But the axe spared thee. In those thriftier days
Oaks fell not, hewn by thousands, to supply
The bottomless demands of contest waged
For senatorial honours. Thus to Time
The task was left to whittle thee away
With his sly scythe, whose ever-nibbling edge,
Noiseless, an atom, and an atom more,
Disjoining from the rest, has, unobserved,
Achieved a labour, which had, far and wide,
By man performed, made all the forest ring.
Embowelled now, and of thy ancient self
Possessing nought but the scooped rind,—that seems
A huge throat calling to the clouds for drink,
Which it would give in rivulets to thy root,--
Thou temptest none, but rather much forbiddest
The feller's toil, which thou couldst ill requite.
Yet is thy root sincere, sound as the rock,
A quarry of stout spurs and knotted fangs,
Which, crooked into a thousand whimsies, clasp
The stubborn soil, and hold thee still erect.

So stands a kingdom, whose foundation yet
Fails not, in virtue and in wisdom laid,
Though all the superstructure, by the tooth
Pulverized of venality, a shell
Stands now, and semblance only of itself!
Thine arms have left thee.

Winds have rent them off

Some have left

Long since, and rovers of the forest wild
With bow and shaft have burnt them.
A splintered stump, bleached to a snowy white :
And some memorial none, where once they grew.
Yet life still lingers in thee, and puts forth
Proof not contemptible of what she can,
Even where death predominates. The Spring
Finds thee not less alive to her sweet force
Than yonder upstarts of the neighbouring wood,
So much thy juniors, who their birth received
Half a millennium since the date of thine.

But since, although well qualified by age
To teach, no spirit dwells in thee, nor voice
May be expected from thee, seated here
On thy distorted root, with hearers none,
Or prompter, save the scene, I will perform
Myself the oracle, and will discourse
In my own ear such matter as I may.

One man alone, the father of us all,
Drew not his life from woman; never gazed,
With mute unconsciousness of what he saw,
On all around him; learned not by degrees,
Nor owed articulation to his ear;
But moulded by his Maker into man
At once, upstood intelligent, surveyed
All creatures, with precision understood

Their purport, uses, properties; assigned

To each his name significant, and, filled

With love and wisdom, rendered back to Heaven

In praise harmonious the first air he drew.
He was excused the penalties of dull
Minority. No tutor charged his hand

With the thought-tracing quill, or tasked his mind
With problems. History, not wanted yet,

Leaned on her elbow, watching Time, whose course,
Eventful, should supply her with a theme.

1791.

*

TO THE NIGHTINGALE

WHICH THE AUTHOR HEARD SING ON NEW YEAR'S DAY, 1792.

1792.

HASTINGS! I knew thee young, and of a mind,
While young, humane, conversable, and kind;
Nor can I well believe thee, gentle then,
Now grown a villain, and the worst of men ;
But rather some suspect who have oppressed
And worried thee, as not themselves the best.

LINES

WRITTEN FOR INSERTION IN A COLLECTION OF HANDWRITINGS AND SIGNATURES, MADE BY MISS PATTY, SISTER OF HANNAH MORE.

IN vain to live from age to age
While modern bards endeavour,
I write my name in Patty's page,
And gain my point for ever.

March 6, 1792.

W. COWPER.

TO WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, ESQ.
THY Country, Wilberforce, with just disdain,
Hears thee by cruel men and impious called
Fanatic, for thy zeal to loose the enthralled
From exile, public sale, and slavery's chain.
Friend of the poor, the wronged, the fetter-galled,
Fear not lest labour such as thine be vain!
Thou hast achieved a part; hast gained the ear

Of Britain's senate to thy glorious cause.

Hope smiles, joy springs, and though cold caution pause
And weave delay, the better hour is near

That shall remunerate thy toils severe

By peace for Afric, fenced with British laws.

Enjoy what thou hast won, esteem and love

From all the just on earth and all the blest above.

April 16, 1792.

TO DR. AUSTEN, OF CECIL STREET, LONDON.

AUSTEN! accept a grateful verse from me,

The poet's treasure, no inglorious fee.
Loved by the Muses, thy ingenuous mind
Pleasing requital in a verse may find ;
Verse oft has dashed the scythe of Time aside,
Immortalizing names which else had died.

And oh could I command the glittering wealth
With which sick kings are glad to purchase health,
Yet, if extensive fame, and sure to live,

Were in the power of verse like mine to give,
I would not recompense his heart with less,

Who, giving Mary health, heals my distress.

Friend of my friend!* I love thee, though unknown,
And boldly call thee, being his, my own.

May 26, 1792.

* Hayley.

QUALES aërii montis de vertice nubes

Cum surgunt, et jam Boreæ tumida ora quiêrunt,
Cælum hilares abdit, spissâ caligine, vultus :
Tum si jucundo tandem sol prodeat ore,
Et croceo montes et pascua lumine tingat,
Gaudent omnia, aves mulcent concentibus agros,
Balatuque ovium colles vallesque resultant.

TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ.

HAYLEY, thy tenderness fraternal, shown,
In our first interview, delightful guest!
To Mary, and me for her dear sake distressed,
Such as it is has made my heart thy own,

Though heedless now of new engagements grown :
For threescore winters make a wintry breast,
And I had purposed ne'er to go in quest
Of Friendship more, except with God alone.
But thou hast won me: nor is God my foe,
Who, ere this last afflictive scene began,
Sent thee to mitigate the dreadful blow,
My brother, by whose sympathy I know
Thy true deserts infallibly to scan,

Not more to admire the Bard than love the Mail.
June 2, 1792.

C C

CATHARINA:

THE SECOND PART.

ON HER MARRIAGE TO GEORGE COURTENAY, ESQ.

+ Alluding to the poem by Mr. Hayley, which accompanied these lines.