetical works. I Her artless manners, and her neat attire, j 1 So dignified, that she was iiardly less i| Than the fair shepherdess of old romance, 1 Is seen no more. The character is lost ! I Her head, adorn'd wtthTlappets pihh\raloft, And ribbons streaming gay, superbly raised. And magnified beyond all human size. Indebted to some smart Avig-weaver's hand For more than half the tresses it sustains; Her elbows ruffled, and her tottering form 545 111 pro{)p"d upon French heels; she might be deem'd (But that the basket dangling on her arm Interprets her more truly) of a rank Too proud for dairy worl>, or sale of eggs. Expect her soon Avith footboy at her heels. No longer blushing for her awkward load. Her train and her umbrella all her care ! 1 The town has tingled the country : and the stfi^p ; Appears a spot upon a vest{^]^^ ro1-n.\ ; The Avorse for wiiat it soils. The fashion runs j Down into scenes still rural ; but, alas ! 556 Scenes rarely graced with rural manners now. Time was Avhen, in the pastoral retreat, j The unguarded door Avas safe ; men did not Awatch To inwade another's riglit, or guard their OAvn. I Then sleep Avas undisturbed by fear, unscared ; By drunken bowlings ; and the chilling tale Of midnight murder was a Avonder heard With doubtful credit, told to frigliten babes. ' But farcAvell now to unsuspicious nights. And slumbers unalarm'd ! Noav, ere you sleep, See that your polish VI arms be primed Avith care, 567 And drop the nightbolt : ruffians are abro'ad ; And the first larum of the cock's shrill throat May proA^e a trumpet, summoning your ear To horrid sounds of hostile feet Avithin. Even daylight has its dangers ; and the Avalk Through pathless wastes and Avoods, unconscious once Of other tenants than melodious birds. Or harmless flocks, is hazardous and bold. Lamented change ! to Avhich full many a cause luA'eterate, hopeless of a cure, conspires. The course of human things from good to ill, 57' THE TASK. . 245 From ill to worse, is fatal, never foils. Increase of power begets increase of wealth , AVealth luxury, and luxury excess ; Excess, the scrofulous and itchy plague That seizes first the opulent, descends To the next rank contagious, and in time Taints downward all the graduated scale Of order, from the chariot to the plough. Tlie ricli, and they that have an arm to check The license of the lowest in degree, 588 Desert their office; and themselves, intent On pleasure, haunt the capital, and thus To all the violence of lawless hands Eesign the scenes their presence might protect. Authority herself not seldom sleeps, Tliough resident, and witness of the wrongs— — The plump convivial parson often bears The magisterial sword in vain, and lays His reverence and his worship both to rest On the same cushion of liabitual sloth. -Perhaps timidity restrains his arm; 599 AVhen he should strike he trembles, and sets free, Himself enslaved by terror of the band. The audacious convict, whom he dares not bind. Perhaps, though by profession ghostly pure. He too may have his vice, and sometimes prove Less dainty than becomes his grave outside In lucrative concerns. Examine well His milk-white haml : the palm is hardly clean — But here and there an ugly smutch appears. Fob ! 'twas a bribe that left it : he has touch'd Corruption. Whoso seeks an audit here 610 Propitious, pays his tribute, game or fish, AVild fowl or venison, and his errand speeds. But faster far, and more than all the rest, A noble cause, which none who bears a spark Of public virtue ever wish'd removed, "Works the deplored and mischievous effect. 'Tis universal soldiership has stabb'd The heart of merit in the meaner class. Arms, through the vanity and brainless rage Of those that bear them, in whatever cause. Seem most at variance with all moral good, C21 246 cowper's poetical works. And incompfitible witli serious tlionglit. The clown, the cliiki of nature, without guile, Blest with an infant's ignorance of all But his own simple pleasures, — now and then A w^restling niatclj, a foot-race, or a fair, — Is balloted, and trembles at the news. Sheepish he doffs his hat, and mumbling swears A Bible-oath to be Avhate'er they please — To do he knows not what. The task perform VI, — That instant he l)ecomes the Serjeant's care. His pupil, and his torment, and his jest. His awkward gait, his introverted toes. Bent knees, round shoulders, and dejected looks. Procure him many a curse. By slow degrees. Unapt to learn, and form'd of stubborn stuff. He yet by slow degrees puts off himself. Grows conscious of a change, and likes it well. He stands erect ; his slouch becomes a walk ; He steps right onward, martial in his air. His form, and movement ; is as smart above As meal and larded locks can make him ; wears His hat, or his plumed helmet, with a grace ; And, his three years of heroship expired. Returns indignant to the slighted plough. He hates the field, in which no fife or drum Attends -him ; drives his cattle to a march ; And sighs for the smart comrades he has left. 'TAvere Avell if his exterior change were all — But with his clumsy port the wretch has lost His ignorance and harmless manners too. To sw^ear, to game, to drink; to show at home, ]^y lewdness, idleness, and Sabbath-breach, The great proficiency he made abroad ; To astonish and to grieve his gazing friends ; To break some maiden's and his mother's heart; To be a pest Avhere he was useful once ; Are his sole aim, and all his glory now. Man in society is like a fiower I }lown in its native bed : 'tis there alone His faculties, expanded in full bloom, S hine out ; there only reach their proper use. l)Ut man, associated and leagued with man By regal warrant, or self-join'.d by bond THE TASK. 247 For interest sake, or swarming into clans Beneath one head, for purposes of war. Like flowers selected from tlie rest, and bound And bundled close to fill some crowded vase, Fades rapidly, and, by compression marr'd. Contracts defilement not to be endured. Hence diarter'd boroughs are such public. plagues; And bui'gliers, men immaculate perhaps In allTlretr private functions, once coiiibined. Become a loathsome body, only fit G^4 For dissolution, hurtful to the main. Hence merchants, unimpeachable of sin Against the charities of domestic life, Incorporated, seem at once to lose Their nature ; and, disclaiming all regard For mercy and the common rights of man. Build factories with blood ; conducting trade At the sword's point, and dyeing the white robe Of innocent commercial Justice red. Hence too the field of glory, as the world Misdeems it, dazzled by its bright array, G85 With all its majesty of thundering pomp,. Enchanting music and immortal wreaths. Is but a school where thoughtlessness is taught On principle, where foppery atones For folly, gallantry for every vice. • Bu^, slighted as it iSjL and by the great Abandoned, and, which stTIiTTnore regret. Infected with the manners and tlrc~lliTa(te It knew not once, the country wins me still. I never fi-amed a wish, or form'd a plan, ' '^ That flatter'd me with hopes of eartlily bliss, 696 I^ut there I laid the scene. There early stray'd My fancy, ere yet liberty of choice i Had found me, or the hope of being free. \ My very dreains were rural ; rural too * ^ The-^rsCTm-n e!!orfrof myToufhfii^ Sportive and jingling her poetic bells. Ere yet her ear was mistress of their powers. No bard could please me but whose lyre Was tuned To Nature's praises. Heroes and their feats Fatigued me, never weary of the pipe Of Tityrus, assembling, as he sang, 707 ■ V, 248 COWPERS POETICAL WORKS. The rustic tliroDg beneath his favorite beech. Then Milton had indeed a poet's charms : New to my taste, his Paradise snrpass'd The struggling efforts of my boyisli tongue To speak its excellence : I danced for joy. ^ 1 marvell'd much that, at so ripe an age As twice seven years, his beauties had then first Engaged my wonder ; and admiring still, And still admiring, with regret supposed The joy half lost, because not sooner found. 717 Thee too, enamor'd of the life I loved. Pathetic in its praise, in its pursuit Determined, and possessing it at last 'With transports such as favor'd lovers feel, I studied, prized, and wished that 1 had known, Ingenious Cowle}^ ! and, though now reclaim'd, By modern lights, from an erroneous taste, I cannot but lament thy splendid wit Entangled in the cobwebs of the schools. I still revere thee, courtly though retired, Though stretch VI at ease in Chertsey's silent bowers, 728 Not unemployed ; and finding rich amends For a lost world, in solitude and verse. 'Tis born with all : the love of Nature's works Is an ingredient in the compound man, Infused at the creation of the kind. (And, though the Almighty Maker has throughout fDiscriminated each from each, by strokes ; (And touches of his hand, with so much art i ^Diversified, that two were never found ; iTwins at all points — yet this obtains in all, ; jThat all discern a beauty in his works, 739 I And all can taste them : imrids that liave been form'd And tutorVl with a relish more exact. But none without some relish, none unmoved. It is a flame that dies not even there. Where nothing feeds it. Neither business, crowds, Nor habits of luxurious city life, AYliatever else they smother of true worth In human bosoms, quench it or abate. The villas with which London stands begirt, Like a swarth Indian with his belt of beads. Prove it. A breath of unadulterate air, - ^/ THE TASK. 240 760 Tlie glimpse o. a green pasture, liow they cheer The citizen, and brace his hmguid frame! Even in the stifling bosom of tlie town, A garden, in wliicli nothing thrives, has cliarms That soothe tlie rich possessor ; much consoled That liere and there sonie sprigs of mournful mint, Of nightshade, or valerian, grace the well He cultivates. These serve liim with a hint That Nature lives; that sight-refreshing green Is still the livery she delights to wear. Though sickly samples of the exuberant whole. What are the casements lined with creeping herbs, The prouder sashes fronted with a range Of orange, myrtle, or the fragrant weed. The Frenchman's darling ?^ Are they not all proofs That man, immured in cities, still retains His inborn inextinguishable thirst Of rural scenes, compensating his loss By supplemental shifts the best he may ? The most unfurnish'd with the means of life. And they that never pass their brick-wall bounds 771 To range the fields,, and treat their lungs witli air, Yet feel the burning instinct; over-head Suspend their crazy boxes, planted thick, And water'd duly. There the pitcher stands A fragment, and the spoutless teapot there ; Sad witnesses how close-pent man regrets The country, with what ardor he contrives A peep at Nature, when he can no more. Hail, therefore, nnt.ronpss of health and cas e^ And contemplat i on, heart-f^onsolin.o' joy s. An d Jmriiiloss pl( , ^ ^ ^,c^n ^res^ in the throngVl abodej Of multitudes unknown ! liffil, i-i^i'^] )i£(^ ! Address himself who will to the pursuit Of honors, or emolument," or fame ; I shall not add myself to such a chase, Thwart his attempts, or envy his success. Some must be great. Great offices will have Great talents. And "God gives to every man The virtue, temper, understanding, taste. That lifts him into life ; and l(its him fall Just in the niche he was ordain'd to fill. * Mignonette. 250 COWPERS POETICAL WORKS. To the deliverer of an injured land He gives a tongue to enlarge upon, a heart To feel, and courage to redress her wrongs ; To nionarchs dignity ; to judges sense ; To artists ingenuity and skill ; To me an unambitious mind, content In the low vale of life, that early felt A wish for ease and leisure, and ere long Found here that leisure and that ease I wish'd. BOOK V.-TIIE WINTER MORNING WALK. THE ARGUMENT. A frosty morning, 1— The foddering of cattle, 27— The woodman and his dog, 41— The poultry, 68— Wl.imsio!^ effects of a frost at a waterfall, 96— The Empress of Russia's palace of ice, IjZ^-jAmusements of monarc hs, UTJ -War, one of them, 185 —Wars, whence, 193— And whence monarchy, 230— The evils of it, 242— English and French loyalty contrasted, 346— The Bastile, and a prisoner there, 379— Lib- erty the chief recommendation of this country, 446— Modern patriotism question- able, and whj\ 491— The perishable nature of the best human institutions, 509— Spiritual liberty not perishable, 538— The slavish state of man by nature, SSI- Deliver hira, Deist, if you can, 670— Grace must do it, 688— The respective merits of patriots and martyrs stated, 704— Their different treatment, 707, 718— Happy freedom of the man whom grace makes free, 733— liis relish of the works of God, 779— Address to the Creator, 845. 'Tis morning; and the sun, Avitli ruddy orb Ascending, tires tlie liorizon ; while the clouds, That crowd away before the driving wind. More ardent as the disk emerges more, Resemble most some city in a blaze, Seen throngh the leafless wood. His slanting ray Slides ineffectual down the snowy vale, And, tingeing all with his own rosy hue, From every herb and every spiry blade 9 Stretches a length of shadow o'er the field. Mine, spindling into longitude immense, In spite of gravity, and sage remark That I myself am but a fleeting shade. Provokes me to a smile. With eye askance I view the muscular proportioned limb TransformVl to a lean shank. The shapeless pair, As they designed to mock me, at my side Take step for step ; and, as I near approach The cottage, walk along the plastered wall. Preposterous sight ! the legs without the man 20 252 cowper's poetical works. The verdure of the plain lies huried deep Beneath the dazzling deluge ; and the bents, And coarser grass, upspearing o'er the rest, Of late unsightly and unseen, now shine Conspicuous, and in bright apparel clad, / And, fledged with icy feathers, nod superlv-^ The cattle mourn in corners, where the fence Screens them, and seem half petrified to sleep In unrecumbent sadness. There they wait Their w^onted fodder ; not like hungering man, 80 Fretful if unsupplied ; but silent, meek. And patient of the sIoav- paced swain's dela}' . He from the stack carves out the accustom'd load, Deep plunging, and again deep i)lunging oft His broad keen knife into the solid mass. Smooth as a wall the upright remnant stands, With such undeviating and even force He severs it away : no needless care. Lest storms should overset the leaning pile / Deciduous, or its own unbalanced weight^J Forth goes the woodman, leaving unconcern'd 41 The cheerful haunts of man ; to wield the axe, And drive the wedge, in yonder forest drear. From morn to eve his solitary task. Shaggy, and lean, and shrewd, with pointed ears. And tail cropp'd short, half lurcher and half cur. His dog attends liim. Close behind his heel Now creeps he slow ; and now, with many a frisk Wide scampering, snatches uj) the drifted snow With ivory teeth, or ploughs it with his snout; Then shakes his powder'd coat, and barks for joy. Heedless of all his pranks, the sturdy churl 52 Moves right toward the mark ; nor stops for aught. But now and then, with pressure of his thumb To adjust the fragrant ciiarge of a short tube. That fumes beneath his nose : the trailing cloud Streams far behind him, scenting all the aii\/ Now from the roost, or from the neighboring pale Where, diligent to catch the first faint gleam Of smiling day, they gossipp'd side by side. Gome trooping at the housewife's well-knowi? <:iall The feather'd tribes domestic. Half on wing, And half ou foot, they brush the fieecy flood, Co THE TASK. 253 Conscious and fearful of too deep a plunge. The sparrows peep, and quit the sheltering eaves, To seize the fair occasion ; well they eye Tiie scatter'd grain, and thievishly resolved To escape the impending famine, often scared As oft return, a pert voracious kind. Clean riddance quickly made, one only care Remains to each, the search of sunny nook, Or shed impervious to the blast. Resign'd ^ To sad necessity, the cock foregoes 73: His wonted strut ; and, wading at their head "With well-consider'd steps, seems to resent His alter'd gait and stateliness retrench'd. How find the myriads, that in summer cheer The hills and valleys with their ceaseless songs. Due sustenance, or where subsist they now ? Earth yields them naught: the imprison'd worm is safe Beneath the frozen clod ; all seeds of herbs Lie coverVl close ; and berry -bearing thorns That feed the thrush (whatever some suppose) Afford the smaller minstrels no supply. 84 The long-protracted rigor of the year Thins all their numerous flocks. In chinks and holes Ten thousand seek an unmolested end. As instinct prompts, self-buried ere they die. The very rooks and daws forsake the fields, AVhere neither grub, nor root, nor earth-nut now Repays their labor more ; and perch'd aloft By the wayside, or stalking in the path. Lean pensioners upon the traveller's track. Pick up their nauseous dole, though sweet to them. Of voided pulse or half-digested grain. /' 95 The streams are lost amid the splendid blank, O'erwhelming all distinction. On the flood, Indurated and fix'd, the snowy weight Lies undissolved ; while silently beneath. And unperceived, the current steals away. Not so where, scornful of a check, it leaps The mill-dam, dashes on the restless wheel, And wantons in the pebbly gulf below : No frost can bind it there ; its utmost force Can but arrest the light and smoky mist That in its fall the liquid sheei throws wide. lOG 22 254 cowper's poetical works. Ancl see where it has hung the embroidered banks "With forms so various, that no powers of art, The pencil or the pen, may trace the scene 1 -' Here ghttering turrets rise, upbearing high (Fantastic misarrangement !) on the roof Large growth of what may seem the sparkling trees And shrubs of faivy-land. The crystal drops, That trickle down the branches, fast congeaFd, Shoot into pillars of pellucid length, And prop the pile they but adorn'd before. 110 Here, grotto within grotto safe defies The sunbeam : there, emboss'd and fretted wild, Tlie growing wonder takes a thousand shapes Capricious, in which fancy seeks in vain The likeness of some object seen before. \ Thus ISTature works as if to mock at Art, I And in defiance of her rival powers ; By these fortuitous and random strokes Performing such inimitable feats As she Avith all her rules can never reach./ Less worthy of applause, though more admired,^ 12'? Because a novelty, the work of man. Imperial mistress of the far-clad Russ ! Thy most magnificent and mighty freak, The wonder of the North. No forest fell When thou wouldst build; no quarry sent its stores To enricli thy walls : but thou didst liew the floods. And make thy marble of the glassy wave. In such a palace Arista^us found Cyrene, when he bore the plaintive tale Of his lost bees to her maternal ear. In such a palace Poetry might place 13$ The armory of Winter, where his troops. The gloomy clouds, find weapons, arrowy sleet. Skin-piercing volley, blossom-bruising hail. And snow, that often blinds the traveller's course, And wraps him in an unexpected tomb. Silently as a dream the fabric rose ; No sound of hammer or of saw was there. Ice upon ice, the well-adjusted parts Were soon conjoined; nor other cement ask'd Than water interfused to make them one. Lamps gracefully disposed, and of all hues, l^C THE TASK. 255 Illamined every side : a watery light Gleani'd through the clear transparency, that seem'd Anotlier moon new risen, or meteor fallen From heaven to earth, of lambent flame serene. So stood the brittle prodigy ; though smooth And slippery the materials, yet frost-bound Firm as a rock. Nor wanted aught within, That royal residence might well befit. For grandeur or for use. Long w\avy wreaths Of floAvers, that fearM no enemy but warmth, Blush'd on the panels. Mirror needed none Where all w^as vitreous ; but in order due Convivial table and commodious seat (What seem'd at least commodious seat) wxre there ; Sofa, and couch, and high-built throne august. The same lubricity was found in all. And all was moist to the warm touch ; a scene Of evanescent glory, once a stream, And soon to slide into a stream again. Alas! 'twas but a mortifying stroke Of undesign'd severity, that glanced (Made by a monarch) on her own estate. On human grandeur and the courts of kings. 'Twas transient in its nature, as in show 'Twas durable ; as worthless, as it seem'd Intrinsically precious ; to the foot Treacherous and false ; it smiled, and it wa_a 159 170 Great princes have great playthings. Some At hewing mountains into men, and some At building human wonders mountain-high. Some have amused the dull sad years of life (Life spent in indolence, and therefore sad) "With schemes of monumental fame ; and sought By pyramids and mausolean pomp, Short-lived themselves, to immortalize their bones. Some seek diversion in the tented field. And make the sorrows of mankind their sport. But war's a game, which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at. ITations would do well To extort their truncheons from the puny hands Of heroes, whose infirm and baby minds Are gratified with mischief; and who spoil, Because men suffer it, their toy the World. £QhL^f^ C "Have play'd 181 192 I 256 cowper's poetical works. When Babel was confounded, and the great Confederacy of projectors wild and vain Was split into diversity of tongues, Then, as a shepherd separates liis flock, These to the upland, to the valley those, God drave asunder, and assign'd tlieir lot To all the nations. Ample was the boon He gave them, in its distribution lair And equal ; and he bade them dwell in peace. Peace was awhile their care : tliey plough'd and sow'd 202 And reap'd their plenty without grudge or strife. But violence can never longer sleep Than human passions please. In every heart Are sown the sparks that kindle fiery war; Occasion needs but fan them, and thej blaze. Cain had already shed a brotlier's blood : The deluge wash'd it out, but left unquench'd The seeds of murder in the breast of man. Soon by a righteous judgment in the line Of his descending progeny was found The first artificer of death ; the shrewd 213 Contriver, who first sweated at the forge, And forced the blunt and yet unbloodied steel To a keen edge, and made it bright for war. Ijl^Him, Tubal named, the Vulcan of old times, ^ Tlie sword and falchion their inventor claim ; And the first smith was the first murderer's son. His art survived the waters ; and ere long. When man was multiplied and spread abroad In tribes and clans, and had begun to call These meadows and that range of hills his own, The tasted sweets of property begat 224 Desire of more ; and industry in some To improve and cultivate their just demesne. Made others covet what they saw so fair. Thus war began on earth : these fought for spoil, And those in self-defence. Savage at first The onset, and irregular. At length. One eminent above the rest for strength, For stratagem, or courage, or for all. Was chosen leader : him they served in war. And him in peace, for sake of warlike deeds Reverenced no less. Who could with him compare ? 235 THE TASK. 257 Or who so worthy to control tliemselves As he whose prowess had subdued their foes? Tlius war, affording field for tlie display Of virtue, made one chief, whom times of peace, Wliicli have their exigencies too, and call For skill in government, at length made king. King was a name too proud for man to w^ear Witli modesty and meekness ; and the crown, So dazzling in their eyes who set it on, AVas sure to intoxicate the brows it bound. 245 It is the abject property of most, TJiat, being parcel of the common mass, And destitute of means to raise themselves, They sink, and settle lower than they need. They know not what it is to feel witliin A comprehensive faculty, that grasps Great purposes with ease, that turns and wields, Almost without an effort, plans too vast For tlieir conception, which they cannot move. Conscious of impotence, they soon grow drunk With gazing, when they see an able man 256 Step forth to notice ; and, besotted thus. Build him a pedestal, and say, '' Stand there, And be our admiration and our praise." They roll themselves before him in the dust. Then most. deserving in their own account, When most extravagant in his applause. As if exalting him they raised themselves. Thus by degrees, self-cheated of their sound And sober judgment, that he is but man. They demi-deify and fume him so, Tliat in due season he forgets it too. 267 Inflated and astrut with self-conceit, He gulps the windy diet, and ere long, Adopting their mistake, profoundly thinks The world was made in vain, if not for him. Thenceforth they are his cattle : drudges, born To bear his burdens; drawing in his gears, And sweating in his service; his caprice Becomes the soul that animates them all. He deems a thousand, or ten thousand lives. Spent in the purchase of renown for him, An easy reckoning; ^nd they think the same. 278 258 cowper's poetical works. Thus kings were first invented, and thus kings "Were burnisli'd into heroes, and became The arbiters of this terraqueous swamp ; Storks among frogs, that have but croak'd and died Strange, that sucli folly as lifts bloated man To eminence fit only for a god, Should ever drivel out of human lips, Even in the cradled weakness of the World ! Still stranger much, that when at length mankind Had reach'd the sinewy firmness of their youth, 288 And could discriminate and argue well On subjects more mysterious, they were yet Babes in the cause of freedom, and should fear And quake before the gods themselves had made : But above measure strange, that neither proof Of sad experience, nor examples set By some, whose patriot virtue has prevailed, Can even now, when they are grown mature In wisdom, and with philosophic deeps Familiar, serve to emancipate the rest! Such dupes are men to custom, and so prone 299 To reverence what is ancient, and can plead A course of long observance for its use. That even servitude, the worst of ills. Because deliver'd down from sire to son, Is kept and guarded as a sacred thing. But is it fit, or can it bear the shock Of rational discussion, that a man, Compounded and made up like other men Of elements tumultuous, in wliom lust And folly in as ample measure meet As in the bosoms of the slaves he rules, 810 Should be a despot absolute, and boast Himself the only freeman of his land? — Should, when he pleases, and on whom he will, Wage war, with any or with no pretence Of provocation given or wrong sustain'd. And force the beggarly last doit, by means That his own humor dictates, from the clutch Of Poverty, that thus he may procure His thousands, weary of penurious life, A splendid opportunity to die ? Say ye, who (with less prudence than of old 321 THE TASK. 259 Jotliam ascribed to liis assembled trees In politic convention) put your trust In the shadow of a bramble, and reclined In fancied peace beneath his dangerous branch, Kejoice in him, and celebrate his sway — Wiiere find ye passive fortitude? AVhence springs Your self-denying zeal, that holds it good To stroke the prickly grievance, and to bang His thorns with streamers of continual praise? We too are friends to loyalty. We love 331 The king who loves the law, respects his bounds, And reigns content within them : him Ave serve Freely and with delight, who leaves us free ; But recollecting still that he is man. We trust him not too far. King thougli he be, And king in England too, he may be weak, And vain enough to be ambitious still; \ May exercise amiss his proper powers, \ Or covet more than freemen choose to grant ; ,^ Beyond that mark is treason. He is ours, . J) To administer, to guard, to adorn the State, —f 342 But not to warp or change it. We are his, To serve him nobly in the common cause. True to the death, but not to be his slaves. STo W Mark now the difference, ye that boast your love \ Of kings, between your loyalty and ours. ^ j We love the man ; the paltry pageani We the chief patron of the commonwealth ; You the regardless author of its woes : We, for the sake of libe^rty, a king; You chains and bondage, for a tyrant's sake. Our love is principle, and has its" root 353 In reason, is judicious, manly,'free; Yours, a blind instinct, crouches to the rod. And licks the foot that treads it in the dust. Were kingship as true treasure as it seems, Sterling, and worthy of a wise man's wish, I would not be a king to be beloved Causeless, and daub'd with undiscerning praise, Where love is mere attachment to the throne, ]N^ot to the man who fills it as he ought. AVhose freedom is by sufferance, and at will Of a superior, lie is never free. 304 260 cowper's poetical works. Who lives, and is not weary of a life Exposed to manacles, deserves them well. The State that strives for liberty, though foil'd, And forced to abandon what she bravely sought, Deserves at least applause for her attempt. And pity for her loss. But that's a cause Not often unsuccessful : power usurp'd Is weakness when opposed ; conscious of wrong, 'Tis pusillanimous and prone to flight. But slaves that once conceive the glowing thought 374 Of freedom, in that hope itself possess All that the contest calls for; spirit, strength, The scorn of danger, and united hearts; Tlie surest presage of the good they seek.* Tlien shame to manhood, and opprobrious more To France than all her losses and defeats. Old or of later date, by sea or land. Her liouse of bondage, worse than that of old Which God avenged on Pharaoh — the Bastile. Ye horrid towers, the abode of broken hearts ; Ye dungeons and ye cages of despair, 385 That monarchs have supplied from age to age AVith music such as suits their sovereign ears, The sighs and groans of miserable men! There's not an English lieart that would not leap To hear that ye were fallen at las^ ; to know That even our enemies, so oft eniployVl In forging chains for us, themselves were free. For he who values Liberty, confines Ilis zeal for her predominance within No narrow bounds; her cause engages him Wherever pleaded. 'Tis the cause of man. 396 There dwell the most forlorn of humankind. Immured though unaccused, condemn'd untried, Cruelly spared, and hopeless of escape ! There, like tlie visionary emblem seen By him of Babylon, life stands a stump, And filleted about with hoops of brass. Still lives, though all its pleasant boughs are gone. 1 The author hopes that he shall not be censured for unnecessarj warmth upon so interesting a subject. lie is aware that it is become almost fash- ionable to stigmatize such sentiments as no better than empty declamation; but it is an ill symptom, and peculiar to modern times THE TASK. 261 To count the hour-bell and expect no change ; And ever, as tlie sullen sound is heard, Still to reflect, that though a joyless note To him whose moments all have one dull pace, Ten tliousand rovers in the world at large Account it music ; that it summons some To theatre, or jocund feast, or ball ; The wearied hireling finds it a release From labor ; and the lover, who has chid Its long delay, feels every welcome stroke 413 Upon his lieart-strings, trembling with delight: To fly for refuge from distracting thought To such amusements as ingenious woe Contrives, hard-shifting, and without her tools; To read engraven on the mouldy walls. In staggering types, his predecessor's tale, A sad memorial, and subjoin his own; To turn purveyor to an overgorged And bloated spider, till the pamperVl pest Is made familiar, watches his approach, Comes at his call, and serves him for a friend ; 424 To wear out time in numbering to and fro The studs that thick emboss his iron door; Then downward and then upward, then aslant, And then alternate ; with a sickly hope. By dint of change to give his tasteless task Some relish ; till the sum, exactly found III all directions, he begins again : Oh, comfortless ex:istencel hemm'd around "With woes, which who that suflers would not kneel And beg for exile, or the pangs of death ? That man should thus encroach on fellow-man, 435 Abridge him of his just and native rights. Eradicate him, tear him from his hold Upon the endearments of domestic life And social, nip his fruitfulness and use, And doom him for perhaps a heedless word To barrenness, and solitude, and tears. Moves indignation, makes the name of kini^ (Of king whom such prerogative can please) As dreadful as the Manichean god, Adored through fear, strong only to destroy. 'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower I 262 cowper's poetical works. Of fle^eting life its lustre and perfume ; And we are weeds without it. All constraint. Except what wisdom lays on evil men, Is evil ; hurts tlie faculties, impedes Their progress in the road of science ; blinds The eyesight of Discovery, and begets, In those that suffer it, a sordid mind Bestial, a meagre intellect, unfit To be the tenant of man's noble form. Tliee therefore still, blameworthy as thou art, Witli all thy loss of empire, and tliough squeezed By public exigence till annual food Fails for the craving hunger of the state — Thee I account still happy, and the chief Among tlie nations, seeing thou art free! My native nook of earth! Thy clime is rude. Replete with vapors, and disposes mucli All hearts to sadness, and none more than mine : Thine unadulterate manners are less soft And plausible than social life requires; And thou hast need of discipline and art To give thee wdiat politer France receives From Nature's bounty — that humane address And sweetness, without which no pleasure is In converse, either starved by cold reserve. Or flush'd with tierce dispute, a senseless brawl. Yet being free I love thee : for the sake Of that one feature can be well content. Disgraced as thou hast been, poor as thou^^art, To sejsk no sublunary rest beside. ]^ut, once enslaved, farewell! 1 could endure Chains nowhere patiently; and chains at home, AVhere I am free by birthright, not at all. Then what were left of roughness in the grain Of British natures, wanting its excuse That it belongs to freemen, would disgust And shock me. I should then, with double pain. Feel all the rigor of thy fickle clime ; And if I must bew^ail tlie blessing lost. For which our Hampdens and our Sidneys bled, I would at least bewail it under skies Milder, among a people less austere ; In scenes w^hich, having never known me free. THE TASK. 2G3 Would not reproach me with the loss I felt. Do I forbode impossible events, And tremble at vain dreams? Heaven grant I may ! But tlie age of virtuous politics is past, And Ave are deep in that of cold pretence. Patriots are grown too shrewd to be sincere. And we too wise to trust them. He tliat takes Deep in his soft credulity the stamp Designed by loud declaimers on the part Of liberty, themselves tlie slaves of lust, 499 Incurs derision for his easy faitli And lack of knowledge, and with cause enough : For when was public virtue to be found Where private was not? Can he love the whole Who loves no part? — he be a nation's friend Who is, in truth, the friend of no man there ? Can he be strenuous in his country's cause Who slights the charities, for whose dear sake That country, if at all, must be beloved? 'Tis therefore sober and good men are sad ♦ For England's glory, seeing it wax pale 510 And sickly, while her champions wear their hearts So loose to private duty, that no brain, Healthful and undisturb'd by factious fumes. Can dream them trusty to the general weal. Such were not they of old, whose temper'd blades Dispersed the shackles of usurp'd control. And hew'd them link from link : then Albion's sons Were sons indeed ; they felt a filial heart Beat high witliin them at a mother's wrongs ; And shining each in his domestic sphere, 6hone brighter still, once call'd to public view. 521 'Tis therefore many, whose secjuester'd lot Forbids their interference, looking on, Anticipate perforce some dire event ; And, seeing the old castle of the State, That promised once more firmness, so assail'd That all its tempest-beaten turrets shake, Stand motionless expectants of its fall. All has its date below : the fatal hour Was register'd in heaven ere time began. We turn to dust, and all our mightiest works Die too : the deep foundations that we lay, 532 I 264 cowper's poetical works. Time ploughs them up, and not a trace remains. We build with what we deem eternal rock : A distant age asks where the fabric stood ; And in the dust, sifted and search'd in vain, The undiscoverable secret sleeps. But there is yet a liberty, unsung By poets, and by senators unpraised, AYhich monarchs cannot grant, nor all the powers Of earth and hell confederate take away : A liberty, which persecution, fraud, 542 Oppression, prisons, have no power to bind ; AVhich whoso tastes can be enslaved no more. 'Tis liberty of heart, derived from Heaven, Bought with His blood who gave it to mankind, And seal'd with the same token. It is held By charter, and that charter sanction'd sure By the unimpeachable and awful oath ' And promise of a God. His other gifts All bear the royal stamp that speaks them his, . And are august ; but this transcends them all. His other works, this visible display 553 Of all-creating energy and might, Are grand, no doubt, and worthy of the Word That, finding an interminable space Unoccupied, has fiU'd the void so Avell, And made so sparkling what was dark before. But these are not his glory. Man, 'tis true, Smit with the beauty of so fair a scene. Might well suppose the Artificer divine Meant it eternal, had he not himself Pronounced it transient, glorious as it is, And, still designing a more glorious far, 164 Doom'd it as insufficient for his praise. These therefore are occasional, and pass ; Form'd for the confutation of the fool, Whose lying heart disputes against a God ; That office served, they must be swept away. Not so the labors of his love : they shine In other heavens than these that we behold, And fade not. There is Paradise that fears No forfeiture, and of its fruits he sends Large prelibation oft to saints below. Of these the first in order, and the pledge 575 THE TASK. 265 And confident assurance of the rest, Is Liberty : a flight into his arms, Ere yet mortality's fine tlireads give way, A clear escape from tyrannizing lust. And full immunity from penal woe. Chains are the portion of revolted man. Stripes and a dungeon ; and liis body serves The triple purpose. In that sickly, foul. Opprobrious residence, he finds them all. Propense his heart to idols, he is held 585 In silly dotage on created things. Careless of their Creator. And that low And sordid gravitation of his powers To a vile clod so draws him, with such force Resistless, from the centre he should seek. That he at last forgets it. All his hopes Tend downward ; his ambition is to sink. To reach a depth profounder still, and still Profounder, in the fathomless abyss Of folly, plunging in pursuit of death. But, ere he gain the comfortless repose 596 He seeks, and acquiescence of his soul. In heaven-renouncing exile, he endures — What does he not, from lusts opposed in vain. And self-reproaching conscience ? He foresees The fatal issue to his health, fame, peace, Fortune, and dignity ; the loss of all That can ennoble man, and make frail life, Short as it is, supportable. Still w^orse, Far worse than all the i)lagues with which his sins Infect his happiest moments, he forebodes Ages of hopeless misery ; future death, 607 And death still future : not a hasty stroke. Like that which sends him to the dusty grave ; But unrepealable enduring death. Scripture is still a trumpet to his fears : "What none can prove a forgery, may be true ; What none but bad men wish exploded, must. That scruple checks him. Riot is not loud Kor drunk enough, to drown it. In the midst Of laughter his compunctions are sincere ; And he abhors the jest by which he shines. Remorse begets reform. Ilis master-lust 618 23 266 cowper's poetical works. Falls first before liis resolute rebuke, And seems dethroned and vanquished. Peace ensues, But spurious and short-lived ; the puny child Of self-congratulating Pride, begot On fancied Innocence. Again he falls. And fights again ; but finds his best essay A presage ominous, portending still Its own dishonor by a worse relapse. Till Nature, unavailing Nature, foil'd So oft, and wearied in the vain attempt, 62^ Scoffs at her own performance. Reason now Takes part with Appetite, and pleads the cause Perversely, which of late she so condemned ; "With shallow shifts and old devices, worn And tatter'd in the service of debauch, Covering his shame from his offended sight. *' Hath God indeed given appetites to man. And stored the earth so plenteously with means To gratify the hunger of his wish ; And doth he reprobate, and will he damn The use of his own bounty? making first C39 So frail a kind, and then enacting laws So strict, that less than perfect must despair? Falsehood! which whoso but suspects of truth Dishonors God, and makes a slave of man. Do they themselves, who undertake for Lire The teacher's office, and dispense at large Their weekly dole of edifying strains. Attend to their own music? have they faith In what, with such solemnity of tone And gesture, they propound to our belief? Nay — conduct hath the loudest tongue. The voice G50 Is but an instrument, on which the priest May play what tune he pleases. In the deed, The unequivocal, authentic deed, "VVe find sound argument, we read the heart." Such reasonings (if that name must needs belong To excuses in which Reason has no part) Serve to compose a spirit well inclined To live on terms of amity with Vice, i And sin without disturbance. Often urged f (As often as libidinous discourse ■ Exhausted, he resorts to solemn themes GGl I THE TASK. 2G7 Of theological and grave import), They gain at last his unreserved assent ; Till, harden'd his heart's temper in the forge Of lust, and on the anvil of despair, He slights the strokes of conscience. Nothing moves, Or nothing much, his constancy in ill ; Yain tampering has but foster'd his disease ; 'Tis desperate, and he sleeps the sleep of death. Haste now, philosopher, and set him free ! Charm the deaf serpent wisely ! Make him hear 671 Of rectitude and fitness, moral tyutli How lovely, and the moral sense how sure, Consulted and obey'd, to guide his steps Directly, to the riiisx and oxly faik. Spare not in such a cause. Spend all the powers Of rant and rhapsody in Virtue's praise : « Be most sublimely good, verbosely grand. And with poetic trappings grace thy prose, Till it outmantle all the pride of verse. — Ah, tinkling cymbal and high-sounding brass, Smitten in vain ! such music cannot charm 682 The eclipse that intercepts truth's heavenly beam, And chills and darkens a wide wandering soul. The STILL SMALL VOICE is waiited. He must speak^ Whose word leaps forth at once to its effect ; Who calls for things that are not, and they come. Grace makes the slave a freeman. 'Tis a changa That turns to ridicule the turgid speech And stately tone of moralists, who boast, As if, like him of fabulous renown. They had indeed ability to smooth The shag of savage nature, and were each 693 An Orpheus, and omnipotent in song, But transformation of apostate man From fool to wise, from earthly to divine, Is work for Him that made him. He alone, And He by means in philosophic eyes Trivial and worthy of disdain, achieves The wondci" ; humanizing what is brute In the lost kind ; extracting from the lips Of asps their venom, overpowering strength By weakness, and hostility by love. Patriots have toil'd, and in their country's cause 704 268 cowper's poetical works. Bled nobly ; and tlieir deeds, as they deserve, Receive proud recompense. We give in charge Their names to the sweet lyre. The historic Muse, Proud of the treasure, marches with it down To latest times ; and Sculpture, in her turn. Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass To guard them, and to immortalize her trust. But fairer wreaths are due, though never paid, To those who, posted at the shrine of Truth, Have fallen in her defence. A patriot's blood, Well spent in such a strife, may earn indeed. And for a time insure, to his loved land. The sweets of liberty and equal laws ; But martyrs struggle for a brighter prize. And win it with more pain. Their blood is shed In confirmation of the noblest claim — Our claim to feed upon immortal truth. To walk with God, to be divinely free. To soar, and to anticipate the skies. Yet few remember them. They lived unknown Till Persecution dragg'd them into fame, And chased them up to heaven. Their ashes flew — No marble tells us whither. With their names !N^o bard embalms and sanctifies his song ; And History, so warm on meaner themes, Is cold on this. She execrates indeed The tyranny that doom'd them to the fire. But gives the glorious sufferers little praise.^ He is the freeman whom the truth makes free, And all are slaves beside. There's not a chain That hellish foes, confederate for his harm, Can wind around him, but he casts it off With as much ease as Samson his green withes. He looks abroad into the varied field Of Nature, and though poor perhaps, compared With those whose mansions glitter in his sight, Calls the delightful scenery all his oAvn. His are the mountains, and the valleys his. And thq resplendent rivers : his to enjoy With a propriety that none can feel. But who, with fihal confidence inspired. Can lift to heaven an unpresumptuous eye, 1 See Hume. THE TASK. 269 And smiling say — ^'My F Behind his own creation, works unseen By the impure, and hears his power denied. Thou art the source and centre of all minds, 896 Their only point of rest, eternal Word! From tliee departing, they are lost, and rove At random, without honor, hope, or peace; From thee is all that soothes the life of man, His high endeavor, and his glad success. His strength to suffer, and his will to serve. But thou bounteous Giver of all good. Thou art of all" thy gifts thyself the crown ! Give what thou canst, without thee we are poor ; And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away. BOOK YI -THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. THE AEGUMENT. 3ells at a distance, 1— Their effect, 6— A fine noon in winter, 57— A sheltei-ed walk, 72— Meditation better than books, 84 — Our familiarity with the course of nature makes it appear less wonderful than it is, 118— The transformation that spring effects in a shrubbery described, 140— A mistake concerning the course of nature corrected, 198— God maintains it by an xini-emitted act, 221— The amusements fashionable at this hour of the day reproved, 2G2— Animals happy, a delightful sight, 32l4-Ori gin of cruelty to animals,! 34^ That it is a great crime, proved from Scnprturt?r459 — That proof illustrated by a tale, 483— A line drawn between the lawful and unlawful destruction of them, 560— Their good and useful proper- ties insisted on, COl— Apology for the encomiums bestowed by the author on ani- mals, G21— Instances of man's extravagant praise of man, 632— The groans of tlio creation shall have an end, 729— A view taken of the restoration of all things, /47 —An invocation and an invitation of Him who shall bring it to pass, 818 — The le- tired man vindicated from the charge of uselessness, 906— Conclusion, 995. There is in souls a sympathy with sounds ; And as the mind is pitch'd the ear is pleased With melting airs or martial, brisk or grave. Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies. ,' How soft the music of those village bells,'" " FaHing at intervals upon the ear 7 In cadence sweet, now dying all away, IsTow pealing loud again, and louder still, Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on ! "With easy force it opens all the cells ^Vliere Memory slept. Wherever I have heard A kindred melody, the scene recurs, And with it all its pleasures and its pains. Such comprehensive views the spirit takes, That in a few short moments I retrace (As in a map the voyager his course) The windings of my way through many years. 18 2*74 cowper's poetical works. Short as in retrospect the journey seems, It seem'd not always short ; the rugged path, And prospect oft so dreary and forlorn. Moved many a sigh at its disheartening length. Yet feeling present evils, while the past Taintly impress the mind, or not at all. How readily we wish time spent revoked, That we might try the ground again, where once (Through inexperience, as we now perceive) "VVe miss'd that happiness we might have found! 28 Some friend is gone, perhaps his son's best friend, A father, whose authority, in show When most severe, and mustering all its force, Was but the graver countenance of love ; AVhose favor, like the clouds of spring, might lower, And utter now and then an awful voice. But had a blessing in its darkest frown. Threatening at once and nourishing the plant. , / jWe loved, but not enough, the gentle hand jThat rear'd us. At a thoughtless age, allured By every gilded folly, we renounced 89 His sheltering side, and wilfully forewent That converse which we now in vain regret. How gladly would the man recall to life The boy's neglected sire ! a mother too, That softer friend, perhaps more gladly still, Might he demand them at the gates of death. Sorrow has, since they went, subdued and tamed The playful humor ; he could now endurQ (Himself grown sober in the vale of tears), And feel a parent's presence no restraint. But not to understand a treasure's wortli, 50 Till time has stolen away the slighted good, Is cause of half the poverty we feel. And ma kesjhe World the wilderness iLJg. The few that pray at all pray oft amiss. And, seeking grace to improve the prize they hold. Would urge a wiser suit than asking more. / The night was winter in his roughest mood ; The morning sharp and clear. But now at noon Upon the southern side of the slant hills, And where the woods fence off the northern blast. The season smiles, resigning all its rage, 01 THE TASK. 21 5 And has the warmth of May. Tlie vault is blue . AVithout a cloud, and white without a speck The dazzling splendor of the scene below. Again the harmony comes o'er the vale; And through the trees I view the embattled tower Whence all the music. I again perceive The soothing influence of the Avafted strains, And settle in soft musings as I tread The walk, still verdant, under oaks and elms, Whose outspread branches overarch tlie gladej 71 Tlie roof, though fnovable through all its leiigtn, As the wind sways it, has yet well sufficed, And, intercepting in their silent fall The frequent flakes, has kept a patli for me. !N"o noise is here, or none that hinders thought. The redbreast Avarbles still, but is content With slender notes, and more than lialf suppressed ; Pleased with his solitude, and flitting light I From spray to spray, where'er he rests he' shakes From many a twig the p(^ndent drops of ice That tinkle in the wither'd leaves below. 82 ''~~ Stillness, accompanied with sounds so soft. Charms more than silenjie,./ Meditation here May think down hours to moments. Here the heart • ^ May give a useful lesson to the head. And Learning wiser grow without his books. Knowledge and W isflom, f\\r fr^^^^ l^^ing on^, Have ofttimcs no _co nn action . / Knowledge dwells In heads replete Avith thoughts of other men; Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.j v^-a^^*"^ Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass, "^^ *> The mere materials with which Wisdom builds. Till smooth'd and squared, and fitted to its place, Does but encumber whom it seems to enrich. (Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much ; Wisdom is humble that he knows no more. | Books are not seldom talismans and spells, By which the magic art of shrewder wits Holds an untliinking multitude enthrall'd. Some to the fascination of a name Surrender judgment, hoodwink'd. Some the style Infatuates, and through labyrinths and wilds Of error leads thern, by a tune entranced. - 104 27C COWFER S POETICAL WORKS. "Willie slotli seduces more, too weak to bear Tiie insupportable fatigue of thought, And swallowing, therefore, without pause or choice, The total grist unsifted, husks and all. But trees, and rivulets whose rapid course Defies the check of winter, haunts of deer, And sheep-walks, populous with bleating lambs, And lanes, in which the primrose ere her time Peeps through the moss tliat clothes the hawthorn root, Deceive no student. Wisdom there, and Truth, 114 Not shy, as in the world, and to be won By slow solicitation, seize at once The roving thought, and fix it on themselves. [ / What prodigies can power divine perforrfl[ .y More grand tlian it produces year by year, And all in sight of inattentive man ? Familiar with the effect, we slight the cause, And, in the constancy of Nature's course, Tlie regular return of genial months, And renovation of a faded world, See naught to wonder at. Should God again, 125 As once in Gibeon, interrupt the race Of the undeviating and punctual sun, How would the world admire ! but speaks it less An agency divine, to make him know His moment when to sink and when to rise, Age after age, than to arrest his course ? All we behold is miracle ; but seen So duly, all is miracle in vain. /^Where now the vital energy that moved, While summer was, the pure and subtle lymph Through the imperceptible meandering veins 136 Of leaf and flower ? It sleeps ; and the icy touch Of unprolific winter has impressed A cold stagnation on the intestine tide^ J ]^ut let the months go round, a few short months. And all shall be restored. These naked shoots, Barren as lances, among which the wind Makes wintry music, sighing as it goes, Shall put their graceful foliage on again. And more aspiring, and with ampler spread, Shall boast new charms, and more than they have lost. Then each, in its peculiar honors clad, THE TASK. 277 Shall publish, even to the distant eye, Its family and tribe. Laburnum, rich In streaming gold ; syringa, ivory pure ; The scented and the scentless rose; this red, And of an humbler growth, the other^ tall, And tin-owing up into the darkest gloom Of neighboring cypress, or more sable yew. Her silver globes, light as the foamy surf That the wind severs from the broken wave ; The lilac, various in array, now white, 157 Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set With purple spikes pyramidal, as if Studious of ornament, yet unresolved "VYhicli hue she most approved, she chose them all ; Copious of flowers the w^oodbine, pale and wan, But well compensating her sickly looks "With never-cloying odors, early and late ; Hypericum all bloom, so thick a swarm Of flowers, like flies clothing her slender rods, That scarce a leaf appears ; mezerion too, Tliough leafless, well attired, and' thick beset 168 "With blushing wreaths, investing every spray ; Althsea with the purple eye ; the broom. Yellow and bright, as bullion unalloyVl, Her blossoms ; and luxuriant above all The jasmine, throwing wide her elegant sweets, The deep dark green of whose- unvarnish'd leaf Makes more conspicuous, and illumines more The bright profusion of her scattered stars. — These have been, and these shall be in their day; And all this uniform uncolor'd scene Shall be dismantled of its fleecy load, 179 And flush into variety again. From dearth to plenty, and from death to life. Is Nature's progress, when she lectures man In heavenly truth ; evincing, as she makes The grand transition, that there lives and works A soul in all things, and that soul is God. The beauties of the wilderness are his, That make so gay the solitary place, Where no eye sees them. And tlie iairer forms, That cultivation glories in, are his. i The guelder-rose. 24 278 cowper's poetical works. He sets the bright procession on its way, And marshals all the order of the year; He marks the bounds which Winter may not pass, And blunts his pointed fury ; in its case, Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ, Uninjured, with inimitable art; And, ere one flowery season fades and dies, / Designs the blooming wonders of the next^ ; Some say that in the origin of things, I When all creation started into birth, 199 I The infant elements received a law, f From which they swerve not since. That under force Of that controlling ordinance they move, : And need not His immediate hand, who first J Prescribed their course, to regulate it now. y Thus dream they, and contrive to save a God The encumbrance of his own concerns, and spare The great Artificer of all that moves Tlie stress of a continual act, the pain Of unremitted vigilance and care, x\s too laborious and severe a task. 210 So man, the moth, is not afraid, it seems. To span Omnipotence, and measure might. That knows no measure, by the scanty 'rule And standard of his own, that is to-day, And is not ere to-morrow's sun go down. But how should matter occupy a charge. Dull as it is, and satisfy a law So vast in its demands, unless impell'd To ceaseless service by a ceaseless force. And under pressure of some conscious cause? \ ' The Lord of all, himself tlirough all ditfuse^f^' 221 Sustains, and is the life of all that lives. / ' //Nature is but a name for an eflfect. Whose cause is God.| He feeds the secret fire By which the mighty process is maintairtVl, Who sleeps not, is not weary ; in whose sight Slow circling ages are as transient days;- ^ Whose work is without labor; Whose designs Ko flaw deforms, no difficulty thwarts ; And whose beneficence no charge exhausts. Him blind antiquity profaned, not served. With self-taught rites, and under various names, 232 THE TASK. 279 Female and male, Pomona, Pales, Pan, And Flora, and Yertumnus ; peopling earth AVith tutelary goddesses and gods, That were not ; and commending as they would To each some province, garden, field, or grove. But all are under One. One Spirit — Ilis Who wore the platted thorns with bleeding brows, Kules universal nature. Not a flower But shows some touch, in freckle, streak, or stain. Of his unrivall'd pencil. He inspires 242 Their balmy odors, and imparts their hues, And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes, In grains as countless as the seaside sands. The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth. Happy who walks with him ! whom what he finds Of flavor or of scent in fruit or flower, Or what he views of beautiful or grand In nature, from the broad majestic oak '" • To the green blade that twinkles in the sun. Prompts with remembrance of a present God ! His presence, who made all so fiiir, perceived, 253 Makes all still fairer. As witii him no scene Is dreary, so with him all seasons please. Though winter had been none, had man been true, And earth be punish'd for its tenant's sake, Yet not in vengeance; as this smiling sky, So soon succeeding such an angry night. And these dissolving snows, and this clear stream Kecovering fast its liquid music, praye._/ Who, then, that has a mind well strung and tuned To contemplation, and within his reach A scene so friendly to his favorite-task^ 264 Would waste attention at the checker'd board. His host of wooden warriors to and fro Marching and countfer-marching, with an eye As fix'd as marble, with a foreliead ridged And furrow'd into storms, and with a hand Trembling, as if eternity were hung In balance on his conduct of a pin? Nor envies he aught more their idle sport. Who pant with application misapplied To trivial toys, and, pushing ivory balls Across a velvet level, feel a joy 275 280 cowper's poetical works. Akin to rapture, when the bauble finds Its destined goal, of difficult access. Nor deems he wiser him, who gives liis noon To Miss, tlie mercer's plague, from shop to shop AVandering, and littering with unfolded silks The poHsh'd counter, and approving none, Or promising with smiles to call again. Nor him who, by his vanity seduced. And soothed into a dream that he discerns The difference of a Guido from a daub, 285 Frequents the crowded auction : stationed there As duly as the Langford of the show, With glass at eye, and catalogue in hand, And tongue accomplished in the fulsome cant And pedaiitry that coxcombs learn with ease ; Oft as the price-deciding hammer falls. He notes it in his book, tlien raps his box. Swears" 'tis a bargain, rails at his hard fate, Tliat lie has let it pass — but never bids. Here, unmolested, through whatever sign The sun proceeds, I wander. Neither mist, 29 G Nor freezing sky, nor sultry, checking me. Nor stranger intermeddling with my joy. Even in the spring and playtime of the year, That calls the unwonted villager abroad With all her little ones, a sportive train. To gather kingcups in the yellow mead, And prink their hair with daisies, or to pick A cheap but wliolesome salad from the brook, These shades are all my own. The timorous hare, Grown so familiar with her frecpient guest, Scarce shuns me ; and the stockdove, unalarm'd, 307 Sits cooing in the pine-tree,^ nor suspends His long love-ditty for my near approacrli. Drawn from his refuge in some lonely elm. That age or injury has hollow'd deep. Where, on his bed of wool and matted leaves, He has outslept tlie winter, ventures forth To frisk awhile, and bask in the ^vann sun. The squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play : He sees me, and at once, swift as a bird. Ascends the neighboring beech ; there whisks his brush, i And perks his ears, and stamps, and scolds aloud, -31^ THE TASK. 281 "Witli all tlie prettiness of feign'd alarm, And anger insignificantly fierce. / TJieheart is Iiard iji^oaUtfeTana unfit For human fellowship, as being void Of sympathy, and therefore clead alike To love and friendsliip botli, that is not pleased "With sight of animals enjoying life, !N"or feels their happiness augment liis own. The hounding fa\vn, tliat darts across the glade When none pursues, tlirough mere delight of heart, 328 And spirits buoyant with excess of glee; The horse as wanton, and almost as fieet, That skims the spacious meadow at full speed, Then stops, and snorts, and, throwing high his heels, Starts to the voluntary rac^ again ; , The very kine, that gambol at higli noon. The total herd receiving first from one. That leads the dance a summons to be gay. Though wild their strange vagaries, and uncouth Their eftbrts, yet resolved with one consent To give such act and utterance as they may 339 To ecstasy too big to be suppressed ; — These, and a thousand images of bliss, AVith which kind Nature graces every scene, Where cruel man defeats not her design. Impart to the benevolent, who wish All that are capable of pleasure x>leaseO A far superior happiness to theirs, _^r — — ^ ^"T C^^ V Tli e comfort of a reasona ble joy. ,ri^y ^ Mah ' ^(jl iR!U iui Vl ' -yteiji ; UAmMrt to His call Who formVl him from the dust, his future grave, When he was crown'd as never king was since. 350 God set the diadem upon his head. And angel choirs attended. Wondering stood The new-made monarch, while before him pass'd, All happy, and all perfect in their kind. The creatures, summoned from their various haunts, To see their sovereign, and confess- his .sway. Vast was his empire, absolute his power, Or bounded only by a law whose force 'Twas his sublimest privilege to feel And own, the law of universal love. He ruled with meekness, they obey'd with joy ; 3G1 82 COWPERS POETICAL WORKS. i^To cruel purpose lurkVl within ]iis lieart, And no distrust of his intent in theirs. So Eden was a scene of harmless sport, Where kindness on his part who ruled the whole Begat a tranquil confidence in all, And fear as yet was not, nor cause for fear. But sin marr'd all ; and the revolt of man, That source of evils not exhausted yet, "Was punished Avith revolt of his from him. Garden of God, how terrihle the change 371 Tliy groves and lawns then witnessed ! Every heart, Each animal, of every name, conceived A jealousy and an instinctive fear. And, conscious of some danger, either fled Precipitate the loathed abode of man, Or growl'd defiance in such angry sort. As taught him too to tremble in his turn. Thus harmony and family accord ^Yere driven from Paradise; and in that. hour The seeds of cruelty, that since have swelPd To such gigantic and enormous groAvth, 882 Were sown in human nature's fruitful soil. Hence date the persecution and the pain That man inflicts on all inferior kinds. Regardless of their plaints. To make him sport, To gratify the frenzy of his wrath, Or his base gluttony, are causes good Ajid. just, in his account, why bird and beast Should suffer torture, and the streams be dyed With blood of their inhabitants impaled. Earth groans beneath the burden of a war Waged with defenceless innocence, while he, 893 Not satisfied to prey on all around. Adds tenfold bitterness to death, by pangs Needless, and first torments ere he devours. Now happiest they that occupy the scenes Tlie most remote from liis abhorrVl resort, AVhom once, as delegate of God on earth, They fear'd, and as his perfect image loved. The wilderness is theirs, with all its caves, Its hollow glens, its thickets, and its plains, Unvisited by man. There they are free. And howl and roar as likes them, nncontroll'd ; 404 i \ THE TASK. 2^ N"or ask his leave to slumber or to play. Woe to tlie tyrant, if li§ dare intrude AVitliin the confines of their wild domain! The Lion tells him — I am monarch here ! And if he spare him, spares him on the terms Of royal mercy, and through generous scorn To rend a victim trembling at his foot. In measure, as by force of instinct drawn, Or by necessity constrained, they live Dependent upon man ; those in his fields, 414 Xliese at his crib, and some beneath his roof: They prove too often at how dear a rate He sells protection. — Witness at his foot The spaniel dying for some venial fault, Under dissection of the knotted scourge ; Witness the patient ox, with stripes and yells Driven to the slaughter, goaded, as he runs, To madness ; while the savage at his heels Laughs at the frantic sufferer's fury, spent Upon the guiltless passenger overthrown. He too is witness, noblest of the train 425 That wait on man, the flight-performing horse; With unsuspecting readiness he takes His murderer on his back, and, push'd all day, With bleeding sides, and flanks that heave for life, "To the far distant goal, arrives and dies. So little mercy shows who needs so much ! Does law, so jealous in the cause of man. Denounce no doom on the delinquent? None. He lives, and o'er his brimming beaker boasts (As if barbarity were high desert) The inglorious feat, and, clamorous in praise 430 Of the poor brute, seems wisely to suppose The honors of his matchless horse his own. But many a crime, deem'd innocent on earth. Is registered in Heaven ; and these, no doubt, Have each their record, with a curse annex'd. Man may dismiss compassion from his lieart. But God will never. When he charged the Jew To assist his foe's down-fallen beast to rise ; And when the bush-exploring boy, that seized The young, to let the parent bird go free; Proved he not plainly that his meaner works 447 284 cowper's poetical works. Are yet his care, and have an interest all, All, in the universal Father's l(^ve? On Noah, and in him on all mankind. The charter was conferred, by which we hold The flesh of animals in fee, and claim O'er all we feed on, power of life and death. But read the instrument, and mark it well : The oppression of a tyrannous control Can find no warrant there. Feed, then, and yield Thanks for thy food. Carnivorous, through sin, 457 Feed on the slain, but spare the living brute ! ^ The Governor of all, himself to all So bountiful, in whose attentive ear The unfledged raven and the lion's whelp Plead not in vain for pity on the pangs Of hunger unassuaged, has interposed, Not seldom, his avenging arm, to smite The injurious tram pier upon Nature's law. That claims forbearance even for a brute. He hates the hardness of a Balaam's lieart ; And, prophet as he was, he might not strike 468 The blameless animal, without rebuke, On wliich he rode : her opportune offence Saved him, or the um-elenting seer had died. He sees that human equity is slack To interfere, though in so just a cause. And makes the task his own ; inspiring dumb And helpless victims with a sense so keen Of injury, with such knowledge of their strength, And such sagacity to take revenge, That oft the beast has seem'd to judge tlie man. An ancient, not a legendary tale, 479 By one of sound intelligence rehearsed (If such who plead for Providence may seem In modern eyes), shall make the doctrine clear. Where England, stretch'd towards the setting sun, Narrow and long, o'erlooks the western wave, Dwelt young Misagathus ; a scorner he Of God and goodness, atheist in ostent, Vicious in act, in temper savage-fierce. • He journey'd; and his chance was, as he went, To join a traveller, of far different note — Evander, famed for piety, for years THE TASK. 285 Deserving honor, btit for wisdom more. Fame had not Jeft tlie venerable man A stranger to the manners of the youth, Whose face, too, was familiar to his view. Tlieir way. was on the margin of the land, O'er the green summit of the rocks, whose base Beats back the roaring surge, scarce heard so high. The charity that warm'd his heart was moved At sight of the man-monster. With a smile Gentle, and affable, and full of grace, 500 As fearful of offending whom he wish'd Much to persuade, he plied liis ear with truths, Not harshly thunder'd forth, or rudely press'd, But, like his purpose, gracious, kind, and sweet. "And dost thou dream," the impenetrable man Exclaim'd, " that me the lullabies of age, And fantasies of dotards such as thou, Can cheat, or move a moment's fear in me? Mark now the proof I give thee, that the brave Need no such aids as superstition lends. To steel their hearts against the dread of death !" 511 He spoke, and to the precipice at hand Push'd with a madman's fury. Fancy shrinks. And the blood thrills and curdles, at the thought Of such a gulf as he design'd his grave. But, though the felon on his back could dare The dreadful leap, more rational, his steed Dechned the death, and wheeling swiftly round. Or e'er his hoof had press'd tlie crumbling verge, Baffled his rider, saved against his will. The frenzy of the brain may be redress'd By medicine well applied, but without grace 522 The heart's insanity admits no cure. Enraged the m.ore by what might have reform'd His horrible intent, again he sought Destruction, with a zeal to be destroy'd. With sounding whip, and rowels dyed in blood. But still in vain. Tlie Providence that meant A longer date to the far nobler beast. Spared yet again the ignobler for liis sake. And now, his prowess proved, and his sincere Incurable obduracy evinced. His rage grew cool ; and, pleased perhaps to have earn'd 286 cowper's poetical works. So clieaply the renown of that attempt, Witli looks of some complacence he resiyned Ills road, deriding much the blank amaze Of good Evander, still where he Avas left Fix'd motionless, and petrified with dread. So on they fared : discourse on other themes Ensuing, seem'd to obliterate the past ; And tamer far for so much fury shown (As is the course of rash and fiery men). The rude companion smiled, as if transform'd. 543 But 'twas a transient calm. A storm was near, An unsuspected storm. His hour was come. The impious challenger of Power divine Was now to learn, that Heaven, though sIoav to wrath, Is never with impunity defied. His horse, as he had caught his master's mood, Snorting, and starting into sudden rage, Unbidden, and not now to be controll'd, Rush'd to the cliflP, and, having reach'd it, stood. At once the shock unseated him : he flew • Sheer o'er the craggy barrier, and, immersed 554 Deep in the flood, found, when he sought it not. The death he had deserved, and died alone. So God wrought double justice ; made the fool The victim of his own tremendous choice, And taught a brute the way to safe revenge. 1 would not enter on my list of friends (Though graced with polish'd manners and fine sense, Yet wanting sensibility) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. An inadvertent step may crush the snail That crawls at evening in the public path ; 565 33ut he that has humanity, forewarn'd, AY ill tread aside, and let the reptile live. The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight, And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes, A visitor unwelcome, into scenes Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove, The chamber, or refectory, may die : A necessary act incurs no blame. Not so when, held within their proper bounds. And guiltless of oftence, they range the air. Or take their pastime in the spacious field : 5T6 THE TASK. 287 There they are privileged ; and he that hunts Or harms them there, is guilty of a wrong — Disturbs the economy of Nature's realm, Who, when she form'd, design'd them an abode. The sum is this*: If man's convenience, health, , Or safety, interfere, his rights and claims ^ , Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs. Else they are all — the meanest things that are,. As free to live, and to enjoy that life. As God was free to form them at the first, 586 "Who in his sovereign wisdom made them all. Ye therefore who love mercy, teach your sons To love it too. The spring-time of our years Is soon dishonored and defiled in most By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand To check them. But, alas! none sooner shoots, If unrestrain'd, into luxuriant growth, Than cruelty, most devihsh of them all. Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule And righteous limitation of its act, By which Heaven moves in pardoning guilty man ; 597 And he that shows none, being ripe in years, And conscious of the outrage he commits. Shall seek it, and not find it, in his turn. Distinguish'd much by reason, and still more By our capacity of grace divine. From creatures that exist but for our sake. Which, having served us, perisli, we are held Accountable ; and God, some future day, Will reckon with us roundly for the abuse Of what he deems no mean or trivial trust. Superior as we are, they yet depend 608 IlTot more on human help, than we on theirs. Their strength, or speed, or vigilance, were given In aid of our defects. In some are found Such teachable and apprehensive parts. That man's attainments in his own concerns, Match'd witli the expertness of the brutes in theirs, Are ofttimes vanquisli'd, and thrown far behind. Some show that nice sagacity of smell. And read with such discernment, in tlie port And figure of the man, his secret aim, That oft we owe our safety to a skill 619 288 cowper's poetical avorks. We could not teach, and must despair to learn. But learn we might, if not too proud to stoop To quadruped instructors, many a good And useful quality, and virtue too, Karely exemplified among ourselves ;— * Attachment never to be wean'd, or clianged By any change of fortune ; proof alike Against unkindness, absence, and neglect ; Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat Can move or warp ; and gratitude for small 629 And trivial favors, lasting as the life, And glistening even in the dying eye. Man praises man. Desert in arts or arms Wins public honor ; and ten thousand sit Patiently present at a sacred song. Commemoration-mad ; content to hear (O wonderful eflfect of music's power !) Messiah's eulogy for Handel's sake. But less, methinks, than sacrilege might serve — (For, Avas it less, what heathen would have dared To strip Jove's statue of his oaken wreath, G4:0 And hang it up in honor of a man?) Much less might serve, when all that we design Is but to gratify an itching ear. And give the day to a musician's praise. Eemember Ilandel? Who that was not born Deaf as the dead to harmony, forgets, Or can, the more than Homer of his age ? Yes — we remember hini ; and while we praise A talent so divine, remember too That His most holy book from whom it came, Was never meant, was never used before, 651 To buckram out the memory of a man. But hush ! — the Muse perhaps is too severe ; And with a gravity beyond the size And measure of the often ce, rebukes a deed Less impious than absurd, and owing more To want of judgment than to wrong design. So in the chapel of old Ely House, When wandering Charles, who meant to be the third, Had fled from William, and the news was fresh, The simple clerk, but loyal, did announce. And eke did rear right merrily, two staves. 662 THE TASK. 289 Sung to the praise and glory of King George ! — Man praises man ; and Garrick's memory next, When time hath somewliat mellow'd it, and made The idol of our worship while he lived, Tlie god of our idolatry once more, Shall have its altar ; and the world shall go In pilgrimage to bow before his shrine. The theatre, too small, shall suffocate Its squeezed contents ; and more than it admits Shall sigh at their exclusion, and return 672; Ungratilied. For there some noble lord Shall stuif his shoulders with King Richard's bunch. Or wrap himself in Hamlet's inky cloak. And strut, and storm, and straddle, stamp and stare, To show the world how Garrick did not act — For Garrick was a worshipper himself; He drew the liturgy, and framed the rites And solemn ceremonial of the day, And call'd the world to worship on the banks Of Avon, famed in song. Ah, pleasant proof That piety has still in human hearts 683- Some place, a spark or two not yet extinct ! The mulberry-tree v/as hung with blooming wreaths; The mulberry-tree stood centre of the dance ; The mulberry-tree was liymn'd with dulcet airs; And from his touchwood trunk the mulberry-tree Supplied such relics as devotion holds Still sacred, and preserves with pious care. So 'twas a hallow'd time : decorum reign'd. And mirth without oifence. No few return'd, Doubtless, much edified, and all refresh'd. — Man praises man. The rabble, all alive, 691 From tippling benches, cellars, stalls, and styes, Swarm in the streets. The statesman of the day, A pompous and slow-moving pageant, comes. Some shout him, and some liang upon his car. To gaze in his eyes, and bless him. Maidens wave Their kerchiefs, and old women weep for joy : While others, not so satisfied, unhorse The gilded equipage, and, turning loose His steeds, usurp a place t+!ey well deserve. Why ? what has charm'd them ? Hath he saved the state? No. Doth he purpose its salvation? No. 705 25 290 COWPEU'S POETICAL AVORKS. Enchanting novelty, that moon at full, That finds out every crevice of the liead That is not sound and perfect, hath in theirs AYrought this disturbance. But the wane is near, And his own cattle must suffice him soon. Thus idly do we waste the breath of praise, And dedicate a tribute, in its use And just direction sacred, to a thing Doom'd to the dust, or lodged already there. Encomium in old time was poets' work : But poets, 'having lavishly long since Exhausted all materials of the art. The task now falls into the public hand ; And I, contented with an humble theme, Have poured my stream of panegyric down The vale of Kature, where it creeps and winds Among her lovely works, with a secure And unambitious course, reflecting clear. If not the virtues, yet the worth of brutes. And I am recompensed, and deem the toils Of poetry not lost, if verse of mine May stand between an animal and woe, And teach one tyrant pity for his drudge. The groans of Nature in this nether world, Which Heaven has heard for ages, have an end. Foretold by prophets, and by poets sung, "Whose fire Avas kindled at the prophets' lamp. The time of rest, the promised Sabbath, comes. Six thousand years of sorrow have well-nigh Eulfiird their tardy and disastrous course Over a sinful world ; and what remains Of this tempestuous state of human things Is merely as the working of a sea Before a calm, that rocks itself to rest : For He, whose car the winds are, and the clouds The dust that waits upon his sultry march. When sin hath moved liim, and his Avrath is hot, Shall visit earth in mercy ; shall descend Propitious in his chariot paved with love; And what his storms have blasted and defaced For man's revolt, shall with a smile repair. Sweet is the harp of prophecy ; too sweet Not to be wrong'd by a mere mortal touch : THE TASK. 291 !N"or can the wonders it records be sung To meaner music, and not suffer loss. But wlien a poet, or when one like me, Happy to rove among poetic flowers, TJiough poor in skill to rear them, lights at last On some fair theme, some theme divinely fair — Such is the impulse and the spur he feels. To give it praise proportion'd to its worth. That not to attempt it, arduous as he deems The labor, were a task more arduous still. 