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Mrs. Unwin told him that she was ill, and asked him to take her out for a walk, which he did. poet's cousin was anxious to try the effect of a complete change, and in 1795 he and Mrs. Unwin were taken to Norfolk. Before leaving Weston he wrote on a panel of the window-shutter in his bed-room the following couplet :

"Farewell, dear scenes, forever closed to me;

Oh, for what sorrows must I now exchange ye!"

They went to North Toddenham, near East Dereham. They stayed also at Mundesley, and at Dereham Lodge. But Cowper's malady became worse and worse-he was filled with dreadful apprehensions; and both he and his old friend were drawing near to the grave. Mrs. Unwin was the first to go. She expired without the slightest struggle on the 17th of December 1796. Cowper's friends were afraid of the result; but the poet bore the trouble with greater calmness than was expected. His cousin, Mr. Johnson, had taken him to his own home, and lavished all possible care upon him, both there and at Mundesley, whither he was often conveyed for the benefit of the sea air. But he gradually sank into deeper weakness, and, alas! into deeper gloom also. His last poem, and one of the most affecting and pathetic that was ever written, was "The Castaway."

In February 1800 dropsy set in, and though physicians did all that they could, he was, before the end of March, confined to his room. He died on April the 20th, and was buried in Dereham Church.

We are accustomed to speak of the life of Cowper as one of unutterable sadness. But it was not so. The terrible disease which afflicted him shrouded many months in gloom, but the greater number of his years were peaceful and happy. His writings had from the first a good influence upon the country. Perhaps his Tirocinium; or, Review of Schools, was unfair and unjust on the whole, but it accomplished a work of reformation. He may be said to have introduced a new era in literature. The style of his poetry was altogether different from that of his time, and it set an example, which, happily, has been followed, more or less, by the poets who have come after him. He espoused a good cause, and his name will ever be revered, while his genius is honoured, by those who, like him, recommend

"The cause of piety, and sacred truth,

And virtue, and those scenes which God ordained
Should best secure them and promote them most."

EVA HOPE.

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Poetical Works of Cowper.

VERSES WRITTEN AT BATH, ON FINDING THE HEEL OF A SHOE, IN 1748.

:

thanks!

Not that my 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, nor ev'ning's cool repast,
Hopes she from this-presumptuous, tho', perhaps,
The cobbler, leather-carving artist! might.
Nathless she thanks thee, and accepts thy boon,
Whatever; not as erst the fabled cock,
Vainglorious fool! unknowing what he found,
Spurn'd the rich gem thou gav'st him. Wherefore, ah!
Why not on me that favour (worthier sure!)

Conferr'dst thou, Goddess! Thou art blind, thou say'st:

Enough!-thy blindness shall excuse the deed.

Nor does my 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,
Haply (for such its massy form bespeaks),
The weighty tread of some rude peasant clown
Upbore on this supported oft, he stretch'd,
With uncouth strides, along the furrow'd glebe,
Flatt'ning the stubborn clod, till cruel time
(What will not cruel time ?), or a wry step,
Sever'd the strict cohesion; when, alas!
He, who could erst, with even, equal pace,
Pursue his destin'd way with symmetry,
And some proportion form'd, now, on one side,
Curtail'd and maim'd, the sport of vagrant boys,
Cursing his frail supporter, treacherous prop!
With toilsome steps, and difficult, moves on:
Thus fares it oft with other than the feet
Of humble villager-the statesman thus,
Up the steep road, where proud ambition leads,
Aspiring, first uninterrupted winds

His prosp'rous way; nor fears miscarriage foul,
While policy prevails, and friends prove true;
But that support soon failing, by him left,
On whom he most depended, basely left,
Betray'd, deserted; from his airy height
Headlong he falls; and thro' the rest of life,
Drags the dull load of disappointment on.

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