For oh, how grateful to a wounded heart
The tale of mifery to impart!
From others' eyes bid artless forrows flow,
And raise esteem upon the base of woe!
Ev'n He*, the nobleft of the tuneful throng,
Shall deign my love-lorn tale to hear,
Shall catch the loft contagion of my song.
And pay my penfive Muse the tribute of a tear.

§ 106. An Ode to Narciffa. SMOLLET. THY fatal (hafts unerring move;

I bow before thine altar, Love!
I feel thy foft refiftlefs flame
Glide fwift thro' all my vital frame!
For while I gaze my bofom glows,
My blood in tides impetuous flows;
Hope, fear, and joy, alternate roll,
And floods of tranfport whelm my foul!
My fault ring tongue attempts in vain
In foothing murmurs to complain;
My tongue fome fecret magic ties,
My murmurs fink in broken fighs!
Condemn'd to nurse eternal care,
And ever drop the filent tear;
Unheard I mourn, unknown I figh,
Unfriended live, unpitied die!

107. Elegy in Imitation of Tibullus. SMOLLET. W THERE now are all my flatt'ring dreams of

joy?

Fir'd with a zeal peculiar, they defy
The rage and rigour of a polar fky,
And plant fuccefsfully fweet Sharon's rofe
On icy plains, and in eternal fnows.
Oh, bleft within th' inclosure of your rocks,
Nor herds have ye to boast, nor bleating flocks;
No fertilizing streams your fields divide.
That fhew revers'd the villas on their fide;
No groves have ye; no cheerful found of bird,
Or voice of turtle, in your land is heard;
Nor grateful eglantine regales the smell
Of thofe that walk at ev'ning where you dwell:
But winter, arm'd with terrors here unknown,
Sits abfolute on his unfhaken throne;
Piles up his ftores amidst the frozen wafte,
And bids the mountains he has built stand fast;
Beckons the legions of his ftorms away
From happier fcenes, to make your land a prey;
Proclaims the foil a conqueft he has won,
And fcorns to fhare it with the distant fun.

Yet truth is yours, remote, unenvied ifle;
And peace, the genuine offspring of her fmile:
The pride of letter'd ignorance, that binds
In chains of error our accomplish'd minds;
That decks with all the splendour of the true
A falfe religion-is unknown to you.
Nature indeed vouchfafes for our delight
The fweet viciffitudes of day and night;
Soft airs and genial moisture feed and cheer
Field, fruit, and flow'r, and ev'ry creature here;
But brighter beams than his who fires the skies
Have ris'n at length on your admiring eyes,
That fhoot into your darkest caves the day
From which our nicer optics turn away.

$109. On Slavery, and the Slave Trade. CowPER.
BUT, ah! what with can profper, or what

pray'r,

For merchants, rich in cargoes of despair,
Who drive a loath fome traffic, gage and fpan,
And buy the muscles and the bones of man?

Monimia, give my foul her wonted rest:
Since first thy beauty fix'd my roving eye,
Heart-gnawing cares corrode my penfive breaft.
Let happy lovers fly where pleasures call,
With feftive fongs beguile the fleeting hour,
Lead beauty thro' the mazes of the ball,
Or prefs her wanton in love's roseate bow'r.
For me, no more I'll range th' empurpled mead,The tender ties of father, husband, friend,
Where thepherds pipe and virgins dance around, All bonds of nature in that moment end;
Nor wander thro' the woodbine's fragrant shade, And each endures, while yet he draws his breath,
To hear the music of the grove refound.
A ftroke as fatal as the fcythe of death.
I'll feek fome lonely church, or dreary hall, The fable warrior, frantic with regret
Where fancy paints the glimm'ring taper blue,Of her he loves, and never can forget,
Where damps hang mould ring on the ivy'd wall, Lofes in tears the far receding shore,
And theeted gholts drink up the midnight dew: But not the thought, that they must meet no
Awhile in filence o'er my fate repine: [pair, Yes, to deep fadnefs fullenly refign'd,
There, leagu'd with hopeless anguish and def-Depriv'd of her and freedom at a blow, [more.

