William Cowper

His master taken from his head,
Elisha saw him go;
And in desponding accents said,
“Ah, what must Israel do?”


But he forgot the Lord who lifts
The beggar to the throne;
Nor knew, that all Elijah’s gifts
Will soon be made his own.


What! when a Paul has run his course,
Or when Apollos dies,
Is Israel left without resource?
And have we no supplies?


Yes, while the dear Redeemer lives
We have a boundless store,
And shall be fed with what he gives,
Who lives for evermore.

Ye nymphs! if e'er your eyes were red
With tears o'er hapless favourites shed,
O share Maria's grief!
Her favourite, even in his cage,
(What will not hunger's cruel rage?)
Assassin'd by a thief.


Where Rhenus strays his vines among,
The egg was laid from which he sprung;
And, though by nature mute,
Or only with a whistle blest,
Well taught he all the sounds express'd
Of flageolet or flute.


The honours of his ebon poll
Were brighter than the sleekest mole,
His bosom of the hue
With which Aurora decks the skies,
When piping winds shall soon arise,
To sweep away the dew.


Above, below, in all the house,
Dire foe alike of bird and mouse,
No cat had leave to dwell;
And Bully's cage supported stood
On p...

My lids with grief were tumid yet,
And still my sullied cheek was wet
With briny dews profusely shed
For venerable Winton dead,[2]
When Fame, whose tales of saddest sound
Alas! are ever truest found,
The news through all our cities spread
Of yet another mitred head
By ruthless Fate to Death consign'd,
Ely, the honour of his kind.
At once, a storm of passion heav'd
My boiling bosom, much I grieved
But more I raged, at ev'ry breath
Devoting Death himself to death.
With less revenge did Naso[3] teem
When hated Ibis was his theme;
With less, Archilochus,[4] denied
The lovely Greek, his promis'd bride.
But lo! while thus I execrate,
Incens'd, the Minister of Fate,
Wondrous accents, soft, yet clear,
Wafted on...

Learn ye nations of the earth
The condition of your birth,
Now be taught your feeble state,
Know, that all must yield to Fate!

If the mournful Rover, Death,
Say but once-resign your breath-
Vainly of escape you dream,
You must pass the Stygian stream.

Could the stoutest overcome
Death's assault, and baffle Doom,                
Hercules had both withstood
Undiseas'd by Nessus' blood.[2]

Ne'er had Hector press'd the plain
By a trick of Pallas slain,
Nor the Chief to Jove allied[3]
By Achilles' phantom died.

Could enchantments life prolong,
Circe, saved by magic song,
Still had liv'd, and equal skill
Had preserv'd Medea still.[4]                                    

Dwelt in herbs ...

Survey my Features--you will own it clear
That little skill has been exerted here.
My Friends, who know me not here smile to see
How ill the model and the work agree.


                Another Translation of the Same.[2]

Look on myself--you will own at once
This Copy of me, taken by a Dunce.
My Friends, who gaze and guess not whom ye see,
Laugh! Would ye think it? He intended me!

Am pius extrema veniens Jacobus ab arcto
Teucrigenas populos, lateque patentia regna
Albionum tenuit, jamque inviolabile foedus
Sceptra Caledoniis conjunxerat Anglica Scotis:
Pacificusque novo felix divesque sedebat
In solio, occultique doli securus & hostis:
Cum ferus ignifluo regnans Acheronte tyrannus,
Eumenidum pater, aethereo vagus exul Olympo,
Forte per immensum terrarum erraverat orbem,
Dinumerans sceleris socios, vernasque fideles,        
Participes regni post funera moesta futuros;
Hic tempestates medio ciet aere diras,
Illic unanimes odium struit inter amicos,
Armat & invictas in mutua viscera gentes;
Regnaque olivifera vertit florentia pace,
Et quoscunque videt purae virtutis amantes,
Hos cupit adjicere imperio, fraudumque magister
Ten...

Cum simul in regem nuper satrapasque Britannos
    Ausus es infandum perfide Fauxe nefas,
Fallor? an & mitis voluisti ex parte videri,
    Et pensare mala cum pietate scelus;
Scilicet hos alti missurus ad atria caeli,
    Sulphureo curru flammivolisque rotis.
Qualiter ille feris caput inviolabile Parcis
    Liquit Jordanios turbine raptus agros.


                Another on the Same.

Siccine tentasti caelo donasse Jacobum
    Quae septemgemino Bellua monte lates?
Ni meliora tuum poterit dare munera numen,
    Parce precor donis insidiosa tuis.
Ille quidem sine te consortia serus adivit
    Astra, nec inferni pulveris usus ope.
Sic potius foedus in caelum pelle cucullos,
    Et quot habet brutos Roma profana Deos,
Namque hac aut alia qu...

Cocoa-nut naught,
Fish too dear,
None must be bought
For us that are here:


No lobster on earth,
That ever I saw,
To me would be worth
Sixpence a claw.


So, dear madam, wait
Till fish can be got
At a reas’nable rate,
Whether lobster or not;


Till the French and the Dutch
Have quitted the seas,
And then send as much
And as oft as you please.

