When first thy Sire to send on earth And bade to form her infant mind. What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' woe. Scared at thy frown terrific, fly Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, And leave us leisure to be good. Light they disperse, and with them go The summer friend, the flattering foe; By vain Prosperity received, To her they vow their truth, and are again believed. Wisdom in sable garb array'd Immersed in rapturous thought profound, And Melancholy, silent maid, With leaden eye, that loves the ground, Still on thy solemn steps attend : Warm Charity, the general friend, With Justice, to herself severe, And Pity dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. Oh! gently on thy suppliant's head Dread goddess, lay thy chastening hand! Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, Nor circled with the vengeful band (As by the impious thou art seen) With thundering voice, and threatening mien, With screaming Horror's funeral cry, Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty ; Thy form benign, oh goddess, wear, Thy philosophic train be there To soften, not to wound my heart. The generous spark extinct revive, Teach me to love and to forgive, What others are to feel, and know myself a Man. T. Gray 45 Society, Friendship, and Love Ye winds that have made me your sport, 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 a glance of the mind! And the swift-wingéd arrows of light. 15 52. 53. Mary! I want a lyre with other strings, Such aid from Heaven as some have feign'd they drew, That ere through age or woe I shed my wings I In verse as musical as thou art true, 5 But thou hast little need. There is a Book By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light, 10 A chronicle of actions just and bright- And since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine. TO THE SAME The twentieth year is well-nigh past My Mary! W. Cowper CCIV. Thy spirits have a fainter flow, I see thee daily weaker grow 'Twas my distress that brought thee low, My Mary! 5 But well thou play'dst the housewife's part, Have wound themselves about this heart, 20 Thy indistinct expressions seem Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, For could I view nor them nor thee, Partakers of thy sad decline Thy hands their little force resign; Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st 54. And still to love, though prest with ill, With me is to be lovely still, But ah! by constant heed I know How oft the sadness that I show Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, And should my future lot be cast THE CASTAWAY Obscurest night involved the sky, No braver chief could Albion boast W. Cowper 45 50 CCV. 5 |