Whose courage well was tried,
Had made the vessel heel
And laid her on her side;
A land-breeze shook the shrouds,
And she was overset;
Down went the Royal George,
With all her crew complete. 12
Toll for the brave —
Brave Kempenfelt is gone,
His last sea-fight is fought,
His work of glory done.
It was not in the battle,
No tempest gave the shock,
She sprang no fatal leak,
She ran upon no rock;
His sword was in the sheath,
His fingers held the pen,
When Kempenfelt went down
With twice four hundred men. 24
Weigh the vessel up,
Once dreaded by our foes,
And mingle with your cup
The tears that England owes;
Her timbers yet are sound,
And she may float again,
Full charg’d with England’s thunder,
And plough the distant main;
But Kempenfelt is gone,
His victories are o’er;
And he and his Eight hundred
Must plough the wave no more. 36
IN SUBMERSIONEM NAVIGII CUI GEORGIUS REGALE NOMEN INDITUM
[Written 1782. Published by Hayley, 1803.]
PLANGIMUS fortes — periere fortes —
Patrium propter periere littus,
Bis quater centum subito sub alto
Æquore mersi.
Navis innitens lateri jacebat,
Malus ad summas trepidabat undas,
Cum levis, funes quatiens, ad imum
Depulit aura. 8
Plangimus fortes — nimis, beu, caducam
Fortibus vitam voluere Parcæ,
Nec sinunt ultra tibi nos recentes
Nectere laurus,
Magne, qui nomen licet incanorum
Traditum ex multis atavis tulisti —
At tuos olim memorabit ævum
Omne triumphos. 16
Non hyems illos furibunda mersit,
Non mari in clauso scopuli latentes,
Non fissa rimis abies, nec atrox
Abstulit ensis.
Navitæ sed turn nimium jocosi
Voce fallebant hilari laborem,
Et quiescebat, calamoque dextram im-
pleverat Heros. 24
Vos quibus cordi est grave opus piumque,
Humidum ex alto spolium levate,
Et putrescentes sub aquis amicos
Reddite amicis.
Hi quidem (sic Dis placuit) fuere;
Sed ratis nondum putris ire possit
Rursus in bellum, Britonumque nomen
Tollere ad astra. 32
TO A LADY WHO WORE A LOCK OF HIS HAIR SET WITH DIAMONDS
[Written 1782 (?). Published by Benham, 1870.]
THE star that beams on Anna’s breast
Conceals her William’s hair,
’Twas lately sever’d from the rest
To be promoted there.
The heart that beats beneath that breast
Is William’s, well I know;
A nobler prize and richer far
Than India could bestow.
She thus his favour’d lock prefers,
To make her William shine; 10
The ornament indeed is hers,
But all the honour mine.
EPITAPH ON A HARE
[Written March, 1783. Published in The Gentleman’s Magazine, Dec., 1784; afterwards in 1800. A MS. copy is in the British Museum.]
HERE lies, whom hound did ne’er pursue
Nor swifter greyhound follow,
Whose foot ne’er tainted morning dew,
Nor ear heard huntsman’s hallo’,
Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,
Who, nurs’d with tender care,
And to domestic bounds confin’d,
Was still a wild Jack-hare. 8
Though duly from my hand he took
His pittance ev’ry night,
He did it with a jealous look,
And, when he could, would bite.
His diet was of wheaten bread,
And milk, and oats, and straw,
Thistles, or lettuces instead,
With sand to scour his maw. 16
On twigs of hawthorn he regal’d,
On pippins’ russet peel;
And, when his juicy salads fail’d.
Slic’d carrot pleas’d him well.
A Turkey carpet was his lawn,
Whereon he lov’d to hound,
To skip and gambol like a fawn,
And swing his rump around. 24
His frisking was at evening hours,
For then he lost his fear;
But most before approaching show’rs,
Or when a storm drew near.
Eight years and five round-rolling moons
He thus saw steal away,
Dozing out all his idle noons,
And ev’ry night at play. 32
I kept him for his humour’ sake,
For he would oft beguile
My heart of thoughts that made it ache,
And force me to a smile.
But now, beneath this walnut-shade
He finds his long, last home,
And waits in snug concealment laid,
‘Till gentler Puss shall come. 40
He, still more aged, feels the shocks
From which no care can save,
And, partner once of Tiney’s box,
Must soon partake his grave.
EPITAPHIUM ALTERUM
[Written 1786. Published 1800.]
Hic etiam jacet
Qui totum novennium vixit
Puss.
Siste paulisper
Qui præteriturus es
Et tecum sic reputa —
Hune neque canis venaticus
Nec plumbum missile
Nec laqueus
Nec imbres nimii 10
Confecere
Tamen mortuus est —
Et moriar ego.
SONG ON PEACE
WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF LADY AUSTEN
[Written May (?), 1783. Published by Hayley, 1803.]
Air — My fond Shepherds of late.
No longer I follow a sound;
No longer a dream I pursue;
Oh happiness, not to he found,
Unattainable treasure, adieu!
