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

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 The Reverend Mr. Newton. An Invitation Into The Country.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

The Poplar Field.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

On the Death of the Bishop of Ely.[1] Anno Aetates 17.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

Not Of Works.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

English

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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

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

Translations Of The Italian Poems

I

Fair Lady, whose harmonious name the Rheno
    Through all his grassy vale delights to hear,
    Base were, indeed, the wretch, who could forbear
    To love a spirit elegant as thine,
That manifests a sweetness all divine,
    Nor knows a thousand winning acts to spare,
    And graces, which Love's bow and arrows are,
    Temp'ring thy virtues to a softer shine.
When gracefully thou speak'st, or singest gay
    Such strains as might the senseless forest move,
    Ah then--turn each his eyes and ears away,
Who feels himself unworthy of thy love!
    Grace can alone preserve him, e'er the dart
    Of fond desire yet reach his inmost heart.

II

As on a hill-top rude, when closing day
    Imbrowns the scene, some past'ral maiden fair
...

William Cowper

Elegy VI. Anno Aetates Undevigesimo.[1]

As yet a stranger to the gentle fires
That Amathusia's smiling Queen^[2] inspires,
Not seldom I derided Cupid's darts,
And scorn'd his claim to rule all human hearts.
Go, child, I said, transfix the tim'rous dove,
An easy conquest suits an infant Love;
Enslave the sparrow, for such prize shall be
Sufficient triumph to a Chief like thee;
Why aim thy idle arms at human kind?
Thy shafts prevail not 'gainst the noble mind.        
    The Cyprian^[3] heard, and, kindling into ire,
(None kindles sooner) burn'd with double fire.
    It was the Spring, and newly risen day
Peep'd o'er the hamlets on the First of May;
My eyes too tender for the blaze of light,
Still sought the shelter of retiring night,
When Love approach'd, in painted plumes arraye...

William Cowper

To The Same. (Lines Addressed To Miss Theodora Jane Cowper.)

How quick the change from joy to woe,
How chequerd is our lot below!
Seldom we view the prospect fair;
Dark clouds of sorrow, pain, and care
(Some pleasing intervals between),
Scowl over more than half the scene.
Last week with Delia, gentle maid!
Far hence in happier fields I strayd.
Five suns successive rose and set,
And saw no monarch in his state,
Wrapt in the blaze of majesty,
So free from every care as I.
Next day the scene was overcast
Such day till then I never passd,
For on that day, relentless fate!
Delia and I must separate.
Yet ere we lookd our last farewell,
From her dear lips this comfort fell,
Fear not that time, whereer we rove,
Or absence, shall abate my love.

William Cowper

The White Doe Of Rylstone, Or, The Fate Of The Nortons - Dedication

In trellised shed with clustering roses gay,
And, MARY! oft beside our blazing fire,
When yeas of wedded life were as a day
Whose current answers to the heart's desire,
Did we together read in Spenser's Lay
How Una, sad of soul, in sad attire,
The gentle Una, of celestial birth,
To seek her Knight went wandering o'er the earth.

Ah, then, Beloved! pleasing was the smart,
And the tear precious in compassion shed
For Her, who, pierced by sorrow's thrilling dart,
Did meekly bear the pang unmerited;
Meek as that emblem of her lowly heart
The milk-white Lamb which in a line she led,,
And faithful, loyal in her innocence,
Like the brave Lion slain in her defence.

Notes could we hear as of a faery shell
Attuned to words with sacred wisdom fraught;

William Wordsworth