The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse (1735-1820): Edited by the Rev. R. I. Woodhouse |
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EPISTLE TO THE SAME, On his desiring the Author to point out the striking Passages in Cowper's poems. |
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 | The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse |  |
186
EPISTLE TO THE SAME, On his desiring the Author to point out the striking Passages in Cowper's poems.
Written 1784.
What means the caution of my valued Friend!
It aims at none, or some unmeaning, end.
You ne'er could thus impose the needless task,
Had Taste and Judgment tried the thing you ask.
To note all beauties that in Cowper shine,
Must comment every poem, page, and line.
It aims at none, or some unmeaning, end.
You ne'er could thus impose the needless task,
Had Taste and Judgment tried the thing you ask.
To note all beauties that in Cowper shine,
Must comment every poem, page, and line.
What would the Naturalist, or Florist, say,
When Earth was deck'd in all delights of May,
Should You enjoin them, as they trac'd the Globe,
And view'd the objects round its vernal robe,
To mark each subject that engag'd the sight,
And place its beauties in impressive light;
Would they not hear the summon with surprise?
And obvious arguments, like these, devise.
When Earth was deck'd in all delights of May,
Should You enjoin them, as they trac'd the Globe,
And view'd the objects round its vernal robe,
To mark each subject that engag'd the sight,
And place its beauties in impressive light;
Would they not hear the summon with surprise?
And obvious arguments, like these, devise.
One may prefer the Wood's majestic shade,
And foaming Flood that irrigates the glade—
One praise the Rill that glides in passive state,
And scented Shrubs that on its levee wait—
The cloud-girt Mountain cloath'd in lasting snow,
Or flow'ry slope that, fondly, laughs below—
The frowning Rock which threats each wanderer nigh,
Or smiling Lawns that round its footstool lie.
Some may admire the simple grassy plain,
Or bright-rob'd Nymphs that flaunt in Flora's train—
Some most esteem the Cowslip's golden crest,
Or lovely Ladysmock, in silver dress'd—
This choose the Campion with its crimson pips;
That wooe the sapphire Violet's odorous lips;
In all, the feeling heart, and tasteful eye,
Distinguish beauty, and experience joy.
So the well-taught Astronomer descries
Both charms and rapture in the pregnant skies—
In Day's blue cove—In Sol's resplendent light—
Phebe's meek face, and star-dropp'd stole of Night—
In glimmering groups, o'er Heav'n's rich concave spread,
Or titled stars which steadier lustre shed;
In twinkling sparks that spread their scatter'd race,
Or telescope explores in much remoter space.
And foaming Flood that irrigates the glade—
One praise the Rill that glides in passive state,
And scented Shrubs that on its levee wait—
The cloud-girt Mountain cloath'd in lasting snow,
Or flow'ry slope that, fondly, laughs below—
The frowning Rock which threats each wanderer nigh,
Or smiling Lawns that round its footstool lie.
Some may admire the simple grassy plain,
Or bright-rob'd Nymphs that flaunt in Flora's train—
Some most esteem the Cowslip's golden crest,
Or lovely Ladysmock, in silver dress'd—
This choose the Campion with its crimson pips;
That wooe the sapphire Violet's odorous lips;
In all, the feeling heart, and tasteful eye,
Distinguish beauty, and experience joy.
So the well-taught Astronomer descries
Both charms and rapture in the pregnant skies—
In Day's blue cove—In Sol's resplendent light—
Phebe's meek face, and star-dropp'd stole of Night—
In glimmering groups, o'er Heav'n's rich concave spread,
Or titled stars which steadier lustre shed;
In twinkling sparks that spread their scatter'd race,
Or telescope explores in much remoter space.
But You, my pamper'd Friend! fastidious grown
With others' treats, will scarcely taste your own;
But still extending your unwieldy wish,
Ask for another, and another, dish—
With plenty pall'd, o'er dainties listless look,
And Appetite, so cloy'd, must doubt the Cook.
With others' treats, will scarcely taste your own;
But still extending your unwieldy wish,
Ask for another, and another, dish—
With plenty pall'd, o'er dainties listless look,
And Appetite, so cloy'd, must doubt the Cook.
| The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse | |