 | A New Year's Eve, and Other Poems |  |
75
WILLIAM COWPER.
'Tis not the graver's power to please
That here attracts the eye,
For prouder works of Art than these
Are passed regardless by.
That here attracts the eye,
For prouder works of Art than these
Are passed regardless by.
Nor here magnificently grand
Are Nature's beauties seen;
On Ouse's bank her bounteous hand
Bestows a softer mien.
Are Nature's beauties seen;
On Ouse's bank her bounteous hand
Bestows a softer mien.
76
Why, then, are these tame landscapes fraught
With charms whose meek appeal
To sensibility and thought,
My heart is prone to feel?
With charms whose meek appeal
To sensibility and thought,
My heart is prone to feel?
Cowper! thy muse's magic skill
Hath made them classic ground:
Thy gentle memory haunts them still,
And casts its spell around.
Hath made them classic ground:
Thy gentle memory haunts them still,
And casts its spell around.
The hoary oak, the peasant's nest,
The rustic bridge, the grove,
The turf thy feet so oft have prest,
The temple and alcove;
The rustic bridge, the grove,
The turf thy feet so oft have prest,
The temple and alcove;
The shrubbery, moss-house, simple urn,
The elms, the lodge, the hall;—
Each is thy witness in its turn,
Thy verse the charm of all!
The elms, the lodge, the hall;—
Each is thy witness in its turn,
Thy verse the charm of all!
77
Thy verse—not less to Nature true
Than to Religion dear—
O'er every object sheds a hue
That long must linger here.
Than to Religion dear—
O'er every object sheds a hue
That long must linger here.
Amid these scenes those hours were spent
Of which we reap the fruit;
And each is now thy monument,
Since that sweet lyre is mute.
Of which we reap the fruit;
And each is now thy monument,
Since that sweet lyre is mute.
“Here, like the nightingale's,” were poured
“Thy solitary lays,”
Which sought the glory of the Lord,
“Nor asked for human praise.”
“Thy solitary lays,”
Which sought the glory of the Lord,
“Nor asked for human praise.”
Here, beneath clouds of darkest gloom,
Thy cup of woe was drained;
And here, immortally to bloom,
Thy stainless wreath was gained:—
Thy cup of woe was drained;
And here, immortally to bloom,
Thy stainless wreath was gained:—
78
Not given thee by the fabled Nine,
But Virtue's just reward,
And such as angels might entwine
To crown a Christian bard!
But Virtue's just reward,
And such as angels might entwine
To crown a Christian bard!
| A New Year's Eve, and Other Poems | |