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And conscious of the outrage he commits, To want of judgment than to wrong design, Shall seek it, and not find it, in his turn.

So in the chapel of old Ely House, Distinguished much by reason, and still more

When wandering Charles, who meant to be the By our capacity of grace divine,

third, From creatures, that exist but for our sake,

Had fled from William, and the news was fresh, Which, having served us, perish, we are held

The simple clerk, but loyal, did announce, Accountable; and God some future day

And eke did rear right merrily, two staves, Will reckon with us roundly for the abuse Sung to the praise and glory of King George! Of what he deems no mean or trivial trust.

-Man praises man; and Garrick's memory next, Superior as we are, they yet depend

When time had somewhat mellowed it, and made Not more on human help than we on theirs

The idol of our worship while he lived
Their strength, or speed, or vigilance were given The God of our idolatry once more,
In aid of our defects. In some are found

Shall have its altar; and the world shall go
Such teachable and apprehensive parts,

In pilgrimage to bow before his shrine. That man's attainments in his own concerns,

The theatre too small shall suffocate Matched with th' expertness of the brutes in Its squeczed contents, and more than it admits theirs,

Shall sigh, at their exclusion, and return Are ofttimes vanquished, and thrown far behind. Ungratified: for there some noble lord Some show that nice sngacity of smell,

Shall stuff his shoulders with king Richard's And read with such discernment, in the port

bunch, And figure of the man, his secret aim,

Or wrap himself in Hamlet's inky cloak, That oft we owe our safety to a skill

And strut and storm, and straddle, stamp and We could not teach, and must despair to learn; stare, But learn we might, if not too proud to stoop

To show the world how Garrick did not act, To quadruped instructers, many a good

For Garrick was a worshipper himself; And useful quality, and virtue too,

He drew the liturgy, and framed the rites Rarely exemplified among ourselves;

And solemn ceremonials of the day, Attachment never to be wcaned, or changed And called the world to worship on the banks By any change of fortune; proof alike

Of Avon, famed in song. Ah, pleasant proof Against unkindness, absence, and neglect; That piety has still in human hearts Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat

Some place, a spark or two not yet extinct. Can move or warp; and gratitude for small The mulberry-tree was hung with blooming And trivial favours, lasting as the life,

wreaths; And glistening even in the dying eye.

The mulberry-tree stood centre of the dance; Man praises man. Desert in arts or arms The mulberry-tree was hymned with dulcet airs; Wins public honour; and ten thousand sit And from his touchwood trunk the mulberry-tree Patiently present at a sacred song,

Supplied such relics as devotion holds Commemoration-mad; content to hear

Still sacred, and preserves with pious care. (O wonderful effect of music's power!)"

So 'twas a hallowed tiine: decorum reigned, Messiah's eulogy for Handel's sake.

And mirth without offence. No few returned, But less, methinks, than sacrilege might serve- Doubtless, much edified, and all refreshed.(For, was it less, what heathen would have dared Man praises man. The rabble all alive To strip Jove's statue of his oaken wreath, From tippling benches, cellars, stalls, and styes, And hang it up in honour of a man?)

Swarm in the streets. The statesman of the day, Much less might serve, when all that we design A pompous and slow-moving pageant, comes. Is but to gratify an itching ear,

Some shout him, and some hang upon his car, And give the day to a musician's praise. To gaze in's eyes, and bless him. Maidens wave Remember Handel? Who, that was not born Their 'kerchiefs, and old women weep for joy: Deaf as the dead to harmony, forgets,

While others, not so satisfied, unhorse
Orcan, the more than Homer of his age? The gilded equipage, and, turning loose
Yes, we remember him: and while we praise His steeds, usurp a place they well deserve.
A talent so divine, remember too

Why? what has charmed them? Hath he saved
That His most holy book, from whom it came, the state?
Was never meant, was never used before, No. Doth he purpose its salvation ? No.
To buckram out the memory of a man.

