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Original, serious, and religious poetry

by the Rev. Richard Cobbold

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TO J. C. THE UNKNOWN POET.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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127

TO J. C. THE UNKNOWN POET.

As the seed of the blue bell in wilderness grows,
As the snowdrop in forest so modestly blows;
As blooms in the hedgerow, a beautiful plant,
So flourishes genius, nurtur'd in want.
As a diamond in midst of the mud of the stream,
As shines in a cavern, the radiant beam,
As crystal midst pebbles, of shingle on shore,
So genius lives, but to love and deplore.
As eaglet bereft of its parent, with moan,
On the top of the mountain, sits sighing alone,
As young of the stork on the turret must die,
So genius withers 'neath poverty's sky.

128

How happy the botanist finding a flower,
A diamond of worth in a fortunate hour,
How happy the young when the parent returns,
So genius, happy, a patron discerns.
I have found thee, I know thee, thy talent of worth,
Thou art better than he of the south or the north,
Though nothing at present, at present unknown,
The Orwell and Ipswich may call thee their own.
I had thought from my youth I was born to that end,
The poet of Ipswich, I'm that poet's friend;
For myself I may write, and will ever be free,
But the poet unknown, has initials J. C.
Fulfill'd the prediction which Barton express'd
That a poet, would rise by the Orwell caress'd,
I have seen him, a genius sportive and free,
And his name shall be known, with initials J. C.