And dread of death ensues. 24
Then, anxious to be longer spar’d,
Man mourns his fleeting breath:
All evils then seem light, compar’d
With the approach of death.
’Tis judgment shakes him; there’s the fear,
That prompts the wish to stay:
He has incurr’d a long arrear,
And must despair to pay. 32
Pay! — Follow CHRIST, and all is paid:
His death your peace ensures:
Think on the grave where he was laid,
And calm descend to yours.
ON A SIMILAR OCCASION FOR THE YEAR 1793
[Written 1793. Published 1800 (vol. I. Appendix), and by Bull, 1801.]
De sacris autem hæc sit una sententia, ut conserventur. — Cic de Lea.
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. 8
But life, within a narrow ring
Of giddy joys compriz’d,
Is falsely nam’d, and no such thing,
But rather death disguis’d.
Can life in them deserve the name,
Who only live to prove
For what poor toys they can disclaim
An endless life above? 16
Who, much diseas’d, yet nothing feel,
Much menac’d, nothing dread;
Have wounds which only God can heal,
Yet never ask his aid?
Who deem his house an useless place,
Faith, want of common sense;
And ardour in the Christian race
An hypocrite’s pretence? 24
Who trample order, and the day
Which God asserts his own,
Dishonour with unhallow’d 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, 32
Such want it; and that want, uncur’d
Till man resigns his breath,
Speaks him a criminal, assur’d
Of everlasting death.
Sad period to a pleasant course!
Yet so will God repay
Sabbaths profan’d without remorse,
And mercy cast away. 40
THE NEGRO’S COMPLAINT
[Written Feb. (?), 1788. Published in The Gentleman’s Magazine Dec., 1793; afterwards in 1800 (vol. I. Appendix).]
Forc’d from home, and all its pleasures,
Afric’s coast I left forlorn;
To increase a stranger’s treasures,
O’er the raging billows home.
Men from England bought and sold me,
Paid my price in paltry gold;
But, though theirs they have enroll’d me,
Minds are never to be sold. 8
Still in thought as free as ever,
What are England’s rights, I ask,
Me from my delights to sever,
Me to torture, me to task?
Fleecy locks, and black complexion
Cannot forfeit nature’s claim;
Skins may differ, but affection
Dwells in white and black the same. 16
Why did all-creating Nature
Make the plant for which we toil?
Sighs must fan it, tears must water,
Sweat of ours must dress the soil.
Think, ye masters, iron-hearted,
Lolling at your jovial hoards;
Think how many hacks have smarted
For the sweets your cane affords. 24
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 which duty urges
Agents of his will to use? 32
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. 40
By our blood in Afric wasted,
Ere our necks receiv’d the chain;
By the mis’ries we have tasted,
Crossing in your harks the main;
By our suff’rings since ye brought us
To the man-degrading mart;
All sustain’d by patience, taught us
Only by a broken heart: 48
Deem our nation brutes no longer
Till some reason ye shall find
Worthier of regard and stronger
Than the colour of our kind.
Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings
Tarnish all your boasted pow’rs,
Prove that you have human feelings,
Ere you proudly question ours! 56
THE MORNING DREAM
[Written March (?), 1788. Published in The Gentleman’s Magazine Nov., 1788; afterwards in 1800.]
‘TWAS in the glad season of spring,
Asleep at the dawn of the day,
I dream’d what I cannot hut sing,
So pleasant it seem’d as I lay.
I dream’d that on ocean afloat,
Far hence to the westward I sail’d,
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. — 16
Then raising her voice to a strain
The sweetest that ear ever heard,
She sang of the slave’s broken chain,
Wherever her glory appear’d.
Some clouds which had over us hung
Fled, chas’d by her melody clear,
And methought while she Liberty sung,
’Twas Liberty only to hear. 24
Thus swiftly dividing the flood,
To a slave-cultur’d 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. 32
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 expir’d
Heard shouts that ascended the sky
From thousands with rapture inspir’d. 40
Awaking, how could I hut muse
At what such a dream should betide?
But soon my ear caught the glad news
Which serv’d 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. 48
SWEET MEA
T HAS SOUR SAUCE
OR, THE SLAVE-TRADER IN THE DUMPS
[Written early in 1788. Published by Southey, 1836.]
A TRADER I am to the African shore,
But since that my trading is like to be o’er,
I’ll sing you a song that you ne’er heard before,
Which nobody can deny, deny,
Which nobody can deny. 5
When I first heard the news it gave me a shock,
Much like what they call an electrical knock,
And now I am going to sell off my stock,
Which nobody, &c.
’Tis a curious assortment of dainty regales,
To tickle the negroes with when the ship sails,
Fine chains for the neck, and a cat with nine tails, 11
Which nobody, &c.
Here’s supple-jack plenty, and store of rat-tan,
That will wind itself round the sides of a man,
As close as a hoop round a bucket or can,
Which nobody, &c.
