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And fancies I fear they will seem—
COMPOSED FOR A MEMORIAL OF
ASHLEY COWPER, ESQ.
IMMEDIATELY AFTER HIS DEATH.
BY HIS NEPHEW WILLIAM OF WESTON.
FAREWELL! endued with all that could engage All hearts to love thee, both in youth and age! In prime of life, for sprightliness enroll'd Among the gay, yet virtuous as the old;
In life's last stage, (O blessings rarely found!) Pleasant as youth with all its blossoms crown'd! Through every period of this changeful state Unchanged thyself-wise, good, affectionate!
Marble may flatter, and lest this should seem O'ercharged with praises on so dear a theme, Although thy worth be more than half supprest, Love shall be satisfied, and veil the rest.
SONG ON PEACE.
WRITTEN IN THE SUMMER OF 1783, AT THE REQUEST OF
No longer I follow a sound;
I have sought thee in splendour and dress,
The voice of true wisdom inspires; 'Tis sufficient, if Peace be the scope,
And the summit of all our desires. Peace may be the lot of the mind
That seeks it in meekness and love; But rapture and bliss are confined
To the glorified spirits above.
ALSO WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF LADY AUSTEN.
AIR-" The Lass of Pattie's Mill.”
WHEN all within is peace,
• How nature seems to smile!
From morn to dewy eve,
And soothe the silent hours.
It is content of heart
Gives nature power to please;
The vast majestic globe,
So beauteously array'd
A dreary wild at best;
It flutters to depart,
And longs to be at rest.
EPITAPH ON JOHNSON.
HERE Johnson lies, a sage by all allow'd,
Whom to have bred, may well make England proud;
Whose verse may claim, grave masculine and strong, Superior praise to the mere poet's song;
Who many a noble gift from Heaven possess'd,
MISS C- ON HER BIRTHDAY.
How many between east and west,
The day that gave them birth!
Revolving months restore,
WHEN a bar of pure silver or ingot of gold
In an engine of utmost mechanical strength. Thus tortured and squeezed, at last it appears
Like a loose heap of ribbon, a glittering show, Like music it tinkles and rings in your ears,
And warm'd by the pressure is all in a glow.
This process achieved, it is doom'd to sustain
The thump-after-thump of a gold-beater's mallet, And at last is of service in sickness or pain To cover a pill from a delicate palate.
Alas for the Poet, who dares undertake
Smooth, ductile, and even, his fancy must flow,
After all he must beat it as thin and as fine
And unless you adorn it, a nausea follows.
EPITAPH ON A HARE.
HERE lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue,
Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,
Who, nursed with tender care,