758 O scenes surpassing fable, and yet true. Scenes of accomplish'd bliss ! which who can see, Though but in distant prospect, and not feel His soul refresh'd with foretaste of the joy ? Rivers of gladness water all the earth, And clothe all climes with beauty ; the reproach Of barrenness is past. The fruitful held Laughs with abundance ; and the land, once lean, Or fertile only in its own disgrace. Exults to see its thistly curse repeaFd. The various seasons woven into one, 769 And that one season an eternal spring ; The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence, For there is none to covet, all are full. The lion, and the libbard, and the bear, Graze with the fearless flocks ; all bask at noon Together, or all gambol in the shade Of the same grove, and drink one common stream Antipathies are none. No foe to man Liu-ks in the serpent now : the mother sees, And smiles to see, her infant's playful hand Stretch'd forth to dally with the crested worm, 780 To stroke his azure neck, or to receive The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue. All creatures worship man, and all mankind One Lord, one Father. Error has no place : That creeping pestilence is driven away ; The breath of Heaven has chased it. In the heart No passion touches a discordant string. But all is harmony and love. Disease Is not: tlie pure and uncontaminate blood Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age. One song employs all nations; and all cry, 701 292 cowper's poetical works. "Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us!" The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks Shout to each other ; and the mountain-tops From distant mountains catch the flying joy ; Till, nation after nation taught the strain, Earth rolls the rapturous Ilosanna round. Behold the measure of the promise fill'd ; See Salem built, the labor of a God ! Bright as a sun the sacred city shines ; All kingdoms and all princes of the eartli 801 Flock to that light ; the glory of all lands Flows into her ; unbounded is her joy. And endless her increase. Thy rams are there, ISTebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar^ there; The looms of Ormus and the mines of Ind, And Saba's spicy groves, pay tribute there. Praise is in all her gates : upon her walls. And in her streets, and in her spacious courts, Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there Kneels with the native of the fcirthest west ; And Ethiopia spreads abroad the hand, 812 And worships. Her report has travell'd forth Into all lands. From every clime they come To see thy beauty, and to share thy joy, O Zion ! an assembly such as earth Saw never, such as Heaven stoops down to see. Thus heavenward all things tend. For all were once Perfect, and all must be at length restored. So God has greatly purposed ; who would else In his dishonored works himself endure Dishonor, and be wrong'd without redress. Haste then, and Avheel away a shatter'd world, 823 Ye slow-revolving seasons ! we would see (A sight to which our eyes are strangers yet) A world that does not dread and hate his laws, And suffer for its crime ; Avould learn how fair The creature is that God pronounces good, How pleasant in itself what pleases him. Here every drop of honey hides a sting ; Worms wind themselves into our sweetest flowers; J ISIe^baioth and Kedar, the sons of Ishinael, and progenitors of the Arabs, in the prophetic Scripture here alhidcd to, may be reasonably considered as representatives of the Gentiles at large.' THE TASK. ^^5;^Jlj!Li^^^93 And even the joy that haply some poor heart Derives from heaven, pure as the fountain is, Is sullied in the stream ; taking a taint From touch of human lips, at best impure. Oh for a world in principle as chaste As this is gross and selfish ! over which Custom and prejudice shall bear no sway, That govern all things here, shouldering aside The meek and modest TruthJ and forcing her To seek a refuge from the tongue of Strife 841 In nooks obscure, far from the ways of men : Where Violence shall never lift the sword, Nor Cunning justify the proud man's wrong, Leaving the poor no remedy but tears : Where he that fills an office shall esteem The occasion it presents of doing good ^OYQ than the perquisite : where Law shall speak Seldom, and never but as Wisdom prompts And Equity; not jealous more to guard A worthless form, than to decide aright : Where Fashion shall not sanctify abuse, 852 ITor smooth Good-breeding (supplemental grace) With lean performance ape the work of Love ! ■^ Come, then, and, added to thy many crowns, " Receive yet one, the crown of all the earth. Thou who alone art worthy ! It was thine By ancient covenant, ere Nature's birth ; And thou hast made it thine by purchase since, And overpaid its value with thy blood. Thy saints proclaim thee King; and in their hearts Thy title is engraven with a pen Dipp'd in the fountain of eternal love. 8G3 Thy saints proclaim thee King ; and thy delay Gives courage to their foes, who, could they see The dawn of thy Last Advent, long desired. Would creep into the bowels of the hills, And flee for safety to the falling rocks. The very spirit of the world is tired Of its own taunting question, ask'd so long, " Where is the promise of your Lord's approach ?" The infidel has shot his bolts away, Till, his exhausted quiver yielding none. He gleans the blunted shafts that have recoil'd, 294 cowper's poetical works. And aims them at the shield of Truth again. The veil is rent, rent too by priestly hands, That hides divinity from mortal eyes; And all the mysteries to faitli proposed, Insulted and traduced, are cast aside. As useless, to the moles and to the bats. They now are deem'd the faithful, and are praised, Who, constant only in rejecting thee. Deny tliy Godhead with a martyr's zeal. And quit their office for their error's sake. 88< Blind, and in love with darkness ! yet even these Worthy, compared with sycophants, who knee Thy name adoring, and tlien preach thee man! So fares thy Church. But how thy Church may fare, The world takes little thought. . AVho Avill may preach, And what they will. All pastors are alike To wandering sheep, resolved to follow none. Two gods divide them all — Pleasure and Gain: Tor these they live, tliey sacrifice to these. And in their service wage perpetual war "With Conscience and with thee. Lust in their hearts, 89i And mischief in their hands, they roam the earth To prey upon each other ; stubborn, fierce. High-minded, foaming out their own disgrace. Thy prophets speak of such; and, noting down The features of the last degeneratej:imes. Exhibit every lineament of these. Come, then, and, added to thy many crowns, Receive yet one, as radiant as the rest. Due to thy last and most effectual work. Thy word fulfiU'd, the conquest of a world ! He is the happy man, whose life even now 90' Shows somewhat of that happier life to come ; Who, doom'^ to an obscure but tranquil state. Is pleased with it, and, were he free to choose. Would make his fate his choice ; whom peace, the fruit Of virtue, and wbom virtue, fruit of faith. Prepare for happiness ; bespeak him one Content indeed to sojourn while he must Below the skies, but, having there his home. The world o'erlooks him in her busy search Of objects more illustrious in her view ; And, occupied as earnestly as she, 911 THE TASK. 295 Tliongli more sublimely, lie overlooks the world. She scorns liis pleasures, for she knows them not ; He seeks not hers, for he has proved them vain. He cannot skim the ground like summer birds Pursuing gilded liies; and such he deems Her honors, her emoluments, Iier joys. Therefore in contemplation is his bliss, AVhose power is such, that whom she lifts from earth She makes fiimiliar with a heaven unseen, And shows him glories yet to be reveal'd. 927 Not slothful he, though seeming unemploy'd, And censured oft as useless. Stillest streams Oft water fairest meadows, and the bird That flutters least, is longest on the wing. Ask him, indeed, what trophies he lias raised, Or what achievements of immortal fiime He purposes, and he shall answer — None. His warfore is within. There unfixtigued His fervent spirit labors. Tliere he tights. And there obtains fresh trium[)hs o'er liimself. And never-withering wreaths, compared with which 938 The laurels that a Ciesar reai)S are weeds. Perhaps the self- approving haughty world. That, as she sweeps him with her whistling silks, Scarce deigns to notice him, or, if she see, Deems him a cipher in the works of God, Receives advantage from his noiseless hours, Of which she lijttle dreams. Perhaps she owes Her sunshine and her rain, her blooming spring And plenteous harvest, to the prayer he makes, "When, Isaac like, tlie solitary saint "Walks forth to meditate at eventide, 949 And think on her, who thinks not for herself. Forgive him then, thou bustler in concerns Of little worth, and idler in the best. If, author of no mischief and some good, He seek his proper happiness by means That may advance, but canm)t liinder, thine. Nor, thougli he tread the secret path of life, Engage no notice, and enjoy much ease. Account him an encumbrance on the State, Keceiving benefits, and rendering none. His sphere thougli humble, if that humble sphere 900 290 cowper's poetical works. Shine with liis fair example, and though small His influence, if tliat influence all be spent In soothing sorrow and in quencliing slrife, In aiding helpless indigence, in works From wliich at least a grateful few derive Same taste of comfort in a world of woe; Tlien let tlie supercilious great confess He serves his country, recompenses well The State beneath the shadow of whose vine He sits secure, and in the scale of life 970 Holds no ignoble, though a slighted, place. The man whose virtues are more felt than seen, Must drop indeed tlie hope of public praise ; But he may boast, what few that win it can. That, if his country stand not by his skill. At least his follies Iiave not wrought her fall. Polite Refinement offers him in vain Her golden tube, through which a sensual world Draws gross impurity, and likes it well — The neat conveyance hiding all the oflTence. Not that he peevishly rejects a mode 981 I^ecause that world adopts it. If it bear The stamp and clear impression of good sense, And be not costly more than of true worth, He puts it on, and for decorum sake Can w^ear it even as gracefully as she. She judges of refinement by the eye, He by tlie test of conscience, and a heart Not soon deceived ; aware that what is base No polish can make sterling ; and that vice, Though well perfumed and elegantly dress'd. Like an unburied carcase trick'd with flowers, { Is but a garnish'd nuisance, fitter far For cleanly riddance than for fair attire. So life glides smoothly and by stealth away, More golden than that age of fabled gold RenownVl in ancient song ; not vex'd with care Or stain'd with guilt; beneficent, approved Of God and man, and peaceful in its end. So glide my life away! and so at last. My share of duties decently fulfilPd, May some disease, not tardy to perform Its destined office, yet with gentle stroke 1008 THE TASK. 2^*7 Dismiss nic weary to a safe retreat, Beneatli tlie turf tliat I have often trod. It shall not grieve nie, then, that once, when call'd To dress a Sofa with, the flowers of verse, I play'd awhile, obedient to the fair, With that light task ; but soon, to please her more Whom flowers alone I knew would little please. Let fall the unflnish'd wreath, and roved for fruit; Ivoved far, and gather'd much : some harsh, 'tis true, Pick'd from the thorns and briers of reproof, 1013 But wholesome, well digested ; grateful some To palates that can taste immortal truth ; Insipid else, and sure to be despised. But all is in His hand whose praise I seek. In vain the poet sings, and the world hears, If He regard not, though divine the theme. 'Tis not in artful measures, in the chime And idle tinkling of a minstrel's lyre. To charm His ear, whose eye is on the heart; Whose frown can disappoint the proudest strain, Whose approbation — prosper even mine ! 1024 TIROCINIUM: A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. Kc(pa\a[ov ^rj Trai6dag 6j)Qi] Tpo(J)r'i. — Plato. 'A/^X'/ T^oXiTcias UKdarjif vtwv Tpo(pd. — DiOG. LaERT. To the Rev. William Cawthorne Vnwin, Redov of Stock in Essex^ the tutor of his tivo so?iSj the followin(j j^ocvi^ recommending private Uiition in freference to an education at school^ is inscribed, by his affectionate friend, William Cowper. Olney, Nov. 6, 1784. THE ARGUMENT. Man's supremacy over the inferior creation not derived from his outward form, but from the soul, 1— Creation in vain, unless subservient to the purposes of an immor- tal being:, .35— Heavenly truth not difficult to discover, 73— Man made to discover and declare it. 100— Duty of making it known to the young, 103— Importance of infant instruction, 109— Nursery knowledge, 127— Pilgrim'sP^gress, 131— Happy if such studies were approved in riper years, 147— Too often scorned and repudia- ted, 155— The gospel contemned, false philosophy prevails, and early religious impressions are effaced, 185— Corrupting influence of large schools, 201— Effects o^ pernicious example on the young, 220— College, 240— Errors in education arise from following established precedents, 255— Teachers connive at vices in the young which they practised themseTves, 269— Degeneracy of schoolSj__2Z*t~Causes of this, 290- Early school associations, 296— Parents recounting their early follies to tlicir children, 318— Advancement in the world expected from friendships formed at school, 393— Prosecuted by unworthy means, and tending to fatal results, 401— School friendships not always permanent, 436— Emulation a questionable motive of action, 458— Its evil consequences on the heart and temper, 470— Great and small schools alike, 515— Beauty of parental confidence and companionship, 537— Why resign the task of parental instruction to strangers? 551— The effect of absence in destroying confidence between father and son, 561— A faithful hand necessary to disperse the follies of youth, 591— The classics not pnrjugji ^ fi( ^ ){S— Stn^ v of nature, 630— A private tutor recommended, 658— Danger of association with servants, 688 — A worthy tutor to be treated with respect, 705— Where there is bad example at home, board in some retired spot recommended, 735— The author's advice not likely to be followed, 779— The middle ranks addressed on the disorders which prevail in the world as the result of f chool-breeding, 807— Earnestly warned against coqpraitting their sons to schools, 871— Which should be "better managed or eu- couiaged less," 922. tirocinium; or, a review of schools. 299 It is not from his form, in which we trace Strengtli join'd with beauty, dignity with grace, That Man, tlie master of this globe, derives Ilis right of empire over all that lives. That form, indeed, the associate of a mind Yast in its powers, ethereal in its kind — That form, the labor of Almighty skill. Framed for the service of a freeborn will, 8 Asserts precedence, and bespeaks control. But borrows all its grandeur from the soul. Hers is the state, the s[)lendor, and the throne. An intellectual kingdom, all her own. For her the Memory tills her ample page "With truths pour'd down from every distant age; For her amasses an unbounded store, The wisdom of great nations, now no more ; Though laden, not encumber'd with her spoil; Laborious, yet unconscious of her toil ; When copiously supplied, then most enlarged; 19 Still to be fed, and not to be surcharged. For her, tlie Fancy roving unconfined. The present Muse of every pensive mind. Works magic wonders, adds a brighter hue To Nature's scenes than Nature ever knew : At her command, winds rise and waters roar. Again she lays them slumbering on the shore; With flower and fruit the wilderness supplies, Or bids the rocks in ruder pomp arise. For her, the Judgment, umpire in the strife Tliat Grace and Nature have to wage through life, 30 Quick-sighted arbiter of good and ill. Appointed sage preceptor to the Will, Condemns, approves, and, with a faitliful voice, Guides the decision of a doubtful choice. AVhy did the fiat of a God give birth To yon fair Sun and his attendant Earth? And, when descending he resigns the skies. Why takes the gentler Moon her turn to rise. Whom Ocean feels through all his countless waves. And owns her power on every shore he laves ? Wliy do the Seasons still enrich the year, 41 300 cowper's poetical works. Fruitful and young as in their first career ? Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, Rocked in the cradle of the western breeze ; Summer in haste the thriving charge receives Beneath the shade of her expanded leaves, Till Autumn's fiercer heats and plenteous dews Dye them at last in all their glowing hues. — 'Twere wild profusion all, and bootless waste, Power misemploy'd, munificence misplaced, Had not its Author dignified the plan, 51 And crown'd it with the majesty of Man. Thus form'd, thus placed, intelligent, and taught. Look where he will, the wonders God has wrought, The wildest scorner of his Maker's laws Finds in a sober moment time to pause. To press the important question on his heart, ''Why form'd at aU, and wherefore as thou art?" If man be what he seems, this hour a slave. The next mere dust and ashes in the grave ; Endued with reason only to descry- His crimes and follies with an aching eye ; 62 AVith passions, just that he may prove, with pain, Tlie force he spends against their fury vain ; And if, soon after having burnt, by turns. With every lust with which frail STature burns. His being end where death dissolves the bond. The tomb take all, and all be blank beyond ; Tlien he, of all that ISTature has brought forth. Stands self-impeach'd the creature of least worth, And, useless while he lives, and when he dies, Brings into doubt the Avisdom of the skies. Truths that the learn'd pursue Avith eager thought 73 Are not important always as dear-bought. Proving at last, though told in pompous strains, A childish waste of philosophic pains ; But truths on which depends our main concern, That 'tis our shame and misery not to learn, Shine by the side of every path we tread AVith such a lustre, he that runs may read. 'Tis true that, if to trifle life away Down to the sunset of their latest day. Then perish on futurity's wide shore Like fleeting exhalations, found no more, 84 tirocinium; or, a review of schools. 301 Were all that Heaven required of humankind, And all the plan their destiny designed, What none could reverence all might justly blame. And man would breathe but for his Maker's shame. But Reason heard, and Nature well perused. At once the dreaming mind is disabused. If all we find possessing earth, sea, air, Eetiect His attributes who placed them there^ Fulfil the purpose, and appear designed Proofs of the wisdom of the all-seeing Mind, 94 'Tis plain the creature whom he chose to invest With kingship and dominion o'er the rest. Received his nobler nature, and was made Fit for the power in which he stands array'd; That first or last, hereafter if not here. He too might make his Author's wisdom clear, Praise him on earth, or, obstinately dumb, Sufi[:er his justice in a world to come. This once believed, 'twere logic misapplied To prove a consequence by none denied. That we are bound to cast the minds of youth 105 Betimes into the mould of heavenly truth. That, taught of God, they may indeed be* wise, Nor, ignorantly wandering, miss the skies. In early days the conscience has in most A quickness, which in later life is lost: Preserved from guilt by salutary fears. Or, guilty, soon relenting into tears. Too careless often, as our years proceed. What friends we sort with, or what books we read, Our parents yet exert a prudent care To feed our infant minds with proper fare; 116 And wisely store the nursery by degrees With wholesome learning, yet acquired with ease. Neatly secured from being soil'd or torn. Beneath a pane of thin translucent horn, A book (to please us at a tender age 'Tis call'd a book, though but a single page) Presents the prayer the Saviour deign'd to teach, Which children use, and parsons — when they preach. Lisping our syllables, we scramble next Through moral narrative, or sacred te^t; And learn with wonder how this world began, 127 26 302 cowper's poetical works. Who made, who marr'd, and who has ransom'd mans Points which, unless the Scripture made them plain, The wisest heads might agitate in vain. O thou, whom, borne on Fancy's eager wing Back to the season of life's happy spring, I pleased remember, and, while memory yet Holds fast her office here, can ne'er forget ; Ingenious dreamer! in whose well-told tale Sweet tiction and sw^eet truth alike prevail; Whose humors vein, strong sense, and simple style, 137 May teach the gayest, make the gravest smile ; Witty, and well employ'd, and like thy Lord, Speaking in parables his slighted Word ! I name thee not, lest so despised a name Should move a sneer at thy deserved fame; Yet even in transitory life's late day, Tliat mingles all my brown w' ith sober gray. Revere the man, whose Pilgpjm marks the road, ^.^^nd guides the Progeess of the soul to God. 'Twere well with most, if books that could engage Their childhood, pleased them at a riper age; 14S The man, approving what had charm'd the boy, W^ould die at last in comfort, peace, and joy, And not with curses on his art who stole The gem of truth from his unguarded soul. The stamp of artless piety, impress'd By kind tuition on his yielding breast. The youth now bearded, and yet pert and raw, Regards Avith scorn, though once received with awe ; And, warp'd into the labyrinth of lies That babblers, call'd philosophers, devise. Blasphemes his creed, as founded on a plan 159 Replete with dreams, unworthy of a man. Touch but his nature in its ailing part. Assert the native evil of his heart. His pride resents the charge, although the proof* Rise in his forehead, and seem rank enough : Point to the cure, describe a Saviour's cross As God's expedient to retrieve his loss — The young apostate sickens at the view, And hates it with the malice of a Jew. How weak tlie barrier of mere I^ature proves, 1 See 2 Chron. xxvi. 19. tirocinium; OR, A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 303 Opposed against the pleasures Nature loves ! While self-hetray'd, and wilfully undone, She longs to yield, no sooner Avoo'd than won. Try now the merits of this blest exchange Of modest truth for wit's eccentric range. Time was he closed as he began the day, With decent duty, not ashamed to pray ; The practice was a bond upon his heart, A pledge he gave for a consistent part ; Nor could he dare presumptuously displease 179 A power confess'd so lately on his knees. But now, farewell all legendary tales ! The shadows fly, philosophy prevails ; Prayer to the winds, and caution to the waves; Religion makes the free by nature slaves. Priests have invented, and the Avorld admired, AYhat knavish priests promulgate as inspired; Till Reason, now no longer overawed. Resumes her powers, and spurns the clumsy fraud ; And, common sense diffusing real day, The meteor of the Gospel dies away. 190 Such rhapsodies our shrewd discerning youth Learn from expert inquirers after truth ; W^hose only care, might truth presume to speak Is not to find what they profess to seek. And thus, well tutor'd only while we share A mother's lectures and a nurse's care ; And taught at schools much mythologic stuff,^ But sound religion sparingly enough ; Our early notices of truth, disgraced. Soon lose their credit, and are all effaced. W^:)uld you your son should be a sot or dunce, 201 Lascivious, headstrong, or all these at once ; That in good time the stripling's finish'd taste For loose expense and fashionable waste Should prove your ruin, and his own at last; Train him in public with a mob of boys, Childish in mischief onjy and in noise, The author begs leave to exi)l{iin. Sensible that, without such knowl- e, neither the ancient poets nor historians can be tastefl, or indeed un- •stood, he does not mean to censure the pains tliat are taken to instruct a >olboy in the religion of the hoiithen, but merely that neglect of Cliristiau lure which leaves him shamefully ignorant of his own. 304 cowper's poetical works. Else of a mannish growth, and, live in ten, In infidelity and lewdness, men. There sliall he learn, ere sixteen winters old, That anthors are most useful, pawn'd or sold; That pedantry is all that schools impart, But taverns teach the knowledge of the heart; There, waiter Dick, with bacchanalian lays, (Shall win his heart, and have his drunken praise, His counsellor and bosom-friend shall prove. And some street-pacing harlot his first love. 217 Schools, unless discipline were doubly strong. Detain their adolescent charge too long. The management of tyros of eighteen Is diflicult, their punishment obscene. The stout tall captain, whose superior size The minor heroes view with envious eyes, Becomes their pattern, upon whom they fix Their whole attention, and ape all his tricks. His pride, that scorns to obey or to submit, "With them is courage, his effrontery wit. His wild excursions, window-breaking feats, 228 Robbery of gardens, quarrels in the streets, His hairbreadth 'scapes, and all his daring schemes, Transport them, and are made their favorite themes. In little bosoms such achievements strike A kindred spark ; they burn to do the like. Thus, half accom])lisli'd ere he yet begin To show the peeping down upon his cliin, And, as maturity of years comes on. Made just the adept that you design'd your son; To insure the perseverance of his course, ■ And give your monstrous project all its force, 239 Send him to college. If he there be tamed, Or in one article of vice reclaim'd, "Where no regard of ordinances is shown Or look'd for now, the fault must be his own. Some sneaking virtue lurks in him, no doubt, "Where neither strumpets' charms, nor drinking bout. Nor gambling practices, can find it out. Such youths of spirit, and that spirit too. Ye nurseries of our boys, we owe to you : Though from ourselves the mischief more proceeds ; For public schools 'tis public folly feeds. 250 tirocinium; ok, a review of schools. 305 The slaves of custom and establisli'd mode, AVitli packhorse constancy we keep the road, Crooked or straight, through quags or thorny dells, True to the jingling of our leader's bells. To follow foolish precedents, and wink With both our eyes, is easier than to think : And such an age as ours balks no expense, Except of caution and of common sense; Else sure notorious fact, and proof so plain, Would turn our steps into a wiser train. 260 I blame not those w^ho, with w"hat care they can, O'erwatch the numerous and unruly clan ; Or, if I blame, 'tis only that they dare Promise a work of which they must despair. Have ye, ye sage intendants of the whole, An ubiquarian presence ajid control — Elisha's eye, that, when Gehazi stray'd, W^ent with him, and saw all the game he play'd? Yes — ye are conscious ; and on all the shelves Your pupils strike upon, have struck yourselves. Or if, by nature sober, ye had then, 271 Boys as ye were, the gravity of men. Ye knew at least, by constant proofs address'd To ears and eyes, the vices of the rest. But ye connive at w^hat ye cannot cure, And evils not to be endured, endure ; Lest power exerted, but without success, Should make the little ye retain still less. Ye once were justly famed for bringing forjji' Undoubted scholarship and genuine w^orth'; And in the firmament of fame still shines A glory, bright as that of all the signs, 282 Of poets raised by you, and statesmen and divines. Peace to them all ! those brilliant times are lied. And no such lights are kindling in their stead. Our striplings shine indeed, but with such rays As set the midnight riot in a blaze; xVnd seem, if judged by their expressive looks, Deeper in none than in their surgeons' books. Say, Muse (for education made the song, Ko Muse can hesitate or linger long), What causes move us, knowing, as w^e must, Jhat these menageries all fail their trust, 293 I 306 cowper's poetical works. To send our sons to scout and scamper there, "While colts and puppies cost us so much care ? Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise, "We love the play-place of our early days ; The scene is touching, and the heart is stone That feels not at that sight, and feels at none. The wall on which we tried our graving skill, The very name we carved subsisting still ; The bench on Avhich we sat wdiile deep employ'd, Tho' mangled, hack'd, and hew'd, not yet destroy 'd ; 303 The little ones, unbutton'd, glowing hot. Playing our games, and on the very spot ; As happy as we once, to kneel and draw The chalky ring, and knuckle down at taw; To pitch the ball into the grounded hat. Or drive it devious with a dexterous pat ; The pleasing spectacle at once excites Such recollection of our own deliglits, That, viewing it, we seem almost to obtain Our innocent, sAveet, simple years again. This fond attachment to the w^eil-known place, 314 Whence first we started into life's long race, Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway, We feel it even in age, and at our latest day. Hark ! how the sire of chits, whose future share Of classic food begins to be his care, With his owm likeness placed on either knee, Indulges all a father's heartfelt glee ; And tells them, as he strokes their silver locks, That they must soon learn Latin, and to box ; Then turning, he regales his listening wife With all the adventures of his early life ; 325 His skill in coachmanship, or driving chaise, In bilking tavern-bills, and spouting plays ; What shifts he used, detected in a scrape. How he was flogg'd, or had the luck to escape; What sums he lost at play, and how he sold Watch, seals, and all — till all his pranks are told. Ketracing thus Ins frolics ('tis a name That palliates deeds of folly and of shame), He gives the local bias all its sway ; Resolves that where he play'd his sons shall play, And destines their bright genius to be shown, 33G TIROCINIUM^ OR, A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 307 Just in the scene wliere lie clisx)lay'd his own. The meek and basliful boy will soon be taught To be as bold and forward as he ought ; The rude will scuffle through with ease enough — Great schools suit best the sturdy and the rough. Ah, happy designation, prudent choice, The event is sure ; expect it, and rejoice ! Soon see your wish fulfill'd in either child. The pert made perter, and the tame made wild. The great, indeed, by titles, riches, birth, 346 Excused the encumbrance of more solid worth, Are best disposed of where with most success Tliey may acquire that confident address. Those habits of profuse and lewd expense, That scorn of all delights but those of aense ; Which, though in plain plebeians we condemn, With so much reason all expect from them. But families of less illustrious fame. Whose chief distinction is their spotless name. Whose heirs, their honors none, their income small, Must shine by true desert, or not at all — 357 Wliat dream they of, that with so little care They risk their hopes, their dearest treasure, there ? They dream of little Charles or William graced With wig prolix, down flowing to his waist ; They see the attentive crowds his talents draw, They hear him speak — the oracle of law. The father, who designs his babe a priest, Dreams him episcopally such at least ; And, while the playful jockey scours the room, Briskly, astride upon the parlor broom, . In fancy sees him more superbly ride 368 In coach with purple lined, and mitres on its side. Events improbable and strange as these. Which only a parental eye foresees, A public school shall bring to pass with ease. But how? resides such virtue in that air As must create an appetite for prayer ? And will it breathe into him all the zeal That candidates for such a prize should feel — To take the lead and be the foremost still In all true worth and literary skill ? "Ah, blind to bright futurity, untaught 379 t308 cowrER's poetical works. The knowledge of the World, and dull of thought! Church -ladders are not alwa^'s mounted best By learned clerks, and Latinists proless'd. The exalted prize demands an upward look, Not to be found by poring on a book. Small skill in Latin, and still less in Greek, Is more than adequate to all I seek. Let erudition grace him, or not grace, I give the bauble but the second place; His wealth, fame, honors, all that I intend, 880 Subsist and centre in one point — a friend. A friend, whatever he studies or'neglects. Shall give him consequence, heal all defects. His intercourse with peers, and sons of peers, — There dawns the splendor of his future years : In that bright quarter his propitious skies Shall blush betimes, and there his glory rise. Your Lordship, and Your Grace ! what school can teach A rhetoric equal to those parts of speech ? What need of Homer's verse or Tully's prose. Sweet interjections ! if he learn but those ? 400 Let reverend churls his ignorance rebuke, Who starve upon a dog's-ear'd Pentateuch, The parson knows enough who knoAVs a duke." — Egregious purpose ! worthily begun In barbarous prostitution of your son ; Press'd on Ms part by means that would disgrace A scrivener's clerk, or footman out of place. And ending, if at last its end be gain'd. In sacrilege, in God's own house profaned. It may succeed ; and if his sins should call For more than common punishment, it shall. 411 The wretch shall rise, and be the thing on earth Least qualified in honor, learning, worth. To occupy a sacred, awful post. In which the best and worthiest tremble most. The royal letters are a thing of course, A king, that would, might recommend his horse ; And Deans, no doubt, and Chapters, with one voice, As bound, in duty, would confirm the choice. Behold your Bishop ! well he plays his part, Christian in name, and Infidel in heart, ■ Ghostly in office, earthly in his plan, 422 TIROCINIUM ; OR, A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 309 A slave at court, elsewhere a lady's man : Dumb as a senator, and as a priest A piece of mere church furniture at best ; To live estranged from God his total scope. And his end sure, without one glimpse of hope. But, fair although and feasible it seem. Depend not much upon joviv golden dream ; For Providence, that seems concern'd to exempt The hallow'd bench from absolute contempt, In S4)ite of all the wrigglers into place, 432 Still keeps a seat or two for worth and grace ; And therefore 'tis, that, though the sight bo rare, We sometimes see a Lowth or Bagot there. Besides, school friendships are not always found, Though fair in promise, permanent and sound ; The most disinterested and virtuous minds, In early years connected, time unbinds ; 'New situations give a different cast Of habit, inclination, temper, taste ; And he that seem'd our counterpart at first, Soon shows the strong similitude reversed, 443 Young heads are giddy, and young hearts are warm, And make mistakes for manhood to reform. Boys are, at best, but pretty buds unblown, Whose scent and hues are rather guess'd than known. Each dreams that each is just what he appears. But learns his error in maturer years, When disposition, like a sail unfarl'd. Shows all its rents and patches to the world. If, therefore, even when honest in design, A boyish friendship may so soon decline, 'Twere wiser sure to inspire a little heart 454 With just abhorrence of so mean a part. Than set your son to work at a vile trade For wages so unlikely to be paid. Our public hives of puerile resort. That are of chief and most approved report, To such base hopes, in many a sordid soul. Owe their repute in part, but not the whole. A principle, whose proud pretensions pass Unquestion'd, though the jewel be but glass — That with a world, not often over-nice, Banks as a virtue, and is vet a vice ; 465 310 cowper's poetical works. Or rather a gross compound, justly tried, Of envy, hatred, jealousy, and pride — Contributes most, perhaps, to enhance their fame ; And Emulation is its specious name. Boys, once on fire with that contentious zeal, Feel all the rage that female rivals feel ; The prize of beauty in a woman's eyes ]^ot brighter than in theirs the scholar's prize. The spirit of that competition burns With all varieties of ill by turns ; 475 Each vainly magnifies his own success. Resents his fellow's, wishes it were less, Exults in his miscarriage if he fail. Deems his reward too great if he prevail, And labors to surpass him day and night. Less for improvement than to tickle spite. The spur is powerful, and I grant its force ; It pricks the genius forward in its course. Allows short time for play, and none for sloth ; And, felt alike by each, advances both : But judge, where so much evil intervenes, 486 The end, though plausible, not worth the means. Weigh, for a moment, classical desert Against a heart depraved and temper linrt; Hurt too, perhaps, for life ; for early wrong Done to the nobler part affects it long ; And you are staunch indeed in learning's cause. If you can crown a discipline, that draws Such mischiefs after it, with much applause. Connection form'd for interest, and endear'd By selfish views, thus censured and cashier'd ; And Emulation, as engendering hate, 497 Doom'd to a no less ignominious fate ; The props of such proud seminaries fall. The Jachin and the Boaz^ of them all. Great schools rejected then, as those that swell Beyond a size that can be managed well. Shall royal institutions miss the bays. And small academies win all the praise ? Force not my drift beyond its just intent, I praise a school, as Pope a government ; So take my judgment in his language dress'd — • 1 The two brazen pillars in Solomon's Temple. tirocinium; or, a review of schools. 311 " Whate'er is best admitiister'd, is best." Few boys are born with talents that excel, But all are capable of living well ; Then ask not whether limited or large, But, watch they strictly, or neglect their charge ? If anxious only that their bo3\s may learn, While morals languish, a despised concern ; The great and small deserve one common blame. Different in size, but in effect the same. Much zeal in virtue's cause all teachers boast, 517 Tliough motives of mere lucre sway the most ; Therefore in towns and cities they abound. For there the game they seek is easiest found; Though there, in spite of all that care can do. Traps to catch youth are most abundant too. If shrewd, and of a well-constructed brain. Keen in pursuit, and vigorous to retain. Your son come forth a prodigy of skill, As, wheresoever taught, so formed, he will; The pedagogue, with self-complacent air. Claims more than lialf the praise as his due share. 528 But if, with all his genius, he betray, Kot more intelhgent than loose and gay. Such vicious habits as disgrace his name. Threaten his health, his fortune, and his fame; Though want of due restraint alone have bred The symptoms that you see with so much dread ; Unenvied there, he may sustain alone The whole reproach, the fault was all his own. Oh ! 'tis a sight to be with joy perused, By all whom sentiment has not abused ; New-fangled sentiment, the boasted grace 539 Of those who never feel in the riglit place; A sight surpass'd by none that we can show, Though Vestris on one leg still shine below; A father blest with an ingenuous son. Father, and friend, and tutor, all in one. How ! — turn again to tales long since forgot, zEsop, and Phaedrus, and tlie rest ? — Why not ? He will not blush, that has a father's heart. To take in childisli plays a childish part; But bends his sturdy back to any toy That youth takes pleasure in, to please his boy ; 550 312 cowper's poetical works. Then why resign into a stranger's hand A task as much within your own command — That God and Nature, and your interest too, Seem with one voice to delegate to you? AVhy hire a lodging in a house unknown, [own? For one whose tenderest thoughts all hover round your This second weaning, needless as it is. How does it lacerate both your heart and his ! The indented stick, that loses day by day [N'otch after notch, till all are smooth'd away, 560 Bears witness, long ere his dismission come, "With what intense desire he wants his home. But though the joys he liopes beneath your roof Bid fair enough to answer in the proof. Harmless, and safe, and natural, as they are, A disappointment waits him even there: Arrived, he feels an unexpected change; He blushes, hangs his head, is shy and strange, "No longer takes, as once, with fearless ease. His favorite stand between his father's knees, But seeks the corner of some distant seat, And eyes the door, and watches a retreat , 572 And, least familiar where he should be most, Feels all his happiest privileges lost. Alas! poor boy! — the natural effect Of love by absence chilPd into respect! Say, what accomplishments, at school acquired, Brings he, to sweeten fruits so undesired? Thou well deservest an alienated son. Unless thy conscious heart acknowledge — none ; None that, in thy domestic snug recess, lie had not made his own with more address ; 582 Though some, perhaps, that shock thy feehng mind, And better never learn'd, or left behind. Add too, that, thus estranged, thou canst obtain By no kind arts his confidence again ; That here begins with most that long complaint Of filial frankness lost, and love grown faint. Which, oft neglected, in life's waning years, A parent pours into regardless ears. Like caterpillars, dangling under trees By slender threads, and swinging in the breeze, "Which filthily bewray and sore disgrace 593 tirocinium; or, a review of schools. 313 The boughs in whicli are bred the unseemly race — While every worm industriously weaves And winds his web about the rivelPd leaves ; So numerous are the follies that annoy The mind and heart of every sprightly boy ; Imaginations noxious and perverse, Which admonition can alone disperse. The encroaching nuisance asks a faithful hand. Patient, affectionate, of higli command. To check tlie procreation of a breed, 603 Sure to exhaust the plant on which they feed. 'Tis not enough that Greek or Roman page, At stated hours, his freakish thoughts engage ; Even in his pastmies he requires a friend, ^^ To warn, and teach him safely to unbend ; O'er all his pleasures gently to preside. Watch his emotions, and control tlieir tide; And, levying thus, and with an easy sway, A tax of profit from his very play, To impress a value, not to be erased, On moments squander'd else, and running all to waste. And seems it nothing in a father's eye, G15 That unimproved those many moments fly I And is he well content his son should find No nourishment to feed his growing mind. But conjugated verbs, and nouns declined'^ For such is all the mental food purvey'd By public hackneys in the schooling trade ; Who feed a pupil's intellect with store Of syntax truly, but with little more ; Dismiss their cares when they dismiss their flock, Machines themselves, and govern'd by a clock. 625 Perhaps a father, blest with any brains. Would deem it no abuse or waste of pains. To improve this diet, at no great exj)ense. With savory truth and wholesome common sense; To lead his son, for prospects of delight. To some not steep, though philosophic, height; Thence to exhibit to his wondering eyes Yon circling worlds, their distance, and their size, The moons of Jove, and Saturn's belted ball, And the harmonious order of them all ; To show him, in an insect or a tiower, 636 27 S14 COWPEIl's POETICAL WORKS. Sucli microscopic proof of skill and power, >^ As, hid from ages past, God now displays. To combat atheists with in modern days ; To spread the earth before him, and commend, "With designation of the finger's end, Its various parts to his attentive note, Thus bringing home to him the most remote ; To teach his heart to glow with generous flame, Caught from the deeds of men of ancient fame ; And, more than all, with commendation due, 646 To set some living worthy in his view, Whose fair example may at once inspire A wish to copy what he must admire. Such knowledge, gain'd betimes, and which appears, Though solid, not too weighty for his years. Sweet in itself, and not forbidding sport. When health demands it, of athletic sort. Would make him — what some lovely boys have been. And more than one perhaps that I have seen — An evidence and reprehension both. Of the mere schoolboy's lean and tardy growth. 657 Art thou a man professionally tied, With all thy faculties elsewhere applied. Too busy to intend a meaner care Than how to enrich thyself, and next thine heir? Or art thou (as, though rich, peril aps thou art) But poor in knowledge, having none to impart? — Behold that figure, neat, though plainly clad, . His sprightly mingled with a shade of sad ; Not of a nimble tongue, though now and then Heard to articulate like other men ; l!To jester, and yet lively in discourse — 668 His phrase well chosen, clear, and full of force; And his address, if not quite French in ease, Not English stifi^, but frank, and form'd to \Aesise ; Low in the world, because he scorns its arts, A man of letters, manners, morals, parts ; Unpatronized, and therefore little known ; Wise for himself and his few friends alone, — In him thy well-appointed proxy see, Arm'd for a work too diflScult for thee ; Prepared by taste, by learning, and true worth, To form thy son, to strike his genius fortli ; 679 tirocinium; or, a review of schools. 315 Beneath thy roof, beneath thine eye, to prove The force of disciphne when back'd by love ; To double all thy pleasure in thy cliild, His mind inform'd, his morals undefiled. Safe under such a wing, the boy shall show No spots contracted among grooms below, Kor train his speech with meannesses, designed By footman Tom for witty and refined. There, in his commerce witli the" liveried herd, Lurks the contagion chiefly to be fearVl ; 680 For since (so fashion dictates) all who claim A higher than a mere plebeian fame. Find it expedient, come what mischief may, To entertain a thief or two in pay (And they tliat can aiford the expense of more, Some half a dozen, and some half a score). Great cause occurs to save him from a band So sure to spoil him, and so near at hand ; A point secured, if once he be supplied With some such Mentor always at his side. Are such men rare ? perhaps they would abound, 700 Were occupation easier to be found. Were- education, else so sure to fail. Conducted on a manageable scale. And schools, that have outlived all just esteem, Exchanged for the secure domestic scheme. — But, having found him, be thou duke or earl. Show thou hast sense enough to prize the pearl ; And, as thou wouldst the advancement of thine heir In all good faculties beneath his care. Respect, as is but rational and just, A man deem'd worthy of so dear a trust. 711 Despised by thee, what more can he expect From youthful folly, than the same neglect ? A flat and fatal negative obtains. That instant, upon all his future pains ; His lessons tire, his mild rebukes oflfend. And all the instructions of thy son's best friend Are a stream choked, or trickling to no end. Doom him not then to solitary meals, But recollect that he has sense, and feels ; And that, possessor of a soul refined. An upright heart, and cultivated mind, 722 316 cowper's poetical works. His post not mean, his talents not nnknown, He deems it hard to vegetate alone. And, if admitted at thy board he sit, Account him no just mark for idle wit: Offend not him, whom modesty restrains From repartee, with jokes that he disdains ; Much less transfix his feelings with an oath, Nor frown, unless he vanish with the cloth. — And, trust me, his utility may reach To more than he is hired or hound to teach ; Y32 Much trash unutter'd, and some ills undone. Through reverence of the censor of thy son. But, if thy table be indeed unclean, Foul Avith excess, and with discourse obscene. And thou a wretch, whom, following her old plan, The world accounts an honorable man. Because, forsooth, thy courage has been tried. And stood the test, perhaps on the wrong side ; Though thou hadst never grace enough to prove That any thing but vice could win thy love ; — Or hast thou a polite, card-playing wife, 743 ChainVl to the routs that she frequents, for life, "Who, just when industry begins to snore, Fhes, wing'd Avith joy, to some coach-crowded door ; And thrice in every winter throngs thine own With half the chariots and sedans in town — Thyself meanwhile even shifting as thou mayst, [N'ot very sober, though, nor very chaste ;— Or is thine house, though less superb thy rank, If not a scene of pleasure, a mere blank, And thou at best, and in thy soberest mood, A trifler vain, and empty of all good ; — T54 Though mercy for thyself thou canst have none, Hear Nature plead, show mercy to thy son ! Saved from his home, where every day brings forth Some mischief fatal to his future w^orth. Find him a better in a distant spot. Within some pious pastor's humble cot, Where vile example (yours I chiefly mean, The most seducing, and the oftenest seen) May never more be stamp'd upon his breast, Not yet perhaps incurably impressed. Where early rest makes early rising sure, 765 tirocinium; or, a review of schools. 317 Disease or comes not, or finds easy cure, Prevented much by diet neat and plain ; Or, if it enter, soon starved out again : Where all the attention of his faithful host, Discreetly limited to two at mos1», May raise such fruits as shall reward his care, And not at last evaporate in air: Where, stillness aiding study, and liis mind Serene, and to his duties much inclined, IlTot occupied in day-dreams, as at home, 775 Of pleasures past, or follies yet to come; His virtuous toil may terminate at last In settled habit and decided taste. — But whom do I advise ? the fashion-led, The incorrigibly wrong, the deaf, the dead ! Whom care and cool deliberation suit !N"ot better much than spectacles a brute ; Who, if their sons some slight tuition share. Deem it of no great moment whose, or where ; Too proud to adopt the thoughts of one unknown, And much too gay to have any of their own. 786 But courage, man ! methonght the Muse replied, Mankind are various, and the world is wide : The ostrich, silliest of the feathered kind. And form'd of God without a parent's mind, Commits her eggs, incautious, to the dust. Forgetful that the foot may crush the trust; And, while on public nurseries they rely, ITot knowfhg, and too oft not caring, why, Irrational in w>iat they thus prefer, No few, that would seem wise, resemble her. But all are not alike. Thy warning voice 797 May here and there prevent erroneous choice ; And some, perhaps, who, busy as they arie, Yet make tlieir progeny their dearest care (Whose hearts will ache, once told what ills may reach Their offspring, left upon so wild a beach). Will need no stress of argument to enforce The expedience qf a less adventurous course : The rest will shght thy counsel, or condemn; But they have human feelings — turn to them. To you then, tenants of life's middle state, ♦ Securely placed^between the small and great, 808 318 cowper's poetical works. Whose character, yet undebanchM, retains Two-thhxls of all the virtue that remains — "Who, wise yourselves, desire your sons should learn Your wisdom and your ways — to you I turn. Look round you on a world perversely blind, — See what contempt is fallen on human kind, — See wealth abused, and dignities misplaced, Great titles, offices, and trusts disgraced. Long lines of ancestry, renown'd of old, Their noble qualities all quench'd and cold : 818 See Bedlam's closeted and handcuff 'd charge Surpassed in frenzy by the mad at large; See great commanders making war a trade, Great lawyers, lawyers without study made ; Churchmen, in whose esteem their best employ Is odious, and their wages all their joy. Who, far enough from furnishing their shelves With Gospel lore, turn infidels themselves ; See womanhood despised, and manhood shamed With infamy too nauseous to be named ; Fops at all corners, ladylike in mien, 829 Civeted fellows, smelt ere they are seen ; Else coarse and rude in manners, and their tongue On fire with curses, and with nonsense hung, Now flush'd with drunkenness, now with whoredom pale, Their breath a sample of last night's regale ; See volunteers in all the vilest arts. Men well endow'd, of honorable parts, Design'd by ligature wise, but self-made fool^ ; All these, and more like these, were bred at schools. And if it chance, as sometimes chance it will. That though school-bred, the boy be virtuous still — 840 Such rare exceptions, shining in the dark. Prove, rather than impeach, the just remark ; As here and there a twinkling star descried Serves but to show how black is all beside. 1^0 w look on him, whose very voice in tone Just echoes thine, whose features are thine own, And stroke his pohsh'd cheek of purest red. And lay thine hand upon his flaxen head. And say. My boy, the unwelcome hour is come, Whenihou, transplanted from thy genial home, Must find a colder soil and bleaker air, 851 tirocinium; or, a review of schools. 310 And trust for safety to a stranger's care ; "What character, what turn thou wilt assume From constant converse witli I know not whom ; "Wlio there will court thy friendship, with what views, And, artless as thou art, whom thou wilt choose ; Tliough much depends on what thy choice shall be, — Is all chance-medley, and imknown to me. Canst thou, the tear just trembling on thy lids. And while the dreadful risk foreseen forbids. Free too, and under no constraining force, 861 Unless the sway of custom warp thy course, Lay such a stake upon the losing side. Merely to gratify so blind a guide? Thou canst not ! Nature, pulling at thine heart, Condenms the unfatherly, the imprudent part. Thou wouldst not, deaf to Nature's tenderest plea, Turn him adrift upon a rolling sea. Nor say, Go thither^ conscious that there lay A brood of asps, or quicksands in his way ; Then, only govern'd by the self-same rule Of natural pity, send him not to school. 872 No! — Guard him better: is he not thine own. Thyself in miniature, thy flesh, thy bone ? And hopest thou not ('tis every father's hope) That, since thy strength must with thy years elope, And thou wilt need some comfort, to assuage Health's last farewell, a stall" of thine old age, Tliat then, in recompense of all thy cares. Thy child shall show respect to thy gray hairs, Befriend thee, of all other friends bereft. And give thy life its only cordial left? Aware then how much danger intervenes, 883 To compass that good end, forecast the means. His heart, now passive, yields to thy command; Secure it thine : its key is in thine hand. If thou desert thy charge, and throw it wide, Nor heed what guests there enter and abide. Complain not if attachments lewd and base Supplant thee in it, and usurp thy place. But, if tiiou guard its sacred chambers sure From vicious inmates and delights impure. Either his gratitude shall hold him fast. And keep him warm and filial to the last; 894 20 COWPEr's rOETICAL WORKS. Or, if lie prove unkind (as who can say But, being man, and therefore frail, he may?) One comfort yet shall cheer thine aged heart, Howe'er he slight thee, thou hast done thy part. Oh, barbarous ! wouldst thou with a Gothic hand Pull down the schools — what! — all the schools i' the land; Or throw them up to livery-nags and grooms. Or turn them into shops and auction-rooms ? — A captious question, sir (and yours is one), Deserves an answer similar, or none. 904 Wouldst thou, possessor of a flock, employ (Apprised that he is such) a careless boy. And feed him well, and give him handsome pay, Merely to sleep, and let tliem run astray ? Survey our schools and colleges, and see A sight not much unlike my simile. From education, as the leading, cause, The public character its color draws ; Thence the prevailing manners take their cast, Extravagant or sober, loose or chaste. And though I would not advertise them yet, 915 • I^Tor Avrite on each — This Building to de Let^ Unless the world were all prepared to embrace A plan well worthy to supply their place ; Yet, backward as they are, and long have been, To cultivate and keep the morals clean, (Forgive the crime!) I wish them, I confess. Or better managed, or encouraged less. MINOR POEMS. AN EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. Dear Joseph, — Five-and-twenty years ago — Alas ! how time escapes ! — 'tis even so — With frequent intercourse, and always sweet, And always friendly, we were wont to cheat A tedious hour — and now we never meet ! As some grave gentleman in Terence says ('Twas therefore much the same in ancient days), Good lack, we know not what to-morrow brings — Strange fluctuation of all human things ! True. Changes will befall, and friends may part, But distance only cannot change the heart: And, were I call'd to prove the assertion true. One proof should serve — a reference to you. Whence comes it then, that, in the wane of life, Though nothing have occurred to kindle strife. We find the friends we fancied we had won. Though numerous once, reduced to few or none ? Can gold grow worthless that has stood the touch ? 'No : gold they seem'd, but they were never such. Horatio's servant once, with bow and cringe. Swinging the parlor door upon its hinge. Dreading a negative, and overawed Lest he should trespass, begg'd to go abroad. Go, fellow! — whither? — turning short about — Nay — stay at home — you're always going out. 'Tis but a step, sir, just at the street's end. — For what? — An' please you, sir, to see a friend. — A friend ! Horatio cried, and seem'd to start — Yea, marry slialt thou, and with all my heart. And fetch my cloak ; for though the night be raw, I'll see him too — the first I ever saw. 322 cowper's poetical works. I knew the man, and knew liis nature mild, And was liis plaything often when a child; But someAvhat at that moment pinch'd him close, Else he was seldom bitter or morose : Perhaps, his confidence just then betray'd. His grief might prompt him with the speech he made* Perhaps 'twas mere good-humor gave it birth, The harmless play of pleasantry and mirth. Howe'er it was, his language, in my mind, Bespoke at least a man that knew mankind. But not to moralize too much, and strain To prove an evil of which all complain (I hate long arguments, verbosely spun). One story more, dear Hill, and I have done : Once on a time, an emperor, a wise man, No matter where, in China or Japan, Decreed that whosoever should offend Against the well-known duties of a fri-end, Convicted once, should ever after wear I^ut half a coat, and show his bosom bare ; The jnmishment importing this, no doubt. That all was naught within, and all found out. happy Britain! we have not to fear Such. hard and arbitrary measure here; Else, could a law like that which I relate Once have the sanction of our triple state, Some few, that I have known in days of old, Would run most dreadful risk of catching cold ; While you, my friend, whatever wind should blow, Might traverse England safely to and fro, . An honest man, close-button'd to the chin, Broadcloth vvithout, and a warm heart within. TO THE REV. WILLIAM CAWTHORNE UNWIK Uxwix, I should but ill repay The kindness of a friend. Whose worth deserves as warm a lay As ever friendship penn'd. Thy name omitted in a page That would reclaim a vicious asiQ. MINOR rOEMS. 323 A union form'd, as mine 'with thee, Not raslily, or in sport, May be as fervent in degree, And faitliful in its sort — And may as rich in comfort prove As that of true fraternal love. The bnd inserted in the rind. The hud of peach or rose, Adorns, though differing in its kind, The stock whereon it grows, With flower as sweet, or fruit as fair, As if produced by ITature there. Not rich, I render what I may ; I seize thy name in haste. And place it in this first essaj'. Lest this should prove the last. 'Tis Avliere it should be — in a plan That holds in view the good of man The poet's lyre, to fix his fame, Should be the poet's heart ; Affection lights a brighter flame Than ever blazed by art. ISTo Muses on these lines attend, I sink the poet in the friend. THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN , ROWING HOW HE WENT FARTHER THAN HE INTENDED, AND CAME SAFE HOME AGAIN. John Gilpin was a citizen. Of credit and renown, A train-band captain eke was he Of famous London town. John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear, / Though wedded we have been Y These twice ten tedious years, yet we No holiday have seen. ^ 324 x/^ *:'o\vper's poetical works. 'To-morrow is our wedding-day, And we will then repair [Into the Bell at Edmonton, All in a chaise and pair. My sister, and my sister's child. Myself and children three, AYill fill the chaise ; s(3 you must ride On horseback after we. He soon replied, I do admire Of womankind but one, And you are she, my d earest -dear;. Therefore it shall be done. I am a linen-draper bold,, i As all the world doth know, . A And my good friend the Callender Will lend his horse to go. , , . Quoth Mistress Gilpin, That's well said"; And for that wine is dear, "We will be furnish'd with our oVn, Which is both bright and clear. John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife ; O'erjoy'd was he to find That, though on pleasure she was bent, She had a frugal mind. The morning came, the chaise was brought. But yet was not allow'd To drive up to the door, lest all ' "' Should say that she was proud*^ So three doors off the chaise was stay'd^ Where they did all get in ; Six precious souls, and all agog \ To dash through thick and thin,^ Smack went the whip, round went the wheels Were never folk so glad ; The stones di'd rattle underneath, As if Cheapside were mad. ^ MINOR POEMS. 325 Jolin Gilpin at his horse's side Seized fast tiie flowing mane, And up he got, in haste to ride, But soon came down again ; For saddle-tree scarce reach'd had he, His journey to begin, When, turning round liis head, he saw Three customers come in. So down he came ; for loss of time, , Although it grieved him sore, ^ Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, Would trouble him much more. 'Twas long before the customers - Were suited to their mind, When Betty, screaming, came down stairs, " The wine is left behind !" Good lack ! quoth he — yet bring it me, My leathern belt likewise. In which I bear my trusty sword. When I do exeicise. N"ow Mistress Gilpin (careful soul !) Had two stone bottles found. To hold the liquor that she loved. And keep it safe and sound. Each bottle had a curling ear. Through which the belt he drew, And hung a bottle on each side. To make his balance true. Then over all, that he might be Equipp'd from top to toe, J His long red cloak, well brush'd and neat,v/ He manfully did throw. Now see him mounted once again Upon his nimble steed. Full slowly pacing o'er the stones With caution and good heed ! 28 326 cowper's poetical works. But, finding soon a smoother road Beneatli his well-shod feet, The snorting beast began to trot, Which gall'd him in liis seat. So, Fair and softly, John he cried, But John he cried in vain ; That trot became a gallop soon, In spite of curb and rein. So stooping down, as needs he must AVho cannot sit upright. He grasp -d the mane Avith both his hanis, And eke Avitli all his might. His horse, who never in that sort Had handled been before, "What thing upon his back had got Did wonder more and more. Away went Gilpin, neck or naught;! Away went hat and wig ; He little dreamt, when he set out. Of running such a rig. The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, Like streamer long and gay. Till, loop and button faihng both, ' At last it flew aAvay. Then might all people well discern The bottles he had slung ; '' A bottle swinging^at each side. As hath been said or sung. The dogs did bark, the children screkui'd. Up flew the windows all ; ^ And every soul cried out, AYell done ! As loud as he could bawl. Away went Gilpin — who but he? His fame soon spread around — y He carries weight ! he rides a race ! 'Tis for a thousand pound ! MINOR POEMS. 327 And still, as fast as lie drew near, 'Twas wonderful to view How in a trice the turnpike men Their gates wide open threw. And now, as he went bowing down His reeking head full low, The bottles twain behind his back Were shattered at a blow. Down ran the wine into the road, Most piteous to be seen, Which made his horse's flanks to smoko As they had basted been. But still he seem'd to carry w^eight, With leathern girdle braced ; For all might see the bottle-necks Still danghng at his waist. j Thus all through merry Islington These gambols he did play. And till he came unto the Wash Of Edmonton so gay. And there he threw the wash about On both sides of the w^ay, Just like unto a trundhng mop, Or a wild goose at play. At Edmonton, his loving wife From the balcony spied Her tender husband, wondering much To see how he did ride. Stop, stop, John Gil])in — Here's the house I They all at once did cry ; The dinner waits, and we are tired: Said Gilpin — So am I ! -^ But yet his horse was not a whit Inclined to tarry there; For why '? — his owner had a house Full ten miles off, at Ware. 328 cowper's poetical works. So like an arrow swift he flew, Shot by an archer strong ; So (lid he fly — which brings me to The middle of my song. Away went Gilpin, ont of breath, And sore against his will. Till at his friend the Oallender's His horse at last stood still. The Callender, amazed to see His neighbor in such trim. Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, And thus accosted him : — What news? what news? your tidings tell; Tell me you must and shall — Say wh}^ bareheaded you are come, Or why you come at all. Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, And loved a timely joke ; And thus unto the Callender In merry guise he spoke : C I came because your horse wt)uld come ; ' And, if I well forebode. My hat and wig will soon be here, They are upon the road. "^^ The Callender, right glad to find His friend in merry pin, Keturn'd him not a single word. But to the house went in ; "Whence straight he came with hat and wig; A wig/that flow'd behind, A hat n/)t much the worse for wear. Each comely in its kind. He Held them up, and, in his turn, ^hus show'd his ready wit, — My head is twice as big as yours, They therefore needs must fit. MINOR POEMS. 829 But let me scrape the dirt away That liangs upon your face ; And stop and eat, for well you may Be in a hungry case. Says John, It is my wedding-day, And all the world would stare. If wife should dine at Edmonton, And I should dine at Ware. So turning to his horse, he said, I am in haste to dine ; 'Twas for your pleasure you came here, You shall go back for mine. Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boait! For which he paid full dear; ^ For while he spake, a braying ass Did sing most loud and clear ; Whereat his horse did snort as he Had heard a lion roar. And gallopp'd off with all his might, As he had done before. Away went Gilpin, and away AVent Gilpin's hat and wig ; He lost them sooner than at first, For why? — they were too big.^ Kow, Mistress Gilpin, when she saw Her husband posting down Into the country far away. She pulPd out half-a-crown ; And thus unto the youth she said. That drove them to the Bell, This shall be yours when you bring back My husband safe and well. The youth did ride, and soon did meet John coming back amain. Whom in a trice he tried to stop By catching at his rein ; 330 cowper"'s poetical works. But, not performing what lie meant, j^nd gladly Avould have done, The frighten'd steed he frightened more, And made him faster run. Away went Gilpin, and away Went postboy at his heels, The postboy's horse right glad to miss The lumbering of the wheels. Six gentlemen upon the road Tlius seeing Gilpin fly, With postboy scampering in the rear, They raised the hue and cry : Stop thief! stop thief! — a highwayman! Not one of them was mute ; xj And all and each that pass'd that way ^ Did join in the pursuit. And now the turnpike gates again Flew open in short space. The tollmen thinking, as before, That Gilpin rode a race. And so he did, and won it too. For he got first to town ; Kor stopp'd till where he had got up He did again get down. Now let us sing. Long live the king, And Gilpin, long live he ; And when he next doth ride abroad, May 1 be there to see ! THE DOVES. Keasonixg at every step he treads, Man yet mistakes his way ; While meaner things, whom instinct leads, Are rarely known to stray. MINOR POEMS. 331 One silent eve I wander'd late, And heard the voice of love ; The turtle thus address'd her mate, And soothed the listening dove : ^ Oiir mutual hond of faith and truth ' ISTo time shall disengage; Those hlessings of our early youth Shall cheer our latest age : While innocence without disguise, And constancy sincere, Shall fill the circles of those eyes. And mine can read them there: Those ills that wait on all helow Shall nVer be felt by me, Or gently felt, and only so, xVs being shared with thee. "When lightnings flash among the trees, Or kites are hovering near, I fear lest thee alone they seize, And know no other fear. 'Tis then I feel myself a wife. And press thy wedded side, Eesolved a union formed for life, Death never shall divide. But oh ! if, fickle and unchaste (Forgive a transient thought). Thou couldst become unkind at last, And scorn thy present lot, Ko need of lightnings from on high, Or kites with cruel beak ; Denied the endearments of thine eye, This widow'd heart would break. Thus sang the sweet sequesterd bird, Soft as the passing win^ ; And I recorded what I heard A lesson for mankind. 332 cowper's poetical works. A FABLE. A Raven, while with glossy breast Her new-laid eggs she fondly pressVl, And on her wicker-work high mounted. Her chickens prematurely counted (A fault philosophers might blame If quite exempted from the same), Enjoy'd at ease the genial day ; 'Twas April, as the bumpkins say, The legislature calPd it May. But suddenly a wind as high As ever swept a winter sky. Shook the young leaves about her ears, And fill'd her with a thousand fears, Lest the rude blast should snap the bough, And spread her golden hopes below. But just at eve the blowing weather And all her fears were hush'd together : And now, quoth poor unthinking Ralph, 'Tis over, and the brood is safe (For ravens, though, as birds of omen. They teach both conjurers and okl women To tell us what is to befall. Can't prophesy themselves, at all). The morning came, when neighbor Hodge, Who long had mark'd her airy lodge. And destined all the treasure there A gift to his expecting fair, Climb'd like a squirrel to his dray, And bore the worthless prize away. 'Tis Providence alone secures In every change both mine and yours ; Safety consists not in escape From dangers of a frightful shape ; An earthquake may be bid to spare The man that's strangled by a hair ; Fate steals along with silent tread. Found oftenest in what least we dread, Frowns in the storm with angry brow, But in the sunshine strikes the blow. MINOR POEMS, 333 A COMPARISON. The lapse of time and rivers is the same, Both speed their journey witli a restless stream; The silent pace with which they steal away !N"o wealth can bribe, no prayers persuade to stay ; Alike irrevocable both when past, And a wide ocean swallows both at last. Though each resemble each in every part, A difference strikes at length the musing heart ; Streams never flow in vain ; where streams abound. How laughs the land with various plenty crown'd I But time, that should enrich the nobler mind, E'eglected, leaves a dreary waste behind. ANOTHER. ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADYo Sweet stream that w^inds through yonder glade. Apt emblem of a virtuous maid — Silent and chaste she steals along. Far from the world's gay busy throng. With gentle yet prevailing force. Intent upon her destined course ; Graceful and useful all she does. Blessing and blest where'er she goes. Pure-bosom'd as that watery glass, And heaven reflected in her face. VERSES lUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY ALEXANDER SELKIRK, DURING HIS SOLITARY ABODE IN THE ISLAND OF JUAN FERNANDEZ. I AM monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute ; From the centre all round to the sea, I am lord of the fowl and the brute. Solitude ! where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face ? 334 cowper's poetical works. Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place. I am out of humanity's reach, I must finish my journey alone, Never hear the sweet music of speech — I start at the sound of my own. The beasts that roam over the plain My form with indifference see ; They are so unacquainted with man, Their tameness is shocking to me. Society, friendship, and love. Divinely bestow'd upon man. Oh, had I the wings of a dove, How soon would I taste you again ! My sorrows I then might assuage In the ways of religion and truth, Might learn from the wisdom of age. And be cheer'd by the sallies of youtho Eeligion ! what treasure untold Resides in that heavenly word ! More precious than silver and gold. Or all that this earth can afi:brd. But the sound of the church-going bell These valleys and rocks never heard, . Ne'er sigh'd at the sound of a knell. Or smiled when a Sabbath appeared. Ye winds, that have made me your sporty Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report Of a land I shall visit no more ! My friends, do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me? Oh, tell me I yet have a friend. Though a friend I am never to see! How fleet is a glance of the mind Compared with the speed of its flight ! The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-Avinged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there ; MINOR POEMS. 335 But alas ! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair. But the sea-fowl has gone to her nest, The beast has laid down in his lair ; Even here is a season of rest, And I to iny cabin repair. There is mercy in every place, And mercy, encouraging thought ! Gives even affliction a grace. And reconciles man to his lot. ON OBSERVING SOME NAMES OF LITTLE NOTE RECORDED IN THE BIOGRAPHIA BRrfANNICA. Oir, fond attempt to give a deathless lot To names ignoble, born to be forgot ! In vain recorded in historic page, They court the notice of a future age : Those twinkling tiny lustres of the land Drop one by one from Fame's neglecting hand ; Lethean gulfs receive them as they fall. And dark oblivion soon absorbs them all. So when a child, as playful children use, Has burnt to tinder a stale iast year's news. The flame extinct, he views the roving fire — There goes my lady, and there goes the squire ; There goes the parson, oh, illustrious spark ! And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk ! ON THE PROMOTION OF EDWARD THURLOW, ESQ., TO THE LORD HIGH CHANCELLORSHIP OF ENGLAND, Round Thurlow's head in early youth. And in his sportive days. Fair Science pour'd the light of truth, And Genius shed his rays. 336 cowper's poetical works. See ! with united wonder, cried The experienced and the sage, Ambition in a boy supplied With all the skill of age ! Discernment, eloquence, and grace, Proclaim him born to sway The balance in the highest place. And bear the palm away. The praise bestow'd was just and wise; He sprang impetuous forth. Secure of conquest, where the prize Attends superior worth. So the best courser on the plain. Ere yet he starts, is known, And does but at the goal obtain What all had deem'd his own. ODE TO PEACE. Come, Peace of mind, delightful guest! Eeturn, and make thy downy nest Once more in this sad heart : Nor riches I nor power pursue, Nor hold forbidden joys in view ; We therefore need not part. Where wilt thou dwell, if not with me, From Avarice and Ambition free, And Pleasure's fatal wiles ? For whom, alas ! dost thou prepare The sweets that I was wont to share. The banquet of thy smiles ? The great, the gay, shall they partake The heaven that thou alone canst make ? And wilt thou quit the stream That murmurs through the dewy mead, The grove and the sequester'd shed, To be a guest with them ? MINOR POEMS. 33*7 For thee I panted, tliee I prized, For thee I gladly sacrificed Wliate'er I loved before ; And shall I see 'thee start away. And helpless, hopeless, hear thee say — Farewell ! we meet no more ? HUMAN FRAILTY. AYeak and irresolute is man ; The purpose of to-day, AYoven with pains into his plan. To-morrow rends away. The how w^ell bent, and smart tlie spring, Vice seems already slain ; But Passion rudely snaps the string, And it revives again. Some foe to his upright intent Finds out his Aveaker part ; Virtue engages his assent. But Pleasure wins his heart. 'Tis here the folly of the wise Through all his art we view ; And, wdiile his tongue the charge denies, His conscience OAvns it true. Bound on a voyage of awful length And dangers little known, A stranger to superior strength, Man vainly trusts his own. But oars alone can ne'er prevail To reach the distant coast ; The breath of Heaven must swell the sail, Or all the toil is lost. 29 338 cowper's poetical works. THE MODERN PATRIOT. Eebelliox is my theme 'all day; I only wish 'twould come (As who knows but perhaps it may ?) A little nearer home. Yon roaring boys, who rave and fight On t'other side the Atlantic, I always held them in the right. But most so when most frantic. When lawless mobs insult the court, That man shall be my toast. If breaking windows be the sport, "Who bravely breaks the most. But oh ! for him my fancy culls The choicest flowers she bears, Who constitutionally pulls Your house about your ears. Such civil broils are my delight. Though some folks can't endure 'em. Who say the mob are mad outright, And that a rope must cure 'em. A rope ! I wish we patriots had Such strings for all who need 'em — What! hang a man for going mad? Then farewell British freedom. REPORT OF AN ADJUDGED CASE NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY OF THE BOOKS. Between Kose and Eyes a strange contest arose, The spectacles set them unhappily wrong ; Tlie point in dispute was, as all the world knows. To which the said spectacles ought to belo'.ig. MINOR POEMS. 330 So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning ; While chief haron Ear sat to balance the laws. So famed for his talent in nicely discerning. In behalf of the Nose it will quickly appear, And your lordship, he said, will undoubtedly find, That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear, Whioh amounts to possession time out of mind. Then holding the spectacles up to the court — Your lordship observes they are made with a straddle As wide as the ridge of the Nose is ; in short, Design'd to sit close to it, just like a saddle. Again, would your lordship a moment suppose ('Tis a case that has happened, and may be again) That the visage or countenance had not a Nose, Pray who would, or who could, wear spectacles then? On the whole it appears, and my argument shows, With a reasoning the court will never condemn, That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose, And the Nose was as plainly intended for them. Then shifting his side, as a lawyer knows how. He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes : But Avhat were his arguments few people know. For the court did not think they were equally wise. So his lordship decreed, with a grave solemn tone Decisive and clear, without one ifov hut — That, whenever the Nose put his spectacles on, By daylight or candlelight — Eyes should be shut ! )N THE BURNING OF LORD MANSFIELD'S LIBRARY, yOETHER WITH HIS MSS., BY THE MOB, IX THE MONTH OF JUNE, 1780. So then — the Yandals of our isle, Sworn foes to sense and hnv, Have burnt to dust a nobler pile Than ever Roman saw ! 340 cowper's poetical works. And MiTRRAY sighs o'er Pope and Swift, And many a treasure more, The well-judged purchase, and the gift That graced his letter'd store. Their pages mangled, burnt, and toKn, The loss was his alone ; But ages yet to come shall mourn The burning of his own. OX THE SAME. When wit and genius meet their doom In all-devouring flame, They tell us of the fate of Rome, And bid us fear the same. O'er Murray's loss the Muses wept, . They felt the rude alarm ; Yet bless'd the guardian care that kept Ilis sacred head from harm. There Memory, like the bee that's fed From Flora's balmy store. The quintessence of all he read Had treasured up before. The lawless herd, with fury blind, Have done him cruel wrong ; The flowers are gone — but still we find The honey on his tongue. THE LOVE OF THE WORLD REPROVED OR, HYPOCRISY DETECTED.