Written When The News Arrived. To the March in Scipio.


Toll for the brave!
The brave that are no more;
All sunk beneath the wave,
Fast by their native shore!


Eight hundred of the brave,
Whose courage well was tried,
Had made the vessel heel,
And laid her on her side.


A land-breeze shook the shrouds,
And she was overset;
Down went the Royal George,
With all her crew complete.


Toll for the brave!
Brave Kempenfelt is gone;
His last sea-fight is fought;
His work of glory done.


It was not in the battle;
No tempest gave the shock;
She sprang no fatal leak;
She ran upon no rock.


His sword was in its sheath;
His fingers held the pen,
When Kempenfelt went down

Could Homer come himself, distress’d and poor,
And tune his harp at Rhedicina’s door,
The rich old vixen would exclaim (I fear),
“Begone! no tramper gets a farthing here.”

Ye sister Pow'rs who o'er the sacred groves
Preside, and, Thou, fair mother of them all
Mnemosyne,[1] and thou, who in thy grot
Immense reclined at leisure, hast in charge
The Archives and the ord'nances of Jove,
And dost record the festivals of heav'n,
Eternity!--Inform us who is He,
That great Original by Nature chos'n
To be the Archetype of Human-kind,
Unchangeable, Immortal, with the poles
Themselves coaeval, One, yet ev'rywhere,
An image of the god, who gave him Being?
Twin-brother of the Goddess born from Jove,[2]
He dwells not in his Father's mind, but, though
Of common nature with ourselves, exists
Apart, and occupies a local home.
Whether, companion of the stars, he spend
Eternal ages, roaming at his will
From sphere to...

Round Thurlow’s head in early youth,
And in his sportive days,
Fair Science pour’d the light of truth,
And Genius shed his rays.


See! with united wonder cried
The experienced and the sage,
Ambition in a boy supplied
With all the skill of age!


Discernment, eloquence, and grace,
Proclaim him born to sway
The balance in the highest place,
And bear the palm away.


The praise bestow’d was just and wise;
He sprang impetuous forth,
Secure of conquest, where the prize
Attends superior worth.


So the best courser on the plain
Ere yet he starts is known,
And does but at the goal obtain
What all had deem’d his own.

When, long sequester’d from his throne,
George took his seat again,
By right of worth, not blood alone,
Entitled here to reign,


Then loyalty, with all his lamps
New trimm’d, a gallant show!
Chasing the darkness and the damps,
Set London in a glow.


‘Twas hard to tell, of streets or squares
Which form’d the chief display,
These most resembling cluster’d stars,
Those the long milky way.


Bright shone the roofs, the domes, the spires,
And rockets flew, self-driven,
To hang their momentary fires
Amid the vault of heaven.


So, fire with water to compare,
The ocean serves, on high
Up-spouted by a whale in air,
To express unwieldy joy.


Had all the pageants of the world
In one procession...

(in the manner of homer.)


The straw-stuff’d hamper with his ruthless steel
He open’d, cutting sheer th’ inserted cords
Which bound the lid and lip secure. Forth came
The rustling package first, bright straw of wheat,
Or oats, or barley; next a bottle green
Throat-full, clear spirits the contents, distill’d
Drop after drop odorous, by the art
Of the fair mother of his friend—the Rose.

O that those lips had language! Life has pass’d
With me but roughly since I heard thee last.
Those lips are thine—thy 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 Time’s 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,
But gladly, as the precept were her own:
And, while that face renews my filial grief,
Fancy shall weave a charm for my re...

When wit and genius meet their doom
In all-devouring flame,
They tell us of the fate of Rome,
And bid us fear the same.


O’er Murray’s loss the muses wept,
They felt the rude alarm,
Yet bless’d the guardian care that kept
His sacred head from harm.


There Memory, like the bee that’s fed
From Flora’s balmy store,
The quintessence of all he read
Had treasured up before.


The lawless herd, with fury blind,
Have done him cruel wrong;
The flowers are gone—but still we find
The honey on his tongue.

I shall not ask Jean Jaques Rousseau[1]
If birds confabulate or no;
‘Tis clear, that they were always able
To hold discourse, at least in fable;
And e’en the child who knows no better
Than to interpret, by the letter,
A story of a cock and bull,
Must have a most uncommon skull.
It chanced then on a winter’s day,
But warm, and bright, and calm as May,
The birds, conceiving a design
To forestall sweet St. Valentine,
In many an orchard, copse, and grove,
Assembled on affairs of love,
And with much twitter and much chatter
Began to agitate the matter.
At length a Bullfinch, who could boast
More years and wisdom than the most,
Entreated, opening wide his beak,
A moment’s liberty to speak;
And, silence publicly enjoin’d,
Deliver’d...

Quales aerii montis de vertice nubes
Cum surgunt, et jam Boreae tumida ora quierunt,
Caelum hilares abdit spissa caligine vultus,
Nimbosumque nives aut imbres cogitat aether:
Tum si jucundo tandem sol prodeat ore,
Et croceo montes et pascua lumine tingat,
Gaudent omnia, aves mulcent concentibus agros,
Balatuque ovium colles vallesque resultant.