Thou couldst become unkind at last,
And scorn thy present lot,
"No need of lightnings from on high,
Or kites with cruel beak;
Denied the endearments of thine eye,
This widow'd heart would break."
Thus sang the sweet sequester'd bird,
Soft as the passing wind,
And I recorded what I heard,
A lesson for mankind.
AN ENGLISH VERSIFICATION OF A THOUGHT
THAT POPPED INTO MY HEAD ABOUT TWO MONTHS SINCE.
SWEET stream! that winds through yonder glade,
Apt emblem of a virtuous maid!
Silent, and chaste, she steals along,
Far from the world's gay, busy throng,
With gentle yet prevailing force,
Intent upon her destined course:
Graceful and useful all she does,
Blessing and bless'd where'er she goes;
Pure-bosom'd, as that watery glass,
And heaven reflected in her face!
BURNING OF LORD MANSFIELD'S LIBRARY,
TOGETHER WITH HIS MSS., BY THE MOB IN THE MONTH OF JUNE 1780.
So then the Vandals of our isle,
Sworn foes to sense and law,
Have burnt to dust a nobler pile
Than ever Roman saw!
And Murray sighs o'er Pope and Swift,
And many a treasure more,
The well-judged purchase, and the gift
That graced his letter'd store.
Their pages mangled, burnt, and torn,
The loss was his alone;
But ages yet to come shall mourn
The burning of his own.
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 AM just two and two, I am warm, I am cold,
And the parent of numbers that cannot be told,
I am lawful, unlawful-a duty, a fault-
I am often sold dear, good for nothing when bought,
An extraordinary boon, and a matter of course,
And yielded with pleasure-when taken by force.*
ON OBSERVING SOME NAMES OF LITTLE NOTE
RECORDED IN THE "BIOGRAPHIA BRITANNICA."
OH, fond attempt to give a deathless lot
To names ignoble born to be forgot!
In vain, recorded in historic page,
They court the notice of a future age:
* Mr Bell in his edition of Cowper says:-This Riddle was printed in the Gentleman's Magazine, where many of Cowper's lighter pieces occasionally appeared. A correspondent furnished the following :
A riddle by Cowper
Made me swear like a trooper;
But my anger, alas! was in vain;
For remembering the bliss
Of beauty's soft kiss,
I now long for such riddles again.-J. T.
Those twinkling tiny lustres of the land
Drop one by one from Fame's neglecting hand;
Lethæan gulfs receive them as they fall,
And dark oblivion soon absorbs them all.
So when a child, as playful children use,
Has burnt to tinder a stale last year's news,
The flame extinct, he views the roving fire-
There goes my lady, and there goes the squire,
There goes the parson, oh illustrious spark!
And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk!
TO THE REV. MR NEWTON,
ON HIS RETURN FROM RAMSGATE.
(WRITTEN IN OCTOBER 1780.)
THAT ocean you have late survey'd,
Those rocks I too have seen,
But I, afflicted and dismay'd,
You, tranquil and serene.
You from the flood-controlling steep
Saw stretch'd 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-toss'd, and wreck'd at last,
Come home to part no more.
ON A GOLDFINCH,
STARVED TO DEATH IN HIS CAGE.
TIME was when I was free as air,
The thistle's downy seed my fare,
My drink the morning dew;
I perch'd at will on every spray,
My form genteel, my plumage gay,
My strains for ever new,
But gaudy plumage, sprightly strain,
And form genteel were all in vain,
And of a transient date;
For, caught, and caged, and starved to death
In dying sighs my little breath
Soon pass'd the wiry grate.
Thanks, gentle swain, for all my woes,
And thanks for this effectual close
And cure of every ill!
More cruelty could none express;
And I, if you had shewn me less,
Had been your prisoner still.
REPORT OF AN ADJUDGED CASE.
NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY OF THE BOOKS.
BETWEEN NOse and Eyes a strange contest arose,
The spectacles set them unhappily wrong;
The point in dispute was, as all the world knows,
To which the said spectacles ought to belong.
So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause
With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning;
While Chief-Baron Ear sat to balance the laws,
So famed for his talent in nicely discerning.
"In behalf of the Nose it will quickly appear,
And your lordship," he said, "will undoubtedly find,
That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear,
Which amounts to possession time out of mind."
Then holding the spectacles up to the court-
"Your lordship observes they are made with a straddle,
As wide as the ridge of the Nose is; in short,
Design'd to sit close to it, just like a saddle.
"Again, would your lordship a moment suppose
('Tis a case that has happen'd, and may be again)
That the visage or countenance had not a Nose,
Pray who would, or who could, wear spectacles then?
"On the whole it appears, and my argument shows,
With a reasoning the court will never condemn,
That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose,
And the Nose was as plainly intended for them."
Then shifting his side, (as a lawyer knows how,)
He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes:
But what were his arguments few people know,
For the court did not think they were equally wise.
So his lordship decreed with a grave solemn tone,
Decisive and clear, without one if or but-
"That, whenever the Nose put his spectacles on,
By daylight or candlelight-Eyes should be shut!"
ON THE HIGH PRICE OF FISH.
[The following was called forth by the receipt of a hamper of fish from Mrs Newton, with the intention of dissuading her from sending any more until they became cheaper. The next rhyming letter shews that her reply was a hamper of oysters.]
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 reasonable 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.
A NOBLE theme demands a noble verse,
In such I thank you for your fine oysters.
The barrel was magnificently large,
But, being sent to Olney at free charge,
Was not inserted in the driver's list,
And therefore overlook'd, forgot, or miss'd;
For, when the messenger whom we despatch'd
Inquired for oysters, Hob his noddle scratch'd;
Denying that his waggon or his wain
Did any such commodity contain.
In consequence of which, your welcome boon
Did not arrive till yesterday at noon;
In consequence of which some chanced to die,
And some, though very sweet, were very dry.
Now Madam says, (and what she says must still
Deserve attention, say she what she will,)
That what we call the diligence, be-case
It goes to London with a swifter pace,
Would better suit the carriage of your gift,
Returning downward with a pace as swift;
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