Enchanting novelty, that moon at full, But hush!—the muse perhaps is too severe; That finds out every crevice of the head And with a gravity beyond the size

That is not sound and perfect, hath in theirs And measure of th' ollence, rebukes a deed Wrought this disturbance. But the wane is near, Less impious than absurd, and owing more And his own cattlc must suffice hiin soon.

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Thus idly do we waste the breath of praise, And that one season an eternal spring.
And dedicate a tribute, in its use

The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence, And just direction sacred, to a thing

For there is none to covet, all are full. Doomed to the dust, or lodged already there. The lion, and the libbard, and the bear, Encomium in old time was poets' work; Graze with the fearless flocks; all bask at noon But poets, having lavishly long since

Together, or all gambol in the shade Exhausted all materials of the art,

Of the same grove, and drink one common stream The task now falls into the public hand; Antipathies are none.. No foe to man And I, contented with an humbler theme, Lurks in the serpent now; the mother sees, Have poured my stream of panegyric down And smiles to see, her infant's playful hand The vale of Nature, where it creeps, and winds Stretched forth to dally with the crested worm, Among her lovely works with a secure

To stroke his azure neck, or to receive And unambitious course, reflecting clear, The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue. If not the virtues, yet the worth, of brutes. All creatures worship man, and all mankind And I am recompensed, and deem the toils One Lord, one Father. Error has no place: Of poetry not lost, if verse of mine

That creeping pestilence is driven away; May stand between an animal and wo, The breath of heaven has chased it. In the heart And teach one tyrant pity for his drudge. No passion touches a discordant string,

The groans of Nature in this nether world, But all is harmony and love. Disease Which Heaven has heard for ages, have an end. Is not; the pure and uncontaminate blood Foretold by prophets, and by poets sung,

Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age. Whose fire was kindled at the prophet's lamp, One song employs all nations; and all cry, The time of rest, the promised sabbath, comes. “ Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us!" Six thousand years of sorrow have well-nigh The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks Fulfilled their tardy and disastrous course Shuut to each other, and the mountain tops Over a sinful world; and what remains

From distant mountains catch the flying joy; Of this tempestuous state of human things Till, nation after nation taught the strain, Is merely as the working of a sea

Earth rolls the rapturous hosanna round. Before a calm, that rocks itself to rest:

Behold the measure of the promise filled; For He, whose car the winds are, and the clouds See Salem built, the labour of a God! The dust that waits upon his sultry march, Bright as the sun the sacred city shines; When sin hath moved them, and his wrath is hot, All kingdoms and all. princes of the earth Shall visit earth in mercy; shall descend Flock to that light; the glory of all lands Propitious in his chariot paved with love; Flows into her; unbounded is her joy, And what his storms have blasted and defaced And endless her increase. Thy rams are there, For man's revolt shall with a smile repair. Nebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar there :*

Sweet is the harp of prophecy; too sweet The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind, Not to be wronged by a mere mortal touch: And Saba's spicy groves pay tribute there. Nor can the wonders it records be sung

Praise is in all her gates; upon her walls, To meaner music, and not suffer loss.

And in her streets, and in her spacious courts But when a poet, or when one like me,.

Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there Happy to rove among poctic flowers,

Kncels with the native of the farthest west; Though poor in skill to rear them, lights at last, And Æthiopia spreads abroad the hand, On some fair theme, some theme divinely fair, And worships. Her report has travelled forth Such is the impulse and the spur he feels, Into all lands. From every clime they come To give it praise proportioned to its worth, To see thy beauty, and to share thy joy, * That not t attempt it, arduous as he deems O Sion! an assembly such as earth, The labour, were a task more arduous still. Saw never, such as heaven stoops down to see. O scenes surpassing fable, and yet true,

Thus heavenward all things tend. For all were Scenes of accomplished bliss! which who can see, Though but in distant prospect, and not feel Perfect, and all must be at length restored. His soul refreshed with foretaste of the joy? So God has greatly purposed; who could else Rivers of gladness water all the earth,

