"Tis a sight to engage me, if any thing can,
To muse on the perishing pleasures of man:
Though his life be a dream, his enjoyments, I see,
Have a being less durable even than he.*
IDEM LATINE REDDITUM.
POPULÆ cecidet gratissima copia silvæ,
Conticuere susurri, omnisque evanuit umbra.
Nulle jam levibus se miscent frondibus auræ,
Et nulla in fluvio ramorum ludit imago.
Hei mihi! bis senos dum luctu torqueor annos,
His cogor silvis suetoque carrere recessu,
Cum sero rediens, stratasque in gramine cernens,
Insedi arboribus, sub queis errare solebam.
Ah ubi nunc merulæ cantus? Felicior illum
Silva tegit, duræ nondum permissa bipenni;
Scilicet exustos colles camposque patentes
Odit, et indignans et non rediturus abivit.
Sed qui succisas doleo succidar et ipse,
Et prius huic parilis quàm creverit altera silva
Flebor, et, exquiis parvis donatus, habebo
Defixum lapidum tumulique cubantis acervum.
Tam subito periisse videns tam digna manere,
Agnosco humanas sortes et tristia fata-
Sit licit ipse brevis, volucrique simillimus umbræ,
Est homini brevior citiusque obitura voluptas.
MATUTINI rores auræque salubres,
O nemora, et læta rivis felicibus herbæ,
Graminei colles, et amœnæ in vallibus umbræ !
Fata modò dederint quas olim in rure paterno
Delicias, procul arte, formidine novi.
Quàm vellem ignotus, quod mens mea semper avebat,
Ante larem proprium placidam 'expectare senec
Tum demùm, exactis non infeliciter annis, Sortiri tacitum lapidem, aut sub cespite condi!
PRIOR'S CHLOE AND EUPHELIA. MERCATOR, vigiles oculos ut fallere possit,
Nomine sub ficto trans mare mittit opes;
⚫ Mr. Cowper afterwards altered this last stanza in the following manner:
The change both my heart and my fancy employs,
I reflect on the frailty of man and his joys;
Short-lived as we are, yet our pleasures we see,
Have a still shorter date, and die sooner than we.
Lené sonat liquidumque meis Euphelia chordis, Sed solam exoptant te, mea vota, Chloe.
Ad speculum ornabat nitidos Euphelia crines, Cum dixit mea lux, Heus, cane, sume lyram, Namque lyram juxta positam cum carmine vidit, Suave quidem carmen dulcisonamque lyram.
Fila lyra vocemque paro suspiria surgunt,
Et miscent numeris murmura mæsta meis, Dumque tuæ memora laudes, Euphelia forma, Tota anima interia pendet ab ore Chloes.
Subrubet illa pudore, et contrahit altera frontem,
Me torquet mea mens conscia, psallo, tremo;
Atque Cupidinea dixit Dea cincta corona,
Heu! fallendi artem quam didicere parum.
Showing how he went farther than he intended, and cane safe home again.
JOHN GILPIN was a citizen
Of credit and renown,
A train-band captain eke was he Of famous London town
John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear, Though wedded we have been These twice ten tedious years, yet we No holiday have seen.
To-morrow is our wedding day,
And we will then repair Unto the Bell at Edmonton All in a chaise and pair.
My sister, and my sister's child,
Myself, and children three, Will fill the chaise; so you must ride On horsebark after we.
He soon replied, I do admire
Of womankind but one,
And you are she, my dearest dear,
Therefore it shall be done.
I am a linen-draper bold,
As all the world doth know,
And my good friend the calender
Will lend his horse to go.
Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, That's well said;
And for that wine is dear,
We will be furnished with our own,
Which is both bright and clear.
John Gilpin kissed his loving wife;
O'erjoyed was he to find,
That, though on pleasure she was bent,
She had a frugal mind.
The morning came, the chaise was brought, But yet was not allowed
To drive up to the door, lest all
Should say that she was proud.
So three doors off the chaise was stayed,
Where they did all get in;
Six precious souls, and all agog
To dash through thick and thin.
Smack went the whip, round went the wheels,
Were ever folks so glad,
The stones did rattle underneath,
As if Cheapside were mad.
John Gilpin at his horse's side
Seized fast the flowing mane,
And up he got in haste to ride,
But soon came down again:
For saddle-tree scarce reached had he,
His journey to begin,
When, turning round his head, he saw
Three customers come in.
So down he came; for loss of time,
Although it grieved him sore;
Yet loss of pence, full well he knew,
Would trouble him much more.
'Twas long before the customers Were suited to their mind, When Betty screaming came down stairs, "The wine is left behind!"
Good lack! quoth he-yet bring it me,
My leathern belt likewise,
In which I bear my trusty sword,
When I do exercise.
Now mistress Gilpin (careful soul!)
Had two stone bottles found,
To hold the liquor that she loved,
And keep it safe and sound.
Each bottle had a curling ear,
Through which the belt he drew,
And hung a bottle on each side,
To make his balance true.
Then over all, that he might be
Equipped from top to toe,
His long red cloak, well brushed and neat
He manfully did throw.
