Another to the Same. (To Leonora)

Naples, too credulous, ah! boast no more
    The sweet-voiced Siren buried on thy shore,
That, when Parthenope^[1] deceas'd, she gave
    Her sacred dust to a Chalcidic^[2] grave,
For still she lives, but has exchanged the hoarse
    Pausilipo for Tiber's placid course,
Where, idol of all Rome, she now in chains,
    Of magic song both Gods and Men detains.

William Cowper

William Cowper was an English poet and hymnodist known for his contributions to English literature and the Evangelical revival of the 18th century. He suffered from periods of severe depression and mental illness, which influenced much of his work. Despite his struggles, Cowper produced notable works including 'Olney Hymns' in collaboration with John Newton and 'The Task,' which gained considerable popularity. His poetry is often characterized by its introspective, religious, and sometimes melancholic themes.

William Cowper

To Mrs. Unwin.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

On A Plant Of Virgins Bower. Designed To Cover A Garden-Seat.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

Sonnet To George Romney, Esq. On His Picture Of Me In Crayons,

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

A Living And A Dead Faith.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

English

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To Leonora (3)

Naples, too credulous, ah! boast no more
The sweet-voiced Siren buried on thy shore,
That, when Parthenope¹ deceas'd, she gave
Her sacred dust to a Chalcidic² grave,
For still she lives, but has exchanged the hoarse
Pausilipo for Tiber's placid course,
Where, idol of all Rome, she now in chains,
Of magic song both Gods and Men detains.

John Milton

Another to the Same. (To Leonora)

Another Leonora^[1] once inspir'd
    Tasso, with fatal love to frenzy fir'd,
But how much happier, liv'd he now, were he,
    Pierced with whatever pangs for love of Thee!
Since could he hear that heavenly voice of thine,
    With Adriana's lute^[2] of sound divine,
Fiercer than Pentheus'^[3] tho' his eye might roll,
    Or idiot apathy benumb his soul,
You still, with medicinal sounds, might cheer
    His senses wandering in a blind career;
And sweetly breathing thro' his wounded breast,
    Charm, with soul-soothing song, his thoughts to rest.

William Cowper

To Leonora,[1] Singing in Rome.[2]

Angelus unicuique suus (sic credite gentes)
    Obtigit aethereis ales ab ordinibus.
Quid mirum? Leonora tibi si gloria major,
    Nam tua praesentem vox sonat ipsa Deum.
Aut Deus, aut vacui certe mens tertia coeli
    Pertua secreto guttura serpit agens;
Serpit agens, facilisque docet mortalia corda
    Sensim immortali assuescere posse sono.
Quod si cuncta quidem Deus est, per cunctaque fusus,
    In te una loquitur, caetera mutus habet.

William Cowper

Elegy I. To Charles Diodati.[1]

At length, my friend, the far-sent letters come,
Charged with thy kindness, to their destin'd home,
They come, at length, from Deva's^[2] Western side,
Where prone she seeks the salt Vergivian tide.^[3]
Trust me, my joy is great that thou shouldst be,
Though born of foreign race, yet born for me,
And that my sprightly friend, now free to roam,
Must seek again so soon his wonted home.
I well content, where Thames with refluent tide
My native city laves, meantime reside,
Nor zeal nor duty, now, my steps impell
To reedy Cam,^[4] and my forbidden cell.^[5]
Nor aught of pleasure in those fields have I,
That, to the musing bard, all shade deny.
Tis time, that I, a pedant's threats^[6] disdain,
And fly from wrongs, my soul...

William Cowper

To Leonora (2)

Another Leonora¹ once inspir'd
Tasso, with fatal love to frenzy fir'd,
But how much happier, liv'd he now, were he,
Pierced with whatever pangs for love of Thee!
Since could he hear that heavenly voice of thine,
With Adriana's lute² of sound divine,
Fiercer than Pentheus'³ tho' his eye might roll,
Or idiot apathy benumb his soul,
You still, with medicinal sounds, might cheer
His senses wandering in a blind career;
And sweetly breathing thro' his wounded breast,
Charm, with soul-soothing song, his thoughts to rest.

John Milton

In Vita. LXXVI.

Sennuccio, I would have thee know the shame
That's dealt to me, and what a life is mine.
Even as of yore, I struggle, burn and pine.
Laura transports me, I am still the same.
All meekness here, all pride she there became,
Now harsh, now kind, now cruel, now benign;
Here honor clothed her, there a grace divine;
Now gentle, now disdainful of my flame.
Here sweetly did she sing; there sat awhile;
There she turned back, she lingered in this spot.
Here with her splendid eyes my heart she clove.
She uttered there a word, and here did smile.
Here she changed color. Ah, in such fond thought,
Holds me by day and night, our master Love.

Emma Lazarus