In his dishonoured works himself endure And clothe all climes with beauty; the reproach Dishonour, and be wronged without redress. Of barrenness is past. The fruitful field Haste then, and wheel away a shattered world, Laughs with abundance; and the land, once lean,

Nebaioth and Kedar, the sons of Ishmael, and progenitors Or fertile only in its own disgrace,

of the Arabs, in the prophetic scripture here alluded to, may Exults to see its thistly curse repealed,

be reasonably considered as representatives of the Gentiles as The various seasons woven into one,

| large.

once

Ye slow-revolving seasons! we would see Deny thy Godhead with a martyr's zeal,
(A sight to which our eyes are strangers yet) And quit their office for their error's sake.
A world, that does not dread and hate his laws, Blind, and in love with darkness ! yet, e'en these
And suffer for its crime; would learn how fair Worthy, compared with sycophants, who knee
The creature is that God pronounces good, Thy name adoring, and then preach thee man!
How pleasant in itself what pleases him. So fares thy church. But how thy church may fare
Here every drop of honey hides a sting; The world takes little thought. Who will may
Worms wind themselves into our sweetest Howers; preach,
And e'en the joy, that haply some poor heart

And what they will. All pastors are alike
Derives from Heaven, pure as the fountain is, To wandering sheep, resolved to follow none.
Is sullied in the stream, taking a taint

Two gods divide them all — Pleasure and Gain;
From touch of human lips, at best impure. For these they live, they sacrifice to these,
O for a world in principle as chaste

And in their service wage perpetual war
As this is gross and selfish! over which

With conscience and with thee. Lust in their
Custom and prejudice shall bear no sway,

hearts,
That govern all things here, shouldering aside And mischief in their hands, they roam the earth
The meek and modest Truth, and forcing her To prey upon each other : stubborn, fierce,
To seek a refuge from the tongue of strife High-minded, foaming out their own disgrace.
In nooks obscure, far from the ways of men;

Thy prophets speak of such; and, noting down
Where violence shall never lift the sword,

The features of the last degenerate times,
Nor cunning justify the proud man's wrong,

Exhibit every lineament of these.
Leaving the poor no remedy but tears;

Come then, and, added to thy many crowns,
Where he, that fills an office, shall esteem

Receive yet one, as radiant as the rest,
Th' occasion it presents of doing good

Due to thy last and most effectual work,
More than the perquisite: where law shall speak Thy word fulfilled, the conquest of a world!
Seldom, and never but as wisdom prompts He is the happy man, whose life e'en now
And equity ? not jealous more to guard

Shows somewhat of that happier life to come; A worthless form, than to decide aright: Who, doomed to an obscure but tranquil state, Where fashion shall not sanctify abuse, Is pleased with it, and, were he free to choose, Nor smooth good-breeding (supplemental grace)

Would make his fate his choice; whom peace, the With lean performance ape the work of love !

fruit Come then, and added to thy many crowns,

Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith,
Recrive yet one, the crown of all the earth, Prepare for happiness; bespeak him one
Thou who alone art worthy! It was thine Content indeed to sojourn while he must,
By ancient covenant, ere Nature's birth; Below the skies, but having there his home.
And thou hast made it thine by purchase since, The world o'erlooks him in her busy search
And overpaid its value with thy blood.

Of objects, more illustrious in her view;
Thy saints proclaim thee king; and in their hearts And, occupied as earnestly as she,
Thy title is engraven with a pen :

Though more sublimely, he o'erlooks the world.
Dipped in the fountain of eternal love.

She scorns his pleasures, for she knows them not;
Thy saints proclaim thee king; and thy delay He seeks not hers, for he has proved them vain.
Gives courage to their foes, who, could they see He can not skim the ground like suniner birds
The dawn of thy last advent, long-desired, Pursuing gilded flies; and such she deems
Would creep into the bowels of the hills, Iler honours, her emoluments her joys.
And flee for safety to the falling rocks.

