Verses Printed By Himself, On A Flood At Olney.

To watch the storms, and hear the sky
Give all our almanacks the lie;
To shake with cold, and see the plains
In autumn drownd with wintry rains;
Tis thus I spend my moments here,
And wish myself a Dutch mynheer;
I then should have no need of wit;
For lumpish Hollander unfit!
Nor should I then repine at mud,
Or meadows deluged with a flood;
But in a bog live well content,
And find it just my element;
Should be a clod, and not a man;
Nor wish in vain for sister Ann,
With charitable aid to drag
My mind out of its proper quag;
Should have the genius of a boor,
And no ambition to have more.

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 Distressed Travellers; Or, Labour In Vain.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

The Retired Cat.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

Verses, Supposed To Be Written By Alexander Selkirk, During His Solitary Abode In The Island Of Juan Fernandez.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

On Mrs. Montagues Feather-Hangings.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

English

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To The Rev. Mr. Newton, On His Return From Ramsgate.

That ocean you have late surveyd,
Those rocks I too have seen;
But I, afflicted and dismayd,
You, tranquil and serene.


You from the flood-controlling steep
Saw stretchd before your view,
With conscious joy, the threatening deep,
No longer such to you.


To me the waves, that ceaseless broke
Upon the dangerous coast,
Hoarsely and ominously spoke
Of all my treasure lost.


Your sea of troubles you have past,
And found the peaceful shore;
I, tempest-tossd, and wreckd at last,
Come home to port no more.

William Cowper

To William Hayley, Esq.

Dear architect of fine chateaux in air,
Worthier to stand for ever, if they could,
Than any built of stone or yet of wood,
For back of royal elephant to bear!


O for permission from the skies to share,
Much to my own, though little to thy good,
With thee (not subject to the jealous mood!)
A partnership of literary ware!


But I am bankrupt now; and doomd henceforth
To drudge, in descant dry, on others lays;
Bards, I acknowledge, of unequalled birth!
But what his commentators happiest praise?


That he has furnishd lights for other eyes,
Which they who need them use, and then despise.

William Cowper

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

The swallows in their torpid state
Compose their useless wing,
And bees in hives as idly wait
The call of early Spring.


The keenest frost that binds the stream,
The wildest wind that blows,
Are neither felt nor feard by them,
Secure of their repose.


But man, all feeling and awake,
The gloomy scene surveys;
With present ills his heart must ache,
And pant for brighter days.


Old Winter, halting oer the mead,
Bids me and Mary mourn;
But lovely Spring peeps oer his head,
And whispers your return.


Then April, with her sister May,
Shall chase him from the bowers,
And weave fresh garlands every day,
To crown the smiling hours.


And if a tear that speaks regret
Of happier times, appe...

William Cowper

On A Mischievous Bull, Which The Owner Of Him Sold At The Authors Instance.

Gothou art all unfit to share
The pleasures of this place
With such as its old tenants are,
Creatures of gentler race.


The squirrel here his hoard provides,
Aware of wintry storms,
And woodpeckers explore the sides
Of rugged oaks for worms.


The sheep here smooths the knotted thorn
With frictions of her fleece;
And here I wander eve and morn,
Like her, a friend to peace.


Ah!I could pity thee exiled
From this secure retreat
I would not lose it to be styled
The happiest of the great.


But thou canst taste no calm delight;
Thy pleasure is to show
Thy magnanimity in fight,
Thy prowesstherefore, go


I care not whether east or north,
So I no more may find thee;
The angry muse...

William Cowper

An Epistle To Robert Lloyd, Esq.

Tis not that I design to rob
Thee of thy birthright, gentle Bob,
For thou art born sole heir, and single,
Of dear Mat Priors easy jingle;
Not that I mean, while thus I knit
My threadbare sentiments together,
To show my genius or my wit,
When God and you know I have neither;
Or such as might be better shown
By letting poetry alone.
Tis not with either of these views
That I presumed to address the muse:
But to divert a fierce banditti
(Sworn foes to every thing thats witty!)
That, with a black, infernal train,
Make cruel inroads in my brain,
And daily threaten to drive thence
My little garrison of sense;
The fierce banditti which I mean
Are gloomy thoughts led on by spleen.
Then theres another reason yet,
Which is, that I may fairly...

William Cowper

The Distressed Travellers; Or, Labour In Vain.

A New Song, to a Tune never sung before.


I sing of a journey to Clifton,^[1]
We would have performed, if we could;
Without cart or barrow, to lift on
Poor Mary^[2] and me through the mud.
Slee, sla, slud,
Stuck in the mud;
Oh it is pretty to wade through a flood!


So away we went, slipping and sliding;
Hop, hop, à la mode de deux frogs;
Tis near as good walking as riding,
When ladies are dressed in their clogs.
Wheels, no doubt,
Go briskly about,
But they clatter and rattle, and make such a rout.
dialogue
she.
Well! now, I protest it is charming;
How finely the weather improves!
That cloud, though tis rather alarming,
How slowly and stately it moves.
he.
Pshaw! never mind,
Tis ...

William Cowper