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 own’st that praise, I spare thee mine.
TO JOHN JOHNSON ON HIS PRESENTING ME WITH AN ANTIQUE BUST OF HOMER
[Written May 22,1793. Published by Hayley, 1803. There is a copy among the Ash MSS.]
KINSMAN belov’d, and as a son, by me!
When I behold this fruit of thy regard,
The sculptur’d form of my old fav’rite bard,
I rev’rence 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
With 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, 10
Handling his gold, which, howsoe’er it shine,
Proves dross, when balanc’d in the Christian scale.
Be wiser thou — like our fore-father DONNE,
Seek heav’nly wealth, and work for God alone.
TO A YOUNG FRIEND ON HIS ARRIVING AT CAMBRIDGE WET, WHEN NO RAIN HAD FALLEN THERE
[Written May, 1793. Published by Hayley, 1803.]
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 heav’nly gifts, to heathens not allow’d;
In pledge, perhaps, of favours from on high,
Thy locks were wet, when other locks were dry.
Heav’n grant us half the omen — may we see
Not drought on others, but much dew on thee! 8
A TALE
[Written June, 1793. Published by Hayley, 1803.]
IN Scotland’s realm, where trees are few,
Nor even shrubs abound;
But where, however bleak the view,
Some better things are found: —
For husband there and wife may boast
Their union undefil’d;
And false ones are as rare almost,
As hedge-rows in the wild: — 8
In Scotland’s realm, forlorn and bare,
This hist’ry chanc’d of late, —
This hist’ry of a wedded pair,
A chaffinch and his mate.
The spring drew near, each felt a breast
With genial instinct fill’d;
They pair’d, and only wish’d a nest,
But found not where to build. 16
The heaths uncover’d, 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 tir’d;
At length a ship arriving brought
The good so long desir’d. 24
A ship! — could such a restless thing,
Afford them place of rest?
Or was the merchant charg’d to bring
The homeless birds a nest?
Hush! — silent hearers profit most! —
This racer of the sea
Prov’d kinder to them than the coast,
It serv’d them with a tree. 32
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.
Within that cavity aloft
Their roofless home they fixt;
Form’d with materials neat and soft,
Bents, wool, and feathers mixt. 40
Four iv’ry 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 chang’d her kind;
But goes the mate? Far wiser he
Is doubtless left behind. 48
No! — soon as from ashore he saw
The winged mansion move;
He flew to reach it, hy 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. 56
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! 64
Hail! honour’d land! a desert, where
Not even birds can hide;
Yet parent of this loving pair,
Whom nothing could divide:
And ye, who rather than resign
Your matrimonial plan,
Were not afraid to plough the brine,
In company with man; 72
To 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! 80
TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. IN REPLY TO HIS SOLICITATION TO WRITE WITH HIM IN A LITERARY WORK
[Written June 29, 1793, in letter to Hayley. Published by Hayley, 1803. There is a copy among the Ash MSS.]
DEAR architect of fine Chateaux en l’air,
Worthier to stand for ever, if they could,
Than any built with stone, or yet with wood
For back of royal elephant to bear! —
Oh for my youth again, that I might share,
Much to my own, tho’ 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, 10
Bards, I acknowledge, of unequall’d worth,
But what is commentator’s happiest praise?
That he has furnish’d lights for others’ eyes,
Which they who need them use, and then despise.
ON A SPANIEL CALLED BEAU KILLING A YOUNG BIRD
[Written July 15, 1793. Published by Hayley, 1803.]
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. 8
Nor did you kill, that you might eat,
And ease a doggish pain,
For him, though chas’d with furious heat,
You left where he 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. 16
My dog! what remedy remains,
Since, teach you all I can,
I see you, after all my pains,
So much resemble man!
BEAU’S REPLY
[Written July, 1793. Published by Hayley, 1803.]
SIR! when I flew to seize the bird,
In spite of your command,
A louder voice than yours I heard,
And harder to withstand:
You cried — Forbear! — but in my breast
A mightier cried — Proceed!
’Twas nature, Sir, whose st
rong behest
Impell’d me to the deed. 8
Yet much as nature I respect,
I ventur’d once to break
(As you perhaps may recollect)
Her precept, for your sake;
And when your linnet, on a day,
Passing his prison-door,
Had flutter’d all his strength away,
And panting press’d the floor, 16
Well knowing him a sacred thing,
Not destin’d to my tooth,
I only kiss’d his ruffled wing,
And lick’d the feathers smooth.
Let my obedience then excuse
My disobedience now,
Nor some reproof yourself refuse
From your aggriev’d Bow-wow! 24.
If killing birds be such a crime,
(Which I can hardly see)
What think you, Sir, of killing Time
With verse address’d to me?
INSCRIPTION FOR A BUST OF HOMER
[Written in letters to Hayley, July 24 and Aug. 15, 1793.Published by Hayley, 1803.]
TRANSLATION
The sculptor? — Nameless, though once dear to fame;
But this man bears an everlasting name.
ANSWER TO STANZAS ADDRESSED TO LADY HESKETH BY MISS CATHARINE FANSHAWE
In returning a poem of Mr. Cowper’s, lent to her on condition she should neither show it, nor take a copy.
[Written Aug., 1793. Published by Hayley, 1803. See note on pages 659-61]
To be remember’d thus is fame,
And in the first degree;
And did the few like her the same,
The press might sleep for me.
So Homer, in the mem’ry stor’d
Of many a Grecian belle,
Was once preserv’d — a richer hoard,
But never lodg’d so well. 8
TO MARY
[Written in the autumn of 1793. Published by Hayley, 1803. There is a MS. copy in the Cowper Museum at Olney, from which the tenth verse was first printed by T. Wright in 1900.]
