Poems, by William Cowper, in Two VolumesPrintede for J. Johnson by T. Bensley, 1815 |
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Page xxxi
... muse . The writer alludes to Lady Austen , the widow of Sir Robert Austen , Baronet , whose first introduction to the Poet and his friends occurred in the summer of 1781 ; a memorable era in the life of Cowper . The limits , however ...
... muse . The writer alludes to Lady Austen , the widow of Sir Robert Austen , Baronet , whose first introduction to the Poet and his friends occurred in the summer of 1781 ; a memorable era in the life of Cowper . The limits , however ...
Page xxxviii
... Muse . In January 1790 , the writer of this sketch , who had hitherto enjoyed no personal intercourse with his relative , but for whom , ten years after , was reserved the melancholy office of closing his eyes , introduced himself to ...
... Muse . In January 1790 , the writer of this sketch , who had hitherto enjoyed no personal intercourse with his relative , but for whom , ten years after , was reserved the melancholy office of closing his eyes , introduced himself to ...
Page xli
... muse , by his very pleasing and well - informed clerical neighbour , Mr. Buchanan , of Ravenstone ; and the seasonable visit of three of his Norfolk relations , Mrs. Balls , Miss John- 7son , and her brother , in the vacant period ...
... muse , by his very pleasing and well - informed clerical neighbour , Mr. Buchanan , of Ravenstone ; and the seasonable visit of three of his Norfolk relations , Mrs. Balls , Miss John- 7son , and her brother , in the vacant period ...
Page 1
... Muse , tho ' bashful , shall deny , She would have thank'd thee rather , hadst thou cast A treasure in her way ; for neither meed Of early breakfast , to dispel the fumes , And bowel - raking pains of emptiness , Nor noontide feast ...
... Muse , tho ' bashful , shall deny , She would have thank'd thee rather , hadst thou cast A treasure in her way ; for neither meed Of early breakfast , to dispel the fumes , And bowel - raking pains of emptiness , Nor noontide feast ...
Page 2
... Muse no benefit exhale From this thy scant indulgence ! —even here , Hints , worthy sage philosophy , are found ; Illustrious hints , to moralise my song ! This pond'rous heel of perforated hide Compact , with pegs indented , many a row ...
... Muse no benefit exhale From this thy scant indulgence ! —even here , Hints , worthy sage philosophy , are found ; Illustrious hints , to moralise my song ! This pond'rous heel of perforated hide Compact , with pegs indented , many a row ...
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afflicted appear bard beneath boast Boötes born bosom breast breath brow Cacus call'd Cowper Damon death delight Dereham divine Dryope Eartham East Dereham EPITAPH ev'ry eyes fair fame Faunus fear flow'rs friendship gentle grace grove hand happy Hayley heart Heav'n Homer honour hope Iliad John Throckmorton Jove kind kinsman labour Lady Austen Lady Hesketh lambs Latium length lyre Mary mind morning Mundsley Muse ne'er never night num'rous nymphs o'er Olney once pain Pallas Philomela Phoebus poem Poet pow'r praise prove quæ rest Rose scarcely scene seek your home shade shore sight skies smile SONETTO song SONNET soon spirits spring sweet tears thee theme thine thoughts are due THRACIAN tibi translation Twas Unwin verse vex'd VINCENT BOURNE voice Weston WILLIAM COWPER WILLIAM HAYLEY wish worth write youth
Popular passages
Page 332 - Adieu!' At length, his transient respite past, His comrades, who before Had heard his voice in every blast, Could catch the sound no more: For then, by toil subdued, he drank The stifling wave, and then he sank. No poet wept him; but the page Of narrative sincere, That tells his name, his worth, his age Is wet with Anson's tear: And tears by bards or heroes shed Alike immortalize the dead.
Page 94 - George, with all her crew complete ! Toll for the brave ! Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; His last sea-fight is fought — his work of glory done. It was not in the battle ; no tempest gave the shock ; She sprang no fatal leak ; she ran upon no rock.
Page 303 - 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, And that immortalizes whom it sings:— But thou hast little need. There is a Book By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light, On which the eyes of God not rarely look, A chronicle of actions just and bright — There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine ; And since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine...
Page lxxviii - YE, who with warmth the public triumph feel Of talents dignified by sacred zeal, Here, to devotion's bard devoutly just, Pay your fond tribute due to Cowper's dust ! England, exulting in his spotless fame, Ranks with her dearest sons his favourite name.
Page 80 - Not deeming kittens worth a Poet's care. But presently a loud and furious hiss Caused me to stop, and to exclaim, ' What's this ?' When lo ! upon the threshold met my view, With head erect, and eyes of fiery hue, A viper, long as Count de Grasse's queue.
Page 319 - T was my distress that brought thee low, My Mary ! Thy needles, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore, Now rust disused, and shine no more ; My Mary ! For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil The same kind office for me still...
Page 95 - His sword was in its sheath; His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down With twice four hundred men. Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes ! And mingle with our cup The tear that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again Full charged with England's thunder; And plough the distant main. But Kempenfelt is gone, His victories are o'er ; And he and his eight hundred Shall plough the wave no more.
Page 331 - Nor, cruel as it seem'd, could he Their haste himself condemn, Aware that flight, in such a sea, Alone could rescue them; Yet bitter felt it still to die Deserted, and his friends so nigh. He long survives, who lives an hour In ocean, self-upheld; And so long he, with unspent pow'r, His destiny repell'd; And ever, as the minutes flew, Entreated help, or cried — "Adieu!
Page 94 - With all her crew complete. Toll for the brave ! Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; His last sea-fight is fought, His work of glory done. It was not in the battle ; No tempest gave the shock ; She sprang no fatal leak ; She ran upon no rock. His sword was in its sheath, His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down With twice four hundred men. Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes ! And mingle with our cup The tear that England owes.
Page lvii - Tell me if my poor birds are living! I never see the herbs I used to give them without a recollection of them, and sometimes am ready to gather them, forgetting that I am not at home. Pardon this intrusion ! " Mrs. Unwin continues much as usual.