William Cowper- Collected Poetical Works

by William Cowper

  To save the supper. Then they came

  With speed enough to quench the flame.

  From hence we first at distant see

  The Apulian hills, well known to me,

  Parched by the sultry western blast;

  And which we never should have past,

  Had not Trivicus by the way

  Received us at the close of day.

  But each was forced at entering here

  To pay the tribute of a tear,

  For more of smoke than fire was seen:

  The hearth was piled with logs so green.

  From hence in chaises we were carried

  Miles twenty-four and gladly tarried

  At a small town, whose name my verse

  (So barbarous is it) can’t rehearse.

  Know it you may by many a sign,

  Water is dearer far than wine.

  There bread is deemed such dainty fair,

  That every prudent traveller

  His wallet loads with many a crust;

  For at Canusium, you might just

  As well attempt to gnaw a stone

  As think to get a morsel down.

  That too with scanty streams is fed;

  Its founder was brave Diomed.

  Good Varius (ah, that friends must part!)

  Here left us all with aching heart.

  At Rubi we arrived that day,

  Well jaded by the length of way,

  And sure poor mortals ne’er were wetter.

  Next day no weather could be better;

  No roads so bad; we scarce could crawl

  Along to fishy Barium’s wall.

  The Ingatians next, who by the rules

  Of common sense are knaves or fools,

  Made all our sides with laughter heave,

  Since we with them must needs believe,

  That incense in their temples burns,

  And without fire to ashes turns.

  To circumcision’s bigots tell

  Such tales! for me, I know full well,

  That in high heaven, unmoved by care,

  The gods eternal quiet share:

  Nor can I deem their spleen the cause

  Why fickle nature breaks her laws.

  Brundusium last we reach: and there

  Stop short the Muse and Traveller.

  THE NINTH SATIRE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE: THE DESCRIPTION OF AN IMPERTINENT. ADAPTED TO THE PRESENT TIMES

  Sauntering along the street one day,

  On trifles musing by the way,

  Up steps a free familiar wight;

  (I scarcely knew the man by sight.)

  ‘Carlos (he cried), your hand, my dear!

  Gad, I rejoice to meet you here!

  Pray heaven I see you well!’ ‘So, so;

  Even well enough as times now go.

  The same good wishes, sir, to you.’

  ‘Sir, you have business, I suppose?’

  ‘My business, sir, is quickly done,

  ’Tis but to make my merit known.

  Sir, I have read — —’ ‘O learned sir,

  You and your learning I revere.’

  Then, sweating with anxiety,

  And sadly longing to get free,

  Gods, how I scampered, scuffled for’t,

  Ran, halted, ran again, stopped short,

  Beckoned my boy, and pulled him near,

  And whispered nothing in his ear.

  Teased with his loose unjointed chat,

  ‘What street is this? What house is that?’

  O Harlow, how I envied thee

  Thy unabashed effrontery,

  Who darest a foe with freedom blame,

  And call a coxcomb by his name!

  When I returned him answer none,

  Obligingly the fool ran on,

  ‘I see you’re dismally distressed,

  Would give the world to be released,

  But, by your leave, sir, I shall still

  Stick to your skirts, do what you will.

  Pray which way does your journey tend?’

  ‘Oh, ’tis a tedious way, my friend,

  Across the Thames, the Lord knows where;

  I would not trouble you so far.’

  ‘Well, I’m at leisure to attend you.’

  ‘Are you? (thought I) the deil befriend you!’

  No ass with double panniers racked,

  Oppressed, o’erladen, broken-backed,

  E’er looked a thousandth part so dull

  As I, nor half so like a fool.

  ‘Sir, I know little of myself

  (Proceeds the pert conceited elf),

  If Gray or Mason you will deem

  Than me more worthy your esteem.

  Poems I write by folios,

  As fast as other men write prose.

  Then I can sing so loud, so clear,

  That Beard cannot with me compare.

  In dancing too I all surpass,

  Not Cooke can move with such a grace.’

  Here I made shift, with much ado,

  To interpose a word or two. —

  ‘Have you no parents, sir, no friends,

  Whose welfare on your own depends?’

  ‘Parents, relations, say you? No.

  They’re all disposed of long ago.’ —

  ‘Happy to be no more perplexed!

  My fate too threatens, I go next.

  Dispatch me, sir, ’tis now too late,

  Alas! to struggle with my fate!

  Well, I’m convinced my time is come.

  When young, a gipsy told my doom;

  The beldame shook her palsied head,

  As she perused my palm, and said,

  ‘Of poison, pestilence, or war,

  Gout, stone, defluxion, or catarrh,

  You have no reason to beware.

  Beware the coxcomb’s idle prate;

  Chiefly, my son, beware of that;

  Be sure, when you behold him, fly

  Out of all earshot, or you dide!’

  To Rufus’ Hall we now draw near,

  Where he was summoned to appear,

  Refute the charge the plaintiff brought,

  Or suffer judgment by default.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, if you love me, wait

  One moment! I’ll be with you straight.’

  Glad of a plausible pretence —

  ‘Sir, I must beg you to dispense

  With my attendance in the court.