Here’s padlocks and bolts, and screws for the thumbs,
That squeeze them so lovingly till the blood comes,
They sweeten the temper like comfits or plums, 17
Which nobody, &c.
When a negro his head from his victuals withdraws,
And clenches his teeth and thrusts out his paws,
Here’s a notable engine to open his jaws,
Which nobody, &c.
Thus going to market, we kindly prepare
A pretty black cargo of African ware,
For what they must meet with when they get there, 23
Which nobody, &c.
’Twould do your heart good to see ’em below
Lie flat on their backs all the way as we go,
Like sprats on a gridiron, scores in a row,
Which nobody, &c.
But ah! if in vain I have studied an art
So gainful to me, all boasting apart,
I think it will break my compassionate heart, 29
Which nobody, &c.
For oh! how it enters my soul like an awl!
This pity, which some people self-pity call,
Is sure the most heart-piercing pity of all,
Which nobody, &c.
So this is my song, as I told you before;
Come buy off my stock, for I must no more
Carry Cæsars and Pompeys to Sugar-cane shore, 3 5
Which nobody can deny, deny,
Which nobody can deny.
PITY FOR POOR AFRICANS
Video meliora proboque
Deteriora sequor
[Written early in 1788. Published 1800 (vol. I. Appendix).]
I own I am shock’d at the purchase of slaves,
And fear those who buy them and sell them 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 we see?
What? give up our desserts, our coffee, and tea! 8
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? 16
Your scruples and arguments bring to my mind
A story so pat, you may think it is coin’d,
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. 24
He was shock’d, sir, like you, and answer’d— “Oh no!
What! rob our good neighbour! 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.”
“You 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.” 32
They spoke, and Tom ponder’d—’
‘I see they will go:
Poor man! what a pity to injure 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 dropt from the tree;
But, since they will take them, I think I’ll go too,
He will lose none by me, though I get a few.” 40
His scruples thus silenc’d, Tom felt more at ease,
And went with his comrades the apples to seize;
He blam’d and protested, but join’d in the plan;
He shar’d in the plunder, but pitied the man.
EPIGRAM (PRINTED IN THE NORTHAMPTON MERCURY)
[Written (?). Published by Johnson, 1815.]
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.
Now lambs and negroes both are harmless things,
And thence perhaps this wond’rous virtue springs,
’Tis in the blood of innocence alone —
Good cause why planters never try their own. 8
SONNET ADDRESSED TO HENRY COWPER ESQ., CLERK ASSISTANT TO THE HOUSE OF LORDS
ON HIS EMPHATICAL AND INTERESTING DELIVERY OF THE DEFENCE OF WARREN HASTINGS, ESQ.
[Written Feb., 1788. Published April, 1788, in The Gentleman’s Magazine, with the signature T. H.; afterwards in 1800.]
COWPER, whose silver voice, task’d 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 wast not heard with drowsy disregard,
Expending late on all that length of plea
Thy gen’rous pow’rs, hut silence honour’d thee,
Mute as e’er gaz’d on Orator or Bard.
Thou art not voice alone, hut hast beside
Both heart and head; and could’st with music sweet
Of Attic phrase and senatorial tone, 11
Like thy renown’d Forefathers, far and wide
Thy fame diffuse, prais’d not for utt’rance meet
Of others’ speech, but magic of thy own.
GRATITUDE ADDRESSED TO LADY HESKETH
[Written April, 1788. Published by Hayley, 1803. Southey, in 1836, printed the poem in its original form as sent to Lady Hesketh. This version differs very largely from that given in the text, and is therefore here printed entire in the notes at the end of the volume.]
THIS cap, that so stately appears,
With ribbon-bound tassel on high,
Which seems, by the crest that it rears,
Ambitious of brushing the sky:
This cap to my cousin I owe,
She gave it, and gave me beside,
Wreath’d into an elegant bow,
The ribbon with which it is tied. 8
This wheel-footed studying chair,
Contriv’d 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, o
r astronomy lies,
Fair Cassiopeia sat: 16
These carpets, so soft to the foot,
Caledonia’s traffic and pride!
Oh spare them, ye Knights of the Boot!
Escap’d 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: 24
This moveable structure of shelves,
For its beauty admir’d and its use,
And charg’d with octavos and twelves,
The gayest I had to produce,
Where, flaming in scarlet and gold,
My Poems enchanted I view,
And hope, in due time, to behold
My Iliad and Odyssey too: 32
This china, that decks the alcove,
Which here people call a beaufette,
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,
These stoves, that for pattern and form
Seem the labour of Mulciber’s hands: 40
All these are not half that I owe
To one, from our earliest youth
To me ever ready to show
Benignity, friendship, and truth,
For Time, the destroyer declar’d
And foe of our perishing kind,
If even her face he has spar’d,
Much less could he alter her mind. 48
Thus compass’d 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;
William Cowper- Collected Poetical Works Page 50
