WILLIAM COWPER
(1731-1800)
Contents
The Poetry Collections
Table Talk and Other Poems
The Task and Other Poems
Miscellaneous Poems
Olney Hymns
Translations from Madame de La Mothe Guion
Translations from the Latin Classics
Translations from Vincent Bourne
Epigrams Translated from the Latin of Owen
Translations of Greek and Latin Verses
Translations from the Fables of Gay
Translations of the Latin and Italian Poems of Milton
Epigrams
Italian Poems
Fragments and Posthumously Published Verses
The Poems
List of Poems in Chronological Order
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
The Epic Poems
The Iliad
The Odyssey
The Biographies
Brief Life of William Cowper by Francis Storr
Cowper by Goldwin Smith
The Delphi Classics Catalogue
© Delphi Classics 2014
Version 1
WILLIAM COWPER
By Delphi Classics, 2014
COPYRIGHT
William Cowper - Delphi Poets Series
First published in the United Kingdom in 2015 by Delphi Classics.
© Delphi Classics, 2015.
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The Poetry Collections
Berkhamstead Rectory, Hertfordshire — Cowper’s birthplace
The poet’s father, John Cowper, was rector of the Church of St Peter. William Cowper was born in Berkhamsted in 1731 and was baptised in this church.
Table Talk and Other Poems
By the time William Cowper had reached the age of fifty, he was as yet unknown to the world. A few light and agreeable poems, two hymns written at Huntingdon, with about sixty other verses composed at Olney, were almost the only known poetical productions of his pen between the years 1749 and 1780. Nevertheless, his literary fame was not far off.
Mrs. Unwin, Cowper’s landlady and companion at Huntingdon, urged him to write poetry when recovering from a serious illness (he had been institutionalised for insanity in the period 1763–65). The puritan Mrs. Unwin urged him to choose didactic poetry as his theme, proposing The Progress of Error as a subject for a “Moral Satire.” It was speedily adopted and The Progress of Error was followed by Truth, Table Talk, Expostulation, Hope, Charity, Conversation, and Retirement.
In his youth Cowper had read the great poets and had especially studied Milton with the ardour of intense admiration. But so little had he kept up his reading of anything but sermons and hymns, that he learned for the first time from Johnson’s Lives the existence of Collins.
When the collection of poems was published, Table Talk was put first, being supposed to be the lightest and the most attractive to an ‘unregenerate world’. The judgment passed upon this set of poems by the Critical Review was harsh. “These poems,” said the reviewer, “are written, as we learn from the title-page, by Mr. Cowper of the Inner Temple, who seems to be a man of a sober and religious turn of mind, with a benevolent heart, and a serious wish to inculcate the precepts of morality; he is not, however, possessed of any superior abilities or the power of genius requisite for so arduous an undertaking. . . . . He says what is incontrovertible and what has been said over and over again with much gravity, but says nothing new, sprightly or entertaining; travelling on a plain level flat road, with great composure almost through the whole long and tedious volume, which is little better than a dull sermon in very indifferent verse on Truth, the Progress of Error, Charity, and some other grave subjects.”
The poems were all written in little more than a year and were published in a single volume in 1782. Table Talk and Other Poems met with a favourable reception from elsewhere, gradually finding its way into the esteem of the public.
William Cowper by Lemuel Francis Abbott, 1792
CONTENTS
TABLE TALK.
THE PROGRESS OF ERROR.
TRUTH.
EXPOSTULATION.
HOPE.
CHARITY.
CONVERSATION.
RETIREMENT.
ORIGINAL PREFACE.
[This was written and even printed for issue with the first edition of Cowper’s first volume in 1782; but at the earnest request of Johnson the publisher it was omitted from the first edition and not inserted until the fifth edition in 1793, when it could no longer injure the well- established sale of Cowper’s Poems. Some copies of the first edition containing it are extant.]
WHEN an Author, by appearing in print, requests an audience of the Public, and is upon the point of speaking for himself, whoever presumes to step before him with a preface, and to say, “Nay, but hear me first,” should have something worthy of attention to offer, or he will be justly deemed officious and impertinent. The judicious reader has probably, upon other occasions, been before- hand with me in this reflection: and I am not very willing it should now be applied to me, however I may seem to expose myself to the danger of it. But the thought of having my own name perpetuated in connexion with the name in the title page is so pleasing and flattering to the feelings of my heart, that I am content to risk something for the gratification.