^ Thus says the Prophet of the Turk: Good Mussulman, abstain from pork ; There is a part in every swine, No friend or follower of mine * This ingenious little piece was versified from a prose story, by Cowper, flaring one of his fits of illness, and in an hour. Hence the common cxjircs- 6iun, " Going the whole hog." MINOR POEMS. 341 May taste, whatever liis inclination, On pain of excomTnnnication. Such Mahomet's mysterious charge, And tlius he left tlie point at large. Had lie the sinful part express'd, They might with safety eat the rest; But for one piece they thought it hard From the whole liog to he debarrVl ; And set their wit at work to tind What joint the Prophet liad in mind. Much controversy straight arose, These choose the back, the belly those; By some 'tis confidently said He meant not to forbid the head ; While others at that doctrine rail. And piously prefer the tail. Thus, conscience freed from every clog, Mahometans eat up the hog. You laugh — 'tis well — the tale applied May make you laugh on t'other side. Renounce the world — the preacher cries. We do — a multitude replies. While one as innocent regards A snug and friendly game at cards *, And one, whatever you may say. Can see no evil in a play ; Some love a concert, or a race ; And others, shooting and the chase. Reviled and loved, renounced and followed, Thus, bit by bit, the world is swallow'd ; Each thinks his neighbor makes too free. Yet likes a slice as well as he : With sophistry their sauce they sweeten, Till quite from tail to snout 'tis eaten. THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM. A Nightingale, that all day long Had cheer'd the village with his song,- Nor yet at eve his note suspended, Nor yet when eventide was ended, 342 cowper's poetical works. Began to feel, as well be might, The keen demands of appetite ; When, looking eagerly around, He spied far off, npon the ground, A something sliining in the dark, And knew tlie Glow-worm by his spark; So stooping down from hawthorn top, He thouglit to put him in his crop. The worm, a^vare of his intent. Harangued him thus, right eloquent — "Did you admire my lamp," quoth he, " As mucli as I your minstrelsy. You would abhor to do me wrong As much as I to spoil your song ; | For 'twas the self-same Power divine %J Taught you to sing, and me to shine ; That you with music, I with light. Might beautify and cheer the night." The songster heard his short oration. And, warbling out his approbation, Keleased him, as my story tells, And found a supper somewhere else. Hence jarring sectaries may learn . Their real interest to discern : That brother should not war with brother,i/ And worry and devour each other; • But sing and shine by sweet consent. Till life's poor transient night is spent. Respecting in each other's case The gifts of nature and of grace. Those Christians best deserve the name Who studiously make peace their aim; , Peace, both the duty and tlie prize N Of him that creeps and him that flies. ON A GOLDFINCH, STARVED TO DEATH IN HIS CAGE. Time was Avhen I was free as air. The thistle's downy seed my fare, My drink the morning dew ; MINOR POEMS. 343 I perch'd at will on every spray, My form genteel, my plumage gay, My strains forever new. But gaudy plumage, spriglitly strain. And form genteel were all in vain, And of a transient date ; For, caught and caged, and starved to death. In dying sighs my little breath Soon pass'd the wiry gate. Thanks, gentle swain, for all my woes, And thanks for this effectual close And cure of every ill ! More cruelty could none express ; And I, if you had shown me less. Had been your prisoner still. THE PINE-APPLE AND THE BEE. The pine-apples, in triple row, Were basking hot, and all in blow; A bee of most discerning taste Perceived the fragrance as he pass'd ; On eager wing the spoiler came. And search'd for crannies in the frame, Urged his attempt on every side. To every pane his trunk applied ; But still in vain, the frame was tight. And only pervious to the light : Thus having wasted half the day. He trimm'd his flight another way. Methinks, I said, in thee I find The sin and madness of mankind : To joys forbidden man aspires, Consumes his soul with vain desires,; Folly the spring of his pursuit. And disappointment all the fruit. While Cynthio ogles, as she passes, The nymph between two chariot glasses, She is the pine-apple, and he The silly unsuccessful bee. )!' 344 cowper's poetical works. The maid wlio views witli pensive air The show-glass frauglit with glittering ware, Sees watches, bracelets, rings, and lockets, But sighs at tlionght of empty pockets ; Like thine, her appetite is keen. But ah, the cruel glass between ! Our dear delights are often such, Exposed to view, but not to touch ; The sight our foolish heart inflames, "VVe long for pine-apples in frames ; With hopeless wish one looks and lingers ; One breaks the glass, and cuts his fingers ; But they whom truth and wisdom lead Can gather hone}^ from a weed. THE SHRUBBERY. WRITTEN IN A TIME OF AFFLICTION. On, happy shades ! to me unblest, Friendly to peace, but not to me ; How ill the scene that offers rest, And heart that cannot rest, agree ! This glassy stream, that spreading pine. Those alders quivering to the breeze. Might soothe a soul less hurt than mine, And please, if any thing could please. But fix'd unalterable Care Forgoes not what she feels within, Shows the same sadness everywhere. And slights the season and the scene. For all that pleased in wood or lawn. While Peace possess'd these silent bowers, Her animating smile withdrawn, Has lost its beauties and its powers. The saint or moralist should tread This moss-grown alley, musing slow ; They seek like me the secret shade. But not like me to nourish woe ! MINOR POExMS. 345 Me fruitful scenes and prospects waste Alike admonish not to roam ; These tell me of enjoyments past, And those of sorrows yet to come. THE WINTER NOSEGAY. "What N"ature, alas ! has denied To the delicate growth of our isle, Art has in a measure supplied, And Winter is deck'd with a smile. See, Mary, what beauties I bring From the shelter of that sunny shed, Where the flowers have the charms of the spring. Though, abroad they are frozen and dead. 'Tis a bower of Arcadian sweets. Where Flora is still in her prime ; A fortress to which she retreats. From the cruel assaults of the clime. While earth w^ears a mantle of snow, These pinks are as fresh and as gay As the fairest and sweetest that blow Oil tlie beautiful bosom of May. See how they have safely survived The frowns of a sky ' so severe ! Such Mary's true love, that' has lived Through many a turbulent year. The charms of the late-blowing rose Seem graced with a livelier hue. And the winter of sorrow best shows The truth of a friend such as you. MUTUAL FORBEARANCE NECESSARY TO THE HAPPINESS OF THE MARRIED STATE. The lady thus address'd her spouse — AVhat a mere dungeon is this house! By no means large enough ; and w' as it, Yet this dull room, and that dark closet, 346 cowper's poetical works. Those hangings with their worn-out graces, Long beards, long noses, and pale faces, Are such an antiquated scene. They overwhelm me with the spleen. — Sir Humphrey, shooting in the dark. Makes answer quite beside the mark : No doubt, my dear, I bade him come, Enga/ged myself to he at home, And shall expect him at the door Precisely as the clock strikes four. You are so deaf, the lady cried (And raised her voice, and frown'd beside) — You are so sadly deaf, my dear, AVhat shall I do to make you hear? Dismiss poor Harry ! he replies ; Some people are more nice than wise ; For one slight trespass all this stir? What if he did ride whip and spur? 'Twas but a mile — your favorite horse Will never look one hair the worse. Well, I protest 'tis past all bearing ! — Child ! I am rather hard of hearing — Yes, truly — one must scream and bawl-, I tell you, you can't hear at all ! Then, with a voice exceeding low — No matter if you hear or nOo Alas ! and is domestic strife, That sorest ill of human life, A plague so little to be fear'd, As to be wantonly incur r'd. To gratify a fretful passion, On every trivial provocation ? The kindest and the happiest pair Will find occasion to forbear ; And something every day they live To pity, and perhaps forgive. But if infirmities that fall In common to the lot of all, A blemish or a sense impair'd, Are crimes so little to be spared — Then farewell all that must create The comfort of the wedded state : Instead of harmony, 'tis jar. MINOR POExMS. 347 And tiiiniilt, and intestine wnr. — Tlie love that cheers life's latest stage, Proof against sickness and old age, Preserved by virtue from declension, Becomes not weary of attention ; But lives, when that exterior grace Which first inspired the flame, decays. 'Tis gentle, delicate, and kind, To faults compassionate or blind. And will with sympathy endure Those evils it would gladly cure ; But angry, coarse, and harsh expression Shows love to be a mere profession ; Proves that the heart is none of his, Or soon expels him if it is. TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON. AN INVITATION INTO THE COUNTRY. The swallows in their torprd state Compose their useless wing. And bees in hives as idly wait The call of early spring. The keenest frost that binds the stream, The wildest wind that blows. Are neither felt nor fear'd by them. Secure of their repose. But man, all feeling and awake, The gloomy scene surveys ; With present ills his heart must ache, And pant for brighter days. Old Winter, halting o'er the mead. Bids me and Mary mourn ; But lovely Si)ring peeps o'er his head. And wliispers your return. Then April, with her sister May, Shall chase him from the bowers, 348 coavper's poetical works. And weave fresh garlands every day, To crown the smiling hours. And if a tear, that speaks regret Of happier times, appear, • A glimpse of joy, that we have met, Shall shine, and dry the tear. BOADICEA. AN ODE. "Whex the British warrior queen, Bleeding from the Boman rods, Souglit, Avith an indignant mien, Counsel of her country's gods — Sage beneath the spreading oak Sat the Druid, hoary chief; Every burning word he spoke Full of rage, and full of grief. Princess ! if our aged eyes Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 'Tis because resentment ties All the terrors of our tongues. Rome shall perish — write that word In the blood that she has spilt ; Perish, hopeless and abhorr'd. Deep in ruin as in guilt. Rome, for empire far renownVl, Tramples on a thousand states ; Soon her pride sliall kiss the ground, — Hark ! the Gaul is at her gates ! Other Romans shall arise. Heedless of a soldier's name ; Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize. Harmony the path to fame. Then the progeny that springs From the forests of our land, ArmVl with thunder, clad with wings. Shall a wider world command. MINOR POEMS. 349 Regions Ca3sar never knew Tliy posterity shall SAvay ; Where his eagles never flew, None invincible as they. Such the bard's prophetic words, Pregnant with celestial fire, Bending, as he swept the chords Of his sweet but awful lyre. She, with all a monarch's pride, Felt them in her bosom glow ; Rush'd to battle, fought, and died ; Dying, hurPd them at the foe. " Ruffians, pitiless as proud. Heaven awards the vengeance due ; Empire is on us bestow'd, Shame and ruin wait for you." HEROISM. There was a time when Etna's silent fire Slept unperceived, the mountain j^et entire ; "When, conscious of no danger from below,' She tower' d a cloud-capp'd pyramid of snow. No thunders shook with deep intestine sound The blooming groves that girdled her around ; Her unctuous olives and her purple vines (Unfelt the fury of those bursting mines). The peasant's hopes, and not in vain, assured, In peace upon her sloping sides matured. When on a day like that of the last doom, A conflagration laboring in her womb, Slie teem'd and heaved with an infernal birth, That shook the circling seas and solid earth. Dark and voluminous the vapors rise. And hang their horrors in the neighboring skies; While through the Stygian veil, that blots the day, In dazzling streaks the vivid lightnings play. But oh ! what Muse, and in what powers of song, Can trace the torrent as it burns along? (Havoc and devastation in the van, 30 350 cowper's poetical works. It marches o'er the prostrate works of man ; Vines, olives, herbage, forests disappear, And all the charms of a Sicilian year. Kevolving seasons, fruitless as they pass, See it an nninform'd and idle mass ; Without a soil to invite the tiller's care, Or blade that might redeem it from despair. Yet time at length (what will not time achieve ?) Clothes it with earth, and bids the produce live. Once more the spiry myrtle crowns the glade, And ruminating flocks enjoy the shade. O bliss precarious, and unsafe retreats, O charming Paradise of short-lived sweets ! The self-same gale that wafts the fragrance round Brings to the distant ear a sullen sound : Again the mountain feels the imprisoned foe, Again pours ruin on the vale below ; Ten thousand swains the wasted scene deplore. That only future ages can restore. Ye monarchs, whom the lure of honor draws, Who write in blood the merits of your cause, Who strike the blow, then plead your own defence, Glory your aim, but justice your pretence; Behold in Etna's emblematic fires The mischiefs your ambitious pride inspires ! Fast by the stream that bounds your just domain, And tells you where ye have a right to reign, A nation dwells, not envious of your throne. Studious of peace, their neighbor's and their own. Ill-fated race ! how deeply must they rue Their only crime, vicinity to you ! The trumpet sounds, your legions swarm abroad ; Through the ripe harvest lies their destined road; At every step beneath their feet they tread The life of multitudes, a nation's bread ; Earth seems a garden in its loveliest dress Before them, and behind a wilderness. Famine, and Pestilence, her first-born son. Attend to finish what the sword begun ; And echoing praises, such as fiends might earn. And Folly pays, resound at your return. A calm succeeds y — but Plenty, with her train Of heartfelt joys, succeeds not soon again; liUNOR POEMS. 351 And years of pining indigence mnst show "What scourges are the gods that rule below. Yet man, laborious man, by slow degrees (Such is his tliirst of opulence and ease), Plies all the sinews of industrious toil, Gleans up the refuse of the general spoil, Rebuilds the towers that smoked upon the plain, And the sun gilds the shining spires again. Increasing commerce and reviving art Renew the quarrel on the conqueror's part ; And the sad lesson must be learn'd once more, That wealth within is ruin at the door. What are ye, monarchs, laurell'd heroes, say, But ^tnas of the suffering world ye sway 'i Sweet Nature, stripp'd of her embroider'd robe, Deplores the wasted regions of her globe. And stands a witness at Truth's awful bar. To prove you there destroyers, as ye are. O place me in some Heaven-protected isle, "Where Peace, and Equity, and Freedom smile ; "Where no volcano pours his fiery flood, No criGsted warrior dips his plume in blood ; Where Power secures what Industry has won ; Where to succeed is not to be undone ; A land that distant tyrants hate in vain. In Britain's isle, beneath a George's reign. THE POET, THE OYSTER, AND SENSITIVE PLANT. An Oyster, cast upon the shore. Was heard, though never heard before, Complaining in a speech well worded, And worthy thus to be recorded : — Ah, hapless wretch! condemn'd to dwell Forever in my native shell ; Ordain'd to move when others please, Not for my own content or ease ; But toss'd and buffeted about. Now in the water, and now out. 'Twere better to be born a stone, Of ruder shape, and feeling none. Than with a tenderness like mine, 352 cowper's poetical works. And sensibilities so fine ! I envy that unfeeling shrub, Fast rooted against every rub. The plant he meant grew not far off, And felt the sneer with scorn enough, — AVas hurt, disgusted, mortitied, And with asperity replied : — (When, cry the botanists, and stare. Did plants call'd Sensitive grow there? 'No matter when — a poet's Muse is To make them grow just where she chooses.) You shapeless nothing in a dish, "You that are but almost a fish, I scorn your coarse insinuation, And have most plentiful occasion To wish myself the rock I view. Or such another dolt as you. For many a grave and learned clerk, And many a gay unlettered spark, With curious touch examines me. If I can feel as well as he ; And when I bend, retire, and shrink. Says — Well, 'tis more than one would think.— Thus life is spent — oh, fie upon't! — In being touch'd, and crying — Don't ! A Poet, in Ins evening walk, O'erheard and check'd this idle talk. And your fine sense, he said, and yours, Whatever evil it endures. Deserves not, if so soon offended, Much to be pitied or commended. Disputes, though short, are far too long. Where both alike are in the wrong; Your feelings in their full amount Are all upon your OAvn account. You, in your grotto- work inclosed, Complain of being thus exposed; Yet nothing feel in that rough coat, Save when the knife is at your throat, Wherever driven by wind or tide. Exempt from every ill beside. And as for you, my Lady Squeamish, Wlio reckon every touch a blemish, MINOR POEMS. 353 If all the plants that can be found Embellishing the scene around, Should droop and wither where they grow, You would not feel at all, not you. The noblest minds their virtue prove By pity, sympathy, and love : These, these are feelings truly fine. And prove their owner half divine. His censure reach'd them as he dealt it, And each by shrinking show'd he felt it. THE YEARLY DISTRESS, OR TITHING TIME AT STOCK IN ESSEX. erbes addressed to a Country Clergyman, complaining of the disagreeableness of the day annually appointed for receiving the Dues at the Parsonage. Come, ponder well, for 'tis no jest, „ To laugh it would be wrong; The troubles of a wortliy priest. The burden of my song. This priest he merry is and blithe Three quarters of a year : But oh ! it cuts him like a scythe, When tithing time draws near. lie then is full of fright and fears, As one at point to die. And long before the day appears, He heaves up many a sigh. Eor then the farmers come jog, jog, Along the miry road ; Each heart as heavy as a log, To make their payments good. In sooth the sorrow of such days Is not to be expressed, When he that takes and he that pays Are both alike distressed. 354 cowper's poetical works. Now all unwelcome at liis gates The clumsy swains alight, With rueful faces and bald pates — He trembles kt the sight. And well he may, for well he knows Each bumpkin of the clan. Instead of paying Avhat he owes, Will cheat him if lie can. So in they come — each makes his leg, And flings his head before, And looks as if he came to beg, And not to quit a score. ''And how does miss and madam do, The little boy and all?" "All tight and welL And liow do you, Good Mr. What-d'ye-call?" The dinner comes, and down they sit; Were e'er sucli hungry folk ? There's little talking, and no wit; It is no time to joke. One wipes his nose upon his sleeve, One spits upon the floor. Yet, not to give offence or grieve, Holds up the cloth before. The punch goes round, and they are dull And lumpish still as ever ; Like barrels with their bellies full. They only weigh the heavier. At length the busy time begins, '' Come, neighbors, we must wag." — The money chinks, down drop their chins Each lugging out his bag. One talks of mildew and of frost, And one of storms of hail, And one of pigs that he has lost By maggots at the tail. MINOR POEMS. 355 Quoth one, " A rarer man than you In pulpit none shall hear : But yet, methinks, to tell you time, You sell it plaguy dear." Oh, why are farmers made so coarse. Or clergy made so line? A kick, that scarce would move a horse, May kill a sound divine. Then let the boobies stay at home ; Twould cost him, 1 dare say. Less trouble taking twice the sum Without the clowns that pay. SONNET, ADDRESSED TO HENRY COWPER, ESQ.* On his empliatical and interesting Delivery of the Defence of "Warren Hastings,' Esq., in the House of Lords. CowPEE, whose silver voice, taskVl sometimes hard. Legends prolix delivers in the ears (Attentive when thou read'st) of England's peers. Let verse at length yield thee thy just reward. Thou w^ast not heard with drowsy disregard. Expending late on all that length of plea Thy generous powers, but silence honor'd thee. Mute as e'er gazed on orator or bard. Thou art not voice alone, but hast beside Both iieart and head ; and couldst with music sweet Of Attic phrase and senatorial tone. Like thy renown'd forefathers, far and wide Thy fame diffuse, praised not for utterance meet Of others' speech, but magic of thy own. * Clerk of the Lords. Sec Macaulay's " Warren Hastings." THE OLNEY IIYMS. I. WALKING WITH GOD.— Gen. v. 24. On for a closer walk with God, A calm and heavenly frame ; A light to shine upon the road That leads me to the Lamb ! "Where is the blessedness I knew When first I saw the Lord ? Where is the soul-refreshing view Of Jesus and his Word ? What peaceful hours I once enjoy'd ! How sweet their memory still ! But they have left an aching void The world can never fill. Return, O holy Dove, return ! Sweet messenger of rest : I hate the sins that made thee mourn, And drove thee from my breast. The dearest idol I have known, Whate'er that idol be — Help me to tear it from thy throne. And worship only thee. So shall my walk be close with God, Calm and serene my frame : So purer light shall mark the road That leads me to the Lamb. OLNEY HYMNS. 35V JEHOVAH-JIEEH. THE LORD WILL PROVIDE. Gen. xxii. 14. The saints should never be dismay VI, Nor sink in hopeless fear ; For when they least expect his aid, The Saviour will appear. This Abraham found : he raised the knife ; God saw, and said, ^' Forbear ! Yon ram shall yield his meaner life; Behold the victim there.'' Once David seemM SauPs certain prey; But hark! the foe's at hand ;^ Saul turns his arms another wa}'. To save the invaded land. When Jonah sunk beneath the wave, He thought to rise no more f But God prepared a fish to save, And bear him to the shore. Blest proofs of power and grace divine That meet us in his Word ! May every deep-felt care of mine Be trusted with the Lord. Wait for his seasonable aid, And though it tarr^^, wait: The promise may be long delay'd, But cannot come too late. JEHOVAH-ROPHL I AM THE LORD THAT HEALETH THEE.— Ex. xv. 26. Heal us, Emmanuel — here we are. Waiting to feel thy touch : Deep-wounded souls to thee repair. And, Saviour, we are such. Our faith is feeble, we confess, We faintly trust thy word ; I 1 Samuel xsiii. 27. 2 jonali i. 17. 358 COWPEr's rOETICAL WORKS. But wilt thou pity us the less ? Be that far from thee, Lord ! Remember him who once applied, With trembling, for relief ; '' Lord, I believe," with tears he cried,* ^'Oh, help my unbehef !" She too, who touch'd thee in the press. And healing virtue stole, "VVas answered, '' Daughter, go in peace,^ Thy faith hath made thee whole." Conceal'd amid the gathering throng. She would have shunn'd thy view ; And if her faith was firm and strong, Had strong misgivings too. Like her, with hopes and fears we come, To touch thee, if we may ; Oh ! send us not despairing home, Send none unheaFd away. IV. JEHOYAH-NISSL THE LORD MY BANNER. Ex. xvii. 15. By whom was David taught To aim the deadly blow. When he Goliath fought. And laid the Gittite low ? 'Nov sword noj spear the stripling took, But chose a pebble from the brook. 'Twas Israel's God and King Who sent him to the light ; Who gave him strength to sling. And skill to aim aright. Ye feeble saints, your strength endures, Because young David's God is yours. Who order'd Gideon forth. To storm the invader's camp, 1 Mark ix. 24. 2 Mark v. 84. OLNEY HYMNS. 359 "With arms of little worth, A pitcher and a lamp ?^ The trumpets made, his coming known, And all the host was overthrown. Oh ! I have seen the day, When, with a single word, God helping me to say. My trust is in the Lord, My soul hath quell'd a thousand foes, Fearless of all that could oppose. But unbelief, self-will. Self-righteousness, and pride — IIow often do they steal My weapon from my side ! Yet David's Lord, and Gideon's Friend, Will help his servant to the end. JEHOVAH-SHALOM. THE LORD SEND PEACE. JuDG. vi. 24. Jesus, Avhose blood so freely stream'd. To satisfy the law's demand ; By thee from guilt and wrath redeem'd, Before the Father's face I stand. To reconcile offending man. Make Justice drop her angry rod ; What creature could have forni'd the plan, Or who fulfil it, but a God? 'No drop remains of all the curse, For wretches who deserve the whole ; No arrows dipt in wrath to pierce The guilty, but returning, soul. Peace by such means so dearly bought, What rebel could liave hoped to see ? Peace, by his injured Sovereign wrought, His Sovereign fasten'd to a tree. I Judges vii. 9, 20. 360 cowper's poetical works. Now, Lord, thy feeble worm prepare ! For strife with earth and hell begins; Confirm and gird me for the war — They hate the soul that hates his sins. Let them in horrid league agree ! They may assault, they may distress ; But cannot quench thy love to me, ]N"or rob me of the Lord my peace. VL WISDOM.— Prov. viii. 22-31. Ere God had built the mountains, Or raised the fruitful hills ; Before he fill'd the fountains That feed the running rills ; In me, from everlasting. The wonderful I AM Found pleasures never wasting, And AYisdom is my name. When, like a tent to dwell in. He spread the skies abroad, And swathed about the swelling Of Ocean's mighty flood ; He wrought by weight and measure, And I was with him then : Myself the Father's pleasure. And mine the sons of men. Thus Wisdom's words discover Thy glory and thy grace, Thou everlasting lover Of our unworthy race ! Thy gracious eye survey'd us Ere stars were seen above; In wisdom thou hast made us, And^ died for us in love. 4-nd couldst thou be delighted With creatures such as we. Who, when we saw thee, slighted, And nail'd thee to a tree ? OLNEV HYMNS. 361 Unfixthomablo wonder, And mystery divine! The voice that speaks in thunder, Says, *' Sinner, I am thine!" I. VANITY OF THE WOELD. God gives his mercies to be spent; Your hoard, will do your soul no good ; Gold is a blessing only lent, Repaid by giving others food. The world's esteem is but a bribe ; To buy their peace you sell your own ; The slave of a vain-glorious tribe, AVho hate you while they make you known. The joy that vain amusements give, Oh ! sad conclusion that it brings ! The honey of a crowded hive. Defended by a thousand stings. 'Tis thus the world rewards the fools That live upon her treacherous smiles : She leads them bhndfold by her rules. And ruins all whom she beguiles. God knows the thousands who go down From pleasure into endless woe ; And with a long despairing groan Blaspheme their Maker as they go. O fearful thought! be timely wise: Delight but in a Saviour's charms, And God shall take you to the skies, Embraced in evcrlastini? arms. VIII. LORD, I WILL TRAISE THEE.—Isa. xii. 1. I WILL praise thee every day, ]N'ow thine anger's turn'd away! Comfortable thoughts arise From the bleeding Sacrifice. 81 362 cowper's poetical works. Here in the fair Gospel field, Wells of free salvation yield Streams of life, a plenteous store, And my soul shall thirst no more. Jesus is become at length My salvation and my strength ;. And his praises shall prolong, "While I live, my pleasant song. Praise ye then his glorious name ; Publish his exalted fame ! Still his worth your praise exceeds ; Excellent are all his deeds. Kaise again the joyful sound, Let the nations roll it round ! Zion, shout, for this is he, God the Saviour dwells in thee ! IX. THE CONTRITE HEART.— Isa. Ivii. 15, The Lord will happiness divine On contrite hearts bestow ; Then tell me, gracious God, is mine A contrite heart or no ? I hear, but seem to hear in vain, Insensible as steel ; If aught is felt, 'tis only pain To find I cannot feel. I sometimes think myself inclined To love thee, if I could ; But often feel another mind, Averse to all that's good. My best desires are faint and few — I fain would strive for more: But when I cry, " My strength renew !" Seem weaker than before. Thy saints are comforted, I know, And love thy house of prayer ; I therefore go where others go, But find no comfort there. OLNEY HYMNS. 363 Oh make this heart rejoice or ache ; Decide this doubt for me ; And if it be not broken, break — And heal it if it be. X. THE FUTURE PEACE AND GLORY OF THE CHURCH.— ISA. ix. 15-20. Hear wliat God the Lord hath spoken- '' O my people, faint and few, W Comfortless, afflicted, broken, Fair abodes I build for you. Thorns of heart-felt tribulation Shall no more perplex your ways: You shall name your walls Salv^ation, And your gates shall all be Praise. " There, like streams that feed the garden, Pleasures without end shall flow;- For the Lord, your faith rewarding, All his bounty shall bestow ; Still in undisturbed possession Peace and righteousness shall reign , Never shall you feel oppression, Hear the voice of war again. »" Ye no more your suns descending, Waning moons no more shall see ; But, your griefs forever ending. Find eternal noon in me: God shall rise, and shining o'er you, Change to day the gloom of night ; He, the Lord, shall be your glory, God your everlasting light." JEHOVAH OUR RIGHTEOUSNESS.— Jer. xxiii. 6. My God, how perfect are thy ways ! But mine polluted are ; Sin twines itself about my praise. And slides into my prayer. 364 cowper's poetical works. When I would speak what tliou hast done To save nie from my sin, I cannot make tliy mercies known, But self-applause creeps in. Divine desire, that holy flame Thy grace creates in me ; Alas ! impatience is its name, When it returns to thee. This heart, a fountain of vile thoughts, How does it overflow ! While self upon the surface floats, Still hubbling from below. Let others in the gaudy dress Of fancied merit shine ; The Lord shall be my righteousness, The Lord forever mine. I XIL EPHRAIM REPENTING.— Jer. xxxi. 18-20. My God, till I received thy stroke. How like a beast was I ! So unaccustomVl to the yoke. So backward to comply. With grief my just reproach I bear, Shame fills me at the thought ; How frequent my rebellions were ! What wickedness 1 wrought! Thy merciful restraint I scorn'd, And left the j)leasant road ; Yet turn me, and I shall be turn'd ! Thou art the Lord my God. '' Is Ephraim banish'd from my thoughts, Or. vile in my esteem? No," saith the Lord, ''with all his faults, 1 still remember him. " Is he a dear and pleasant child ? Yes, dear and pleasant still ; OLNEY HYMNS. 3G5 Though sin liis foolisli heart beguiled, And he withstood my will. "My sharp rebuke has laid him low, He seeks my face again ; ■ My pity kindles at his woe, He shall not seek in vain," Xni. THE COVENANT.—EzEK. xxxvi. 25-28. The Lord proclaims his grace abroad ! Behold, I change your hearts of stone ; Each shall renounce his idol -god, And serve, henceforth, the Lord alone. My grace, a flowing stream, proceeds To wash your filthiness aw^ay ; Ye shall abhor your former deeds, And learn my statutes to obey. My truth the great design insures, I give myself away to you ; You shall be mine, I will be yours, Your God unalterably true. Yet not unsought, or unimplored. The plenteous grace shall I confer;* No — your wliole hearts shall seek the Lord, I'll put a praying spirit there. From the first breath of life divine, Down to tlie last expiring hour. The gracious work shall all be mine, Begun and ended in my power. XIV. JEHOVAH-SHAMMAH.— EzEK. xlviii. 35. As birds their infant brood protect," And spread their wings to shelter them, Thus saiththe Lord to his elect, *' So will I guard Jerusalem." 1 Verse 3L « Isaiah xxxL 5. 366 cowper's poetical works. And what tlien is Jerusalem, This darling object of his care? Where is its worth in God's esteem? Who built it, who inhabits there? Jehovah founded it in blood, The blood of his incarnate Son ; There dwell the saints, once foes to God, The sinners whom he calls his own. There, though besieged on every side, Yet much beloved and guarded well. From age to age tliey have defied The utmost force of earth and hell. Let earth repent, and hell despair, This city has a sure defence ; Her name is call'd The Lord is there, And who has power to drive him thence? XV. PRAISE FOR THE FOUNTAIN OPENED. Zech. xiii. 1. There is a fountain filPd with blood Drawn from Emmanuel's veins ; And sinners, plunged beneath that flood. Lose all their guilty stains. The dying thief rejoiced to see That fountain in his day; And there have I, as vile as he, Wash'd all my sins away. Dear dying Lamb, thy precious blood Shall never lose its power. Till all the ransom VI Church of God Be saved, to sin no more. E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream Thy flowing wounds supply, Redeeming love has been my theme, And shall be till I die. OLNEY HYMNS. 36*7 Then in a nobler, SAveeter song, I'll sing thy power to save; When this poor, lisping, stammering tongue Lies silent in the grave. Lord, I believe thou hast prepared (Unworthy though I be) For me a blood-bought free reward, A golden harp for me ! 'Tis strung, and tuned, for endless years, And form'd by power divine. To sound in God the Father's ears No other name but thine. XVL THE SOWER.— Mat. xiii. 3. Ye sons of earth, prepare the plough, Break up your falloAV ground ; The sower is gone forth to soav, And scatter blessings round. The seed that finds a stony soil, Shoots forth a hasty blade ; But ill repays the sower's toil. Soon wither'd, scorch'd, and dead. The tliorny ground is sure to balk All liopes of harvest there; We find a tall and sickly stalk, But not tlie fruitful ear. The beaten path and highway side Receive the trust in vain ; The watchful birds the spoil divide. And pick up all the grain. But where the Lord of grace and power Has bless'd the happy field. How plenteous is the golden store The deep- wrought furrows yield ! Father of mercies, we have need Of thy preparing grace ; Let the same hand that gives the seed Provide a fruitful place I COWPER S POETICAL WORKS. XVII. THE HOUSE OF PRAYER.— Mark xi. 17. Thy mansion is the Christian's heart, Lord, thy dwelling-place secure ! Bid the unruly throng depart. And leave the consecrat'^d door. Devoted as it is to thee, A thievish swarm frequents the place ; They steal away my joys from me, And rob my Saviour of his praise. There, too, a sharp designing trade Sin, Satan, and. the World maintain ; Nor cease to press me, and. persuade To part with ease, and purchase pain. I know them, and I hate their din. Am weary of the bustling crowd ; But while their voice is heard within, 1 cannot serve thee as I would. Oh for the joy thy presence gives ! What peace shall reign when thou art here: Thy presence makes this den of thieves A calm delightful house of prayer. And if thou make thy temple shine, Yet, self-abased, will I adore ; The gold and silver are not mine, I give thee what was thine before. XVIII. LOVEST THOU ME?— John xxi. 16. Hark, my soul ! it is the Lord : 'Tis thy Saviour, hear his word ; Jesus speaks, and speaks to thee : " Say, poor sinner, lovest thou me ? " I delivered thee when bound. And when bleeding, heal'd thy wound ; Sought thee wandering, set thee right, Turn'd thy darkness into light. OLNEY HYMNS. 369 " Can a woman's tender care Cease towards the child she bare ? Yes, she may forgetful be, Yet will I remember tjiee. "Mine is an unchanging love, Higher than the heights above ; Deeper than the depths beneath, Free and faithful, strong as death. " Thou shalt see my glory soon, "When the work of grace is done ; Partner of my throne shalt be : — Say, poor sinner, lovest thou me !" Lord, it is my chief complaint, That my love is weak and faint ; Yet I love thee and adore, — Oh for grace to love thee more ! XIX. CONTENTMENT.— Phil. iv. 11. Fierce passions discompose the mind, As tempests vex the sea : But calm content and peace we find, When, Lord, we turn to thee. In vain by reason and by rule "We try to bend the Avill ; For none but in the Saviour's school Can learn the heavenly skill. Since at his feet my soul has sate, His gracious words to hear. Contented with my present state, I cast on him my care. "Art thou a sinner, soul?" he said, " Then how canst thou complain ? How light thy troubles here, if weigh'd With everlasting pain ! "If thou of murmuring wouldst be cured, Compare thy griefs with mine ; Think what my love for thee endured, And thou wilt not repine. 370 cowper's poetical works. " 'Tis I appoint thy daily lot, And I do all things well ; Thou soon shalt leave this wretched spot, And rise, with me to dwell. " In life my grace shall strength supply, Proportion'd to thy day ; At death thou still shalt find me nigh, To wipe thy tears away." Thus I, who once my wretched days In vain repinings spent, Taught in my Saviour's school of grace, Have learnt to be content. XX. OLD TESTAMENT GOSPEL.— Heb. iv. 2. Israel, in ancient days, Not only had a view Of Sinai in a blaze. But learn'd the Gospel too ; The types and figures were a glass In which they saw a Saviour's face. The paschal sacrifice, And blood-besprinkled door,* Seen with enlighten'd eyes. And once applied with power, Would teach the need of other blood, To reconcile an angry God. The Lamb, the Dove, set forth His perfect innocence,'^ "Whose blood of matchless worth Should be the soul's defence ; For he who can for sin atone. Must have no faihngs of his own. . The scape-goat on his head^ Tlie people's trespass bore. And, to the desert led. Was to be seen no more : In him our Surety seem'd to say, ••' Behold, I bear your sins away." 1 Exodus xii. 13. 2 Levit. xii. 6. s Levit. xvi. 21. OLNEr HYMNS. 37 1 Dipt in his fellow's blood, The living bird went free ;* The type, well understood, Expressed the sinner^s plea ; Described a guilty soul enlarged, And by a Saviour's death discharged. Jesus, I love to trace, Throughout the sacred page, The footsteps of thy grace. The same in every age ! Oh, grant that I may faithful be To clearer light vouchsafed to me ! XXL SARDIS.—Rev. iii. 1-6. " "Weite to Sardis," saith the Lord, And write what he declares. He whose Spirit, and whose word, Uphold the seven stars : '' All thy works and ways I search, Find thy zeal and love decay'd : Thou art call'd a living church. But thou art cold and dead. " "Watch, remember, seek, and strive ; Exert thy former pains ; Let thy timely care revive, And strengthen what remains : Cleanse thine heart, thy works amend, Former times to mind recall ; Lest my sudden stroke descend. And smite thee once for all. " Yet I number now in thee A few that are upright ; These my Father's face shall see, And walk with me in white. When in judgment I appear. They for mine shall be confest; Let my faithful servants hear. And woe be to the rest!" 1 Leviticus xiv. 51-53. 372 COWPEll's POETICAL WORKS. XXII. PRAYER FOR A BLESSING ON THE YOUNG. 1 Bestow, clear Lord, upon our youth The gift of saving grace ; And let the seed of sacred truth Fall in a fruitful place. Grace is a plant, where'er it grows, Of pure and heavenly root ; But fairest in the youngest shows, And yields the sweetest fruit. Ye careless ones, oh hear betimes The voice of sovereign love ! Y^our youth is stain'd with many crimes. But mercy reigns above. True, you are young, but there's a stone Within the youngest breast; Or half the crimes which you have done Would rob you of your rest. For you the public prayer is made. Oh! join the public prayer! For you the secret tear is shed, Oh ! shed yourselves a tear ! We pray that you may early prove The Spirit's power to teach ; Y^ou cannot be too young to love That Jesus whom we preach. XXIL PLEADING FOR AND WITH YOUTH. Sin has undone our wretched race, But Jesus has restored. And brought the sinner face to face With his forgiving Lord. This we repeat from year to year, And press upon our youth ; Lord, give them an attentive ear, Lord, save them by thy truth I OLNEY HYMNS. 373 Blessings upon the rising race I Make tliis a happy hour, According to thy richest grace, And thine ahnighty power. We feel for your unhappy state (May you regard it too), And would awhile ourselves forget, To pour out prayer for you. "We see, though you perceive it not, The approaching awful doom ; Oh, tremhle at the solemn thought, And flee the wrath to come ! Dear Saviour, let this new-born year Spread an alarm abroad ; And cry in every careless ear, *' Prepare to meet thy God !" XXIV. PRAYER FOR CHILDREN, Geacious Lord, our children see : By thy mercy we are free ; But sliall these, alas ! remain Subjects still of Satan's reign ? Israel's young ones, when of old Pharaoh threaten'd to withhold,^ Then thy messenger said, '' No ; Let the children also go." Wlien the angel of the Lord, Drawing forth his dreadful sword. Slew, witli an avenging hand. All the first-born of the land ;^ Then thy people's doors he pass'd. Where the bloody sign was placed ; Hear us, now, upon our knees. Plead the blood of Christ for these ! Lord, we tremble, for we know How the fierce malicious foe, 1 Exodus X. 9. 2 Exodus xii. 12. 32 374 cowper's poetical works. Wheeling round his watchful flight, Keeps 4:hem ever in his sight: Spread thy pinions, King of kings! Hide them safe beneath thy wings; Lest the ravenous bird of prey Stoop, and bear the brood away. XXV. JEHOVAH JESUS. My song shall bless the Lord of all, My praise shall climb to his abode ; Thee, Saviour, by that name I call. The great Supreme, the mighty God Without beginning or decline, Object of faith, and not of sense; Eternal ages saw him shine, He shines eternal ages hence. As much, when in the manger laid, Almighty ruler of the sky. As when the six days' work he made Fiird all the morning stars with joy. Of all the crowns Jehovah bears. Salvation is his dearest claim ; That gracious sound well pleased he hears, And owns Emmanuel for his name. A cheerful confidence I feel. My well-placed hopes with joy I see ; My bosom glows with heavenly zeal. To worship Him who died for me. As Man, he pities my complaint. His power nnd truth are all divine ; He will not fail, he cannot faint. Salvation's sure, and must be mine. XXVI. ON OPENING A PLACE FOR SOCIAL PRAYER. Jesus! where'er thy people meet. There they behold thy mercy-seat ; OLNEY HYMNS. Si O Where'er tliey seek thee, thou art foiinc!, And every place is hallow'd ground. For thou, within no walls confined, Inhabitest the humble mind ; Such ever bring thee where they come. And going, take thee to their home. Dear Shepherd of thy chosen few! Thy former mercies here renew ; Here to our waiting hearts proclaim The sweetness of tliy saving name. Here may we prove the power of prayer, To strengthen faith and sweeten care ; To teach our faint desires to rise. And bring all heaven before our eyes.* Behold, at thy commanding word We stretch the curtain and the cord;'' Come thou and fill this wider space, And bless us with a large increase. Lord, we are few, but thou art near ; Nor short thine arm, nor deaf thine ear ; Oh, rend the heavens, come quickly down, And make a thousand hearts tiiine own I XXVn. WELCOME TO THE TABLE. This is the feast of heavenly wine, And God invites to sup ; The juices of the living Vine Were press'd to fill the cup. Oh ] bless the Saviour, ye that eat. With royal dainties fed ; Not heaven affords a costlier treat, For Jesus is the bread. The vile, the lost, he calls to them, Ye trembling souls, appear ! 1 " Bring all heaven before our eyes :" from Milton's " 11 Penseroso.'" 2 Isaiali liv. 2. 376, cowper's poetical works. The righteous in their own esteem Have no acceptance here. Aj^proach, ye poor, nor dare refuse The banquet spread for you ; Dear Saviour, this is welcome news, Then I may venture too. If guilt and sin afford a plea, And may obtain a place. Surely the Lord will welcome me, And I shall see his face. XXYIII. JESUS HASTING TO SUFFER. The Saviour, what a noble flame Was kindled in his breast, "When hasting to Jerusalem, He march'd before the rest ! Good-will to men and zeal for God His every thought engross ; He longs to be baptized with blood,* He pants to reach the cross ! With all his sufferings full in view, And woes to us unknown, Forth to the task his spirit flew ; 'Twas love that urged him on. Lord, we return thee what we can : Our hearts shall sound abroad Salvation to the dying Man, And to the rising God ! And while thy bleeding glories here Engage our wondering eyes. We learn our lighter cross to bear, And hasten to the skies. 1 Luke xii. 50. OLNEY HYMNS. 3*77 XXIX. EXHORTATION TO PRAYER. What various lijndrances we meet In coming to a indr6'y^seat ! Yet who that knows the worth of prayer, But wishes to be often there ? Prayer makes the darkened cloud withdraw, Prayer chmbs tlie ladder Jacob saw, Gives exercise to faith and love. Brings every blessing from above. Eestraining prayer, w^e cease to fight ; Prayer makes the Christian's armor bright ; And Satan trembles whefn he sees The weakest saint upon his knees. "While Moses stood with arms spread wide, Success was found on Israel's side; But when through weariness they fail'd. That moment Amalek prevaiPd.^ Have you no words ? Ah ! think again, Words flow apace when you complain, And fill your fellow-creature's ear With the sad tale of all your care. Were half the breath thus vainly spent To Heaven in supplication sent. Your cheerful song would oftener bo, "Hear what the Lord has done for me!'' XXX. THE LIGHT AND GLORY OF THE WORD. The Spirit breathes upon the AYord, And brings the truth to sight ; Precepts and promises afford A sanctifying light. A glory gilds the sacred page, Majestic like the sun ; It gives a light to every age. It gives, but borrows none. 1 Exodus xvii. 11. 3'78 cowper's poetical works. The hand that gave it still supplies The gracious light and heat ; His truths upon the nations rise ; They rise, but never set. Let everlasting thanks be thine, For such a bright display, As makes a world of darkness shine "With beams of heavenly day. My soul rejoices to pursue The steps of Him I love, Till glory breaks upon my view In brighter worlds above. ^ XXXI. ON THE DEATH OF A MINISTER. His master taken from his head, Elisha saw him go ; And in desponding accents said, " Ah, what must Israel do V But he forgot the Lord who lifts The beggar to the throne ; Nor knew that all Elijah's gifts Will soon be made his own. What ! when a Paul has run his course, Or when Apollos dies. Is Israel left without resource ? And have we no supplies ? Yes, while the dear Redeemer lives We have a boundless store. And shall be fed with what he gives, Who lives for evermore. XXXII. THE SHINING LIGHT. My former hopes are fled. My terror now begins ; I feel, alas ! that I am dead In trespasses and sins. OLNEY HYMNS. 379 Ah, whither shall I fly? I hear the thunder roar ; The law proclaims destruction nigh, And vengeance at the door. When I review my ways, I dread impending doom : But sure a friendly whisper says, "Flee from the wrath to come." I see, or think. I see, A glimmering from afar ; A beam of day, that shines for me, To save me from despair. Forerunner of the sun,^ It marks the pilgrim's way; I'll gaze upon it while I run, And watch the rising day. XXXIII. SEEKING THE BELOVED. To those who know the Lord I speak, Is my Beloved near ? The Bridegroom of my soul I seek. Oh ! when will he appear ? Though once a man of grief and shame. Yet now he fills a throne. And bears the greatest, sweetest name, That earth or heaven has known. Grace flies before, and love attends His steps where'er he goes ; Though none can see him but his friends. And they were once his foes. He speaks — obedient to his call. Our warm affections move : Did he but shine alike on all, Then all alike would love. 1 Psalm cxxx. 6. 380 c.owper's poetical works. Then love in every heart would reign, And war would cease to roar ; And cruel and bloodthirsty men Would thirst for blood no more. Such Jesus is, and such his grace. Oh, may he shine on you ! And tell him, when you see his face. I long to see him too.^ XXXIV. THE WAITING SOUL. Beeatiie from the gentle south, O Lord, And cheer me from the north ; Blow on the treasures of thy Word, And call the spices forth ! I wish, thou know'st, to be resigned. And wait with patient hope; But hope delayM fatigues the mind, And drinks the spirit up. Help me to reach the distant goal. Confirm my feeble knee ; Pity the sickness of a soul That faints for love of thee ! Cold as I feel this heart of mine. Yet, since Ffeel it so, It yields some hope of life divine Within, however low. 1 seem forsaken and alone, 1 hear the lion roar ; And every door is shut but one, And that is Mercy's door. There, till the dear Deliverer come, I'll wait with humble prayer ; And when he calls his exile home, The Lord shall find me there. ^ Canticles v. 8. OLNEY HYMNS. 381 XXXV. WELCOME CROSS. 'Tis my happiness below Not to live without the cross, But the Saviour's power to know, Sanctifying every loss : Trials must and will befall ; But with humble faith to see Love inscribed upon them all, This is happiness to me. God in Israel sows the seeds Of affliction, pain, and toil ; These spring up and choke the weeds Which would else o'ersi)read the soil : Trials make the promise sweet. Trials give new life to prayer ; Trials bring me to His feet. Lay me low, and keep me there. Did I meet no trials here. No chastisement by the way : Might I not, with reason, fear I should prove a castaway ? Bastards may escape the rod,^ Sunk in earthly, vain delight; But the true-born child of God Must not, would not if he might. XXXVI. AFFLICTIONS SANCTIFIED BY THE WORD. On how I love thy holy Word, Thy gracious covenant, O Lord ! It guides me in the peaceful way; I think upon it all the day. What are the mines of shining wealth. The strength of youth, the bloom of health ! What are all joys compared with those Thine everlasting Word bestows! 1 Hebrews xii. 8.' 882 cowper's poetical works. Long unafflicted, undismay'd, In pleasure's path secure I stray'd ; Thou madest nie feel tliy chastening rod/ And straight I turned unto my God. "VVliat though it pierced my fainting heart, I bless thine hand that caused t?ie smart ; It taught my tears awhile to flow, But saved me from eternal woe. Oh ! hadst thou left me unchastised, Thy precept I had still despised ; And still the snare in secret laid. Had my unwary feet betray'd. I love thee, therefore, my God, And breathe towards thy dear abode ; "Where, in thy presence fully blest. Thy chosen saints forever rest. X^XVII. TEMPTATION. The billoAvs swell, the winds aro high, Clouds overcast my wintry sky ; Out of the depths to thee I call, — My fears are great, my strength is small. O Lord, the pilot's part perform, And guard and guide me through the storm, • Defend me from each threatening ill, Control the waves, — say, ''Peace, be still!" Amidst the roaring of the sea, My soul still hangs her hope on thee ; Thy constant love, thy faithful care. Is all that saves me from despair. Dangers of every shape and name Attend the followers of the Lamb, Who leave the world's deceitful shore, And leave it to return no more. 1 Psalm cxix 71. OLNEY HYMNS. 383 Thougli tempest-toss'd and half a wreck, My Saviour tlirongh the floods I seek ; Let neither winds nor stormy main Force back my shatter'd bark again. XXXVIII. LOOKING UPWARDS IN A STORM. God of my life, to thee I call, Afflicted at tliy feet I fall ; When the great water-floods prevail,* Leave not my trembling heart to fail ! Friend of the friendless and the faint ! Where should I lodge my deep complaint? Where but with thee,, whose open door Invites the helpless and the poor ! Did ever mourner plead with thee. And thou refuse that mourner's plea ? Does not the word still flxM remain. That none shall seek thy face in vain? That were a grief I could not bear, Didst thou not hear and answer prayer ; Bnt a prayer-hearing, answering God, Supports me under every load. Fair is the lot that's cast for me; I have an Advocate with thee ; They whom the world caresses most Have no such privilege to boast. Poor though I am, despised, forgot,'^ • Yet God, my God, forgets me not: And he is safe, and must succeed. For whom the Lord vouchsafes to plead. XXXIX. THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. My soul is sad, and much dismay'd ; Sqc, Lord, what legions of my foes, 1 Tsalm Ixix. 15. a pgaim xl. 17. 384 With fierce Apollyon at their head, My heavenly pilgrimage oppose ! See, from the ever-burning lake How like a smoky cloud they dse ! With horrid blasts my soul they shake, With storms of blasphemies and lies. Their fiery arrows reach the mark,* My throbbing heart with anguish tear ; Each lights upon a kindred spark, And finds abundant fuel there. I hate the thought that wrongs the Lord; Oil ! I would drive it from my breast, With thy own sharp two-edged sword. Far as the east is from the west. Come^, then, and chase the cruel host. Heal the deep wounds I have received! IS^ov let the powers of darkness boast. That I am foil'd, and thou art grieved ! XL. PEACE AFTER A STORM. AYhex darkness long has veil'd my mind, And smiling day once more appears ; Then, my Kedeemer, then I find The folly of my doubts and fears. Straight I upbraid my wandering heart. And blush that I should ever be Thus prone to act so base a part, Or harbor one hard thought of thee! Oh ! let me then at length be taught What I am still so slow to learn ; That God is Love, and changes not. Nor knows the shadow of a turn. Sweet truth, and easy to repeat ! But, when my faith is sharply tried, I find myself a learner yet. Unskilful, weak, and apt to slide. 1 Ephesians vi. 16. OLNEY HYMNS. 385 But, O my Lord, one look from thee Subdues the disobedient will ; Drives doubt and discontent away, And thy rebellious worm is still. Thou art as ready to forgive As I am ready to repine ; Thou, therefore, all the praise receive ; Be shame and self-abhorrence mine. XLI. MOURNING AND LONGING. The Saviour hides his face ! My spirit thirsts to prove Kenew'd supplies of pardoning grace, And never-fading love. The favor'd souls who know What glories shine in him, Pant for his presence, as the roe Pants for the living stream ! "What trifles tease me now ! They swarm like summer flies ; They cleave to every thing I do, And swim before my eyes. How dull the Sabbath-day, Witliout the Sabbath's Lord! How toilsome then to sing and pray, And wait upon the Word ! Of all the truths I hear. How few delight my taste ! I glean a berry here and there, But mourn the vintage past. Yet let me (as I ought) Still hope to be supplied ; No pleasure else is worth a thought, Nor shall I be denied. Though I am but a worm, Unworthy of his care. The Lord will my desire perform, And grant me all my prayer. 33 386 cowper's poetical works. XLII. SELF-ACQUAINTANCE. Dear Lord! accept a sinful heart, "Which of itself complains, And mourns, with much and frequent smart, The evil it contains. There fiery seeds of anger lurk, Which often hurt my frame ; And wait but for the tempter's work. To fan them to a flame. Legality holds out a bribe To purchase life from Thee ; And Discontent would fain prescribe How thou shalt deal with me. While Unbelief withstands thy grace, And puts the mercy by ; Presumption, Avith a brow of brass. Says, " Give me, or I die." How eager are my thoughts to roam In quest of what they love ! But ah ! when duty calls them home, How heavily they move ! Oh, cleanse me in a Saviour's blood, Transform me by thy power. And make me thy beloved abode, And let me roam no more. XLIII. PRAYER FOR PATIENCE. Lord, who hast suffer'd all for me. My peace and pardon to procure. The lighter cross I bear for thee, Help me with patience to endure. The storm of loud repining hush, I would in humble silence mourn ; "Why should the unburnt though burning bush Be angry as the crackling thorn? OLNEY HY*MNS. 38'7 Man should not faint at thy rebuke, Like Joshua falling on his face,^ When the curst thing that Achan took Brought Israel into just disgrace. Perhaps some golden wedge suppressed, Some secret sin offends my God ; Perhaps that Babylonish vest, Self-righteousness, provokes'the rod. Ah ! were I buffeted all day, Mock'd, crown'd with thorns, and spit upon; I yet should have no right to say. My great distress is mine alone. Let me not angrily declare 'No pain was ever sharp like mine ; Kor murmur at the cross I bear. But rather weep, remembering thine. XLIV. SUBMISSION. O LoED, my best desire fulfil. And help me to resign Life, health, and comfort to thy will, And make thy pleasure mine. Why should I shrink at thy command, Whose love forbids my fears? Or tremble at the gracious hand That wipes away my tears ? No, let me rather freely yield What most I prize to thee ; Who never hast a good withheld, Or wilt withhold, from me. Thy favor, all my journey through, Thou art engaged to grant ; What else I want, or think I do, 'Tis better still to want. Wisdom and mercy guide my way — Shall I resist them both ? 1 Joshua vii. 10, 11. 388 cowper's poetical works. A poor blind creature of a day, And crush'd before the motli ! But ab ! my inward spirit cries, Still bind me to thy sway ; Else the next cloud that veils the skies Drives all these thoughts away. XLV. THE HAPPY CHANGE. How blest thy creature is, God, When, with a single eye. He views the lustre of thy Word, *The dayspring from on high ! Through all the storms that veil the skies, And frown on earthly things, The Sun of Righteousness he eyes, With healing in his wings. Struck by that light, the human heart, A ba'rren soil no more. Sends the sweet smell of grace abroad AVhere serpents lurk'd before.^ The soul a dreary province once Of Satan's dark domain, Feels a new empire formed within, And owns a heavenly reign. The glorious orb, whose golden beams The fruitful year control. Since first, obedient to thy word, He started from the goal. Has cheer'd the nations with the joys His orient rays impart ; But, Jesus, 'tis thy light alone Can shine upon the heart. * Isaiah xxxv. 7. '^ i ^^ Wit '^ OLNEY lkAs4l»»»J?i!Liyrt' 380 XLVI. RETIREMENT. Far from the world, O Lord, I flee, From strife and tumult far ; From scenes where Satan wages still His most successful war. The calm retreat, the silent shade, With prayer and praise agree ; And seem by thy sweet bounty made For those who follow thee. There, if thy Spirit touch the soul. And grace her mean abode, Oh, with what peace, and joy, and love, She communes with her God ! There like the nightingale she pours Her solitary lays ; ^ov asks a witness of her song, ITor thirsts for human praise. Author and Guardian of my life, Sweet source of light divine. And (all harmonious names in one) My Saviour ! thou art mine ! "What thanks I owe thee, and what love, A boundless, endless store. Shall echo through the realms above AVhen time shall be no more. XLVII. THE HIDDEN LIFR To tell the Saviour all my wants. How pleasing is the task ! Nor less to praise him when he grants Beyond what I can ask. My laboring spirit vainly seeks To tell biit half the joy; With how much tenderness he speaks. And helps me to reply. 390 COWPEr's rOETICAL WORKS. ItTor were it wise, nor should I choose, Such secrets to declare ; Like precious wines, their taste they lose, Exposed to open air. But this with boldness I proclaim, Nor care if thousands hear — Sweet is the ointment of his name, Not life is half so dear. And can you frown, my former friends, Who knew what once I was ; And blame the song that thus commends The Man who bore the cross ? Trust me, I draw the likeness true, And not as fancy paints ; Such honor may he give to you. For such have all his saints. XLVIII. .JOY AND PEACE IN BELIEVINa. Sometimes a light surprises The Christian while he sings ; It is the Lord wlio rises With healing in his wings : When comforts are declining, He grants the soul again A season of clear shining. To cheer it after rain. In holy contemplation. We sweetly then pursue The theme of God's salvation, And find it ever new. Set free from present sorrow. We cheerfully can say, Even let the unknown to-morrow^ Bring with it what it may ! It can bring with it nothing. But He will bear us through -, 1 Matthew vi. 34. OLNEY IIVMNS. 391 "Who gives tlie lilies clothing, Will clothe his people too: Beneatli the spreading heavens No creature but is fed ; And He who feeds the ravens Will give his children bread. Though vine nor fig-tree neither' Their wonted fruit should bear, Though all the fields should wither, IST or flocks nor herds be there : Yet God the same abiding, His praise shall tune iny voice; For, w^hile in him confiding, I cannot but rejoice. XLIX. TRUE PLEASURES. Lord, my soul with pleasure springs. When Jesus' name I hear; And when God the Spirit brings The word of promise near : Beauties too, in holiness, Still dehghted 1 perceive; Nor have words that can express The joys thy precepts give. Clothed in sanctity and grace, How sweet it is to see Those who love thee as they pass, Or when they wait on thee! Pleasant too, to sit and tell What we owe to Love divine ; Till our bosoms grateful swell, And eyes begin to shine. Those the comforts I possess, Which God shall still increase: All his ways are pleasantness,^ And all his paths are peace Nothing Jesus did or spoke. Henceforth let me ever slight ; 2 Ilabakkuk iii. 17, 18. a Proverbs iii. 17. 3^2; cowper's poetical works. For I love his easy yoke/ And find his burden light. L. THE CHRISTIAN. Honor and happiness unite To make tlie Christian's name a praise ; How fair the scene, how clear the light, That fills the remnant of his days ! A kingly character he bears, 1^0 change his priestly office knows ; Unfadiug is tlie crown he wears. His joys can never reach a close. Adorn'd with glory from on high, Salvation shines upon his face ; His robe is of the ethereal dye, His steps are dignity and grace. Inferior honors he disdains, Nor stoops to take applause from earth : The King of kings himself maintains The expenses of his heavenly birth. The noblest creature seen below, Ordaiu'd to fill a throne above ; God gives him all he can bestoAV, His kingdom of eternal love. My soul is ravish'd at the thought ! Methinks from earth I see him rise ! Angels congratulate his lot. And shout him welcome to the skies ! LI. LIVELY HOPE AND GRACIOUS FEAR. I WAS a grovelling creature once. And basely cleaved to eartJi ; I wanted spirit to renounce The clod that gave me birth. ^ Matthew xi. 30. OLNEY HYMNS. 39^ But God has breathed upon a worm, And sent me, from above. Wings such as clothe an angel's form, The wings of joy and love. With these to Pisgah's top I fly. And there delighted stand. To view beneath a shining sky The spacious promised land. The Lord of all the vast domain Has promised it to me ; The length and breadth of all the plain, As far as faith can see. How glorious is my privilege ! To thee for help I call ; I stand upon a mountain's edge. Oh, save me, lest I fall ! Though much exalted in the Lord, My strength is not my own ; Then let me tremble at his word, And none shall cast me down. LH. FOR THE POOR. When Hagar found the bottle spent, And wept o'er Ishmael, A message from the Lord was sent To guide her to a well.^ Should not Elijah's cake and cruse* Convince us at this day, A gracious God will not refuse Provisions by the way ? His saints and servants sliall be fed. The promise is secure : "Bread shall be given them," he has said, " Their water shall be sure."^ 1 Genesis xxi. 19. ^ i Kings xvii. 14. 3 isaiah xxxiii. 16. 394 cowper's poetical works. Repasts far richer they shall prove, Than all earth's dainties are ; 'Tis sweet to taste a Saviour's love, Though in the meanest fare. To Jesus then your trouble bring, Nor murmur at your lot ; "While you are poor and he is King, You shall not be forgot. LIII. MY SOUL THIRSTETH FOR GOD. I THIRST, but not as once I did The vain delights of earth to share; Thy wounds, Emmanuel, all forbid . That I should seek my pleasures there. It was the sight of thy dear cross First wean'd my soul from earthly things ; And taught me to esteem as dross The mirth of fools and pomp of kings. I want that grace that springs from thee. Til at quickens all things where it flows, And makes a wretched thorn like me Bloom as the myrtle or the rose. Dear fountain of delight unknown ! No longer sink below the brim ; But overflow, and pour me down A living and life-giving stream ! For sure, of all the plants that share The notice of thy Father's eye, Kone proves less grateful to his care. Or yields him meaner fruit than I. LIV. LOYE CONSTRAINING TO OBEDIENCE. No strength of Nature can suffice To serve the Lord aright : And what she has she misapplies, ' For want of clearer liffht. OLNEY HYMNS. 395 How long beneatli the law 1 lay- In bondage and distress ! I toil'd the precept to obey, But toil'd without success. Then, to abstain from outward sin Was more than I could do ; Now, if I feel its power within, I feel I hate it too. Then, all ray servile works were done A righteousness to raise ; Now, freely chosen in the Son, I freely choose his ways. " Wliat shall 1 do," was then the word, ''That I may worthier grow V ''What shall I render to the Lord?" Is my inquiry now. To see the law by Christ fulfilPd, And hear his pardoning voice, Changes a slave into a child,* And duty into choice. LV. THE HEART HEALED AND CHANGED BY MERCY. Sin enslaved me many years, And led me bound and blind ; Till at length a thousand fears Came swarming o'er my mind. " Where," I said, in deep distress, "Will these sinful pleasures end? How shall I secure my peace. And make the Lord my friend?" Friends and ministers said much The Gospel to enforce ; But my blindness still was such I chose a legal course : ' Romans iw. 31. '396 cowper's poetical works. Much I fasted, watch'd, and strove, Scarce would show my face ahroad, Fear'd ahnost to speak or move, A stranger still to God. Thus afraid to trust his grace, Long time did I rebel ; Till, despairing of my case, Down at his feet I fell : Then my stubborn heart he broke, And subdued me to his sway ; By a simple word he spoke, " Thy sins are done away." LVI. HATRED OF SIN. Holy Lord God ! I love thy truth, Nor dare thy least commandment slight ; Yet pierced by sin, the serpent's tooth, I mourn the anguish of the bite. But, though the poison lurks within, Hope bids me still with patience wait ; Till Death shall set me free from sin, Free from the only thing I hate. Had I a throne above the rest, "Where angels and archangels dwell, One sin, unslain, within my breast. Would make that heaven as dark as hell. The prisoner, sent to breathe fresh air. And bless'd Avith liberty again, Would mourn, were he condemned to wear One link of all his former chain. But, oh ! no foe invades the bliss. When glory crowns the Christian's head ; One view of Jesus as he is Will strike all sin forever dead. OLNEY HYMNS. 397 LVII. THE NEW CONVEET.' The new-born child of Gospel grace, Like some fair tree when Summer's nigh, Beneath Emmanuel's shinmg face Lifts up his blooming branch on high. "Ro fears he feels, he sees no foes, Ko conflict yet his faith employs ; Nor has he learnt to whom he owes The strength and peace his soul enjoys. But sin soon darts its cruel sting, And comforts sinking day by day ; "What seem'd his own, a self-fed spring, Proves but a brook that glides away. When Gideon arm'd liis numerous host. The Lord soon made his numbers less ; And said, '' Lest Israel vainly boast,^ ' My arm procured me this success.' " Thus will he bring our spirits down, And draw our ebbing comforts low ; That, saved by grace, but not our own, We may not claim the praise we owe. LVIII. TRUE AND FALSE COMFORTS. O God, whose favorable eye, The sin-sick soul revives, Holy and heavenly is the joy Thy shining presence gives. Not such as hypocrites suppose, AVho with a graceless heart Taste not of thee, but drink a dose Prepared by Satan's art. Intoxicating joys are theirs. Who, while they boast their light, > Judges vii. 2. 34 398 cowper's poetical works. And seem to soar above the stars, Are plunging into night. LiiU'd in a soft and fatal sleep, They sin, and yet rejoice ; Were they indeed the Saviour's sheep, Would they not hear his voice ? Be mine the comforts that reclaim The soul from Satan's power ; That make me blush for what I am, And hate my sin the more. -Tis joy enough, my All in All, At thy dear feet to lie ; Thou wilt not let me lower fall, And none can higher fly. LIX. A LIVING AND A DEAD FAITH. The Lord receives his highest praise From humble minds and hearts sincere ; While all the loud professor says Offends the righteous Judge's ear. To walk as children of the day, To mark the precepts' holy light. To wage the warfare, watch, and pray, Show who are pleasing in his sight. Not words alone it cost the Lord, To purcliase pardon for his own ; Nor will a soul, by grace restored. Return the Saviour words alone. With golden bells, the priestly vest. And rich pomegranates border'd round,* The need of holiness express'd. And call'd for fruit, as well as sound. Easy, indeed, it were to reach A mansion in tlie courts above. If swelling w^ords and fluent speech Might serve, instead of faith and love. 1 Exodus XXV Hi. 33. OL>'EY HYMNS. 399 But none sliall gain the blissful place, Or God's unclouded glory see, Who talks of free and sovereign grace. Unless that grace lias made him free ! — r — LX. ABUSE OF THE GOSPEL. Too many, Lord, abuse thy grace, In this licentious day ; And while they boast they see thy face, They turn their own away. Thy Book displays a gracious light That can the blind restore ; But these are dazzled by the sight, And blinded still the more. The pardon such presume upon. They do not beg, but steal; And when they plead it at thy throne, Oh ! Where's the Spirit's seal ? Was it for this, ye lawless tribe. The dear Redeemer bled ? Is this the grace the saints imbibe From Christ the living head ? Ah, Lord, we know thy chosen few Are fed with heavenly fare ; But these, the wretched husks they chew, • Proclaim them what they are. The liberty our liearts implore Is not to live in sin ; But still to wait at Wisdom's door, Till Mercy calls us in. LXI. THE NARROW WAY. What thousands never knew the road ! What thousands hate it when 'tis known t None but the chosen tribes of God ■Will seek or choose it for their own. 400 cowper's poetical works. A tliousand ways in ruin end, One only leads to joys on high ; By that my willing steps ascend, Pleased with a journey to the sky. No more I ask, or hope to find, Delight or happiness below ; Sorrow may well possess the mind That feeds where thorns and thistles grow. The joy that fades is not for me, I seek immortal joys above ; There glory without end shall be The bright reward of faith and love. Cleave to the world, ye sordid worms, Contented lick your native dust ; But God shall fight with all his storms Against the idol of your trust. LXII. DEPENDENCE. To keep the lamp alive, With oil we fill the bowl ; 'Tis water makes the willow thrive, And grace that feeds the soul. The Lord's unsparing hand Supplies the living stream ; It is not at our own command, But still derived from him. Beware of Peter's word,^ NTor confidently say, "I never will deny thee. Lord," But, ''Grant I never may!" Man's wisdom is to seek His strength in God alone ; And even an angel Avould be weak, Who trusted in his own. Eetreat beneath his wings. And in his grace confide ! 1 Matthew xxvi. 83. OLNEY HYMNS. 401 This more exalts the king of kings^ .Than all your works beside. In Jesus is our store ; Grace issues from his throne ; Whoever says, '^ I want no more," Confesses he has none. LXIII. NOT OF WORKS. Grace, triumphant in the throne, Scorns a rival, reigns alone ; Come and bow beneath her sway^ Cast your idol works away ! Works of man, when made his plea, Never shall accepted be ; Fruits of pride (vain-glorious worm !) Are the best he can perform. Self, the god his soul adores, Influences all his powers ; Jesus is a slighted name. Self-advancement all iiis aim : But when God the Judge shall come, To pronounce the final doom, Then for rocks and hills to hide All his works and all his pride ! Still the boasting heart replies, What ! the worthy and the wise, Friends to temperance and peace, Have not these a righteousness? Banish every vain pretence. Built on human excellence ; Perish every thing in man, But the grace that never can! LXIV. PRAISE FOR FAITH. Of all the gifts thine hand bestows, Thou Giver of all good! 1 John vi. 29. 402 cowper's poetical works. !N'ot heaven itself a richer knows Than my Redeemer's blood. Eaith too, the blood-receiving grace, From the same hand we gain ; Else, sweetly as it suits our case, That gift had been in vain. Till thou thy teaching power apply, Our hearts refuse to see, And weak, as a distemper'd eye, Shut out the view of thee. Blind to the merits of thy Son, What misery we endure ! Yet fly that hand from which alone AVe could expect a cure. We praise thee, and would praise thee more. To thee our all we owe ; The precious Saviour, and the power That makes him precious too. LXV. GRACE AND PROVIDENCE. Almighty King ! whose wondrous liand Supports the weight of sea and land ; Whose grace is such a boundless store, No heart shall break that sighs for more. Thy providence supplies my food. And 'tis thy blessing makes it good ; My soul is nourish'd by tliy Word — Let soul and body praise the Lord ! My streams of outward comfort came From Him who built this earthly frame ; Whate'er I want his bounty gives, By whom my soul forever lives. Either his hand preserves from pain. Or, if I feel it, heals again ; From Satan's malice shields my breast. Or overrules it for the best. OLNEY HYMNS. 403 Forgive the song that falls so low Beneath tlie gratitude I owe ! It means thy praise, however poor ; An angel's song can do no more. LXVI. I WILL PRAISE THE LORD AT ALL TIMES. Winter has a joy for me, While the Saviour's charms I read, Lowly, meek, from blemish free. In the snowdrop's pensive head. Spring returns, and brings along Life-invigorating suns : Hark! the turtle's plaintive song Seems to speak his dying groans ! Summer has a thousand charms, All expressive of his worth ; 'Tis His sun that lights and warms, His the air that cools the earth. What ! has Autumn left to say !N"othing of a Saviour's grace ? Yes, the beams of milder day Tell me of his smiling face. Light appears with early dawn. While the sun makes haste to rise ; See his bleeding beauties drawn On the blushes of the skies. Evening with a silent pace. Slowly moving in the west. Shows an emblem of his grace, Points to an eternal rest. LXVIL LONGING TO BE WITH CHRIST. To Jesus, the Crown of my hope. My soul is in haste to be gone : Oh bear me, ye cherubim, up. And waft me away to his throne ! 404 cowper's poetical works. My Saviour, wliom absent I love, Whom, not having seen, I adore ; Whose name is exalted above All glory, dominion, and power ; Dissolve thou these bonds, that detain My soul from her portion in thee ; Ah, strike off this adamant chain, And make me eternally free ! When that happy era begins. When array'd in thy glories I shine, ISTor grieve any more, by my sins. The bosom on which I recline : Oh, then shall the veil be removed, And round me thy brightness be pour'd; I shall meet Him whom absent I loved, I shall see whom unseen I adored. And then, never more shall the fears, The trials, temptations, and woes, Which darken this valley of tears. Intrude on my blissful repose. Or, if yet remember'd above. Remembrance no sadness shall raise ; They will be but new signs of thy love, IlTew themes for my wonder and praise. Thus the strokes which from sin and from pain Shall set me eternally free. Will but strengthen and rivet the chain Which binds me, my Saviour, to thee. LXVIII. LIGHT SHINING OUT OP DARKNESS. God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform ; He plants his footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm. OLNEY HYMNS. 405 Deep in unfathomable mines Of never-failing skill, He treasures up liis bright designs, And works his sovereign will. Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take, The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head ! Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust him for his grace : Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face. His purposes will ripen fast. Unfolding every hour ; The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower. Blind unbelief is sure to err,* And scan his work in vain : God is his own interpreter. And he will make it plain I J John xiii. T. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. LINES ADDRESSED TO DR. DARWIN, AUTHOR OF "the BOTANIC GARDEX." Two Poets^ (poets, by report, Not oft so well agree), Sweet harmonist of Flora's court! Consi)ire to honor thee. They best can judge a poet's w^ortli, Who oft themselves have known The pangs of a poetic birth By labors of their own. We therefore, pleased, extol thy song, Though various, yet complete, Rich in embellishment as strong. And learned as 'tis sweet. No envy mingles with our praise. Though, could our hearts repine At any poet's happier lays. They Avould — they must at thine. But w^e, in mutual bondage knit Of friendship's closest tie. Can gaze on even Darwin's wit With an unjaundiced eye ; And deem the Bard, whoe'er he be. And howsoever known, Who would not twine a wreath for thee, Unwortliy of his own. ' AUaCing to the poem by Mr. Hayley, ^vhich accompanied these line>. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 407 ON MRS. MONTAGU'S FEATHER-HANGINGS. The Birds put off their every hue To dress a room for Montagu. Tlie Peacock sends bis heavenly dyes, His rainbows and his starry eyes ; The Pheasant plumes, which round infold His mantling neck with downy gold ; The Cock his arch'd tail's azure sboAv; And, river-blanch'd, the Swan his snow. All tribes beside of Indian name, That glossy shine, or vivid flame, AVhere rises, and where sets the day, "Whate'er they boast of rich and gay, Contribute to the gorgeous plan. Proud to advance it all they can. This plumage neither dashing shower. Nor blasts, that shake the dripping bower, Shall drench again or discompose ; But, screen'd from every storm that blows. It boasts a splendor ever new, Safe with protecting Montagu. To the same patroness resort, Secure of favor at her court. Strong Genius, from whose forge of thought Forms rise, to quick perfection wrought, "Which, though new-born, with vigor move, Like Pallas springing arm'd from Jove ; Imagination scattering round "Wild roses over furrow'd ground, "Which Labor of his frown beguile, And teach Philosophy a smile ; "Wit flashing on religion's side, "Whose fires to sacred Truth applied, The gem, though luminous before. Obtrude on human notice more. Like sunbeams on the golden height Of some tall temple playing bright ; "Well-tutor'd Learning, from his books Dismiss'd with grave, not haughty, looks. Their order on his shelves exact. Not more harmonious or compact 408 cowper's poetical works. Tlian that to which he keeps confined The various treasures of his mind ; — All tliese to Montagu's repair, Ambitious of a shelter there. There Genius, Learning, Fancy, Wit, Their ruffled plumage calm refit (For stormy troubles loudest roar Around their flight who highest soar). And in lier eye, and by her aid. Shine safe without a fear to fade. She thus maintains divided sway With yon bright^regent of the day: The Plume and Poet both we know Their lustre to his influence owe ; And she the works of Phoebus aiding, Both Poet saves and Plume from fading ON THE DEATH OF MRS. (AFTERWARDS LADY) THROCKMORTON'S BULLFINCH. Ye Nymphs ! if e'er your eyes were red With tears o'er hapless favorites shed, Oh share Maria's grief! Her favorite, even in his cage, (What will not hunger's cruel rage ?^) Assassin'd by a thief. y Where Rhenus strays his vines among. The egg was laid from which he sprung ; And, though by nature mute, Or only with a whistle blest, J AVell taught he all the sounds express'd Of flageolet or flute. The honors of his ebon poll Were brighter than the sleekest mole ; His bosom of the hue With which Aurora decks the skies, When piping winds shall soon arise, To sweep away the dew. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 409 Above, below, in all the house, Dire foe alike of bird and mouse, No cat had leave to dwell ; And Bully's cage supported stood On props of smoothest shaven wood, Large-built and latticed well. . v/ Well latticed — but the grate, alas ! 'Not rougli witli wire of steel or brass, For Bully's plumage sake, But smooth with wands from Ouse's side, "With which, when neatly peel'd and dried, The swarn^Uheir bask^ make. ISTight veil'd the pole : all seem'd secure : "When, led by instinct sharp and sure, Subsistence to provide, A beast fortli sallied on the scout. Long back'd, long tail'd, with whisker'd snout, And badger-color'd hide. lie, entering at the study door, Its ample area 'gan explore ; And something in the wind Conjectured, sniffing round and round. Better tlian all the books he found, Food chiefly for the mind. Just then, by adverse fate impress'd, A dream disturb'd poor Bully's rest; In sleep he seem'd to view A rat fast clinging to the cage. And, screaming at the sad'^resage, Awoke and found it true. For, aided both by ear and scent. Right to his mark the monster went- — Ah, Muse ! forbear to speak Minute the horrors that ensued ; y His teeth were strong, the cage was jx^od*^ He left poor Bully's beak. Oh, had he made that too his prey ; That beak, whence issued many a lay Of such mellifluous tone, 35 y 410 cowper's poetical works. Might have repaid him well, I wot, For silencing so sweet a throat, Fast stuck within his own. Maria weeps — the Muses mourn : ^ So when, by Bacchanalians torn, On Thracian Hebrus' side The tree-enchanter Orpheus fell ; His head alone remain'd to tell The cruel death he died. THE ROSE. The rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a shower, Which Mary to Anna convey'd ; The plentiful moisture encumberVl the flower, And weigh'd down its beautiful head. The cup was all filPd, and tlie leaves were all wet. And it seem'd, to a f^mciful view, To weep for the buds it had left, with regret. On the flourishing bush where it grew. 1 hastily seized it, unfit as it was For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd, And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas ! I snapp'd it — it fell to the ground. And such, I exclaimed, is the pitiless part Some act by the delicate mind, Kegardless of wringing and breaking a heart Already to sorrow resign^. This elegant rose, had I shaken it less. Might have bloomed with its owner awhile; And the tear, that is wiped with a little address, May be followed perhaps by a smile. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 411 ODE TO APOLLO. ON AX INKGLASS ALMOST DRIED IN THE SUN. Patron of all those luckless brains, That, to the wrong side leaning. Indite much metre with much pains, And little or no meaning ; Ah why, since oceans, rivers, streams, That water all the nations. Pay tribute to thy glorious beams, In constant exhalations ; Why, stooping from the noon of day, Too covetous of drink, Apollo, hast thou stolen away A poet's drop of ink ? Upborne into the viewless air, It floats a vapor now, Impell'd through regions dense and rare. By all the winds that blow. Ordain'd perhaps, ere summer flies, Combined with millions more, To form an Iris in the skies, • Though black and foul before. Illustrious drop ! and happy then Beyond the happiest lot, Of all that ever passVl my pen. So soon to be forgot ! Phoibus, if such be thy design, ^ To place it in thy bow, Give wit, that what is left may shine With equal -grace below. THE POET'S new-year's GIFT. TO MRS. (afterwards LADY) THROCKMORTON. Maria ! I have every good For thee wish'd many a time. 412 cowper's poetical works. Both sad, and in a cheerful mood, But never yet in rhyme. To wish thee fairer is no need, More prudent, or more sprightly, Or more ingenious, or more freed From temper-flaws unsightly. "What favor then not yet possessed Can I for thee require, In wedded love already blest. To thy whole heart's desire ? None here is happy but in part ; Full bliss is bliss divine ; There dwells some wish in every heart, And doubtless one in thine. That wish on some fair future day, Which fate shall brightly gild ('Tis blameless, be it what it may), I wish it all fulfilPd. PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED. A FABLE. I SHALL not ask Jean Jaques Rousseau' If birds confabulate or no ; 'Tis clear, that they were always able To hold discourse, at least in fable ; And even the child, who knows no better Than to interpret, by the letter, A story o£ a cock and bull. Must have a most uncommon skull. It chanced then on a winter's day, But warm, and bright, and calm as May, The birds, conceiving a design To forestall sweet St. Valentine, In many an orchard, copse, and grove, Assembled on affairs of love, 1 It was one of the whiniBical speculations of this philosopher, that all fables which ascribe reason and speech to animals should be withheld from thildrcn, as being only vehicles of deception. But what child M'as ever do* ceivcd by them, or can be, against the evidence of his senses? MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 413 And with nmcli twitter and much chatter Began to agitate the matter. At length a Bullfinch, who could boast More years and wisdom than the most, Entreated, opening wide his beak, A moment's liberty to speak ; And, silence publicly enjoin'd, DeliverVl briefly thus his mind : — My friends ! be cautious how ye treat The subject upon which we meet; I fear w^e shall have winter yet. A Finch, whose tongue knew no control, With golden wing and satin poll, A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried AVhat marriage means, thus pert replied : — Methinks the gentleman, quoth she, Opposite in the apple-tree. By his good-will would keep us single Till yonder heaven and earth shall mingle, Or (which is likelier to befall) Till death exterminate us all. I marry without more ado. My dear Dick Redcap, what say you? Dick heard, and tweedling, oghng, bridling, Turning short round, strutting and sidleing, Attested, glad, his approbation Of an immediate conjugation. Their sentiments so well express'd Influenced mightily the rest ; All pair'd, and each pair built a nest. But, though the birds were thus in haste, The leaves came on not quite so fast ; And Destiny, that sometimes bears An aspect stern on man's affairs, ITot altogether smiled on theirs. The wind, of late breathed gently forth, ISTow shifted east, and east by north. Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know, Could shelter them from rain or snow : Stepping into their nests, they paddled. Themselves were chill'd, their eggs w^ere addled. Soon every father bird and mother Grew quarrelsome, and .peck'd each other, 414 cowper's poetical works. Parted without the least regret, Except that they had ever met, And learn'd in future to be wiser, Than to neglect a good adviser. MORAL. Misses ! the tale that I relate This lesson seems to carry — Choose not alone a proper mate, But proper time to marry. THE DOG AND THE WATER LILY. NO FABLE. The noon was shady, and soft airs Swept Ouse's silent tide, ^ When, 'scaped from literary cares, 1 wander'd on his side. My spaniel, prettiest of his race. And high in pedigree (Two I^Tymphs^ adorn'd with every grace That spaniel found for me), ' IRow wanton'd lost in flags and reeds, j l!Tow starting into sight. Pursued the swallow o'er tlie meads "With scarce a slower flight. It was the time when Ouse displayed His lilies newly blown ; j Tlieir beauties I intent survey'd. And one I wish'd my own. With cane extended far I sought J To steer it close to land ; But still the prize, though nearly caught, Escaped my eager hand. Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains J With fix'd considerate face. And puzzling set his puppy brains To comprehend the case. J Sir Eobert Gunnings daughters. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 415 But with a cherup clear and strong Dispersing all his dream, I thence withdrew, and follow'd long The windings of the stream. My ramble ended, I return'd ; Beau, trotting far before. The floating wreath again discerned, And plunging, left the shore. I saw him with that lily cropped Impatient swim to meet My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd The treasure at my feet. Oharm'd with the sight. The world, I cried, Shall hear of this thy deed : My dog shall mortify the pride Of man's superior breed : But chief myself I will enjoin, Awake at duty's call. To show a love as prompt as thine To Him who gives me all. y THE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT. FoECED from home and all its pleasures, Afric's coast I left forlorn ; To increase a stranger's treasures, , O'er the raging billows borne. / Men from England bought and sold me. Paid my price in paltry gold ; But, though slave they have enroll'd me. Minds are never to be sold, yj Still in thought as free as ever, What are England's riglits, I ask. Me from my delights to sever, I Me to torture, me to task ? Fleecy locks and black complexion , Cannot forfeit Nature's claim ; Skins may differ, but affection ^J Dwells in white and black the same. 416 cowper's poetical works. Why did all-creating Nature Make the plant for which we toil ? Sighs must fan it, tears must water, Sweat of ours must dr6ss the soil. Think, ye masters iron-hearted. Lolling at your jovial b'oards, / Think how many backs have smarte^ For the sweets your cane affords. Is there, as ye sometimes tell us, Is there One who reigns on high ? Has He bid you buy and sell us. Speaking from his throne, the sky ? Ask Him, if your knotted scourges, Matches, blood-extorting screws, Are the means that duty urges Agents of his will to use ? Hark ! He answers ! — Wild tornadoes, Strewing yonder sea with wrecks ; Wasting towns, plantations, meadows, Are the voice with which he speaks. He, foreseeing what vexations Afric's sons should undergo, Fix'd their tyrants' habitations Where his whirlwinds answer — No. By our blood in Afric wasted. Ere our necks received the chain : By the miseries that we tasted. Crossing in your barks tlie main ; By our sufferings, since ye brought us To the man-degrading mart, All sustain'd by i)atience, taught us Only by a broken heart ; — Deem our nation brutes no longer, Till some reason ye shall find Worthier of regard, and stronger Than the color of our kind. Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings Tarnish all your boasted powers, \ Prove that you have human feelings,'^ Ere you proudly question ours ! MISCELLANEOUS TOEMS. 417 PITY FOR POOR AFRICANS. Video meliora proboque, Deteriora sequor. I OWN I am sliockVI at the purchase of slaves, And fear those who buy them and sell tliem are knaves ; What I hear of their hardships, their tortures, and groans, Is almost enough to draw pity from stones. I pity them greatly, but I must be mum, For how could we do without sugar and rum ? Especially sugar, so needful w^e see ? — What ! give up our desserts, our coffee, and tea ! Besides, if we do, the French, Dutch, and Danes, Will heartily thank us, no doubt, for our pains ; If we do not buy the poor creatures, they will. And tortures and groans will be multiplied still. If foreigners likewise would give up the trade, Much more in behalf of your wish might be said ; But, while they get riches by purchasing blacks, Pray tell me why we may not also go snacks. Your scruples and arguments bring to my mmd A story so pat, you may think it is coinVh^ On purpose to answer you, out of my mint ; But I can assure you I saw it in print. A youngster at school, more sedate than the rest, Had once his integrity put to the test ; His comrades had plotted an orchard to rob. And ask'd him to go and assist in the job. He was shock'd, sir, like*you, and answer'd, " Oh, no ! What ! rob our good neiglibor ! I pray you, don't go ; Besides, the man's poor, his orchard's his bread. Then think of his children, for they must be fed-'* " Y"ou speak very fine, and you look very grave, But apples we want, and apples we'll have ; If you will go with us, you shall have a share, If not, you shall have neither apple nor pear." 418 cowper's poetical works. They spoke, and Tom ponderM — "I see they Avill go; Poor man ! what a pity to injm*e him so ! Poor man ! I would save him his fruit if I could, But staying behind will do him no good. " If the matter depended alone upon me. His apples might hang till they dropp'd from the tree ; But, since they will take them, I think Pll go too. He will lose none by me, though I get a few." His scruples thus silenced, Tom felt more at ease, And went with his comrades the apples to seize ; He blamed and protested, but join-d in the plan: He shared in the plunder, but pitied the man. THE MORNING DREAM. 'TwAS in the glad season of spring, Asleep at the dawn of the day, I dreamed what I cannot but sing, So pleasant it seem'd as I lay. I dream'd that, on ocean afloat. Far hence to the westward I snilVl, "While the billows high lifted the boat, And the fresh-blowing breeze never fail'd. In the steerage a woman I saw. Such at least was the form that she wore, Whose beauty impress'd me with awe, Ne'er taught me by woman before. She sat, and a shield at her side Shed light, like a sun on the waves, . And smiling divinely, she cried — " I go to make freemen of slaves !" Then, raising her voice to a strain The sweetest that ear ever heard, She sung of the slave's broken chain, Wherever her glory appear'd. Some clouds, which had over us hung, Pled, chased by her melody clear. And methought while she liberty sung, 'Twas liberty only to hear. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 419 Thus swiftly dividing the flood, To a slave-cultnred island we came, Where a Demon, her enemy, stood — Oppression his terrible name. In his hand, as the sign of his sway, A scourge hung with lashes he bore, And stood looking out for his prey From Africa's sorrowful shore. But soon as, approaching the land, That goddess-like woman he view'd, The scourge he let fall from his hand. With blood of his subjects imbrued. I saw him both sicken and die. And, the moment the monster expired, Heard shouts, that ascended the sky. From thousands with rapture inspired. Awaking, how could I but muse At what such a dream should betide ? But soon my ear caught the glad news. Which served my weak thought for a guide, — That Britannia, renown'd o'er the waves For the hatred she ever has shown To the black-sceptred rulers of slaves, Resolves to have none of her own. AN EPISTLE TO AN AFFLICTED PROTESTANT LADY IN FRANCE. Madam, — A stranger's purpose in these lays Is to congratulate, and not to praise. To give the creature the Creator's due AVere sin in me, and an offence to you. From man to man, or even to woman paid, Praise is the medium of a knavish trade ; A coin by craft for Folly's use design'd, Spurious, and only current with the blind. The path of sorrow, and that path alone, Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown; No traveller ever reach'd that blest abode, Wlio found not thorns and briers in his road. 420 cowper's poetical works. The world may dance along the flowery plain, Cheer'd as they go by many a sprightly strain, Where Nature has her mossy velvet spread, "With unshoc«l feet they yet securely tread ; Admonish'd, scorn the caution and the friend, Bent all on pleasure, heedless of its end. But He, who knew what human hearts would prove How slow to learn the dictates of his love, That, hard by nature, and of stubborn will, A life of ease would make them harder still, In pity to tlie souls his grace designed To rescue from the ruins of mankind, Caird for a cloud to darken all their years. And said, '' Go, spend them in the vale of tears." O balmy gales of soul-reviving air ! O salutary streams, that murmur there! These flowing from the fount of grace above. Those breathed from lips of everlasting love. The flinty soil indeed their feet annoys ; Chill blasts of trouble nip their springing joys ; An envious world Avill interpose its frown. To mar delights superior to its own ; And many a pang, experienced still within, Reminds them of their hated inmate, Sin : But ills of every shape and every name, Transform'd to blessings, miss their cruel aim : And every moment's calm, that soothes the breast, Is given in earnest of eternal rest. Ah, be not sad, although thy lot be cast Far from the flock, and in a boundless waste ! No shepherd's tents within thy view appear. But the Chief Shepherd even there is near ; Thy tender sorrows and thy plaintive strain Flow in a foreign land, but not in vain ; Thy tears all issue from a source divine. And every drop bespeaks a Saviour thine — So once in Gideon's fleece the dews were found, And drought on all the drooping herbs around. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 421 CATHARINA. ADDRESSED TO MISS STAPLETON (AFTERWARDS MRS. COURTENAY). She came — she is gone — we have met — And meet perhaps never again ; The sun of that moment is set, And seems to have risen in vain. Catharina has fled like a dream (So vanishes pleasure, alas!) — But has left a regret and esteem That Avill not so suddenly pass. The last evening ramble we made, Catharina, Maria, and I, Our progress was often delayed By the nightingale warbling nigh. We paused under many a tree. And much she w^as charm'd with a tone, Less sweet to Maria and me, "Who so lately had witness'd her own. My numbers that day she had sung, And gave them a grace so divine, As only her musical tongue Could infuse into numbers of mine. The longer I heard, I esteemed The work of my fancy the more, And even to myself never seem'd So tuneful a poet before. Though the pleasures of London exceed In number the days of the year, Catharina, did nothing impede. Would feel herself happier here ; For the close-woven arches of limes On the banks of our river, I know, Are sweeter to her many times ' Than auglit that the city can show. So it is when the mind is endued With a well-judging taste from above ; Then, whether embellish'd or rude, 'Tis Nature alone that we love. 36 422 cowper's poetical works. The achievements of Art may amuse, May even our wonder excite ; But gix)ves, hills, and valleys diffuse A lasting, a sacred delight. Since then in the rural recess Catharina alone can rejoice. May it still be her lot to possess The scene of her sensible choice ! To inhabit a mansion remote From the clatter of street-pacing steeds, And by Philomel's annual note To measure the life that she leads. "With her book, and her voice, and her lyre, To wing all her moments at home ; And with scenes that new rapture inspire, As oft as it suits her to roam ; She will have just the life she prefers, With little to hope or to fear, And ours would be pleasant as hers, • Might we view her enjoying it here. CATPIARINA. THE SECOND PART. ON HER MARRIAGE TO GEORGE COURTENAY, ESQ. Believe it or not, as you choose. The doctrine is certainly true. That the future is known to the Muse, And poets are oracles too. I did but express a desire To see Catharina at home. At the side of my friend George's fire, And lo! — she is actually come! Such prophecy some may despise, But the wish of a poet and friend Perhaps is approved in the skies. And therefore attains to its end. 'Twas a wish that flew ardently forth From a bosom effectually warm'd i With the talents, the graces, and worth, Of the person for whom it was form'd. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 423 Maria^ would leave us, I knew, To the grief and regret of us all, But less to our grief, could we view Oatharina the Queen of the Hall. And therefore I wish'd as I did. And therefore this union of hands : I^ot a whisper was heard to forbid, But all cry — Amen — to the bans. Since, therefore, I seem to incur No danger of wishing in vain When making good wishes for her, I will e'en to my wishes again ;— AVith one I have made her a wife, And now I will try with another. Which I cannot suppress for my life — How soon I can make her a mother. June, 1792. THE MOIlx\LIZER CORRECTED.— A TALE. A HERMIT (or if 'chance you hold That title now too trite and old), A man, once young, who lived retired As hermit could have well desired, His hours of study closed at last. And finish'd his concise repast, Stoppled his cruse, replaced his book Within its customary nook, And, staff in hand, set forth to share The sober cordial of sw^eet air. Like Isaac, with a mind applied To serious tliought at evening-tide. Autumnal rains had made it chill. And from the trees, that fringed his hill, Shades slanting at the close of day, Chill'd more his else delightful way. Distant a little mile he spied A w^estern bank's still sunny side. And riglit toward the favor'd plac^ Proceeding with his nimblest pace, 1 Lady Throckmorton. 424 cowper's poetical works. In hope to bask a little yet, Just reacli'd it when tlie sun was set. Your hermit, young and jovial sirs! Learns something from whatever occurs- And hence, he said, my mind computes The real worth of man's pursuits. His object chosen, wealth or fame, Or other sublunary game. Imagination to his view Presents it deck'd with every hue, That can deduce him not to spare His powers of best exertion there. But youth, health, vigor to expend On so desirable an end. Ere long approach life's evening shades, The glow that fancy gave it fades ; And, earn'd too late, it Avants the grace That first engaged him in the chase. True, answer'd an angelic guide, Attendant at the senior's side — . But whether all the time it cost To urge the fruitless chase be lost, Must be decided by the worth Of tliat which call'd his ardor forth. Trifles pursued, whate'er the event. Must cause him shame or discontent ; A vicious object still is worse. Successful there, he wins a curse ; But he, whom even in life's last stage Endeavors laudable engage. Is paid at least in peace of mind. And sense of having well design'd ; And if, ere he attain his end, His sun precipitate descend, A brighter prize than that he meant Shall recompense his mere intent. jN"o virtuous wish can bear a date Either too early or too late. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 425 THE FAITHFUL BIRD. The greenhouse is my summer seat ; My siirubs displaced from that retreat Enjoy'd the open air ; Two goldfinches, whose sprightly song Had been their mutual solace long, Lived happy prisoners there. They sang as blithe as finches sing, That flutter loose on golden w^ing, And frolic w^here they list ; Strangers to liberty, 'tis true. But that delight they never knew, And therefore never miss'd. But N'ature works in every breast, With force not easily suppressed ; And Dick felt some desires, That, after many an effort vain, Instructed him at length to gain A pass between his w^ires. The open windows seem'd to invite The freeman to a farewell flight ; But Tom was still confined : And Dick, although his w^ay was clear, Was much too generous and sincere To leave his friend behind. So settling on his cage, by play. And chirp, and kiss, he seem'd to say^ You must not live alone : Nor would he quit that chosen stand Till I, with slow and cautious hand, Keturn'd him to his own. O ye, who never taste the joys Of friendship, satisfied with noise, Fandango, ball, and rout ! Blush when I tell you how a bird A prison with a friend preferr'd To liberty without. 426 cowper's poetical works. THE NEEDLESS ALARM. There is a field, tliroiigh which I often pass, Thick overspread with moss and silky grass, Adjoining close to Kilwick's echoing wood, "Where oft the bitch-fox hides her hapless brood, Keserved to solace many a neighboring squire, That he may follow them through brake and brier, Contusion hazarding of neck, or spine, Which rural gentlemen call sport divine. "^ A narrow brook, by rushy banks conceaPd, Runs in a bottom, and divides the field ; Oaks intersperse it, that had once a head. But now wear crests of oven- wood instead ; And where the land slopes to its watery bourn Wide yawns a gulf beside a ragged thorn ; Bricks line the sides, but shiver'd long ago, And horrid brambles intertwine below ; •A hollow scoop'd, I judge, in ancient time. For baking earth, or burning rock to lime. Not yet the hawthorn bore her berries red. With which the fieldfare, wintry guest, is fed ; Nor Autumn yet had brush'd from every spray, With her chill hand, the mellow leaves away ; But corn was housed, and beans were in the stack. Now therefore issued forth the spotted pack, AVith tails high mounted, ears hung low, and throats With a whole gamut fiU'd of heavenly notes. For which, alas ! my destiny severe, Though ears she gave me two, gave me no ear. The sun, accomplishing his early march. His lamp now planted on Heaven's topmost arch. When, exercise and air my only aim. And heedless whither, to that field I came, Ere yet with ruthless joy the happy hound Told hill and dale that Reynard's track was found. Or with the high-raised horn's melodious clang • All Kilwick and all Dinglederry^ rang. ^"Kilwick" and " Dingledeny :" two woods belonging to John Throck- morton, Esq. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 427 Sheep grazed the iiehl : some with soft bosom prcss'd The herb as soft, while nibbHng stray'd the rest; Nor noise was heard but of the hasty brook, Struggling, detain'd in many a petty nook. All seem'd so peaceful, that, from them convey'd, To me their peace by kind contagion spread. But when the huntsman, with distended cheek, 'Gan make his instrument of music speak. And from within the wood that crash was heard. Though not a hound from Avhom it burst appear'd, The sheep recumbent and the sheep that grazed, All huddling into phalanx, stood and gazed, Admiring, terrified, the novel strain. Then coursed the field around, and coursed it round again; But recollecting, with a sudden thought. That flight in circles urged advanced them naught, They gather'd close around the old pit's brink, And thought again — but knew not wiiat to think. The man to solitude accustomed long. Perceives in every thing that lives a tongue ; . N"ot animals alone, but shrubs and trees Have speech for him, and understood with ease ; After long drought, when rains abundant fall, He hears the herbs and flowers rejoicing all ; Knows what the freshness of their hue implies, How glad they catch the largess of tlie skies; But, with precision nicer still, the mind He scans of every locomotive kind ; Birds of all feather, beasts of every name, That serve mankind, or shun them, wild or tame ; The looks and gestures of their griefs and fears Have all articulation in his ears ; He spells them true by intuition's light. And needs no glossary to set him riglit. This truth premised was needful as a text, To win due credence to what follows next. Awhile they mused ; surveying every face. Thou hadst supposed them of superior race ; Their periwigs of wool and fears combined, Stamp'd on each countenance such marks of mind, That sage they seem'd, as lawyers o'er a doubt, Which, puzzling long, at last they puzzle out ; Or academic tutors, teaching youths, 428 cowper's poetical works. Sure ne'er to want tlieni, matliematic truths ; When thus a mutton statelier than the rest, A ram, the ewes and wethers sad address'd : Friends ! we have lived too long. I never heard Sounds such as these, so worthy to be fear'd. Could I believe tliat winds for ages pent In earth's dark womb have found at last a vent, And from tlieir prison-house beloAv arise, "With all these hideous howhngs to the skies, I could be much composed, nor should appear, For such a cause to feel the slightest fear. Yourselves liave seen, what time the thunders roll'd All night, me resting quiet in the fold. Or heard Ave that tremendous bray alone, I could expound the melancholy tone ; Should deem it by our old companion made. The ass; for he, Ave knoAV, has lately stray'd. And, being lost, perhaps, and Avandering Avide, Might be supposed to clamor for a guide. But ah ! those dreadful yells Avhat soul can hear, That OAvns a carcase, and not quake for fear ? Demons produce them doubtless, brazen-claAv'd And fang'd Avitli brass the Demons are abroad ; 1 hold it therefore Avisest and most fit That, life to save, wo leap into the pit. Ilim answer'd then his loving mate and true, But more discreet than he, a Cambrian ewe. How ! leap into the pit our life to save ? To save our life leap all into the graA^e ? For can AA^e find it less? Contemplate first The depth hoAV awful ! falling there, Ave burst : Or should the brambles, interposed, our fall In part abate, that happiness Avere small; For with a race like theirs no chance I see Of peace or ease to creatures clad as Ave. Meantime, noise kills not. . Be it Dapple's bray. Or be it not, or be it Avhose it may, And rush those other sounds, that seem by tongues Of Demons utter'd, from Avhatever lungs ; Sounds are but sounds, and, till the cause appear, AVe liaA^e at least commodious standing here ; Come fiend, come fury, giant, monster, blast From earth or hell, Ave can but i^luuge at last. 430 cowper's poetical works. Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, Wretch even then, life's journey just begun ? J Perliaps tliou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss ; Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — Ah, that maternal smile! it answers — Yes. I heard the bell toll'd on thy burial day, I saw the hearse that bore tliee slow away. And turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! , But was it such ? — It was. — Where thou art gone, Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. ^ May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore. The parting Avord shall pass my lips no more ! Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern, Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. What ardently I wish'd, I long believed, And, disappointed still, was still deceived : By expectation every day beguiled. Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went. Till, all my stock of infant sorrows spent, I learn'd at last submission to my lot. But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot. AVhere once we dwelt our name isdieard no more. Children not thine have trod my nursery floor ; And where the gardener Robin, day by day. Drew me to school along the public way. Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapp'd In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capp'd, 'Tis now become a history little known. That once we call'd the pastoral liouse our owill Short-lived possession ! but the record fair, J That memory keeps of all thy kindness tliere, Still outlives many a storm, that lias effiiced A thousand other themes less deeply traced. Thy nightly visits to my chamber made. That thou mightst know me safe and warmly laid ; Thy morning bounties ere I left my home, Tlie biscuit or confectionery plum ; The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestow'd By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and\glow'd : All this, and more endearing still than all, - \ Thy constant flow of love that knew no fall^ MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 431 l^e'er rouglien'd by tliose cataracts and breaks That humor interposed too often makes ; All this still legible in memory's page, And still to be so to my latest age, • Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay Sjich4i-twK>iv^.Ui -tliee as my numbers may_; .JEei:l4Apo a iViiii inouiorial, but siacare,^ ^ .JN".Qt.sconr(l ill licaveu, tlK)ugli.]jttle nQtjc§.i here.^ Could Time, his flight reversed, restore the hours, When, ])laying with thy vesture's tissued tlowers. The violet, the pink, and jessamine, I prick'd them into paper with a pin (x\nd thou wast happier than myself the while, Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile), — Could those few pleasant days again appear. Might one wish bring them, w^ould 1 wish them here ? I would not trust my heart — the dear delight Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might. — But no — what here we coll our life is such. So little to be loved, and thou so much. That I should ill requite thee to constrain Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coasi / (The storms all weather'd and the ocean cross'o), Shoots into port at some well^haven'd isle Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile, There sits quiescent on the floods, that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below, While airs impregnated wuth incense play ,^^y, Around her, fanning light her streamers gay; So thou, with sails h ow^ s w[fy_ ha§l-X£XLck'.d.ili£..&lipre^^ " Where tempests never T^eat nor billows roar ;"^^ And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide Of life, long since has anchor'd by thy side. Bat me, scarce hoping to attain that rest. Always from port withheld, always distressed — Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-toss'd, / Sails ripp'd, seams opening wide, and compass lost, And day by day sonu? current's thwarting force Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. But oil, the thought, that thou art safe, and helj] That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. /; 1 Garth. 432 cowper's poetical wopcKS. My boast is not that I deduce my birth From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth; But higher far my proud pretensions rise — "*• — ^he son of parents pass'd into the skies. And now, farewell — Time unrevoked has run His wonted course, yet what I wish'd is done. By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again; ffo have renew'd the joys that once were mine, ^•^fWithout the sin of violating thine ; And, while the wings of fancy still are free, And 1 can view this mimic show of thee, Time has but half succeeded in his theft — v/ Thyself removed, thy i)ower to soothe me left. FRIENDSHIP. 1782. Amicitia nisi inter bonos esse non potest.— Cicero, "What virtue, or Avhat mental grace, But men unqualified and base Will boast it their possession ? Profusion apes the noble part Of liberality of heart. And dullness of discretion. If every polish'd gem we lind, Illuminating heart or miiul, Provoke to imitation ; Ko wonder friendship does the same, That jewel of the purest flame, Or rather constellation. No knave but boldly will pretend The requisites that form a friend, A real and a sound one ; Nor any fool, he would deceive, But prove as ready to believe^ And dream tjiat he had found one. Candid, and generous, and just. Boys care but little whom they trust, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 433 An error soon corrected — For wlio but learns in riper years That man, wlien sniootliest lie appears, Is most to be suspected ? But here again a danger lies, Lest, having misapplied our eyes, And taken trash for treasure, We should unwarily conclucle Friendship a false ideal good, A mere Utopian pleasure. An acquisition rather rare Is yet no subject of despair; ' Sfor is it wise complaining. If, either on forbidden ground, Or where it was not to be found, We sought without attaining. 'No friendship will abide the test, That stands on sordid interest. Or mean self-love erected ; Nor such as may awhile subsist Between the sot and sensualist. For vicious ends connected. Who geeks a friend should come disposed To exhibit, in full bloom disclosed, The graces and the beauties That form the character he seeks ; For 'tis a union that bespeaks Reciprocated duties. Mutual attention is implied, And equal trutli on either side, And constantly supported ; 'Tis senseless arrogance to accuse Another of sinister views, Our own as much distorted. But will sincerity suffice ? It is indeed above all price. And must be made the basis ; But every virtue of the soul Must constitute the charming whole, All shining in their places. 37 434 cowper's foetical works. A fretful temper will divide The closest knot that may be tied, By ceaseless sharp corrosion ; A temper passionate and fierce May suddenly your joys disperse At one immense explosion. In vain the talkative unite In hopes of permanent delight : The secret just committed, Forgetting its important weight, They drop through mere desire to prate, And by themselves outwitted. * - How bright soe'er the prospect seems, All thoughts of friendship are but dreams, If envy chance to creep in ; An envious man, if you succeed, May ]3rove a dangerous foe indeed, But not a friend worth keeping. As envy pines at good possess'd, So jealousy looks forth distress'd On good that seems approaching ; And, if success his steps attend. Discerns a rival in a friend. And hates him for encroaching. Hence authors of illustrious name, Unless belied by common fame, Are sadly prone to quarrel ; To deem the wit a friend displays A tax upon their own just praise, And pluck each other's laurel. A man renown'd for repartee Will seldom scruple to make free With friendship's finest feeling ; Will thrust a dagger at your breast, And say he wounded you in jest, By way of balm for healing. Whoever keeps an open ear For tattlers, will be sure to hear . The trumpet of contention ; MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 435 Aspersion is tlie babbler's trade, To listen is to lend him aid, And rush into dissension. A friendship that in frequent fits Of controversial rage emits The sparks of disputation, Like hand-in-hand insurance-plates, Most unavoidably creates, The thought of conflagration. Some fickle creatures boast a soul True as a needle to the pole. Their humor yet so various : They manifest their whole life through The needle's deviations too, Their love is so precarious. The great and small but rarely meet On terms of amity complete ; Plebeians must surrender, And yield so much to noble folk, It is combining fire with smoke. Obscurity with splendor. Some are so placid and serene (x\s Irish bogs are always green), They sleep secure from waking; And are indeed a bog, that bears Your unparticipated cares Unmoved and without quaking. Courtier and patriot cannot mix Their heterogeneous politics Without an efiervescence, — Like that of salts with lemon juice, "Which does not yet like that produce A friendly coalescence. Religion should extinguish strife, And make a calm of human life ; But friends that chance to differ On points which God has left at large, How freely will they meet and charge! No combatants are stiffer. 436 cowper's poetical works. To prove at last my main intent Needs no expense of argument, No cutting and contriving — Seeking a real friend, we seem To adopt the chemist's golden dream, With still less hope of thriving. Sometimes the fault is all our own. Some blemish in due time made known By trespass or omission ; Sometimes occasion brings to light Our friend's defect, long hid from ^ght And even from suspicion. Then judge yourself, and prove your man As circumspectly as you can, And, having made election. Beware no negligence of yours, Such as a friend but ill endures, Enfeeble his affection. That secrets are a sacred trust. That friends should be sincere and just, That constancy befits them — Are observations on the case, That savor much of commonplace, And all the world admits them. But 'tis not timber, lead, and stone. An architect requires alone To finish a fine building — The palace were but half complete, If he could possibly forget The carving and the gilding. The man that hails you Tom or Jack, And proves by thumps upon your back How he esteems your merit. Is such a friend, that one had need Be very much his friend indeed To pardon or to bear it. As similarity of mind. Or something not to be defined, First fixes our attention ; MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 437 * So manners decent and polite, The same we practised at first sight, Must save it from declension. Some act upon this prudent plan, *'Say little, and hear all you can;" Safe policy, but hateful : So barren sands imbibe the shower, But render neither fruit nor flower, Unpleasant and ungrateful. The man I trust, if shy to me. Shall find me as reserved as he, No subterfuge or pleading Shall win my confidence again ; I will by no means entertain A spy on my proceeding. These samples — for, alas ! at last These are but samples, and a taste Of evils yet unmention'd — May prove the task a task indeed, In which 'tis much if we succeed, However well intentionVI. Pursue the search, and you will find Good sense and knowledge of mankind To be at least expedient. And,, after summing all the rest, Rehgion ruling in the breast A principal ingredient. The noblest Friendship ever shown The Saviour's history makes known. Though some have turn'd and turn'd it; And, whether being crazed or blind, Or seeking with a bias'd mind, Have not, it seems, discerned it. O Friendship ! if my soul forego Thy dear delights while here below, To mortify and grieve me. May 1 myself at last appear Unworthy, base, and insincere. Or may my friend deceive me ! 438 COWPERS POETICAL WORKS. « ON A MISCHIEVOUS BULL WHICH THE OWNER OF HIM SOLD AT THE AUTHOR's INSTANCE. Go ! thou art all unfit to share The pleasures of this place, With such as its old tenants are, Creatures of gentler race. The squirrel here his hoard provides. Aware of wintry storms ; ^ And woodpeckers explore the sides Of rugged oaks for worms. The sheep here smooths the knotted thorn With frictions of her fleece ; And here I wander eve and morn, Like her, a friend to peace. Ah ! — I could pity thee exiled From this secure retreat — I would not lose it to be styled The happiest of the great. But thou canst taste no calm delight ; Thy pleasure is to show Thy magnanimity in fight, Thy prowess — therefore, go ! I care not whether east or north. So I no more may find thee ; The angry Muse thus sings thee forth, And claps the gate behind thee. ANNUS MEMORABILIS, 1789. WEITTEN IN COMMEMORATION OF IIIS MAJESTt's HAPPY RECOVERY. I RANSACKED for a theme of song. Much ancient chronicle, and long ; I read of bright embattled fields, Of trophied helmets, spears, and shields, Of chiefs, whose single arm could boast . MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 439 Prowess to dissipate a host ; Through tomes of fable and of dream I sought an eligible theme, But none I found, or found them shared Already by some happier bard. To modern times, with truth to guide My busy search, I next applied ; Here cities won, and fleets dispersed, Urged loud a claim to be rehearsed. Deeds of unperishing renown. Our fathers' triumphs and our OAvn. Thus as the bee, from bank to bower, Assiduous sips at every flower, But rests on none till that be found Where most nectareous sweets abound, So I, from theme to theme display'd In many a page historic, stray'd. Siege after siege, fight after fight. Contemplating with small delight (For feats of sanguinary hue STot always glitter in my view). Till, settling on the current year, I found the far-sought treasure near, A theme for poetry divine, A theme to ennoble even mine. In memorable eighty-nine. The spring of eighty-nine shall be An era cherish'd long by me, "Which joyful I will oft record. And thankful at my frugal board ; For then the clouds of eighty-eight. That threaten'd England's trembling state With loss of what she least could spare. Her Sovereign's tutelary care. One breath of Heaven, that cried — Restore ! Chased, never to assemble more : And for the richest crown on earth. If valued by its wearer's worth. The symbol of a righteous reign Sat fast on George's brows again. Then peace and joy again possess'd Our Queen's long-agitated breast ; Such joy and peace as can be known 440 cowper's poetical works. By sufferers like herself uione, Who losing, or supposing ^ost, The good on earth they valued most, For that dear sorrow's sake forego All hope of happiness below. Then suddenly regain the prize, And flash thanksgivings to the skies ! O Queen of Albion, queen of isles ! Since all thy tears were changed to smiles, The eyes, that never saw thee, ^hine With joy not unallied to thine ; Transports not chargeable with art Illume the land's remotest part, And strangers to the air of courts, Both in their toils and at their sports, The happiness of answer'd prayers, Tliat gilds thy features, show in theirs. If they who on thy state attend. Awe-struck, before thy presence bend, 'Tis but the natural efiect Of grandeur that insures respect • But she is something more than Queen Who is beloved where never seen. VERSES WRITTEN AT BATH, ON FINDING THE HEEL OF A SHOE. Fortune ! I thank thee : gentle goddess ! thanks ! ITot that my Muse, though bashful, shall deny She would have thank'd thee rather hadst thou cast A treasure in her way' ; for neither meed Of early breakfast, to dispel the fumes, » And bowel-racking pains of emptiness, 'Nov noontide feast, nor evening's cool repast, Hopes she from this — presumptuous, though, perhaps, The cobbler, leather-carving artist ! might. Nathless she thanks thee, and accepts thy boon. Whatever ; not as erst the fabled cock. Vain-glorious fool ! unknowing what he found, Spurn'd the rich gem thou gavest him. Wherefore, ah ! Why not on me that favor (worthier sure !) MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 441 Conferi'dst thou, goddess ! Thou art blind, thou say'st . Enough ! — thy blindness shall excuse the deed. Nor does my Muse no benefit exhale From this thy scant indulgence! — even here Hints worthy sage philosophy are tbund , Illustrious hints, to moralize my song.' This ponderous heel of perforated hide Compact, with pegs indented, many a row, Haply (for such its massy form bespeaks). The weighty tread of some rude peasant clown Upbore: on this, supported oft, he stretch 'd, With uncouth strides, along the furrow'd glebe, Flattening the stubborn clod, till cruel Time (What will not cruel Time?) on a Avry step Sever'd the strict cohesion ; when, alas ! He, who could erst, with even, equal pace, Pursue his destined way with symmetry, And some proportion form'd, now on one side Curtail'd and maim'd, the sport of vagrant boys, Cursing his frail supporter, treacherous prop ! "With toilsome steps, and difficult, moves on. Thus fares it oft with other than the feet Of humble villager — the statesman thus. Up the steep road where proud ambition leads, Aspiring, first uninterrupted winds His prosperous way ; nor fears miscarriage foul, While pohcy prevails, and friends prove true ; But, that support soon failing, by him left On whom he most depended, — basely left, Betray'd, deserted, — from his airy height Headlong he falls ; and through the rest of life Drags the dull load of disappointment on. 1748. A HYMN,» FOR THE USE OF THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL AT OLNEY. — JULY, 1790. Hear, Lord, the song of praise and prayer In heaven thy dwelling-place, ' 1 Written at the request of Rev. James Bean, Vicar of Olney, to bo sung by the children there after a charity sermon. 442 cowper's poetical works. From infants made the public care, And tauglit to seek thy face ! Thanks for thy Word and for thy Day ; And grant us, we implore, Never to waste in sinful play Thy holy Sabbaths more. Thanks that we hear — ^but oh ! impart To each desires sincere. That we may listen with our heart. And learn as well as hear. For if vain thoughts the mind engage Of older far than we, What hope, that, at our heedless age, Our minds should e'er be free? Much hope, if thou our spirits take Under thy gracious sway. Who canst the wisest wiser make. And babes as wise as they. Wisdom and bliss thy Word bestows, A sun that ne'er declines ; And be thy mercies shower'd on those Who placed us where it shines ! STANZAS SUBJOINED TO THE YEARLY BILL OF MORTALITY OF THE PARISH OF ALL-SAINTS, NORTHAMPTON, ANNO DOMINI, 17S7. (Composed for Joha Cos, Parish Clerk of Northampton.) Pallida mors sequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas, Regumqiie turres. — Horace. Pale Death with equal foot strikes wide the door Of royal halls and hovels of the poor. While thirteen moons saw smoothly run The IN'en's barge-laden wave, All these, life's rambling journey done, Have found their home, the grave. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 443 Was man (frail always) made more frail Than in foregoing years ? Did famine or did plague prevail, That so much death appears ? ]S"o ; these were vigorous as their sires, E'or plague nor famine came ; This annual trihute Death requires, And never waives his claim. Like crowded forest-trees we stand, And some are mark'd to fall ; The axe will smite at God's command. And soon shall smite us all. Green as the hay-tree, ever green, "With its new foliage on, The gay, the thoughtless, have I seen : I pass'd — and they were gone. Read, ye that run, the awful truth With which I charge my page ! A worm is in the hud of youth. And at the root of age. 1^0 present health can health insure For yet an hour to come ; Ko medicine, though it oft can cure. Can always balk the tomb. And oh that, humble as my lot, . And scorn'd as is my strain. These truths, tliough known, too much forgot, I may not teach in vain ! So prays your Clerk with all his heart. And, ere he quits the pen. Begs you for once to take his part, And answer all — Amen ! 444 cowper's poetical works. ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, FOR THE YEAR 178S. Quod adest, memento Componere asquus. Caetera flnminis • Ritu feruutur.— Horace. Improve the present hour, for all beside Is a mere feather ou a torrent's side. Could I, from Heaven inspired, as sure presage To whom the rising year shall prove his last, As I can number in my punctual page. And item down the victims of the past ; How each would trembling wait the mournful sheet, On which the press might stamp him next to die ; And, reading here his sentence, how replete With anxious meaning, heavenward turn his eye ! Time then would seem more precious than the joys In which he sports away the treasure now ; And prayer more seasonable than the noise Of drunkards, or the music-drawing bow. Then doubtless many a trifler, on the brink Of this world's hazardous and headlong shore, Forced to a pause, would feel it good to think, Told that his setting sun must rise no more. Ah, self-deceived ! Could I prophetic say "Who next is fated, and Avho next to fall, The»rest might then seem privileged to play; But, naming none, the Voice now speaks to all. Observe the dappled foresters, how light They bound and airy o'er the sunny glade ; One fails — the rest, wide scatter'd with affright. Vanish at once into the darkest shade. Had we their wisdom, sliouid we, often warn'd. Still need repeated warnmgs, and at last, A thousand awful admonitions scorn'd. Die self-accused of life run all to waste ? Sad waste! for which no after-thrift atones; The grave admits no cure for guilt or sin ; MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 445 DeTvdrops may deck the turf that hides the bones, But tears of godly grief ne'er flow within. Learn then, ye living! by the mouths be taught Of all these sepulchres, instructors true, That, soon or late, death also is your lot, And the next opening grave may yawn for you. ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, FOR THE YEAR 17S9. — Placidaque ibi demum morte quievit.— Virg. There culm at length he breathed his soul away. " On most delightful hour by man Experienced here below. The hour that terminates his span, His folly and his woe ! " "Worlds should not bribe me back to tread Again life's dreary waste. To see again my day overspread With all the gloomy past. '•' My home henceforth is in the skies, Earth, seas, and sun, adieu ! All heaven unfolded to my eyes, I have no sight for you." So spake Aspasio, firm possess'd Of faith's supporting rod. Then breathed his soul into its rest, The bosom of his God. He was a man among the few Sincere on virtue's side ; And all his strength from Scripture drew, To hourly use applied. That rule he prized, by that he fear'd, He hated, hoped, and loved ; Nor ever frown'd, or sad appear'd, But when his heart had roved. 446 cowper's poetical works. For he was frail as thou or*I, And evil felt within ; But when he felt it, heaved a sigh, And loathed the thought of sin. Such lived Aspasio, and at last Caird up from earth to heaven, The gulf of death triumphant pass'd, By gales of blessing driven. His joys be mine, each reader cries, When my last hour arrives ' They shall be yours, my verse replies, Such only be your lives ! ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, FOR THE YEAR 1790. Ne commonentem recta sperne.— Buchanan, Despise not my good counsel. He who sits from day to day Where the prison'd lark is hung, Heedless of his loudest lay. Hardly knows that he has sung. Where the watchman in his round Nightly lifts his voice on higli, [None, accustomed to the sound. Wakes the sooner for his cry. So your verse-man I, and Clerk, Yearly in my song proclaim Death at hand — yourselves his mark — And tlie foe's unerring aim. Duly at my time I come, Publishing to all aloud, — Soon the grave must be your home, And your only suit, a shroud. But the monitory strain, Oft repeated in your ears. Seems to sound too much in vain, Wins no notice, wakes no fears. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Can a truth, by all confess'd Of such magnitude and weight, Grow, by being oft impress'd, Trivial, as a parrot's prate? Pleasure's call attention wins. Hear it often as Ave may ; ISTew as ever seem our sins. Though committed every day. Death and Judgment, Heaven and Hell- These alone, so often heard, !N'o more move us than the bell When some stranger is interr'd. Oh, then, ere the turf or tomb Cover us from every eye, Spirit of instruction, come, Make us learn that Ave must die I U1 ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, FOR THE YEAR 1T92. Felix, qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas, Atque mctus omnes et inexorabile fatum Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avari I— ViRG. Happy the mortal who has traced effects To their first cause, cast fear beneath his feet, And Death and roaring Hell's voracious tires ! Thankless for favors from on high, Man thinks he fades too soon , Though 'tis his privilege to die, "Would he improve the boon. But he, not wise enough to scan His blest concerns aright. Would gladly stretch life's little span To ages, if he might : To ages in a Avorld of pain, To ages, Avhere he goes Gall'd by affliction's lieavy chain, And hopeless of repose. 448 cowper's poetical works. * Strange fondness of the liunaan heart, Enamor'd of its harm ! Strange world, that costs it so much smart, And still has power to charm ! "Whence has the World her magic power? Why deem we Death a foe ? Eecoil from weary life's hest hour. And covet longer woe ? The cause is Conscience — Conscience oft Her tale of guilt renews : Her voice is terrible though soft. And dread of Death ensues. Then anxious to be longer spared, Man mourns his fleeting breath : All evils then seem light, compared With the approach of Death. 'Tis judgment shakes him : there's the fear That prompts the wish to stay : He has incurred a long arrear. And must despair to pay. Pay ? — follow Christ, and all is paid ; His death your peace insures ; Think on the grave where He was laid, And calm descend to yours. ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, FOR THE YEAR 1793. I)e sacris autem hsec sit una sententia, ut conserventur.— Cic. de Leg. But let us all concur in this one sentiment, that things sacred be inviolate. He lives who lives to God alone. And all are dead beside ; For other source than God is none Whence life can be supplied. To live to God is to requite His love as best we may : To make his precepts our delight. His promises our stay. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 449 But life, witliin a narrow ring Of giddy joys comprised, Is falsely named, and no such thing, But rather death disguised. Can life in them deserve the name, "Who only live to prove For what poor toys they can disclaim An endless life above ? "Who, much diseased, yet nothing feel ; Much menaced, nothing dread ; Have wounds, which only God can heal, Yet never ask his aid ? "Who deem his house a useless place ; Faith, want of common sense ; And ardor in the Christian race, A hypocrite's pretence ? We trample order ; and the day AVhich God asserts his own, Dishonor with unhallowed play. And worship chance alone ? If scorn of God's commands, impress'd On word and deed, imply The better part of man unbless'd "With life that cannot die ; Such want it, and that want uncured Till man resigns his breath, Speaks him a criminal, assured Of everlasting death. Sad period to a pleasant course ! Yet so will God repay Sabbaths profaned without remorse, And mercy cast away. 450 COWPER*S POETICAL WORKS. t AN ODE, ON READING RICHARDSON's " HISTORY OF SIR CHARLES GRANDISON." Sat, ye apostate and profane, Wretches, who blush not to disdain Allegiance to your God,— Did e'er your idly wasted love Of Virtue for her sake remove And lift you from the crowd ? Would you the race of glory run, Know, the devout, and they alone, Are equal to the task : The labors of the illustrious course Far other than the unaided force Of human vigor ask. To arm against reputed ill The patient heart too brave to feel The tortures of despair : Nor safer yet high-crested pride, When wealth flows in with every tide To gain admittance there ; — To rescue from the tyrant's sword The oppressed ; unseen and unimplored, To cheer the face of woe ; From lawless insult to defend An orphan's right — a fallen friend, And a forgiven foe ; — These, these distinguish from the crowd, And these alone, the great and good, The guardians of mankind ; Whose bosoms with these virtues heave, Oh, with what matchless speed they leave The multitude behind ! Then ask ye, from what cause on earth Virtues like these derive their birth ? Derived from Heaven alone. Full on that favor'd breast they shine, Where faith and resignation join To call the blessing- down. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 451 Sucli is that lieart : — ^but while the Muse Thy theme, O Richardson, pursues, Her feeble spirits faint ; She cannot reach, and would not wrong, The subject for an angel's song, The hero, and the saint ! 1753. AN EPISTLE TO ROBERT LLOYD, ESQ. 'Tis not that I design to rob Thee of thy birthright, gentle Bob, For thou art born sole heir, and single, Of dear Mat Prior's easy jingle ; Not that I mean, while thus I knit My threadbare sentiments together, To show my genius or my wit, "When God and you know I have neither ; Or such as might be better shown By letting poetry alone. 'Tis not with either of these views Tliat I presumed to address the Muse : But to divert a fierce banditti (Sworn foes to every thing that's witty!) That, with a black, infernal train, Make cruel inroads in my brain. And daily threaten to drive thence My little garrison of sense ; The fierce banditti which I mean Are gloomy thoughts led on by Spleen. Then there's another reason yet, "Which is, that I may fairly quit The debt, which justly became due The moment when I heard from you ; And you might grumble, crony mine, If paid in any other coin ; Since twenty sheets of lead, God knows (I would say twenty sheets of prose). Can ne'er be deem'd worth half so much As one of gold, and yours was such. Thus, the preliminaries settled, 452 cowper's poetical works. I fairly find myself pitchkettled/ And cannot see, though few see better, How I shall hammer out a letter. First, for a thought — since all agree — A thought — I have it — let me see — 'Tis gone again — plague on't! I thought I liad it — but I have it not. Dame Gurton thus, and Hodge her son, That useful thing, her needle, gone ! Rake well the cinders — sweep the floor, And sift the dust behind the door ; "While eager Hodge beholds the prize In old grimalkin's glaring eyes ; And Gammer finds it, on her knees. In every shinmg straw she sees. This simile were apt enough ; But I've another, critic-proof! The virtuoso thus, at noon. Broiling beneath a July sun, The gilded butterfly pursues. O'er hedge and ditch, through gaps and mews ; And, after many a vain essay. To captivate the tempting prey, Gives him at length the lucky pat, And has him safe beneath his hat ; Then lifts it gently from the ground ; — But, ah! 'tis lost as soon as found; Culprit his liberty regains. Flits out of sight, and mocks his pains. The sense was dark ; 'twas therefore fit With simile to illustrate it ; But as too much obscures the sight. As often as too little light, "We have our similes cut short. For. matters of more grave import. That Matthew's numbers run with ease, Each man of common sense agrees ! All men of common sense allow That Robert's lines are easy too : 1 A favorite phrase at the time when this Epistle was written, expres- sive of being puzzled, or what in the " SpectatorV time would have been called bamboozled. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 453 TVhere then the preference shall we place, Or how do justice in this case . Matthew (says Fame), with endless pains Smooth'd and refined the meanest strams ; l^ov sufFer'd one ill-chosen rhyme To escape him at the idlest time ; And thus o'er all a lustre cast: That, while the language Hves, shall last. An't please 3'our ladyship (quoth I), For 'tis my business to reply. Sure so much labor, so much toil, Bespeak at least a stubborn soil : Theirs be the laurel-wreath decreed, Who both write well, and write full speed ! Who throw their Helicon about As freely as a conduit spout ! Friend Kobert, thus like chieii savant, Lets fall a poem en jyassant, Kor needs his genuine ore refine — 'lis ready polish'd from the mine. A TALE, FOUNDED ON A FACT, WHICH HAPPENED IN JAN. 1779. Where Humber pours his rich commercial stream There dwelt a wretch, who breathed but to blaspheme ; In subterraneous caves his life he led, Black as the mine in which he wrought for bread. When on a day, emerging from the deep, A Sabbath-day (such Sabbaths thousands keep !), The wages of his weekly toil he bore To buy a cock — whose blood might win him more ; As if the noblest of the feather'd kind Were but for battle and for death design'd , As if the consecrated hours w^ere meant For sport, to minds on cruelty intent. It chanced (such chances Providence obey) He met a fellow-laborer on the w^ay, Whose heart the same desires had once inflamed ; But now the savage temper w^as reclaim'd, Persuasion on his lips had taken place ; 454 cowper's poetical works. For all plead well who plead the caiise of grace. His iron heart with Scripture he assail'd, "Woo'd him to hear a sermon, and prevaiPd. His faithful bow the mighty preacher drew, Swift as the lightning-glimpse the arrow flew. He wept ; he trembled ; cast his eyes around. To find a worse than he ; but none he found. He felt his sins, and wonderM he should feel : Grace made the wound, and grace alone could heal. Now farewell oaths, and blasphemies, and lies ! He quits the sinner's for the martyr's prize. That holy day was wash'd with many a tear, Gilded with hope, yet shaded too by fear. The next, his swarthy brethren of the mine Learn'd, by his alter'd speech, the change divine ! Laugh'd, when they should have wept, and swore the day Was nigh when he would swear as fast as they. "ISTo," said the penitent, ^'such words shall share This breath no more — devoted now to prayer. Oh ! if Thou seest (thine eye the future sees) That I shall yet again blaspheme, like these ; Now strike me to the ground on which I kneel, Ere yet this heart relapses into steel ; Now take me to that heaven I once defied, Thy presence, thy embrace!" — He spoke, and died! TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON, ON HIS RETURN FROM RAMSGATE. That ocean you have late survey'd, Those rocks I too have seen ; But I, afflicted and dismay'd, You, tranquil and serene. You from the flood-controlling steep Saw stretch'd before your view. With conscious joy, the threatening deep, No longer such to you. To me the waves, that ceaseless broke Upon the dangerous coast, Hoarsely and ominously spoke Of all my treasure lost. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 455 Your sea of troubles you have past, And found the peaceful shore ; I, tempest-toss'd, and wreck'd at last, Come home to port no more. Oct. 1780. LOVE ABUSED. What is there in the vale of life Half so delightful as a vs^ife, "When frienclship, love, and peace combine To stamp the marriage-bond divine ? The stream of pure and genuine love Derives its current from above ; And earth a second Eden shows, Where'er the healing water flows : But ah, if from the dykes and drains Of sensual nature's feverish veins, Lust, like a lawless headstrong flood, Impregnated with ooze and mud. Descending fast on every side. Once mingles with the sacred tide, Farewell the soul-enlivening scene! The banks that wore a smiling green, AVith rank defilement overspread. Bewail their flowery beauties dead. The stream polluted, dark, and dull. Diffused into a Stygian pool. Through life's last melancholy years Is fed with overflowing tears : Complaints supply the zephyr's part. And sighs that heave a breaking heart. A POETICAL EPISTLE TO LADY AUSTEN. Dear Anna, — Between friend and friend. Prose answers every common end ; Serves, in a plain and homely way. To express the occurrence of the day ; Our health, the weather, and the news ; AYhat walks we take, what books we choose ; 456 cowper's poetical works. And all the floating thouglits w^ find Upon the surface of the mind. But when a poet takes the pen, Far more alive than other men, He feels a gentle tingling come Down to his finger and his thumb. Derived from nature's noblest part, The centre of a glowing heart : And this is what the w^orld, who knows No flights above the pitch of prose. His more sublime vagaries slighting, Denominates an itch for writing. No wonder I, who scribble rhyme To catch the triflers of the time, And tell them truths divine and clear, Which, couch'd in prose, they will not hear ; Who labor hard to allure and draw The loiterers I never saw ; Should feel that itching and that tingling, With all my purpose intermingling. To your intrinsic merit true. When call'd to address myself to you. Mysterious are His ways whose power Brings forth that unexpected hour. When minds, that never met before, Shall meet, unite, and part no more : It is the allotment of the skies. The hand of the Supremely Wise, That guides and governs our affections. And plans and orders our connections : Directs us in our distant road. And marks the bounds of our abode. Thus we were settled when you found us, Peasants and children all around us, Not dreaming of so dear a friend, Deep in the abyss of Silver-End.* Thus Martha, even against her will, Perch'd on the top of yonder hill ; And you, though you must needs prefer The fairer scenes of sweet Sancerre,^ J An obscure part of Olney, adjoining to the residence of Cowper, which faced the market-place. 2 Lady Austen's residence in France. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 457 Are come from distant Loire, to choose A cottage on the banks of Ouse. Tliis page of Providence quite new, And now just opening to our view, Employs our present thoughts and pains To guess and spell what it contains : But day by day, and year by year, "Will make the dark enigma clear ; And furnish us, perhaps, at last, Like other scenes already past, With proof, that we, and our affairs, Are part of a Jehovah's cares : For God unfolds by slow degrees The purport of his deep decrees ; Sheds every hour a clearer light, In aid of our defective sight ; And spreads, at length, before the soul, A beautiful and perfect whole, "Which busy man's inventive brain Toils to anticipate in vain. Say, Anna, had you never known The beauties of a rose full blown. Could you, though luminous your eye, By looking on the bud descry. Or guess with a prophetic power. The future splendor of the flower ? Just so the Omnipotent, who turns The system of a world's concerns, From mere minutisB can educe Events of most important use ; And bid a dawning skydisplay The blaze of a meridian day. The works of man tend, one and all. As needs they must, from great to small ; And vanity absorbs at length The monuments of human strength. But who can tell how vast the plan Which this day's incident began ? Too small, perhaps, the slight occasion For our dim-sighted observation ; It pass'd unnoticed, as the bird That cleaves the yielding air unheard. And yet may prove, when understood, 39 458 cowper's poetical works. A harbinger of endless good. — Not that I deem, or mean to call, Friendship a blessing cheap or small : But merely to remark, that ours, Like some of Nature's sweetest flowers, Rose from a seed of tiny size That seem'd to promise no such prize ; A transient visit intervening, And made almost without a meaning (Hardly the effect of inclination. Much less of pleasing expectation), Produced a friendship, then begun, That has cemented us in one ; And placed it in our power to prove By long fidelity and love. That Solomon has wisely spoken — "A threefold cord is not soon broken." Dec. 1781. THE COLUBRIAD. Close by the threshold of a door nail'd fast Three kittens sat ; each kitten look'd aghast. I, passing swift and inattentive by. At the three kittens cast a careless eye ; Not much concern'd to know what they did there ; Not deeming kittens worth a poet's care. But presently a loud and furious hiss Caused me to stop and to exclaim, '' What's this?" "When lo ! upon the threshold met my view,. With head erect, and eyes of fiery hue, A viper long as Count de Grasse's queue. Forth from his head his forked tongue he throws. Darting it full against a kitten's nose ; Who, having never seen, in field or house, The like, sat still and silent as a mouse; Only projecting with attention due. Her whisker'd face, she ask'd him, " Who are you ?" On to the hall went I, with pace not slow, But swift as lightning, for a long Dutch hoe : With which well arm'd I hasten'd to the spot. To find the viper, but I found him not. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 459 And, turning up the leaves and shrubs around, Found only that he was not to be found. But still the kittens, sitting as before, Sat watching close the bottom of the door. ^'I hope," said T, 'Hhe villain I would kill Has slipp'd between the door and the door-sill ; And if I make dispatch, and follow hard, No doubt but I shall find him in the yard :" For long ere now it should have been rehearsed, 'Twas in the garden that I found him first. Even there I found him ; there the full-grown cat, His head, with velvet paw, did gently pat; As curious as the kittens erst had been To learn what this phenomenon might mean. Fill'd with heroic ardor at the sight, And feariug every moment Ije would bite. And rob our household of our only cat That was of age to combat with a rat ; With outstretch'd hoe 1 slew him at the door. And taught him never to come theke no more. 1782. SONG ON PEACE. Written in the summer of 1783, at the request of Lady Austen, who gave the sentiment. Aiu— " My fond Shepherds of (ate.'' ^ No longer I follow a sound ; No longer a dream I pursue ; happiness! not to be found. Unattainable treasure, adieu ! 1 have sought thee in splendor and dress, In the regions of pleasure and taste ; I have sought thee, and seem'd to possess, But have proved thee a vision at last. An humble ambition and hope The voice of true wisdom inspires ; 'Tis sufticient, if peace be the scope. And the summit of all our desires. 460 cowper's poetical works. Peace may be the lot of the mind • That seeks it in meekness and love ; But rapture and bliss are confined To the glorified spirits above. SONG. Also written at the request cf Lady Austen. Air—'* The Lass o' Patie's MilV* When all within is peace, How Nature seems to smile I Delights that never cease The livelong day beguile. From morn to dewy eve "With open hand she showers Fresh blessings, to deceive And soothe the silent hours. It IS content of heart Gives Nature power to please ; The mind that feels no smart Enlivens all it sees ; Can make a wintry sky Seem bright as smiling May, And evening's closing eye As peep of early day. The vast majestic globe, So beauteously array'd In Nature's various robe, "With wondrous skill display'd, Is to a mourner's heart A dreary wild at best ; It flutters to depart. And longs to be at rest. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 4G1 VERSES SELECTED FROM AN OCCASIONAL POEM ENTITLED ^VALEDICTION." O Friendship ! cordial of the human breast ! So little felt, so fervently professed ! Thy blossoms deck our unsuspecting years ; The promise of delicious fruit appears ; We hug the hopes of constancy and truth, Such is the tolly of our dreaming youth ; But soon, alas ! detect the rash mistake That sanguine inexperience loves to make ; And view with tears the expected harvest lost, Decay'd by time, or wither -d by a frost. Whoever undertakes a friend's great part Should be renewed in nature, pure in heart, Prepared fox martyrdom, and strong to prove A thousand ways the force of genuine love. He may be call'd to give up health and gain. To exchange content for trouble, ease for pain, To echo sigh for sigh, and groan for groan. And wet his cheeks with sorrows not his own. The heart of man, for such a task too frail, "When most relied on is most sure to fail ; And, summon'd to partake its fellow's woe, Starts from its office like a broken bow. Votaries of business and of pleasure prove Faithless ahke in friendship and in love. Eetired from all the circles of the gay. And all the crowds that bustle life away, To scenes where competition, envy, strife. Beget no thunder-clouds to trouble life — Let me, the charge of some good angel, find One who has known, and has escaped mankind ; Pofite, yet virtuous, who has brought away The manners, not the morals, of the day : With him, perhaps with her (for men have known No firmer friendships than tl'le fair have shown). Let me enjoy, in some unthought-of spot. All former friends forgiven and forgot, Down to the close of life's fast fading scene. Union of hearts without a flaw between. 'Tis grace, 'tis bounty, and it calls for praise, If God give health, that sunshine of our days ! 462 cowper's poetical works. And if ne add, a blessing shared by few, Content of heart, more praises still are due — But if he grant a friend, that boon possess'd Indeed is treasure, and crowns all the rest ; And giving one, whose heart is in the skies, Born from above and made divinely wise, He gives, what bankrupt Nature never can, "Whose noblest coin is light and brittle man, Gold, purer far than Ophir ever knew — A soul, an image of himself, and therefore true. Nov. 1783. EPITAPH ON DR. JOHNSON. Here Johnson lies — a sage by all allow'd. Whom to have bred may well make England proud ; Whose prose was eloquence, by wisdom taught. The graceful vehicle of virtuous tliought ; Whose verse may claim — grave, masculine, and strong- Superior praise to the mere poet's song ; Who many a noble gift from Heaven possess'd, And faith at last, alone worth all the rest. O man, immortal by a double prize. By fame on earth — by glory in the skies ! Jan. 1785. TO MISS C , ON aER BIRTHDAY. How many between east and west Disgrace their parent earth. Whose deeds constrain us to detest The day that gave them birth ! Kot so when Stella's natal morn Revolving months restore. We can rejoice that she was born, And wish her born once more ! 1786. GRATITUDE. ADDRESSED TO LADY HESKETH. This cap, that so stately appears. With ribbon-bound tassel on high, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 463 Which seems by the crest that it rears Ambitious of brushing the sky ; This cap to my cousin 1 owe ; She gave it, and gave me beside, Wreath'd into an elegant bow, The ribbon with which it is tied. This wheel-footed studying chair, Contrived both for toil and repose, Wide-elbow 'd, and wadded with hair, In which I both scribble and doze ; Bright-studded to dazzle the eyes, And rival in lustre of that In which, or Astronomy lies Fair Cassiopeia sat : These carpets so soft to the foot, Caledonia's traffic and pride ! Oh, spare them, ye knights of the boot, Escaped from a cross-country ride ! This table, and mirror within. Secure from collision and dust ; At which I oft shave cheek and chin. And periwig nicely adjust : This movable structure of shelves, For its beauty admired and its use, And charged with octavos and twelves, The gayest I had to produce; Where, flaming in scarlet and gold. My poems enchanted 1 view; And hope in due time, to behold My Iliad and Odyssey too : This china, that decks the alcove, Which here people call a buffet ; But what the gods call it above Has ne'er been reveal'd to us yet : These curtains that keep the room warm Or cool, as the season demands ; Those stoves that for pattern and form Seem the labor of Mulciber's hands : All these are not half that I owe To one, from our earliest youth. 464 cowper's poetical w^drks. To me ever ready to show • Benignity, friendship, and truth ; For Time, the destroyer declared And foe of our perishing kind, If even her face he has spared. Much less could he alter her mind. Thus compassVl about with the goods And chattels of leisure and ease, I indulge my poetical moods In many such fancies as these ; And fancies I fear they will seem — Poets' goods are not often so fine ; The poets will swear that I dream, When I sing of the splendor of mine. 1T86. LINES COMPOSED FOR A MEMORIAL OF ASHLEY COWPER, ESQ. IMMEDIATELY AFTER HIS DEATH, BY HIS NEPHEW WILLIAM OF WESTON. Farewell ! endued with all that could engage All hearts to love thee, both in youth and age ! In prime of life, for sprightliness enroll'd Among the gay, yet virtuous as the old ; In life's last stage (0 blessings rarely found !), Pleasant as youth with all its blossoms crowh'd ; Through every period of this changeful state Unchanged thyself — wise, good, affectionate ! Marble may flatter, and lest this should seem Overcharged with praises on so dear a theme — Although thy worth be more than half supprest, Love shall be satisfied, and veil the rest. June, 1788. ON THE QUEEN'S VISIT TO LONDON, THE NIGHT OF THE 17TH OF MARCH, 1789. "Whe^?", long sequester'd from his tlirone, George took his seat again ; By right of worth, not blood alone, Entitled here to reign ; MISCELLANEOUS TOEMS. 465 Then loyalty, with all his lamps New trimm'd, a gallant snow ! Chasing the darkness and tlie damps, Set London in a glow. 'Twas hard to tell, of streets or squares Which form'd the chief display ; These most resembling clustered stars, Those the long milky way. Bright shone the roofs, the domes, the spires ; And rockets flew, self-driven, To hang their momentary fires Amid the vault of heaven. So, fire with water to compare, The ocean serves, on high Up-spouted by a whale in air. To express unwieldy joy. Had all the pageants of the world In one procession join \1, And all the banners been unfurPd That heralds e'er designed — For no such sight had England's Queen Forsaken her retreat. Where George, recover'd, made a scene Sweet always, doubly sweet. Yet glad she came that night to prove, A witness undescried. How much the object of her love Was loved by all beside. Darkness the skies had mantled o'er In aid of her design — Darkness, O Queen ! ne'er call'd before To veil a deed of thine ! On borrow'd wheels away she flies. Resolved to be unknown, And gratify no curious eyes That night except her own. 4QQ cowper's poetical works. Arrived, a night like noon she sees, And hears the niiUion hum ; As all by instinct, like the bees. Had known their sovereign come. Pleased she beheld, aloft portray'd On many a splendid wall. Emblems of health and heavenly aid, And George the theme of all. Unlike the enigmatic line. So difficult to spell. Which shook Belshazzar at his wine, The night his city fell. Soon watery grew her eyes and dim, But with a joyful tear ; [N'one else, except in prayer for him, George ever drew from her. It was a scene in every part Like those in fable feigned. And seem'd by some magician's art Created and sustain d. But other magic there, she knew, Had been exerted none. To raise such wonders in her view, Save love of George alone. That cordial thought her spirit cheer'd, And, througlj the cumbrous throng, Not else unworthy to be fearVl, Convey 'd her calm along. So, ancient poets say, serene The sea-maid rides the waves ; And, fearless of the billowy scen^, Her peaceful bosom laves. "With more than astronomic eyes She view'd the sparkling show ; One Georgian star adorns the skies, . She myriads found below. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. ^^5=^5=;: 467 Yet let the glories of a night Like that, once seen, suffice ; Heaven grant us no such future sight, Such previous woe the price ! THE COCK-FIGHTER'S GARLAND.^ Muse — hide his name of whom I sing, Lest his surviving house thou bring For his sake into scorn ; ISTor speak the school from which he drew The much or little that he knew, ISTor place where he was born. That such a man once was, may seem "Worthy of record (if the theme Perchance may credit win) For proof to man, what man may prove, If grace depart, and demons move The source of guilt within. This man (for since the howling wild Disclaims him, man he must be styled) "Wanted no good below ; Gentle he was, if gentle birth Could make him such, and he had worth, If wealth can worth bestow. 1 "Written on reading the following, in tlie obituary of the *' Gentleman's !klagazine*' for April, 17S9:— " At Tottenham, John Ardesoif, Esq., a young nan of large fortune, and, in the splendor of his carriages and horses, rivalled )y few country gentlemen. His table was that of hospitality, where. >t may )e said, he sacrificed too much to conviviality ; but, if he had his foibles, he lad his merits also, that far outweighed them. Mr, A. was very fond of ;ock-fighting, and had a favorite cock, upon which he had won many )rofitable matches. The last bet he laid upon this cock he lost; Avhich so mraged him, that he had the bird tied to a spit and roasted alive before a arge fire. The screams of the miserable animal were so affecting, that iome gentlemen who were present attempted to interfere, which so en- •aged Mr. A., that he seized a poker, and with the most furious vehemence leclarcd, that he would kill the first man who interposed; but, in the midst )f his passionate asseverations, he fell down dead upon the spot. Such, we ire assured, were the circumstances which attended the death of this great pillar of humanity." 468 cowper's poetical works. In social talk and ready jest, • He shone superior at the feast ; And qualities of mind, [ Illustrious in the eyes of those "Whose gay society lie chose, Possess'd of every kind. Methinks I see him powder'd red, "With bushy locks his well-dress'd head WingM broad on either side. The mossy rosebud not so sweet ; His steeds superb, his carriage neat, As luxury could provide. Can such be cruel ? Such can be Cruel as hell, and so was he ; A tyrant entertain'd "With barbarous sports, whose fell delight Was to encourage mortal fight 'Twixt birds to battle train'd. One feather'd champion he possess'd, His darling far beyond the rest. Which never l^new disgrace ; Kor e'er had fought but he made flow The life-blood of his fiercest foe. The Coosar of .hia race. It chanced at last, when, on a day. He push'd him to the desperate fray, His courage droop'd,*he fled. The master storm'd, the prize was lost" And, instant, frantic at the cost. He doom'd his favorite dead. He seized him fast, and from the pit Flew to the kitchen, snatch'd the spit, And, "Bring me cord !" he cried; The cord was brought, and, at his word, To that dire implement the bird. Alive and stragghng, tied. The horrid sequel asks a veil ; And all the terrors of the tale That can be shall be sunk — MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 469 Led by tlio sutferei's screams aright, IJis sliockM coiMi (anions view the sight, And liini with tury drunk. ^ All, suppliant, beg a milder fate / For the old warrior at the grate: He, deaf to pity's call, Whirl'd round him rapid as a wheel IJis culinary club of steel — Death menacing on all. But vengeance hung not far remote ; For while he stretch'd his clamorous throat, And Jieaven and earth defied — Big with a curse too closely pent, That struggled vainly for a vent, lie totterM, reel'd, and died. 'Tis not for us, with rash surmise, To point the judgment of the skies ; But judgments plain as this. That, sent for man's instruction, bring A written label on their wing, 'Tis hard to read amiss. May, 1TS9. TO WARREN HASTINGS, ESQ. BY AN OLD SCHOOLFELLOW OF HIS AT WESTMINSTER. ' Hastings! I knew tliee young, and of a mind, "While young, humane, conversable, and kind ; ISTor can I well believe thee, gentle then, Now grown a villain, jand tlie worst of men. But rather some suspect, who have oppress'd And worried thee, as not themselves the best. TO MRS. THROCKMORTON, N HER BEAUTIFUL TRANSCRIPT OF HORACe's ODE, " AD LIBUUM 8UUM.' Makta, could Horace have guess'd What honor awaited his ode To his own little volume addressed. The honor which you liave bestow'd ; 40 470 COWPEIl's POETICAL WORKS. Wlio have traced it in characters here, So elegant, even, and neat — He had hiiigh'd at the critical sneer Which he seems to have trembled to meet. And sneer, if you please, he had said, A nymph shall hereafter arise, AVlio shall give me, when you are all dead, The glory your malice denies ; Shall dignity give to my lay. Although but a mere bagatelle; And even a poet shall say, Nothing ever was written so well. Feb. 1790. TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY OF THE HALIBUT ON WHICH I DINED THIS DAY, MONDAY, APRIL 2G, 1T84. "Where hast thou floated, in what seas pursued Thy pastime? Avhen wast thou an Qgg new spawn'd. Lost in the immensity of ocean's waste ? Roar as they might, the overbearing winds That rock'd the deep, thy cradle, thou w^ast safe — And in thy minikin and embryo state. Attached to the firm leaf of some salt weed. Didst outlive tempests, such as w^rung and rack'd The joints of many a stout and gallant bark, And wlielm'd them in the unexplored abyss. Indebted to no magnet and no chart, Nor under guidance of the polar fire. Thou wast a voyager on many coasts. Grazing at large in meadows submarine, Where flat Batavia, just emerging, peeps Above the brine — where Caledonia's rocks Beat back the surge — and where Ilibernia shoots Her wondrous causeway far into the main. — Wherever thou hast fed, thou little thought'st, And I not more, that I should feed on thee. Peace, therefore, and good health, and much good fish, To him who sent thee ! and success, as oft -As it descends into the billowy gulf, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. -ill To tlie same drag that caiiglit thee! — Fare thea Avell! Thy lot tliy brethren of the slimy fin Would env}^, could they know that thou wast doom'd To feed a bard, and to be praised in verse. INSCRIPTION FOR A STONE ERECTED AT THE SOWING OF A GROVE OF OAKS AT CIIILLINGTON, THE SEAT OF T. GIFFARD, ESQ., 1790. Other stones the era tell "When some feeble mortal fell ; I stand here to date the birth Of these hardy sons of eartli. AVhich shall longest brave the sky, Storm and frost — these oaks or I ? Pass an age or two away, I must moulder and decay ; But the years that crumble me Shall invigorate the tree. Spread its branch, dilate its size, Lift its summit to the skies. Cherish honor, virtue, truth. So shalt thou prolong thy youth! "Wanting these, however fast Man be fix'd and form'd to last, lie is lifeless even now, Stone at heart, and cannot grow. June, 1790. ANOTHER INSCRIPTION FOR A STONE ERECTED ON A SIMILAR OCCASION AT THE SAME PLACE IN THE FOLLOWING YEAR. Keadek ! behold a monument That asks no sigh or tear, Though it perpetuate the event Of a great burial here. June, 1791. 472 COWPEU'S POETICAL WORKS. TO MRS. KING, ON IIER KIND PRESENT TO THE AUTHOR, A PATCHWORK COUNTERPANE OF HER OWN MAKING. TriE bard, if e'er lie feel at all, Must sure be quicken'd by a call Both on his heart and head, To pay with tuneful thanks the care And kindness of a lady fair, Who deigns to deck his bed. A bed like this, in ancient time, On Ida's barren top sublime (x\s Homer's epic shows), Composed of SAveetest vernal flowers, Without the aid of sun or showers, For Jove and Juno rose. Less beautiful, however gay, Is that which in the scorching day deceives the Aveary swain. Who, laying his long scythe aside, Sleeps on some bank Avith daisies pied, Till roused to toil again. What labors of the loom I see ! Looms numberless have groan'd for me 1 Should every maiden come To scramble for the patch that bears The impress of the robe she wears, The bell would toll for some. And oh, what havoc would ensue ! Tliis bright display of every hue All in a moment fled ! As if a storm should strip the boAvers Of all their tendrils, leaves, and floAvers — Each pocketing a shred. Thanks then to every gentle fiiir AVho Avill not come to peck me bare As bird of borroAv'd feather ; And thanks to one above them all, The gentle fair of Pertenhall, Who put the Avhole together! August, 1790. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 473 IN MEMORY OF TPIE LATE JOHN THORNTON, ESQ. Poets attempt tlie noblest task they can, Praising tlie Autlior of all good in man, And, next, commemorating worthies lost. The dead in whom that good abounded most. Thee, therefore, of commercial fame, but more Famed for thy probity from shore to shore — Thfee, Thornton ! worthy in some page to shine, As honest and more eloquent than mine, I mourn ; or, since thrice happy thou must be, The world, no longer thy abode, not thee. Thee to deplore were grief misspent indeed ; It were to weep that goodness has its meed ; That there is bliss prepared in yonder sky, And glory for the virtuous when they die. What pleasure can the miser's fondled hoard, Or spendthrift's prodigal excess aiford. Sweet as the privilege of healing woo By virtue suffer'd combating below ? That privilege was thine ; Heaven gave thee means To illumine with delight the saddest scenes. Till thy appearance chased the gloom, forlorn As midnight, and despairing of a morn. Thou hadst an industry in doing good, Eestless as his who toils and sweats for food ; Avarice in thee was the desire of wealth By rust unperishable or by stealth ; And if the genuine Avorth of gold depend On application to its noblest end. Thine had a value in the scales of heaven Surpassing all that mine or mint had given. And, though God made thee of a nature prone To distribution boundless of thy OAvn, And still by motives of religious force Impell'd thee more to that heroic course — Yet was thy liberality discreet, Nice in its choice, and of a temper'd heat; And, though m act unwearied, secret still. As in some soUtude the summer rill Refreshes, where it winds, the faded green, And cheers the drooping flowers, unheard, unseen. 4V4 COWPEr's rOETICAL "WORKS. Such was thy charity : no sudden start, After long sleep, of passion in tlie heart ; But steadfast principle, and, in its kind, Of close relation to the Eternal Mind ; Traced easily to its true source above, To Him Avhose works bespeak his nature, Love. Thy bounties all were Christian, and I make This record of thee, for the Gospel's sake ; That the incredulous themselves may see Its use and power exemplified in thee. Nov. 1790. THE FOUR AGES. (a brief fragment of an extensive projected poem.) " I COULD be well content, allow'd the use Of past experience, and the wisdom glean'd Erom worn-out follies, now acknowledged such, To recommence life's trial, m the hope Of fewer errors, on a second proof!" Thus, Avhile gray evening lull'd the wind, and call'd Eresh odors from the sln-ubbery at my side. Taking my lonely winding walk, I mused. And held accustom'd conference with my heart ; When from within it thus a voice replied : ■' Conldst thou in triitli ? and art thou taught at length This wisdom, and but this, from all the past ? Is not the pardon of thy long arrear — Time wasted, violated laws, abuse Of talents, judgment, mercies, better far Than opportunity vouchsafed to err With less excuse, and, haply, worse effect?" I heard, and acquiesced : then to and fro Oft pacing, as the mariner his deck. My gravelly bounds, from self to human kind 1 pass'd, and next consider'd — what is man. Knows he his origin? can he ascend By reminiscence to his earliest date ? Slept he in Adam ? And in those from him Through numerous generations, till he found At length his destined moment to be born ? MISCELLANEOUS TOEMS. 475 Or Wcas he not, till fasfhion'd in the womb? Deep mysteries both ! which schoolmen must have toil'd To unriddle, and have left them mysteries still. It is an evil incident to man, And of the worst, that unexplored lie leaves Truths useful and attainable with ease. To search forbidden deeps, w^here mystery lies Not to be solved, and useless if it might. Mysteries are food for angels ; they digest With ease, and lind them nutriment; but man. While yet he dwells below, must stoop to glean His manna from the ground, or starve and die. May, 1791. THE RETIRED CAT. A poet's cat, sedate and grave As poet well could wish to have, "Was much addicted to inquire For nooks to which she might retire, And where, secure as mouse in chink, She might repose, or sit and think. I know not where she caught the trick — Nature perhaps herself had cast her In such a mould philosophique, Or else she learn'd it of her master. Sometimes ascending, debonair, An apple-tree, or lofty pear, Lodged with convenience in the fork. She watch \1 the gardener at his work ; Sometimes her ease and solace sought In an old empty watering-pot : There, wanting nothing save a fan, To seem some nymph in her sedan Apparell'd in exactest sort. And ready to be borne to court. But love of change, it seems, has place Not only in. our wiser race ; Oats also feel, as well as we, That passion's force, and so did slie. Her climbing, she began to find, Exposed her too much to the wind, 416 cowper's poetical works. And the old utensil of tin Was cold and comfortless within : She therefore wish'd, instead of those, Some place of more serene repose, Where neither cold might come, nor air Too rudely wanton with her hair, And sought it in the likeliest mode Within her master's snug abode. A drawer, it chanced, at bottom lined With linen of the softest kind ; With such as merchants introduce From India, for the ladies' use, A drawer impending o'er the rest, Half open in the topmost chest. Of depth enough, and none to spare, Invited her to slumber there : Puss, with delight beyond expression, Survey'd the scene, and took possession. Eecumbent at her ease, ere long, And lull'd by her own humdrum song. She left the cares of life behind. And slept as she would sleep her last ; When in came, housewifely inclined. The chambermaid, and shut it fast; By no mahgnity impell'd, But all unconscious whom it held. Awaken'd by the shock (cried Puss), " Was ever cat attended thus ? The open drawer was left, I see. Merely to prove a nest for me ; For soon as I was well composed. Then came the maid, and it was closed. How smooth these 'kerchiefs, and how sweet! Oh what a delicate retreat ! I will resign myself to rest. Till Sol, declining in the west. Shall call to supper, when, no doubt, Susan will come and let me out." The evening came, the sun descended, And Poss remain'd still unattended. The night rolFd tardily away (With her indeed 'twas never day), The sprightly morn her course renew'd, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 4:11 The evening gray again ensued, And Puss came into mind no more Than if entoihb'd the day before. AVith hunger pinch'd, and pincli'd for room, She now presaged approaching doom, Nor slept a single wink, or purr'd. Conscious of jeopardy incurr'd. That night, by chance, the poet watching, Heard an inexplicable scratching; His noble heart went pit-a-pat. And to himself he said— '' What's that?" He drew the curtain at his side. And forth he peep'd, but nothing spied. Yet, by his ear directed, guess'd Something imprison'd in the chest ; And, doubtful what, with prudent care Eesolved it should continue there. At length a voice which well he knew, A long and melancholy mew, Saluting his poetic ears, Consoled him and dispell'd his fears : He left his bed, he trod the floor, He 'gan in haste the drawers explore, The lowest first, and without stop The rest in order to the top. For 'tis a truth well known to most, That whatsoever thing is lost — "We seek it, ere it comes to light, In every cranny but the right. Forth skipp'd the cat, not now replete As erst with airy self-conceit ; Nor in her own fond apprehension A theme for all the world's attention ; But modest, sober, cured of all Her notions hyperbolical ; And wishing for a place of rest Any thing rather than a chest. Then stepp'd the poet into bed, AVith this reflection in his head : MORAL. BcTvare of too sublime a sense Of your own wortli and consequence . 478 cowper's poetical works. » The man who dreams himself so great, And his importance of such weight, That all around, in all that^s done, Must move and act for him alone, Will learn in school of tribulation The folly of his expectation. 1791. THE JUDGMENT OF THE POETS. Two lymphs, both nearly of an age, Of numerous charms possessed, A warm dispute once chanced to wage, AYhose temper was the best. The worth of each had been complete, Had both alike been mild : But one, although her smile was sweet, Frown'd oftenfer than she smiled. And in her humor, when she frown'd, Would raise her voice, and roar. And shake with fury to the ground The garland that she wore. The other was of gentler cast, From all such frenzy clear ; Her frowns were seldom known to last. And never proved severe. To poets of renown in song The lN"ymphs referred the cause ; Who, strange to tell, all judged it wrong, And gave misplaced applause. They gentle call'd, and kind and soft, The flippant and the scold ; And though she changed her mood so oft, That faihng left untold. No judges, sure, were e'er so mad. Or so resolved to err — In short, the charms her sister had. They lavish'd all on her. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 479 Then thus the god, whom fondly they Their great inspirer call, Was heard, one genial summer^s day, To reprimand them all. '^ Since thus ye have combined," he said, ''My favorite Nymph to slight. Adorning May, that peevish maid, With June's undoubted right, " The minx shall, for your folly's sake, Still prove herself a shrew, Shall make your scribbling fingers ache, And pinch your noses blue." May, 1791. YARDLEY OAK.^ Survivor sole, and hardly such, of all That once lived here, thy brethren; at my birth (Since which I number threescore winters past), A shatter'd veteran, hollow-trunk'd perhaps. As now, and with excoriate forks deform ; Rehcs of ages! could a mind, imbued With truth from Heaven, created thing adore, I might -with reverence kneel, and worship thee. It seems idolatry with some excuse. When our forefixther Druids in their oaks Imagined sanctity. The conscience, yet Unpurified by an authentic act Of amnesty, the meed of blood divine. Loved not the light, but, gloomy, into gloom Of thickest shades, like Adam after taste Of fruit proscribed, as to a refuge, fled. Thou wast a bauble once, a cup and ball Which babes might play with ; and the thievish jay\ Seeking her food, with ease might have purloin'd The auburn nut that held thee, swallowing down / Thy yet close folded latitude of boughs, y And all thine embryo vastness, at a gulp. i This tree had been known by the name o{ Judith for many ages. Per- haps it received that name an bcin^ planted by the Countess Judith, niece to tlie Conqueror, whom hsi gave in marriage to tlie English Earl Waltheof, with the counties of Northampton and Huntingdon as her dower. 480 cowper's poetical works. But Fate thy growth decreed ; antumnal rains Beneatli tliy parent tree inellow'd the soil Besign'd thy cradle ; and a skipping deer, / AVith pointed hoof dibbling the glebe, prepared ^ The soft receptacle, in which, secure, Thy rudiments should sleep the winter through. So Fancy dreams. Disprove it, if you can, I ^i Yereasoa^ broad awake, whose busy searcli \ I Of argunrent, employed too oft amiss, I fiSifts half the pleasures of short life away ! I Thou fell'st mature ; and, in the loamy clod Swelling with vegetative force instinct. Didst burst thine egg^ as theirs the fabled Twins,' Now stars ; two lobes, protruding, paired exact ; A leaf succeeded, and another leaf. And, all the elements thy puny growth Fostering propitious, thou becamest a twig. "Who lived when thou wast such? Oh, couldst thou speak, As in Dodona once thy kindred trees Oracular, I would not curious ask \ /The futui^e^Jj^tLUJikftowB, but at thy inou|h ^ rnquisiti ve, the less ambiguous past. By thee I might correct, erroneous oft, The clock of history, facts and events Timing more punctual, unrecorded facts Eecovering, and misstated setting right — Desperate attempt, till trees shall speak again ! \ Time made thee what thou wast, king of the woods^ And time hath made thee what thou art — a cave For owls to roost in. Once thy spreading boughs O'erhung the champaign ; and the numerous flocks That grazed it stood beneath that ample cope TJncrowded, yet safe shelter'd from the storm. ; No flock frequents thee now. Thou hast outlived ^ Thy popularity, and art become (Unless verse rescue thee awhile) a thing Forgotten, as the foliage of thy yonth. / While thus through all the stages thou hasupushkl Of treeship — first a seedling, hid in grass ; >J / Then twig ; then sapling ; and, as century rolVd V Slow after century, a giant bulk -«^ Of girth enormous, with moss-cushion'd root 1 Castor and Follux. MISCELLANEOUS POExMS. '481 Upheaved above the soil, and sides embossVl With prominent wens gk)bose — till at the last The rottenness, which time is charged to inflic'f On other mighty ones, found also thee. What exhibitions various hath the world Witness'd of mutability in all ^ — That we accohht mosTdurable beloAV I ^^ Change is the diet on which all subsist, \f^ Created changeable, and change at last Destroys them. Skies uncertain now the heat Transmitting cloudless, and the solar beam Now quenching in a boundless sea of clouds — Calm and alternate storm, moisture, and drought, Invigorate by turns the springs of life In all that live, plant, animal, and man ; And in conclusion mar them. Nature's threads, Fine passing thought, even in their coarsest works. Delight in agitation, yet sustain The force that agitates not unimpaired ; But worn by frequent impulse, to tlie cause Of their best tone their dissolution owe. Thought cannot spend itself, comparing still (" The great and little of thy lot, thy growth N From almost nullity into a state / Of matchless grandeur, and declension thence, \ Slow, into such magnificent decay. / Time was Avhen, settling on thy leaf, a fly \l Could shake thee to the root — and time has been When tempests could not. At thy firmest age Thou hadst within thy bole solid contents That might have ribb'd the sides and plank'd the deck Of some flagg'd admiral ; and tortuous arms. The shipwright's darling treasure, didst present To the ibur-quarter'd winds, robust and bold, Warp'd into tough knee -timber,* many a load ! But the axe spared thee. In tliose thriftier days Oaks fell not, hewn by thousands, to supply The bottomless demands of contest waged For senatorial honors. Thus to Time / The task was left to whittle thee away ^ 1 -^^'Knee-timber" is found in the crooked arms of oak, which, by reason of their distortion, are easily a'ljusted to the angle formed wliere the deck and the ship's sides meet. 41 482 cowper's poetical works. With his sly scythe, whose ever-nibbhng edge, Noiseless, an atom, and an atom more, Disjoining from the rest, has, unobserved, Achieved a labor which had, fai^and wide, By man perform'd, made all the forest ring. Embowell'd now, and of thy ancient self / Possessing nanght but the scoop'd rind, that seeiq(s A huge throat calling to the clouds for drink, Which it would give in rivulets to thy root. Thou temptest none, but rather much forbidd'st The feller's toil, which thou couldst ill requite. Yet is thy root sincere, sound as, the rock, A quarry of stout spurs and kn,ptted fangs, r Which, crook'd into a thousand whimsies, clasp j/ The stubborn soil, and hold thee still erect: ^ So stands a kingdom, whose foundation yet Fails not, in virtue and in wisdom laid ; Though all the superstructure, by the tooth / Pulverized of venality, a shell ; \ .S'^nds now, and semblance only of itself! ] Thine arms have left thee. Winds have rent them off Long since, and a-overs of the forest wild, With bow and sliaft have burnt them. Some have left A splinter'd stump bleach'd to a snowy white ; And some memorial none where once they grew. Yet life still. .lingers in thee, and' puts forth Proof not contemptible of what she can, Ev^en where death predominates. The spring Finds thee not less alive to her sweet force Than yonder upstarts of the neighboring wood. So much thy juniors, who their birth received Half a millennium since the date of thine. But since, although well qualified by age ^i To teach, no spirit dwells in thee, nor voices May be expected from thee ; seated here • On thy distorted root, with hearers none, \ Or prompter, save th^. scene, I will perforni^\ Myself the oracle, and will discourse ^ In my own ear such matter as I may. / One man alone, the father of us all. Drew not his life from woman ; never gazed, W^ith mute unconsciousness of what he saw, On all around him ; learn'd not by degrees, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 483 Noi- owed articulation to his ear ; But, moulded by his Maker into man At once, upstood intelligent, survey'd All creatures, with precision understood Their purport, uses, properties ; assigned To each his name significant, and, fill'd With love and wisdom, rendered back to Heaven In praise harmonious the first air he drew. He was excused the penalties of dull— - Minority. No tutor charged his hand With the thought-tracing quill, or task'd his mind With problems. History, not wanted yet, Lean'd on her elbow, watching Time, whose course, Eventful, should supply her with a theme. . . . 1791. TO THE NIGHTI^^GALE, WHICn THE AUTHOR HEARD SING ON NEW-YEAR's DAY, 1792. Whence is it that, amazed, I hear From yonder -withered spray, This foremost morn of all the year. The melody of May ? And w^hy, since thousands would be proud Of such a favor shown, Ani I selected from the crowd To witness it alone ? Sing'st thou, sweet Philomel, to me, For that I also long Have practised in the groves like thee, Though not like thee in song? Or sing'st thou, rather, under force Of some divine command, Commission'd to presage a course Of happier days at hand? Thrice welcome then ! for many a long -And joyless year have I, As thou to-day, put forth my song Beneath a wintry sky. 484 cowper's poetical works. But thee no wintry skies can harm, Who only need'st to sing, To make even January charm. And every season spring. LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM OF MISS PATTY MORe's, SISTER TO HANNAH MORE, Ix vain to live from age to age AVhile modern bards endeavor, I write my name in Patty's page, And gain ray point forever. March 6, 1T92. AY. COWPER. SONNET TO WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, ESQ. Thy country, W^ilberforce, with just disdain, Hears thee by cruel men and impious call'd Fanatic, for thy zeal to loose the enthrall'd From exile, public sale, and slavery's chain. Friend of the poor, the wrong'd, the fetter-gall'd. Fear not lest labor such as thine be vain ! Thou hast achieved a part ; hast gain'd the ear Of Britain's senate to thy glorious cause ; Hope smiles, Joy springs, and, though cold Caution paus< And weave delay, the better hour is near That shall remunerate thy toils severe, By peace for Afric, fenced with British laws. Enjoy what thou hast won, esteem and love From all the just on earth, and all the blest above! April 16, 1T92. EPIGRAM PRINTED IN THE "NORTHAMPTON MERCURY.' To purify their wine, some people bleed A lamb into the barrel, and succeed; No nostrum, planters say, is half so good To make fine sugar as a Negro's blood. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 485 Now lambs and Negroes both are harmless things, And thence perhaps this wondrous virtue springs, 'Tis in the blood of innocence alone — Good cause why planters never try their own. TO DR. AUSTIN, OF CECIL STREET, LONDON. Austin! accept a grateful verse- from me, The poet's treasure, no inglorious fee. Loved by the Muses, thy ingenuous mind Pleasing requital in my verse may find. Yerse oft has dasli'd the scythe of Time aside, Immortalizing names which else had died : And oh ! could I command the glittering Avealth With which sick kings are glad to purchase health/ Yet, if extensive fame, and sure to live. Were in the power of verse like mine to give, I would not recompense his arts with less. Who, giving Mary health, heals my distress. Friend of my friend!^ I love thee, though unknown. And boldly call thee, being his, my own. May 26, 1792. EPITAPH ON FOP, A DOG BELONGING TO LADY THROCKMORTON. Though once a puppy, and though Fop by name, Here moulders one whose bones some honor claim. No sycophant, although of spaniel race. And though no hound, a martyr to the chase — Ye squirrels, rabbits, leverets, rejoice ! Your haunts no longer echo to his voice ; This record of his fate exulting view ; He died worn out with vain pursuit of you. "Yes," — the indignant shade of Fop replies — "And worn with vain pursuit, man also dies." August, 1T92. ' Ilayley. 486 cowper's poetical works. MARY AND JOHN. If John marries Mary, and Mary alone, 'Tis a very good match between Mary and John. Shoukl John wed a score, oh, the claAvs and the scratches! It can't be a match — 'tis a bundle of matches. SONNET TO GEORGE ROMNEY, ESQ., ON mS PICTURE OF ME IN CRAYONS, Drawn at Eartham in the 61st year of my age, and in the months of August and September, 1792. KoMXEY, expert infallibly to trace On chart or canvas, not the form alone And semblance, but, however faintly shown, The mind's impression too on every face — With strokes that time ought never to erase, Thou hast so pencill'd mine, that though I own The subject worthless, I have never known The artist shining with superior grace. But tliis I mark — that symptoms none of woe In thy incomparable work appear. Well — I am satisfied it should be so. Since, on maturer tliought, the cause is clear ; For in my looks what sorrow couldst thou see When I was Ilayley's guest, and sat to thee ? October, 1792. ' EPITAPH ON MR. CHESTER, OF CIIICHELEY. Tears flow, and cease not, where the good man lies, Till all who knew him follow to the skies. Tears therefore fall where Chester's ashes sleep ; Him wife, friends, brothers, children, servants weep- And justly — few shall ev^er him transcend As husband, parent, brother, master, friend. April. 1793. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 48*7 TO MY COUSIN, ANNE BODHAM, ON RECEIVING FROM HER A NETWORK PURSE MADE BY HERSELF. My gentle Anne, whom heretofore, AVhen I w«as young, and thou no more Than plaything for a nurse, I danced and fondled on my knee, A kitten both in size and glee — I thank thee for my purse. Gold pays the worth of all things here; But not of love : — that gem's too dear For richest rogues to win it; I, therefore, as a proof of love. Esteem thy present far above The best things kept within it. May 4, 1793. INSCRIPTION FOR A HERMITAGE IN THE AUTHOR'S GARDEN. Tins cabin, Mary, in my sight appears. Built as it has been in our waning years, A rest afforded to our weary feet. Preliminary — to the last retreat. May, 1T93. TO MRS. UN WIN. Mary ! I want a lyre Avith other strings. Such aid from Heaven as some have feign'd they drew. An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new And undebased by praise of meaner things; That, ere through age or woe I shed my wings, I may record thy worth with honor due. In verse as musical as thou art true. And that immortalizes whom it sings. But thou hast little need. There is a book 488 cowper's poetical works. By seraphs writ with beams of lieavenly liglit, On which the eyes of God not rarely look, A chronicle of actions just and bright; There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine, And, since thou owli'st that j^raise, I spare thee mine. May, 1793. TO JOHN- JOHNSON, ESQ., ON HIS PRESENTING ME WITH AN ANTIQUE BUST OF HOMER. KixsMAN beloved, and as a son, by me ! When I behold the fruit of thy regard, The sculptured form of my old fovorite bard, I reverence feel for him, and love for thee : Joy too and grief — much joy that there should be, Wise men and learn'd, who grudge not to reward IVith some applause my bold attempt and hard, Which others scorn ; critics by courtesy. The grief is this, that, sunk in Homer's mine, I lose my precious years, now soon to fail. Handling his gold, which, howsoe'er it shine. Proves dross when balanced in the Christian scale. Be wiser thou — like our forefather Donne, Seek heavenly wealth, and work for God alone. May, 1793. TO A YOUNG FRIEND, ON HIS ARRIVING AT CAMBRIDGE WET, WHEN NO RAIN HAD FALLEN THERE. If Gideon's fleece, which drench'd with dew he found While moisture none refresh'd the herbs around. Might fitly represent the Church, endow'd With heavenly gifts to heathens not allow xl ; In pledge, perhaps, of favors from on high. Thy locks were wet when others' locks were dry : Heaven grant us half the omen — may we see, 'Not drought on others, but much dew on thee! May, 1793. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 489 TO A SPANIEL, CALLED BEAU, KILLING A YOUNG BIRD. A Spaniel, Beau, that fares like you, "Well fed, and at his ease. Should wiser be than to pursue Each trifle that he sees. But you have kill'd a tiny bird, Which flew not till to-day, Against my orders, whom you heard Forbidding you the prey. Nor did you kill that you might eat And ease a doggish pain ; For him, though chased with furious heat, You left where lie was slain. Nor was he of the thievish sort, Or one whom blood allures ; But innocent was all his sport Whom you have torn for yours. My dog ! what remedy remains, Since teach you all I can, I see you, after all my pains, So much resemble man ? July 15, 1T93. BEAU'S REPLY. Sir, when I flew to seize the bird In spite of your command, A louder voice than yours I heard, And harder to withstand. Y^ou cried — Forbear! — but in my breast A mightier cried — Proceed ! — 'Twas Nature, sir, whose strong behest Impell'd me to the deed. Y^et, much as Nature I respect, I ventured once to break (As you perhaps may recollect) Her precept for your sake ; 490 cowper's poetical works. And when your linnet on a day, Passing his prison door, Had flutter'd all his strength away, And panting press'd the floor — AYell knowing him a sacred thing, Not destined to my tooth, I only kiss'd his ruffled wing, And lick'd the feathers smooth. Let my obedience then excuse My disobedience now ; IsTor some reproof yourself refuse From your aggrieved bow-wow : If killing birds be such a crime I (Which I can hardly see), ' What think you, sir, of killing time With verse address'd to me ! TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. Dear architect of fine Chateaux in air. Worthier to stand forever, if they could, Than any built of stone or yet of wood, For back of royal elephant to bear ! Oh for permission from the skies to share. Much to my own, though little to thy good, With thee (not subject to the jealous mood!) A partnership of literary ware ! But I am bankrupt now ; and doom'd henceforth To drudge^ in descant dry, on others' lays ; Bards, I acknowledge, of unequalPd worth ! But what his commentator's happiest praise? That he has furnish'd lights for other eyes, Which they who need them use, and then despise. Jane 29, 1793. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 491 ANSWER TO STANZAS ADDRESSED TO LADY IIESKETII, BY MISS CATHERINE FAX- SHAWE, IN RETURNING A POEM OF MR. COWPER's, LENT TO HER, ON CONDITION SHE SHOULD NEITHER SHOW IT, NOR TAKE A COPY. To. be remembered thus is fame, And in the first degree ; And did the few, like her, tlie same, The press might sleep for ine. So Homer in the memory stored Of many a Grecian belle, AVas once preserved — a richer hoard, But never lodged so Avell. 1793. ON FLAXMAN'S PENELOPE. The suitors sinn'd, but with a fair excuse. Whom all this elegance might well seduce ; 'Nor can our censure on the husband fall. Who, for a wife so lovely, slew them all. September, 1793. TO THE SPANISH ADMIRAL COUNT GRAVINA, ON HIS TRANSLATING THE AUTHOr's SONG ON A ROSE INTO ITALIAN VERSE. My Rose, Gravina, blooms anew, And steep'd not now in rain. But in Castilian streams by you, Will never fade again. 1793. INSCRIPTION FOR THE TOMB OF MR. HAMILTON. Paitse liere, and think : a monitory rhyme Demands one moment of thy fleeting time. Consult lilVs silent clock, thy bounding vein; Seems it to say — '^ Health here has long to reign?" 492 cowrEfi's poetical works. Ilast thou the vigor of tliy youth ? an eye • That beams delight? a lieart untaught to sigh? Yet fear. Youth, ofttinies healthful and at ease, Anticipates a day it never sees; And many a tomb, like Hamilton's, aloud Exclaims, ^'Prepare thee for an early shroud!" EPITAPH 01^ A HARE.1 Here lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue, [N'or swifter greyhound follow, Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew, Nor ear heard huntsman's halloo ; Old Tiney, surliest of his kind, ^ AVho, nursed with tender care, And to domestic bounds confined. Was still a wild Jack hare. Though duly from my hand he took His pittance every night ; ^ He did it with a jealous look, And, when he could, would bite. His diet was of wheaten bread. And milk, and oats, and straw ; Thistles, or lettuces instead, With sand to scour his inaw. On twigs of hawthorn he regaled, On pippins' russet peel; And, when his juicy salads fail'd. Sliced carrot pleased him Avell. A Turkey carpet was his lawn. Whereon he loved to bound, To skip and gambol like a fawn. And swing Ids rump around. His frisking was at evening hours\ y For then he lost his fear ; ^ -"^ut most before approaching showers, Or when a storm drew near. 1 See a Latin Epitaph on the other hare (Puss), p. 532. / MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. / 493 Eight years and five round rolling moons lie thus saw steal away, Dozing out all his idle noons, And every night at play. I kept him for his humor's sake. For he would oft heguile My heart of thoughts tliat made it ache, And force me to a smile. But now heneath this walnut shade He finds his long last home. And waits, in snug concealment laid, Till gentler Puss shall ,icome. He, still more aged, feels the shocks, From which no care ean save, \^ And, partner once of Tiney's box, Must soon partake his grave. THE BIRD'S NEST.— A TALE.» In Scotland's realms, where trees are few, Nor even shrubs abound ; But where, however bleak the view, Some better things are found ; For husband there and wife nuiy boast Their union undefiled ; And fiilse ones are as rare almost As hedgerows in the wild — In Scotland's realm forlorn and bare Tlie history chanced of late— The history of a wedded pair, A chafiinch and his matq. * This talc is founded on an article which appeared in the "Buckingham- ihire Herald," Saturday, June 1, 1793 :— '• Glasgow, May 23.— In a block, or )ulley, near the head of the mast of a gabcrt, now lying at the Broomlelaw, here is a chaffinch's nest and four cg^s. The nest was built while the vessel ay at Greenock, and was followed hither by both birds. Though the block is occasionally lowered for the inspection of the curious, the birds have not lorsakcn tlie nest. Tlie cock, however, visits the nest but seldom; while »bo liGn never leaves it, but when she descends to the hull for food." 42 494 cowper's poetical works. The spring drew near, each felt a breast "With genial instinct filPd ; They pair'd, and would have built a nest, But found not where to build. The heaths uncovered and the moors, Except with snow and sleet; Sea-beaten rocks and naked shores Could yield them no retreat. Long time a breeding-place they sought, Till both grew vex'd and tired : At length a ship arriving brought The good so long desn-.ed. A ship! — could such a restless thing Afford them place of rest? Or Avas the mercliant charged to bring The homeless birds a nest? Hush! — silent hearers profit most — This racer of the sea Proved kinder to them than the coast: It served them with a tree. But such a tree ! 'twas shaven deal, The tree they call a mast, And had a hollow with a wheel Through which the tackle pass'd. "Withm that cavity aloft Their roofless home they iix'd, Form'd with materials neat and soft. Bents, wool, and feathers mix'd. Four ivory eggs soon pave its floor "With russet specks bedight — * The vessel weighs, forsakes the shore, And lessens to the sight. The mother-bird is gone to sea, As she had changed her kind ; But goes the male ? Far wiser, he Is doubtless left behind. No — soon as from ashore he saw The winged mansion move. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 495 He flew to reach it, by a law Of never-failing love ; Then, perching at his consort's side, Was briskly borne along, The billows and the blast defied, And cheer'd her with a song. The seaman with sincere delight His feather'd shipmates eyes ; Scarce less exulting in the sight Than when he tows a prize. For seamen much believe in signs, And from a chance so new Each some approaching good divines; And may his hopes be true ! Hail, honor'd land! a desert where Not even birds can hide : Yet parent of this loving pair, Whom nothmg could divide. And ye who, rather than resign, Your matrimonial plan. Were not afraid to plough the brine In company with man ; For whose lean country much disdain We English often show ; Yet from a richer nothing gain But wantonness and woe — Be it your fortune, year by year The same resource to prove ; And may ye, sometimes landing here, Instruct us how to love ! June, 1793. TO MARY (MRS. UNWIN). The twentieth year is well-nigh past Since first our bky was overcast; Ah ! would that this might be tlie last ! My Mary ! 496 ' cowper's poetical works. Thy spirits have a fainter flow, I see thee daily weaker grow — Twas my distress that brought thee low, My ilary ! Thy needles, once a shining store,^ For my sake restless heretofore, !Now rust disused, and shine no more; My Mary ! For, though thou gladly wouldst fidfil The same kind office for me still, Thy sight now seconds not thy will. My Mary ! But well thou play'dst the housewife's part, And all thy threads with magic art Have wound themselves about this heart, My Mary ! Thy indistinct expressions seem Like language utter'd in a dream : Yet me they charm, whatever the theme. My Mary ! Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, \l Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient light. My Mary ( For, could I view nor them nor thee, "What sight worth seeing could I see"? The sun would rise in vain for me, - My Mary ! Partakers of thy sad decline. Thy hands their little force resign ; Yet gently press'd, press gently mine, My Mary ! • Such feebleness of limbs thou provest,J That now at every step thou mo vest Upheld by two ; yet still thou lovest, My Mary ! • MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. ^ 497 And still to love, though pressed with \\\^ In wintry age to feel no chill, "With me is to be lovely still, My Mary ! But ah ! by constant heed I know. How oft the sadness that I show Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, My Mary ! And should my future lot be cast AVith much resemblance of the past, Thy worn-out heart will break at last. My Mary ! Autumn oi 1793. THE CASTAWAY. Obscueest night mvolved the sky, The Atlantic billows roar VI, When such a destined wretch as I, Washed headlong from on boardy Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, PI is floating home forever left. No braver chief could Albion boast Than he with whom he went , Kor ever ship left Albion's coast With warmer wishes sent. He loved them both, but both in vain, IsTor him beheld, nor her again. Not long beneath the whelming brine, Expert to swim, he lay ; Nor soon he felt his strength decline. Or courage die away : But waged with Death a lasting strife, V- Supported by despair of life. He shouted ; nor his friends had fail'd To check the vessel's course ; But so the furious blast prevaiPd, That, pitiless perforce. They left tlieir outcast mate behind, And scudded still before the wind. 498 cowper's poetical works. Some succor yet they could afford ; And, such as storms allow, The cask, the coop, the floated cord, Delay'd not to jbestow : But he, they knew, nor ship nor shore, Whate'er they gave, should visit more. !N"or, cruel as it seem'd, could he Their liaste himself condemn. Aware that flight, in such a sea, Alone could rescue them ; Yet hitter felt it still to die J Deserted, and his friends so nigh. He long survives, who lives an hour In ocean, self-upheld : And so long he, with unspent power, His destiny repell'd : And ever, as the minutes flew. Entreated help, or cried — ^' Adieu!" At length, his transient respite past, His comrades, who hefore Had heard his voice in every hlast, Could catch the sound no more : For then, by toil subdued, he drank The stifling wave, and then he sank. Ko poet wept him ; but the page Of narrative sincere That tells his name, his worth, his age, Is wet with Anson's tear ; And tears by bards or heroes shed Alike immortalize the dead. I therefore purpose not, or dream, Descanting on his fate, To give the melancholy theme A more enduring date : / But misery still delights to trace Its semblance in another's case. Ko voice divine the storm allay'd, 'No light propitious shone; MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 499 When, snatcli'd from all effectual aid, We perish'd, each alone : But I beneath a rougher sea, J And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he. March 20, 1T99. TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. Dear President, whose art sublime Gives perpetuity to time, And bids transactions of a day, That fleeting hours would waft away To dark futurity, survive, And in unfading beauty live, — You cannot with a grace decline A special mandate of the Nine — Yourself, whatever task you choose, So much indebted to the Muse. Thus say the sisterhood : — W^e come — Fix well your pallet on your thumb, Pr.epare the pencil and the tints — W^e come to furnish you with hints. French disappointment, British glory, Must be the subject of the story. First strike a curve, a graceful bow, Then slope it to a point below ; Your outline easy, airy, light, Fill'd up, becomes a paper kite. Let independence, sanguine, horrid, Blaze like a meteor in the forehead : Beneath (but lay aside your graces) Draw si x-and- twenty rueful faces. Each with a staring, steadfast eye, Fix'd on his great and good ally. France flies the kite — 'tis on the wing — .^^ Britannia's lightning cuts the string. The wind that raised it, ere it ceases, Just rends it into thirteen pieces. Takes charge of every fluttering sheet, And lays them all at George's feet, Iberia, trembling from afar, Renounces the confederate war. 500 cowper's poetical works. Her efforts and her arts overcome, France calls her shattered navies home ; Repenting Holland learns to mourn The sacred treaties she has torn ; Astonishment and aAve profound Are stamped upon the nations round : Without one friend, above all foes, Britannia gives the world repose. ON THE AUTHOR OF "LETTERS ON LITERATURE." i The Genius of the Augustan age His head among Rome's ruins rear'd, And, bursting with heroic rage, "When literary Heron appear'd ; Thou hast, he cried, like him of old Who set the Ephesian dome on fire, By being scandalously bold, Attain'd the mark of thy desire. And for traducing YirgiPs name, Shalt share his merited reward ; A perpetuity of fame. That rots, and stinks, and is abhorr'd. THE DISTRESSED TRAVELLERS; OR, LABOR IX VAIN. A new song^ to a tune 7iever su7ig 'before. I SING of a journey to Clifton,^ We would have perform'd, if we coull; Without cart cr barrow, to lift on Poor Mary^ and me through the mud. Slee, sla, slud. Stuck in the mud ; Oh, it is pretty to wade through a flood ! * Nominally by Robert Heron, Esq., but supposed to have been written by John Pinkerton. Svo. 1785. 2 A village near Olney. 3 m^-s. Unwin. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 601 So away we went, slipping and sliding; Hop, hop, a la mode de deux frogs ; 'Tis near as good walking as riding, AVhen ladies are dress'd in their clogs. AVheels, no donbt, Go briskly about, But they clatter and rattle, and make such a rout. DIALOGUE. SHE. "Well! now, I protest it is charming; How finely the weather improves! That cloud, though 'tis rather alarming, How slowly and stately it moves!" *' Pshaw ! never mind, 'Tis not in the wind, We are travelling south, and shall leave it behind." " I am glad we are come for an airing. For folks may be pounded, and penn'd, Until they grow rusty, not caring To stir half a mile to an end." " The longer we stay. The longer we may ; It's a folly to think about weather or way." " But now I begin to be frighted ; If I fall, Avhat a way I should roll! I am glad that the bridge was indicted, Stay I stop ! I am sunk in a hole !" " Fay, never care, 'Tis a common affair ; You'll not be the last that will set a foot there." 502 cowper's poetical works. "Let me breathe now a little, and pondei On what it were better to do ; That terrible lane I see yonder I think we shall never get through/* '^So think I:— But, by the by, We never shall know, if we never should try." "But should we get there, how shall we get liome? What a terrible deal of bad road we have past ! Slipping and sliding, and if we should come To a difficult stile, I am ruin'd at last ! Oh, this lane ! Kow it is plain That struggling and striving is labor in vain.'* HE. "Stick fast there while I go and look;" SHE. " Don't go away, for fear I should fall :" " I have examined it, every nook. And what you see here is a sample of all. Come, wheel round. The dirt we have found Would be an estate, at a farthing a pound. Now, sister Anne,^ the guitar you must take ; Set it, and sing it, and make it a song: I have varied the verse, for variety's sake. And cut it otF short — ^because it was long. 'Tis hobbling and lame. Which critics won't blame ; For the sense and the sound, they say, should be the same. 1 Lady Austen. I MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 503 STANZAS ON THE LATE INDECENT LIBERTIES TAKEN WITH THE REMAINS OF MILTON.* "Me too, perchance, in future days, The sculptured stone shall show, With Paphian myrtle or "with bays Parnassian on my brow. "But I, or e'er that season come, Escaped from every care, Shall reach my refuge in the tomb, And sleep securely there." So sang, in Roman tone and style. The youthful bard, ere long OrdainVl to grace his native isle With her sublimest song. Who then but must conceive disdain. Hearing the deed unblest Of wretches who have dared profane His dread sepulchral rest ? HI fiire the hands that heaved the stones AVhere Milton's ashes lay — That trembled not to grasp his bones And steal his dust away ! O ill requited bard ! neglect Thy living worth repaid ; And blind idolatrous respect As much affronts thee dead. August, 1T90. TO THE REV. WILLIAM BULL. My PEAK FEIEND, JuuG 22, 17S2. If reading verse ^be your delight, 'Tis mine as much, or more, to write; But wliat we would, so weak is man, Lies oft remote from what we can. 1 The bones of Milton, who lies buried in Cripplegate Church, were disin- terred in the year 1790. 504: cowper's poetical works. For instance, at this very time I feel a wish by cheerful rhyme To soothe my friend, and, had I power, To cheat him of an anxious hour ; !N'ot meaning (for I must confess, It were but folly to suppress) His pleasure, or his good alone, But squinting partly at my own. But though the sun is flaming high In the centre of yon arch, the sky, And he had once (and who but he?) The name for setting genius free ; Yet whether poets of past days Yielded him undeserved praise, And he by no uncommon lot Was famed for virtues he had not , Or whether, which is like enough, His Highness may have taken huff. So seldom sought with invocation, Since it has been the reigning fashion To disregard his inspiration — I seem no brighter in my wits, For all the radiance he emits. Than if I saw through midnight vapor, The glimmering of a farthing taper. Oh for a succedaneum, then, To accelerate a creeping pen Oh for a ready succedaneum. Quod caput, cerebrum, et craniftm Pondere liberct exoso, Et morbo jam caliginoso ! 'Tis here ; this oval box well fill'd With best tobacco, finely milFd, Beats all Anticyra's pretences To disengage the encumber'd senses. Nymph of Transatlantic fame. Where'er thine haunt, whatever thy namej Whether reposing on the side Of Oroonoquo's spacious tide, Or listening with delight not small To Niagara's distant fall ! 'Tis thine to cherish and to feed The pungent nose-refreshing weed, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 505 "Which, whether pulverized it gain A speedy passage to tlie brain, Or Avhether, touch'd with fire, it rise In circling eddies to tlie skies — Does thought more quicken and refine Than all the breath of all the Nine ; Forgive the bard, if bard he be, Who once too wantonly made free To touch with a satiric wipe That symbol of thy power, the pipe-. So may no blight infest thy plains. And no unseasonable rains ; And so may smiling Peace once more Visit America's sad shore ; And thou, secure from all alarms Of thundering drums and glittering arms, Rove unconfined beneath the shade Thy wide expanded leaves have made ; So may thy votaries increase, And fumigation never cease; May Newton with renewed delights Perform thine odoriferous rites, With clouds of incense half divine Involve thy disappearing shrine; And so may smoke-inhaling Bull Be always filling, never full! EPITAPH ON MRS. M. HIGGINS, OF WESTONc Laurels may flourish round the conqueror's tomb,~ But happiest they w4io win the world to come : Believers have a silent field to fight. And their exploits are veiPd from human sight. They in some nook, where little known they dwell,. Kneel, pray in faith, and rout the hosts of hell ; Eternal triumphs crown their toils divine, And all those triumphs, Mary, now are thine. 1791. 43 506 cowper's poetical works. SONNET TO A YOUNG LADY ON HER BIRTHDAY. Deem not, sweet rose, that bloom'st midst many a thorn, Thy friend, though to a cloister's shade consigned, Can e'er forget the charms he left behind, Or pass unheeded this auspicious morn ! In happier days to brighter prospects born, Oh tell thy thoughtless sex, the virtuous mind, Like thee. Content in every state may find. And look on Folly's pageantry with scorn. To steer with nicest art betwixt the extreme Of idle mirth, and affectation coy — To blend good sense with elegance and ease — To bid Affliction's eye no longer stream. Is thine; best gift, the unfaihng source of joy, The guide to pleasures which can never cease ! ON A MISTAKE IN HIS TRANSLATION OF HOMER. CowPEE h.ad sinn'd with some excuse, If, bound in rhyming tethers. He had committed this abuse Of changing ewes for wethers ;^ But male for female is a trope, Or rather bold misnomer. That would have startled even Pope, When he translated Homer. ON THE BENEFIT RECEIVED BY HIS MAJESTY FROM SEA-BATHING IN THE YEAR 1789. O Sovereign of an isle renown'd For undisputed sway ! Wherever o'er yon gulf profound Her navies Aving their way ; ' I havG heard about my wether mutton from various quarters. It wa» a blunder hardly pardonable in a man v/ho has lived amid fields and meadowa grazed by sheep almost these thirty years. I have accordingly satirized my- MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 507 With juster claims she builds at length Her empire on the sea ; And well may boast the waves her strength, Which strength restored to thee. ADDRESSED TO MISS - ON READING THE " PRAYER FOR INDIFFERENCE, AN ODE BY MRS. GREVILLE. And dwells there in a female heart, By bounteous Heaven design'd, The choicest raptures to impart, To feel the most refined — Dwells there a wish in such a breast Its nature to forego ; To smother in ignoble rest At once both bliss and woe ? Far be the thought, and far the strain, Which breathes the low desire, How sweet soe'er the verse complain. Though Phoebus string the lyre ! Come, then, fair maid (in nature wise), Who, knowing them, can tell From generous sympathy what joys The glowing bosom swell : Injustice to the various powers Of pleasing, which you share. Join me, amid your silent hours, To form the better prayer. With lenient balm may Oberon hence To fairy -land be driven. With every herb that blunts the sense Mankind received from heaven. self in two stanzas which I composed last night, while I lay awake, tormented with pain, and well dosed with laudanum. If you find them not very bril- liant, therefore, you will know how to account for it— Letter to Joseph Hill^ ■ Esq., dated April 15. 1TV2 508 cowper's poetical works. " Oh ! if my sovereign Author please, Far be it from my fate To live unblest in torpid ease, And slumber on in state; " Each tender tie of life defied, Whence social pleasures spring, Unmoved with all the world beside, A solitary thing" — Some Alpine mountam, wrapt in snow. Thus braves the whirling blast. Eternal winter doom'd to know, No genial spring to taste. In vain warm suns their influence shed, The zephyrs sport in vain, He rears unchanged his barren head, Whilst beauty decks the plain. What though, in scaly armor dress'd, Indifference may repel The shafts of woe — in such a breast No joy can ever dwell. 'Tis woven in the world's great plan, And fix'd by Heaven's decree. That all the true delights of man Should spring from sympathy. 'Tis nature bids, and whilst the laws Of nature we retain, Our self-approving bosom draws A pleasure from its pain. Thus grief itself has comforts dear The sordid never know ; And ecstasy attends the tear When Virtue bids it flow. Eor, when it streams from that pure source. No bribes the heart can win To check, or alter from its course, The luxury within. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 509 Peace to the phlegm of sullen elves, Who, if from labor eased. Extend no care beyond themselves, Unpleasing and unpleased. Let no low thought suggest the prayer, Oh! grant, kind Heaven, to me, Long as T draw ethereal air. Sweet Sensibility ! "Where'er the heavenly ^N'ympli is seen, With lustre-beaming eye, A train, attendant on their queen, (Her rosy chorus) fly ; The jocund Loves in Hymen's band, With torclies ever bright, And generous Friendship, hand in hand With Pity's watery sight. The gentler virtues too are join'd In youth immortal warm; The soft relations, which, combined, Give life her every charm. The Arts come smiling in the close, And lend celestial fire ; The marble breathes, the canvas glows, The Muses sweep the lyre. " Still may my melting bosom cleave To sufferings not my own ; And still the sigh responsive heave. Where'er is heard a groan. " So Pity shall take Virtue's part^ Her natural ally ; And, fashioning my soften'd heart. Prepare it for the sky." This artless vow may Heaven receive, And you, fond maid, approve : So may your guiding angel give ' Whatever you wish or love! 510 cowper's poetical works. So may the rosy-finger'd hours Lead on the various year ; And every joy, which now is yours, Extend a larger sphere ! And suns to come, as round they wheel, Your golden moments hless With all a tender heart can feel. Or lively fancy guess ! FEOM A LETTER TO THE KEY. MR. NEWTON", LATE RECTOR OF ST. MARY, WOOLNOTII. Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, I can't understand What the ladies and gentlemen see in your face — That you are in fashion all over the land, And I am so much fallen into disgrace. Do but see what a pretty contemplative air I give to the company — pray do but note 'em — - You would think that the wise men of Greece were all there, Or at least would suppose them the Avise men of Gotham. My breath is as sweet as the breath of blown roses. While you are a nuisance where'er you appear ; There is nothing but snivelling and blowing of noses, Such a noise as turns a man's stomach to hear. Then, lifting his lid in a delicate way. And opening his mouth with a smile quite engaging, The Box in reply was heard plainly to say. What a silly dispute is this we are waging ! If you have a little of merit to claim, You may thank the sweet-smelhng Virginian weed ; And I, if I seem to deserve any blame. The before-mention'd drug in apology plead. Thus neither the praise nor the blame is our own, !N"o room for a sneer, much less a cachinnus ; We are vehicles', not of tobacco alone, But of any thing else they may choose to put in us. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 511 THE FLATTIA'G MILL. AN ILLUSTRATION. When" a bar of pure silver or ingot of gold Is -sent to be flatted or wrought into length, It is pass'd between cylinders often, and roll'd In an engine of utmost mechanical strength. Thus tortured and squeezed, at last it appears Like a loose heap of ribbon, a glittering show ; Like music it tinkles and rings in your ears, And, warm'd by the pressure, is all in a glow. This process achieved, it is doom'd to sustain The thump after thump of a gold-beater's mallet : And at last is of service in sickness or pain. To cover a pill for a delicate palate. Alas for the poet ! who dares undertake To urge reformation of national ill — His head and his heart are both likely to ache With the double employment of mallet and mill. If he wish to instruct, he must learn to delight; Smooth, ductile, and even, his fancy must flow — Must tinkle and glitter, like gold to the sight. And catch in its progress a sensible glow. After all he must beat it as thin and as fine As the leaf that enfolds what an invalid swallows ; For truth is unwelcome, however divine ; And unless you adorn it, a nausea follows. EPITAPH ON A FREE BUT TAME REDBREAST, A FAVORITE OF MISS SALLY HURDIS. These are not dewdrops ; these are tears, And tears by Sally shed For absent Robin, who she fears, With too much cause, is dead. 512 cowper's poetical works. One morn he came not to her hand, As he was wont to come, And, on her finger perch'd, to stand Picking his breakfast-crumb. AlarmM, she calFd him, and perplexM, She sought him, but in vain — That day he came not, nor the next, Nor ever came again. She therefore raised him here a tomb, Though where he fell, or how, Kone knows, so secret was his doom. Nor where he moulders now. Had half a score of coxcombs died In social Robin's stead. Poor Sally's tears had soon been dried, Or haply never shed. But Bob was neither rudely bold Nor spiritlessly tame ; Nor was, like theirs, his bosom cold, But always in a flame. March, 1792. SONNET, ADDRESSED TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. Hatley — thy tenderness fraternal shown In our first interview, delightful guest! To Mary, and me for her dear sake distressed. Such as it is, has made my heart thy own, Though heedless now of new engagements grown ; For threescore winters make a wintry breast. And I had purposed ne'er to go in quest Of friendship more, except with God alone. But thou hast won me ; nor is God my foe. Who, ere this last aflflictive scene began. Sent thee to mitigate the dreadful blow. My brother, by whose sympathy I know Thy true deserts infallibly to scan, Not more to admire the bard than love the man. June 2, 1792. • MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 513 AN EPITAPH. Here lies one who never drew Blood himself, yet many slew ; Gave the gun its aim, and figure Made in field, yet ne'er pulPd trigger. Armed men have gladly made Him their guide, and him oheyVI ; At his signified desire "Would advance, present, and fire. Stout he -vvas, and large of limb. Scores have fled at sight of him! And to all this fame he rose Only following his nose. Neptufte w^as he call'd ; not he Who controls the boisterous sea ; But of happier command, ITeptune of the furrow'd land • And, your wonder vain to shorten, Pointer to Sir John Throckmorton. 1T92. ON RECEIVING HAYLEY'S PICTURE. In language warm as could be breathed or penned Thy picture speaks the original, my friend, Kot by those looks that indicate thy mind — They only speak thee friend of all mankind ; Expression here more sootlnng still I see, That friend of all a partial friend to me. January, 1T93. ON A PLANT OF VIRGIN'S BOWER, DESIGNED TO COVER A GARDEN-SEAT. TnmvE, gentle plant! and weave a bower For Mary and for me ; And deck with many a splendid flower, Thy foliage large and free. 514 cowper's poetical works. Thou earnest from Eartham, and wilt shade (If truly I divine) Some future day the illustrious head Of him w^ho made thee mine. Should Daphne show a jealous frown, And envy seize the bay, Affirming none so fit to crown Such honor'd brows as they — Thy cause with zeal we shall defend. And with convincing-power; For why should not the virgin's friend Be crown'd with virgin's bower? Spring of 1793. ON RECEIVING HEYNE'S VIRGIL FROM MR. IIAYLEY. I snoiJLD have deem'd it once an effort vain To sweeten more sweet Maro's matchless strain ; But from that error now behold me free, Since I received him as a gift from thee. October, 1793. LINES ON A SLEEPING INFANT. Sweet babe ! whose image here expressed Does thy peaceful slumbers show; Guilt or fear, to break thy rest, Never did thy spirit know. Soothing slumbers ! soft repose, Such as mock the painter's skill, Such as innocence bestows. Harmless infant ! lull thee still. LINES ADDRESSED TO MISS THEODORA JANE COWPER. William Avas once a bashful youth ; His modesty was such, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 515 That one might say, to say the truth, He rather had too much. Some said that it was want of sense, And others, want of spirit (So blest a thing is impudenoe), While others could not bear it. But some a different notion had. And, at each other winking, Observed that though he little said, He paid it off with thinking. Howe'er, it happened, by degrees. He mended, and grew perter — In company was more at ease. And dress'd a little smarter ; ITay, now and then, could look quite gay, As other people do ; And sometimes said, or tried to say, A witty thing or so. He eyed the women, and made free To comment on their shapes ; So that there was, or seem'd to be, No fear of a relapse. The women said, who thought him rough, Bilt now no longer foohsh, " The creature may do well enough. But wants a deal of polish." At length improved from head to heel, 'Twere scarce too much to say, No dancing beau was so genteel, Or half so degage. Now that a miracle so strange May not in vain be shown. Let the dear maid who wrought the change Even claim him for her own ! TO THE SAME. How quick the change from joy to woe, How checkered is our lot below ! 516 cowper's poetical works Seldom we view tlie prospect fair ; Dark clouds of sorrow, pain, and care (Some pleasing intervals between), Scowl over more than half the scene. Last week with Delia, gentle maid ! Far hence in happier fields I stray'd. JFive suns successive rose and set, And saw no monarch in his state, "Wrapt in the blaze of majesty. So free from every care as I. Next day the scene was overcast — Such day till then I never pass'd ; For on that day, relentless fate ! Delia and I must separate. Yet ere we look'd our last farewell, From her dear lips this comfort fell — " Fear not that time, where'er we rove, Or absence, shall abate my love." LINES. Oh ! to some distant scene, a willing exile From the wild roar of this busy world, "Were it my fate with Delia to retire — "With her to wander through the sylvan shade, Each morn, or o'er the moss-embrowned turf, AVhere, blest as the prime parents of mankind In their own Eden, we would envy none. But, greatly pitying whom the world calls happy, Gently spin out the silken thread of life ! INSCRIPTION FOR A MOSS-HOUSE IN THE SHRUB- BERY AT WESTON. Here, free from Riot's hated nois Be mine, ye calmer, purer joys, A book or friend bestows ; Far from the storms that shake the great, Contentment's gale shall fan my seat, And sweeten my repose. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 51 7 LINES ON THE DEATH OF SIR WILLIAM RUSSEL. Doom'd, as I am, in solitude to waste Tlie present moments, and regret the past ; Deprived of every joy I valued most, My friend torn from me, and my mistress lost ; Call not this gloom I wear, this anxious mien, The dull effect of humor, or of spleen ! Still, still I mourn, with each returning da}^, Ilim^ snatch'd by fate in early youth away ; And her — through tedious years of doabt and pain, Fix'd in her choice, and faitliful — but in vain ! Oh prone to pity, generous, and sincere. Whose eye ne'er yet refused the wretch a tear ; Whose heart the real claim of friendship knows, NTor thinks a lover's are but fancied woes ; See me — ere yet my destined course half done. Oast forth a wanderer on a world unknown ! See me neglected on the world's rude coast, Each dear companion of my voyage lost ! NTor ask why clouds of sorrow shade my brow, And ready tears wait only leave to flow ! Why all that soothes a heart from anguish free. All that delights the happy — palls with me ! TO MRS. NEWTON. A NOBLE theme demands a noble verse, . In such I thank you for your fine oysters, Tlie barrel was magnificently large. But, being sent to Olney at free charge. Was not inserted in the driver's list. And therefore overlook'd, forgot, or miss'd ; For, when the messenger whom we dispatch'd Inquired for oysters. Hob his noddle scratch'd ; Denying that his wagon or his wain Did any such commodity contain. In consequence of which, your welcome boon Did not arrive till yesterday at noon : 1 Sir AVilliam Russel, the favorite friend of the young poet 44 518 cowper's poetical works. In consequence of wliich some chanced to die, And some, tliougb very sweet, were very dry. Now Madam says (and what she says must still Deserve attention, say she what she will), That what Ave call the dihgence, be-case It goes to London with a swifter pace. Would better suit the carriage of your gift, Eeturning downward with a pace as swift ; And therefore recommends it with this aim — To save at least three da^^s, — the price the same ; For though it will not carry or convey For less than twelve pence, send w^hate'er you may ; For oysters bred upon the salt sea-shore. Packed in a barrel, they will charge no more. News have I none that I can deign to write. Save that it rain'd prodigiously last night , And that ourselves were, at the seventh hour, Caught in the first beginning of the siiower ; But walking, running, and with much ado, Got home — -just time enough to be wet through ; Yet both are well, and, wondrous to be told. Soused as we were, we yet have caught no cold ; And wishing just the same good hap to you, We say, good Madam, and good Sir, adieu ! VERSES PRINTED BY HIMSELF, ON A FLOOD AT OLNEY To watch the storms, and hear the sky Give all our almanacs the lie ; To shake with cold, and see the plains In autumn drown'd with wintry rains 'Tis thus I spend my moments here. And wish myself a Dutch mynheer ; I then should have no need of wit ; For lumpish Hollander unfit ! Nor should I then repme at mud. Or meadows deluged witli a flood ; - But in a bog live well content, And find it just my element , MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 519 Should be a clod, and not a man, Nor wish in vain for sister Anne, "With charitable aid to drag My mind out of its proper quag; Should have the genius of a boor, And no ambition to have more. ON THE KECEirr OF A HAMPER. (in the manner of homer.) The straw-stuff'd hamper with his ruthless steel He open'd, cutting sheer tlie inserted cords Which bound the lid and lip secure. Forth came The rusthng package first, bright straw of wheat. Or oats, or barley , next a bottle green Throat-full, clear spirits the contents, distill'd Drop after drop odorous, by tlie art Of the fair mother of his friend — the Rose. ON THE NEGLECT OF HOMER. Could Homer come himself, distress'd and poor, And tune his harp at Rhedicina's door. The rich old vixen would exclaim (I fear), " Begone ! no tramper gets a farthing here." ON TOE HIGH PRICE OF FISH CocoA-NUT naught. Fish too dear. None must be bought For us that are here : No lobster on earth, That ever I saw. To me would be worth Sixpence a claw. 520 cowper's poetical works. So, dear madam, wait Till fish can be got At a reas'nable rate, Wliether lobster or not ; Till the French and the Dutch Have quitted the seas, And then send as much And as oft as you please. LATIK POEMS AND TRANSLATIONS. MONTES GLACIALES, IN OCEANO GERMANICO NATANTES. En, qufc procligia, ex oris allata remotis, Oras adveniunt pavefacta per aequora nostras! Non equidem priscse saaclum rediisse videtur Pjrrhse, cum Proteus pecus altos visere montes Et sylvas, egit. Sed tempora vix teviora Adsunt, evulsi quando radicitus alti In mare descendunt montes, fluctusque pererrant. Quid vero hoc monstri est magis et mirabile visu ? Splendentes video, ceu pulchro ex sere vel auro Conflatos, rutilisque accinctos undique gemmis, Bacca caerule^, et flammas imitante pyropo. Ex oriente adsunt, ubi gazas optima tellus Parturit onmigenas, quibus 86va per omnia sumptu Ingenti finxere sibi diademata reges ? Vix hoc crediderim. ISTon falkint talia acutos Mercatorum oculos : prius et quam littora Gangis Liquissent, avidis gratissima pra)da fuissent. Ortos unde putemus ? An illos VesVius atrox Protuht, ignivomisve ejecit faucibus JEtna? Luce micant propria, Phoebive, per aera pururn Nunc stimulantis equos, argentea tela retorquent? Phoebi luce micant. Ventis et fluctibus altis Appulsi, et rapidis subter currentibus undis, Tandem non fallunt oculos. Capita alta videre est Mult^ onerata nive et canis conspersa pruinis. OsBtera sunt glacies. Procijl hinc, ubi Bruma fere omnes Oontristat menses, portenta ha)c horrida nobis Ilia strui vohiit. Quoties de culmine summo Olivorum fluerent in littora prona, soluta) Sole, nives, propero tendentes in mare cursu, 522 cowper's poetical works. Ilia gelu fixit. Paulatim attollere sese Mirum coepit opus ; glacieque ab origine rerum In glaciein aggesta sublimes vertice tandem JEquavit montes, non crescere nescia moles. Sic immensa diu stetit, £©ternumque stetisset Congeries, hominum neque vi neque mobilis arte, Littora ni tandem declivia deseruisset, Pondere victa suo. Dilabitur. Omnia circum Antra et saxa gemunt, subito concussa fragere, Bum ruit in pelagum, tauquam studiosa natandi, Ingens tota strues. Sic Delos dicitur olim, Insula, in Mgodo fluitasse erratica ponto. Sed non ex glacie Delos; neque torpida Delum Bruma inter rupes genuit nudum sterilemque. Sed vestita herbis erat ilia, ornataque nunquam Decidua lauro ; et Delum dilexit Apollo. At vos, errones liorrendi, et caligine digni Cimmeria, Deus idem odit. Natalia vestra, Nubibus involvens frontem, non ille tueri Sustinuit. Patrium vos ergo requirite coslum ! Ite ! Redite ! Timete moras ; ni leniter austro Spirante, et nitidas Phosbo jaculante sagittas Hostili vobis, pereatis gurgite misti! March 11, j799. ON THE ICE ISLANDS SEEN FLOATING IN THE GERMAN OCEAN. What portents, from Avliat distant region, ride, Unseen till now in ours, the astonisli'd tide ? In ages past, old Proteus, with his droves Of sea-calves, sought the mountains and the groves. But noAv, descending whence of late they stood, Themselves the mountains seem to rove the flood. Dire times were they, full charged with human woes ; And these, scarce less calamitous than those. What view we now ? More wondrous still ! Behold ! Like banish'd brass they shine, or beaten gold ; And all around the pearPs pure splendor show, And all around the ruby's fiery glow. Come they from India, where the burning Earth, All bounteous, gives her richest treasures birth ; And where the costly gems, that beam around LATIN POEMS AND TRANSLATIONS. 523 The brows of miglitiest potentates, are found? ^"0. Kever such a countless dazzling store Had left unseen the Ganges' peopled shore. Rapacious hands, and ever-watchful eyes, Should sooner far have niark'd and seized the prize. Whence sprang they then? Ejected have they come From Vesuvius', or from JEtna's burning womb ? Thus shine they self-illumed, or but display The borro^'d splendors of a cloudless day ? AVith borrow'd beams they shine. The gales that breathe Now landward, and the current's force beneath. Have borne them nearer: and the nearer sight, Advantaged more, contem])lates them aright. Their lofty summits crested high they show, With mingled sleet, and long-incumbent snow. The rest is ice. Far hence, where, most severe, Bleak winter well-nigh saddens all the year, Their infant growth began. He bade arise Their uncouth forms, portentous in our eyes. Oft as dissolved by transient suns, the snow Left the tall cliff, to join the flood below ; He caught, and curdled with a freezing blast The current, ere it reach'd the boundless waste. By slow degrees uprose the w^ondrous pile, And long successive ages roll'd the while ; Till, ceaseless in its growth, it claim'd to stand Tall as its rival mountains on the land. Thus stood, and, unremovable by skill Or force of man, had stood the structure still, But that, though firmly fix'd, supplanted yet By pressure of its own enormous weight. It left the shelving beach — and, with a sound That shook the bellowing waves and rocks around, Self-launch'd, and swiftly, to the briny wave, As if instinct with strong desire to lave, Down went the ponderous mass. So bards of old How Delos swam the ^gean deep have told. But not of ice was Delos. Delos bore Herb, fruit, and flower. She, crown'd with laurel, wore, Even under wintry skies, a summer smile; And Delos was Apollo's favorite isle. But, horrid wanderers of the deep, to you He deems Cimmerian darkness only due. 524 cowper's poetical works. Your hated birth he deign VI not to survey, But, scornful, turn'd his glorious eyes away. Hence, seek your home, nor longer rashly dare The darts of Phoebus and a softer air ; Lest ye regret, too late, your native coast, In no congenial gulf forever lost ! March 19, 1799. MONUMENTAL INSCRIPTION TO WILLIAM NOETHCOI Hic sepultus est Inter suorum lacrynias GULIELMUS NORTHCOT, GULIELMI ET MaRI^ filiuS Unicus, unice dilectus. Qui floris ritu succisus est semihiantis, Aprihs die septimo, 1780. ^t. 10. Care, vale ! Sed non seternum, care, valeto ! Namque iterum tecum, sim modo dignus, ero. Tum nihil am plexus poterit divellere nostros, Nee tu marcesces, nee lacrymabor ego. TRANSLATION. Farewell ! '•'• But not forever,'' Hope replies — Trace but his steps and meet him in the skies ! There nothing shall renew our parting pain, Thou shalt not wither, nor I weep again. IN SEDITIONEM HORRENDAM, CORRUPTELIS GALLICIS, UT FERTUR, LONDINI NUPER EXORTAM. Perfida, crudelis, victa et lymphata furore, Non armis, laurum Gallia fraude petit. Venalem pretio plebem conducit, et urit Undique privatas patriciasque domos. Nequicquam conata sua, foedissima sperat Posse tamen nostra nos superare manu. Gallia, vana struis ! Precibus nunc utere ! Vinces, Nam mites timidis, supplicibusque sumus. I LATIN POEMS AKD TRANSLATIONS. 525 TRANSLATION. False, cruel, disfippointed, stung to the heart, France quits the warrior's for the assassin's part, To dirty hands a dirty bribe conveys. Bids the low street and lofty palace blaze. Her sons too weak to vanquish us alone. She hires the worst and basest of our own. Kneel, France ! a suppliant conquers us with ease, We always spare a coward on his knees. MOTTO ON A CLOCK. WITH A translation BY HAYLEY. Qu^ lenta accedit, quani velox praaterit hora! Ut capias, patiens esto, sed esto vigil ! SloAv comes the hour ; its passing speed how great! Waiting to seize it — vigilantly wait ! A SIMILE LATINIZED. SoRS adversa gerit stiinulum, sed tendit et alas! Pungit api similis, sed velut ista fugit. VERSES^ TO THE MEMORY OF DR. LLOYD. Abut senex. Periit senex amabilis, Quo non fuit jucundior. Lugete vos, getas quibus maturior Seneni colendum pra3stitit ; Seu quando, viribus valentioribus Firmoque fretus pectore, Florentiori vos juventute excolens Cur^ fovebat patri^ ; Seu quando, fractus, janique donatus rude Vultu sed usque blandulo, * "Written by Pr. Vincent. Cowper's English version of them will be found below. 