Therefore in contemplation is his bliss,
The very spirit of the world is tired

Whose power is such, that whom she lifts from
Of its own taunting question, asked so long,

earth
"Where is the promise of your Lord's approach?” She makes familiar with a heaven unseen,
The infidel has shot his bolts away,

And shows him glories yet to be revealed.
Till, his exhausted quiver yielding none, Not slothful he, though seeming unemployed,
He gleans the blunted shafts, that have recoiled, And censured oft as useless. Stillest streams
And aims thein at the shield of Truth again. Oit water fairest meadows, and the bird
The veil is rent, rent too by priestly hunds, That flutters least is longest on the wing.
That bides divinity from mortal eyes;

Ask him, indeed, what trophies he has raised,
And all the mysteries to faith proposed,

Or what achievements of immortal fame
Insulted and traduced, are cast aside,

He purposes, and he shall answer-None.
As useless, to the moles and to the bats. His warfare is within. There unfatigued
They now are deemed the faithful, and are praised, His fervent spirit labours. There he tights,
Who constant only in rejecting thee,

And there obtains fresh triumphs o'er himself,

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And never-withering wreaths, compared with | Because that world adopts it. If it bear which,

The stamp and clear impression of good sense, The laurels that a Cæsar reaps are weeds. And be not costly more than of true worth, Perhaps the self-approving haughty world, He puts it on, and for decorum sake That as she sweeps him with her whistling silks Can wear it e'en as gracefully as she. Scarce deigns to notice him, or, if she see, She judges of refinement by the eye, Deems him a cipher in the works of God, He by the test of conscience, and a heart Receives advantage from his noiseless hours, Not soon deceived; aware that what is base Of which she little dreams. Perhaps she owes No.polish can make sterling; and that vice, Her sunshine and her rain, her blooming spring Though well perfumed and elegantly dressed, And plenteous harvest, to the prayer he makes, Like an unburied carcase tricked with flowers, When, Isaac like, the solitary saint

Is but a garnished nuisance, fitter far Walks forth to meditate at eventide,

For cleanly riddance, than for fair attire. And think on her, who thinks not for herself. So life glides smoothly and by stealth away, Forgive him then, thou bustler in concerns More golden than that age of fabled gold Of little worth, an idler in the best,

Renowned in ancient song; not vexed with care If, author of no mischief and some good, Or stained with guilt, beneficent, approved He seek his proper happiness by means Of God and man, and peaceful in its end. That may advance, but can not hinder, thine. So glide my life away, and so at last, Nor, though he tread the secret path of life, My share of duties decently fulfilled, Engage no notice, and enjoy much ease,

May some disease, not tardy to perform Account him an encumbrance on the state, Its destined office, yet with gentlé stroke, Receiving benefits, and rendering none.

Dismiss me weary to a safe retreat, His sphere though humble, if that humble sphere Beneath the furf that I have often trod. Shine with his fair-example, and though small It shall not grieve me then, that once, when calHis influence, if that influence all be spent

led In soothing sorrow, and int quenching strife, To dress a Sofa with the flowers of verse, In aiding helpless indigence, in works.

I played awhile, obedient to the fair, From which at least a grateful few derive With that light task; but soon, to please her more, Some taste of comfort in a world of wo;. Whom flowers alone I knew would little please, Then let the supercilious great confess

Let fall th’unfinished wreath, and roved for fruit; He serves his country, recompenses well Roved far, and gathered much : some harsh, 'tis The state, beneath the shadow of whose vine

'true, He sits secure, and in the scale of life ..

Picked from the thorns and briers of reproof, Holds no ignoble, though a slighted, place. But wholesome, well digested; grateful some The man whose virtues are more felt than seen, To palates that can taste immortal truth; Must drop indeed the hope of public praise ; Insipid else, and sure to be despised; But he may boast, what few that win it can, But all is in His hand, whose praise I seek. That if his country stand not by his skill, In vain the poet sings, and the world hears, At least his follies have not wrought her fall. If He regard not, though divine the theme. Polite Refinement offers him in vain

'Tis not in artful measures, in the chime Her golden tube, through which a sensual world And idle kling of a minstrel's lyre, Draws gross impurity, and likes it well,

To charm his ear, whose eye is on the heart; The neat conveyance hiding all th' offence. Whose frown can disappoint the proudest strain, Not that he peevishly rejects a mode

Whose approbation-prosper even mine.

