William Cowper- Collected Poetical Works

by William Cowper

  The poets will swear that I dream.

  When I sing of the splendour of mine. 56

  PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED A FABLE

  [Written (?). Published 1795.]

  I SHALL not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau,

  If birds confabulate or no;

  ’Tis clear that they were always able

  To hold discourse, at least, in fable;

  And ev’n the child who knows no better,

  Than to interpret by the letter,

  A story of a cock and bull,

  Must have a most uncommon skull.

  It chanc’d then, on a winter’s day,

  But warm and bright, and calm as May, 10

  The birds, conceiving a design

  To forestal sweet St. Valentine,

  In many an orchard, copse, and grove,

  Assembled on affairs of love,

  And with much twitter and much chatter,

  Began to agitate the matter.

  At length a Bulfinch, who could boast

  More years and wisdom than the most,

  Entreated, op’ning wide his beak,

  A moment’s liberty to speak; 20

  And, silence publicly enjoin’d,

  Deliver’d briefly thus his mind.

  My friends! be cautious how ye treat

  The subject upon which we meet;

  I fear we shall have winter yet.

  A Finch, whose tongue knew no control,

  With golden wing and satin pole,

  A last year’s bird, who ne’er had tried

  What marriage means, thus pert replied.

  Methinks the gentleman, quoth she, 30

  Opposite in the apple-tree,

  By his good will, would keep us single

  Till yonder heav’n 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, ogling, bridling,

  Turning short round, strutting and sideling,

  Attested, glad, his approbation 40

  Of an immediate conjugation.

  Their sentiments so well express’d,

  Influenc’d 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,

  Not altogether smil’d on theirs.

  The wind, of late breath’d gently forth, 50

  Now 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 were addled;

  Soon ev’ry father bird and mother

  Grew quarrelsome, and peck’d each other,

  Parted without the least regret,

  Except that they had ever met,

  And learn’d, in future, to be wiser, 60

  Than to neglect a good adviser.

  INSTRUCTION

  Misses! the tale that I relate

  This lesson seems to carry —

  Choose not alone a proper mate,

  But proper time to marry.

  ON MRS. MONTAGU’S FEATHER-HANGINGS

  [Written May, 1788. Published June, 1788, in The Gentleman’s Magazine; afterwards in 1800.]

  THE birds put off their ev’ry hue

  To dress a room for Montagu.

  The Peacock sends his heav’nly 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 show,

  And, river-blanch’d, the Swan his snow.

  All tribes beside of Indian name,

  That glossy shine or vivid flame, 10

  Where rises, and where sets the day,

  Whate’er they boast of rich or gay,

  Contribute to the gorgeous plan,

  Proud to advance it all they can.

  This plumage, neither dashing show’r,

  Nor blasts that shake the dripping bow’r,

  Shall drench again or discompose,

  But, screen’d from ev’ry storm that blows,

  It wears a splendour ever new,

  Safe with protecting Montagu. 20

  To the same Patroness resort,

  (Secure of favour at her court)

  Strong Genius, from whose forge of thought

  Forms rise, to quick perfection wrought,

  Which, though new-born, with vigour move,

  Like Pallas springing arm’d from Jove —

  Imagination, scatt’ring round

  Wild roses over furrow’d ground,

  Which Labour of his frowns beguile,

  And teach Philosophy a smile — 30

  Wit, flashing on Religion’s side,

  Whose fires to sacred Truth applied,

  The gem, though luminous before,

  Commend to human notice more,

  Like sun-beams 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,

  Nor more harmonious or compact 40

  Than that to which he keeps confin’d

  The various treasures of his mind —

  All these 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 her eye, and by her aid,

  Shine safe, without a fear to fade. 50

  She thus maintains divided sway

  With you bright regent of the day;

  The plume and poet both, we know,

  Their lustre to his influence owe,

  And she, the work of Phoebus aiding,

  Both poet saves and plume from fading.

  LINES COMPOSED FOR A MEMORIAL OF ASHLEY COWPER, ESQ. IMMEDIATELY AFTER HIS DEATH, BY HIS NEPHEW WILLIAM OF WESTON

  [Written June, 1788. Published by Hayley, 1803.]

  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, (Oh blessing rarely found!)

  Pleasant as youth, with all its blossoms crown’d;

  Through every period of this changeful state

  Unchang’d thyself! wise, good, affectionate!

  Marble may flatter, and lest this should seem

  O’ercharg’d with praises on so dear a theme, 10

  Although thy worth be more than half supprest,

  Love shall be satisfied, and veil the rest.

  THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY NO FABLE

  [Written Aug., 1788. Published in The Gentleman’s Magazine, Dec., 1791; then in pamphlet with On Receipt of my Mother’s Picture, 1798; afterwards in Poems, 1798.]

  THE noon was shady, and soft airs

  Swept Ouse’s silent tide,

  When, ‘scap’d from literary cares,

  I wander’d on his side.

  My spaniel, prettiest of his race,

  And high in pedigree,

  (Two nymphs, adorn’d with ev’ry grace,

  That spaniel found for me) 8

  Now wanton’d lost in flags and reeds,

  Now starting into sight

  Pursued the swallow o’er the meads

  With scarce a slower flight.

  It was the time when Ouse di
splay’d

  His lilies newly blown;

  Their beauties I intent survey’d;

  And one I wish’d my own. 16

  With cane extended far I sought

  To steer it close to land;

  But still the prize, though nearly caught,

  Escap’d my eager hand.

