Malvern Hills with Minor Poems, and Essays. By Joseph Cottle. Fourth Edition |
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NED AND WILL.
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NED AND WILL.
(UPON WILL COMPLAINING THAT HE WAS SLIGHTED BY NED.)
WITH kindred pursuits, and with friendships sincere,
Ned and Will, at one desk scribbled many a year,
When Ned, with a bound, o'er his friends, and his foes,
To the top of the lawyer's throng'd ladder arose;
While Will seized the lyre, borne by fancy along,
And all Helicon listen'd, entranced, at his song.
Ned and Will, at one desk scribbled many a year,
When Ned, with a bound, o'er his friends, and his foes,
To the top of the lawyer's throng'd ladder arose;
While Will seized the lyre, borne by fancy along,
And all Helicon listen'd, entranced, at his song.
Oh! the friendships, like castles of ice, which decay,
Spite of pledges, and vows, in a season! a day!
My Lord, his new ermine, with grace to sustain,
On the vale-dwelling poet looks down with disdain—
His companions selected, his praises conferr'd
On Sir Dick, and Sir Ben, and such frivolous herd;
But now that the grave veils them both from our sight,
Will shines like a star on the bosom of night.
My Lord now reposes with spirits of yore,
Once commanding, and puissant!—remember'd no more;—
Pass'd away, (like his frowns, which kept senates in awe,)
Or recall'd to enforce some dull precept of law,
But the poet, unmoved by the canker of time,
Firm as Atlas, endures, in fame's temple sublime,
Beholding his verse, like a stream, clear and sweet,
Flow on, while man's heart shall with sympathy beat.
Of a lord, puff'd with honours, as fickle as vain,
Who but mourns that a bard should have deign'd to complain!
Kings may conjure up chancellors thrice in one year,
But when shall a poet like Cowper appear!
Spite of pledges, and vows, in a season! a day!
My Lord, his new ermine, with grace to sustain,
On the vale-dwelling poet looks down with disdain—
His companions selected, his praises conferr'd
On Sir Dick, and Sir Ben, and such frivolous herd;
But now that the grave veils them both from our sight,
Will shines like a star on the bosom of night.
My Lord now reposes with spirits of yore,
Once commanding, and puissant!—remember'd no more;—
Pass'd away, (like his frowns, which kept senates in awe,)
Or recall'd to enforce some dull precept of law,
But the poet, unmoved by the canker of time,
Firm as Atlas, endures, in fame's temple sublime,
Beholding his verse, like a stream, clear and sweet,
Flow on, while man's heart shall with sympathy beat.
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Who but mourns that a bard should have deign'd to complain!
Kings may conjure up chancellors thrice in one year,
But when shall a poet like Cowper appear!
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