Then, with a long farewel to love and care,
To kindred dust my weary limbs confign.
Wilt thou, Monimia, fhed a gracious tear
On the cold grave where all my forrows reft;
Strew vernal flow'rs, applaud my love fincere,
And bid the turf lie easy on my breast?

What has he left that he can yet forego?

He feels his body's bondage in his mind;
Puts off his gen'rous nature, and to fuit
His manners with his fate, puts on the brute.
Oh most degrading of all ills that wait
On man, a mourner in his best estate!
All other forrows virtue may endure,
And find submission more than half a cure;

§ 108. The Propagation of the Gospel in Greenland. Grief is itself a med'cine, and bestow'd

CowPER. T'improve the fortitude that bears a load; AND ftill it spreads. See Germany fend forth To teach the wand'rer, as his woes increase, Her fons, to pour it on the fartheft north+: The path of wisdom, all whose paths are peace.

* Lord Lyttleton:

†The Moravian missionaries in Greenland; Vide Krantz.

But

But flav'ry-virtue dreads it as her grave;
Patience itself is meannefs, in a flave:
Or if the will and fovereignty of God
Bid fuffer it awhile, and kifs the rod;
Wait for the dawning of a brighter day,
And fnap the chain the moment when you may.
Nature imprints upon whate'er we fee,
That has a heart, and life in it, Be free!
The beats are charter'd-neither age nor force
Can quell the love of freedom in a horse:
He breaks the cord that held him at the rack,
And, confcious of an unencumber'd back,
Snuffs up the morning air, forgets the rein,
Loote fy his forelock and his ample mane;
Refponfive to the diftant neigh he neighs,
Nor ftops till, overleaping all delays,
He finds the pafture where his fellows graze.

་

$110. On Liberty, and in Praife of Mr. Howard.
COWPER.

O could I worship ought beneath the skies
That earth hath feen, or fancy could devife,
Thine altar, facred Liberty, should stand,
Built by no mercenary, vulgar hand.
With fragrant turf, and flow'rs as wild and fair
As ever drefs'd a bank, or fcented fummer air.
Duly as ever on the mountain's height
The peep of morning fhed a dawning light;
Again, when evening in her fober vest
Drew the grey curtain of the fading Weft;
My foul fhould yield thee willing thanks and
For the chief bleflings of my faireft days: [praife
But that were facrilege-praife is not thine,
But his who gave thee, and preferves thee mine:
Elfe I would fay, and as I ipake bid fly
A captive bird into the boundlefs fky,
This triple realm adores thee-thou art come
From Sparta hither, and art here at home;
We feel thy force ftill active, at this hour
Enjoy immunity from priestly pow'r;
While confcience, happier than in ancient years,
Owns no fuperior but the God the fears.
Propitious Spirit! yet expunge a wrong
Thy rites have fuffer'd, and our land, too long;
Teach mercy to ten thoufand hearts that thare
The fears and hopes of a commercial care:
Prifons expect the wicked, and were built
To bind the lawlefs, and to punish guilt;
But fhipwreck, earthquake, battle, fire, and flood,
Are mighty mifchiefs, not to be withstood:
And honeft merit ftands on flipp'ry ground
Where covert guile, and artifice abound:
Let juft reftraint, for public peace defign'd,
Chain up the wolves and tigers of mankind;
The foe of virtue has no claim to thee,
But let infolvent innocence go free.

Patron of elfe the moft defpis'd of men,
Accept the tribute of a ftranger's pen;
Verfe, like the laurel, its immortal meed,
Should be the guerdon of a noble deed :
I may alarm thee, but I fear the shame
(Charity chofen as my theme and aim)
I must incur, forgetting Howard's name.
Bleft with all wealth can give thee to refign
Joys, doubly sweet to feelings quick as thine;

To quit the blifs thy rural fcenes bestow
To feek a nobler, amidft fcenes of woe; [home,
To traverse feas, range kingdoms, and bring
Not the proud monuments of Greece or Rome,
But knowledge, fuch as only dungeons teach,
And only fympathy like thine could reach;
That grief, fequefter'd from the public ftage,
Might fmooth her feathers, and enjoy her cage-
Speaks a divine ambition, and a zeal
The boldest patriot might be proud to feel,
Oh that the voice of clamour and debate,
That pleads for peace till it disturbs the state,
Were hush'd, in favour of thy gen'rous plea,
The poor thy clients, and Heaven's fmile thy fee!

