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And I can view this mimic show of thee,
THE POPLAR FIELD.
The poplars are felled; farewell to the shade,
Twelve years have elapsed since I first took a view
The blackbird has fled to another retreat,
My fugitive years are all hasting away,
'Tis a sight to engage me, if anything can,
ON A MISCHIEVOUS BULL,
WHICH THE OWNER OF HIM SOLD AT THE AUTHOR'S INSTANCE.
Go !—thou art all unfit to share
The pleasures of this place
Creatures of gentler race.
The squirrel here his hoard provides,
Aware of wintry storms;
Of rugged oaks for worms.
The sheep here smoothes the knotted thorn
With frictions of her fleece;
Like her, a friend to peace.
* Cowper afterwards altered this last stanza in the following manner:
\h !—I could pity thee exiled
I would not lose it to be styled
But thou canst taste no calm delight;
Thy pleasure is to show
Thy prowess,—therefore, go!
I care not whether east or north,
The angry Muse thus sings thee forth,
Here lies one who never drew
EPITAPH ON FOP,
A DOG BELONGING TO LADY THROCKMORTON.
Though once a puppy, and though Fop by name,
Here moulders one whose bones some honour claim:
No sycophant, although of spaniel race,
And though no hound, a martyr to the chase.
Ye squirrels, rabbits, leverets, rejoice!
Your haunts no longer echo to his voice;
This record of his fate exulting view,
He died worn out with vain pursuit of you.
"Yes "—the indignant shade of Fop replies— "And worn with vain pursuit man also dies."
SONNET TO GEORGE ROMNEY, ESQ.
ON HIS PICTURE OF ME IN CRAYONS, DRAWN AT EARTHAM, IN THE SIXTY-FIRST YEAR OF MY AGE, AND IN THE MONTHS OF AUGUST AND SEPTEMBER, 1792.
ROMNEY, expert infallibly to trace
On chart or canvas, not the form alone
The mind's impression too on every face;
With strokes that time ought never to erase
Thou hast so pencilled mine, that though I own
The artist shining with superior grace.
But this I mark,—that symptoms none of woe
Well—I am satisfied it should be so,
Since, on maturer thought, the cause is clear;
For in my looks what sorrow couldst thou see,
When I was Hayley's guest, and sat to thee?
ON RECEIVING HAYLEY'S PICTURE.
EPITAPH ON MR. CHESTER OF CHICHELEY.
Tears now, and cease not, where the good man lies,
ON A PLANT OF VIRGIN'S-BOWER,
DESIGNED TO COVER A GARDEN-SEAT.
Spring of 1793.
Thrive, gentle plant! and weave a bower
For Mary and for me,
Thy foliage large and free.
Thou earnest from Eartham, and wilt shade,
(If truly I divine,)
Of him who made thee mine.
Should Daphne show a jealous frown,
And Envy seize the Bay,
Such honoured brows as they.
Thy cause with zeal we shall defend,
And with convincing power!
Be crowned with Virgin's Bower?
TO MY COUSIN, ANNE BODHAM,
ON RECEIVING FROM HER A NETWORK PURSE, MADE BY HERSELF.
My gentle Anne, whom heretofore,
Than plaything for a nurse,
I thank thee for my purse.
Gold pays the worth of all things here:
For richest rogues to win it;
The best things kept within it.
FOR A HERMITAGE IN THE AUTHOR'S GARDEN.
This cabin, Mary, in my sight appears,
TO MRS. UNWIN.
Mary! I want a lyre with other strings,
Such aid from heaven as some have feigned they drew, An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new
And undebased by praise of meaner things,
That ere through age or woe I shed my wings,
I may record thy worth with honour due,
In verse as musical as thou art true,
By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light,
A chronicle of actions just and bright;
TO JOHN JOHNSON,
ON HIS PRESENTING ME WITH AN ANTIQUE BUST OF IttMKR.
Kinsman beloved, and as a son by me!
I reverence feel for him, and love for thee.
Joy too and grief. Much joy that there should be
Which others scom : critics by courtesy.
The grief is this, that sunk in Homer's mine,
Handling his gold, which howsoe'er it shine,
Be wiser thou ;—like our forefather Donne,
Seek heavenly wealth, and work for God alone.
TO A YOUNG FRIEND,
ON HIS ARRIVING AT CAMBRIDGE WET, WHEN NO RAIN HAD FALLEN THERE.
If Gideon's fleece, which drenched with dew he found,
In Scotland's realm, where trees are few.