  My legs will surely suffer for’t.’ —

  ‘Nay, prithee, Carlos, stop awhile!’

  ‘Faith, sir, in law I have no skill.

  Besides, I have no time to spare,

  I must be going, you know where.’

  ‘Well, I protest, I’m doubtful now,

  Whether to leave my suit or you!’

  ‘Me, without scruple! (I reply)

  Me, by all means, sir!’— ‘No, not I.’

  Allons, Monsieur!’ ‘Twere vain (you know)

  To strive with a victorious foe.

  So I reluctantly obey,

  And follow, where he leads the way.

  ‘You and Newcastle are so close;

  Still hand and glove, sir, I suppose.’

  ‘Newcastle (let me tell you, sir,)

  Has not his equal every where.’

  ‘Well. There indeed your fortune’s made!

  Faith, sir, you understand your trade.

  Would you but give me your good word!

  Just introduce me to my lord.

  I should serve charmingly by way

  Of second fiddle, as they say:

  What think you, sir? ‘twere a good jest,

  ‘Slife, we should quickly scout the rest.’ —

  ‘Sir, you mistake the matter far,

  We have no second fiddles there.’

  ‘Richer than I some folks may be:

  More learned, but it hurts not me.

  Friends though he has of different kind,

  Each has his proper p
lace assigned.’

  ‘Strange matters these alleged by you!’ —

  ‘Strange they may be, but they are true.’ —

  ‘Well, then, I vow, ’tis mighty clever,

  Now I long ten times more than ever

  To be advanced extremely near

  One of his shining character.

  Have but the will — there wants no more,

  ’Tis plain enough you have the power.

  His easy temper (that’s the worst)

  He knows, and is so shy at first.

  But such a cavalier as you —

  Lord, sir, you’ll quickly bring him to!

  Well; if I fail in my design,

  Sir, it shall be no fault of mine.

  If by the saucy servile tribe

  Denied, what think you of a bribe?

  Shut out to-day, not die with sorrow,

  But try my luck again to-morrow.

  Never attempt to visit him

  But at the most convenient time,

  Attend him on each levee day,

  And there my humble duty pay.

  Labour, like this, our want supplies;

  And they must stoop, who mean to rise.’

  While thus he wittingly harangued,

  For which you’ll guess I wished him hanged,

  Campley, a friend of mine, came by,

  Who knew his humour more than I.

  We stop, salute, and— ‘why so fast,

  Friend Carlos? Whither all this haste?’

  Fired at the thoughts of a reprieve,

  I pinch him, pull him, twitch his sleeve,

  Nod, beckon, bite my lips, wink, pout,

  Do everything but speak plain out:

  While he, sad dog, from the beginning

  Determined to mistake my meaning,

  Instead of pitying my curse,

  By jeering made it ten times worse.

  ‘Campley, to what secret (pray!) was that

  You wanted to communicate?’

  ‘I recollect. But ’tis no matter.

  Carlos, we’ll talk of that hereafter.

  E’en let the secret rest. ‘Twill tell

  Another time, sir, just as well.’

  Was ever such a dismal day?

  Unlucky cur, he steals away,

  And leaves me, half bereft of life,

  At mercy of the butcher’s knife;

  When sudden, shouting from afar,

  See his antagonist appear!

  The bailiff seized him quick as thought.

  ‘Ho, Mr. Scoundrel! Are you caught?

  Sir, you are witness to the arrest.’

  ‘Aye, marry, sir, I’ll do my best.’

  The mob huzaas. Away they trudge,

  Culprit and all, before the judge.

  Meanwhile I luckily enough

  Thanks to Apollo) got clear off.

  HORACE, BOOK I. ODE IX.

  Seest thou yon mountain laden with deep snow,

  The groves beneath their fleecy burden bow,

  The streams congeal’d, forget to flow,

  Come, thaw the cold, and lay a cheerful pile

  Of fuel on the hearth;

  Broach the best cask and make old winter smile

  With seasonable mirth.

  This be our part — let Heaven dispose the rest;

  If Jove command, the winds shall sleep,

  That now wage war upon the foamy deep,

  And gentle gales spring from the balmy west.

  E’en let us shift to-morrow as we may,

  When to-morrow’s passed away,

  We at least shall have to say,

  We have lived another day;

  Your auburn locks will soon be silver’d o’er,

  Old age is at our heels, and youth returns no more.

  HORACE, BOOK I. ODE XXXVIII.

  Boy! I detest all Persian fopperies,

  Fillet-bound garlands are to me disgusting;

  Task not thyself with any search, I charge thee,

  Where latest roses linger.

  Bring me alone (for thou wilt find that readily)

  Plain myrtle. Myrtle neither will disparage

  Thee occupied to serve me, or me drinking

  Beneath my vine’s cool shelter.

  HORACE, BOOK II. ODE XVI.

  Ease is the weary merchant’s prayer,

  Who ploughs by night the Ægean flood,

  When neither moon nor stars appear,

  Or faintly glimmer through the cloud.

  For ease the Mede with quiver graced,

  For ease the Thracian hero sighs,

  Delightful ease all pant to taste,

  A blessing which no treasure buys.

  For neither gold can lull to rest,

  Nor all a Consul’s guard beat off

  The tumults of a troubled breast,

  The cares that haunt a gilded roof.

  Happy the man whose table shows

  A few clean ounces of old plate,

  Nor fear intrudes on his repose,

  Nor sordid wishes to be great.

  Poor short-lived things, what plans we lay

  Ah, why forsake our native home?

  To distant climates speed away;

  For self sticks close where’er we roam.

  Care follows hard, and soon o’ertakes

  The well-rigg’d ship, the warlike steed;

  Her destined quarry ne’er forsakes —

  Not the wind flies with half her speed.

  From anxious fears of future ill

  Guard well the cheerful, happy now;

  Gild e’en your sorrows with a smile,

  No blessing is unmix’d below.

  Thy neighing steeds and lowing herds,

  Thy numerous flocks around thee graze,

  And the best purple Tyre affords

  Thy robe magnificent displays.

  One me indulgent Heaven bestow’d

  A rural mansion, neat and small;

  This lyre; — and as for yonder crowd,

  The happiness to hate them all.

  TRANSLATION FROM VIRGIL. ÆNEID, BOOK VIII. LINE 18.

  Thus Italy was moved — nor did the chief

  Æneas in his mind less tumult feel.

  On every side his anxious thought he turns,

  Restless, unfix’d, not knowing which to choose.

  And as a cistern that in brim of brass

  Confines the crystal flood, if chance the sun

  Smite on it, or the moon’s resplendent orb.

  The quivering light now flashes on the walls,

  Now leaps uncertain to the vaulted roof:

  Such were the wavering motions of his mind.

  ’Twas night — and weary nature sunk to rest.

  The birds, the bleating flocks, were heard no more.

  At length, on the cold ground, beneath the damp

  And dewy vault fast by the river’s brink,

  The father of his country sought repose,

  When lo! among the spreading poplar boughs,

  Forth from his pleasant stream, propitious rose

  The god of Tiber: clear transparent gauze

  Infolds his loins, his brows with reeds are crown’d:

  And these his gracious words to soothe his care:

  ‘Heaven-born, who bring’st our kindred home again,

  Rescued, and givest eternity to Troy,

  Long have Laurentum and the Latian plains

  Expected thee; behold thy fix’d abode.

  Fear not the threats of war, the storm is past,

  The gods appeased. For proof that what thou hear’st

  Is no vain forgery or delusive dream,

  Beneath the grove that borders my green bank,

  A milk-white swine, with thirty milk-white young

  Shall greet thy wondering eyes. Mark well the place;

  For ’tis thy place of rest, there and thy toils:

  There, twice ten years elapsed, fair Alba’s walls

  Shall rise, fai
r Alba, by Ascanius’ hand.

  Thus shall it be — now listen, while I teach

  The means to accomplish these events at hand

  The Arcadians here, a race from Pallas sprung,

  Following Evander’s standard and his fate,

  High on these mountains, a well chosen spot,

  Have built a city, for their grandsire’s sake

  Named Pallenteum. These perpetual war

  Wage with the Latians: join’d in faithful league

  And arms confederate, and them to your camp.

  Myself between my winding banks will speed

  Your well oar’d barks to stem the opposing tide.

  Rise, goddess born, arise; and with the first

  Declining stars seek Juno in thy prayer,

  And vanquish all her wrath with suppliant vows

  When conquest crowns thee, then remember me

  I am the Tiber, whose cærulean stream

  Heaven favors; I with copious flood divide

  These grassy banks, and cleave the fruitful meads

  My mansion, this — and lofty cities crown

  My fountain head.’ — He spoke and sought the deep,

  And plunged his form beneath the closing flood.

  Æneas at the morning dawn awoke,

  And, rising, with uplifted eye beheld

  The orient sun, then dipped his palms, and scoop’d

  The brimming stream, and thus address’d teh skies:

  ‘Ye nymphs, Laurentian nymphs, who feed the source

  Of many a stream, and thou, with thy blest flood,

  O Tiber, hear, accept me, and afford,

  At length afford, a shelter from my woes.

  Where’er in secret cavern under ground

  Thy waters sleep, where’er they spring to light,

  Since thou hast pity for a wretch like me,

  My offerings and my vows shall wait thee still:

  Great horned Father of Hesperian floods,

  Be gracious now, and ratify thy word.’

  He said, and chose two galleys from his fleet,

  Fits them with oars, and clothes the crew in arms

  When lo! astonishing and pleasing sight,

  The milk-white dam, with her unspotted brood,

  Lay stretch’d upon the bank, beneath the grove.

  To thee, the pious Prince, Juno, to thee

  Devotes them all, all on thine altar bleed.

  That live-long night old Tiber smooth’d his flood,

  And so restrain’d it that it seem’d to stand

  Motionless as a pool, or silent lake,

  That not a billow might resist their oars.

  With cheerful sound of exhortation soon

  Their voyage they begin; the pitchy keel