526 cowper's poetical works. Miscere gaudebat suas facetias His annuls leporibus. Yixit probus, puraque simplex indole, Blandisque comis moribus, Et dives sdquk mente, chariis omnibus, Unius auctus munere. Ite, tituli ! Meritis beatioribus Aptate laudes debitas ! Kec invidebat ille, si quibus favens Fortuna plus arriserat. Placide senex, levi quiescas cespite, Etsi superbum nee vivo tibi Decus sit inditum, nee mortuo Lapis notatus nomine ! VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF DR. LLOYD. SPOKEN AT THE WESTMINSTER ELECTION NEXT AFTER HIS DECEASE. Our good old friend is gone ; gone to his rest, Whose social converse was itself a feast. O ye of riper years, who recollect How once ye loved, and eyed him with respect, Both in the firnmess of his better day, While yet he ruled you with a father's sway, And when, impair'd by time, and glad to rest, Y'et still with looks in mild complacence dreot. He took his annual seat, and mingled here His si)rightly vein with yours — now drop a tear ! In morals blameless, as in manners meek. He knew no wish that he might blusii to speak; But, happy in whatever state below. And richer than the rich in being so, Obtain'd the hearts of all, and sucli a meed At length from one^ as made him rich Indeed. Hence then, ye titles, hence, not wanted here ! Go I garnish merit in a brighter sphere — • Ilo was nslier and under-master cf Westuiinster near fifty years, aiul fclirod froin his occuiiation v/lien he was neai seventy, with a handsoino pension fioiii the king LATIX rOEMS AND TRANSLATIONS. 52'? The brows of tliose, wliose more exalted lot lie could congratulate, but envied not! Light lie the turf, good senior, on thy breast ; And tranquil, as thy mind Avas, be thy rest! Though, living, thou hadst more desert than fame, And not a stone now chronicles thy name! POPULETUM. PoPFLEyF. cecidit gratissima copia silvas, Conticuere susurri, omnisque evanuit umbra. Nullao jam levibus se miscent frondibus aurse, Et nulla in lluvio ramorum ludit imago. Hei milii ! bis senos dum luctu torqueor annos, His cogor silvis suetoque carere recessu, Cum sero rediens, stratasc^ue in gramine cernens Insedi arboribus, sub quels errare solebam. Ah ubi nunc merulaa cantus ? Felicior ilium Silva tegit, durte nondum permissa bipenni; Scilicet exustos colles camposque patentes Odit, et indignans et non rediturus abivit. Sed qui succisas doleo succidar et ipse, Et priiis huic parilis, quam creverit altera silva, Flebor, et, exequiis |)arvis donatus, habebo Defixum lapidem tumulique cubantis acervum. Tarn subito periisse videns tam digna manere Agnosco humanas sortes et tristia fata — Sit licet ipse brevis, volucrique siinillimus umbrjc! Est homini brevior citiusque obitura voluptas. THE POPLAR FIELD The poplars are fell'd, farewell to tije shade, And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade! The wmds ])lay no longer and sing in the leaves, Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives. Twelve years had elapsed since I last took a view Of my favorite field, and the bank where they grew ; 528 cowper's poetical works. And now in tlie grass behold tliey are laid, And the tree is my seat that once lent nie a shade. Tlie blackbird has fled to another retreat, "Where the hazels alibrd him a screen from the heat, And the scene where his melody charm'd me before Eesoimds witli his sweet-flowing ditty no more. My fugitive years are all hasting away, And I must ere long lie as lowly as they, "With a turf on my breast, and a stone at my bead, Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead. 'Tis a sight to engage me, if any thing can, To muse on the perishing pleasures of man ; Though his life be a dream, his enjoyments, I see, Have a being less durable even than he.* LILIUM ATQUE ROSA. Heu inimicitias quoties parit aimula forma, Quam raro pulchras pulchra placere potest! Sed fines ultra solitos discordia tendit. Cum flores ipsos bills et ira movent. Hortus ubi dulces pr^ebet tacitosque recessus. Se rapit in partes gens animosa duas ; Hie sibi regales Amaryllis Candida cultus, Illic purpureo vindicat ore Rosa. Ira Rosam et meritis qusesita superbia tangunt, Multaque ferventi vix cohibenda sinu, Dum sibi fautoruni ciet undique nomina vatum, Jusque suum, multo carmine fulta, probat. Altior emicat ilia, et celso vte^ce nutat, Ceu flores inter non habiti^|0|larem, rastiditque alios, et nata videtur in usus Imperii, sceptrum, Flora quod ipsa gerat. I Cowper afterwards altered this last stanza in the following manner: The change both my heart aind my fancy employs; I reflect on the frailty of man, and his joys: Short-lived as we are, yet our pleasures, we see, Have a still shorter date, and die sooner than we. LATIN rOEM^ AND TRANSLATIONS. 529 iNec Dca non sensit civilis mnrmura rixa), Ciii ciira3 est pictas i)an(lere ruris opes. Deliciasqiie suas niinquain non pronipta tueri, Dum licet et locus est, ut tueatur, adest. Et tibi fonna datnr procerior omnibus, inquit, Et tibi, principibus qui solet esse, color, Et donee vincat qu89dani formosior, ambas, Et tibi regina3 nomen, et esto tibi. His ubi sedatus furor est, petit utraque nynipliain, Qualeni inter Veneres Anglia sola parit ; llanc penes imi)eriuni est, nihil optant amplius, hujus liegnant in nitidis, et sine lite, genis. THE LILY AXD THE ROSE. The ISTyniph must lose lier female friend, If more admired than she ; But where will tierce contention end, If flowers can disagree ? Within the garden's peaceful scene Appear'd two lov^ely foes. Aspiring to the rank of queen — The Lily and the Rose. The Rose soon redden'd into rage, And, swelling with disdain, Ap])eard to many a poet's page To prove her right to reign. The Lily's height bespoke command, A fair imperial flower ; She seem'd dej^Ld for Flora's hand, The sceptre ^^Wer power. This civil bickering and debate Tlie goddess chanced to hear, And flew to save, ere yet too late, The pride of the parterre. Yours is, she said, the nobler hue, And yours the statelier mien *, 45 530 cowper's poetical works. And, till a third surpasses you, Let each be deem'd a queen. Thus soothed and reconciled, each seeks The fairest British fair ; The seat of empire is her cheeks, They reign united there. IN SUBMERSIONEM NAVIGIT, GUI GEORGIUS REGALE NOMEN INDITUM. Plangimus fortes. Periere fortes, Patriuni propter periere littus Bis quater centum ; subito sub alto iEquore mersi. !N"avis, innitens lateri, jacebat. Mains ad summas trepidabat undas. Cum levis, funes quatiens, ad imum Depulit aura. Plangimus fortes. Nimis, heu, caducam Fortibus vitam voluere parca3, I^ec sinunt ultra tibi nos recentes Nectere laurus, Magne, qui nomen, licet incanorum, Traditum ex multis atavis tullsti ! At tuos olim memorabit sevum Omne triumphos. 'Nou. hyems illos furibunda mersit, Non mari in clauso scopuli latentes, ^ Pissa non rimis abies, nee atrox Abstulit ensis. Navitas sed tum nimium jocosi Voce fallebant hilari laborem, Et'quiescebat, calamoque dextram im- pleverat heros. Vos, quibus cordi est grave opus piumque, Humidum ex alto spolium levate, Et putrescentes sub aquis amicos Reddite amicis ! LATIN POEMS AND TRANSLATIONS. 581 Hi qnideiii (sic Dis placuit) fuere : Sed ratis, nonduin piitris, ire possit Rursus in Lelluin, Britoniiinque nomen Tollere ad astra. ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. WRITTEN AVIIEN TUE NEWS ARRIVED. To the March in Scipio. Toll for tlie brave, Tlie brave tliat are no more ! All sunk beneath the wave, Fast by their native shore ! Eight hundred of the brave, Whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel, And laid her on her side. / A land-breeze shook the shrouds, \/ And she w\as overset ; Down w^ent the Royal George, AVith all her crew complete. Toll for the brave ! / Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; His last sea-fight is fought ; His work of glory done. It was not in the battle ; No tenipest gave the shock ; She sprang no fatal leak ; She ran upon no rock. ■ His sword was in its sheath ; His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down / With twice four hundred men. Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes ! And mingle with our cup The tear that England owes. 532 cowper's poetical works. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again, Full charged with England's thunder, And plough the distant main. But Kempenfelt is gone. His victories are o'er ; And he and his eight hundred Shall plough the wave no more. Sept 17S2. YOTUM. O MATTJTixi rores, aurseque salubres, O nemora, et IvQtsd rivis felicibus herba3, Graminei colles, et amoen83 in vallibus umbr89 ! Fata modo dederint quas olim in yure paterno Delicias, procul arte, procul formidine novi, Quam vellem ignotus, quod mens niea semper avebat, Ante larem proprium placidam expectare senectam. Tum demilm, exactis non infeliciter annis, Sortiri taciturn lapidem, aut sub cespite condi ! ^ EPITAPHIUM. Hic etiam jacet, Qui totum novennium vixit, Puss. Siste paulisper, Qui praiteriturus es, Et tecum sic reputa — • Hunc neque canis venaticus, Nee plumbum missile, Nee laqueus, ISTec imbres nimii, Confecere : Tamen mortuus est — Et moriar ego. 1 On the death of a favorite hare. See p. 492. LATIN POEMS AND TRANSLATIONS. 533 SIMILE m PARADISE LOST. "So when, from mountain tops, the dusky clouds Ascending," &c. QuALES aerii montis de vertice nnbes Cum snrgunt, et jam Boreco tumida era quieriint, Ooehim liilares abdit, spissa caligine, vultus : Turn, si jucundo tandem sol prodeat ore, Et croceo montes et pascna liimine tingat, Gaiident omnia, aves mulcent concentibus agros Balatuque ovium colles vallesque resultant. TRANSLATION OF DRYDEN'S EPIGRAM ON MILTON. Tres tria, sed longe distantia, specula vates Ostentant tribus e gentibus eximios. Gra3cia sublimem, cum majestate disertum Roma tulit, felix Anglia utrique parem. Partubus ex binis Natura exbausta, coacta est, Tertius ut fieret, consociare duos. July, 17S0. TRANSLATION OF PRIOR'S CHLOE AND EUPHELTA. Mercator, vigiles oculos ut fallere possit, Nomine sub ticto trans mare mittit opes ; Lene sonat liquidumque meis Euphelia chordis, Sed solam exoptant te, mea vota, Chloe. Ad speculum ornabat nitidos Euphelia crines. Cum dixit, mea lux, lieus, cane, sume lyram. Namque lyram juxta positam cum carmine vidit, Suave quidem carmen dulcisonamque lyram. Eila lyr89 vocemque paro, suspiria surgunt, Et miscent numeris murmura moesta meis, Dumque ture memoro laudes, Euphelia, formro, Tota anima interea pendet ab ore Chides. Subrubet ilia pudore, et contrahit altera frontem, Me torquet mea mens conscia, psallo, tremo ; Atque Cupidinea dixit Dea cincta corona, Heu fallendi artem quam didicere parum. ,534 cowper's poetical works. TRANSLATIONS FROM THE FABLES OF GAY. LEPUS MULTIS AMICUS. LusiTS araicitia est, nni nisi dedita, ceu fit, Simplice ni Pxexus foedere, Insiis amor. Incerto genitore puer, non sfepe paternsa Tutameii novit, deliciasque domiis : Quique sibi fidos fore multos sperat, amicus Mirum est liuic misero si ferat iilliis opem. Comis erat, mitisqiie, et nolle et velle paratus Cum quovis, Gaii more modoque, Lepus. Ille, quot in sylvis et quot spatiantur in agris Quadrupedes, norat conciliare sibi ; Et quisque innocuo, invitoque lacessere quenquam Labra tenus saltem lidus amicus erat. ■ , Ortum sub lucis dum pressa cubilia linquit, Rorantes lierbas, pabula sueta, petens, Yenatorum audit clangores pone sequentem, Fulmineumque sonum territus erro fugit. Corda pavor pulsat, sursum sedet, erigit aures, Respicit, et sentit jam prope adesse necem. Utque canes fallat late circumvagus, illuc, Unde abiit, mira calliditate redit ; Viribus at fractis tandem se projicit ultro In media miserum semianimemque via. Yix ibi stratus, equi sonitum pedis audit, et, oli spe Quam IvQtk adventu cor agitatur equi ! Dorsum (inquit) milii, cliare, tuum concede, tuoque Auxilio nares fallere, vimque canum. Me mens, ut nosti, pes prodit — fidus amicus Fert quodcunque, lubens, nee grave sentit, onus. Belle, miselle lepuscule, (ecpius respondet) amara Omnia quaa tibi sunt, sunt et amara milii. Yerum age — sume animos — multi, me pone, bonique Adveniunt, quorum sis cito salvus ope. Proximus armenti dominus bos solicitatus Auxilium his verbis se dare posse negat : Quando quadrupedum, quot vivunt, nullus amicum Me nescire potest usque fuisse tibi, Libertate tequus, quam cedit amicus amico, Utar, et absque metu ne tibi displiceam ; LATIN POEMS AND TRANSLATIONS. 535 Hinc me mandat amor. Jaxta istum messis acervum Me mea, pra) cunctis chara, juvenca manet; Et quis non iiltro qiisecunque negotia linquit, Pareat ut dominaa cum vocat ipsa siia3 ? Nee me crudelem dicas — discedo — sed liircus, Ciijus ope effiigias integer, liircus adest. Febrem (ait liircus) habes. Heu, sicca ut lumina languent ! Utque caput, collo deiiciente, jacet! Hirsutum milii tergum ; et forsan Iteserit ajgrum, Vellere eris melius fultus, ovisque venit. Me mihi fecit omis natura, ovis inquit, anlielans Sustineo lanaa pondera tanta mea? ; Me nee velocem nee fortem jacto, solentque ^os etiam s^vi dilacerare canes. Ultimus accedit vitulus, vitulumque precatur, Ut periturum alias ocyus eripiat. Remne ergo, respondet vitulus, suscepero tantam, I^on depulsus adhuc ubere, natus heri ? Te, quem maturi canibus validique relinquunt, Incolumem potero reddere parvus ego ? Prreterea tollens quem illi aversantur, amicis Forte parum videar consuluisse meis. fgnoscas oro. Fidissima dissociantur Corda, et tale tibi sat liquet esse meura. Ecce autem ad calces canis est ! te quanta perempto Tristitia est nobis ingrnitura ! — Vale ! AVARUS ET PLUTUS. IcTA fenestra Euri flatu stridebat, avarus Ex somno trepidus surgit, opumque memor. Lata silenter humi ponit vestigia, quemque Respicit ad sonitum, respiciensque tremit ; Augustissiina quseque foramina lampade visit, Ad vectes, obices, fertque refertque manum. Dein reserat crebris junctam compagibus arcam Exultansque omnes conspicit intus opes. Sed tandem furiis ultricibus actus ob artes Quels sua res tenuis creverat in cumulum. Contortis manibus nunc stat, nunc pectora pulsans Aurum execratur, perniciemque vocat ; O mihi, ait, misero mens quam tranquilla fuisset, Hoc celasset adhuc si modo terra malum I 536 cowper's poetical works. Nunc autem virtus ipsa est venalis ; et aurum Quid contra vitii tormina sreva valet? O iniraicum aurum ! O homini infestissima pestis; Cui datur illecebras vincere posse tuas ? Aurum homines suasjt contemnere quicquid honestum est, Et proBter nomen nil retinere boni. Aurum cuncta mali per terras semina sparsit ; Aurum nocturnis furibus arma dedit. Bella docet fortes, timidosque ad pessima ducit, Foedifragas artes, multiplicesque dolos, Nee vitii quicquam est, quod non inveneris ortum Ex inalesuada auri sacrilegaque fame. Dixit, et ingemuit; Plutusque suum sibi numen Ante oculos, ira fervidus, ipse stetit. Arcam clausit avarus, et ora horrentia rugis Ostendens; tremulum sic Deus increpuit. Questibus his raucis inihi cur, stulte, obstrepis aures? • Ista tui similis tristia quisque canit. Oommaculavi egone humanum genus, improbe? Culpa, Dum rapis, et captas omnia, culpa tua est. Mene execrandum censes, quia tam pretiosa Criminibus Hunt perniciosa tuis ? Virtutis specie, pulchro ceu pallio amictus Quisque catus nebulo sordida facta tegit. Atque suis manibus commissa potentia, durum Et dirum subito vergit ad imperium. Hinc, nimium dum latro aurum detrudit in arcam. Idem aurum latet in pectore pestis edax. Nutrit avaritiam et fastum, suspendere adunco Suadet naso inopes, et vitium omne docet. Auri et larga probo si copia contigit, instar Roris dilapsi ex sothere cuncta beat : Tum, quasi numen inesset, alit, fovet, educas orbos, Et viduas lacrymis ora rigare vetat. Quo sua crimina jura auro derivet avarus, Aurum anima3 pretium qui cupit atque capit? Lege pari gladium incuset sicarius atrox Cseso homine, et ferrum judicet esse reum. PAPILIO ET LIMAX. Qui subito ex imis rerum in fastigia surgit, Nativas sordes, quicquid agatur, olet. TRANSLATIONS FROM THE FRENCH OF MADAME DE LA MOTHE GUM. THE NATIVITY. 'Tis folly all! — let me no more be told Of Parian porticoes, and roofs of gold ; Delightful views of Nature, dress'd by Art, Enchant no longer this indifferent heart; The Lord of all things, in his humble birth, Makes mean the proud magnificence of earth ; The straw, the manger, and the mouldering wall Eclipse its lustre ; and I scorn it all. Canals, and fountains, and delicious vales, Green slopes and plains, whose plenty never fails ; Deep-rooted groves, whose heads sublimely rise, Earth-born, and yet ambitious of the skies, — The abundant foliage of whoso gloomy shades, Vainly the sun in all its power invades, — Where warbled airs of sprightly birds resound. Whose verdure lives while Winter scowls around ; Rocks, lofty mountains, caverns dark and deep. And torrents raving down tlie rugged steep ; Smooth downs, whose fragrant herbs the spirits cheer; Meads crown'd with flowers ; streams musical and clear, Whose silver waters, and whose murmurs, join Their artless charms, to make the scene divine; The fruitful vineyard, and the furrow'd plain. That seems a rolling sea of golden grain ; — All, all have lost the charms they once possessed; An ijifant God reigns sovereign in my breast ; 538 cowper's poetical works. From Bethlehem's bosom 1 no more will rove ; There dwells the Saviour, and tliere rests my love. Ye mightier rivers, that, Avith sounding force, Urge down the valleys your impetuous course ! "Winds, clouds, and lightnings! and, ye waves, whose heads, Curl'd into monstrous forms, the seaman dreads ! Horrid abyss, where all experience fails, Spread with the wreck of planks and shatter'd sails ; On whose broad back grim Death triumphant rides, AVhile havoc floats on all thy swelling tides. Thy shores a scene of ruin, strew'd around AVith vessels bulged, and bodies of the drown'd! Ye fish, that sport beneath the boundless waves. And rest, secure from man, in rocky caves; Swift-darting sharks, and whales of hideous size. Whom all the aquatic world with terror eyes ! Plad I but faith immovable and true, I might defy the fiercest storm, like you : The world, a more disturb'd and boisterous sea, "When Jesus shows a smile, affrights not me; He hides me; and in vain the billows roar. Break harmless at my feet, and leave the shore. Thou azure vault, where, through the gloom of night. Thick sown, we see such countless worlds of light! Thou Moon, whose car, encompassing the skies, Kestores lost Nature to our wondering eyes ; Again retiring, when the brighter Sun Begins the course he seems in haste to run ! Behold him where he shines ! His rapid rays. Themselves unmeasured, measure all our days ; Notliing impedes the race he would pursue, Nothing escapes his penetrating view, A thousand lands confess his quickening heat, And all he cheers are fruitful, fair, and sweet. Far from enjoying what these scenes disclose, I feel the thorn, alas ! but miss the rose : Too well I know this aching heart requires More solid good to fill its vast desires ; . In vain they represent His matchless might. Who call'd them out of deep primeval niglit ; Their form and beauty but augment my woe : I seek the Giver of those charms they show : Kor, Him beside, throughout the world He made, TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 539 Lives there in whom I trust for cure or aid. — Infinite God, tliou great imrivalPd One ! Wliose glory makes a blot of yonder sun ; Compared with thine, how dim liis beauty seems, How quench'd the radiance of his golden beams ! Thou art my bliss, the light by which I move ; In Thee alone dwells all that I can love. All darkness flies when Thou art pleased to appear, A sudden spring renews the fading year; Where'er I turn I see thy power and grace, The watchful guardians of our heedless race : Thy various creatures in one strain agree, All, in all times and places, speak of Thee ; Even I, with trembling heart and stammering tongue. Attempt thy praise, and join the general song. Almighty Former of this wondrous plan, Faintly reflected in thine image, Man ! Holy and just — the greatness of whose name Fills and supports this universal frame. Diffused throughout the infinitude of space, Who art Thyself thine own vast dwelling-plaee ; Soul of our soul, whom yet no sense of ours Discerns, eluding our most active powers; Encircling shades attend thine awful throne, That veil thy fiice, and keep thee still unknown ; Unknown, though dwelling in our inmost part. Lord of the thoughts, and Sovereign of the heart ! Repeat the charming truth that never tires, ISTo God is like the God my soul desires ; He at whose voice heaven trembles, even He, Great as he is, knows how to stoop to me — Lo ! there he lies : that smiling infant said, ^'Heaven, earth, and sea, exist!" — and they obey'd. Even He, whose being swells beyond the skies. Is born of woman, lives, and mourns, and dies; Eternal and immortal, seems to cast That glory from his brows, and breathes his last. Trivial and vain the Avorks that man has wrought, How do they shrink and vanisli at the thought ! Sweet solitude, and scene of my repose ! This rustic sight assuages all my woes — That crib contains the Lord, whom I adore ; And earth's a shade that I pursue no more. o40 cowper's poetical works. He is my firm support, my rock, my tower ; I dwell secure beneath his sheltering power, And hold this mean retreat forever dear, For all I love, my soul's delight, is here. I see the Almighty swathed in infant bands. Tied helpless down the thunder-bearer's hands ! And, in this shed, that mystery discern, Which Faith and Love, and they alone, can learn. Ye tempests, spare the slumbers of your Lord ; Ye ze^^hyrs, all your whisper'd sweets afford ! Confess the God that guides the rolling year ; Heaven, do him homage ; and thou, Earth, revere! Ye shepherds, monarchs, sages, hither bring Your hearts, an offering, and adore your King ! Pure be those hearts, and rich in faith and love ; Join, in his praise, the harmonious world above ; To Bethlehem haste, rejoice in his repose, And praise him there for all that he bestows ! Man, busy Man, alas ! can ill afford To obey the summons, and attend the Lord ; Perverted Keason revels and runs wild, By glittering shows of pomp and wealth beguiled ; And, blind to genuine excellence and grace. Finds not her author in so mean a i)lace. Ye unbelieving ! learn a wiser part. Distrust your erring sense, and search your heart ; There soon ye shall perceive a kindling flame Glow for that infant God, from whom it came ; Eesist not, quench not, that divine desire, Melt all your adamant in heavenly fire ! Kot so will I requite thee, gentle Love ! Yielding and soft this heart shall ever prove ; And every heart beneath thy power should fall, Glad to submit, could mine contain them all. But I am poor, oblation I have none, None for a Saviour, but Himself alone : "Whate'er I render thee, from thee it came : And, if I give my body to the flame — My patience, love, and energy divine Of heart, and soul, and spirit, all are thine. Ah, vain attempt to expunge the mighty score! The more I pay, I owe thee still the more. Upon my meanness, poverty, and guilt. [ TRANSLA^TIONS FROM GUION. 541 The trophy of thy glory shall be built ; My self-disdain shall be the iinsliaken base, And my deformity its fairest grace ; For destitute of good, and rich in ill. Must be my state and my description still. And do 1 grieve at such an humbling lot? Nay, but I cherish and enjoy the thought — Vain pageantry and pomp of earth, adieu! I have no wish, no memory for you ; The. more I feel my misery, I adore The sacred Inmate of my soul the more ; Rich in his love, I feel my noblest pride Spring from the sense of having naught beside. In Thee I find wealth, comfort, virtue, might ; My wanderings prove Thy wisdom infinite; All that I have I give thee; and then see All contrarieties unite in thee; For Thou hast joinVl them, taking up our woe, And pouring out thy bliss on worms below, By filHng with thy grace and love divine A gulf of evil in tliis heart of mine. This is, indeed, to bid the valleys rise. And the hills sink — 'tis matching Earth and Skies ! I feel my w^eakness, thank thee, and deplore An aching heart, that throbs to thank thee more The more I love thee, I the more reprove A soul so lifeless, and so slow to love ; Till, on a deluge of thy mercy toss'd, I plunge into that sea, and there am lost. GOD NEITHER KNOWN NOR LOVED BY THE WORLD. Ye Linnets, let us try, beneath this grove. Which shall be loudest in our Maker's praise! In quest of some forlorn retreat I rove. For all the world is blind, and wanders from his ways. That God alone should prop the sinking soul, Fills them with rage against his empire now: I traverse earth in vain from pOle to pole. To seek one simple heart, set free from all below. 46 542 cowper's poetical works. They speak of love, yet little feel its sway, While in their bosoms many an idol lurks ; Their base desires, well satisfied, obey. Leave the Creator's hand, and lean upon his works. 'Tis therefore I can dwell with man no more ; Your fellowship, ye warblers ! suits me best : Pure love has lost its price, though prized of yore, Profaned by modern tongues, and slighted as a jest. My God, who form'd you for his praise alone, Beholds his purpose well fulfill'd in you ; Come, let us join the choir before his throne. Partaking in his praise with spirits just and true! Yes, I will always love ; and, as I ought. Tune to the praise of Love my ceaseless voice ; Preferring love too vast for human thought. In spite of erring men, who cavil at my choice. Why have I not a thousand thousand hearts, Lord of my soul ! that they might all be thine ? If thou approve — the zeal thy smile imparts. How should it ever fail ! can such a fire decline ? Love, pure and hol}^, is a deathless fire ; Its object heavenly, it must ever blaze: Eternal love a God must needs inspire. When once he wins the heart, and fits it for his praise. Self-love dismissed — 'tis then we live indeed — In her embrace, death, only death is found : Come, then, one noble efiTort, and succeed. Oast off the chain of self with which thy soul is bound ! Oh ! I could cry, that all the world might hear. Ye self-tormentors, love your God alone ; Let his unequall'd excellence be dear. Dear to your inmost souls, and make him all your own I They hear me not — alas ! how fond to rove In endless chase of folly's specious lure ! 'Tis here alone, beneath this shady grove, I taste the sweets of truth — here only am secure. TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 543 THE SWALLOW. I AM fond of the Swallow — I learn from her flight, Had I skill to improve it, a lesson of love : How seldom on earth do we see her alight ! She dwells in the skies, she is ever above. It is on the wing that she takes her repose, Suspended and poised in the regions of air; 'Tis not in our fields that her sustenance grows. It is wing'd like herself — 'tis ethereal fare. She comes in the spring, all the summer she stays, And, dreading the cold, still follows the sun : So, true to our Love, we should covet his rays, And the place Avhere he shines not, immediately shun. Our light should be Love, and our nourishment prayer ; It is dangerous food that we find upon earth ; The fruit of this world is beset with a snare ; In itself it is hurtful, as vile in its birth. 'Tis rarely, if ever, she settles below. And only when buildmg a nest for her young ; Were it not for her brood, she would never bestow A thought upon any thing filthy as dung. Let us leave it ourselves ('tis a mortal abode). To bask every moment in infinite Love ; Let, us fiy the dark winter, and follow the road That leads to the dayspring appearing above. THE TRIUMPH OF HEAVENLY LOVE DESIRED. An ! reign wherever man is found, My Spouse, beloved and divine! Then I am rich, and I abound. When every human heart is thine. A thousand sorrows pierce my sonl, To think that all are not thine own: Ah ! be adored from pole to pole ; Where is thy zeal ? arise; be known! 544 COWPER^S POETICAL WORKS. All hearts are cold, in every place, Yet eartlily good witli warmth pursue : Dissolve them with a flash of grace, Thaw these of ice, and give us new ! A FIGUKATIVE DESCRIPTION OF THE PROCEDURE OF DIVINE LOVE IN BRINGING A SOUL TO THE POINT OF SELF-RENUNCIATION AND ABSOLUTE ACQUIESCENCE. 'TwAS my purpose, on a day, To embark, and sail away. As I climbed the vessel's side. Love was sporting in the tide ; '^Oome," he said, — ''ascend — make haste, Launch into the boundless waste." Many mariners were there. Having each his separate care ; They that row'd us held their eyes Fix'd upon the starry skies ; Others steer 'd, or turn'd the sails, To receive the shifting gales. Love, with power divine supplied, Suddenly my courage tried ; In a moment it was night, Ship and skies were out of sight ; On the briny wave I lay. Floating rushes all my stay. Did I with resentment burn. At this unexpected turn ? Did I wish myself on shore. Never to forsake it more? No— ''My soul," I cried, "be still; If I must be lost, I will." Next he hastened to convey Both my frail supports away ; Seized my rushes ; bade the waves Yawn into a thousand graves: Down I went, and sunk as lead, Ocean closing o'er my head. TRANSLATIONS FROM GUIOX. 545 Still, however, life was safe ; And I saw him turn and laugh : "Friend," he cried, "adieu! lie low, "While the wintry storms sliall blow; AVhen the spring has calm'd the main, You shall rise and float again." Soon I saw him, with dismay, Spread his plumes, and soar away ; Now I mark his rapid flight ; Now he leaves my aching sight ; He is gone Avhom I adore, 'Tis in vain to seek him more. How I trembled then and fear''(], "When my Love had disappeared ! " Wilt thou leave me thus," I cried, " Whelm'd beneath the rohing tide?" Vain attempt to reach his ear ! Love was gone, and would not hear. Ah ! return, and love me still ; See me subject to thy will; Frown with wrath, or smile with grace — Only let me see thy face ! Evil I hav<^ none to fear, All is good, if Thou art near. Yet he leaves me — cruel fate ! Leaves me in my lost estate : Have I sinn'd ? Oh, say wherein; Tell me, and forgive my sin ! King, and Lord, wdiom I adore. Shall I see thy face no more ? Be not angry ; I resign. Henceforth, all my will to thine : I consent that thou depart. Though thine absence breaks my heart ; Go then, and forever too : All is right that thou wilt do. This was just what love intended ; He was now no more offended ; oiQ cowper's poetical works. Soon as I became a child, Love return'd to me and smiled : Never strife shall more betide 'Twixt the Bridegroom and the Bride. A CHILD OF GOD LONGING TO SEE HIM BELOVED. There's not an echo round me, But I am glad should learn, How pure a lire has found me, The love with which I burn. For none attends with pleasure To what I would reveal ; They slight me out of measure, And laugh at all I feel. The rocks receive less proudly The story of my flame ; When I approach, they loudly Eeverberate his name. I speak to them of sadness. And comforts at a stand ; They bid me look for gladness, And better days at hand. Far from all habitation, I heard a happy sound ; Big with the consolation, That I have often found : I said, " My lot is sorrow, My grief has no alloy ;" The rocks replied — " To-morrow, To-morrow brings thee joy." These sweet and sacred tidings, What bliss it is to hear ! For, spite of all my chidings, My weakness and my fear — No sooner I receive them, Than I forget my pain. And, happy to believe them, i love as much again. TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 547 I fly to scenes romantic, Where never men resort ; For in an age so frantic Impiety is sport ; For riot and confusion They barter things above; Condemning, as delusion, The joy of perfect love. In this sequester'd corner. None hears what I express : Delivered from the scorner. What peace do I possess ! Beneath the boughs reclining, Or roving o'er the wild, I live as undesigning And harmless as a child. No troubles here surprise me, I innocently play, While Providence supplies me, And guards me all the day : My dear and kind Defender Preserves me safely here, From men of pomp and splendor, Who fill a child with fear. ASPIRATIONS OF THE SOUL AFTER GOD. My Spouse ! in whose presence I live, Sole object of all my desires, Who know'st what a flame I conceive* And canst easily double its fires ; How pleasant is all that I meet! From fear of adversity free ; Ifind even sorrow made sweet, Because 'tis assigned me by thee. Transported I see thee display Thy riches and glory divine ; I have only my life to repay. Take what I would gladly resign. 548 cowper's poetical works. Thy will is the treasure I seek, For thou art as faithful as strong ; There let me, obedient and meek, Kepose myself all the day long. My spirit and faculties fail ; Oh, finish what Love has begun ! Destroy what is sinful and frail. And dwell in the soul thou hast won! Dear theme of my wonder and praise, I cry, who is worthy as thou? I can only be silent and gaze ; 'Tis all that is left to me now. Oh, glory in which I am lost. Too deep for the plummet of thought! On an ocean of Deity toss'd, I am swallow'd, I sink into naught. Yet, lost and absorbed as I seem, I chant to the praise of my King ; And, though overwhelm'd by the theme, Am happy whenever I sing. GRATITUDE AND LOVE TO GOD. All are indebted much to Thee, But I far more than all. From many a deadly snare set free, And raised from many a fall. Overwhelm me, from above, Daily, with thy boundless love ! What bonds of gratitude I feel No language can declare ; Beneath the oppressive w^eight I reel, 'Tis more than I can bear ; "When shall I that blessing prove, To return thee Love for Love ? Spirit of Charity, dispense Thy grace to every heart ; TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 549 Expel all other spirits thence, Drive s6lf from every part; Charity divine, draw nigh, Break the chains in which we lie! All selfish souls, whatever they feign, Have still a slavish lot ; They boast of liberty in vain — Of Love, and feel it not. He whose bosom glows with thee, He, and he alone, is free. O blessedness, all bliss above, When thy pure fires prevail ! Love only teaches what is Love : All other lessons fail : "We learn its name, but not its powers, Experience only makes it ours. HAPPY SOLITUDE— UNHAPPY MEN. My heart is easy, and my burden light ; I smile, though sad, when thou art in my sight : The more my woes in secret I deplore, I taste thy goodness, and I love the more. There, while a solemn stillness reigns around, Faith, Love, and Hope within my soul abound ; And, while the world suppose me lost in care, The joys of angels, unperceived, I share. Thy creatures wrong thee, O thou sovereign Good; Thou art not loved, because not understood ; This grieves me most, that vain pursuits beguile * Ungrateful men, regardless of thy smile. Frail Beauty and fiilse Honor are adored, "While thee they scorn, and trifle with thy Word ; Pass, unconcerned, a Saviour's sorrows by, And hunt their ruin with a zeal to die. 550 cowper's poetical works. LIVING WATER. The fountain in its source No drought of summer fears ; The farther it pursues its course, The nobler it appears. But shallow cisterns yield A scanty short supply ; The morning sees them amply fiird ; At evening they are dry. TRUTH AND DIVINE LOVE REJECTED BY THE WORLD. O LoYE, of pure and heavenly birth ! O simple Truth, scarce known on earth ! Whom men resist with stubborn will ; And, more perverse and daring still. Smother and quench, with reasonings vain, W^hile Error and Deception reign. Whence comes it, that, your power the §amo As His on high, from whence you came. Ye rarely find a listening ear. Or heart that makes you welcome here ? — Because ye bring reproach and pain. Where'er ye visit, in your train. The world is proud, and cannot bear The scorn and calumny ye share ; The praise of men the mark they mean, They fly the place where ye are seen; Pure Love, with Scandal in tlie rear. Suits not the vain ; it costs too dear. Then, let the price be what it may — Though poor, I am prepared to pay ; Come shame, come sorrow ; spite of tears, Weakness, and heart-oppressing fears ; One soul, at least, shall not repine. To give you room : come, reign in mine ! TRANSLATIONS FROM GUIOX. 551 DIVINE JUSTICE AMIABLE. Tiiou hast no lightnings, O thou Just I Or I their force should know ; And, if thou strike me into dust, My soul approves the blow. The heart, that values less its ease Than it adores thy ways. In thine avenging anger sees A subject of its praise. Pleased I could lie, conceal'd and lost, In shades of central night ; l^ot to avoid thy wrath, thou know'st, But lest I grieve thy sight. Smite me, Thou, whom I provoke ! And I will love thee still : The well-deserved and righteous stroke Shall please me, though it kill. Am I not worthy to sustain The worst Thou canst devise ; And dare I seek thy throne again, And meet thy sacred eyes ? Far from afflicting, Thou art kind; And, in my saddest hours, An unction of thy grace I find. Pervading all my powers. Alas! thou sparest me yet again; And, when thy wratli should move, Too gentle to endure my pain, Thou soothest me with thy love. I have no punishment to fear ; But, ah ! that smile from thee Imparts a pang far more severe Than woe itself would be. 552 cowper's poetical works. THE SOUL THAT LOYES GOD FINDS HIM" EVERYWHERE. Tiiou, by long experience tried, Kear wliom no grief can long abide ; My Love ! how full of sweet content 1 pass my years of banishment ! All scenes alike engaging prove To souls impress'd with sacred Love ! "Where'er they dwell, they dwell in Thee I In heaven, in earth, or on the sea. To me remains nor place nor time ; My country is in every clime ; I can be calm and free from care On any shore, since God is there. While place we seek, or place we shun, The soul finds happiness in none ; But, with a God to guide our way, 'Tis equal joy to go or stay. Could I be cast where Thou art not, That were indeed a dreadful lot ; But regions none remote I call. Secure of finding God in all. My country. Lord, art Thou alone ; Nor other can I claim or own; The point where all my wishes meet; My law, my love, life's only sweet ! I hold by nothing here below ; Appoint my journey, and I go; Though pierced by scorn, oppress'd by pride, I feel Thee good — feel naught beside. N'o frowns of men can hurtful prove To souls on fire with heavenly Love ; Though men and devils both condemn, ' No gloomy days arise from them. Ah, then ! to His embrace repair ; My soul, thou art no stranger there ; There Love divine shall be thy guard, And peace and safety thy reward. TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 553 THE TESTIMONY OF DIVINE ADOPTION. How happy are the new-born race, Partakers of adopting grace ! How pure the bliss they share ! Hid from the world and all its eyes, Within their heart the blessing lies, And conscience feels it there. The moment we believe, 'tis ours ; And if we love with all our powers The God from whom it came; And if we serve with hearts sincere, 'Tis still discernible and clear, An undisputed claim. But, ah ! if foul and wilful sin Stain and dishonor us within. Farewell the joy we knew; Again the slaves of Nature's sway, In labyrinths of our own we stray, Without a guide or clue. The chaste and pure, wko fear to grieve The gracious Spirit the}' receive, His work distinctly trace ; And, strong in undissembling love. Boldly assert and clearly prove Their hearts his dwelling-place. Oh, messenger of dear delight, AVhose voice dispels the deepest night, Sweet peace-proclaiming Dove ! "With thee at hand, to soothe our pains, No wish unsatisfied remains. No task but that of Love. 'Tis Love unites what Sin divides; The centre, where all bliss resides ; To which the soul once brought. Reclining on the first great Cause, From his abounding sweetness draws Peace passinc^ human thought. 47 554 cowper's poetical works. Sorrow foregoes its nature there, And life assumes a tranquil air, Divested of its woes ; There sovereign goodness soothes the breast, Till then incapable of rest, In sacred sure repose. DIVINE LOVE ENDUEES NO RIVAL. Love is the Lord whom I obey, "Whose will transported I perform ; The centre of my rest, my stay : Love's all in all to me, myself a worm. For uncreated charms I burn,. * Oppressed by slavish fear no more. For One in whom I may discern, Even when he frowns, a sweetness I adore. He little loves him who complains, And finds him rigorous and severe ; His heart is sordid, and he feigns, Though loud in boasting of a soul sincere. Love causes grief, but 'tis to move And stinmlate the slumbering mind; And he has never tasted love. Who shuns a pang so graciously design'd. Sweet is the cross, above all sweets. To souls enamor'd with thy smiles ; The keenest woe life ever meets, Love strips of all its terrors, and beguiles. 'Tis just that God should not be dear "Where self engrosses all the thought. And groans and murmurs make it clear, "Whatever else is loved, the Lord is not. The love of Tliee flows just as much As that of ebbing self subsides ; Our hearts, tlieir scantiness is such, Bear not the conflict of two rival tides. TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 655 Both cannot govern in one soul ; Then let self-love be dispossessed ; The love of God deserves the whole, And will not dwell with so despised a guest. SELF-DIFFIDENCE. Source of love, and light of day, Tear me from myself away ; Every view and thought of mine Cast into the mould of thine ; Teach, oh teach this faithless heart A consistent, constant part ; Or, if it must live to grow More rebellious, break it now ! Is it thus that I requite Grace and goodness infinite? Every trace of every boon Cancell'd and erased so soon ! Can I grieve thee, whom I love ; Thee, in w^hom I live and move? If my sorrow touch thee still, Save me from so great an ill ! Oh ! the oppressive, irksome weight, Felt in an uncertain state ; Comfort, peace, and rest, adieu, Should I prove at last untrue ! Still I choose thee, follow still Every notice of thy will! But, unstable, strangely weak, Still let slip the good I seek. Self-confiding wretch, I thought I could serve thee as I ought — Win thee, and deserve to feel All the love thou canst reveal ! Trusting self, a bruised reed. Is to be deceived indeed: Save me from this harm and loss, Lest my gold turn all to dross ! 55Q CO\YPERS POETICAL WORKS. Self is earthly— Fai til alono Makes an unseen world our own ; Faith relinquish^, how we roam, Feel our way, and leave our home ! Spurious gems our hopes entice. While we scorn the pearl of price; And, preferring servants' pay, Cast the children's bread aAvay. THE ACQUIESCENCE OF PURE LOVE. LoYE ! if thy destined sacrifice am I, Come, slay thy victim, and prepare thy fires ; Plunged in thy depths of mercy, let me die The death which every soul that lives desires ! I watch my hours, and see them fleet away ; The time is long that I have languish'd here ; Yet all my thoughts thy purposes obey. With no reluctance, cheerful and sincere. To me 'tis equal whether love ordain My life or death, appoint me pain or ease ; My soul perceives no real ill in pain ; In ease or health no real good she sees. One Good she covets, and that Good alone, To choose thy will, from selfish bias free ; And to prefer a cottage to a throne. And grief to comfort, if it pleases thee. That we should bear the cross is tliy command, Die to the w^orld, and live to self no more ; Suffer, unmoved, beneath the rudest hand. As pleased when shipwreck'd as when safe on shore. REPOSE IN GOD. Blest ! who, far from all mankind, This world's shadows left behind, Hears from Heaven a gentle strain Whispering Love, and loves again. TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION.._^^^ 557 Idlest ! wlio, free from self-esteem, Dives into the great Supreme, All desire beside discards, Joys inferior none regards. Blest! who in thy bosom seeks Rest that nothing eartlily breaks, Dead to self and worldly things. Lost in thee, thou King of kings ! Ye that know my secret fire. Softly speak and soon retire ; Favor my divine repose, Spare the sleep a God bestows. GLORY TO GOD ALONE. On, loved ! but not enough — though dearer far Than self and its most loved enjoyments are ; Kone duly loves thee, but who, nobly free From sensual objects, finds his all in Thee. Glory of God ! thou stranger here below. Whom man nor knows, nor feels a wish to know ; Our Faith and Reason are both shock'd to find Man in the post of honor — Thee behind. Reason exclaims — '' Let every creature fall. Ashamed, abased, before the Lord of all;" And Faith, o'erwhelm'd with such a dazzling blaze. Feebly describes the beauty she surveys. Yet man, dim-sighted man, and rash as blind, Deaf to the dictates of his better mind. In frantic competition dares the skies, And claims precedence of the Only Wise. Oh, lost in vanity, till once self-known ! Nothing is great, or good, but God alone ; When thou slialt stand before His awful face, Then, at the last, thy pride shall know His place. Glorious, Almighty, First, and without end ! When wilt thou melt the mountains and descend? 558 cowper's poetical works. When wilt thou shoot abroad thy conquering rays, And teach these atoms thou hast made, thy praise ? Thy Glory is the sweetest heaven I feel ; And, if I seek it with too fierce a zeal, Thy Love, triumphant o'er a selfish will. Taught me the passion, and inspires it still. My reason, all my faculties, unite. To make thy glory their supreme delight : Forbid it. Fountain of my brightest days, That I should rob thee, and usurp thy praise 1 My soul ! rest happy in thy low estate. Nor hope, nor wish, to be esteem'd or great ; To take the impression of a will divine — Be that thy glory, and those riches thine. Confess him righteous in his just decrees. Love what he loves, and let his pleasure please ; Die daily ; from the touch of sin recede ; Then thou hast crown VI him, and he reigns indeed. SELF-LOVE AND TRUTH INCOMPATIBLE. From thorny wilds a monster came. That fiird my soul with fear and shame ; The birds, forgetful of their mirth, Droop'd at the sight, and fell to earth ; When thus a sage address'd mine ear, Himself unconscious of a fear : " Whence all this terror and surprise, Distracted looks, and streaming eyes ? Far from the world and its affairs,' The joy it boasts, the pain it shares, Surrender, without guile or art. To God an undivided heart ; The savage form, so fear'd before. Shall scare your trembling soul no more ; For, loathsome as the sight may be, 'Tis but the Lo'ce of self you see. ' Fix all your love on God alone. Choose but His will, and hate your own : TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 559 'Ro fear shall- in 3'onr path be found, The dreary waste shall bloom aroimd, And 3^ou, through all your happy days, Shall bless his name, and sing his praise." Oh, lovely solitude, how sweet The silence of this calm retreat! Here Truth, the fair whom I pursue, Gives all lier beauty to my view ; The simple, unadorn'd display Charms every pain and fear away. O Truth, whom millions proudly slight : O Truth, my treasure and delight ; Accept this tribute to thy name, And this poor heart from which it came ! THE LOVE OF GOD THE END OF LIFE. Since life in sorrow must be spent, So be it — I am well content. And meekly wait my last remove, Seeking only growth in love. No bliss I seek, but to fulfil In life, in death, thy lovely will ; No succors in my woes I want. Save what Thou art pleased to grant. Our days are number'd, let us spare Our anxious hearts a needless care : Tis thine to number out our days ; Ours to give them to thy praise. Love is our only business here. Love, simple, constant, and sincere ; O blessed days, thy servants see. Spent, O Lord ! in pleasing Thee ! LOVE FAITHFUL IN THE ABSENCE OF THE BELOVED. In vain ye woo me to your harmless joys. Ye pleasant bowers, remote from strife and noise ; Your shades, the witnesses of many a vow, 560 cowper's poetical works. Breathed forth in happier days, are irksome now; Denied that smile 'twas once my heaven to see, Such scenes, such pleasures, are all past with me. In vain He leaves me, I shall love him still ; And, though I mourn, not murmur at his will ; I have no cause — an object all divine Might well grow weary of a soul like mine ; Yet pity me, great God ! forlorn, alone. Heartless and hopeless, Life and Love all gone ! LOVE PURE AND FERVENT. Jealous, and with love overflowing, God demands a fervent heart; Grace and bounty still bestowing, Calls us to a grateful part. Oh, then, with supreme affection His paternal Will regard! If it cost us some dejection, Every sigh has its reward. Perfect Love has power to soften Cares that might our peace destroy ; Nay, does more — transforms them often, Changing sorrow into joy. Sovereign Love appoints the measure, And the number of our pains ; And is pleased when we find pleasure In the trials he ordains. THE ENTIRE SURRENDER. Peace has unveil'd her smiling face, And woos thy soul to her embrace, Enjoy'd with ease, if thou refrain From earthly love, else sought in vain ; She dwells with all who Truth prefer. But seeks not them who seek not her. TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 561 Yield to the Lord, with simple heart, All that thou hast, and all thou art ; Renounce all strength but strength divine; And peace shall be forever thine : Behold the path which I have trod, Ky path, till I go home to God. THE PERFECT SACRIFICE. I PLACE an offering at thy shrine, From taint and blemish clear. Simple and pure in its design, Of all that I hold dear. I yield thee back thy gifts again, Thy gifts which most I prize ; Desirous only to retain The notice of thine eyes. But if, by thine adored decree, That blessing be denied ; Resign'd and unreluctant, see My every wish subside. Thy w^ill in all things I approve, Exalted or cast down ! Thy will in every state I love, And even in thy frown. GOD HIDES HIS PEOPLE. To lay the soul that loves him low Becomes the Only Wise ; To hide, beneath a veil of woe. The children of the skies. Man, though a worm, would yet be great ; Though feeble, would seem strong; Assumes an independent state. By sacrilege and wrong. 502 cowper's poetical works. Strange the reverse, wliich, once abased, The haughty creature proves! He feels his soul a barren waste, l^or dares affirm he loves. Scorn'd by the thoughtless and the vain, To God he presses near ; Superior to the world's disdain, And happy in its sneer. Oh, welcome, in his heart he says. Humility and shame ! Farewell the wish for human praise. The music of a name ! But will not scandal mar the good That I might else perform? And can God work it, if he would. By so despised a worm? Ah, vainly anxious! — leave the Lord To rule tliee, and dispose ; Sweet is the mandate of his word, And gracious all he does. He draws from human littleness His grandeur and renown ; And generous hearts with joy confess The triumph all his own. Down, tlien, with self-exalting thoughts; Thy faitli and hope employ To welcome all that he allots. And suffer shame with joy. No longer, then, thou wilt encroach On his eternal right ; And he shall smile at thy approach, And make thee his delight. THE SECRETS OF DIVINE LOVE ARE TO EE KEPT. Sun! stay tliy course, this moment stay- Suspend the overflowing tide of day. Divulge not such a love as mine. Ah ! hide the mystery divine ; A TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 563 Lest man, who deems my glory shame, Should learn the secret of my flame. O Night ! propitious to my views, Thy sable awning wide ditfuse ; Conceal alike my joy and pain, Nor draw thy curtain back again. Though Morning, by the tears she shows, Seems to participate my woes. Ye Stars! whose faint and feeble tires Express my languishing desires, Whose slender beams pervade the skies, As silent as my secret siglis. Those emanations of a soul That darts her fires beyond the Pole ; Your rays, that scarce assist the sight, That pierce, but not displace the night; That shine indeed, but nothing show Of all those various scenes below. Bring no disturbance, rather prove Incentives to a sacred love. Thou Moon! whose never-failing course Bespeaks a providential force — Go, tell the tidings of my flame To Him who calls the stars by name ; Whose absence kills, wliose presence cheers. Who blots, or brightens, all my years. While, in the blue abyss of space, Thine orb performs its rapid race ; Still whisper in his listening ears The language of my sighs and tears ; Tell him, I seek him, far below, Lost in a wilderness of woe. Ye thought-composing, silent Hours! Diffusing peace o'er all my powers; Friends of the pensive, who conceal, In darkest shades, the flames I feel; To you I trust, and safely may. The love that wastes my strength away. 564 cowper's poetical v/orks. In sylvan scenes and caverns rude, I taste the sweets of solitude ; Retired indeed, but not alone, I sliare them with a Spouse unknown, "Who hides me here from envious eyes. From all intrusion and surprise. Imbowering Shades and Dens profound ! Where Echo rolls the voice around ; Mountains ! wdiose elevated heads A moist and misty veil overspreads; Disclose a solitary bride To him I love — to none beside. Ye Rills! that, murmuring all the way, Among the polish'd pebbles stray ; Creep silently along the ground, Lest, drawn by that harmonious sound. Some wanderer, whom I w^ould not meet, Should stumble on my loved retreat. Enamell'd Meads, and Hillocks green. And Streams that Avater all the scene ! Ye Torrents, loud in distant ears ! Ye Fountains, that receive my tears ! Ah, still conceal, Avith caution due, A charge I trust with none but you ! If, wdien my pain and grief increase, I seem to enjoy the sweetest peace ; It is because I find so fair, Tlie charming object of my care. That I can sport and pleasure make Of torment suifer'd for his sake. Ye Meads and Groves, unconscious things ! Ye know not whence my pleasure springs ; Ye know not, and ye cannot know. The source from which my sorrows flow : The dear sole Cause of all I feel, — He knows, and understands them well. Ye Deserts, where the wild beasts rove, Scenes sacred to my hours of love! Ye Forests, in whose shades I stray, Benighted under burning day ! TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 565 Ah, wliisper not liow blest am T, Nor wliile I live, nor when I die ! Ye Lambs, who sport beneath these shades, And bound along the mossy glades ! Be taught a salutary fear, And cease to bleat when I am near : The wolf may hear your harmless cry, "Whom ye should dread as much as I. How calm, amid these scenes, my mind ! How perfect is the peace I find ! Oh, hush, be still, my every part, My tongue, my pulse, my beating heart 1 That Love, aspiring to its Cause, May suiFer not a moment's pause. Ye swift-finn'd Nations, that abide In seas as fathomless as wide ; And, unsuspicious of a snare. Pursue at large your pleasures there : Poor sportive fools ! how soon does man Your heedless ignorance trepan ! Aw\ay ! dive deep into the brine, Where never yet sunk plummet line ; Trust me, the vast leviathan Is merciful, compared with man ; Avoid his arts, forsake the beach. And never play within his reach. My soul her bondage ill endures; I pant for liberty like yours ; I long for that immense profound. That knows no bottom and no bound : Lost in infinity, to prove The incomprehensible of Love. Ye Birds ! that lessen as ye fly, And vanish in the distant sky , To whom yon airy waste belongs. Resounding with your cheerful songs , Haste to escape from human sight , Fear less the vulture and the kite. 48 56Q cowper's poetical works. How blest, and bow secure am T, "When, quitting eartb, I soar on bigh ; When lost, like you I disappear, And float in a sublimer sphere ! Whence fiiUing, within human view, I am ensnared, and caught like you ! Omniscient God ! whose notice deigns To try the heart and search the reins — Compassionate the numerous woes, I dare not, even to thee, disclose ; Oil save me from the cruel hands Of men who fear not thy commands ! Love, all-subduing and divine. Care for a creature truly thine ; Keign in a heart, disposed to own 1^0 sovereign but thyself alone ; Cherish a bride Avho cannot rove, Noj- quit thee for a meaner love ! THE VICISSITUDES EXPERIENCED IN THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. I SUFFER fruitless anguish day by day ; Each moment, as it passes, marks my pain ; Scarce knowing whither, doubtfully I stray, And see no end of all that I sustain. The more I strive the more I am withstood; Anxiety increasing every hour. My spirit finds no rest, performs no good. And nauglit remains of all my former power. My peace of heart is fled, I know not where ; My happy hours, like shadows, pass'd away ; Their sweet remembrance doubles all my care ; Night darker seems, succeeding such a day. Dear faded joys and impotent regret. What profit is there in incessant tears? O Thou, whom, once beheld, we ne'er forget, Reveal thy Love, and banish all my fears ! TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 567 Alas ! He flies me — treats me as his foe, Views not my sorrows, hears not when I plead; Woe such as mine, despised, neglected woe, Unless it shortens life, is vain indeed. Pierced with a thousand wounds, I yet survive ; My pangs are keen, but no complaint transpires ; And, while in terrors of thy wrath I live, Hell seems to lose its less tremendous fires. Has Hell a pain I would not gladly bear. So thy severe displeasure might subside? Hopeless of ease, I seem already there. My life extinguish'd, and yet death denied. Is this the joy so promised — this the love. The unchanging love, so sworn in better days? Ah, dangerous glories ! shown me, but to prove How lovely Thou, and I how rash to gaze. Why did I see them ? had I still remained Untaught, still ignorant how fair thou art. My humbler wishes I had soon obtain'd. Nor know^n the torments of a doubting heart. Deprived of all, yet feeling no desires. Whence then, I cry, the pangs that I sustain ? Dubious and uninform'd, my soul inquires. Ought she to cherish, or shake off her pain? Suffering, I suffer not — sincerely love. Yet feel no touch of that enlivening flame ; As chance inclines me, unconcern'd I move. All times, and all events, to me the same. I search my heart, and not a wish is there But burns with zeal that hated self may fall ; Such is the sad disquietude I share, A sea of doubts, and self the source of all. I ask not life, nor do I wish to die ; And, if thine hand accomplish not my cure, I w^ould not purchase with a single sigh A free discharge from all that I endure. 568 COWPEll's POETICAL WORKS. I groan in chains, yet want not a release ; Am sick, and know not the distemper'd part ; Am just as void of purpose as of peace ; Have neither plan, nor fear, nor hope, nor heart. My claim to life, though sought with earnest care, ISTo liglit within me, or without me, shows ; Once I had faith, but now, in self-despair Find my chief cordial and my best repose. My soul is a forgotten thing ; she sinks. Sinks and is lost, without a wish to rise ; Feels an indifference she abhors, and thinks Her name erased forever from the skies. Language affords not my distress a name, — Yet is it real, and no sickly dream : 'Tis Love inflicts it ; though to feel that flame Is all I know of happiness supreme. When Love departs, a chaos wide and vast, And dark as Hell, is open'd in the soul ; When Love returns, the gloomy scene is past, 1^0 tempests shake her, and no fears control. Then tell me, why these ages of delay ? O Love, all-excellent, once more appear ; Disperse the shades, and snatch me into day, From this abyss of night, these floods of fear ! No — Love is angry, will not now endure A sigh of mine or suffer a complaint ; He smites me, wounds me, and withholds the cure ; Exhausts my powers, and leaves me sick and faint. He wounds, and hides the hand that gave the blow ; He flies, he reappears, and wounds again ; Was ever heart that loved thee treated so ? Yet I adore thee, though it seem in vain. And wilt thou leave me, whom, when lost and blind, Thou didst distinguish, and vouchsafe to choose. Before thy laws were written in. my mind. While yet the world had all my thoughts and views ? TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 569^ J^ow leave me, when, enamor'd of thy laws I make thy glory my supreme delight? Now blot me from thy register, and cause A faithful soul to perish from thy sight ? What can have caused the change which I deplore? Is it to prove me, if my heart be true ? Permit me then, while prostrate I adore, To draw, and place its picture in thy view. 'Tis thine without reserve, most simply thine ; So given to thee, that it is not my own ; A wilhng captive of thy grace divine; And loves, and seeks thee, for Thyself alone. Pain cannot move it, danger cannot scare ; Pleasure and wealth, in its esteem, are dust ; It loves thee, even when least inclined to spare Its tenderest feelings, and avows thee just. 'Tis all thine own ; my spirit is so too. An undivided offering at thy shrine; It seeks thy glory with no double view — Thy glory, with no secret bent to mine. Love, holy Love ! and art thou not severe, To slight me, thus devoted, and thus fix'd ? Mine is an everlasting ardor, clear From all self-bias, generous and unmix'd. But I am silent, seeing what I see — And fear, with cause, that I am self-deceived ; Not even my faith is from suspicion free. And that I love seems not to be believed. Live Thou, and reign forever, glorious Lord I My last, least offering I present thee now — Renounce me, leave me, and be still adored ! Slay me, my God, and I applaud the blow. 5*70 cowper's poetical works. WATCHING UNTO GOD IN THE NIGHT SEASON. Sleep at last has fled these eyes, Nor do I regret his flight ; More alert iny spirits rise, . And my heart is free and light. N'ature silent all around, Not a single witness near ; God as soon as sought is found ; And the flame of love burns clear. Interruption, all day long. Checks the current of my joys ; Creatures press me with a throng, And preplex me with their noise. Undisturb'd I muse all night On the first Eternal Fair; Nothing there obstructs delight ; Love is renovated there. Life, with its perpetual stir. Proves a foe to Love and me ; Fresh entanglements occur — Comes the night, and sets me free. N"ever more, sweet sleep, suspend My enjoyments, always new : Leave me to possess my Friend ; Other eyes and hearts subdue. Hush the world, that I may wake To the taste of pure dehghts ; Oh the pleasures I partake — God, the partner of my nights ! David, for the self-same cause, Night preferred to busy day : Hearts, whom heavenly beauty draws. Wish the glaring sun away. Sleep, self-lovers, is for you : Souls that love celestial know, Fairer scenes by night can view Than the sun could ever show. TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 571 ON THE SAME. Season of my purest pleasure, Sealer of observing eyes ! When, in larger, freer measure, I can commune with the skies ; While, beneath thy shade extended, Weary man forgets liis woes ; I, my daily trouble ended. Find, in watching, my repose. Silence all around prevailing. Nature hush'd in slumber sweet — No rude noise mine ears assailing, Now my God and I can meet : Universal nature slumbers, And my soul partakes the calm, Breathes her ardor out in numbers, Plaintive song or lofty psalm. Now my passion, pure and holy, Shines and burns without restraint; Which the day's fatigue and folly Cause to languish, dim and faint: Charming hours of relaxation ! How I dread the ascending sun ! Surely, idle conversation Is an evil match'd by none. Worldly prate and babble hurt me ; Unintelligible prove ; Neither teach me nor divert me ; I have ears for none but Love. Me they rude esteem, and foolish, Hearing my absurd replies ; I have neither art's tine polish. Nor the knowledge of the wise. Simple souls, and unpolluted By conversing with the grea' Have a mind and taste ill suite To their dignity and state ; 572 cowper's poetical works. All their talking, reading, writing, Are but talents misapplied ; Infants' prattle I delight in, Nothing human choose beside. 'Tis the secret fear of sinning Checks my tongue, or I should say, When I see the night beginning I am glad of parting day : Love this gentle admonition Whispers soft within my breast: "Choice befits not thy condition, Acquiescence suits thee best." Henceforth, the repose and pleasure Night affords me I resign ; And tliy will shall be the measure. Wisdom infinite ! of mine : Wishing is but inclination Quarrelling witli thy decrees, Wayward Nature finds the occasion,— 'Tis her folly and disease. Night, with its sublime enjoyments. Now no longer will I choose ; Nor the day, with its employments, Irksome as they seem, refuse ; Lessons of a God's inspiring Neither time nor place impedes ; From our wishing and desiring Our unhappiness proceeds. ON THE SAME. Night ! how I love thy silent shades, My spirits they compose ; The bliss of Heaven my soul pervades, In spite of all my woes. While sleep instils lier poppy dews In every slumbering eye, I watch, to meditate and muse, In blest tranquillity. TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 573. And when I feel a God immense Familiarly impart, With every proof he can dispense, His favor to my heart : My native meanness I lament, Though most divinely filPd With all the ineffahle content That Deity can yield. His purpose and his course he keeps ; Treads all my reasonings down ; Commands me out of nature's deeps, And hides me in his own. When in the dust, its proper j)lace, Our pride of heart we lay ; 'Tis then a deluge of his grace Bears all our sins away. Thou whom I serve, and whose I am, Whose influence from on high Refines, and still refines my flame, And makes my fetters fly ; How wretched is the creature's state Who thwarts thy gracious powder ; Crush'd under sin's enormous weight, Increasing every hour ! .The night, when pass'd entire with thee, How luminous and clear ! Then sleep has no delights for me. Lest thou shouldst disappear. My Saviour ! occupy me still In this secure recess ; Let Reason slumher if she will, My joy shall not be less. Let Reason slumber out the night; But if thou deign to make My soul the abode of Truth and Light, Ah, keep my heart awake ! 574 cowper's poetical works. THE JOY OF THE CROSS. Loxa plunged in sorrow, I resign My soul to that dear hand of thine, Without reserve or fear ; That hand shall wipe my streaming eyes; Or into smiles of glad surprise Transform the falling tear. My sole possession is thy love; In earth beneath, or heaven above, I have no other store ; And, though with fervent suit I pray, And importune thee night and day, I ask thee nothing more. My ra])id hours pursue the course Prescribed them by Love's sweetest force, And I thy sovereign will. Without a wish to escape my doom ; Though still a sufferer from the womb, And doom'd to suffer still. By thy command, where'er I stray, Sorrow attends me all my way, A never-failing friend; And, if my sufferings may augment Thy praise, behold me well content- Let sorrow still attend ! It cost me no regret, that she, AVho followed Christ, should follow me; And though, where'er she goes, Thorns spring spontaneous at her feet, I love her, and extract a sweet From all my bitter woes. Adieu! ye vain delights of earth, Insipid sports, and cliildish mirth, I taste no sweets in you ; Unknown delights are in the cross, All joy beside to me is dross ; And Jesus thought so too. TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 6*75 The Cross ! Oh, ravishment and bliss — How grateful even its anguish is; Its bitterness how sweet! There every sense, and all the mind, In all her faculties refined. Tastes happiness complete. . Souls once enabled to* disdain Base sublunary joys, maintain Their dignity secure ; The fever of desire is pass'd, And love has all its genuine taste- — Is delicate and pure. Self-love no grace in sorrow sees, Consults her own peculiar ease; 'Tis all the bliss she knows : But nobler aims true Love employ ; In self-denial is her joy. In suffering her repose. Sorrow and Love go side by side ; Nor height nor depth can e'er divide Their heaven-appointed bands; Those dear associates still are one, Nor till the race of hfe is run Disjoin their wedded hands. Jesus, avenger of our fall, Thou faitliful lover, above all The Cross has ever borne ! • Oh, tell me, — life is in thy voice, — How much afflictions were thy choice And sloth and ease thy scorn ! Thy choice and mine shall b^ the same, Inspirer of tliat holy flame. Which must forever blaze ! To take the Cross and follow thee, Where love and duty lead, shall be My portion and my praise. 576 COWPEll's POETICAL WORKS. JOY IN MAKTYRDOM. Sweet tenants of tliis grove ! Who sing without design, A song of artless love, In unison with mine : These echoing shades return Full many a note of ours, That wise ones cannot learn, With all their boasted powers. O Thou ! whose sacred charms These hearts so seldom love, Although thy beauty warms And blesses all above ; How slow are human things To choose their happiest lot ! All-glorious King of kings. Say why we love thee not ! This heart, that cannot rest. Shall thine forever prove; Though bleeding and distressM, Yet joyful in thy love: 'Tis happy tliough it breaks Beneath thy chastening hand ; And speechless, yet it speaks. What thou canst understand. SIMPLE TRUST. Still, still, without ceasing, I feel it increasing. This fervcTi* of holy desire ; And often exclaim. Let me die in the flame Of a love that can never expire! Had I words to explain What she must sustain Who dies to the world and its ways ; TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 57*7 How joy and affright, Distress and delight, Alternately checker her days : Thou, sweetly severe ! I would make thee appear, In all thou art pleased to award : Not more in the sweet Than the bitter I meet. My tender and merciful Lord. This faith, in the dark, Pursmng its mark. Through many sharp trials of love, Is the sorrowful waste That is to be pass'd On the way to the Canaan above. THE NECESSITY OF SELF-ABASEMENT. Source of love, my brighter sun, Thou alone my comfort art ; See, my race is almost run ; Hast thou left this trembling heart ? In my youth thy charming eyes Drew me from the ways of men ; Then I drank unmingled joys; Frown of thine saw never then. Spouse of Christ was then my name ; And, devoted all to thee. Strangely jealous I became. Jealous of this Self in me. Thee to love, and none beside, Was my darling, sole employ; "While alternately I died, Now of grief, and now of joy. Through the dark and silent night On thy radiant smiles I dwelt; And to see the dawning light Was the keenest pain I felt. 49 578 cowper's poetical works. Thou my gracious teacher wert ; And thine eye^ so close applied, While it watch'd thy pupiPs heart, Seem'd to look at none beside. Conscious of no evil drift, This, I cried, is Love indeed! 'Tis the Giver, not the Gift, Whence the joys I feel proceed. But, soon humbled and laid low, Stript of all thou hast conferr'd, Nothing left but sin and woe, I perceived how I had err'd. Oh, the vain conceit of man. Dreaming of a good his own. Arrogating all he can, Though the Lord is good alone I He the graces thou hast wrought Makes subservient to his pride ; Ignorant that one such thought Passes all his sin beside. Such his folly — proved at last, By the loss of that repose. Self-complacence cannot taste, Only Love Divine bestows. 'Tis by tliis reproof severe. And by this reproof alone, His defects at last appear, Man is to himself made known. Learn, all Earth ! that feeble man. Sprung from this terrestrial clod. Nothing is, and nothing can ; Life and power are all in God. LOVE INCREASED BY SUFFERING. '' I LOVE the Lord," is still the strain This lieart delights to sing : But I reply — Your thoughts are vain, Perhaps 'tis no such thing. TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 5Y9 Before the power of Love Divine Creation fades away ; Till only God is seen to shine In all that we survey. In gulfs of awful night we find The God of our desires ; 'Tis there lie stamps the yielding mind, And doubles all its fires. Flames of encircling love invest, And pierce it sweetly through ; 'Tis fill'd with sacred joy, yet press'd With sacred sorrow too. Ah Love ! my heart is in the rights Amidst a thousand woes, To thee, its ever new delight, And all its peace it owes. Fresh causes of distress occur Where'er I look or move ; The comforts I to all prefer Are solitude and love. Nor exile I nor prison fear ; Love makes my courage great ; I find a Saviour everywhere, His grace in every state. N"or castle walls, nor dungeons deep, Exclude His quickening beams ; There I can sit, and sing, and weep, And dwell on heavenly themes. There sorrow, for His sake, is found A joy beyond compare ; There no presumptuous thoughts abound No pride can enter there. A Saviour doubles all my joys, And sweetens all my pains. His strength in my defence employs, Consoles me and sustains. 580 cowper's poetical works. I fear no ill, resent no wrong ; Nor feel a passion move, When malice whets her slanderous tongue; Such patience is in love. SCENES FAVORABLE TO MEDITATION. "Wilds horrid and dark with overshadowing trees, Rocks that ivy and briers enfold, Scenes Nature with dread and astonishment sees, But I with a pleasure untold : Though awfully silent, and shaggy, and rude, I am charmed with the peace ye afford ; Your shades are a temple where none will intrude, The abode of my Lover and Lord. I am sick of thy splendor, O Fountain of day ! And here I am liid from its beams ; Here safely contemplate a brighter display Of the noblest and holiest of themes. Ye Forests, that yield me my sweetest repose, Where stillness and solitude reign I To you I securely and boldly disclose The dear anguish of which I complain. Here, sweetly forgetting, and wholly f(:rgot By the world and its turbulent thrqng. The birds and the streams lend me many a note That aids meditation and song. Here, wandering in scenes that are sacred to night, Love wears me and wastes me away ; And often the sun has spent much of his light, Ere yet I perceive it is day. While a mantle of darkness envelops tlie sphere, My sorrows are sadly rehearsed, To me the dark hours are all equally dear, And the last is as sweet as the first. TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 581 Here I and tlie beasts of the deserts agree ; Mankind are the wolves that I fear ; They grudge me my natural right to be free, But nobody questions it here. Though little is found in this dreary abode That appetite wishes to find, My spirit is soothed by the presence of God, And appetite wholly resign'd. Ye desolate scenes, to 3'our solitude led. My life I in praises employ ! And scarce knoAv the source of the tears that I shed. Proceed they from sorrow or joy. There's nothing I seem to have skill to discern, I feel out my way in the dark ; Love reigns in my bosom, I constantly bui'n. Yet hardly distinguish the spark. I live, yet I seem to myself to be dead. Such a riddle is not to be found ; I am nourish'd without knowing how I am fed, I have nothing, and yet I abound. O Love ! who in darkness art pleased to abide, Though dimly, yet surely I see That these contrarieties only reside In the soul that is chosen of thee. Ah ! send me not back to the race of mankind. Perversely by folly beguiled, For where, in the crowds I have left, shall I find The spirit and heart of a child ? Here let me, though fix'd in a desert, be free ; A little one whom they despise. Though lost to the world, if in union with Theo Shall be holy, and happy, and wise. TRANSLATIONS FROM YINCENT BOURNE. THE GLOW-WORM. Beneath the hedge, or near the stream, A worm is known to stray, That shows by night a lucid beam, Which disappears by day. Disputes have been, and still prevail. From whence his rays proceed ; Some give that honor to his tail, And others to his head. But this is sure — the hand of night That kindles up the skies, Gives him a modicum of light, Proportion'd to his size. Perhaps indulgent Nature meant, By such a lamp bestowal. To bid the traveller, as he went, Be careful where he trod : Nor crush a worm, whose useful light Might serve, however small, To show a stumbling-stone by night, And save him from a fall. Whate'er she meant, this truth divine Is legible and plain — 'Tis power Almighty bids him shine, Nor bids him shine in vain. TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 583 Ye proud and wealthy, let this theme Teach humbler thouglits to you, Since such a reptile has its gem, And boasts its splendor too. THE JACKDAW. There is a bird, who, by his coat, And by the hoarseness of his note, Might be supposed a crow ; A great frequenter of the church. Where, bishop-like, he finds a perch, And dormitory too. Above the steeple shines a plate. That turns and turns, to indicate From what point blows the weather; Look up — your brains begin to swim, 'Tis in the clouds — that pleases him. He chooses it the rather. Fond of the speculative height. Thither he wings his airy flight. And thence securely sees The bustle and the rareeshow. That occupy mankind below. Secure and at his ease. You think, no doubt, he sits and muses On future broken bones and bruises, If he should chance to fall ; No, not a single thought like that Employs his philosophic pate, Or troubles it at all. He sees that this great roundabout. The world, with all its motley rout, Church, army, physic, law, Its customs and its businesses, Are no concern at all of his, And says — wliat says he ? — Caw. Thrice happy bird ! I too have seen Much of the vanities of men ; 584 cowper's poetical works. And, sick of having seen 'em, Would cheerfully tliese limbs resign For such a pair of wings as thine, And such a head between 'em. THE CEICKET. Little inmate, full of mirth, Chirping on my kitchen hearth, Wheresoe'er be thine abode. Always harbinger of good — Pay me for thy warm retreat AVitli a song more soft and sweet ; In return thou shalt receive Such a strain as I can give. Thus thy praise shall be exprest. Inoffensive, welcome guest! While the rat is on the scout, And the mouse with curious snout, With what vermin else infest Every dish, and spoil the best ; Frisking thus before the fire. Thou hast all thine heart's desire. Though in voice and shape they be Form'd as if akin to thee. Thou surpassest, happier far, Happiest grasshoppers that are ; Theirs is but a summer''s song. Thine endures the winter long, Unimpair'd, and shrill, and clear, Melody throughout the year. Neither night nor dawn of day Puts a period to thy play : Sing, then — and extend thy span Far beyond the date of man ; AYretched man, whose years are spent In repining discontent, Lives not, aged though he be, Half a span, compared with thee. TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 585 THE PARROT. In painted plumes superbly drest, A native of tlie gorgeous east, By many a billow toss'd ; Poll gains at length the British shore, Part of the captain's precious store, A present to his toast. Belinda's maids are soon preferr'd, To teach liim now and then a word, As Poll can master.it ; But 'tis her own important charge, To quahfy him more at large, And make him quite a wit. Sweet Poll ! his doting mistress cries, Sweet Poll ! the mimic bird replies. And calls aloud for sack : She next instructs Inm in the kiss ; 'Tis now a little one, like Miss, And now a hearty smack. At first he aims at what he hears, And, listening close with botli his ears, Just catclies at the sound ; But soon articulates aloud, Much to the amusement of the crowd, And stuns the neighbors round. A querulous old woman's voice His hutnorous talent next employs, He scolds, and gives the lie. And now he sings, and now is sick — Here, Sally ! Susan ! come, come quick ! Poor Poll is like to die ! Belinda and her bird ! 'tis rare To meet with such a well-match'd pair, The language and the tone. Each character in every part Sustain'd with so much grace and art, And both in unsion. 