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

I am monarch of all I survey,
My right there is none to dispute;
From the centre all round to the sea
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
O Solitude! where are the charms
That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms
Than reign in this horrible place.


I am out of humanitys reach,
I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the sweet music of speech,
I start at the sound of my own.
The beasts, that roam over the plain,
My form with indifference see;
They are so unacquainted with man,
Their tameness is shocking to me.


Society, friendship, and love,
Divinely bestowd upon man,
O, had I the wings of a dove,
How soon would I taste you again!
My sorrows I then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth,
Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheerd by the sallies of youth.


Religion! what treasure untold
Resides in that heavenly word!
More precious than silver and gold
Or all that this earth can afford.
But the sound of the church-going bell
These valleys and rocks never heard,
Never sighd at the sound of a knell,
Or smiled when a Sabbath appeard.


Ye winds, that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore
Some cordial endearing report
Of a land I shall visit no more.
My friends, do they now and then send
A wish or a thought after me?
O tell me I yet have a friend,
Though a friend I am never to see.


How fleet is the glance of the mind!
Compared with the speed of its flight,
The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-winged arrows of light.
When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I seem to be there;
But alas! recollection at hand
Soon hurries me back to despair.


But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest,
The beast is laid down in his lair;
Even here is a season of rest,
And I to my cabin repair.
Theres mercy in every place,
And mercy, encouraging thought!
Gives even affliction a grace,
And reconciles man to his lot.

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 Christian.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

A Comparison.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

Lovest Thou Me? - John xxi.16.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

To Mr. John Rouse, Librarian of the University of Oxford, An Ode[1] on a Lost Volume of my Poems Which He Desired Me to Replace that He Might Add Them to My Other Works Deposited in the Library.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

English

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Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

On The Receipt Of My Mothers Picture Out Of Norfolk, The Gift Of My Cousin, Ann Bodham.

O that those lips had language! Life has passd
With me but roughly since I heard thee last.
Those lips are thinethy own sweet smile I see,
The same that oft in childhood solaced me;
Voice only fails, else how distinct they say,
Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away!
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes
(Blest be the art that can immortalize,
The art that baffles Times tyrannic claim
To quench it) here shines on me still the same.
Faithful remembrancer of one so dear,
O welcome guest, though unexpected here:
Who bidst me honour with an artless song,
Affectionate, a mother lost so long.
I will obey, not willingly alone,
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Lines On The Death Of Sir William Russel.

Doomd, as I am, in solitude to waste
The present moments, and regret the past;
Deprived of every joy I valued most,
My friend torn from me, and my mistress lost;
Call not this gloom I wear, this anxious mien,
The dull effect of humour, or of spleen!
Still, still I mourn, with each returning day,
Him^[1] snatchd by fate in early youth away;
And herthro tedious years of doubt and pain,
Fixd in her choice, and faithfulbut in vain!
O prone to pity, generous, and sincere,
Whose eye neer yet refused the wretch a tear;
Whose heart the real claim of friendship knows;
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See meere yet my destined course half done,
Cast forth a wandrer on a world unknown!
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Ode To Peace.

Come, peace of mind, delightful guest!
Return, and make thy downy nest
Once more in this sad heart:
Nor riches I nor power pursue,
Nor hold forbidden joys in view;
We therefore need not part.


Where wilt thou dwell, if not with me,
From avarice and ambition free,
And pleasures fatal wiles?
For whom, alas! dost thou prepare
The sweets that I was wont to share,
The banquet of thy smiles?


The great, the gay, shall they partake
The heaven that thou alone canst make?
And wilt thou quit the stream
That murmurs through the dewy mead,
The grove and the sequesterd shed,
To be a guest with them?


For thee I panted, thee I prized,
For thee I gladly sacrificed
Whateer I loved before;
And shall I see thee start ...

William Cowper

An Epistle To An Afflicted Protestant Lady In France.

Madam,A strangers purpose in these lays
Is to congratulate, and not to praise.
To give the creature the Creators due
Were sin in me, and an offence to you.
From man to man, or een to woman paid,
Praise is the medium of a knavish trade,
A coin by craft for follys use designd,
Spurious, and only current with the blind.
The path of sorrow, and that path alone,
Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown;
No traveller ever reachd that blest abode,
Who found not thorns and briers in his road.
The world may dance along the flowery plain,
Cheerd as they go by many a sprightly strain,
Where Nature has her mossy velvet spread,
With unshod feet they yet securely tread,
Admonishd, scorn the caution and the friend,
Bent all on pleasure, heedless of its end.

William Cowper

Elegy III. Anno Aetates 17.[1] On The Death Of The Bishop Of Winchester.[2]

Silent I sat, dejected, and alone,
Making in thought the public woes my own,
When, first, arose the image in my breast
Of England's sufferings by that scourge, the pest.^[3]
How death, his fun'ral torch and scythe in hand,
Ent'ring the lordliest mansions of the land,
Has laid the gem-illumin'd palace low,
And level'd tribes of Nobles at a blow.
I, next, deplor'd the famed fraternal pair^[4]
Too soon to ashes turn'd and empty air,    
The Heroes next, whom snatch'd into the skies
All Belgia saw, and follow'd with her sighs;
But Thee far most I mourn'd, regretted most,
Winton's chief shepherd and her worthiest boast;
Pour'd out in tears I thus complaining said--
Death, next in pow'r to Him who rules the Dead!
Is't not enough that all the wood...

William Cowper

Hymn on Solitude

Hail, mildly pleasing Solitude,
Companion of the wise and good,
But from whose holy piercing eye
The herd of fools and villains fly.
Oh! how I love with thee to walk,
And listen to thy whispered talk,
Which innocence and truth imparts,
And melts the most obdurate hearts.
A thousand shapes you wear with ease,
And still in every shape you please.
Now wrapt in some mysterious dream,
A lone philosopher you seem;
Now quick from hill to vale you fly,
And now you sweep the vaulted sky;
A shepherd next, you haunt the plain,
And warble forth your oaten strain;
A lover now, with all the grace
Of that sweet passion in your face;
Then, calmed to friendship, you assume
The gentle looking Hertford's bloom,
As, with her Musidora, she
(Her Musidora fo...

James Thomson