AN EPISTLE

TO

JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.

DEAR JOSEPH—five and twenty years ago-
Alas, how time escapes !—'tis even som
With frequent intercourse, and always sweet,
And always friendly, we were wont to cheat
A tedious hour-and now we never meet!

As some grave gentlemen in Terence says,
('Twas therefore much the same in ancient days)
Good lack, we know not what to-morrow brings
Strange fluctuation of all human things!
True. Changes will befall, and friends may part,

But distance only can not change the heart: Perhaps 'twas mere good humour gave it birth,
And, were I called to prove th' assertion true, The harmless play of pleasantry and mirth.
One proof should serve—a reference to you. Howe'er it was, his language, in my mind,

Whence comes it then, that in the wane of life; Bespoke as least a man that knew mankind.
Though nothing have occurred to kindle strife,
We find the friends we fancied we had won,

But not to moralize too much, and strain
Though numerous once, reduced to few or none? To prove an evil, of which all complain,
Can gold grow worthless, that has stood the touch? (I hate long arguments verbosely spun)
No; gold they seemed, but they were never such. One story more, dear Hill, and I have done.

Once on a time an emperor, a wise man,
Horatio's servant once, with bow and cringe,

No matter where, in China, or Japan,
Swinging the parlour door upon its hinge,

Decreed, that whosoever should offend
Dreading a negative, and overawed

Against the well known duties of a friend,
Lest he should trespass, begged to go abroad.

Convicted once should ever after wear
Go, fellow ?-whither-turning short about-

But half a coat, and show his bosom bare..
Nay. Stay at home--you're always going out.

The punishment importing this, no doubt,
'Tis but a step, sir, just at the street's end-
For what?-An please you, sir

, to see a friend. That all was naught within, and all found out. A friend! Horatio cried, and seemed to start

O happy Britain! we have not to fear
Yea, marry shalt thou, and with all my heart.-

Such hard and arbitrary measure here;
And fetch my cloak; for, though the night be raw, Else, could a law, like that which I relate,
Il see him too—the first I ever saw.

Once have the sanction of our triple state,
I knew the man, and knew his nature mild, Some few, that I have known in days of old,
And was his plaything often when a child; Would run most dreadful risk of catching cold;
But somewhat at that moment pinched him close, While you, my friend, whatever wind should
Else he was seldom bitter or morose.

blow,
Perhaps his confidence just then betrayed, · Might traverse England safely to and fro,
His grief might prompt him with the speech he An honest man, close buttoned to the chin,
made;

Broad cloth without, and a warm heart within.

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REV. WM. CAWTHORNE UNWIN,
RECTOR OF STOCK IN ESSEX, THE TUTOR OF HIS TWO SONS, THE FOLLOWING POEM, RECOMMENDING
PRIVATE TUITION, IN PREFERENCE TO AN EDUCATION AT SCHOOL, IS INSCRIBED, BY HIS AFFECTION-
ATE FRIEND,
Olney, Nov. 6th, 1784.

WILLIAM COWPER.

It is not from his form, in which we trace
Strength joined with beauty, dignity with grace,
That man, the master of this globe, derives
His right of empire over all that lives.
That form indeed, th' associate of a mind
Vast in its powers, ethereal in its kind,
That form the labour of almighty skill,
Framed for the service of a freeborn will,
Asserts precedence, and bespeaks control,
But borrows all its grandeur from the soul.

Hers is the state, the splendour, and the throne,
An intellectual kingdom, all her own.
For her the Memory fills her ample page
With truths poured down from every distant age
For her amasses an unbounded store,
The wisdom of great nations, now no more;
Though laden, not encumbered with her spoil;
Laborious, yet unconscious of her toil;
When copiously supplied, then most enlarged;
Still to be fed, and not to be surcharged.

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