In Albion, and well nigh from Albion's shore,
And with keen Phoebean shafts

Piercing th' unseemly birds,
Whose talons menace us,

Shall drive the Harpy race from Helicon afar?

ANTISTROPHE

But thou, my book, though thou hast stray'd,
Whether by treach'ry lost,

Or indolent neglect, thy bearer's fault,
From all thy kindred books,

To some dark cell, or cave forlorn,
Where thou endur'st, perhaps,

The chafing of some hard untutor'd hand,
Be comforted—

For lo! again the splendid hope appears
That thou may'st yet escape

The gulphs of Lethe, and on oary wings
Mount to the everlasting courts of Jove!

STROPHE III

Since Rouse desires thee, and complains
That, though by promise his,
Thou yet appear'st not in thy place
Among the literary noble stores,

Giv'n to his care,

But, absent, leav'st his numbers incomplete:
He, therefore, guardian vigilant

Of that unperishing wealth,

Calls thee to the interior shrine, his charge,
Where he intends a richer treasure far
Than Iön kept (Iön, Erectheus’son
Illustrious, of the fair Creüsa born)
In the resplendent temple of his God,
Tripods of gold, and Delphic gifts divine.

ANTISTROPHE

Haste, then, to the pleasant groves, The Muses' fav'rite haunt; Resume thy station in Apollo's dome, Dearer to him

Than Delos, or the fork'd Parnassian hill!

Exulting go,

Since now a splendid lot is also thine,

And thou art sought by my propitious friend;
For there thou shalt be read

With authors of exalted note,

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50

60

70

The antient glorious lights of Greece and Rome.

EPODE

Ye, then, my works, no longer vain,
And worthless deem'd by me!
Whate'er this steril genius has produc'd
Expect, at last, the rage of envy spent,
An unmolested happy home,

Gift of kind Hermes, and my watchful friend,
Where never flippant tongue profane

Shall entrance find,

And whence the coarse unletter'd multitude
Shall babble far remote.

Perhaps some future distant age,

Less ting'd with prejudice, and better taught,
Shall furnish minds of pow'r

To judge more equally.

Then, malice silenced in the tomb,
Cooler heads and sounder hearts,
Thanks to Rouse, if aught of praise

I merit, shall with candour weigh the claim.

A TRANSLATION OF THE

ITALIAN POEMS

SONNET

81

90

FAIR Lady! whose harmonious name the Rhine, Through all his grassy vale, delights to hear, Base were indeed the wretch, who could forbear To love a spirit elegant as thine,

That manifests a sweetness all divine,

Nor knows a thousand winning acts to spare, And graces, which Love's bow and arrows are, Temp'ring thy virtues to a softer shine. When gracefully thou speak'st, or singest gay, Such strains, as might the senseless forest move, Ah then--turn each his eyes, and ears, away, Who feels himself unworthy of thy love! Grace can alone preserve him, ere the dart Of fond desire yet reach his inmost heart.

SONNET

As on a hill-top rude, when closing day
Imbrowns the scene, some past'ral maiden fair
Waters a lovely foreign plant with care,
Borne from its native genial airs away,
That scarcely can its tender bud display,.

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So, on my tongue these accents, new, and rare, Are flow'rs exotic, which Love waters there. While thus, O sweetly scornful! I essay Thy praise, in verse to British ears unknown, And Thames exchange for Arno's fair domain; 10 So Love has will'd, and ofttimes Love has shown That what he wills, he never wills in vain. Oh that this hard and steril breast might be, To Him, who plants from Heav'n, a soil as free!

CANZONE

THEY mock my toil-the nymphs and am'rous swains

"And whence this fond attempt to write," they cry, "Love songs in language, that thou little know'st? How dar'st thou risk to sing these foreign strains? Say truly. Find'st not oft thy purpose cross'd, And that thy fairest flow'rs here fade and die?" Then with pretence of admiration high"Thee other shores expect, and other tides, Rivers, on whose grassy sides

10

Her deathless laurel leaf, with which to bind
Thy flowing locks, already Fame provides;
Why then this burthen, better far declin'd?"
Speak, Muse! for me.-The fair one said, who
guides

My willing heart, and all my fancy's flights,
"This is the language, in which Love delights."