THE twentieth year is well-nigh past,
Since first our sky was overcast;
Ah would that this might be the last!
My Mary!
Thy spirits have a fainter flow,
I see thee daily weaker grow —
’Twas my distress that brought thee low,
My Mary! 8
Thy needles, once a shining store,
For my sake restless heretofore,
Now rust disus’d, and shine no more.
My Mary!
For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil
The same kind office for me still,
Thy sight now seconds not thy will,
My Mary! 16
But well thou play’d’st 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, whate’er the theme,
My Mary! 24
Thy silver locks, once auburn bright,
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! 32
Partakers of thy sad decline,
Thy hands their little force resign;
Yet, gently prest, press gently mine,
My Mary!
And then I feel that still I hold
A richer store ten thousandfold
Than misers fancy in their gold,
My Mary! 40
Such feebleness of limbs thou prov’st,
That now at every step thou mov’st
Upheld by two; yet still thou lov’st,
My Mary!
And still to love, though prest with ill,
In wintry age to feel no chill,
With me is to be lovely still,
My Mary! 48
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 he cast
With much resemblance of the past,
Thy worn-out heart will break at last,
My Mary! 56
LINES WRITTEN ON A WINDOW-SHUTTER AT WESTON
[Written July 27, 1795. 11. 3-6 published in Corry’s Life of Cowper, 1803.]
FAREWELL, dear scenes, for ever closed to me,
Oh, for what sorrows must I now exchange ye!
Me miserable! how could I escape
Infinite wrath and infinite despair!
Whom Death, Earth, Heaven, and Hell consigned to ruin,
Whose friend was God, but God swore not to aid me! 6
MONTES GLACIALES IN OCEANO GERMANICO NATANTES
[In Norfolk MS. Written March 11, 1799. Published by Hayley, 1803.]
EN, quæ prodigia, ex oris allata remotis,
Oras adveniunt pavefacta per æquora nostras!
Non equidem priscæ sæclum rediisse videtur
Pyrrhæ, cum Proteus pecus altos visere montes
Et sylvas egit: sed tempora vix leviora
Adsunt, evulsi quando radicitus alti
In mare descendunt montes, fluctusque pererrant.
Quid vero hoc monstri est magis et mirahile visu?
Splendentes video, ceu pulchro ex ære vel auro
Conflatos, rutilisque accinctos undique gemmis, 10
Bacca cærulea, et flammas imitante pyropo.
Ex oriente adsunt, ubi gazas optima tellus
Parturit omnigenas, quibus æva per omnia sumptu
Ingenti finxere sibi diademata reges?
Vix hoc crediderim. Non fallunt talia acutos
Mercatorum oculos: prius et quam littora Gangis
Liquissent, avidis gratissima præda fuissent.
Ortos unde putemus? An illos Vesvius atrox
Protulit, ignivomisve ejecit faucibus Ætna?
Luce micant propria, Phœbive, per aera purum 20
Nunc stimulantis equos, argentea tela rétorquent?
Phœbi luce micant. Ventis et fluctibus al tis
Appulsi, et rapidis subter currentibus undis,
Tandem non fallunt oculos. Capita alta videre est
Multa onerata nive, et canis conspersa pruinis.
Cætera sunt glacies. Procul hinc, ubi bruma fere omnes
Contristat menses, portenta hæc horrida nobis
Illa strui voluit. Quoties de culmine summo
Clivorum fluerent in littora prona, solut
ÆSole, nives, propero tendentes in mare cursu, 30
Illa gelu fixit. Paulatim attollere sese
Mirum cœpit opus; glacieque ah origine rerum
In glaciem aggesta, sublimes vertice tandem
Æquavit montes non crescere nescia moles.
Sic immensa diu stetit, æternumque 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 fragore,
Dum ruit in pelagum, tanquam studiosa natandi,
Ingens tota strues. Sic Delos dicitur olim, 41
Insula, in Ægæo fluitasse erratica ponto.
Sed non ex glacie Delos; neque torpida Delum
Bruma inter rapes genuit nudum sterilemque.
Sed vestita herbis erat ilia, ornataque nunquam
Decidua lauro; et Delum dilexit Apollo.
At vos, errones horrendi, et caligine digni
Cimmeria, Deus idem odit. Natalia vestra,
Nubibus involvens frontem, non ille tueri
Sustinuit. Patrium vos ergo requirite cælum! 50
Ite
! Redite! Timete moras; ni, leniter austro
Spirante, et nitidas Phoebo jaculante sagittas
Hostili vobis, pereatis gurgite misti!
TRANSLATION ON THE ICE ISLANDS SEEN FLOATING IN THE GERMAN OCEAN
[In Norfolk MS., dated March 19, 1799. Published by Hayley, 1803.]
WHAT portents, from what distant region, ride,
Unseen till now in ours, th’ astonish’d tide?
In ages past, old Proteus, with his droves
Of sea-calves, sought the mountains and the groves:
But now, descending whence of late they stood,
Themselves the mountains seem to rove the flood.
Dire times were they, full-charg’d with human woes;
And these, scarce less calamitous than those.
What view we now? More wondrous still! Behold!
Like burnish’d brass they shine, or beaten gold; 10
And all around the pearl’s pure splendour 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
The brows of mightiest potentates, are found?
No. Never such a countless dazzling store
Had left unseen the Ganges’ peopled shore.
Rapacious hands, and ever-watchful eyes, 19
Should sooner far have mai-k’d and seiz’d the prize.
Whence sprang they then? Ejected have they come
From Ves’vius’, or from Ætna’s burning womb?
Thus shine they self-illum’d, or but display
The borrow’d splendours of a cloudless day?
William Cowper- Collected Poetical Works Page 56