Now see him mounted once again
Upon his nimble steed,
Full slowly pacing o'er the stones,
With caution and good heed.
But finding soon a smoother road
Beneath his well-shod feet,
The snorting beast began to trot,
Which galled him in his seat.
So, fair and softly, John he cried,
But John he cried in vain;
That trot became a gallop soon,
In spite of curb or rein.
So stooping down, as needs he must,
Who can not sit upright,
He grasped the mane with both his hands
And eke with all his might.
His horse, who never in that sort
Had handled been before,
What thing upon his back had got,
Did wonder more and more.
Away went Gilpin, neck or nought,
Away went hat and wig;
He little dreamt, when he sat out,
Of running such a rig.
The wind did blow, the cloak did fly,
Like streamers long and gay,
Till loop and button failing both,
At last it flew away.
Then might all people well discern
The bottles he had slung;
A bottle swinging at each side,
As hath been said or sung.
The dogs did bark, the children screamed,
Up flew the windows all;
And every soul cried out, Well done!
As loud as he could bawl.
Away went Gilpin—who but he? His fame soon spread around, He carries weight! he rides a race! 'Tis for a thousand pound!
And still, as fast as he drew near,
'Twas wonderful to view, How in a trice the turnpike men
Their gates wide open threw.
And now, as he went bowing down
His reeking head full low,
The bottles twain behind his back
Where shattered at a blow.
Down ran the wine into the road,
Most piteous to be seen,
Which made his horse's flanks to smcke As they had basted been.
But still he seemed to carry weight,
With leathern girdle braced;
For all might see the bottles' necks
Still dangling at his waist.
Thus all through merry Islington
These gambols he did play,
Until he came into the Wash
Of Edmonton so gay;
And there he threw the wash about
On both sides of the way,
Just like unto a trundling mop,
Or a wild goose at play.
At Edmonton his loving wife
From the balcony spied
Her tender husband, wondering much
To see how he did ride.
Stop, stop, John Gilpin!-Here's the house-
They all aloud did cry;
The dinner waits and we are tired;
Said Gilpin-So am I!
But yet his horse was not a whit
Inclined to tarry there;
For why?-his owner had a house
Full ten miles off, at Ware.
So like an arrow swift he flew,
Shot by an archer strong;
So did he fly-which brings me to
The middle of my song.
Away went Gilpin out of breath,
And sore against his will, Till at his friend the calender's His horse at last stood still.
The calender, amazed to see
His neighbour in such trim,
Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, And thus accosted him:
What news? what news? your tidings tell;
Tell me you must and shall
Say why bareheaded you are come,
Or why you come at all?
Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,
And loved a timely joke;
And thus unto the calender
In merry guise he spoke:
I came because your horse would come;
And, if I well forebode,
My hat and wig will soon be here,
They are upon the road.
The calender right glad to find
His friend in merry pin, Returned him not a single word, But to the house went in;
Whence straight he came with hat and wig;
A wig that flowed behind,
A hat not much the worse for wear,
Each comely in its kind.
He held them up, and in his turn
That showed his ready wit,
My head is twice as big as yours,
They therefore needs must fit.
But let me scrape the dirt away,
That hangs upon your face;
And stop and eat, for well you may
Be in a hungry case.
Said John, it is my wedding-day,
And all the world would stare,
If wife should dine at Edmonton,
And I should dine at Ware.
So turning to his horse he said,
I am in haste to dine;
'Twas for your pleasure you came here.
You shall go back for mine.
Ah luckless speech, and bootless boast
For which he paid full dear;
For, while he spoke, a braying ass
Did sing most loud and clear;
Whereat his horse did snort, as he
Had heard a lion roar,
And galloped off with all his might,
As he had done before.
Away went Gilpin, and away
Went Gilpin's hat and wig:
He lost them sooner than at first,
For why?-they were too big.
Now mistress Gilpin, when she saw
Her hushand posting down
Into the country far away,
She pulled out half a crown;
And thus unto the youth she said,
That drove them to the Bell,
This shall be yours, when you bring back
My husband safe and well.
The youth did ride and soon did meet
John coming back amain;
Whom in a trice he tried to stop,
By catching at his rein;
But not performing what he meant,
And gladly would have done,
The frighted steed he frighted more,
And made him faster run.
Away went Gilpin, and away
Went postboy at his heels,
The postboy's horse right glad to miss The lumbering of the wheels.
Six gentlemen upon the road,
Thus seeing Gilpin fly,
With postboy scampering in the rear,
They raised the hue and cry,-
Stop thief! stop thief!-a highwayman!
Not one of them was mute;
And all and each that passed that way
Did join in the pursuit.
And now the turnpike gates again
Flew open in short space;
The toll-men thinking as before,
That Gilpin rode a race.
And so he did, and won it too,
For he got first to town;
Nor stopped till where he had got up
He did again get down.
Now let us sing, long live the king,
And Gilpin, long live he;
And, when he next doth ride abroad,
May I be there to see!
These flowing from the fount of grace above,
Those breathed from lips of everlasting love.
