This moveable structure of shelves, For its beauty admired and its use, And charged with octavos and twelves, The gayest I had to produce; Where, flaming in scarlet and gold, My poems enchanted I view, And hope, in due time, to behold My Iliad and Odyssey too: This china, that decks the alcove, Has ne'er been reveal'd to us yet: All these are not half that I owe Benignity, friendship, and truth; Much less could he alter her mind. Thus compass'd about with the goods And chattels of leisure and ease, I indulge my poetical moods In many such fancies as these; And fancies I fear they will seem— LINES, 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 Unchanged thyself-wise, good, affectionate! Marble may flatter, and lest this should seem O'ercharged with praises on so dear a theme, Although thy worth be more than half supprest, Love shall be satisfied, and veil the rest. SONG ON PEACE. WRITTEN IN THE SUMMER OF 1783, AT THE REQUEST OF LADY AUSTEN, WHO GAVE THE SENTIMENT. AIR-" My fond shepherds of late," &c. No longer I follow a sound; No longer a dream I pursue; I have sought thee in splendour and dress, An humble ambition and hope The voice of true wisdom inspires; 'Tis sufficient, if Peace be the scope, And the summit of all our desires. Peace may be the lot of the mind That seeks it in meekness and love; SONG. ALSO WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF LADY AUSTEN. AIR" The Lass of Pattie's Mill." WHEN all within is peace, How nature seems to smile! Delights that never cease, S. C.-9. A A From morn to dewy eve, And soothe the silent hours. It is content of heart Gives nature power to please; Seem bright as smiling May, And evening's closing eye The vast majestic globe, Is to a mourner's heart A dreary wild at best; It flutters to depart, And longs to be at rest. EPITAPH ON JOHNSON. JANUARY, 1785. HERE Johnson lies, a sage by all allow'd, Whom to have bred, may well make England proud; Whose prose was eloquence, by wisdom taught, The graceful vehicle of virtuous thought; Whose verse may claim, grave masculine and strong, Superior praise to the mere poet's song; Who many a noble gift from Heaven possess'd, ΤΟ MISS C- ON HER BIRTHDAY. 1786. How many between east and west, We can rejoice that she was born, THE FLATTING-MILL. AN ILLUSTRATION. WHEN a bar of pure silver or ingot of gold And warm'd by the pressure is all in a glow. |