  Beau marked my unsuccessful pains

  With fixt consid’rate face,

  And puzzling set his puppy brains

  To comprehend the case. 24

  But with a chirrup clear and strong,

  Dispersing all his dream,

  I thence withdrew, and follow’d long

  The windings of the stream.

  My ramble finish’d, I return’d.

  Beau trotting far before

  The floating wreath again discern’d,

  And plunging left the shore. 32

  I saw him with that lily cropp’d

  Impatient swim to meet

  My quick approach, and soon he dropp’d

  The treasure at my feet.

  Charm’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; 40

  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.

  MOTTO ON THE KING’S CLOCK

  [Written Aug. 9,1788. Published by Hayley, 1803.]

  QUÆ lenta accedit, quam velox præterit hora!

  Ut capias, patiens esto, sed esto vigil!

  ON THE DEATH OF MRS. THROCKMORTON’S BULFINCH

  [Written Nov. (?), 1788. Published in The Gentleman’s Magazine, Feb., 1789; afterwards in 1795.]

  YE nymphs! if e’er your eyes were red

  With tears o’er hapless fav’rites shed,

  O share Maria’s grief!

  Her fav’rite, even in his cage,

  (What will not hunger’s cruel rage?)

  Assassin’d by a thief. 6

  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,

  Well-taught, he all the sounds express’d

  Of flagelet or flute. 12

  The honours 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 up all the dew. 18

  Above, below, in all the house,

  Dire foe, alike to bird and mouse,

  No cat had leave to dwell;

  And Bully’s cage supported stood,

  On props of smoothest-shaven wood,

  Large-built and lattic’d well. 24

  Well-lattic’d — hut the grate, alas!

  Not rough with 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 swains their baskets make. 30

  Night veil’d the pole — all seem’d secure —

  When led hy instinct sharp and sure,

  Subsistence to provide,

  A beast forth-sallied on the scout,

  Long-back’d, long-tail’d, with whisker’d snout,

  And badger-colour’d hide. 36

  He, ent’ring at the study-door,

  Its ample area ‘gan explore;

  And something in the wind

  Conjectur’d, sniffing round and round,

  Better than all the books he found,

  Food, chiefly, for the mind. 42

  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 presage,

  Awoke and found it true. 48

  For, aided both by ear and scent,

  Right to his mark the monster went —

  Ah, Muse! forbear to speak

  Minute the horrors that ensued;

  His teeth were strong, the cage was wood —

  He left poor Bully’s beak. 54

  He left it — but be should have ta’en

  That beak, whence issued many a strain

  Of such mellifluous tone,

  Might have repaid him well, I wote,

  For silencing so sweet a throat,

  Fast set within his own. 60

  Maria weeps — The Muses mourn —

  So, when by Bacchanalians tom.

  On Thracian Hebrus’ side

  The tree-enchanter Orpheus fell;

  His head alone remain’d to tell

  The cruel death he died. 66

  ON A MISCHIEVOUS BULL, WHICH THE OWNER OF HIM SOLD AT THE AUTHOR’S INSTANCE

  [Written 1788 (?). Published 1808.]

  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 wood-peckers explore the sides

  Of rugged oaks for worms; 8

  The sheep here smooths the knotted thorn

  With frictions of her fleece;

  And here I wander eve and mom,

  Like her, a friend to peace.

  Ah! — I could pity thee exil’d

  From this secure retreat —

  I would not lose it to be styl’d

  The happiest of the great. 16

  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. 24

  INSCRIPTION FOR THE TOMB OF MR. HAMILTON

  [Written 1788. Published 1800.]

  Pause here, and think: a monitory rhime

  Demands one moment of thy fleeting time.

  Consult Life’s silent clock, thy hounding vein;

  Seems it to say — Health, here, has long to reign?

  Hast thou the vigour of thy youth? an eye

  That beams delight? an heart untaught to sigh?

  Yet fear. Youth, oft times 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!”

  ANNUS MEMORABILIS, 1789 WRITTEN IN COMMEMORATION OF HIS MAJESTY’S HAPPY RECOVERY

  [Written March, 1789. Published 1808.]

  I RANSACK’D, 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

  Prowess to dissipate a host;

  Through tomes of fable and of dream

  I sought an eligible theme,

  But none I found, or found them shar’d

  Already by some happier bard.

  To modem times, with Truth to guide

  My busy search, I next applied;

  Here cities won, and fleets dispers’d,

  Urg’d loud a claim to be rehears’d,

  Deeds of unperishing renown,

  Our fathers’ triumphs, and our own.

  Thus, as the bee, from bank to bow’r,

  Assiduous sips at ev’ry flow’r,

  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 hi
storic stray’d,

  Siege after siege, fight after fight,

  Contemplating with small delight,

  (For feats of sanguinary hue

  Not 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 t’ ennoble even mine, 30

  In memorable eighty-nine.

  The spring of eighty-nine shall be

  An æra 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 sov’reign’s tutelary care,

  One breath of Heav’n, that cry’d — Restore! 40

  Chas’d, never to assemble more,

  And far 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

  By suff’rers like herself alone,

  Who losing, or supposing lost, 50

  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 chang’d to smiles.

  The eyes that never saw thee, shine

  With joy not unallied to thine,

  Transports not chargeable with art 60

  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 pray’rs,

  That gilds thy features, show in theirs.

  If they, who on thy state attend,

  Awe-struck before thy presence bend,

  ’Tis but the natural effect