586 cowper's poetical works. When children first begin to spell, And stammer out a syllable, We think them tedious creatures : But difficulties soon abate. When birds are to be taught to prat^, And women are the teachers. THE THRACIAN. Theacian parents, at his birth. Mourn their babe witli many a tear. But with undissembled mirth Place him breathless on his bier. Greece and Rome, with equal scorn, '' O the savages !" exclaim, ^' Whether they rejoice or mourn. Well entitled to the name !" But the cause of this concern And tliis pleasure would they trace, Even they might somewhat learn Erom the savages of Thrace. RECIPROCAL KINDNESS THE PRIMARY LAW OF NATURE. Andeocles, from his injured lord, in dread Of instant death, to Lybia's dearest ^fled; Tired with his toilsome flight, and parch'd with heat. He spied at length a cavern's cool retreat ; But scarce had given to rest his weary frame, When, hugest of his kind, a lion came : He roar'd approaching: but the savage din To plaintive murmurs changed — arrived withm, And with expressive looks, his lifted paw Presenting, aid implored from whom he saw. The fugitive, through terror at a stand. Dared not awhile afford his trembling hand ; But bolder grown, at length inherent found TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 587 A pointed thorn, and drew it from tlie wound. The cure was wrought; he wiped tlie sanious blood, And firm and free from pain the lion stood. Again he seeks the wilds, and day by day Kegales his inmate with the parted prey. Nor he disdains the dole, though unprepared, Spread on the ground, and with a lion shared. But thus to live — still lost — sequester'd still — Scarce seem'd his lord's revenge a heavier ill. Home! native home! oh might he but repair! He must — he will, though death attends him there. He goes, and doom'd to perish on the sands Of the full theatre unpitied stands : When lo ! the self-same lion from his cage Flies to devour him, famisli'd into rage. He flies, but viewing in his purposed prey The man, his healer, pauses on his way ; And, soften'd by remembrance into sw^eet And kind composure, crouches at his feet. Mute Avith astonishment, the assembly gaze : But why, ye Komans? Whence your mute amaze? All this is natural : IsTature bade him rend An enemy ; she bids him spare a friend. A MANUAL, MORE ANCIENT THAN THE ART OF PRINTING, AND NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY CATALOGUE. There is a book, which w^e may call (Its excellence is such) Alone a library, though small ; The ladies thumb it much. AYords none, things numerous it contains; And things witli words compared. Who needs be told, that has his brains, Which merits most regard ? Ofttimes its leaves of scarlet hue A golden edging boast ; And open'd, it displays to view Twelve pages at the most. 588 cowper's poetical works. E'er name, nor title, stamp'd behind, Adorns its outer part ; But all within 'tis richly lined, A magazine of art. The whitest hands that secret hoard Oft visit : and the fair Preserve it in their bosoms stored, As with a miser's care. Thence implements of every size, And form'd for various use (They need but to consult" their eyes). They readily produce. The largest and the longest kind Possess the foremost page ; A sort most needed by the blind, Or nearly such, from age. The full-charged leaf which next ensues, Presents in bright array The smaller sort, which matrons use, Not quite so bhnd as they. The third, the fourth, the fifth supply What their occasions ask, "Who with a more discerning eye Perform a nicer task. But still with regular decrease, From size to size they fall, In every leaf grow less and less ; The last are least of all. Oil ! what a fund of genius, pent In narrow space, is here ! This volume's method and intent How luminous and clear ! It leaves no reader at a loss Or posed, whoever reads : No commentator's tedious gloss. Nor even index needs. Search Bodley's many thousands o'er! No book is treasured there. TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 589 !N'or yet in Granta's numerous store, That may with this compare. No! — rival none in either host Of this' was ever seen, Or, that contents could justly boast, So brilliant and so keen. . AN ENIGMA. A NEEDLE, small as small can be, In bulk and use surpasses me, Nor is my purchase dear'; For little, and almost for naug?it. As many of my kind are bought As days are in the year. Yet though but little use we boast. And are procured at little cost, The labor is not light ; Nor few artificers it asks. All skilful in their several tasks. To fashion us aright. One fuses metal o'er the fire, A second draws it into wire. The shears another plies : Who clips in length the brazen thread From him who, chafing every shred. Gives all an equal size. A fifth prepares, exact and round, The knob with which it must be crown'd ; His follower makes it fast : And with his mallet and his file To shape the point, employs awhile The seventh and the last. Now, therefore, (Edipus ! declare What creature, wonderful, and raire, A process that obtains Its purpose with so much ado At last produces ! — tell me true. And take me for your pains ! 50 590 cowper's poetical works. SPARROWS SELF-DOMESTICATED IN TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. KoNE ever shared tlie social feast, Or as an inmate or a guest, Beneath the celebrated dome Where once Sir Isaac had his home, Who saw not (and with some delight Perhaps he view'd the novel sight) How numerous, at the tables there, The sparrows beg their daily fare. For there, in every nook and cell Where such a family may dwell. Sure as the vernal season comes, Their nest they weave in hope of crumbs, Which kindly given, may serve with food Convenient their unfeather'd brood ; And oft as with its summons clear The warning bell salutes their ear. Sagacious listeners to the sound. They flock from all the fields around ; To reach the hospitable hall, None more attentive to the call. Arrived, the pensionary band. Hopping and chirping, close at hand. Solicit what they soon receive — The sprinkled, plenteous donative. Thus is a multitude, though large. Supported at a trivial charge ; A single doit would overpay The expenditure of every day ; And who can grudge so small a grace To suppliants, natives of the place ? FAMILIARITY DANGEROUS. As in her ancient mistress' lap The youthful tabby la}^. They gave each other many a tap. Alike disposed to play. TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 591 But strife ensues. Puss waxes warm, And with protruded claws Ploughs all the length of Lydia's arm, Mere wantonness the cause. At once, resentful of the deed, She shakes her to the ground, With many a threat that she shall bleed With still a deeper wound. * But, Lydia, bid thy fury rest : It was a venial stroke : For she that will with kittens jest Should bear a kitten's joke. INVITATION TO THE REDBREAST. Sweet bird, whom the winter constrains — And seldom another it can — ■ To seek a retreat while he reigns In the well-shelter'd dwellings of man ; Who never can seem to intrude. Though in all places equally free. Come oft as the season is rude. Thou art sure to be welcome to me. At sight of the first feeble ray That pierces the clouds of the east, To inveigle thee every day My windows shall show thee a feast? For, taught by experience, I know. Thee mindful of benefit long. And that, thankful for all I bestow. Thou wilt pay me with many a song- Then, soon as the swell of the buds Bespeaks the renewal of spring. Fly hence, if thou wilt, to the woods. Or where it shall please thee to eing : And shouldst thou, compell'd by a frost, Come again to my window or door, Doubt not an aifectionate host, Only pay as thou paidst me before. 592 COWPEll's POETICAL WORKS. This music must needs be confess'd To flow from a fountain above ; Else how should it work in the breast IJnchangeable friendship and love? And who on the globe can be found, Save jour generation and ours, That can be delighted by sound, ^ Or boasts any musical powers ? STEAD A' S NIGHTINGALE. > The shepherd touch'd his reed ; sweet Philomel Essay'd, and oft essayVl, to catch the strain, And treasuring, as on her ear they fell, The numbers, echo'd note for note again. The peevish youth, who ne'er had found before A rival of his skill, indignant heard. And soon (for various was his tuneful store) In loftier tones defied the simple bird. She dared the task, and, rising as he rose, "With all the force that passion gives inspired, Keturn'd the sounds awhile, but in the close Exhausted fell, and at his feet expired. Thus strength, not skill, prevailed. Oh fatal strife, By thee, poor songstress, playfully begun ! And, oh, sad victory, which cost thy life. And he may wish that he had never won ! ODE ON THE DEATH OF A LADY, "WHO LIVED ONE HUNDRED YEARS, AND DIED ON HER BIRTHDAY, 1723. AxciEXT dame, liow wide and vast To a race like ours appears. Rounded to an orb at last, All thy multitude of years ! 1 John Ford has beautifully versified the same story in his "Lovers Melancholy." TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 593 We, the herd of human kind, Frailer and of feebler powers ; We, to narrow bounds confined, Soon exhaust the sum of ours. Death's delicious banquet — we Perish even from the womb, Swifter than a shadow flee, Nourished but to feed the tomb. Seeds of merciless disease Lurk in all that we enjoy; Some that waste us by degrees, Some that suddenly destroy. And, if life o'erleap the bourn Common to the sons of men. What remains, but that we mourn, Dream, and dote, and drivel then! Fast as moons can wax and wane Sorrow comes ; and, while we groan, Pant with anguish, and complain. Half our years are fled and gone. If a few (to few 'tis given). Lingering on this earthly stage, Creep and halt with steps uneven To the period of an age ; Wherefore live they, but to see Cunning, arrogance, and force, Sights lamented much by thee. Holding their accustom'd course ? Oft was seen, in ages past. All that we with wonder view ; Often shall be to the last ; Earth produces nothing new. Thee we gratulate, content Should propitious Heaven design Life for us as calmly spent, Though but half the length of thine. 694 cowper's poetical works. THE CAUSE WON. Two neighbors furiously dispute ; A field — the subject of the suit. Trivial the spot, yet such the rage "With which the combatants engage, 'Twere hard to tell who covets most The prize — at whatsoever cost The pleadings swell. Words still suffice : No single word but has its price. 'No term but yields some fair pretence For novel and increased expense. Defendant thus becomes a name, Which he that bore it may disclaim ; Since both, in one description blended, Are plaintiffs — when the suit is ended. THE SILKWORM. The beams of April, ere it goes, A worm, scarce visible, disclose ; All winter long content to dwell The tenant of his native shell. The same prolific season^gives The sustenance by whicli he lives, The mulberry leaf, a simple store, . That serves him — till he needs no more ! For, his dimensions, once complete. Thenceforth none ever sees him eat ; Though till his growing time be past Scarce ever is he seen to fast. That hour arrived, his work begins : He spins and weaves, and weaves and spins ; Till circle upon circle, wound Careless around him and around. Conceals him with a veil, though slight, Impervious to the keenest sight. Thus self-inclosed, as in a cask, At length he finishes his task ; And, though a worm when he was lost, Or caterpillar at the most. TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 595 When next we see him, wings he wears, And in papilio pomp appears ; Becomes oviparous ; supplies With future worms and future flies The next ensuing year — and dies ! Well were it for the world, if all Who creep about this earthly hall. Though shorter lived than most he be, Were useful in their kind as he. THE INNOCENT THIEF. NToT a flower can be found in the fields, Or the spot that we till for our pleasure, From the largest to the least, but it yields The bee, never wearied, a treasure. Scarce any she quits unexplored. With a diligence truly exact ; Yet, steal what she may for her hoard, Leaves evidence none of the fact. Her lucrative task she pursues, And pilfers with so much address, That none of their odor they lose, Nor charm by their beauty the less. Not thus inoffensively preys The cankerworm, indwelling foe ! His voracity not thus allays The sparrow, the finch, or the crow. The worm, more expensively fed. The pride of the garden devours ; And birds peck the seed from the bed. Still less to be spared than the flowers. But she with such delicate skill Her pillage so fits for her use. That the chemist in vain with his still Would labor the like to pi?oiiic5^? •-":::•- .. |UirX7BRSITr)] 596 cowper's poetical works. Then grudge not her temperate meals, Nor a benefit blame as a theft; Since, stole she not all that she steals, Neither honey nor wax avouIcI be left. DENNER'S OLD WOMAN. In this mimic form of a matron in years, How plainly the pencil of Denner appears ! The matron herself, in whose old age we see Not a trace of decline, what a wonder is she ! No dimness of eye, and no cheek hanging low. No wrinkle, or deep-furroAv'd frown on the brow Her forehead indeed is here circled around With locks like tlie ribbon with which they are bound,* While glossy and smooth, and as soft as the skin Of a delicate peach, is the down of her chin ; But nothing unpleasant, or sad, or severe. Or that indicates life in its winter — is here. Yet all is express'd with fidelity due. Nor a pimple or freckle conceal'd from the view. Many fond of new sights, or who cherish a taste For the labors of Art, to the spectacle haste. The youths all agree, that, could old age inspire The passion of love, hers would kindle the fire ; And the matrons with pleasure confess that they see Ridiculous nothing or hideous in thee. The nymphs for themselves scarcely hope a decline, O wonderful woman ! as placid as thine. Strange magic of Arti which the youth can engage To peruse, half enamor'd, the features of age ; And force from the virgin a sigh of despair, That she when as old shall be equally fair ! How great is the glory that Denner has gain'd, Since Apelles not more for his Venus obtained ! THE TEARS OF A PAINTER. Apelles, hearing that his boy Had just expired — his only joy ! Although the sight with anguish tore him, Bade place his dear remains before him. TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 507 He seized his brush, his colors spread ; And — '' O my child, accept," — he said " ('Tis all that I can now bestow). This tribute of a father's woe !" Then, faithful to the twofold part, Both of his feehngs and his art, He closed his eyes with tender 'care, And form'd at once a fellow i)air. His brow with amber locks beset, And lips he drew not livid yet ; And shaded all that he had done To a just image of his son. Thus far is well. But view again The cause of thy paternal pain ! Thy melancholy task fulfil ! It needs the last, last touches still. Again his pencil's powers he tries. For on his hps a smile he spies : And still his cheek unfaded shows The deepest damask of the rose. Then, heedful to the.finish'd whole, With fondest eagerness he stole. Till scarce himself distinctly knew The cherub copied from the true. 1^0 w, painter, cease ! Thy task is done. Long lives this image of thy son ; Nor short-lived shall the glory prove Or of thy labor or thy love. . THE MAZE. From right to left, and to and fro, Caught in a labyrinth you go. And turn, and turn, and turn again. To solve the mystery, but in vain ; Stand still, and breathe, and take from me A clue, that soon shall set you free! Not Ariadne, if you met her. Herself could serve you with a better. You enter'd easily — find where — And make with ease your exit there ! 598 cowper's poetical works. NO SORROW PECULIAR TO THE SUFFERER. The lover, in melodious verses, His singular distress rehearses ; Still closing with a rueful cry, ''Was ever such a wretch as I!" Yes ! thousands have endured before All thy distress ; some, haply, more. Unnumher'd Corydons complain. And Strephons, of the like disdain ; And if thy Chloe be of steel. Too deaf to hear, too hard to feel, ISTot her alone that censure fits, Nor thou alone hast lost thy wits. THE SNAIL. To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall. The snail sticks close, nor fears to fall, As if he grew there, house and all Together. Within that house secure he hides, When danger imminent betides Of storm, or other harm besides Of weather. Give but his horns the slightest to^ch, His self-collecting power is such. He shrinks into his house, with much Displeasure. Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone ; Except himself, has chattels. none. Well satisfied to be his own Whole treasure. Thus, hermit-like, his life he leads, Nor partner of his banquet needs, And if he meets one, only feeds The faster. Who seeks him must be worse than blind (He and his house are so combined). If, finding it, he fails to find Its master. TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 599 THE CANTAB. With two spurs or one, and no great matter wliicli, Boots bought, or boots borrow'd, a whip or a switch, Five shiUings or less for the hire of his beast, Paid part into hand ; — you must wait for the rest. Thus equipt, Academicus climbs up his horse, And out they both sally for better or worse ; His heart void of fear, and as light as a feather ; And in violent haste to go n^t knowing whither : Through the fields and the towns ; (see !) he scampers along, And is look'd at and laugli'd at by old and by young, Till, at length overspent, and his sides smear'd witli blood, Down tumbles his horse, man and all, in tlie mud. In a wagon or chaise shall he finish his route ? Oh ! scandalous fate ! he must do it on foot. Young gentlemen, hear ! — I am older than you , The advice that I give I have proved to be true ; "Wherever your journey may be, never doubt it, The faster you ride, you're the longer about it. TRANSLATIONS OF THE LATIN AND ITALIAN POEMS OF MILTON. ELEGY I. TO CHARLES DEODATL At length, m}^ friend, tlie far-sent letters come- Charged witli thy kindness, to their destined home; They come, at length, from Deva's Western side, Where prone she seeks the salt Vergivian tide. Trust me, my joy is great that thou shouldst he, Though born of foreign race, yet born for me ; And that my sprightly friend, now free to roam, Must seek again so soon his wonted home. I well content, where Thames with influent tide My native city laves, meantime reside: Kor zeal nor duty now my steps impel To reedy Cam, and my forbidden cell ; E"or aught of pleasure in those fields have I, That to the musing bard all shade deny. 'Tis time that I a pedant's threats disdain. And fly from wrongs my soul will ne'er sustain. If peaceful days, in letter'd leisure spent Beneath my father's roof, be banishment, Then call me banish'd, I will ne'er refuse A name expressive of the lot I choose. I would that, exiled to the Pontic shore, Rome's hapless bard had sufler'd nothing more, He then had equall'd even Homer's lays, TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 601 And, Virgil ! thou hadst won but second praise. For here I woo the Muse, with no control, And here my books — my life — absorb me whole. Here too I visit, or to smile or weep, The winding theatre's majestic sweep : Tlie grave or gay colloquial scene recruits My spirits, spent in learning's long pursuits ; Whether some senior shrewd, or spendthrift heir,- Suitor, or soldier, now unarm'd, be there ; Or some coif 'd brooder o'er a ten years' cause, Thunder the Norman gibberish of the laws. The lacquey there oft dupes the wary sire, And, artful, speeds the enamor'd son's desire. Tliere virgins oft, unconscious what they prove, What love is know not, yet, unknowing, love. Or, if impassion'd Tragedy wield high Tlie bloody sceptre, give her locks to fl}", Wild as the winds, and roll her haggard eye — I gaze, and grieve, still cherishing my grief. At times, even bitter tears yield sweet relief: As, when from bliss untasted torn away, Some youth dies, hapless, on his bridal day ; Or when the ghost, sent back from shades below, Fills the assassin's heart with vengeful woe ; When Troy, or Argos, the dire scene affords. Or Creon's hall laments its guilty lords. Nor always city-pent, or pent at home, I dwell ; but, Avhen spring calls me forth to roam, Expatiate in our proud suburban shades Of branching elm that never sun pervades. Here many a virgin troop I may descry, Like stars of mildest influence, ghding by. Oh, forms divine! oh, looks that might inspire Even Jove himself, grown old, with young desire Oft have I gazed on gem-surpassing eyes. Out-sparkling every star that gilds the skies; Necks whiter than the ivory arm bestow 'd By Jove on Pelops, or the Milky Koad ! Bright locks, Love's golden snare ! these falling low. Those playing wanton o'er the graceful brow ! Cheeks too, more winning sweet than after shower Adonis turn'd to Flora's favorite flower ! Yield, heroines, yield, and ye who shared the embrace 51 602 cowper's poetical works. Of Jupiter in ancient times, give place ! Give place, ye turban'd fair of Persia's coast ! And ye, not less renown'd, Assyria's boast! Submit, ye nymphs of Greece ! ye, once the bloom Of Hi on ! and all ye, of haughty Rome, "Who swept, of old, her theatres with trains Redundant, and still live in classic strains ! To British damsels beauty's palm is due ; Aliens ! to follow them is fame for you. city, founded by Dardanian hands, Whose toAvering front the circling realm commands, Too blest abode ! no loveliness we see In all the earth, but it abounds in thee. The virgin multitude that daily meets. Radiant with gold and beauty, in thy streets, Outnumbers all her train of starry fires With which Diana gilds thy lofty spires. Fame says that, wafted hither by her doves, With all her host of quiver-bearing loves, . Venus, preferring Paphian scenes no more. Has fix'd her empire on thy nobler shore. But, lest the sightless boy enforce my stay, 1 leave these happy walls, while yet I may. Immortal Moly shall secure my heart Prom all the sorcery of Circsean art ; And I will even repass Cam's reedy pools. To face once more the warfare of the schools. Meantime accept this trifle ! rhymes though few, Yet such as prove thy friend's remembrance true ! ELEGY II. ON THE DEATH OF THE UNIVERSITY BEADLE AT CAMBRIDGE. Thee, whose refulgent staif and summons clear Minerva's flock long time was wont to obey. Although thyself a herald, famous here, The last of heralds. Death, has snatch'd away. He calls on all alike, nor even deigns To sjmre the oflice that himself sustains. TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 603 Thy locks were winter than tlie phnnes display'd By Leda's paramour in ancient time ; But thou wast wortliy ne'er to have decayM, Or, ^son-Hke, to know a second prime, "Worthy, for whom some goddess should have won New life, oft kneeling to Apollo's son. Commissioned to convene with hasty call The gowned tribes, how graceful wouldst thou stand ! So stood Cyllenius erst in Priam's hall, Wing-footed messenger of Jove's command! And so Eurybates, when he address'd To Peleus' son, Atrides' proud behest. Dread Queen of Sepulchres ! w^hose rigorous laws And watchful eyes run through the realms below, Oh, oft too adverse to Minerva's cause ! Too often to the Muse not less a foe ! Choose meaner marks, and with more equal aim Pierce useless drones, earth's burden and its shame ! Plow, therefore, tears for him from every eye, All ye disciples of the Muses, weep ! Assembling all in robes of sable dye. Around his bier lament his endless sleep ! And let complaining Elegy rehearse In every school her sweetest, saddest verse. ELEGY IIL ON THE DEATH OF THE BISHOP OF WINCHESTER. Silent I sat, dejected and alone. Making, in thought, the public woes my own. When first arose the image in my breast Of England's suifering by that scourge, the Pest! How Death, his funeral torch and scythe in hand, Entering the lordliest mansions of the land. Has laid the gem-illumined palace low. And levell'd tribes of nobles at a blow. I next deplored the famed paternal pair. Too soon to ashes turn'd and empty air ! The heroes next, whom, snatch'd into the skies, All Belgia saw, and follow'd with her sighs ; 604 cowper's poetical works. But thee far most I mournM, regretted most, "Winton's cliief shepherd, and her worthiest boast I Pourd out in tears I thus complaining said : " Death, next in power to Him who rules the dead ! Is it not enough that all the woodlands yield To thy fell force, and every verdant field ; •That lilies, at one noisome blast of thine. And even the Cyprian Queen's own roses pine ; That oaks themselves, although the running rill Suckle their roots, must wither at thy will ; That all the winged nations, even those "Whose heaven-directed flight the future shows, And all the beasts that in dark forests stray, And all the herds of Proteus, are thy prey? Ah, envious ! arm'd Avith powers so unconfined ! "Why stain thy hands with blood of human kind? "Why take delight, with darts that never roam, To chase a heaven-born spirit from her home?" While thus I mourn'd, the star of evening stood, JiTow newly risen above the western flood, And Phoebus, from his morning goal again Had reach'd the gulfs of the Iberian main. I wish'd repose, and, on my coucll reclined, Took early rest, to night and sleep resigned : W^hen — oh for words to paint what I beheld ! I seem'd to wander in a spacious field, Where all the champaign glow'd with purple light, Like that of suniise on the mountain height; Flowers over all the field, of every hue That ever Iris wore, luxuriant grew. !N"or Chloris, with whom amorous Zephyrs play, E'er dress'd Alcinous' garden half so gay. A silver current, like the Tagus, roll'd O'er golden sands, but sands of purer gold ; With dewy airs Favonius fann'd the flowers, With airs awaken'd under rosy bowers. Such, poets feign, irradiated all o'er The sun's abode on India's utmost shore. AVhile I that splendor, and the mingled shade Of fruitful vines, with Avonder fix'd, survey'd, At once, with looks that beam'd celestial grace. The Seer of Winton stood before my face. His snowy vesture's hem descending low, TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 605 His golden sandals swept, and, pure as snow New fallen, shone the mitre on his brow. Where'er he trod, a tremulous sweet sound Of gladness shook the flowery scene around : Attendant angels clap their starry wings. The trumpet shakes the sky, all ether rings; Each chants his welcome, folds him to his breast, And thus a sweeter voice than all the rest : '^ Ascend, my son ! thy Father's kingdom share ! My son ! henceforth be freed from every care !" So spake the voice, and at its tender close, With psaltery's sound the angelic band arose ; Then night retired, and, chased by dawning day, The visionary bliss pass'd all away. I mourn'd my banish'd sleep with fond concern ; Frequent to me may dreams like this return I ELEGY IV. TO HIS TUTOR, THOMAS YOUNG, CHAPLAIN TO THE ENGLISH FACTORY AT IIAMBUPwG. Hence, my epistle — skim the deep — fly o'er Yon smooth expanse to the Teutonic shore ! Haste — lest a friend should grieve for thy delay — And the gods grant that nothing thwart thy way ! I will myself invoke the king who binds In his Sicanian eclioing vault the winds, With Doris and her nymphs, and all the throng Of azure gods, to speed thee safe along. But rather, to insure thy happier haste. Ascend Medea's chariot, if thou mayst ; Or that whence young Triptolemus of yore Descended, welcome on the Scythian shore. The sands that line the German coast descried, To opulent Hamburga turn aside ! So call'd, if legendary fame be true. From llama, whom a club-arm'd Cimbrian slew ! There lives, deep learn'd and primitively just, A faithful steward of his Christian trust. My friend, and favorite inmate of my heart, That now is forced to want its better part. COG cowper's poetical works. "What inoiintains now, and seas, alas ! how wide ! From me this other, dearer self divide, Dear as the sage renown'd for moral truth To the prime spirit of the Attic youth ! Dear as the Stagyrite to Ammon's son. His pupil, who disdain'd the world he won ! Nor so did Ohiron, or so Phoenix shine In young Achilles' eyes, as he in mine. First led by him through sweet Aonian shade, Each sacred haunt of Pindus I survey 'd ; And, favor'd by the Muse, wliom I implored, Thrice on my lip the hallow'd stream I pour'd. But thrice the sun's resplendent chariot roll'd To Aries, has new tinged his fleece with gold. And Oldoris twice has dress'd the meadows gay. And twice has summer parch'd their bloom away. Since last delighted on his looks I hung, Or my ear drank the music of his tongue '. Fly, therefore, and surpass the tempest's speed ; Aware thyself that there is urgent need ! Him, entering, thou shalt haply seated see Beside his spouse, his infants on his knee ; Or turning, page by page, with studious look. Some bulky father, or God's holy book ; Or ministering (which is his weightiest care) To Christ's assembled flock their heavenly fare. Give him, whatever his employment be, Such gratulation as he claims from me ! And, with a downcast eye, and carriage meek, Addressing lum, forget not thus to speak : '^ If compass'd round with arms thou canst attend To verse, verse greets thee from a distant friend. Long due, and late, I left tlie English shore ; But make me welcome for that cause the more ! Such from Ulysses, his chaste wife to cheer, The slow epistle came, though late, sincere. But wherefore this ? why palliate I the deed For which the culprit's self could hardly plead ? Self-charged, and self-condemn'd, his proper part He feels neglected, with an aching heart ; But thou forgive! — delinquents, who confess, And pray forgiveness, merit anger less ; From timid foes the lion turns away, TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. GO 7 Nor yawns upon or rends a croiicljing prey ; Even the pike- wielding Thracians learn to spare, Won by soft influence of a suppliant prayer ; And Heaven's dread tliunderbolt arrested stands By a cheap victim and uplifted hands. Long had he wish'd to write, but was withheld, And writes at last, by love alone compell'd : For fame, too often true, when she alarms. Reports thy neighboring fields a scene of arms ; Thy city against fierce besiegers barr'd. And all the Saxon chiefs for fight prepared. Enyo wastes thy country wide around, And saturates with blood the tainted ground ; Mars rests contented in his Thrace no more, But goads his steeds to fields of German gore ; The ever-verdant olive fades and dies. And Peace, the trumpet-hating goddess, flies — Flies from that earth which Justice long had left, And leaves the world of its last guard bereft. '' Thus horror girds thee round. Meantime alone Thou dwelPst, and helpless, in a soil unknown ; Poor, and receiving from a foreign hand The aid denied thee in thy native land. Oh, ruthless country, and unfeeling more Than thy own billow-beaten, chalky shore ! Leavest thou to foreign, care the worthies given By Providence to guide thy steps to heaven? His ministers, commission'd to proclaim Eternal blessings in a Saviour's name ! Ah, then most worthy, with a soul unfed. In Stygian night to lie forever dead ! So once the venerable Tishbite stray 'd An exiled fugitive from shade to shade, When, flying Ahab and his fury wife. In lone Arabian wilds he shelter'd life ; So from Philippa wander'd forth forlorn Cilician Paul, with sounding scourges torn ; And Christ himself, so left, and trod no more The thankless Gergesenes' forbidden shore. ^'But thou take courage! strive against despair! Quake not with dread, nor nourish anxious care I Grim war indeed on every side appears. And thou art menaced by a thousand spears ; 608 cowper's poetical works. Yet none shall drink thy blood, or shall offend Even tlie defenceless bosom of my friend. For thee the ^gis of thy God shall hide, Jehovah's self shall combat on thy side. The same who vanqiiish'd under Sion's towers At silent midnight all Assyria's powers ; The same who overthrew in ages past Damascus' sons that laid Samaria waste ! Their king he fill'd and them with fatal fears, By mimic sounds of clarions in their ears. Of hoofs, and wheels, and neighings from afar. Of clashing armor, and the din of war. " Thou, therefore (as the most afflicted may). Still hope, and triumph o'er thy evil day ! Look forth, expecting happier times to come, And to enjoy, once more, thy native homel" ELEGY V ON THE APPROACH OF SPPJNG. Time, never wandering from his annual round, Bids Zephyr breathe the Spring, and thaw the ground; Bleak Winter flies, new verdure clothes the plain. And earth assumes her transient youth again. Dream I, or also to the Spring belong Increase of genius, and new powers of song ? Spring gives them, and, how strange soe'er it seems, Impels me now to some harmonious themes. Castalia's fountain, and the forked hill By day, by night, my raptured fancy fill ; My bosom burns and heaves, I hear within A sacred sound that prompts me to begin. Lo! Plioebus comes ; with his bright hair he blends The radiant laurel wreath : Phoebus descends! I mount, and undepress'd by cumbrous clay, Through cloudy regions win my easy way; Kapt through poetic shadowy haunts I fly : The shrines all open to my dauntless eye, My spirit searches all the realms of light. And no Tartarean gulfs elude my sight. But this ecstatic trance — this glorious storm i TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 609 Of inspiration — what will it perform? Spring claims the verse that with his influence glows, And sliall be paid with what himself bestows. Thou, veii'd with opening foliage, lead'st the throng Of feathered minstrels, Philomel ! la song : Let us, in concert, to the season sing. Civic and sylvan heralds of the Spring! With notes triumphant Spring's approach declare! To Spring, ye Muses, annual tribute bear! The Orient left, and Ethiopia's plains. The sun now northward turns his golden reins ; Niglit creeps not now ; yet rules with gentle sway, And drives her dusky horrors swift away; Now less fatigued, on this ethereal plain Bootes follows his celestial wain ! And now the radiant sentinels above. Less numerous, watch around the courts of Jove, For, with the night, force, ambush, slaughter fly. And no gigantic guilt alarms the sky. Now, haply says some shepherd, while he views Kecumbent on a rock, the reddening dews. This night, this, surely, Phoebus miss'd the fair, Who stops his chariot by her amorous care. Cynthia, delighted by the morning's glow. Speeds to the woodland, and resumes her bow ; Kesigns her beams, and, glad to disappear. Blesses his aid, who shortens her career. Come! — Phoebus cries — Aurora, come! — too late Thou lingerest, slumbering, with thy wither'd mate; Leave him, and to Ilymettus' top repair! Thy darling Oephalus expects thee there. The goddess with a blush her love betrays, But mounts, and, driving rapidly, obeys. Earth now desires thee, Ph(Debus ! and, to engage Thy warm embrace, casts ofl" the guise of age ; Desires thee, and deserves ; for who so sweet When her rich bosom courts thy genial heat? Her breath imparts to every breeze that blows Arabia's harvesi- and the Paphian rose. Iler lofty front she diadems around With sacred pines, like Ops on Ida crown'd; Her dewy locks with various flowers new blown She interweaves, various, and all her own ; GIO cowper's poetical works. For Proserpine, in such a wreath attired, Taenarian Dis himself with love inspired. Fear not, lest, cold and coy, the Nymph refuse ! Herself, with all her sighing Zephyrs, sues ; Each courts thee, fanning soft his scented wing. And all her groves with warbled wishes ring. iTor, unendowed and indigent, aspires The amorous Earth to engage thy warm desires, But, rich in balmy drugs, assists thy claim. Divine Physician ! to that glorious name. If splendid recompense, if gifts, can move Desire in thee (gifts often purchase love). She offers all the wealth her mountains hide, And all that rests beneath the boundless tide. How oft, when headlong from the heavenly steep, She sees thee playing in the western deep, How oft she cries — " Ah, Phoebus, why repair Thy wasted force, why seek refreshment there ? Can Tethys win thee ? wherefore shouldst thou lave A face so fair in her unpleasant wave? Come, seek my green retreats, and rather choose To cool thy tresses in my crystal dews. The grassy turf shall yield thee sweeter rest; Come, lay thy evening glories on my breast. And breathing fresh, through many a humid rose, Soft whispering airs shall lull thee to repose! No fears I feel like Semele to die, Nor lest thy burning wheels approach too nigh ; For thou canst govern them: here therefore rest, And lay thy evening glories on my breast!" Thus breathes the wanton Earth her amorous flame, And all her countless offspring feel the same ; For Cupid now through every region strays, Brightening his faded fires with solar rays ; His new-strung bow sends forth a deadlier sound, And his new-pointed shafts more deeply Avound ; Nor Dian's self escapes him now untried, Nor even Vesta at her altar side ; His mother too repairs her beauty's wane. And seems sprung newly from the deep again. Exulting youths tiie hymeneal sing; With Hymen's name roofs, rocks, and valleys ring; He, new attired, and by the season drest, TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 611 Proceeds, all fragrant, in liis saffron vest. Now many a golden-cinctured virgin roves To taste the pleasures of the fields and groves : All wish, and eacli alike, some favorite youth Hers, in the bonds of hymeneal truth. Now pipes the shepherd through his reeds again, Nor Phillis wants a song that suits the strain ; With songs the seaman hails the starry sphere, And dolphins rise from the abyss to liear : Jove feels himself the season, sports again "With his fair spouse, and banquets all his train. Now, too, tlie Satyrs, in the dusk of eve. Their mazy dance through flowery meadows weave ; And, neither god nor goat, but both in kind, Silvanus, wi-eathed with cypress, skips behind. The Dryads leave their hollow sylvan cells To roam the banks and solitary dells ; Pan riots now ; and from his amorous chafe Ceres and Oybele seem hardly safe ; And Faunus, all on fire to reach the prize, In chase of some enticing Oread fiies ; She bounds before, but fears too swift a bound, And hidden lies, but wishes to be found. Our shades entice the Immortals from above. And some kind power presides o'er every grove ; And long, ye powers, o'er every grove preside, For all is safe, and blest, where ye abide ! Return, O Jove ! the age of gold restore — Why choose to dwell where storms and thunder roar? At least thou, Phoebus ! moderate thy speed ; Let not the vernal hours too swift proceed ; Command rough Winter back, nor yield the pole Too soon to Night's encroaching, long control I 612^ cowper's poetical works. ELEGY YI. TO CHARLES DEODATI, Who, while he spent his Christmas in the country, sent the Author a poeti- cal epistle, in Avhich he requested that his verses, if not so good as usual, might be excused, on account of the many feasts to v/hich his friends invited him, and which would not allow him leisure to finish them as he wished. With no rich viands overcharged, I send Health, which perchance you want, my pamper'd friendc But wherefore should thy Muse tempt mine away From what she loves, from darkness into day? Art thou desirous to be told how well I love thee, and in verse ?^ — verse cannot tell. For verse has hounds, and must in measure move ; But neither bounds nor measure knows my love. How pleasant, in thy lines described, appear December's harmless sports and rural cheer ! French spirits kindling with cerulean fires. And all such gambols as the time inspires ! Think not that wine against good verse offends, The Muse and Bacchus have been always friends ; Nor Phoebus blushes sometimes to be found With ivy, rather than with laurel, crown'd. The Nine themselves ofttimes have join'd the song xVnd revels of the Bacchanalian throng ; Not even Ovid could in Scythian air Sing sweetly — why? — no vine would flourish there. What in brief numbers sung Anacreon's Muse ? Wine, and the rose that sparkling wine bedews. Pindar with Bacchus glows — liis every line Breathes the rich fragrance of inspiring wine ; While, with loud crash o'erturn'd, the chariot Hes, And brown with dust the fiery courser flies. The Roman lyrist steep'd in wine his lays So sweet in Glycera's and Chloe's praise. Now, too, the plenteous feast and mantling bowl Nourish the vigor of thy sprightly soul ; The flowing goblet makes tliy numbers flow. And casks not wine alone but verse bestow. Thus Phoebus favors, and the arts attend, TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 613 Whom Bacchus and whom Ceres both befriend. What wonder, then, thy verses are so sweet, In which these triple powers so kindly meet ! The lute now also sounds, with gold inwrought, And, touch'd with flying fingers nicely taught. In tapestried halls, high-roof'd, the sprightly lyre Directs the dancers of the virgin choir. If dull repletion friglit the Muse away. Sights gay as these may more invite her stay ; And, trust me, while the ivory keys resound. Fair damsels sport, and perfumes steam around, Apollo's influence, like ethereal flame. Shall animate, at once, thy glowing frame ; And all the Muse shall rush into thy breast, By Love and Music's blended powers possest. For numerous powers light Elegy befriend. Hear her sweet voice, and at her call attend; Her, Bacchus, Ceres, Venus, all approve, And, with his blushing mother, gentle Love. Hence to such bards we grant the copious use Of ban(}uets and the vine's delicious juice. But they who demigods and heroes praise. And feats perform'd in Jove's more youthful days,, Who now the counsels of high Heaven explore, Now shades that echo the Cerberean roar ; Simply let these, like him of Samos, live. Let herbs to them a bloodless banquet give ; In beechen goblets let their beverage shine. Cool from the crystal spring, their sober wine! Their youth should pass in innocence secure From stain licentious, and in manners pure. Pure as the priest, wlien robed in white he stands^, The fresh lustration ready in his hands. Thus Linus lived, and thus, as poets write, Tiresias, wiser for his loss of sight ; Thus exiled Chalcas, thus the Bard of Thrace, Melodious tamer of the savage race ; Thus train'd by temperance. Homer led, of yore,, His chief of Ithaca from shore to shore. Through magic Circe's monster-peopled reign. And shoals insidious with the syren train ; And through the realms where grizzly spectres dwell,. Whose tribes he enter'd in a gory spell ; 52 614 cowper's poetical works. For these are sacred bands, and from above Drink large infusions from the mind of Jove. Wouldst thou (perhaps 'tis liardly worth thine ear)- Wouldst thou be told my occupation here ? The promised King of Peace employs my pen, The eternal covenant made for guilty men, The new-born Deity, with infant cries Fining the sordid hovel where he lies ; The hymning angels, and the herald star, That led the wise, who sought him from afar, And idols on their own unhallow'd shore Dash'd, at his birth, to be revered no more. This theme on reeds of Albion I rehearse : The dawn of that blest day inspired the verse ; Verse that, reserved in secret, shall attend Thy candid voice, my critic and my friend! ELEGY VII. As yet a stranger to the gentle fires That Amathusia's smiling Queen inspires, [N'ot seldom I derided Cupid's darts. And scorn VI his claim to rule all human hearts. " Go, child," I said, " transfix the timorous dove ! An easy conquest suits an infant love ; Enslave the sparrow, for such prize shall be Sufficient triumph to a chief like thee ! Why aim thy idle arms at human kind ! Thy shafts prevail not 'gainst the noble mind." The Cyprian heard, and, kindling into ire (None kindles sooner), burn'd with double fire. It was the spring, and newly-risen day Peep'd o'er the hamlets on the first of May ; My eyes, too tender for the blaze of light. Still sought the shelter of retiring night, When Love approach'd : in painted plumes array'd. The insidious god his rattling darts betray'd; ISTor less his infant features, and the sly, * Sweet intimations of his threatening eye. Such the Sigeian boy is seen above. Filling the goblet for imperial Jove ; TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 615 Sncli he, on whom the ITymphs bestow'd their charms, Hylas, who perish'd in a Naiad's arms. Angry lie seem'd, yet graceful in his ire. And added threats not destitute of fire. "My power," lie said, ''by others' pain alone, 'Twere best to learn ; now learn it by thy own ! With those that feel my power, that power attest! And in thy anguish be my sway confest ! I vanquish'd Plioebus, though returning vain From his new triumph o'er the Python slakj; And, when he thinks on Daphne, even he Will yield the prize of archery to me. A dart less true the Parthian horseman sped, Behind him kill'd, and conquer'd as he fled : Less true the expert Oydonian, and less true The youth whose shaft his latent Procris slew. Yanquish'd by me see huge Orion bend ; By me Alcides, and Alcides' friend. At me should Jove himself a bolt design, His bosom first should bleed, transfix'd by mine. But all thy doubts this shaft will best explain, Nor shall it reach thee with a trivial pain. Thy Muse, vain youth! shall not thy peace insure. Nor Phoebus' serpent yield thy wound a cure." He spoke, and, waving a bright shaft in air, Sought the warm bosom of the Cyprian fair. That thus a child should bluster in my ear, Provoked my laughter more than moved my fear. I shunn'd not, therefore, public haunts, but stray'd Careless in city or suburban shade; And, passing and repassing nymphs, that moved With grace divine, beheld where'er I roved. Bright shone the vernal day with double blaze. As beauty gave new force to Phoebus' rays. By no grave scruples check'd, I freely eyed The dangerous show, rash youth my only guide ; And many a look of many a fiiir unknown Met full, unable to control my own. But one I mark'd (then peace forsook my breast), One — ^oh how far superior to the rest! What lovely features ! such the Cyprian Queen Herself might wish, and Juno wisli her mien. The very nymph was she, whom, when I dared 616 cowper's poetical works. His arrows, Love had even then prepared ! Nor was himself remote, nor unsupplied With torch well trimm'd and quiver at his side : ^Row to her lips he clung, her eyelids now, Then settled on her cheeks, or on her hrow ; And with a thousand wounds from every part Pierced and transpierced my undefended heart. A fever, new to me, of fierce desire, Now seized my soul, and I was all on fire ; But she, the wliile, whom only I adore, "Was gone, and vanished to appear no more. In silent sadness I pursue my way ; I pause, I turn, proceed, yet wish to stay ; And, while I follow her in thought, bemoan With tears my soul's delight so quickly flown. When Jove had hurl'd him to the Lemnian coast, So Vulcan sorrow'd for Olympus lost ; And so (Eclides, sinking into night. From the deep gulf look'd up to distant light. Wretch that I am, what hopes for me remain. Who cannot cease to love, yet love in vain 1 ' Oh, could I once, once more, behold the fair. Speak to her, tell her of the pangs I bear ; Perhaps she is not adamant ; would show Perhaps some pity at my tale of woe. Oh, inauspicious flame ! — 'tis mine to prove A matchless instance of disastrous love ! Ah, spare me, gentle power ! — If sucli thou be^ Let not thy deeds and nature disagree ; Spare me, and I will worship at no shrine With vow and sacrifice save only thine. Now I revere thy fires, thy bow, thy darts: Now own thee sovereign of all human hearts. Kemove ! no — grant me still this raging woe t Sweet is the wretchedness that lovers know : But pierce hereafter (should I chance to see One destined mine) at once both her and me. Such were the trophies that, in earlier days. By vanity seduced, I toil'd to raise ; Studious, yet indolent, and urged by youth. That worst of teachers-, from the ways of truth ; Till Learning taught me in his shady bower To quit Love's servile yoke, and spurn his power. 1 TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. GlV Then, on a sudden, tlie fierce flame snpprest, - A frost continual settled on my breast; Whence Cupid fears his flame extinct to see, And Venus dreads a Diomede in me. THE COTTAGER AND HIS LANDLORD. A FABLE. A PEASANT to his lord paid yearly court, Presenting pippins of so rich a sort, Tliat he, displeased to have a part alone. Removed the tree, that all miglit be his own. The tree, too old to travel, though before So fruitful, withered, and would yield no more. The squire, perceiving all liis labor void, Cursed his own pains, so foolishly employM ; And, ^'Oh," he cried, ''that I had lived content With tribute, small indeed, but kindly meant ! My avarice has expensive proved to me. Has cost me both my pippins and my tree!" EPIGRAMS. ON THE INVENTOR OF GUNS. Praise in old time the sage Prometheus won. Who stole ethereal radiance from the sun ; But greater he, whose bold invention strove To emulate the fiery bolts of Jove. [The poems on the subject of the Gunpowder Treason I have not transla- ;d, both because the matter of them is unpleasant, and because they are Titten with an asperity, which, however it might be warranted in Milton's ay, would be extremely unseasonable now.] TO LEONORA SINGING AT KOME.* Another Leonora once inspired Tasso with fatal love, to frenzy fired; * I have translated only two of the three poetical compliments addressed: ) Leonora, as they appear to me far superior to what I have omitted. 018 cowper's poetical works. But- how much happier hvecl he now, were he, Pierced with whatever pangs for love of thee ! Since couhl he l:ear that heavenly voice of thine, "With Adriana's lute of sound divine, Fiercer than Pentheus' though his eye might roll, Or idiot apathy benumb his soul. You still with medicinal sounds might cheer His senses wandering in a blind career ; And sweetly breathing through his wounded breast. Charm, with soul-soothing song, his thoughts to rest. TO THE SAME. Naples, too credulous, ah ! boast no more The sweet- voiced Siren buried on tliy shore — That, when Parthenope deceased, she gave Her sacred dust to a Ohalcidic grave ; For still she lives, but has exchanged the hoarse Pausihpo for Tiber's placid course. Where, idol of all Rome, she now in chains Of magic song both gods and men detains. TO CHRISTINA, QUEEX OF SWEDEN, WITH CROMWELl's PICTURE. Christina, maiden of heroic mien ! Star of the North ! of northern stars the queen! Behold what wrinkles I have earn'd, and how The iron casque still chafe's my veteran brow. "While following Fate's dark footsteps, I fulfil The dictates of a hardy people's wilL But soften'd in thy sight my looks appear, Not to all Queens or Kings alike severe. ON THE DEATH OF THE VICE-CHANCELLOR, A PHYSICIAN. Learn, ye nations of the earth. The condition of your birth ; Now be taught your feeble state ! Know, that all must yield to Fate ! TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. C19 If the mournful rover, Death, Say but once — '' Resign your breath!" Vainly of escape you dream, You must pass the. Stygian stream. Could the stoutest overcome Death's assault, and baffle -doom, Hercules had both withstood, Undiseased by Nessus' blood. Ne'er had Hector press'd the plain By a trick of Pallas slain, Nor the chief to Jove allied By Achilles' phantom died. Could enchantments life prolong, Circe, saved by magic song, Still had lived, and equal skill Had preserved Medea still. Dwelt in herbs and drugs a power To avert man's destined hour, Learn'd Machaon should have known Doubtless to avert his own : Cliiron had survived the smart Of the hydra-tainted dart, And Jove's bolt had been, with ease, Foil'd by Asclepiades. Thou too, sage ! of whom forlorn Helicon and Oirrlia mourn, Still hadst fill'd thy princely place, Regent of the gowned race : Hadst advanced to higher fame Still thy much ennobled name, Nor in Charon's skiff explored The Tartarean gulf abhorr'd. But resentful Proserpine, Jealous of thy skill divine. Snapping short thy vital thread, Thee too number'd "wj^th the dead. 620 cowper's poetical works. "Wise and good! untroubled be The green turf that covers thee ! Thence, in gay profusion, grow All the sweetest flowers that blow ! Pluto's consort bid thee rest ! j^acus pronounce thee blest ! To her home thy shade consign! Make Elysiam ever thine! OiS" THE DEATH OF THE BISHOP OF ELY. My lids with grief were tamid yet. And still my sullied cheek was wet With briny dews, profusely shed, For venerable Winton dead : When^Fame, whose tales of saddest sound, Alas ! are ever truest found. The news through all our cities spread Of yet another mitred head By ruthless Fate to Death consign'd, Ely, the honor of his kind ! At once a storm of passion heaved My boiling bosom, much I grieved ; But more I raged, at every breath Devoting Death himself to death. "With less revenge did Naso teem. When hated Ibis w\as his theme ; With less Archilochus denied The lovely Greek his promised bride. But lo ! while thus I execrate. Incensed, the minister of Fate, Wondrous accents, soft, yet clear. Wafted on the gale I hear : " Ah, much deluded ! lay aside Thy threats and anger misapplied ! Art not afraid with sounds like these To offend, where thou canst not appease ? Death is not (wherefore dream'st thou thus ?) The sou of Night and Erebus: TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 621 Nor was of fell Erynnis born On gulfs where Chaos rules forlorn ; But, sent from God, his presence leaves, To gather home his ripen'd sheaves. To call encumber'd souls away From fleshly bonds to boundless day (As when the winged hours excite And summon forth the morning light), And each to convoy to her place Before the Eternal Father's face. But not the wicked — them, severe Yet just, from all their pleasures hero He hurries to the realms below. Terrific realms of penal woe ! Myself no sooner heard liis call. Than, 'scaping through my prison wall, I bade adieu to bolts and bars, And soar'd, with angels, to the stars ; Like him of old, to whom 'twas given To mount on fiery wheels to heaven. Bootes' wagon, slow with cold, Appall'd me not ; nor to behold The sword that vast Orion draws. Or even the Scorpion's horrid claws. Beyond the sun's bright orb I fly. And far beneath my feet descry Night's dread goddess, seen with awe, Whom her winged dragons draw. Thus, ever wondering at my speed. Augmented still as I proceed, I pass the planetary sphere. The Milky Way — and now appear Heaven's crystal battlements, her door Of massy pearl, and emerald floor. " But here I cease. For never can The tongue of once a mortal man In suitable description trace The pleasures of that liappy place ; Suflfice it, that those joys divine Are all, and all forever, minel'* G22 cowper's poetical works. NATURE UNIMPAIRED BY TIME. 1 Ah, how the human mind wearies herself With her own wanderings, and, involved in gloom Impenetrable, speculates amiss ! Measuring in her folly things divine By human; laws inscribed on adamant By laws of man's device ; and counsels fix'd Forever, by the hours that pass and die. How ? — shall the face of nature tlien be ploughed Into deep wrinkles, and shall years at last On the great Parent fix a sterile curse? Shall even she confess old age, and halt, And, palsy-smitten, shake her starry brows ? Shall foul Antiquity with rust, and Drought, And Famine, vex the radiant worlds above? Shall Time's unsated maw crave and engulf The very heavens, that regulate. his flight? And was the Sire of all able to fence His works, and to uphold the circhng worlds, But, through improvident and heedless haste, Let slip the occasion? — so then — all is lost — And in some future evil hour, yon arch Shall crumble, and come thundering down, the poles Jar in collision, the Olympian king Fall with his throne, and Pallas, holding forth The terrors of the Gorgon shield in vain, Shall rush to the abyss, like Vulcan hurl'd Down into Lemnos, through the gate of heaven. Thou also, with precipitated wheels, Phoebus! thy own son's fall shalt imitate, With hideous ruin shalt impress the deep Suddenly, and the flood shall reek, and hiss, At the extinction of the lamp of day. Then too shall Hsemus, cloven to his base. Be shatter'd, and the huge Ceraunian hills, Once weapons of Tartarean Dis, immersed In Erebus, shall fill himself with fear. 1^0. The Almighty Father surer laid His deep foundations, and, providing well For the event of all, the scales of Fate Suspended in just equipoise, and bade I i TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 6^3 Piis universal works, from age to age, One tenor bold, perpetual, undisturb'd. Hence the prime mover wheels itself about Continual, day by day, and with it bears In social measure swift, the heavens around. Not tardier now is Saturn than of old. Nor radiant less the burning casque of Mars. Phcebus, his vigor unimpaired, still shows •The effulgence of his youth : nor needs the god A downward course, that he may warm the vales ; But, ever rich in influence, runs his road. Sign after sign, through all the heavenly zone. Beautiful, as at first, ascends the star From odoriferous Ind, whose office is To gather home betimes the ethereal flock, To pour them o'er the skies again at eve. And to discriminate the night and day. Still Cynthia's changeful horn waxes and w^anes Alternate, and with arms extended still She welcomes to her breast her brother's beams. Nor have the elements deserted yet Their functions ; thunder with as loud a stroke As erst smites through the rocks and scatters them. The East still howls ; still the relentless North Invades the shuddering Scythian, still he breathes The winter, and still rolls the storms along. The king of ocean, with his wonted force, Beats on Pelorus ; o'er the deep is heard The hoarse alarm of Triton's sounding shell; Noi' swim the monsters of the ^gean sea In shallows, or beneath diminish'd waves. Thou too, thy ancient vegetative power Enjoy'st, O Earth ! Narcissus still is sweet; And Phoebus ! still thy favorite, and still Thy favorite Cythcrea! both retain Their beauty ; nor the mountains, ore-enrich'd Her punishmenfof man, with purer gold Teem'd ever, or with brighter gems the deep. Thus in unbroken series all proceeds ; And shall, till wide involving either pole, And the immensity of yonder heaven. The final flames of destiny absorb The world, consumed in one enormous pyre I 624 cowper's poetical works. Ols THE PLATONIC IDEA AS IT WAS UNDERSTOOD BY ARISTOTLE. Ye sister powers, who o'er the sacred groves Preside, and thou, fair motlier of them all, Mnemosyne ! and thou who, in thy grot Immense, reclined at leisure, hast in charge The archives and the ordinances of Jove, And dost record the festivals of heaven, Eternity ! — inform us, who is He, That Great Original, by nature chosen To be the archetype of human kind. Unchangeable, immortal, with the poles Themselves coeval — one, yet everywhere. An image of the God who gave him being? TAvin-brother of the goddess born from Jove, He dwells not in his father's mind, but, though Of common nature with ourselves, exists Apart, and occupies a local home — Whether, companion of the stars, he spend Eternal ages, roaming at his will From sphere to sphere, the tenfold heavens, or dwell On the moon's side that nearest neighbors Earth, Or torpid on tlie banks of Lethe sit Among the multitude of souls ordain'd To flesh and blood ; or whether (as may chance) That vast and giant model of our kind. In some far distant region of this globe, Sequester'd stalk with lifted head on high, O'ertowering Atlas, on whose shoulders rest The stars, terrific even to the gods. Never the Theban seer, whose blindness proved His best illumination, him beheld In secret vision ; never him the son Of Pleione, amid the noiseless night Descending, to the prophet-choir reveal'd ; Him never knew the Assyrian priest, who yet The ancestry of Ninus' chronicles. And Belus, and Osiris, far renown'd ; Nor even thrice-great Hermes, although skill'd So deep in mystery, to the worshippers Of Isis show'd a prodigy like him. TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 625 And thou, who hast immortalized the shades Of Academus, if the schools received Tliis monster of the fancy first from thee, Eitlicr recall at once thy banish'd bards To thy republic, or thyself, evinced A wilder fabulist, go also forth ! TO HIS FATHER. On that Pieria's spring would through my breast Pour its inspiring influence, and rush N'o rill, but rather an o'erfloAving flood ! That, for my venerable Father's sake All meaner themes renounced, my Muse, on wings Of duty borne, might reach a loftier strain : For thee, my Father ! howsoe'er it please, She frames this slender work ; nor know I aught That may thy gifts more suitably requite : Though to requite them suitably would ask Returns much nobler, and surpassing far The meagre stores of verbal gratitude : But, such as I possess, I send thee all. This page presents thee in their full amount With thy son's treasures, and the sum is naught; Naught, save the riches that from airy dream In secret grottoes and in laurel bowers, I have, by golden Clio's gift, acquired. Verse is a work divine ; despise not thou Verse therefore, which evinces (nothing more) Man's heavenly source, and which, retaining still Some scintillations of Promethean fire. Bespeaks him animated from above. The Gods love verse ; the infernal Powers themselves Confess the influence of verse, which stirs The lowest deep, and binds in triple chains Of adamant both Pluto and the Shades. In verse the Delphic priestess and the pale Tremulous Sibyl make the future known ; And he who sacrifices, on the shrine Hangs verse, both when he smites the threatening bull. And when he spreads his reeking entrails wide 53 G26 cowper's poetical works. To scrutinize tlie fates enveloped there. We too, ourselves, what time we seek again Our native skies, and one eternal Now Shall be the only measure of our being, Crown VI all with gold, and chanting to the lyre Harmonious verse, shall range the courts above, And make the starry firmament resound. x\nd, even now the fiery spirit pure That wheels yon circling orbs, directs himself Their mazy dance with melody of verse Unutterable, innnortal, hearing wiiich Huge Ophiuchus holds his hiss suppress'd ; Orion, soften'd, drops his ardent blade. And Atlas stands unconscious of his load. Verse graced of old the feasts of kings, ere yet Luxurious dainties, destined to the gulf Immense of gluttony, were known, and ere Lyseus deluged yet the temperate board. Then sat the bard, a customary guest. To share the banquet, and, his length of locks AVith beechen honors bound, proposed in verse The characters of heroes and their deeds, To imitation ; sang of Chaos old, Of Nature's birth, of gods that crept in search Of acorns fallen, and of the thunderbolt Not yet produced from Etna's fiery cave. And what avails, at last, tune without voice, Devoid of matter ? Such may suit perhaps The rural dance, but such was ne'er the song Of Orpheus, whom the streams stood still to hear. And the oaks followed. Not by chords alone, Well touch'd, but by resistless accents more, To sympathetic tears the ghosts themselves He moved ; these praises to his verse he owes. Nor thou persist, I pray thee, still to slight The sacred Nine, and to imagine vain And useless. Powers, by wdiom inspired, thyself Art skilful to associate verse with airs Harmonious, and to give the human vo'ce A thousand modulations, heir by right Indisputable of Arion's fame. Now say, what wonder is it, if a son Of thine delight in verse, if, so conjoin'd TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 027 In close affinity, we sympathize In social arts and kindred studies sweet? Such distribution of himself to us AVas Phoebus' choice; thou hast thy gift, and I Mine also, and between us we I'eceive, Father and son, the whole inspiring God. No! howsoe'er the semblance thou assume Of hate, thou hatest not the gentle Muse, My Father! for thou never badest me tread The beaten path, and broad, that leads right on To opulence, nor didst condemn thy son To tlie insipid clamors of the bar. To laws voluminous, and ill observed ; But wishing to enrich me more, to fill My mind with treasure, ledd'st me far away From city din to deep retreats, to banks And streams Aonian, and, with free consent, Didst place me happy at Apollo's side. I speak not now, on more important themes Intent, of common benefits, and such As Nature bids, but of thy larger gifts, My Father ! who, when I had open'd once The stores of Roman rhetoric, and learn'd The full-toned language of the eloquent Greeks, "Whose lofty music graced the lips of Jove, Thyself didst counsel me to add the flowers That Gallia boasts; those too, w^ith which the smooth Italian his degenerate speech adorns. That witnesses his mixture with the Goth ; And Palestine's prophetic songs divine. To sum the whole, whate'er the heaven contains, The earth beneath it, and the air between. The rivers and the restless deep, may all Prove intellectual gain to me, my wish Concurring with thy will; Science herself, All cloud removed, inclines her beauteous head, And offers me the lip, if, dull of heart, I shriidv not, and decline her gracious boon. Go now, and gather dross, ye sordid minds That covet it; what could my Father more? "What more could Jove himself, unless he gave His own abode, the heaven in which he reigns? More eligible gifts than these were not 1! 628 cowper's poetical works. Apollo's to his son, had they been safe As they were insecure, who made the boy The world's vice-luminary, bade him rule The radiant chariot of the day, and bind To his young brows his own all-dazzling wreath. I therefore, although last and least, my place Among the learned in the laurel grove Will hold, and where the conqueror's ivy twines, Henceforth exempt from the unletter'd throng Profane, nor even to be seen by such. Away then, sleepless Care, Complaint, away, And Envy, with thy ''jealous leer malign!" Nor let the monster Calumny shoot forth Her venom'd tongue at me. Detested foes! Ye all are impotent against my peace ; For I am privileged, and bear my breast Safe, and too high, for your viperean wound. But thou, my Father ! since to render thanks Equivalent, and to requite by deeds Thy liberality, exceeds my power ; Suffice it, that I thus record thy gifts, And bear them treasured in a grateful mind ! Ye, too, the favorite pastime of my youth, My voluntary numbers, if ye dare To hope longevity, and to survive Your master's funeral, not soon absorb'd In the oblivious Leth^ean gulf. Shall to futurity perhaps convey This theme, and by these praises of my siro Improve the fathers of a distant age ! TO SALSILLUS, A ROMAN POET, MUCH INDISPOSED. The original is written in a measure called Scazon, which signifies limp- ing", and the measure is so denominated, because, though in other respects Iambic, it terminates with a Spondee, and lias, consequently, a more tardy movement. The reader will immediately see that this property of the Latin verse can- not be imitated in English My halting Muse, that dragg'st by choice along Thy slow, slow step, in melancholy song, TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. G29 And likcst that pace, expressive of tliy cares, Not less than Deiopea's spriglitlier airs, AVhen in the dance she beats witli nieasnred tread Heaven's floor, in front of Juno's golden bed; Salute Salsillus, who to verse divine Prefers, with partial love, sucli lays as mine. Tlius writes that Milton, then, wlio, wafted o'er From his own nest on Albion's stormy shore, Where Eurus, fiercest of the iEolian band, Sweeps w^ith ungovern'd rage the blasted land — Of late to more serene Ausonia came To view her cities of illustrious name. To prove, himself a witness of the truth. How wise her elders and how learn'd her youth. Much good, Salsillus ! and a body free From all disease, that Milton asks for thee, Who now endurest the languor and the pains That bile inflicts, diffused through all thy veins ; Relentless malady ! not moved to spare By thy sweet Roman voice and Lesbian air I Health, Hebe's sister, sent us from the skies, And thou, Apollo, whom all sickness flies, Pythius, or Pa3an, or what name divine Soe'er thou choose, haste, heal a priest of thine ! Ye groves of Faunus, and ye hills that melt With vinous dews, where meek Evander dwelt! If aught salubrious in your confines grow. Strive which shall soonest heal your poet's woe! That, render'd to the Muse he loves, again He may enchant the meadows with his strain. Numa, reclined in everlasting ease Amid the shade of dark embowering trees. Viewing with eyes of unabated fire His loved ^geria, shall that strain admire : So soothed, the tumid Tiber shall revere The tombs of kings, nor desolate the year — Shall curb his waters with a friendly rein. And guide them harmless^ till they meet the main. 6^S0 cowper's poetical works. TO GIOYA^^JSri BATTISTA MANSO, marquis of villa. Milton's account of manso. Giovanni Battista Manso, Marquis of Yilla, is an Italian nobleman of tho highest estimation among his countrymen, for genius, literature, and military accomplishments. To him Torquato Tasso addressed his Dialogues on Friend- ship, for he was much the friend of Tasso, who has also celebrated him among the other princes of Ids country, in his poem, entitled, "Gerusalemme Con- quistata," book xx. Fra cavalier magnanimi, e cortesi, Risplende il Manso. During the author's stay at Naples he received at the hands of the Marquis a thousand kind oflices and civilities, and, desirous not to appear ungrateful, sent him this poem a short time before his departure from that city These verses also to thy praise, the Nine, O Manso ! happy in that theme, design ; For, Gallus and Maecenas gone, they see None sncli besides, or whom they love as thee ; And if my verse may give the meed of fame. Thine too shall prove an everlasting name. Already such, it shines in Tasso's page (For thou wast Tasso's friend) from age to age ; And, next, the Muse consigned (not unaware How high the charge) Marino to thy care. Who, singing to the nymphs Adonis' praise. Boasts thee the patron of his copious lays. To thee alone the poet Avould intrust His latest vows, to thee alone his dust ; And thou with punctual piety liast paid, In labor'd brass, thy tribute to his shade. Nor this contented thee — but, lest the grave Should auglit absorb of theirs which thou couldst save, All future ages thou hast deign'd to teach The life, lot, genius, character of each. Eloquent as tiie Carian sage, who, true To his great theme, the life of Homer drew. I, therefore, though a stranger youth, who come, ChilPd by rude blasts that freeze my northern home, Thee dear to Clio, confident proclaim, And thine, for Phoebus' sake, a deathless name. Nor thou, so kind, wilt view with scornful eye TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 631 A Muse scarce rear'cl beneath our sullen sky, AVho fears not, indiscreet as she is young, To seek in Latium hearers of her song. AVe too, Avhere Thames with its unsullied waves The tresses of the blue-hair\l Ocean laves, Hear oft by night, or, slumbering, seem to hear. O'er his wide stream, the swan's voice warbling clear; And we could boast a Tityrus of yore AYlio trod, a welcome guest, your happy shore. Yes — dreary as we own our northern clime, Even we to Phoebus raise the polish'd rhyme ; We too serve Phoebus ; Phoebus has received (If legions old may claim to be believed) No sordid gifts from us, the golden ear. The burnish'd apple, ruddiest of the year. The fragrant crocus, and, to grace his fane, Fair damsels chosen from the Druid train; Druids, our native bards in ancient time, Who gods and heroes praised in halloAv'd rhyme ! Hence, often as the maids of Greece surround Apollo's shrine with liymns of festive sound. They named the virgins who arrived of yore With British offerings on the Dehan shore — Loxo, from giant Corineus sprung, Upis, on whose blest lips the future hung. And Hacaerge, with the golden hair. All deck'd with Pictish hues, and all with bosoms bare. Tliou, therefore, happy sage, whatever cUme Shall ring with Tasso's praise in after time. Or with Marino's, slialt be known their friend, And with an equal flight to fame ascend. The world shall hear how Phoebus and the Nine Were inmates once, and willing guests of thine. Yet Phoebus, wiien of old constrain'd to roam The earth, an exile from his heavenly home, Enter'd, no willing guest, Admetus' door. Though Hercules had ventured there before. But gentle Chiron's cave was near, a scene Of rural peace, clothed with perpetual green ; And thither, oft as respite he required, From rustic clamors loud, the god retired. There, many a time, on Peneus' bank reclined At some oak's root, with ivy thick entAvined, 632 cowper's poetical works. AYon by his hospitable friend's ciesire, He soothed his pains of exile with tlie lyre. Then shook the hills, then trembled Peneus' shore, Kor (Eta felt his load of forest more ; The upland elms descended to the plain, And soften'd lynxes wonder'd at that strain. Well may we think, oh, dear to all above ! Thy birth distinguish'd by the smile of Jove, x\nd that Apollo shed his kindhest power. And Maia's son, on that propitious hour ; Since only minds so born can comprehend A poet's worth, or yield that worth a friend. Hence on thy yet unfaded cheek appears The lingering freshness of thy greener years ; Hence in thy front and features we admire Nature unwither'd and a mind entire. Oh, might so true a friend to me belong, So skill'd to grace the votaries of song ! Should I recall hereafter into rhyme The kings and heroes of my native clime — Arthur the chief, who even now prepares, In subterraneous being, future wars. With all his martial knights, to be restored Each to Ills seat around the federal board ; And oh, if spirit fail me not, disperse Our Saxon plunderers in triumphant verse !— Then, after all, when, with the past content, A life I finish, not in silence spent ; Should he, kind mourner, o'er my death-bed bend, I shall but need to say — '•^ Be yet my friend !" He too, perhaps, shall bid the marble breathe To honor me, and with the graceful wreath Or of Parnassus or the Paphian isle Shall bind my brows — but I shall rest the while. Then also, if the fruits of Faith endure. And Virtue's promised recompense be sure ; Borne to those seats to which the blest aspire By purity of soul and virtuous fire, These rites, as Fate permits, I shall survey With eyes illumined by celestial day ; And, every cloud from my pure spirit driven, Joy in the bright beatitude of Heaven ! TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 633 ON THE DEATH OF DAMOK ARGUMENT.