Thus, the preliminaries settled,
I fairly find myself pitch-kettled;
And cannot see, though few see better,
How I shall hammer out a letter.
First, for a thought — since all agree —
A thought — I have it — let me see —
’Tis gone again — plague on’t! I thought
I had it — but I have it not.
Dame Gurton thus, and Hodge her son,
That useful thing, her needle, gone, 40
Rake well the cinders — sweep the floor,
And sift the dust behind the door;
While eager Hodge beholds the prize
In old Grimalkin’s glaring eyes;
And Gammer finds it on her knees
In every shining straw she sees.
This simile were apt enough;
But I’ve another, critic-proof!
The virtuoso thus, at noon,
Broiling beneath a July sun, 50
The gilded butterfly pursues
O’er hedge and ditch, through gaps and mews;
And after many a vain essay
To captivate the tempting prey,
Gives him at length the lucky pat,
And has him safe beneath his hat:
Then lifts it gently from the ground;
But ah! ’tis lost as soon as found;
Culprit his liberty regains;
Flits out of sight and mocks his pains. 60
The sense was dark; ’twas therefore fit
With simile t’ illustrate it;
But as too much obscures the sight,
As often as too little light,
We have our similes cut short,
For matters of more grave import.
That Matthew’s numbers run with ease
Each man of common-sense agrees;
All men of common-sense allow,
That Robert’s lines are easy too; 70
Where then the preference shall we place,
Or how do justice in this case?
Matthew, (says Fame) with endless pains
Smooth’d and refin’d the meanest strains;
Nor suffer’d one ill-chosen rhyme
T’ escape him, at the idlest time;
And thus o’er all a lustre cast,
That, while the language lives, shall last.
An’t please your Ladyship, (quoth I,
For ’tis my business to reply;) 80
Sure so much labour, so much toil,
Bespeak at least a stubborn soil.
Theirs be the laurel-wreath decreed,
Who both write well and write full-speed!
Who throw their Helicon about
As freely as a conduit spout!
Friend Robert, thus like chien sçavant,
Lets fall a poem en passant,
Nor needs his genuine ore refine;
’Tis ready polish’d from the mine. 90
MORTALS! AROUND YOUR DESTIN’D HEADS
[Written (?). Published by Croft, 1825.]
MORTALS! around your destin’d heads
Thick fly the shafts of death,
And lo! the savage spoiler spreads
A thousand toils beneath.
In vain we trifle with our fate,
Try every art in vain;
At best we but prolong the date,
And lengthen out our pain. 8
Fondly we think all danger fled,
For death is ever nigh;
Outstrips our unavailing speed,
Or meets us as we fly.
Thus the wreck’d mariner may strive
Some desert shore to gain,
Secure of life if he survive
The fury of the main: 16
But there, to famine doom’d a prey.
Finds the mistaken wretch!
He hut escap’d the troubled sea,
To perish on the beach.
Since then in vain we strive to guard
Our frailty from the foe;
Lord, let me live not unprepar’d
To meet the fatal blow! 24
OF HIMSELF
[Written 1752. Published by Croft, 1825. This and the next eighteen poems are concerned with Cowper’s attachment to ‘Delia,’ his cousin Theodora Cowper.]
WILLIAM was once a bashful youth,
His modesty was such,
That one might say (to say the truth)
He rather had too much.
Some said that it was want of sense,
And others, want of spirit,
(So blest a thing is impudence,)
While others could not bear it. 8
But some a different notion had,
And at each other winking,
Observ’d that though he little said,
He paid it off with thinking.
Howe’er, it happen’d, by degrees,
He mended and grew perter,
In company was more at ease,
And dress’d a little smarter: 16
Nay, now and then would look quite gay,
As other people do;
And sometimes said, or tried to say,
A witty thing or so.
He eyed the women, and made free
To comment on their shapes,
So that there was, or seem’d to be,
No fear of a relapse. 24
The women said, who thought him rough,
But now no longer foolish,
The creature may do well enough,
But wants a deal of polish.
At length, improv’d from head to heel,
‘Twere scarce too much to say,
No dancing bear was so genteel,
Or half so dégagé. 32
Now, that a miracle so strange
May not in vain be shown,
Let the dear maid who wrought the change
E’er claim him for her own.
THE SYMPTOMS OF LOVE
[Written 1752 (?). Published by Croft, 1825.]