This Preface is not designed to commend the Poems to which it is prefixed. My testimony would be insufficient for those who are not qualified to judge properly for themselves, and unnecessary to those who are. Besides, the reasons which render it improper and unseemly for a man to celebrate his own performances, or those of his nearest relatives, will have some influence in suppressing much of what he might otherwise wish to say in favour of a, friend, when that friend is indeed an alter idem, and excites almost the same emotions of sensibility and affection as he feels for himself.
It is very probable these Poems may come into the hands of some persons, in whom the sight of the Author’s name will awaken a recollection of incidents and scenes which, through length of time, they had almost forgotten. They will be reminded of one, who was once the companion of their chosen hours, and who set out with them in early life, in the paths which lead to literary honours, to influence and affluence, with equal prospects of success. But he was suddenly and powerfully withdrawn from those pursuits, and he left them without regret; yet not till he had sufficient opportunity of counting the cost, and of knowing the value of what he gave up. If happiness could have been found in classical attainments, in an elegant taste, in the exertions of wit, fancy, and genius, and in the esteem and converse of such persons as in these respects were most congenial with himself, he would have been happy. But he was n
ot — He wondered (as thousands in a similar situation still do) that he should continue dissatisfied, with all the means apparently conducive to satisfaction within his reach — But in due time the cause of his disappointment was discovered to him — He had lived without God in the world. In a memorable hour, the wisdom which is from above visited his heart. Then he felt himself a wanderer, and then he found a guide. Upon this change of views, a change of plan and conduct followed of course. When he saw the busy and the gay world in its true light, he left it with as little reluctance as a prisoner, when called to liberty, leaves his dungeon. Not that he became a Cynic or an Ascetic — A heart filled with love to God, will assuredly breathe benevolence to men. But the turn of his temper inclining him to rural life, he indulged it, and the providence of God evidently preparing his way and marking out his retreat, he retired into the country. By these steps the good hand of God, unknown to me, was providing for me one of the principal blessings of my life; a friend and a counsellor, in whose company for almost seven years, though we were seldom seven successive waking hours separated, I always found new pleasure. A friend, who was not only a comfort to myself, but a blessing to the affectionate poor people, among whom I then lived.
Some time after inclination had thus removed him from the hurry and bustle of life, he was still more secluded by a long indisposition, and my pleasure was succeeded by a proportionable degree of anxiety and concern. But a hope, that the God whom he served would support him under his affliction, and at length vouchsafe him a happy deliverance, never forsook me. The desirable crisis, I trust, is now nearly approaching. The dawn, the presage of returning day, is already arrived. He is again enabled to resume his pen, and some of the first fruits of his recovery are here presented to the public. In his principal subjects, the same acumen which distinguished him in the early period of life, is happily employed in illustrating and enforcing the truths of which he received such deep and unalterable impressions in his maturer years. His satire, if it may be called so, is benevolent, (like the operations of the skilful and humane surgeon, who wounds only to heal) dictated by a just regard for the honour of God, an indignant grief excited by the profligacy of the age, and a tender compassion for the souls of men. His favourite topics are least insisted on in the piece entitled Table Talk; which therefore, with some regard to the prevailing taste, and that those who are governed by it may not be discouraged at the very threshold from proceeding farther, is placed first. In most of the larger Poems which follow, his leading design is more explicitly avowed and pursued. He aims to communicate his own perceptions of the truth, beauty, and influence of the religion of the Bible. — A religion which, however discredited by the misconduct of many who have not renounced the Christian name, proves itself, when rightly understood, and cordially embraced, to be the grand desideratum, which alone can relieve the mind of man from painful and unavoidable anxieties, inspire it with stable peace and solid hope, and furnish those motives and prospects which, in the present state of things, are absolutely necessary to produce a conduct worthy of a rational creature, distinguished by a vastness of capacity, which no assemblage of earthly good can satisfy, and by a principle and pre-intimation of immortality.