The flinty soil indeed their feet annoys;
Chill blasts of trouble nip their springing joys;
An envious world will interpose its frown,
To mar delights superior to its own;
And many a pang, experienced still within,
Reminds them of their hated inmate, Sin:
But ills of every shape and every name,
Transformed to blessings, miss their cruel aim;
And every moment's calm that soothes the breast,
Is given in earnest of eternal rest.
Ah, be not sad, although thy lot be cast
Far from the flock, and in a boundless waste!
No shepherd's tents within thy view appear,
But the chief Shepherd even there is near;
Thy tender sorrows and thy plaintive strain
Flow in a foreign land, but not in vain;
Thy tears all issue from a source divine,
And every drop bespeaks a Saviour thine-
So once in Gideon's fleece the dews were found,
And drought on all the drooping herbs around.
AFFLICTED PROTESTANT LADY IN FRANCE.
Madam,
A STRANGER's purpose in these lays
Is to congratulate and not to praise.
To give the creature the Creator's due
Were sin in me, and an offence to you.
From man to man, or e'en to woman paid,
Praise is the medium of a knavish trade,
A coin by craft for folly's use designed,
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 reached that blest abode,
Who found not thorns and briers in his road,
The world may dance along the flowery plain,
Cheered as they go by many a sprightly strain,
Where Nature has her mossy velvet spread,
With unshod feet they yet securely tread,
Admonished, scorn the caution and the friend,
Bent all on pleasure, heedless of its end.
But he, who knew what human hearts would prove,
How slow to learn the dictates of his love,
That, hard by nature and of stubborn will,
A life of ease would make them harder still,
In pity to the souls his grace designed
To rescue from the ruins of mankind,
Called for a cloud to darken all their years,
And said, "Go, spend them in the vale of tears."
O balmy gales of soul-reviving air!
O salutary streams that murmur there!
REV. W. CAWTHORNE UNWIN,
UNWIN, I should but ill repay
The kindness of a friend,
Whose worth deserves as warm a lay,
As ever friendship penned,
Thy name omitted in a page,
That would reclaim a vicious age.
A union formed, as mine with thee,
Not rashly, nor in sport,
May be as fervent in degree,
And faithful in its sort,
And may as rich in comfort prove
As that of true fraternal lover
The bud inserted in the rind,
The bud of peach or rose,
Adorns, though differing in its kind,
The stock whereon it grows,
With flower as sweet, or fruit as fair
As if produced by nature there.
Not rich, I render what I may,
I seize thy name in haste,
And place it in this first essay,
Lest this should prove the last.
'Tis where it should be-in a plan.
That holds in view the good of man.
The poet's lyre, to fix his fame,
Should be the poet's heart;
Affection lights a brighter flame
Than ever blazed by art.
No muses on these lines attend,
I sink the poet in the friend.
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 feared 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 o'er the mead,
Bids me and Mary mourn:
But lovely Spring peeps o'er 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, appear,
A glimpse of joy, that we have met,
Shall shine and dry the tear.
TO MISS STAPLETON, (NOW MRS, COURTNAY.)
SHE came she is gone-we have met→
And meet perhaps never again;
The sun of that moment is set,
And seems to have risen in vain.
Catharina has fled like a dream-
(So vanishes pleasure, alas!) But has left a regret and esteem, That will not so suddenly pass.
The last evening ramble we made,
Catharina, Maria, and I,
Our progress was often delayed
By the nightingale warbling nigh.
We paused under many a tree,
And much she was charmed with a tone Less sweet to Maria and me,
Who so lately had witnessed her own.
My numbers that day she had sung,
And gave them a grace so divine,
As only her musical tongue
Could infuse into numbers of mine.
The longer I heard, I esteemed
The work of my fancy the more,
And e'en to myself never seemed
So tuneful a poet before,
Though the pleasures of London exceed
In number the days of the year,
Catharina, did nothing impede,
Would feel herself happier here; For the close-woven arches of limes On the banks of our river, I know, Are sweeter to her many times
Than aught that the city can show.
So it is, when the mind is endued
With a well-judging taste from above;
Then, whether embellished or rude,
'Tis nature alone that we love.
The achievements of art may amuse,
May even our wonder excite,
But groves, hills, and valleys, diffuse
A lasting, a sacred delight.
Since then in the rural recess
Catharina alone can rejoice, May it still be her lot to possess
The scene of her sensible choice! To inhabit a mansion remote
From the clatter of street-pacing steeds, And by Philomel's annual note
To measure the life that she leads.
With her book, and her voice, and her lyre,
To wing all her moments at home;
And with scenes that new rapture inspire,
As oft as it suits her to roam;
She will have just the life she prefers,
With little to hope or to fear,
And ours would be pleasant as hers,
Might we view her enjoying it here.
A HERMIT, (or if 'chance you hold
That title now too trite and old).
A man, once young, who lived retired,
As hermit could have well desired.
His hours of study closed at last,
And finished his concise repast,
Stoppled his cruise, replaced his book
Within its customary nook,
And, staff in hand, set forth to share
The sober cordial of sweet air,
Like Isaac, with a mind applied
To serious thought at evening tide.
Autumnal rains had made it chill,
And from the trees, that fringed his hill
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