COMPOSED FOR A MEMORIAL OF

ASHLEY COWPER, ESQ.

IMMEDIATELY AFTER HIS DEATH,

BY HIS NEPHEW, WILLIAM OF WESTON.

[June, 1788.]

FAREWELL! endued with all that could engage
All hearts to love thee, both in youth and age!
In prime of life, for sprightliness enroll'd
Among the gay, yet virtuous as the old ;
In life's last stage-O blessings rarely found—
Pleasant as youth with all its blossoms crown'd;
Through every period of this changeful state,
Unchang'd thyself-wise, good, affectionate '

Marble may flatter; and lest this should seem O'ercharg'd with praises on so dear a theme, Although thy worth be more than half supprest, Love shall be satisfied, and veil the rest.

ON THE

QUEEN'S VISIT TO LONDON,

THE NIGHT OF THE 17th MARCH, 1789.

WHEN, long sequester'd from his throne,

George took his seat again,

By right of worth, not blood alone,

Entitled here to reign.

Then Loyalty, with all his lamps

New trimm'd, a gallant show! Chasing the darkness, and the damps, Set London in a glow.

"Twas hard to tell, of streets or squares,
Which form'd the chief display,
These most resembling cluster'd stars,
Those the long milky way.

Bright shone the roofs, the domes, the spires,
And rockets flew, self-driv'n,
To hang their momentary fires
Amid the vault of Heav'n.

So, fire with water to compare,
The ocean serves, on high
Up-spouted by a whale in air,
T'express unwieldy joy.

Had all the pageants of the world
In one procession join'd,
And all the banners been unfurl'd
That heralds e'er design'd.

For no such sight had England's Queen
Forsaken her retreat,

Where, George recover'd, made a scene
Sweet always, doubly sweet.

Yet glad she came that night to prove,
A witness undescri'd,

How much the object of her love
Was lov'd by all beside.

Darkness the skies had mantled o'er,
In aid of her design-

Darkness, O Queen! ne'er call'd before

To veil a deed of thine!

On borrow'd wheels away she flies,
Resolv'd to be unknown,

And gratify no curious eyes

That night, except her own.

Arriv'd, a night like noon she sees,
And hears the million hum;
As all by instinct, like the bees,
Had known their sov'reign come.

Pleas'd she beheld aloft pourtray'd
On many a splendid wall,

Emblems of health, and heav'nly aid,
And George the theme of all.

Unlike the ænigmatick line,
So difficult to spell,

Which shock Belshazzar at his wine,
The night his city fell.

Soon, wat'ry grew her eyes and dim,
But with a joyful tear,
None else, except a pray'r for him,
George ever drew from her.

It was a scene in ev'ry part

Like those in fable feign'd,

And seem'd by some magician's art
Created and sustain'd.

But other magick there, she knew,
Had been exerted none,

To raise such wonders in her view,
Save love of George alone.

That cordial thought her spirit cheer'd,

And through the cumb'rous throng,

Not else unworthy to be fear'd,

Convey'd her calm along.

So, ancient poets say serene

The sea-maid rides the waves,
And fearless of the hillowy scene
Her peaceful bosom laves.

With more than astronomick eyes
She view'd the sparkling show;
One Georgian star adorns the skies,
She myriads found below

Yet let the glories of a nigh

Like that once seen, suffice,

Heav'n grant us no such future sight,
Such previous wo the price!

THE

COCK-FIGHTER'S GARLAND.

[May, 1789.]

MUSE-Hide his name of whom I sing,
Lest his surviving house thou bring,
For his sake, into scorn;

Nor speak the School from which he drew
The much or little that he knew,

Nor place where he was born.

That such a man once was, may seem
Worthy of record (if the theme

Perchance may credit win)

For proof to man, what man may prove,
If grace depart, and demons move

The source of guilt within.

This man (for since the howling wild
Disclaims him, Man he must be styl'd)
Wanted no good below,

Gentle he was, if gentle birth

Could make him such, and he had worth, If wealth can worth bestow.

In social talk and ready jest
He shone superiour at the feast,
And qualities of mind

Illustrious in the eyes of those
Whose gay society he chose,
Possess'd of every kind.

Methinks I see him powder'd red,
With bushy locks his well-dress'd head
Wing'd broad on either side,

The mossy rose bud not so sweet
His steed superb, his carriage neat
As lux'ry could provide.

Can such be cruel!-Such can be
Cruel as hell, and so is he!
A tyrant, entertain'd

With barb'rous sports, whose fell delight
Was to encourage mortal fight

"Twixt birds to battle train'd.

One feather'd champion he possess'd,
His darling far beyond the rest,

Which never knew disgrace,

Nor e'er had fought, but he made flow
The life-blood of his fiercest foe,
The Cæsar of his race.

It chanced, at last, when, on a day,
He push'd him to the desp'rate fray
His courage droop'd, he fled,