SONNET

TO CHARLES DIODATI

CHARLES-and I say it wond'ring- thou must know
That I, who once assum'd a scornful air,
And scoff'd at love, am fallen in his snare,
(Full many an upright man has fallen so)
Yet think me not thus dazzled by the flow
Of golden locks, or damask cheek; more rare
The heart-felt beauties of my foreign fair;
A mien majestic, with dark brows, that show
The tranquil lustre of a lofty mind;

10

Words exquisite, of idioms more than one, And song, whose fascinating pow'r might bind, And from her sphere draw down the lab'ring Moon, With such fire-darting eyes, that should I fill My ears with wax, she would inchant me still.

SONNET

LADY! It cannot be, but that thine eyes

Must be my sun, such radiance they display, And strike me ev'n as Phoebus him, whose way Through horrid Lybia's sandy desert lies. Meantime, on that side steamy vapours rise

Where most I suffer. Of what kind are they,
New as to me they are, I cannot say,

But deem them, in the lover's language-sighs.
Some, though with pain, my bosom close conceals,
Which, if in part escaping thence, they tend
To soften thine, thy coldness soon congeals.

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While others to my tearful eyes ascend, Whence my sad nights in show'rs are ever drown'd, Till my Aurora comes, her brow with roses bound.

SONNET

ENAMOUR'D, artless, young, on foreign ground,
Uncertain whither from myself to fly,
To thee, dear Lady, with an humble sigh
Let me devote my heart, which I have found
By certain proofs, not few, intrepid, sound,
Good, and addicted to conceptions high:

When tempests shake the world, and fire the sky,
It rests in adamant self-wrapt around,
As safe from envy, and from outrage rude,

From hopes and fears, that vulgar minds abuse,

As fond of genius, and fixt fortitude,

Of the resounding lyre, and every Muse. Weak you will find it in one only part, Now pierc'd by Love's immedicable dart.

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APPENDIX OF JUVENILE, FRAGMENTARY AND IMPROMPTU VERSE

ON LOYALTY

[Written 1754. Published by T. Wright in Unpublished Poems
of Cowper, 1900; the letters and words enclosed within brackets
are missing in the MS., and were supplied by Mr. Wright.]
Cum tot sustineant reges et tanta, neque ulla
Parte voluptati deliciisque vacent:

Cum varios capiti affigat diadema dolores,
Bellorumque premant sollicitentque minae:
Cur queritur populus? cur caeco murmure mussat?
Inque suum insane vim meditatur herum,
Qui vigil excubias agit usque et (sustinet) usque
Imperii, populus ne qua laboret, onus?
Hoc Satanæ scelus est nec Dæmone

ul(lum),

dignius

Nam primum in Satanæ pectore crime(n erat). 10
Præmia quin date digna viro verusque sequatur
Collata in gentem commoda gentis amor.
Illum jure colant populi, tueantur amante(s);
Ille colit populos, ille tuetur, amat.

Tu vero (si talis erit) quicunque verendum
Execrare caput Principis, Eia! tace;

Nec quia rara fides regi fert præmia, demens
Immeritum regem quem venerere putes;
Ipse tibi plaudas, quae laus est optima: laudem
Externam ingenuis est meruisse satis.

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Published first here, as written,

[Written Oct. 10, 1755, to Hill.

from MS. in possession of Canon Cowper Johnson.]

IF I write not to you

As I gladly would do

To a Man of your Mettle & Sense,

"Tis a Fault I must own

For which I'll attone

When I take my Departure from hence.

To tell you ye Truth,

I'm a queer kind of Youth

And I care not if all ye world knows it;
Whether Sloven, or Beau,

In Square, Alley, or Row,

At Whitehall, in ye court, or yo closet.

Having written thus much
In honest high Dutch,

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