by Homer
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, 5
Those alders quivering to the breeze,
Might soothe a soul less hurt than mine,
And please, if anything could please.
But fixed unalterable Care
Foregoes not what she feels within, 10
Shows the same sadness everywhere,
And slights the season and the scene.
For all that pleased in wood or lawn,
While Peace possessed these silent bowers,
Her animating smile withdrawn, 15
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! 20
Me fruitful scenes and prospects waste,
Alike admonish not to roam;
These tell me of enjoyments past,
And those of sorrows yet to come.
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
On the Receipt of My Mother’s Picture out of Norfolk
William Cowper (1731–1800)
OH that those lips had language! Life has passed
With me but roughly since I heard thee last.
Those lips are thine — thy own sweet smile I see,
The same that oft in childhood solaced me;
Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, 5
‘Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away!’
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes
(Blessed be the art that can immortalize,
The art that baffles Time’s tyrannic claim
To quench it) here shines on me still the same. 10
Faithful remembrancer of one so dear,
O welcome guest, though unexpected here!
Who bidst me honour with an artless song,
Affectionate, a mother lost so long,
I will obey, not willingly alone, 15
But gladly, as the precept were her own:
And, while that face renews my filial grief,
Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief,
Shall steep me in Elysian reverie,
A momentary dream that thou art she. 20
My mother! when I learnt that thou wast dead,
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed?
Hovered thy spirit o’er thy sorrowing son,
Wretch even then, life’s journey just begun?
Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss: 25
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss —
Ah, that maternal smile! It answers — Yes.
I heard the bell toll on thy burial day,
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away,
And, turning from my nursery window, drew 30
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 word shall pass my lips no more! 35
Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern,
Oft gave me promise of thy quick return.
What ardently I wished I long believed,
And, disappointed still, was still deceived.
By expectation every day beguiled, 40
Dupe of to-morrow even from a child.
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went,
Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent,
I learnt at last submission to my lot;
But, though I less deplored thee, ne’er forgot. 45
Where once we dwelt our name is heard 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 wrapped 50
In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capped,
’Tis now become a history little known,
That once we called the pastoral house our own.
Short-lived possession! but the record fair
That memory keeps, of all thy kindness there, 55
Still outlives many a storm that has effaced
A thousand other themes less deeply traced.
The nightly visits to my chamber made,
That thou mightst know me safe and warmly laid;
Thy morning bounties ere I left my home, 60
The biscuit, or confectionary plum;
The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowed
By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glowed;
All this, and more endearing still than all,
Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall, 65
Ne’er roughened by those cataracts and brakes
That humour 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 70
Such honours to thee as my numbers may;
Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere,
Not scorned in heaven, though little noticed here.
Could Time, his flight reversed, restore the hours,
When, playing with thy vesture’s tissued flowers, 75
The violet, the pink, and jessamine,
I pricked them into paper with a pin
(And thou wast happier than myself the while,
Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head and smile),
Could these few pleasant days again appear, 80
Might one wish bring them, would I 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 call our life is such
So little to be loved, and thou so much, 85
That I should ill requite thee to constrain
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again.
Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion’s coast
(The storms all weathered and the ocean crossed)
Shoots into port at some well-havened isle, 90
Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile,
There sits quiescent on the floods that show
Her beauteous form reflected clear below,
While airs impregnated with incense play
Around her, fanning light her streamers gay; 95
So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached the shore,
‘Where tempests never beat nor billows roar,’
And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide
Of life long since has anchored by thy side.
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, 100
Always from port withheld, always distressed —
Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest tost,
Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compass lost,
And day by day some current’s thwarting force
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. 105
Yet, oh, the thought that thou art safe, and he!
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me.
My boast is not, that I deduce my birth
From loins enthroned and rulers of the earth;
But higher far my proud pretensions rise — 110
The son of parents passed into the skies!
And now, farewell! — Time unrevoked has run
His wonted course, yet what I wished is done.
By contemplation’s help, not sought in vain,
I seemed to have lived my childhood o’er again; 115
To have renewed the joys that once were mine,
Without the sin of violating thine:
And, while the win
gs of Fancy still are free,
And I can view this mimic show of thee,
Time has but half succeeded in his theft — 120
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
The Diverting History of John Gilpin
William Cowper (1731–1800)
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, 5
‘Though wedded we have been
These twice ten tedious years, yet we
No holiday have seen.
‘To-morrow is our wedding-day,
And we will then repair 10
Unto the Bell at Edmonton,
All in a chaise and pair.
‘My sister, and my sister’s child,
Myself, and children three,
Will fill the chaise; so you must ride 15
On horseback after we.’
He soon replied, ‘I do admire
Of womankind but one,
And you are she, my dearest dear,
Therefore it shall be done. 20
‘I am a linen-draper bold,
As all the world doth know,
And my good friend the calender
Will lend his horse to go.’
Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, ‘That’s well said; 25
And for that wine is dear,
We will be furnished with our own,
Which is both bright and clear.’
John Gilpin kissed his loving wife;
O’erjoyed was he to find, 30
That though on pleasure she was bent,
She had a frugal mind.
The morning came, the chaise was brought,
But yet was not allowed
To drive up to the door, lest all 35
Should say that she was proud.
So three doors off the chaise was stayed,
Where they did all get in;
Six precious souls, and all agog
To dash through thick and thin. 40
Smack went the whip, round went the wheels,
Were never folk so glad,
The stones did rattle underneath,
As if Cheapside were mad.
John Gilpin at his horse’s side 45
Seized fast the flowing mane,
And up he got, in haste to ride,
But soon came down again;
For saddle-tree scarce reached had be,
His journey to begin, 50
When, turning round his 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, 55
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!’ 60
‘Good lack,’ quoth he— ‘yet bring it me,
My leathern belt likewise,
In which I bear my trusty sword,
When I do exercise.’
Now Mistress Gilpin (careful soul!) 65
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, 70
And hung a bottle on each side,
To make his balance true.
Then over all, that he might be
Equipped from top to toe,
His long red cloak, well brushed and neat; 75
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. 80
But finding soon a smoother road
Beneath his well-shod feet,
The snorting beast began to trot,
Which galled him in his seat.
So, ‘Fair and softly,’ John he cried, 85
But John he called in vain;
That trot became a gallop soon,
In spite of curb and rein.
So stooping down as needs he must
Who cannot sit upright, 90
He grasped the mane with both his hands,
And eke with all his might.
His horse, who never in that sort
Had handled been before,
What thing upon his back had got 95
Did wonder more and more.
Away went Gilpin, neck or nought;
Away went hat and wig;
He little dreamt, when he set out,
Of running such a rig. 100
The wind did blow, the cloak did fly,
Like streamer long and gay,
Till, loop and button failing both,
At last it flew away.
Then might all people well discern 105
The bottles he had slung;
A bottle swinging at each side.
As hath been said or sung.
The dogs did bark, the children screamed,
Up flew the windows all; 110
And every soul cried out, ‘Well done!’
As loud as he could bawl.
Away went Gilpin — who but he?
His fame soon spread around;
‘He carries weight! He rides a race!’ 115
‘’Tis for a thousand pound!’
And still, as fast as he drew near,
’Twas wonderful to view,
How in a trice the turnpike-men
Their gates wide open threw. 120
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, 125
Most piteous to be seen,
Which made his horse’s flanks to smoke
As they had basted been.
But still he seemed to carry weight,
With leathern girdle braced; 130
For all might see the bottle-necks
Still dangling at his waist.
Thus all through merry Islington
These gambols he did play,
Until he came unto the Wash 135
Of Edmonton so gay;
And there he threw the Wash about
On both sides of the way,
Just like unto a trundling mop,
Or a wild goose at play. 140
At Edmonton his loving wife
From the balcony spied
Her tender husband, wondering much
To see how he did ride.
‘Stop, stop, John Gilpin! — Here’s the house!’ 145
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! 150
For why? — his owner had a house
Full ten miles off at Ware.
So like an arrow swift he flew,
Shot by an archer strong;
So did he fly — which brings me to 155
The middle of my song.
Away went Gilpin, out of breath,
And sore against his will,
Till at his friend the calender’s
His horse at last stood still. 160
The calender, amazed to see
His neighbour in such trim,
Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate,
And thus accosted him:
‘What news? what news? your tidings tell; 165
Tell me you must and shall —
Say why bareheaded you are come,
Or why you come at all?’
Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,
And loved a timely joke; 170
And thus unto the calender
In merry guise he spoke:
‘I came because your horse would come,
And, if I well forebode,
My hat and wig will soon be here, — 175
They are upon the road.’
The calender, right glad to find
His friend in merry pin,
Returned him not a single word,
But to the house went in; 180
Whence straight he came with hat and wig;
A wig that flowed behind,
A hat not much the worse for wear,
Each comely in its kind.
He held them up, and in his turn 185
Thus showed his ready wit,
‘My head is twice as big as yours,
They therefore needs must fit.
‘But let me scrape the dirt away
That hangs upon your face; 190
And stop and eat, for well you may
Be in a hungry case.’
Said John, ‘It is my wedding day,
And all the world would stare,
If wife should dine at Edmonton, 195
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.’ 200
Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast!
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 205
Had heard a lion roar,
And galloped off with all his might,
As he had done before.
Away went Gilpin, and away
Went Gilpin’s hat and wig; 210
He lost them sooner than at first;
For why? — they were too big.
Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw
Her husband posting down
