 | A Collection of Original Poems |  |
To Ashley Cowper, Esq;
Occasioned by reading some Poetry of his writing.
Cowper, in some illustrious roll, shall fame,
To future times deliver down thy name,
Lov'd as a man and reverenc'd as a bard;
Nor less thy gen'rous talents should reward:
With strict attention on thy lines I've dwelt,
And as you painted different passions felt,
Whether you emulate Ovidian lays,
And wreath Clarissa's charms with boundless praise,
Or delicately touch th' effects of love,
That modesty may read, nor yet reprove;
Here you beyond your classic pattern rise,
Nor chaster diction Mantua's boast supplies;
And while we're taught the charmer to admire,
Tho' we are bound to own th' immortal fire,
No gross idea springs, no gross desire.
To future times deliver down thy name,
Lov'd as a man and reverenc'd as a bard;
Nor less thy gen'rous talents should reward:
165
And as you painted different passions felt,
Whether you emulate Ovidian lays,
And wreath Clarissa's charms with boundless praise,
Or delicately touch th' effects of love,
That modesty may read, nor yet reprove;
Here you beyond your classic pattern rise,
Nor chaster diction Mantua's boast supplies;
And while we're taught the charmer to admire,
Tho' we are bound to own th' immortal fire,
No gross idea springs, no gross desire.
While you to Baillie modestly excuse
The want of genius, you display the Muse
Vig'rous and strong, as when by Flaccus drest,
Friendship and Wine th' Aonian Maid carest?
Thus real merit still to shades withdraws,
And blushing flies the well-deserv'd applause;
While ev'ry verse with glowing fancy teems,
All grieve that you decline the proffer'd themes.
The want of genius, you display the Muse
Vig'rous and strong, as when by Flaccus drest,
Friendship and Wine th' Aonian Maid carest?
Thus real merit still to shades withdraws,
And blushing flies the well-deserv'd applause;
While ev'ry verse with glowing fancy teems,
All grieve that you decline the proffer'd themes.
166
Oh, more than Pope! since with benevolence,
Superior far, with wit and temper'd sense;
Free from satiric sneer and Cynic rage,
You mildly pour instruction o'er the page,
Shewing what virtue is; thus to allure
With her bright form, and make thy precepts sure,
Nor from fix'd hate, deceitfully intend
To damn the character you should commend.
Superior far, with wit and temper'd sense;
Free from satiric sneer and Cynic rage,
You mildly pour instruction o'er the page,
Shewing what virtue is; thus to allure
With her bright form, and make thy precepts sure,
Nor from fix'd hate, deceitfully intend
To damn the character you should commend.
Or when to lighter measures you advance,
And thro' blithe song, or merry fable dance,
My shaken sides thy hum'rous pow'r confess;
Yet ev'ry stroke so nicely you express,
With such auspicious fancy, yet so free
From vice's darling child, Impurity,
That Modesty ne'er hangs her bashful head,
No blushes o'er the virgin's visage spread.
And thro' blithe song, or merry fable dance,
My shaken sides thy hum'rous pow'r confess;
Yet ev'ry stroke so nicely you express,
With such auspicious fancy, yet so free
From vice's darling child, Impurity,
That Modesty ne'er hangs her bashful head,
No blushes o'er the virgin's visage spread.
Prior and Swift must here the bays resign
To thee, and own the excellence is thine:
For no loose images distain the page;
Their want of manners oft provokes my rage.
To thee, and own the excellence is thine:
167
Their want of manners oft provokes my rage.
To spleen's dull province now the scene you change,
Thro' her abandon'd avenues you range;
The Muse leads on, her weary step I trace,
My pulse beats slow, and flushes dye my face;
A thousand melancholy objects croud,
Life is a burden, and my wish a shroud:
Quit, Cowper, quit the subject e'er I fall,
Ere ev'ry sense the demon's wiles enthrall;
Obedient to my wish, the varied strain
Dispels the gloom, nor gives me to complain.
The alter'd notes pour rapture to my heart,
Such is the energy of Cowper's art,
Anew I feel them all my breast inspire,
My blood run quicker, and my spirits higher;
Now from the grave, just dropping o'er its verge,
Anew created sudden I emerge.
Thro' her abandon'd avenues you range;
The Muse leads on, her weary step I trace,
My pulse beats slow, and flushes dye my face;
A thousand melancholy objects croud,
Life is a burden, and my wish a shroud:
Quit, Cowper, quit the subject e'er I fall,
Ere ev'ry sense the demon's wiles enthrall;
Obedient to my wish, the varied strain
Dispels the gloom, nor gives me to complain.
The alter'd notes pour rapture to my heart,
Such is the energy of Cowper's art,
Anew I feel them all my breast inspire,
My blood run quicker, and my spirits higher;
Now from the grave, just dropping o'er its verge,
Anew created sudden I emerge.
168
Thus was it once when fam'd Timotheus sung;
All on his harmony attentive hung,
Just as he rapture or despair express'd,
The sympathetic notes their souls confess'd.
All on his harmony attentive hung,
Just as he rapture or despair express'd,
The sympathetic notes their souls confess'd.
| A Collection of Original Poems | |