— Thyrsis and Damon, shepherds and neighbors, had always pursued the sjimo studies, and had, from their earliest days, been united in the closest friendship. Thyrsis, while travelling for improvement, received intelligence of the death of Damon, and after a time, returning and finding it true, deplores himself, and his solitary condition, in this poem. By Damon is to be understood Charles Deodati, connected with the Italian city of liucca by his father's side, in other respects an Englishman ; a youth of uncom- mon genius, erudition, and virtue. Ye Kymphs of Himera (for ye have shed Erev/liile for Daphnis, and for Hylas dead, And over Bion's long-lamented bier, The fruitless meed of many a sacred tear), Now through the villas laved by Thames rehearse The woes of Thyrsis in Sicilian verse, What sighs he lieaved, and how, with groans profound, He made the woods and hollow rocks resound, Young Damon dead ; nor even ceased to pour His lonely sorrows at the midniglit hour! The green wheat twice had nodded in the ear. And golden harvest twice enriched the year. Since Damon's lips had gaspVl for vital air The last, last time, nor Thyrsis yet was there ; For he, enamor'd of the Muse, remained In Tuscan Fjorenza long detain'd ; But, stored at length with all he wish'd to learn, For his flock's sake, now hasted to return ; And when the shepherd had resumed his seat At the elm's root, within his old retreat, , Then 'twas his lot then all his loss to know. And from his burden'd heart he vented thus his woe : *' Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due To other cares than those of feeding you. Alas ! what deities shall I suppose In heaven, or earth, concern'd for human woes, Since, oh my Damon ! their severe decree So soon condenms me to regret of thee ! Depart'st thou thus, thy virtues unrepaid With fame and honor, like a vulgar shade? Let him forbid it, whose bright rod controls. And separates sordid from ilhistrious souls, Drive far the rabble, and to thee assign G34 cowper's poetical works. A liappier lot with spirits worthy thine ! — '' Go, seek your home, my hmibs ; my thoughts are due To other cares than those of feeding you. Whatever befall, unless by cruel chance The wolf first give me a forbidding glance, Thou shalt not moulder undeplored, but long Thy praise shall dwell on every shepherd's tongue. To Daphnis first they shall delight to pay, xYnd, after him, to thee the votive lay. While Pales shall the flocks and pastures love, Or Faunus to frequent the field or grove ; At least, if ancient piety and truth, With all the learned labors of thy youth, May serve thee aught, or to have left behind A sorrowing friend, and of the tunelul kind. '^ Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due To other cares than those of feeding you. Who now my pains and perils shall divide, As thou wast wont, forever at my side. Both when the rugged frost annoy'd our feet. And when the herbage all was parch'd with heat; 'Whether the grim wolf's ravage to prevent. Or the huge lion's, arm'd with darts we went ; Whose converse now shall calm my ^-tormy day. With charming song Avho now beguile my way ? ^' Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due To other cares than those of feeding you. In whom shall I confide? Whose counsel find A balmy medicine for my troubled mind? Or whose discourse with innocent delight Shall fill me now, and cheat the wintry night. While hisses on my hearth the pulpy pear, And blackening chestnuts start and crackle there. While storms abroad the dreary meadows whelm. And the wind thunders througli the neighboring elm? '' Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due To other cares than those of feeding you. Or who, wlien summer suns their summit reach, ■ And Pan sleeps hidden by the sheltering beech ; When shepherds disappear, nymphs seek the sedge, And the stretch'd rustic snores beneath the hedge, Who then shall render me thy pleasant vein Of Attic wit, thy jests, thy smiles again? TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 635 " Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due To other cares than those of feeding you. Where glens and vales are thickest overgrown With tangled boughs, I wander now alone. Till night descend, while blustering wind and shower Beat on my temples through the shatter'd bower. '^ Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due To other cares than those of feeding you. Alas ! what rampant weeds now shame my fields. And what a mildewed crop the furrow yields ! My rambling vines, unwedded to the trees. Bear shrivelPd grapes ; my myrtles fail to please ; Nor please me more my flocks : they, slighted turn Their unavailing looks on me, and mourn. / '^ Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due To other cares than those of feeding you. ^gon invites me to the hazel grove, Amyntas, on the river'^s bank to rove. And young Alphesibosus to a seat AVhere branching elms exclude the mid-day heat. * Here fountains spring — here mossy hillocks rise ; Here Zephyr whispers, and the stream replies.' — Thus each persuades, but, deaf to every call, I gain the thickets, and escape them all. ^' Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due To other cares than those of feeding you. Then Mopsus said (the same who reads so well The voice of birds, and what the stars foretell. For he by chance had noticed iny return), 'What means thy sullen mood, this deep concern? Ah, Thyrsis, thou art either crazed with love. Or some sinister influence from above; Dull Saturn's influence oft the shepherds rue ; His leaden shaft oblique has pierced thee through.' '' Go, go, my lambs, unpastured as ye are ; My thoughts are all now due to other care. The Nymphs, amazed, my melancholy see. And, ' Thyrsis !' cry — ' what will become of thee ? What wouldst thou, Thyrsis ? such should not appear The brow of youth, stern, gloomy, and severe ; Brisk youth should laugh and love — ah, shun the fate Of tliose, twice wretched mopes, who love too late!' '^ Go, go, my lambs, unpastured as ye are * 636 cowper's poetical works. My thoughts are all now due to other care. ■ ^gle with Hyas came, to soothe my pain, And Baucis' daughter, Dryope, the vain — Fair Dryope, for voice and finger neat Known far and near, and for her self-conceit; Ohloris too came, Avhose cottage on the lands That skirt the Idumanian current stands ; But all in vain they came, and but to see Kind Avords, and comfortable, lost on me. " Go, go, my lambs, unpastured as ye are ; My thoughts are all now due to other care. Ah, blest indifference of the playful herd, None by his fellow chosen, or preferred ! No bonds of amity the flocks enthrall. But each associates, and is pleased with all. So graze the dappled deer in numerous droves, And all his kind alike the zebra loves ; That same law governs, where the billows roar, And Proteus' shoals o'erspread the desert shore ; The sparrow, meanest of the feather'd race. His fit companion finds in every place. With whom he picks the grain that suits him best, Flirts here and there, and late returns to rest ; And whom, if chance the falcon makes his prey, Or hedger with his well-aim'd arrow slay ; For no such loss the gay survivor grieves. New love he seeks, and new delight receives. We only, an obdurate kind, rejoice, Scorning all others, in a single choice. We scarce in thousands meet one kindred mind; And if the long-sought good at last we find. When least we fear it. Death our treasure steals, And gives our heart a wound that nothing heals. *' Go, go, my lambs, unpastured as ye are ; My thoughts are all now due to other care. Ah, what delusion lured me from my flocks. To traverse Alpine snows and rugged rocks? What need so great had I to visit Rome, Now sunk in ruins, and herself a tomb ? Or, had she flourish'd still, as when, of old, For her sake Tityrus forsook his fold. What need so great had I to incur a pause Of thy sweet intercourse for such a cause — TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 637 For such a cause to place the roaring sea, Rocks, mountains, woods, between my friend and me? Else, had I grasp'd thy feeble hand, composed Thy decent limbs, thy drooping eyelids closed, And, at the last, had said — ' Farewell — ascend — Nor even in the skies forget thy friend !' " Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare ; My thoughts are all now due to other care. Although well pleased, ye tuneful Tuscan swains ! My mind the memory of your worth retains ; Yet not your worth can teach me less to mourn My Damon lost. — lie too was Tuscan born, Born in your Lucca, city of renown I And wit possess'd, and genius, like your own. Oh, how elate was I, when, stretch'd beside The murmuring course of Arno's breezy tide. Beneath the poplar grove I passed my hours — Now cropping myrtles, and now vernal flowers ; And hearing, as I lay at ease along. Your swains contending for the prize of song ! I also dared attempt (and, as it seems, Not much displeased attempting) various themes ; For even I can presents boast from you. The shepherd's pipe, and ozier basket too ; And Dati and Francini both have made My name familiar to the beechen shade ; And they are learn'd, and each in every place Renown'd for song, and both of Lydian race. " Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare ; My thoughts are all now due to other care. "While bright the dewy grass with moonbeams shone, And I stood hurdling in my kids alone, How often have I said (but thou hast found Ere then thy dark cold lodgment underground), Now Damon sings, or springes sets for hares. Or wickerwork for various use prepares ! How oft, indulging fancy, have I plann'd New scenes of pleasure that I lioped at hand ! Oall'd thee abroad as I was wont, and cried — ' Wliat, hoa ! my friend — come, lay thy task aside ; Haste, let us forth together, and beguile The heat beneath yon whispering shades awhile ; Or on the margin stray of Oolne's clear flood, 54: 638 cowper's poetical works. Or where Oassibelan's gray turrets stood ! There thou shalt cull me simples, and shalt teach Thy friend the name and liealing powers of each ; Froni the tall bluebell to the dwarfish weed, What the dry land, and what the marshes breed ; For all their kinds alike to thee are known, And the whole art of Galen is thy own.' Ah, perish Galen's art, and withered be The useless herbs tliat gave not health to thee ! Twelve evenings since, as in poetic dream, I meditating sat some statelier theme. The reeds no sooner touch'd my lip, though new, And unessay'd before, than wide they flew. Bursting their waxen bands, nor could sustaia Tlie deep-toned music of the solemn strain ; And I am vain perhaps, but I will tell How proud a theme I chose — ye groves, farewell. '' Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare ; My thoughts are all now due to other care. Of Brutus, Dardan chief, my song shall be — How with his barks he ploughed the British sea, First from Rutupia's towering headland seen, And of his consort's reign, fair Imogen ; Of Brennus and Belinus, brothers bold, And of Arviragus ; and how of old Our hardy sires the Armorican controll'd ; And of the wife of Gorlois, who, surprised By Uther, in her husband's form disguised (Such was the force of Merlin's art), became Pregnant with Arthur of heroic fame. These themes I now revolve — and oh! — if Fate Proportion to these themes my lengthen'd date, Adieu my shepherd's reed — yon pine-tree bough Shall be thy future home, there dangle thou Forgotten and disused, unless ere long Thou change thy Latian for a British song : A British? — even so — the powers of man Are bounded ; little is the most he can ; And it shall well suffice me, and shall be Fame and proud recompense enough for me, If Usa, golden-hair'd, my verse may learn ; If Alain bending o'er his crystal urn, Swift- whirling Abra, Trent's o'ershadow'd stream, TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. \5\ Thames, lovelier far than all in my esteem, Tamar's ore-tinctured flood, and, after these. The wave-worn shores of utmost Orcades. " Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare ; My thoughts are all now due to other care. All this I kept in leaves of laurel rind Enfolded safe, and for tliy view designed, This — and a gift from Manso's hand beside (Manso, not least his native city's pride). Two cups that radiant as their giver shone, Adorn'd by sculpture with a double zone. The spring was graven there ; here slowly wind The Red Sea shores with groves of spices lined ; Her plumes of various hues amid the boughs The sacred, solitary Phoenix shows. And, watchful of the dawn, reverts her head To see Aurora leave her watery bed. — In other part, the expansive vault above. And there too, even there, the god of love ; With quiver arm'd he mounts, his torch displays A vivid light, his gem-tipt arrows blaze; Around his bright and fiery eyes he rolls, Nor aims at vulgar minds or little souls ; Nor deigns one look below, but, aiming high, Sends every arrow to the lofty sky ; Hence forms divine, and minds immortal, learn The power of Cupid, and enamor'd burn. " Thou, also, Damon (neither need I fear That hope delusive), thou art also there ; For whither should simplicity like thine Eetire, where else should spotless virtue shine ? Thou dwelFst not (thought profone) in shades below, Nor tears suit thee — cease then, my tears, to flow. Away with grief: on Damon ill bestowVl! Who, pure himself, has found a pure abode. Has pass'd the showery arch, henceforth resides With saints and heroes, and from flowing tides Quaffs copious immortality and joy With hallow 'd lips ! — Oh ! blest without alloy. And now enrich'd with all that faith can claim — Look down, entreated by whatever name, If Damon please thee most (that rural sound Shall oft with echoes fill the groves around), 640 cowper's poetical works. Or if Deodatus^ by which alone In those ethereal mansions thou art known. Thy blush was maiden, and thy youth the taste Of wedded bliss knew never ; pure and chaste, The honors, therefore, by divine decree The lot of virgin worth, are given to thee : Thy brows encircled witli a radiant band. And the green palm-branch waving in thy hand, Thou in immortal nuptials slialt rejoice. And join with seraphs tliy according voice; Where rapture reigns, and the ecstatic lyre Guides the blest orgies of the blazing quire." AN ODE, ADDRESSED TO MR. JOHN" ROUSE, LIBRARIAN OF THE UNIVERSITY OP OXFORD, ON A LOST VOLUME OF MY POEMS, WHICH HE DESIRED ME TO REPLACE, THAT HE MIGHT ADD THEM TO MV OTHER WORKS DEPOSITED IN THE LIBRARY. This ode is rendered without rhyme, that it might more adequately represent the original, which, as Milton himself informs us, is of no certain measure. It may possibly for this reason disappoint the reader, though it cost the writer more labor than the translation of any ether piece in the whole collection. STROPHE. My twofold book ! single in show. But double in contents. Neat, but not curiously adorn'd, Which, in his early youth, A poet gave, no lofty one in truth, Although an earnest wooer of the Muse — Say, while in cool Ausonian shades Or British wilds he roam'd, Striking by turns his native lyre, By turns the Daunian lute. And stepp'd almost in air, — ANTISTROPHE. Say, little book, what furtive hand Thee from thy fellow books conveyVl, TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 641 "What time, at the repeated suit Of my most learned friend, I sent thee forth, an honor'd travellt3r, From our great city to tlie source of Thames, Cicrulean sire ! Where rise the fountains, and the raptures ring, Of the Aonian choir, Durable as yonder spheres, And through the endless lapse of years Secure to be admired? STROPHE II. ^ow what god, or demigod, For Britain's ancient genius move (If our afflicted land Have expiated at length the guilty sloth Of her degenerate sons), Shall terminate our impious feuds. And DiscipUne with hallow'd voice recall? Recall the Muses too, Driven from their ancient seats In Albion, and well-nigh from Albion's shore, And, with keen Phoebean shafts Piercing the unseemly birds. Whose talons menace us, Shall drive the Harpy race from Helicon afar« ANTISTROPHE. But thou, my book, though thou hast stray'd. Whether by treacliery lost. Or indolent neglect, thy bearer's fault. From all thy kindred books, To some dark cell or cave forlorn. Where thou endurest, perhaps. The chafing of some hard untutor'd hand, Be comforted — For lo! again the s])lendid hope appears That thou mayst yet escape The gulfs of Lethe, and on oary wings Mount to the everlasting courts of Jove ! 642 cowper's poetical works. strophe iii. Since Rouse desires tliee, and complains, That, though by promise his, Thou yet appear'st not in thy place Among the literary noble stores Given to his care, But, absent, leavest his numbers incomplete. He, therefore, guardian vigilant Of that unperishing wealth, Calls thee to the interior shrine, his charge, Where he intends a richer treasure far Than Ion kept (Ion, Erectheus' son Illustrious, of the fair Creiisa born) In the resplendent temple of his god. Tripods of gold, and Delphic gifts divine. ANTISTROPHE. Haste, then, to the pleasant groves, The Muses' favorite haunt ; Resume thy station in Apollo's dome, Dearer to him Than Delos, or the fork'd Parnassian hill ! Exulting go. Since now a splendid lot is also thine, And thou art sought by my propitious friend ; For there thou shalt be read AVith authors of exalted note, The ancient glorious hghts of Greece and Rome ! Ye, then, my works, no longer vain, And worthless deem'd by me ! Whate'er this sterile genius has produced. Expect, at last, the rage of envy spent, An unmolested happy home, Gift of kind Hermes, and my watchful friend ; Where never flippant tongue profane Shall entrance tind. And whence the coarse unletter'd multitude Shall babble far remote. Perhaps some future distant age. Less tinged with prejudice, and better taught. TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 643 Shall furnish minds of power To judge more equally. Then, malice silenced in the tomb, Cooler heads and sounder hearts. Thanks to Rouse, if aught of praise I merit, shall with candor weigh the claim. TRANSLATIONS OF THE ITALIAN POEMS. SONNET. Fair Lady ! whose harmonious name the Rhine, Through all his grassy vale, delights to hear, Base were indeed the wretch who could forbear To love a spirit elegant as thine, That manifests a sweetness all divine. Nor knows a thousand winning acts to spare, And graces, which Love's bow and arrows are, Tempering thy virtues to a softer shine. When gracefully thou speak'st, or singest gay Such strains as might the senseless forest move, Ah, then — turn each his eyes and ears away, Who feels himself unworthy of thy love ! Grace can alone preserve him ere the dart Of fond desire yet reach his inmost heart. SONNET. As on a hill-top rude, when closing day Imbrowns the scene, some pastoral maiden fair Waters a lovely foreign plant with care, Borne from its native genial airs away, That scarcely can its tender bud display; So, on my tongue these accents, new and rare. Are flowers exotic, which Love waters there. While thus, sweetly scornful ! I essay 644 COWPEll's POETICAL WORKS. Thy praise in verse to British ears unknown, And Thames exchange for Arno's fair domain ; So Love has will'd, and ofttimes Love has shown, That what he wills, he never wills in vain — Oh that this hard and sterile breast might be To Him, who plants from Heaven, a soil as free ! CANZONE. They mock my toil — the nymphs and amorous swains And whence this fond attempt to write, they cry, Love-songs in language that thou little know'st ? How darest thou risk to sing these foreign strains ? Say truly. — Find'st not oft thy purpose cross'd, And that thy fairest flowers here fade and die ? Then with pretence of admiration high — Thee other shores expect, and other tides, Kivers, on whose grassy sides Her deathless laurel leaf, with which to bind Thy flowing locks, already Fame provides ; Why then this burden, better far decHned ? Speak, Muse ! for me — the fair one said, who guides My willing heart, and all my fancy's flights, " This is the language in which Love delights." SONNET, TO CHARLES DEODATI. Chaeles — and I sing it wondering — thou must know That I, who once assumed a scornful air And scoff'd at Love, am fallen in his snare — (Full many an upright man has fallen so) : Yet think me not thus dazzled by the flow Of golden locks, or damask cheek ; more rare The heartfelt beauties of my foreign fair : A mien majestic, with dark brows that show The tranquil lustre of a lofty mind ; Words exquisite, of idoms more than one. And song, whose fascinating power might bind, And from her sphere draw down the laboring Moon; With such fire-darting eyes that, should I fill My ears with wax, she would enchant me still. TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 645 SONNET. Lady ! It cannot be but that thine eyes Must be my sun, such radiance they display, And strike me even as Phoebus him whose way Tlirough horrid Libya's sandy desert lies. Meantime, on that side steamy vapors rise Wliere most I suffer. Of what kind are they, New as to me they are, I cannot say. But deem them, in the lover's language — sighs. Some, though with pain, my bosom close conceals, Which, if in part escaping thence, they tend To soften thine, thy coldness soon congeals. While others to my tearful eyes ascend. Whence my sad nights in showers are ever drown'd. Till my Aurora comes, her brow with roses bound. SONNET. Enamor'd, artless, young, on foreign ground. Uncertain whither from myself to fly ; To thee, dear Lady, with an humble sigh Let me devote my heart, which I have found, By certain proofs, not few, intrepid, sound. Good, and addicted to conceptions high : When tempests shake the world, and fire the sky, It rests in adamant self- wrapt around. As safe from envy as from outrage rude. From hopes and fears that vulgar minds abuse, As fond of genius, and fix'd fortitude. Of the resounding lyre and every Muse. Weak you will find it in one only part, Kow pierced by Love's immedicable dart. TRANSUTIOKS FROM VIRGIL, OVID, HORACE, HOMER, ETC. THE SALAD, BY VIKGIL. The winter niglit now well-nigh worn away, The wakeful cock proclaim'd approaching day, "When Simulus, poor tenant of a farm Of narrowest limits, heard the shrill alarm, Yawn'd, stretch'd his limbs, and, anxious to provide Against the pangs of hunger unsupplied, By slow degrees his tatter'd bed forsook, And, poking in the dark, explored the nook Where embers slept with ashes heap'd around, And with burnt fingers' ends the treasure found. It chanced that from a brand beneath his nose, Sure proof of latent fire, some smoke arose ; When, trimming with a pin the incrusted tow, And stooping it towards the coals below. He toils, with cheeks distended, to excite The lingering flame, and gains at length a light. With prudent heed he spreads his hand before The quivering lamp, and opes his granary door. Small was his stock, but taking for the day A measured stint of twice eight pounds away, With these his mill he seeks. A shelf at hand, Fix'd in the wall, affords his lamp a stand : Then baring both his arms — a sleeveless coat He girds, the rough exuviso of a goat : And with a rubber, for that use design'd. Cleansing his mill within — begins to grind : Each hand has its employ ; laboring amain, TRANSLATIONS FROM VIRGIL. 647 This turns the winch, while that supplies the grain. The stone, revolving rapidly, now glows, .And the braised corn a mealy current flows ; While he, to make his heavy labor light. Tasks oft his left hand to relieve his right ; And chants with rudest accent, to beguile His ceaseless toil, as rude a strain the while. And now, "Dame Cybale, come forth !" he cries; But Cybale, still slumbering, naught replies. From Afric she, the swain's sole serving-maid, "Whose face and form alike her birth betray'd. With woolly locks, lips tumid, sable skin. Wide bosom, udders flaccid, belly thin. Legs slender, broad and most misshapen feet, Chapp'd into chinks, and parch'd with solar heat. Such, summoned oft, she came ; at his command Fresh fuel heap'd, the sleeping embers fann'd. And made in haste her simmering skillet steam, Keplenish'd newly from the neighboring stream. The labors of the mill perform'd, a sieve The mingled flour and bran must next receive, AVhich shaken oft shoots Ceres through refined, And better dress'd, her husks all left behind. This done, at once his future plain repast Unleaven'd on a shaven board he cast. With tepid lymph first largely soak'd it all, Then gather'd it with both hands to a ball. And spreading it again with both hands wide. With sprinkled salt the stififen'd mass supplied : At length the stubborn substance, duly wrought. Takes from his palms impress'd the shape it ought, Becomes an orb — and quarter'd into shares. The faithful mark of just division bears ; Last, on his hearth it finds convenient space, For Cybale before had swept the place : And there, with tiles and embers overspread. She leaves it — reeking in its sultry bed. Nor Simulus, while Yulcan thus alone His part performed, proves heedless of his own. But sedulous, not merely to subdue His hunger, but to please his palate too, Prepares more savory food. His chimney side Could boast no gammon, salted well and dried 648 cowper's poetical works. And liook'd behind him ; but sufficient store Of bundled anise and a cheese it bore ; A broad round cheese, which, through its centre strung With a tough broom twig, in the corner hung The prudent hero, therefore, with address And quick dispatch, now seeks another mess. Close to his cottage lay a garden ground, With reeds and osiers sparely girt around : Small was the spot, but liberal to produce, Nor wanted aught to serve a peasant's use ; And sometimes even the rich would borrow thence, Although its tillage was its sole expense. For oft as from his toils abroad he ceased. Home-bound by weather, or some stated feast, His debt of culture here he duly paid. And only left the plough to wield the spade. He knew to give each plant the soil it needs. To drill the ground and cover close the seeds ; And could with ease compel the wanton rill To turn and wind obedient to his will. There flourished starwort, and the branching beet, The sorrel acid, and the mallow sweet, The skirret, and the leek's aspiring kind, The noxious poppy — quencher of the mind ! Salubrious sequel of a sumptuous board, The lettuce, and the long huge-bellied gourd : But these (for none his appetite controll'd With stricter sway) the thrifty rustic sold ; With broom twigs neatly bound, each kind apart, He bore them ever to the public mart : Whence laden still, but with a lighter load. Of cash well earn'd, he took his homeward road, Expending seldom, ere he quitted Rome, His gains in flesh-meat for a feast at home. There, at no cost, on onions, rank and red, Or the curlVl endive's bitter leaf, he fed : On scallions sliced, or, with a sensual gust, On rockets — foul provocatives of lust ! Nor even shunn'd with smarting gums to press Nasturtium — pungent face-distorting mess ! Some such regale now also in his thought. With hasty steps his garden ground he sought ; There, delving with his hands, he first displaced TI'iANSLATIONS FROM VIRGIL. 649 Four plants of garlic, large, and rooted fast ; The tender tops of parsley next he culls. Then the old rue-bush shudders as he pulls ; And coriander last to these succeeds, That hangs on slightest threads her trembling seeds. Placed near his sprightly fire, he now demands The mortar at his sable servant's hands ; When, stripping all his garlic first, he tore The exterior coats, and cast them on the floor ; Then cast away with like contempt the skin, Flimsier concealment of the cloves within. These search'd, and perfect found, he one by one Einsed, and disposed within the hollow stone. Salt added, and a lump of salted cheese, "With his injected herbs he cover'd these ; And, tucking with his left his tunic tight, And seizing fast the pestle with his right, The garlic bruising first he soon expressed, And mix'd the various juices of the rest. He grinds, and by degrees his herbs below, Lost in each other, their own powers forego ; And with the cheese in compound, to the sight Nor wholly green appear nor wholly white. His nostrils oft the forceful fume resent. He cursed full oft his dinner for its scent ; Or, with wry faces, wiping as he spoke The trickhng tears, cried, '' Vengeance on the smoke!'" The work proceeds ; not roughly turns he now The pestle, but in circles smooth and slow : "With cautious hand, that grudges what it spills, Some drops of olive oil he next instils ; Then vinegar with caution scarcely less ; And gathering to a ball the medley mess, Last, with two fingers frugally applied. Sweeps the small remnant from the mortar's side; And, thus complete in figure and in kind, Obtains at length the salad he design'd. And now black Cybale before him stands. The cake, drawn newly, glowing in her hands; He glad receives it, chasing far away All fears of famine for the passing day; His legs inclosed in buskins, and his head In its tough casque of leather, forth he led 55 650 cowper's poetical works. And yoked his steers, a dull obedient pair; Then drove a-field, and plunged the pointed share. June, 1799. TRANSLATION FROM VIRGIL ^NEID, BOOK VIII., LINE 18. Thus Italy was moved — nor did the chief JEneas in his mind less tumult feel. On every side his anxious thought he turns^ Restless, unfixM, not knowing what to choose. And as a cistern that in brim of brass Confines the crystal flood, if chance the sun Smite on it, or the moon's resplendent orb, The quivering light now flashes on the walls, Now leaps uncertain to the vaulted roof : Such were the wavering motions of his mind. 'Twas night — and weary nature sunk to rest. The birds, the bleating flocks, were heard no more. At length, on the cold ground, beneath the damp And dewy vault, fast by the river's brink, The Father of his country sought repose. When lo ! among the spreading poplar boughs. Forth from his pleasant stream, propitious rose The god of Tiber : clear transparent gauze Enfolds his loins, his brows with reeds are crown'd ; And these his gracious words to soothe his care : " Heaven-born, who bring'st our kindred home again, Rescued, and givest eternity to Troy, Long have Laurentum and the Latian plains Expected thee : behold thy fix'd abode. Fear not the threats of war, the storm is past. The gods appeased. For proof that what thou hear'st Is no vain forgery or delusive dream. Beneath the grove that borders my green bank, A milk-white swine, with thirty milk-white young, Shall greet thy wondering eyes. Mark well the place ; For 'tis thy place of rest, there end thy toils : There, twice ten years elapsed, fair Alba's walls Shall rise, fair Alba, by Ascanius' hand. Thus shall it be — now listen, while I teach The means to accomplish these events at hand. , TRANSLATIONS FROM VIRGIL. 651 The Arcadians here, a race from Pallas sprung, Following Evander's standard and his fate, High on these mountains, a well chosen spot. Have built a city, for their grandsire's sake Named Pallanteum. These perpetual war Wage with the Latians : join'd in faithful league And arms confederate, add them to your camp. Myself between my winding banks will speed Your well-oar'd barks to stem the opposing tide. Rise, goddess-born, arise ; and with the first Declining stars seek Juno in thy prayer, And vanquish all her wrath with suppliant vows. "When conquest crowns thee, then remember me. I am the Tiber, whose caerulean stream Heaven favors ; I with copious flood divide These grassy banks, and cleave the fruitful meads. My mansion, this — and lofty cities crown My fountain head."— He spoke and sought the deep, And plunged his form beneath the closing flood. ^neas at the morning dawn awoke, And rising, with uplifted eye beheld The orient sun, then dipp'd his palms, and scoop'd The brimming stream, and thus address'd the skies : " Ye nymphs, Laurentian nymphs, who feed the source Of many a stream, and thou, with thy blest flood, O Tiber, hear, accept me, and afford. At length afford, a shelter from my woes. Where'er in sacred cavern under ground Thy waters sleep, where'er they spring to light. Since thou hast pity for a wretch like me. My off*erings and my vows shall wait thee still : Great horned Father of Hesperian floods. Be gracious now, and ratify thy word!" He said, and chose two galleys from his fleet. Fits them with oars, and clothes the crew in arms. When lo ! astonishing and pleasing sight. The milk-white dam, with her unspotted brood. Lay stretch'd upon the bank, beneath the grove. To thee, the pious Prince, Juno, to thee Devotes them all, all on thine altar bleed ! That livelong night old Tiber smoothed his flood, And so restrain'd it, that it seem'd to stand Motionless as a pool, or silent lake. 652 COWPEr's rOETICAL WORKS. That not a billow might resist their oars. "With cheerful sound of exhortation soon Their voyage they begin ; the pitchy keel Slides through the gentle deep, the quiet stream Admires the unwonted burden that it bears, Well-polish'd arms, and vessels painted gay. Beneath the shade of various trees, between The umbrageous branches of the spreading groves, They cut their liquid wa}^, nor day nor night They slack their course, unwinding as they go The long meanders of the peaceful tide. The glowing sun was in meridian height, When from afar they saw the humble walls, And the few scatter'd cottages, which now The Koman power has equall'd with the clouds ; But such was then Evander's scant domain. They steer to shore, and hasten to the town. It chanced the Arcadian monarch on that day, Before the walls, beneath a shady grove. Was celebrating high, in solemn feast, Alcides and his tutelary gods. Pallas, his son, was there, and there the chief Of all his youth; with these, a worthy tribe. His poor but venerable senate, burnt Sweet incense, and their altars smoked with blood. Soon as they saw the towering masts approach. Sliding between the trees, while the crew rest Upon their silent oars, amazed they rose, Kot without fear, and all forsook the feast. But Pallas, undismay'd, his javelin seized, Rush'd to the bank, and from a rising ground Forbade them to disturb the sacred rites. '•'' Ye stranger youth ! what prompts you to explore This untried way ? and whither do ye steer ? Whence, and who are ye ? Bring ye peace or war ?'' ^neas from his lofty deck holds forth The peaceful olive-branch, and thus replies : " Trojans and enemies to the Latian state. Whom they with unprovoked hostilities Have driven away, thou seest. We seek Evander : Say this — and say beside, the Trojan chiefs Are come, and seek his friendship and his aid," Pallas with wonder heard that awful name, [TJHIV„... TRANSLATIONS FRO Wt VIRGIL. 65 V And '-^ Whosoe'er tliou art,^' he cried, " come forth : Bear tliiiie own tidings to my father's ear, And be a welcome guest beneath our roof." He said, and press'd the stranger to his breast; Then led him from the river to the grove. Where, courteous, thus ^neas greets the king : " Best of the Grecian race, to whom I bow (So wills my fortune) suppliant, and stretch forth In sign of amity this peaceful branch, I fear'd thee not, although I knew thee well A Grecian leader, born in Arcady, And kinsman of the Atridse. Me my virtue. That means no wrong to thee — the Oracles, Our kindred families allied of old. And thy renown diffused through every land, Have all conspired to bind in friendship to thee, And send me not unwilling to thy shores. Dardanus, author of the Trojan state (So say the Greeks), was fair Electra's son ; Electra boasted Atlas for her sire. Whose shoulders high sustain the ethereal orbs. Your sire is Mercury, whom Maia bore, Sweet Maia, on Oyllene's hoary top. Her, if we credit aught tradition old, Atlas of yore, the self-same Atlas, claim'd His daughter. Thus united close in blood, Thy race and ours one common sire confess. With these credentials fraught, I would not send Ambassadors with artful phrase to sound And Avin thee by degrees — but came myself. Me, therefore, me thou seest ; my life the stake : 'Tis I, ^neas, who implore thine aid. Should Daunia, that now aims the blow at thee, Prevail to conquer us, naught then, they think, Will hinder, but Plesperia must be theirs, All theirs, from the upper to the nether sea. Take then our friendship, and return us thine I We too have courage, we have noble minds. And youth well tried, and exercised in arms." Thus spoke ^neas. He with fix'd regard Survey 'd him speaking, features, form, and mien. Then briefly thus — " Thou noblest of thy name. How gladly do I take thee to my heart, 654 COWPERS POETICAL WORKS. How gladly thus confess tliee for a friend ! In thee I trace Ancliises ; his thy speech, Thy voice, thy countenance. For I well remember Many a day since, when Priam journey'd forth To Salamis, to see the land where dwelt Hesione, his sister, he push'd on Even to Arcadia's frozen bounds. 'Twas then The bloom of youth was glowing on my cheek ; Much I admired the Trojan chiefs, and much Their king, the son of great Laomedon ; But most Anchises, towering o'er them all. A youthful longing seized me to accost The hero, and embrace him ; I drew near, And gladly led him to the walls of Pheneus. Departing, he distinguish'd me with gifts — A costly quiver stored with Lycian darts, A robe inwove with gold, with gold emboss'd Two bridles, those which Pallas uses now. The friendly league thou hast solicited I give thee, therefore, and to-morrow all My chosen youth shall wait on your return. Meanwhile, since thus in friendship ye are come, Eejoice with us, and join to celebrate These annual rites, which may not be delay'd, And be at once familiar at our board." He said, and bade replace the feast removed ; Himself upon a grassy bank disposed The crew ; but for ^neas order'd forth A couch spread with a lion's tawny shag. And bade him share the honors of his throne. The appointed youth witli glad alacrity Assist the laboring priest to load the board With roasted entrails of the slaughter'd beeves. Well-kneaded bread and mantling bowls. Well pleased, ^neas and the Trojan youth regale On the huge length of a well-pastured chine. Hunger appeased, and tables all dispatcli'd, Thus spake Evander: "Superstition here, In this old solemn feasting, has no part. ITo, Trojan friend, from utmost danger saved. In gratitude this worship we renew. Behold that rock which nods above the vale. Those bulks of broken stones dispersed around. TRANSLATIONS FROM VIRGIL. 055 How desolate the shatter'd cave appears, And what a ruin spreads the encumber'd plain! Within this pile, but far within, was once The den of Cacns ; dire his hateful form That shunn'd the day, half monster and half man. Blood newly shed stream'd ever on the ground Smoking, and many a visage pale and wan, Nail'd at his gate, hung hideous to the sight. Vulcan begot the brute : vast was his size, And from his throat he belch'd his father's fires. But the day came that brought us what we wish'd, The assistance and the presence of a God. riush'd with his victory, and the spoils he won From triple-form'd Geryon lately slain, The great avenger, Hercules, appear'd. Hither he drove his stately bulls, and pourVI His herds along the vale. But the sly thief Cacus, that nothing might escape his hand Of villainy or fraud, drove from the stalls Four of the lordliest of his bulls, and four The fairest of his heifers ; by the tail He dragg'd them to his den, that, there conceal'd, No footsteps might betray the dark abode. And now, his herd with provender sufficed, Alcides would be gone : they as they went Still bellowing loud, made the deep echoing woods And distant hills resound : when, hark ! one ox, Imprison'd close within the vast recess. Lows in return, and frustrates all his hope. Then fury seized Alcides, and his breast With indignation heaved : grasping his club Of knotted oak, swift to the mountain top He ran, he flew. Then first was Cacus seen To tremble, and his eyes bespoke his fears. Swift as an eastern blast, he sought his den, And dread, increasing, wing'd him as he went. Drawn up in iron slings above the gate, A rock was hung enormous. Such his haste. He burst the chains, and dropp'd it at the door, Then grappled it with iron work within Of bolts and bars by Vulcan's art contrived. Scarce was he fast, when, ])anting for revenge, Came Hercules : he gnash'd his teeth with rage, * 656 cowper's poetical works. And quick as lightning glanced his eyes around In quest of entrance. Fiery red, and stung "With indignation, thrice he wheel'd his course Ahout the mountain ; thrice, but thrice in vain, He strove to force the quarry at the gate. And thrice sat down overwearied in the vale. There stood a pointed rock, abrupt and rude, That liigh o'erlookVl the rest, close at tlie back Of the fell monster's den, where birds obscene Of ominous note resorted, choughs and daws. This, as it lean'd obliquely to the left, Threatening the stream below, he from the right Pushed with his utmost strength, and to and fro He shook the mass, loosening its lowest base ; Then shoved it from its seat : down fell the pile ; Sky thunder'd at the fall ; the banks give way. The affrighted stream flows upward to his source. Behold the kennel of the brute exposed ; The gloomy vault laid open ! So, if chance Earth yawning to the centre should disclose The mansions, the pale mansions of the dead, Loathed by the gods, such would the gulf appear, And the ghosts tremble at the sight of day. The monster braying with unusual din Within his hollow lair, and sore amazed To see such sudden inroads of the light — Alcides press'd him close with what at hand Lay readiest, stumps of trees, and fragments huge Of millstone size. He (for escape was none). Wondrous to tell ! forth from his gorge discharged A smoky cloud that darkened all the den ; Wreath after wreath he vomited amain. The smothering vapor mix'd with fiery sparks. No sight could penetrate the veil obscure. The hero, more provoked, endured not this. But with a headlong leap he rush'd to where The thickest cloud envelop'd his abode : There grasp'd he Cacus, spite of all his fires, Till, crush'd within his arms, the monster shows His bloodless throat, now dry with panting liard ; And his pressM eyeballs start. Soon he tears down The barricade of rock, the dark abyss Lies open ; and the imprisoned bulls, the theft TRANSLATIONS FROM VIRGIL. 651 He had Avitli oaths denied, are brought to light ; By the heels the miscreant carcass is dragg'd forth, His face, his eyes, all terril)le, his breast Beset with bristles, and his sooty jaws Are view'd with wonder never to be cloy'd Hence the celebrity thou seest, and hence This festal day Potitius first enjoin'd Posterity : these solemn rites he first With those who bear the great Pinarian name, To Hercules devoted ; in the grove This altar built, deem'd sacred in the highest By us, and sacred ever to be deem'd. Come, then, my friends, and bind your youthful brows In praise of such deliverance, and hold forth The brimming cup ; your deities and ours Are now the same ; then drink, and freely too." So saying, he twisted round his reverend locks A variegated poplar wreath, and fili'd His right hand with a consecrated bowl. At once all pour libations on the board, All offer prayer. And now, the radiant sphere Of day descending, eventide drew near. When first Potitius with the priests advanced, ' Begirt with skins, and torches in their hands. High piled with meats of savory taste, they ranged The cliargers, and renew'd the grateful feast. Then came the Salii, crown'd with poplar too, Circling the blazing altars ; here the youth Advanced, a choir harmonious, there were heard The reverend seers responsive ; praise they sung, Much praise in honor of Alcides' deeds ; How first with infant gripe two serpents huge He strangled, sent from Juno ; next they sung, How Troja and (Echalia he destroy'd. Fair cities both, and many a toilsome task Beneath Eurystheus (so his stepdame will'd) Achieved victorious. '' Thou, the cloud-born pair, Hyl83us fierce and Pholus, monstrous twins, Thou slew'st the Minotaur, the plague of Crete, And the vast lion of the Nemean rock. Thee hell, and Cerberus, hell's porter, fear'd, Stretch'd in his den upon his half-gnaw'd bones. Thee no abhorr'd form, not even the vast 658 , cowper's poetical works. Typhoeiis could appal, thougli clad in arms. Hail, true-born son of Jove, among the gods At length enrolPd, nor least illustrious thou, Haste thee propitious, and approve our songs." Thus hyran'd the chorus ; above all they sing The cave of Cacus, and the flames he breathed. The whole grove echoes, and the hills rebound. The rites perform'd, all hasten to the town. The king, bending with age, held as he went ^neas and his Pallas by the hand. With much variety of pleasing talk Shortening the way. ^neas, with a smile. Looks round him, charm'd with the delightful scene, And many a question asks, and much he learns Of heroes far renown'd in ancient times. Then spake Evander : " These extensive groves Were once inhabited by fauns and nymphs,- Produced beneath their shades, and a rude race Of men, the progeny uncouth of elms And knotted oaks. They no refinement knew Of laws or manners civilized — to yoke The steer, with forecast provident to store The hoarded grain, or manage what they had — But browsed like beasts upon the leafy boughs, Or fed voracious on their hunted prey. An exile from Olympus, and expell'd His native realm by thunder-bearing Jove, First Saturn came. He from the mountains drew This herd of men untractable and fierce. And gave them laws : and calPd his hiding-place, This growth of forests, Latium. Such the peace His land possessed, the golden age was then, So famed in story ; till by slow degrees Far other times, and of far different hue. Succeeded, thirst of gold and thirst of blood. Then came Ausonian bands, and armed hosts From Sicily, and Latium often changed Her master and her name. At length arose Kings, of whom Tybris of gigantic form Was chief; and we Italians since have call'd The river by his name; thus Albula (So was the country calPd in ancient days) Was quite forgot. Me from my native land TRANSLATIONS FROM VIRGIL. 659 An exile, through the dangerous ocean driven, Resistless Fortune and relentless Fate Placed wliere thou seest me. Plia3bus, and The nymph Carmentis, with maternal care Attendant on my wanderings, fix'd me here." He said, and show'd him the Tarpeian rock, And the rude spot where now the Capitol Stands all magnificent and bright with gold. Then overgrown with thorns. And yet even then The swains beheld that sacred scene with awe ; The grove, the rock, inspired religious fear. "This grove," he said, ''that crowns the lofty top Of this fair hill, some deity, we know, Inhabits, but what deity we doubt. The Arcadians speak of Jupiter himself. That they have often seen him, shaking here ' His gloomy ^gis, while the thunder-storms Came rolling all around him. Turn thine eyes, Behold that ruin ; those dismantled walls. Where once two towns, Janiculum , By Janus this, and that by Saturn built, Saturnia." Such discourse brought them beneath The roof of poor Evander ; thence they saw. Where now the proud and stately Forum stands, The grazing herds wide scatter'd o'er the field. Soon as he enter'd — Hercules, lie said. Victorious Hercules, on this threshold trod ; These walls contain'd him, humble as they are. Dare to despise magnificence, my friend. Prove thy divine descent by worth divine, Nor view Avith haughty scorn this mean abode. So saying, he led ^neas by the hand, And placed him on a cushion stufi^'d with leaves, Snread with the skin of a Lybistian bear. * ^ * -^r ^ While thus in Lemnos Vulcan was employ 'd, Awaken'd by the gentle dawn of day, And the shrill song of birds beneath the eaves Of his low mansion, old Evander rose. His tunic, and the sandals on his feet. 060 cowper's poetical works. And his good sword well girded to bis side, A panther's skin dependent from Ins left, And over his right shoulder thrown aslant — Thus was he clad. Tavo mastiffs followed him, His whole retinue and his nightly guard. OVID, TRIST. BOOK Y. ELEG. XII. Scribis, ut oblectem. You bid me write to amuse the tedious hours, And save from withering my poetic powers ; Hard is the task, my friend, for verse should flow From the free mind, not fetter'd down by woe ; Eestless amidst unceasing tempests tost. Whoe'er has cause for sorrow, I have most. Would you bid Priam laugh, his sons all slain, Or childless Niobe from tears refrain. Join the gay dance, and lead the festive train? Does grief or study most befit the mind To this remote, this barbarous nook confined? Could you impart to my unshaken breast The fortitude by Socrates possessed. Soon would it sink beneath such woes as mine ; For what is human strength to wrath divine ? Wise as he was, and Heaven pronounced him so, My sufferings would have laid that wisdom low. Could I forget my country, thee and all, And even the offence to which I owe my fall ; Yet fear alone Avould freeze the poet's vein. While hostile troops swarm o'er the dreary plain. Add that the fatal rust of long disuse Unfits me for the service of the Mase. Thistles and weeds are all we can expect From the best soil impoverish'd by neglect ; Unexercised, and to his stall confined. The fleetest racer would be left behind ; The best built bark that cleaves the watery way, Laid useless by, would moulder and decay — No hope remains that time shall me restc>re, Mean as I was, to what I was before. Think how a series of desponding cares TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. 661 Benumbs the genius, and its force impairs. IIow oft, as now, on this devoted sheet, My verse, constrain'd to move with measured feet, Reluctant and laborious limps along, And proves itself a wretched exile's song. What is it tunes the most melodious lays? 'Tis emulation and the thirst of praise — A noble thirst, and not unknown to me. While smoothly wafted on a calmer sea. I^ut can a wretch hke Ovid pant for fame? No, rather let the world forget my name. Is it because that world approved my strain, You prompt me to the same pursuit again? No, let the Nine the ungrateful truth excuse, I charge my hopeless ruin on the Muse, And, like Perillus, meet my just desert, The victim of my own pernicious art : Fool that I was, to be so warn'd in vain. And, shipwreck'd once, to tempt the deep again! Ill fares the bard in this unletter'd land, None to consult, and none to understand. The purest verse has no admirers here. Their own rude language only suits their ear. Paide as it is, at length familiar grown, I learn it, and almost unlearn my own — Yet to say truth, even here the Muse disdains Confinement, and attempts her former strains ; But finds the strong desire is not the power. And what her taste condemns the flames devour. A part, perhaps, like this, escapes the doom, A nd though unworthy, finds a friend at Eome ; But oh the cruel art, that could undo Its votary thus ! would that could perish too I HORACE, BOOK I. ODE IX. Vidcs, ut aUa stet nive candidum Soracte ; Seest thou yon mountain laden with deep snow s The groves beneath their fleecy burden bow ; The streams, congealVl, forget to flow ; 5G 662 cowper's poetical works. Come, thaw the cold, and lay a cheerful pile Of fuel on the hearth ; Broach the best cask, and make old Winter smile With seasonable mirth. This be our part — let Heaven dispose the rest ; If Jove command, the winds shall sleep. That now wage war upon the foamy deep, And gentle gales spring from the balmy west. Even let us shift to-morrow as we may : When to-morrow's pass'd away, We at least shall have to say. We have lived another day : Your auburn locks will soon be silver'd o'er, Old age is at our heels, and youth returns no more. HORACE, BOOK I. ODE XXXYIII. Persicos odi, puer, apparatus. Boy, I hate their empty shows, Persian garlands I detest ; Bring not me the late-blown rose, Lingering after all the rest. Plainer myrtle pleases me. Thus outstretch'd beneath my vine Myrtle more becoming thee, Waiting with thy master's wine. HORACE, BOOK I. ODE XXXVHI. Boy ! I detest all Persian fopperies ; Fillet-bound garlands are to me disgusting; Task not thyself with any search, I charge thee, Where latest roses linger. Bring m^ alone (for thou wilt find that readily) Plain myrtle. Myrtle neither will disparage Thee occupied to serve me, or me drinking Beneath my vine's cool shelter. TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. 663 HORACE, BOOK II. ODE X. PvECEivE, dear friend, the truths I teach, So shalt thou live beyond the reach Of adverse fortune's power ; Kot always tempt the distant deep, Kor always timorously creep Along the treacherous shore. He that holds fast the golden mean, And lives contentedly between The little and the great, Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door, Embittering all his state. The tallest pines feel most the power Of wintry blasts ; the loftiest tower Comes heaviest to the ground ; The bolts that spare the mountain's side His cloud-capt eminence divide. And spread the ruin round. The well-inform'd philosopher Kejoices with a wholesome fear. And hopes in spite of pain ; If Winter bellow from the north, Soon the sweet Spring comes dancing forth. And Nature laughs again. "What if thine heaven be overcast. The dark appearance will not last ; Expect a brighter sky. The God that strings the silver bow, Awakes sometimes the Muses too, And lays his arrows by. If hindrances obstruct thy way. Thy magnanimity display, And let thy strength be seen : But oh! if Fortune fill thy sail Witli more than a propitious gale, Take half thy canvas in. 664 cowper's poetical works. A REFLECTION ON THE FOREGOING ODK And is this all ? Can Reason do no more Than hid me shun the deep, and dread the shore ? Sweet moralist ! afloat on life's rough sea, The Christian has an art unknown to thee : He holds no parley with unmanly fears ; Where Duty hids he confidently steers, Faces a thousand dangers at her call, And, trusting in his God, surmounts them all. HORACE, BOOK II. ODE XVI. Otium Divos rogat in patenti. Ease is the weary merchant's prayer, Who ploughs by night the^gean flood, Wlien neither moon nor stars appear, Or faintly glimmer through the cloud. For ease the Mede with quiver graced, Eor ease the Thracian hero sighs ; Delightful ease all pant to taste, A blessing which no treasure buys. For neither gold can lull to rest, Nor all a Consul's guard beat oflc' The tumults of a troubled breast. The cares that haunt a gilded roof. Happy the man whose table shows A few clean ounces of old plate ; No fear intrudes on his repose, . No sordid .wishes to be great. Poor short-lived things ! what plans we lay ! Ah, why forsake our native home ; To distant climates speed away ? For self sticks close where'er we roam. Care follows hard, and soon overtakes The well-rigg'd ship, the warlike steed; Her destined quarry ne'er forsakes — Not the wind flies with half her speed. TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. 665 From anxious fears of future ill Guard well the cheerful, happy now ; Gild even your sorrows with a smile ; No blessing is unmix'd below. Thy neighing steeds and lowing herds, Thy numerous flocks around thee graze, , And the best purple Tyre affords Thy robe magnificent displays. On me indulgent Heaven bestow'd A rural mansion, neat and small ; This lyre ; — and as for yonder crowd — The happiness to hate them all. FIFTH SATIRE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE. A HUMOROUS DESCRIPTION OF THE AUTHOr's JOURNEY FROM |10ME TO BRUNDUSIUM. 'TwAS a long journey lay before us, "When I and honest Heliodorus, "Who far in point of rhetoric Surpasses every living Greek, Each leaving our respective home, Together sallied forth from Rome. First at Aricia we alight, And there refresh and pass the night; Our entertainment rather coarse Tlian sumptuous, but I've met with worse. Thence o'er the causew^ay soft and fair To Appii Forum we repair. But as this road is well supplied (Temptation strong!) on either side With inns commodious, snug, and warm. We split the journey, and perform In two days' time what's often done By brisker travellers in one. Here, rather choosing not to sup Than with bad water mix my cup. After a warm debate in spite Of a provoking appetite, I sturdily resolved at last To balk it, and pronounce a fast. QQQ COWPEr's poetical WOPvKS. And in a moody humor wait, While my less dainty comrades bait. N'ow o'er the spangled hemisphere Diffused the starry train appear, "When there arose a desperate brawl : The slaves and bargemen, one and all Bending their throats (have mercy on us !) As if they were resolved to stun us. '^ Steer the barge this way to the shore ; I tell you we'll admit no more ; Plague ! will you never be content ?" Thus a whole hour at least is spent; While they receive the several fares, And kick the mule into his gears. Happy, these difficulties past, Could we have fallen asleep at last! But, what with humming, croaking, biting, Gnats, frogs, and all their plagues uniting, These tuneful natives of the lake Conspired to keep us broad awake. Besides, to make the concert full, Two maudlin wights, exceeding dull, The bargeman and a passenger. Each in his turn, essay'd an air In honor of his absent fair. At length the passenger, opprest With wine, left off, and snored the rest. The weary bargeman too gave o'er. And, hearing his companion snore, Seized the occasion, fix'd the barge, Turn'd out his mule to graze at large. And slept forgetful of his charge. And now the sun o'er eastern hill Discover'd that our barge stood still ; When one, whose anger vex'd him sore, With malice fraught, leaps quick on shore; Plucks up a stake, with many a thwack Assails the mule and driver's back.- Then slowly moving on with pain. At ten Feronia's stream we gain. And in her pure and glassy wave Our hands and faces gladly lave. Climbing three miles, fair Anxur's height TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. 667 "We reach, with stony quarries white. .While here, as was agreed, we wait. Till, charged with business of the state, Maecenas and Cocceius come. The messengers of peace from Rome. ^ My eyes, by watery humors blear And sore, I with black balsam smear. At length they join us, and with them Our worthy friend Fonteius came ; A man of such complete desert, Antony loved him at his heart. At Fundi we refused to bait. And laugh'd at vain Aufidius' state, A pr«3tor now, a scribe before. The purple-border'd robe he wore. His slave the smoking censer bore. Tired, at Muraina's we repose, At Formia sup at Capito's. With smiles the rising morn we greet. At Sinuessa pleased to meet With Plotius, Yarius, and the bard Whom Mantua first with w^onder heard. The w^orld no purer spirits know^s ; For none my heart more warmly glows. Oh ! what embraces we bestowM, And with what joy our breasts o'erflow'd ! Sure, while my sense is sound and clear, Long as I live, I shall prefer A gay, good-natured, easy friend To every blessing Heaven can send. At a small village, the next night, Near the Vulturnus we alight ; Where, as employ'd on state affairs, We were supplied by the purveyors, Frankly at once, and without hire, AYith food for man and horse, and fire. Capua next day betimes we reach. Where Virgil and myself, who each Labored with different maladies — His such a stomach, mine such eyes, As would not bear strong exercise, In drowsy mood to sleep resort ; Maecenas to the tennis-court. 668 cowper's poetical works. Next at Cocceius' farm we're treated, Above the Caudian tavern seated ; His kind and hospitable board "With choice of wholesome food was stored. Now, ye Nine, inspire my lays ! To nobler themes my fancy raise ! Two combatants, who scorn to yield The noisy, tongue-disputed field, Sarmentus and Oicirrus, claim A poet's tribute to their fame ; Cicirrus of true Oscian breed, Sarmentus, who was never freed. But ran away — we don't defame him ; His lady lives, and still may claim him. Thus dignified, in harder fray These champions their keen wit display ; And first Sai^mentus led the way. '' Thy locks," quoth he, " so rough and coarse, Look like the mane of some wild horse." We laugh ; Cicirrus, undismay'd — " Have at you!" cries, and shakes his head. '^ 'Tis well," Sarmentus says, " you've lost That horn your forehead once could boast ; Since, maim'd and mangled as you are, You seem to butt." A hideous scar Improved, 'tis true, with double grace The native horrors of his face. Well, after much jocosely said Of his grim front, so fiery red (For carbuncles had blotch'd it o'er As usual on Campania's shore), " Give us," he cried, " since you're so big, A sample of the Cy clop's jig ! Your shanks methinks no buskins ask, Nor does your phiz require a mask." To this Cicirrus : '' In return. Of you, sir, now I fain would learn. When 'twas, no longer deem'd a slave. Your chains you to the Lares gave ? For though a scrivener's right you claim, Your lady's title is the same. But what could make you run away, Since, pigmy as you are, each day TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. A single pound of bread wonld quite O'erpower your puny appetite V Tiius joked tlie champions, while we laugh'd, And many a cheerful bumper quaff' d. To Beneventum next we steer ; Where our good host by over caro In roasting thrushes lean as mice Had almost fall'n a sacrifice. The kitchen soon was all on fire, And to the roof the flames aspire ; There might you see each man and master Striving, amidst this sad disaster, To save the supper. Then they came With speed enough to quench the flame. From hence we first at distance see The Apulian hills, well known to me, Parch'd by the sultry w^estern blast ; And which we never should have past, Had not Trivicius by the way Received us at the close of day. But each was forced at entering here To pay the tribute of a tear ; For more of smoke than fire was seen — The hearth was piled with logs so green. From hence in chaises w^e were carried Miles twenty-four, and gladly tarried At a small town, whose name my verse (So barbarous is it) can't rehearse. Know it you may by many a sign, Water is dearer far than wine ; There bread is deem'd such dainty fare, That every prudent traveller His wallet loads with many a crust ; For at Canusium you might just As well attempt to gnaw a stone, As think to get a morsel down : That too with scanty streams is fed ; Its founder was brave Diomed. Good Varius (ah, that friends must part !) Here left us all with aching heart. At Rubi we arrived that day. Well jaded by the length of way. And sure poor mortals ne^er were wetter : 670 cowper's poetical works. ISText day no weather could be better ; No roads so bad ; we scarce could crawl Along to fishy Barium's wall. The Egnatians next, who by the rules Of common sense are knaves or fools, Made all our sides with laughter heave. Since we, with them, must needs believe That incense in their temples burns. And without fire to ashes turns. To circumcision's bigots tell Such tales ! for me, I know full well That in high heaven, unmoved by care, The gods eternal quiet share : Nor can I deem their spleen the cause, "While fickle Nature breaks her laws. Brundusium last we reach : and there Stop short the Muse and Traveller. 1769. THE NINTH SATIRE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE. DESCRIPTION OF AX IMPEETIXEXT. Adapted to the present times, 1T59. Saunterinq along the street one day. On trifles musing by the way — Up steps a free famihar wight (I scarcely knew the man by sight) : " Carlos," he cried, " your hand, my dear; Gad, I rejoice to meet you here! Pray Heaven I see you well?" '' So, so; Even well enough, as times now go : The same good wishes, sir, to you." Finding he still pursued me close — "Sir, you have business, I suppose?" " My business, sir, is quickly done, 'Tis but to make my merit known. Sir, I have read" — " Oh, learned sir, You and your learning I revere." Then sweating with anxiety, And sadly longing to get free, TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. 67l Gods, how I scamper'd, scuffled for't, Ean, halted, ran again, stopp'd short, Beckon'd my boy, and pull'd him near, And whisper'd nothing in his ear. Teased with his loose unjointed chat — *' What street is this ? What house is that ?" Harlow, how 1 envied thee Thy unabash'd effrontery. Who darest a foe with freedom blame, And call a coxcomb by his name! When I return'd him answer none, Obligingly the fool ran on, " I see you're dismally distress'd. Would give the world to be released. But by your leave, sir, I shall still Stick to your skirts, do what you will. Pray which way does your journey tend?" " Oh, 'tis a tedious way, my friend ; Across the Thames, the Lord knows where, 1 w^ould not trouble you so far." "Well, I'm at leisure to attend you." " Are you ?" thought I, " the De'il befriend you." ITo ass with double panniers rack'd, Oppress'd, o'erladen, broken-back'd, E'er look'd a thousandth part so dull As I, nor half so hke a fool. " Sir, I know little of myself (Proceeds the pert conceited elf), If Gray or Mason you will deem Than me more Avorthy your esteem. Poems I write by folios As fast as other men write prose ; Then I can sing so loud, so clear, That Beard cannot with me compare. In dancing, too, I all surpass ; Not Cooke can move with such a grace." Here I made shift with much ado To interpose a word or two. — " Have you no parents, sir, no friends, Whose welfare on your own depends?" ** Parents, relations, say you ? No. They're all disposed of long ago." — "Happy to be no more perplex'd! )72 COWPEFl's POETICAL WORKS. My fate too threatens, I go next. Dispatch me, sir; 'tis now too late, Alas ! to struggle with my fate ! Well, I'm convinced my time is come— ' "When young, a gipsy told my doom. The beldame shook her palsied head, As she perused my palm, and said : Of poison, pestilence, or war, Gout, stone, defiuxion, or catarrh, You have no reason to beware. Beware the coxcomb's idle prate ; Chiefly, my son, beware of that. Be sure, when you behold him, fly. Out of all earshot, or you die." To Rufus' Hall we now draw near, "Where he was summon'd. to appear, Refute the charge the plaintifl:' brought, Or sufier judgment by default. ^Tor Heaven's sake, if you love me, wait One moment ! I'll be with you straight.'^ Glad of a plausible pretence — '' Sir, I must beg you to dispense "With my attendance in the court. My legs will surely suffer for't." "Nay, prithee, Carlos, stop awhile!" '^ Faith, sir, in law I have no skill. Besides, I have no time to spare, I must be going you know where." '' "Well, I protest I'm doubtful now "Whether to leave my suit or you !" " Me without scruple !" I reply ; "Me by all means, sir!" — "No, not I. Allons, Monsieur!" 'Twere vain, you know. To strive with a victorious foe. So I reluctantly obey. And follow where he leads the way. " You and Newcastle are so close, Still hand and glove, sir— I suppose." "Newcastle, let me tell you, sir, Has not his equal everywhere." " "WelL There indeed your fortune's made. Faith, sir, you understand your trade. "\Yould you but give me your good word : TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. 6*73 Just introduce me to my lord, . I should serve charmingly by way Of second fiddle, as they say : What think you, sir? 'twere a good jest — 'Slife, we should quickly scout the rest." " Sir, you mistake the matter far, We have no second fiddles there — Kicher than I some folks may be ; More learned, but it hurts not me. Friends though he has of different kind, Each has his proper place assigned." '^Strange matters these alleged by you!" " Strange they may be, but they are true." " Well, then, I vow, 'tis mighty clever, Now I long ten times more than ever To be advanced extremely near One of his shining character. Have but the will — there wants no more, 'Tis plain enough you have the power. His easy temper (that's the worst) He knows, and is so shy at first." — " But such a cavalier as you — Lord, sir, you'll quickly bring him to!" *' Well ; if I fail in my design. Sir, it shall be no fault of mine. If by the saucy servile tribe Denied, what think you of a bribe? Slmt out to-day, not die with sorrow, But try my luck again to-morrow ; Never attempt to visit him But at the most convenient time; Attend him on each levee day, And there my humble duty pay — Labor, like this, our want supplies ; And they must stoop who mean to rise." While thus he wittingly harangued. For w^hicli you'll guess I wish'd liim hang'd, Campley, a friend of mine, came by — Who knew his humor more than I ; We stop, salute, and — '' Why so fast. Friend Carlos ? Whither air this haste ?"— Fired at the thought of a reprieve, I pinch him, pull him, twitch his sleeve, 57 G74 cowper's poetical works. ]^od, beckon, bite my lips, wink, pout, Do every thing but speak plain out: While he, sad dog ! from the beginning Determined to mistake my meaning, Instead of pitying my curse. By jeering made it ten times worse. ''Campley, what secret (pray!) was that You wanted to communicate ?" " I recollect. But 'tis no matter. Carlos, we'll talk of that hereafter. Even let the secret rest. 'Twill tell Another time, sir, just as well." Was ever such a dismal day ? Unlucky cur, he steals awa^^ And leaves me, half bereft of life, At mercy of the butcher's knife ; When sudden, shouting from afar. See his antagonist appear ! The bailitf seized him quick as thought, ''Ho, Mr. Scoundrel! Are you caught? Sir, you are witness to the arrest." '' Ay, marry, sir, I'll do my best." Tlie mob huzzas. Away tliey trudge, Culprit and all, before the judge. Meanwhile I luckily enough (Thanks to Apollo) got clear off. TRANSLATION OF AN EPIGRAM FROM HOMER. Pay me my price, potters ! and I will sing. Attend, O Pallas ! and with lifted arm Protect their oven ; let the cups and all The sacred vessels blacken well, and, baked With good success, yield them both fair renown And profit, whether in the market sold Or streets, and let .no strife ensue between us. But, O ye potters ! if with shameless front Ye falsify your promise, then I leave Ko mischief uninvoked to avenge the wrong. Come, Syntrips, Smaragus, Sabactes, come. And Asbetus, nor let your direst dread, Omodamus, delay ! Fire seize your house ! TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GREEK. 675 May neither house nor vestibule escape ; May ye lament to see confusion mar And mingle the whole labor of your hands ; And may a sound fill all your oven, such As of a horse grinding his provender ; While all your pots and flagons bounce vv^ithin ! Come hither, also, daughter of the sun, Circe, the sorceress, and with thy drugs Poison themselves, and aU that they havt. made! Come, also, Chiron, with thy numerous troop Of Centaurs, as well those who died beneath The club of Hercules, as who escaped, And stamp their crockery to dust ; down fall Their chimney ; let them see it with their eyes, And howl to see the ruin of their art. While I rejoice : and if a potter stoop To peep into his furnace, may the fire Flash in his face and scorch it, that all men Observe, thenceforth, equity and good faith ! Oct. 1790. TRANSLATIONS OF GREEK VERSES. FROM THE GREEK OF JULIANUS. A Spartan, his companion slain. Alone from battle fled ; His mother, kindling with disdain That she had borne him, struok him dead ; For courage, and not birth alone, In Sparta, testifies a son ! OX THE SAME, BY PALLADAS. A Spartan 'scaping from the fight, His mother met him in his flight, Upheld a falchion to his breast. And thus the fugitive address'd : 676 cowper's poetical works. " Thou canst but live to blot with shame Indelible thy mother's name ; While every breath that thou shalt draw Offends against thy country's law ; But if thou perish by this hand, Myself, indeed, throughout the land, To my dishonor, shall be known The mother still of such a son ; But Sparta will be safe and free. And that shall serve to comfort me.'* AN EPITAPH. My name — my country — what are they to thee ? What, w^hether base or proud my pedigree ? Perhaps I far surpass'd all other men — Perhaps I fell below them all — what then ? Suffice it, stranger ! that thou seest a tomb : Thou know'st its use — it hides — no matter whom. ANOTHER. Take to thy bosom, gentle Earth, a swain With much hard labor in thy service worn ! He set the vines that clothe yon ample plain, And he these olives that the vale adorn. He fill'd with grain the glebe ; the rills he led Through this green herbage, and those fruitful bowers ; Thou, therefore, earth ! lie lightly on his head. His hoary head, and deck his grave with flowers. ANOTHER. Painter, this Ukeness is too strong. And we^hall mourn the dead too long. ANOTHER. At threescore winters' end I died, A cheerless being sole and sad ; The nuptial knot I never tied. And wish my father never had. \ TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GREEK. 6Y7 BY CALLIMACHUS. At morn we placed on his funeral bier Young Melanippus ; and, at eventide, Unable to sustain a loss so dear, By her own hand his blooming sister died. Thus Aristippus mournM his noble race, Annihilated by a double blow, Nor son could hope, nor daughter, more to embrace, And all Cyrene sadden'd at his woe. ON MILTIADES. MiLTiADEs ! thy valor best (Although in every region know^n) The men of Persia can attest. Taught by thyself at Marathon. ON AN INFANT. Bewail not much, my parents ! me, the prey Of ruthless Ades, and sepulchred here. An infant in my fifth scarce finish'd year. He found all sportive, innocent, and gay. Your young Callimachus ; and if I knew iTot many joys> my griefs were also few. BY HERACLIDES. In Cnidus born, the consort I became Of Euphron. Aretimias was my name. His bed I shared, nor proved a barren bride, But bore two children at a birth, and died. One child I leave to solace and uphold Euphron hereafter, when infirm and okh And one, for his remembrance' sake, I bear To Pluto's realm, till he shall join me there. ON THE REED. I WAS of late a barren plant, Useless, insignificant ; Nor fig, nor grape, nor apple bore, A native of the marshy shore ; 678 cowper's poetical works. But, gathered for poetic use, And plunged into a sable juice, Of which my modicum I sip With narrow mouth and slender lip, At once, although by nature dumb, All eloquent I have become. And speak with fluency un tired, As if by Phoebus' self inspired. TO HEALTH. Eldest born of powers divine ! Bless'd Hygeia ! be it mine To enjoy what thou canst give, And henceforth with thee to live : For in power if pleasure be, Wealth or numerous progeny, Or in amorous embrace. Where no spy infests the place ; Or in aught that Heaven bestows To alleviate human woes, When the wearied heart despairs Of a respite from its cares ; These and every true delight Flourish only in thy sight ; And the sister Graces three Owe themselves their youth to thee ; Without whom we may possess Much, but never happiness. ON INVALIDS. Far happier are the dead, methinks, than they Who look for death, and fear it every day. ON THE ASTROLOGERS. The Astrologers did all alike presage My uncle's dying in extreme old age ; One only disagreed. But he was wise, And spoke not till he heard the funeral cries. TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GREEK. 679 ON AN OLD WOMAN. Mycilla dyes her locks, 'tis said ; But 'tis a foul aspersion : She buys thein black ; they therefore need No subsequent immersion. ON FLATTERERS. No mischief worthier of our fear In nature can be found Than friendship, in ostent sincere, But hollow and unsound ; For lull'd into a dangerous dream We close infold a foe. Who strikes, when most secure we seem, The inevitable blow. ON A TRUE FRIEND. Hast thou a friend ? thou hast indeed A rich and large supply ; Treasure to serve your every need Well managed, till you die. ON THE SWALLOW, Attio maid ! with honey fed, Bear'st thou to thy callow brood Yonder locust from the mead, Destined their delicious food? Ye have kindred voices clear, Ye alike unfold the wing, Migrate hither, sojourn here, Both attendant on the spring ! Ah, for pity drop the prize ; Let it not with truth be said That a songster gasps and dies, That a songster may be fed. 680 cowper's poetical works. ' ON LATE ACQUIRED WEALTH. Poor in my youth, and in life^*^ later scenes Kich to no end, I curse my natal hour, "Who naught enjoy'd while young, denied the means; And naught when old enjoy'd, denied the power. ON A BATH, BY PLATO. Did Cytlierea to the skies Prom this pellucid lymph arise ? Or was it Cytherea's touch. When bathing here, that made it such ? ON A FOWLER, BY ISIDORUS. With seeds and birdlime, from the desert air, Eumelus gathered free, though scanty fare. 'No lordly patron's hand he deign'd to kiss, Il^or luxury knew, save liberty, nor bliss. Thrice thirty years he lived, and to his heirs His seeds bequeath'd, his birdhme, and his snares. ON A GOOD MAN. Teayellee, regret not me ; for thou shalt find Just cause of sorrow none in my decease. Who, dying, children's children left behind, And with one wife lived many a year in peace : Three virtuous youths espoused my daughters three, And oft their infants in my bosom lay ; Nor saw I one of all derived from me, Touch'd with disease, or torn by death away. Their duteous hands my funeral rites bestow'd ; And me, by blameless manners fitted well To seek it, sent to the serene abode. Where shades of pious men forever dwell. ON A MISER. They call thee rich — I deem thee poor, Since, if thou darest not use thy store, But savest it only for thine lieirs. The treasure is not thine, but theirs. TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GREEK. 681 ANOTHER. A MISER traversing liis house, Espied, unusual there, a mouse, And thus his uninvited guest Briskly inquisitive addressed : " Tell me, my dear, to what cause is it I owe this unexpected visit?" The mouse her host obliquely eyed, And, smiling, pleasantly replied : " Fear not, good fellow, for your hoard \ I come to lodge, and not to board." ANOTHER. Art thou some individual of a kind Long-lived by nature, as the rock or hind? Heap treasure, then ; for if thy need be such, Thou hast excuse, and scarce canst heap too much. But man thou seem'st ; clear therefore from thy breast This lust of treasure — folly at the best ! For why shouldst thou go wasted to the tomb. To fatten with thy spoils thou know'st not whom ? FROM MENANDER. Fond youth ! who dream'st that hoarded gold Is needful, not alone to pay For all thy various items sold. To serve the wants of every day ; Bread, vinegar, and oil, and meat. For savory viands season'd high ; But somewhat more iuiportant yet — I tell thee what it cannot bu}^ No treasure, hadst thou more amass'd Than fame to Tantalus assigned. Would save thee from a tomb at last ; But thou must leave it all behind. I give thee, therefore, counsel wise; Confide not vainly in thy store, However large — much less despise Others comparatively poor; 682 cowper's poetical works. But in tliy more exalted state A just and equal temper show, That all wlio see thee rich and great. My deem thee worthy to be so. ON NIOBE. CnARox! receive a family on board, Itself sufficient for thy crazy yawl : Apollo and Diana, for a word By me too proudly spoken, slew us all. ON FEMALE INCONSTANCY. EiCR, thou hadst many lovers — poor, hast none, So surely want extinguishes the flame ; And she who call'd thee once her pretty one, And her Adonis, now inquires thy name. Where wast thou born, Sosicrates, and where, In what strange country can thy parents live. Who seem'st, by thy complaints, not yet aware That want's a crime no woman can fori^ive ? ON THE GRASSHOPPER. Happy songster, perch'd above, On the summit of the grove, "Whom a dewdrop cheers to sing With the freedom of a king! From thy perch survey the fields Where prolific ISTature yields Naught that, wilhngly as slie, Man surrenders not to thee. For hostility or hate None thy pleasures can create. Thee it satisfies to sing Sweetly the return of spring, Herald of the genial hours, Harming neither herbs nor flowers. Therefore man thy voice attends Gladly — thou and he are friends ; Kor tliy never-ceasing strains, Phojbus or the Muse disdains TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GREEK.. 683 As too simple or too long, For themselves inspire the song. Earth-born, bloodless, undecaying, Ever singing, sporting, playing, What has Nature else to sliow Godlike in its kind as thou? 0^ PALLAS BATHING. FROM A HYMN OF CALLIMACIIUS. Nor oils of balmy scent produce Nor mirror for Minerva's use, Ye Nymphs who lave her ; she, array'd In genuine beauty, scorns their aid. Not even when they left the skies, To seek on Ida's head the prize From Paris' hand, did Juno deign, Or Pallas in the crystal plain • Of Simois' stream her locks to trace, Or in the mirror's polish'd face ; Though Venus oft with anxious care Adjusted twice a single hair. TO DEMOSTHENES. It flattens and deceives thy view, This mirror of ill-polish'd ore; For, were it just, and told thee true, Thou wouldst consult it never more. ON A SIMILAR CHARACTER. You give your cheeks a rosy stain, With washes dye your hair ; But paint and washes both are vain To give a youthful air. Those wrinkles mock your daily toil, No labor will etface 'em ; You wear a mask of smoothest oil, Yet still with ease we trace 'em. An art so fruitless then forsake. Which though you nuich excel in You never can contrive to make Old Hecuba young Helen. 684 . cowper's poetical works. ON AN UGLY FELLOW. Beware, my friend ! of crystal brook, Or fountain, lest that hideous hook, Thy nose, thou cliance to see ; Narcissus' fate would then be thine, And self- detested thou wouldst pine, As self-enamor'd he. ON A THIEF. "When Aulus, the nocturnal thief, made prize Of Hermes, swift-wing'd envoy of tlie skies, Hermes, Arcadia's king, the thief divine, "Who when an infant stole Apollo's kine, And whom, as arbiter and overseer Of our gymnastic sports, we planted here ; ^'Hermes," he cried, ''you meet no new disaster: Ofttimcs the pupil goes beyond his master." ON ENVY. Pity, says the Theban bard, From my wishes I discard ; Envy, let me rather be. Rather far, a theme for thee ! Pity to distress is shown Envy to the great alone. So the Theban — But to shine Less conspicuous be mine ! I prefer the golden mean, Pomp and penury between ; For alarm and peril wait Ever on the loftiest state ; And the lowest to the end Obloquy and scorn attend. ON A BATTERED BEAUTY. Hair, w^ax, rouge, honey, teeth you buy, A multifarious store ! A mask at once would all supply, Nor would it cost you more. TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GREEK. ' 685 BY MOSCHUS. I SLEPT when Venus enterVl : to my bed A Cupid in her beauteous liand she led, A bashful seeming boy, and thus she said : *' Shepherd, receive my little one! . I bring An untaught Love, whom thou must teach to sing." She said, and left him. I suspecting nauglit. Many a sweet strain my subtle pupil taught — IJow reed to reed Pan first with osier bound, Ilow Pallas form'd the pipe of softest sound. How Hermes gave the lute, and how the quire Of Phoebus owe to Phoebus' self the lyre. Such were my themes ; my themes naught heeded he, But ditties sang of amorous sort to me — TJie pangs that mortals and immortals prove From Venus' influence and the darts of love. Thus was the teacher by the pupil taught; His lessons I retained, he mine forgot. BY PHILEMON. Oft we enhance our ills by discontent. And give tliem bulk beyond wliat Nature meant. A parent, brother, friend deceased, to cry — '' He's dead indeed, but he was born to die" — Such temperate grief is suited to the size And burden of the loss; is just and wise. But to exclaim, " Ah ! wherefore was I born. Thus to be left forever thus forlorn ?" Who thus laments his loss invites distress, And magnifies a woe that might be less. Through dull despondence to his lot resigned, And leaving reason's remedy behind. ON PEDIGREE.— FROM EPICHARMUS. My mother ! if thou love me, name no more My noble birth ! Sounding at every breath My noble birth, thou kill'st me. Thither fly, As to their only refuge, all from whom . Nature withholds all good besides; they boast Their noble birth, conduct us to the tombs 58 OSG COWPKU'S rOETTCAL WORKS. Of their forofathcrs, find, from ngo to ago Ascoiuliiii;', tniinpL't thoir illustrious race: ]iut AvluMii Juist thou behold, or eanst thou name, I)eri\'cd from no forefathers? Such a man Lives not; for liow could such be born at, all? And, if it chance that, native of a land Far distant, or in infancy dei)rive(l Of all liis kindred, one who cannot trace Jlis origin exist, why deem him sprung From baser ancestry than theirs who can? My mother! he whom Nature at his birth Fndow'd with virtuous qualities, although Au ^Ethiop and u slave, is nobly born. ON HEKMOCRATIA. ITermocratia named — save oidy one — Twice lifteen births 1 boi*e, and buried none; For neither Phd^bus ])ierced my thriving joys, Nor Dian — she my girls, or he my boys. But Dian rather, when my daughters lay In ])arturition, chased their ])angs away. And all my sons, by Ph(rl)us' bounty, shared A vigorous youtli, by sickness unimpair'd. O Niobel far less ])rolitic! see Thy boast against Latona shamed by me I EPIGRAMS TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN OF OWEN. ON ONE IGNORANT AND ARKOQANT. TrroiT mayst of di)uble ignorance boast, "Who know'st not that tliou nothing know'st. PRUDENT SIMPLICITY. That thou mayst injure no man, dove-like be, And serpent-like, that none may injure thee I TRANSLATIONS FHOM OWEN. C87 SUNSET AND SUNRISE. CONTEMI'LATE, "NvllCIl tllC SlUl (IcclinCS, Tljy (leutl), with deep retleotioii ! And wlieii n^uiri lie rising Kliines^ The day of resurrection ! TO A FRIEND IN DISTRESS. I WISH tijy lot, now had, still worse, iny friend ; For when at worst, tliey say, things always mend. RETALIATION. The works of ancient bards divine, Anlns, thou scorn'st to read ; And should ])osterity read tliine, It would h(; str.'inge indeed! When' little jnoru than boy in age, I deeui'd myself almost a sage: ]5ut now seem worthier to be styled, For ignorance, almost a child. '^\ [IJKI7BRSIT THE END. ^y- /^ 14 DAY USE RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED LOAN DEPT. This book is due on the last date stamped below, or JUL - ::": ) LD 21A-50m-8,'67 -^^ ,. 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