WOULD my Delia know if I love, let her take
My last thought at night, and the first when I wake;
With my prayers and best wishes preferr’d for her sake.
Let her guess what I muse on, when rambling alone
I stride o’er the stubble each day with my gun,
Never ready to shoot till the covey is flown. 6
Let her think what odd whimsies I have in my brain,
When I read one page over and over again,
And discover at last that I read it in vain.
Let her say why so fix’d and so steady my look,
Without ever regarding the person who spoke,
Still affecting to laugh, without hearing the joke. 12
Or why when with pleasure her praises I hear,
(That sweetest of melody sure to my ear)
I attend, and at once inattentive appear.
And lastly, when summon’d to drink to my flame.
Let her guess why I never once mention hername, 17
Though herself and the woman I love are the same.
AN APOLOGY FOR NOT SHOWING HER WHAT I HAD WROTE
[Written at Catfield, July, 1752. Published by Croft, 1825.]
Did not my muse (what can she less?)
Perceive her own unworthiness,
Could she by some well chosen theme,
But hope to merit your esteem,
She would not thus conceal her lays.
Ambitious to deserve your praise.
But should my Delia take offence,
And frown on her impertinence,
In silence, sorrowing and forlorn,
Would the despairing trifler mourn, 10
Curse her ill-tun’d, unpleasing lute,
Then sigh and sit for ever mute.
In secret, therefore, let her play,
Squand’ring her idle notes away;
In secret as she chants along,
Cheerful and careless in her song;
Nor heed she whethe
r harsh or clear,
Free from each terror, ev’ry fear,
From that, of all most dreaded, free,
The terror of offending Thee. 20
DELIA, TH’ UNKINDEST GIRL ON EARTH
[Written at the same place, 1752. Published by Croft, 1825.]
DELIA, th’ unkindest girl on earth,
When I besought the fair,
That favour of intrinsic worth,
A ringlet of her hair, —
Refus’d that instant to comply
With my absurd request,
For reasons she could specify,
Some twenty score at least. 8
Trust me, my dear, however odd
It may appear to say,
I sought it merely to defraud
Thy spoiler of his prey.
Yet, when its sister locks shall fade,
As quickly fade they must,
When all their beauties are decay’d,
Their gloss, their colour, lost, 16
Ah then! if haply to my share
Some slender pittance fall,
If I but gain one single hair,
Nor age usurp them all; —
When you behold it still as sleek,
As lovely to the view,
As when it left thy snowy neck —
That Eden where it grew — 24
Then shall my Delia’s self declare,
That I profess’d the truth,
And have preserv’d my little share
In everlasting youth.
THIS EV’NING, DELIA, YOU AND I
[Written at the same place, 1752. Published by Croft, 1825.]
This ev’ning, Delia, you and I
Have manag’d most delightfully,
For with a frown we parted;
Having contrived some trifle that
We both may be much troubled at,
And sadly disconcerted. 6
Yet well as each perform’d their part,
We might perceive it was but art,
And that we both intended
To sacrifice a little ease;
For all such petty flaws as these
Are made but to be mended. 12
You knew, Dissembler! all the while,
How sweet it was to reconcile
After this heavy pelt;
That we should gain by this allay
When next we met, and laugh away
The care we never felt. 18
Happy! when we but seek t’ endure
A little pain, then find a cure
By double joy requited;
For friendship, like a sever’d bone,
Improves and joins a stronger tone
When aptly reunited. 24
AN ATTEMPT AT THE MANNER OF WALLER
[Written at Drayton, March 1753. Published by Croft, 1825.]
Did not thy reason and thy sense,
With most persuasive eloquence,
Convince me that obedience due
None may so justly claim as you,
By right of beauty you would be
Mistress o’er my heart and me. 6
Then fear not I should e’er rebel,
My gentle love! I might as well
A forward peevishness put on,
And quarrel with the mid-day sun;
Or question who gave him a right
To be so fiery and so bright. 12
Nay, this were less absurd and vain
Than disobedience to thy reign:
His beams are often too severe;
But thou art mild, as thou art fair;
First from necessity we own your sway, 17
Then scorn our freedom, and by choice obey.
SONG: THE SPARKLING EYE, THE MANTLING CHEEK
[Written (?). Published by Croft, 1825.]
THE sparkling eye, the mantling cheek,
The polish’d front, the snowy neck,
How seldom we behold in one!