§ 111. On Demeftic Happiness, as the Friend of
Virtue; and of the falje Good-nature of the
Age.
COWPER.

D° OMESTIC happiness, thou only blifs
Of Paradife that has furviv'd the fall!
Tho' few now tafte thee unimpair'd and pure,
Or, tafting, long enjoy thee; too infirm
Or too incautious to preferve thy fweets
Unmix'd with drops of bitter, which neglect
Or temper fheds into thy chrystal cup.
Thou art the nurse of virtue. In thine arms
She smiles, appearing, as in truth the is,
Heaven-born, and destin'd to the fkies again.
Thou art not known where Pleafure is ador'd,
That reeling goddess with the zoneless wait
And wand'ring eyes, ftili leaning on the arm
Of Novelty, her fickle, frail fupport;
For thou art meek and conftant, hating change
And finding in the calm of truth-tied love
Joys that her formy raptures never yield.
Forfaking thee, what thipwreck have we made
Of honour, dignity, and fair renown,
Till proftitution elbows us afide
In all our crowded streets, and fenates seem
Conven'd for purpofes of empire lefs
Than to release th' adult refs from her bond!
Th' adult'refs! what a theme for angry verle,
What provocation to the indignant heart
That feels for injur'd love! But I disdain
The naufeous talk to paint her as the is,
Cruel, abandon'd, glorying in her fhame.
No. Let her país; and, charioted along,
In guilty fplendour thake the public ways:
The frequency of crimes has wafh'd them white;
And verfe of mine thall never brand the wretch
Whom matrons now, of character unfmirch'd,
And chafte themselves, are not afham'd to own,
Virtue and vice had bound'ries in old time
Not to be pafs'd; and the that had renounc'd
Her fex's honour, was renounc'd herself
By all that priz'd it; not for Prudery's fake,
But Diguity's refentful of the wrong.
Twas hard, perhaps, on here and there a waif
Defirous to return, and not receiv'd;
But was an wholefome rigour in the main,
And taught th' unblemih'd to preferve with
That purity, whofe lofs was lofs of all.
Men too were nice in honour in thofe days,
| And judg'd offenders well: and he that tharp'd
And pocketed a prize by fraud obtain'd,

[care

Was

Was mark'd, and fhunn'd as odious. He that fold
His country, or was flack when the requir'd
His ev'ry nerve in action and at stretch,
Paid with the blood that he had basely spar'd
The price of his default. But now-yes, now,
We are become fo candid and so fair,
So liberal in conftruction, and fo rich
In Chriftian charity, a good-natur'd age!
That they are fafe: finners of either fex [bred,
Tranfgrefs what laws they may. Well drefs'd,well
Well equipag'd, is ticket good enough
To pafs us readily through ev'ry door.
Hypocrify, deteft her as we may,
(And no man's hatred ever wrong'd her yet)
May claim this merit ftill, that the admits
The worth of what the mimics with fuch care,
And thus gives virtue indirect applaufe:
But he has burnt her masks, not needed here,
Where vice has fuch allowance, that her shifts
And specious semblances have loft their use.

