Boadicea. An Ode.

When the British warrior queen,
Bleeding from the Roman rods,
Sought, with an indignant mien,
Counsel of her countrys gods,


Sage beneath the spreading oak
Sat the Druid, hoary chief;
Every burning word he spoke
Full of rage, and full of grief.


Princess! if our aged eyes
Weep upon thy matchless wrongs,
Tis because resentment ties
All the terrors of our tongues.


Rome shall perishwrite that word
In the blood that she has spilt;
Perish, hopeless and abhorrd,
Deep in ruin as in guilt.


Rome, for empire far renownd,
Tramples on a thousand states;
Soon her pride shall kiss the ground
Hark! the Gaul is at her gates!


Other Romans shall arise,
Heedless of a soldiers name;
Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,
Harmony the path to fame.


Then the progeny that springs
From the forests of our land,
Armd with thunder, clad with wings,
Shall a wider world command.


Regions Cæsar never knew
Thy posterity shall sway;
Where his eagles never flew,
None invincible as they.


Such the bards prophetic words,
Pregnant with celestial fire,
Bending as he swept the chords
Of his sweet but awful lyre.


She, with all a monarchs pride,
Felt them in her bosom glow:
Rushd to battle, fought, and died:
Dying, hurld them at the foe.


Ruffians, pitiless as proud,
Heaven awards the vengeance due;
Empire is on us bestowd,
Shame and ruin wait for you.

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

The Doves.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

The Judgment Of The Poets.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

Verses Selected From An Occasional Poem Entitled Valediction.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

To Giovanni Battista Manso, Marquis of Villa.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

English

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Boädicéa

While about the shore of Mona those Neronian legionaries
Burnt and broke the grove and altar of the Druid and Druidess,
Far in the East Boädicéa, standing loftily charioted,
Mad and maddening all that heard her in her fierce volubility,
Girt by half the tribes of Britain, near the colony Cámulodúne,
Yelld and shriekd between her daughters oer a wild confederacy.

They that scorn the tribes and call us Britains barbarous populaces,
Did they hear me, would they listen, did they pity me supplicating?
Shall I heed them in their anguish? shall I brook to be supplicated?
Hear Icenian, Catieuchlanian, hear Coritanian, Trinobant!
Must their ever-ravening eagles beak and talon annihilate us?
Tear the noble heart of Britain, leave it gorily quivering?
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Heroism.

There was a time when Ætnas silent fire
Slept unperceived, the mountain yet entire;
When, conscious of no danger from below,
She towerd a cloud-capt pyramid of snow.
No thunders shook with deep intestine sound
The blooming groves that girdled her around.
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(Unfelt the fury of those bursting mines)
The peasants hopes, and not in vain, assured,
In peace upon her sloping sides matured.
When on a day, like that of the last doom,
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She teemd and heaved with an infernal birth,
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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,
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The Fury Of Discord

In a chariot of fire, thro Hell's flaming arch,
The Fury of Discord appear'd;
A myriad of demons attended her march,
And in Gallia her standard she rear'd.

Thy name, so enchanting, sweet Freedom! she took,
But in vain did she try to assume
Thy smile of content, thy enlivening look,
And thy roseate mountainous bloom.

For wan was her visage, and phrensied her eye,
At her girdle a poniard she wore;
Her bosom and limbs were expos'd to the sky,
And her robe was besprinkled with gore.

Nature shudder'd, and sigh'd as the wild rabble past,
Each flow'r droop'd its beautiful head;
The groves became dusky, and moan'd in the blast,
And Virtue and Innocence fled.

She rose from her car 'midst the yell of her crew;
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Annus Memorabilis, 1789. Written In Commemoration Of His Majestys Happy Recovery.

I ransackd for a theme of song,
Much ancient chronicle, and long;
I read of bright embattled fields,
Of trophied helmets, spears, and shields,
Of chiefs, whose single arm could boast
Prowess to dissipate a host;
Through tomes of fable and of dream
I sought an eligible theme,
But none I found, or found them shared
Already by some happier bard.
To modern times, with truth to guide
My busy search, I next applied;
Here cities won, and fleets dispersed,
Urged loud a claim to be rehearsed,
Deeds of unperishing renown,
Our fathers triumphs and our own.
Thus as the bee, from bank to bower,
Assiduous sips at every flower,
But rests on none till that be found
Where most nectareous sweets abound,
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In many a pa...

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Ode to Liberty

(STROPHE)

Who shall awake the Spartan fife,
And call in solemn sounds to life
The youths, whose locks divinely spreading,
Like vernal hyacinths in sullen hue,
At once the breath of Fear and Virtue shedding,
Applauding Freedom lov'd of old to view?
What new Alcæus, fancy-blest,
Shall sing the sword, in myrtles drest,
At Wisdom's shrine a-while its flame concealing,
(What place so fit to seal a deed renown'd?)
Till she her brightest lightnings round revealing,
It leap'd in glory forth, and dealt her prompted wound!
O Goddess, in that feeling hour,
When most its sounds would court thy ears,
Let not my shell's misguided pow'r,
E'er draw thy sad, thy mindful tears.
No, Freedom, no, I will not tell,
How Rome, before thy weeping face,
With heavie...

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