Glossy locks, and brow serene,
Venus’ smiles, Diana’s mien,
All meet in you, and you alone. 6
Beauty, like other pow’rs, maintains
Her empire, and by union reigns;
Each single feature faintly warms,
But where at once we view display’d
Unblemish’d grace, the perfect maid
Our eyes, our ears, our heart alarms. 12
So when on earth the God of day
Obliquely sheds his temper’d ray,
Through convex orbs the beams transmit,
The beams that gently warm’d before,
Collected, gently warm no more,
But glow with more prevailing heat. 18
UPON A VENERABLE RIVAL
[Written (?). Published by Croft, 1825.]
FULL thirty frosts since thou wert young
Have chill’d the wither’d grove,
Thou wretch! and hast thou liv’d so long,
Nor yet forgot to love?
Ye Sages! spite of your pretences
To wisdom, you must own
Your folly frequently commences
When you acknowledge none. 8
Not that I deem it weak to love,
Or folly to admire,
But ah! the pangs we lovers prove
Far other years require.
Unheeded on the youthful brow
The beams of Phoebus play,
But unsupported Age stoops low
Beneath the sultry ray. 16
For once, then, if untutor’d youth,
Youth unapprov’d by years,
May chance to deviate into truth,
When your experience errs;
For once attempt not to despise
What I esteem a rule:
Who early loves, though young, is wise —
Who old, though grey, a fool. 24
WRITTEN IN A QUARREL, THE DELIVERY OF IT PREVENTED BY A RECONCILIATION
[Written 1753 (?). Published by Croft, 1825.]
THINK, Delia, with what cruel haste
Our fleeting pleasures move,
Nor heedless thus in sorrow waste
The moments due to love.
Be wise, my fair, and gently treat
These few that are our friends;
Think, thus abus’d, what sad regret
Their speedy flight attends! 8
Sure in those eyes I lov’d so well,
And wish’d so long to see,
Anger I thought could never dwell,
Or anger aim’d at me.
No bold offence of mine I knew
Should e’er provoke your hate;
And, early taught to think you true,
Still hop’d a gentler fate. 16
With kindness bless the present hour,
Or oh! we meet in vain!
What can we do in absence more
Than suffer and complain?
Fated to ills beyond redress,
We must endure our woe;
The days allow’d us to possess,
’Tis madness to forego. 24
SEE WHERE THE THAMES
[Written 1753 (?). Published by Croft, 1825.]
See where the Thames, the purest stream
That wavers to the noon-day beam,
Divides the vale below:
While like a vein of liquid ore
His waves enrich the happy shore,
Still shining as they flow. 6
Nor yet, my Delia, to the main
Runs the sweet tide without a stain,
Unsullied as it seems:
The nymphs of many a sable flood
Deform with streaks of oozy mud
The bosom of the Thames. 12
Some idle rivulets, that feed
And suckle ev’ry noisome weed,
A sandy bottom boast:
For ever bright, for ever clear,
The trifling shallow rills appear
In their own channel lost. 18
Thus fares it with the human soul,
By genuine love supplied:
Fair in itself the current shows,
But ah! a thousand anxious woes
Pollute the noble tide. 24
These are emotions known to few;
For where at most a vap’ry dew
Surrounds the tranquil heart,
Then, as the triflers never prove
The glad excess of real love,
They never prove the smart. 30
Oh then, my life, at last relent,
Though cruel the reproach I sent,
My sorrow was unfeign’d:
Your passion, had I lov’d you not,
You might have scorn’d, renounc’d, forgot,
And I had ne’er complain’d. 36
While you indulge a groundless fear,
Th’ imaginary woes you bear
Are real woes to me:
But thou art kind, and good thou art,
Nor wilt, by wronging thine own heart,
Unjustly punish me. 42
HOW BLEST THE YOUTH
[Written (?). Published by Croft, 1825.]
How blest the youth whom Fate ordains
A kind relief from all his pains,
In some admired fair;
Whose tend’rest wishes find express’d
Their own resemblance in her breast
Exactly copied there. 6
What good soe’er the Gods dispense,
Th’ enjoyment of its influence
Still on her love depends;
Her love the shield that guards his heart,
Or wards the blow, or blunts the dart,
That peevish Fortune sends. 12
Thus, Delia, while thy love endures,
The flame my happy breast secures
William Cowper- Collected Poetical Works Page 39