§ 112. On the Employments of what is called an
Idle Life.
COWPER.
How various his employments whom the world

Calls idle,
in return,
Efteems that busy world an idler too!
Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen,
Delightful industry enjoy'd at home,
And nature in her cultivated trim
Drefs'd to his taste, inviting him abroad—
Can he want occupation who has these?
Will he be idle who has much t' enjoy?
Me therefore, ftudious of laborious ease,
Not flothful; happy to deceive the time,
Nor waste it, and aware that human life
Is but a loan to be repaid with use,
When he thall call his debtors to account
From whom are all our bleifings-bufinefs finds
Ev'n here. While fedulous I feek t' improve,
At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd
The mind he gave me; driving it, though flack
Too oft, and much impeded in its work
By caufes not to be divulg'd in vain,
To its just point-the fervice of mankind.
He that attends to his interior felf,
That has a heart, and keeps it; has a mind
That hungers, and fupplies it; and who feeks
A social, not a diffipated life-

Has bufinets; feels himself engag'd t' achieve
No unimportant, though a filent talk.
A life all turbulence and noife may feem,
To him that leads it, wife, and to be prais'd;
But wifdom is a pearl with moft fuccefs
Sought in ftill water, and beneath clear skies.
He that is ever occupied in storms
Or dives not for it, or brings up instead,
Vainly induftrious, a difgraceful prize.

113. The Poft comes in-the News paper is
read-The World contemplated at a distance.
CowPER.

HARK! 'tis the twanging horn! o'er yonder
bridge,
That with its wearifome but needful length

Beatrides the wint'ry flood, in which the moon
Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright,
He comes, the heraid of a noify world, [locks,
With fpatter'd boots, ftrapp'd waift, and frozen
News from all nations lumb'ring at his back.
True to his charge, the clofe-pack'd load behind
Yet careless what he brings, his one concern
Is to conduct it to the deftin'd inn;
And, having dropp'd th' expected bag, pafs on.
He whittles as he goes, light-hearted wretch,
Cold, and yet cheerful; meffenger of grief
Perhaps to thoufands, and of joy to some;
To him indiff'rent whether grief or joy.
Houfes in afhes, and the fall of stocks,
Births, deaths, and marriages, epiles wet
With tears that trickled down the writer's cheeks
Faft as the periods from his fluent quill,
Or charg`d with am'rous fighs of abfent fwains,
Or nymphs refpontive, equally affect
His horfe and him, unconscious of them all.
But oh th' important budget! ufher'd in
With fuch heart-thaking mufic, who can fay
What are its tidings: have our troops awak'd!
Or do they still, as if with opium drugg'd,

Snore to the murmurs of th' Atlantic wave?
Is India free? and does the wear her plum'd
And jewell'd turban with a fmile of peace,
Or do we grind her ftill? The grand debate,
The popular harangue, the tart reply,
The logic, and the wifdom, and the wit,
And the loud laugh-I long to know them all;
I burn to fet th' imprifon'd wranglers free,
And give them voice and utt'rance once again.

Now itir the fire, and close the fhutters faft
Let fall the curtains, wheel the fofa round,
And while the bubbling and lou !-hiffing urn
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups
That cheer, but not inebriate, wait on each,
So let us welcome peaceful ev'ning in.
Not fuch his ev'ning who, with thining face,
Sweats in the crowded theatre, and fqueez'd,
And bor'd with elbow-points thro'both his fides,
Outfcolds the ranting actor on the stage.
Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb,
And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath
Of patriots bursting with heroic rage,
Or placemen all tranquillity and fimiles.
This folio of four pages, happy work!
Which not ev'n critics criticife, that holds
Inquifitive attention, while I read,

Fait bound in chains of filence, which the fair,
Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break-
What is it but a map of bufy life,
Its fluctuations, and its vaft concerns?
Here runs the mountainous and craggy ridge
That tempts ambition. On the fummit, fee
The feals of office glitter in his eyes; [heels,
He climbs, he pants, he grafps them. At his
Clofe at his heels, a demagogue afcends,
And with a dext'rous jerk foon twifts him down,
And wins them, but to lofe them in his turn.

Here rills of oily cloquence in foft
Meanders lubricate the courfe they take:
The modeft fpeaker is atham'd and griev`d

T'engross

My fon," he cried, "obferve this mien with "In folemn lines the ftrong refemblance draw; "The piercing notes fhall ftrike each British ear,

Each British eye fhall drop the patriot tear! "And, rous'd to glory by the nervous strain, "Each youth fhall fpurn at flavery's abject reign; "Shall guard with Cato's zeal Britannia's laws, of" And Ipeak, and act, and bleed, in freedom's