At a time when hypothesis and conjecture in philosophy are so justly exploded, and little is considered as deserving the name of knowledge, which will not stand the test of experiment, the very use of the term experimental, in religious concernments, is by too many unhappily rejected with disgust. But we well know, that they who affect to despise the inward feelings which religious persons speak of, and to treat them as enthusiasm and folly, have inward feelings of their own, which, though they would, they cannot suppress. We have been too long in the secret ourselves to account the proud, the ambitious, or the voluptuous, happy. We must lose the remembrance of what we once were, before we can believe, that a man is satisfied with himself, merely because he endeavours to appear so. A smile upon the face is often but a mask worn occasionally and in company, to prevent, if possible, a suspicion of what at the same time is passing in the heart. We know that there are people, who seldom smile when they are alone, who therefore are glad to hide them- selves in a throng from the violence of their own reflections; and who, while by their looks and their language they wish to persuade us they are happy, would be glad to change their conditions with a dog. But in defiance of all their efforts, they continue to think, forebode, and tremble. This we know, for it has been our own state, and therefore we know how to commiserate it in others. From this state the Bible relieved us — When we were led to read it with attention, we found ourselves described. — We learnt the causes of our inquietude — we were directed to a method of relief — we tried, and we were not disappointed.
Deus nobis hæc otia fecit.
We are now certain that the gospel of Christ is the power of God unto salvation, to every one that believeth. It has reconciled us to God, and to ourselves, to our duty, and our situation. It is the balm and cordial of the present life, and a sovereign antidote against the fear of death. Sed hactenus hæc. Some smaller pieces upon less im- portant subjects close the volume. Not one of them I believe was written with a view to publication, but I was unwilling they should be omitted.
JOHN NEWTON.
CHARLES SQUARE, HOXTON,
February 18, 1782.
TABLE TALK.
Si te fortè meae gravis uret sarcina chartoe
Abjicito. —
HOR. LIB. I. EPIS. 13.
A.
YOU told me, I remember, glory built
On selfish principles, is shame and guilt.
The deeds that men admire as half divine,
Stark naught, because corrupt in their design.
Strange doctrine this! that without scruple tears
The laurel that the very light’ning spares,
Brings down the warrior’s trophy to the dust,
And eats into his bloody sword like rust.
B.
I grant, that men continuing what they are,
Fierce, avaricious, proud, there must be war.
And never meant the rule should be applied
To him that fights with justice on his side.
Let laurels, drench’d in pure Parnassian dews,
Reward his mem’ry, dear to ev’ry muse,
Who, with a courage of unshaken root,
In honour’s field advancing his firm foot,
Plants it upon the line that justice draws,
And will prevail or perish in her cause.
Tis to the virtues of such men, man owes
His portion in the good that heav’n bestows,
And when recording history displays
Feats of renown, though wrought in antient days,
Tells of a few stout hearts that fought and dy’d
Where duty plac’d them, at their country’s side,
The man that is not mov’d with what he reads,
That takes not fire at their heroic deeds,
Unworthy of the blessings of the brave,
Is base in kind, and born to be a slave.
But let eternal infamy pursue
The wretch to naught but his ambition true,
Who, for the sake of filling with one blast
The post horns of all Europe, lays her waste.
Think yourself station’d on a tow’ring rock,
To see a people scatter’d like a flock,
Some royal mastiff panting at their heels,
With all the savage thirst a tyger feels,
Then view him self-proclaim’d in a gazette,
Chief monster that has plagu’d the nations yet,
The globe and sceptre in such hands misplac’d,
Those ensigns of dominion, how disgrac’d!
The glass that bids man mark the fleeting hour,
And death’s own scythe would better speak his pow’r,
Then grace the boney phantom in their stead
With the king’s shoulder knot and gay cockade,
Cloath the twin brethren in each other’s dress,
The same their occupation and success.
A.
’Tis your belief the world was made for man,
Kings do but reason on the self same plan,
Maintaining your’s you cannot their’s condemn,
Who think, or seem to think, man made for them.
B.
Seldom, alas! the power of logic reigns
With much sufficiency in royal brains.
Such reas’ning 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-enobling thought,
Could they, or would they, reason as they ought.
The diadem with mighty projects lin’d,
To catch renown by ruining mankind,
Is worth, with all its gold and glitt’ring store,
Just what the toy will sell for and no more.
Oh! bright occasions of dispensing good,
How seldom used, how little understood!
To pour in virtue’s lap her just reward,
Keep vice restrain’d 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;
To give religion her unbridl’d scope,
Nor judge by statute a believer’s hope;
With close fidelity and love unfeign’d,
William Cowper- Collected Poetical Works Page 1
