And piety with wishes placed above, And steady loyalty, and faithful love. And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, 405 410 That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so; Thou guide by which the nobler arts excel, 415 420 Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well! That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay, As rocks resist the billows and the sky. 430 WILLIAM COWPER 1731-1800 COWPER joins the age of Johnson and Goldsmith to that of Wordsworth and Byron. He was from childhood one of the shyest and most retiring of mortals. An unhappy love affair, combined with other causes, drove him to insanity, and though he recovered his reason, he was throughout his life subject to fits of deep melancholy, and even of religious madness. He found it impossible to live in the noise and bustle of London, and withdrew to a little village in the east of England, where he passed his life in the company of a few devoted friends, reading, writing, and enjoying the quiet pleasures of the country. Cowper was a sincere lover of nature; God made the country, and man made the town, he said. He was a devout Christian and was one of the first of English poets to recognize the common brotherhood of man. When the cloud of his melancholy lifted he showed himself possessed of a bright and sunny humor such as is displayed in his best known poem, John Gilpin. His poetry was written almost entirely between the years 1779, when, in company with the great preacher Newton, he published a volume containing many beautiful hymns, and 1791, when his translation of Homer appeared. His longer poems, Table Talk and The Task, are not much read to-day, though they contain many beautiful passages; but some of his shorter poems are found in every collection of English verse. ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE TOLL for the brave! The brave that are no more! Fast by their native shore! Eight hundred of the brave, Whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel, And laid her on her side. A land-breeze shook the shrouds, And she was overset; Down went the Royal George, Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfelt is gone; It was not in the battle; No tempest gave the shock; She sprang no fatal leak; She ran upon no rock. His sword was in its sheath; When Kempenfelt went down Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes! And mingle with our cup The tears that England owes. 5 10 15 20 25 'Tis because resentment ties All the terrors of our tongues. 'Rome shall perish, write that word 'Rome, for empire far renowned, Tramples on a thousand states; Soon her pride shall kiss the ground, 35 5 10 15 20 'Other Romans shall arise, Heedless of a soldier's name, Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, Then the progeny that springs From the forests of our land, Armed with thunder, clad with wings, Shall a wider world command. 'Regions Caesar never knew Thy posterity shall sway, Where his eagles never flew, None invincible as they.' 25 30 |