I have sought thee in splendour and dress;
In the regions of pleasure and taste;
I have sought thee, and seem’d to possess,
But have prov’d thee a vision at last. 8
An humble ambition and hope
The voice of true wisdom inspires;
’Tis sufficient, if peace he 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 confin’d
To the glorified spirits above. 16
SONG ALSO WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF LADY AUSTEN
[Written in the summer of 1783. Published by Hayley, 1803.]
Air — The Lass of Pattie’s Mill.
WHEN all within is peace,
How nature seems to smile!
Delights that never cease.
The live-long day beguile.
From mom to dewy eve,
With open hand she showers
Fresh blessings, to deceive
And sooth the silent hours. 8
It is content of heart,
Gives nature pow’r to please;
The mind that feels no smart
Enlivens all it sees;
Can make a wintry sky
Seem bright as smiling May,
And evening’s closing eye
As peep of early day. 16
The vast majestic globe,
; So beauteously array’d
In nature’s various robe.
With wondrous skill display’d,
Is, to a mourner’s heart,
A dreary wild at best:
It flutters to depart,
And longs to be at rest. 24
THE ROSE
[Written June, 1783. Published in The Gentleman’s Magazine, June, 1785; afterwards in 1795. A MS. copy is in the British Museum.]
The rose had been wash’d, just wash’d in a shower,
Which Mary to Anna convey’d,
The plentiful moisture incumber’d the flower,
And weigh’d down its beautiful head.
The cup was all fill’d, and the leaves were all wet,
And it seem’d to a fanciful view.
To weep for the buds it had left with regret,
On the flourishing bush where it grew. 8
I hastily seiz’d it, unfit as it was,
For a nosegay, so dripping and drown’d,
And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas!
I snapp’d it, it fell to the ground.
And such, I exclaim’d, is the pitiless part
Some act by the delicate mind,
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart
Already to sorrow resign’d. 16
This elegant rose, had I shaken it less,
Might have bloom’d with its owner awhile,
And the tear that is wip’d with a little address,
May be follow’d perhaps by a smile.
THE FAITHFUL FRIEND
[Written Aug. (?), 1783. Published 1795.]
THE green-house is my summer seat;
My shrubs displac’d from that retreat
Enjoy’d the open air;
Two goldfinches, whose sprightly song
Had been their mutual solace long,
Liv’d happy pris’ners there. 6
They sang, as blithe as finches sing
That flutter loose on golden wing,
And frolic where they list;
Strangers to liberty, ’tis true,
But that delight they never knew,
And, therefore, never miss’d. 12
But nature works in ev’ry breast;
Instinct is never quite suppress’d;
And Dick felt some desires,
Which, after many an effort vain,
Instructed him at length to gain
A pass between his wires. 18
The open windows seem’d to invite
The freeman to a farewell flight;
But Tom was still confin’d;
And Dick, although his way was clear,
Was much too gen’rous and sincere
To leave his friend behind. 24
For, settling on his grated roof,
He chirp’d and kiss’d him, giving proof
That he desir’d no more;
Nor would forsake his cage at last,
Till gently seiz’d I shut him fast,
A pris’ner as before. 30
Oh ye, who never knew the joys
Of Friendship, satisfied with noise,
Fandango, ball and rout!
Blush, when I tell you how a bird,
A prison, with a friend, preferr’d
To liberty without. 36
ODE TO APOLLO ON AN INK-GLASS ALMOST DRIED IN THE SUN
[Written Sept., 1783. Published 1795. A MS. copy is in the British Museum.]
PATRON of all those luckless brains,
That, to the wrong side leaning.
Indite much metre with much pains,
And little or no meaning,
Ah why, since oceans, rivers, streams
That water all the nations,
Pay tribute to thy glorious beams,
In constant exhalations, 8
Why, stooping from the noon of day,
Too covetous of drink,
Apollo, hast thou stol’n away
A poet’s drop of ink?
Upborne into the viewless air
It floats a vapour now,
Impell’d through regions dense and rare,
By all the winds that blow. 16
Ordain’d, perhaps, ere summer flies,
Combin’d with millions more,
To form an Iris in the skies,
Though black and foul before.
Illustrious drop! and happy then
Beyond the happiest lot,
Of all that ever pass’d my pen,
So soon to be forgot! 24
Phoebus, if such be thy design,
To place it in thy bow,
Give wit, that what is left may shine
With equal grace below.
THE VALEDICTION
[Written Nov., 1783 (MS. in British Museum). First published complete by Southey, 1836; 11. 49 to end published by Hayley, 1803.]
FAREWELL, false hearts! whose best affections fail
Like shallow brooks which summer suns exhale,
Forgetful of the man whom once ye chose,
Cold in his cause, and careless of his woes,
I bid you both a long and last adieu,
Cold in my turn and unconcern’d like you.
First — farewell Niger whom, now duly prov’d,
I disregard as much as once I lov’d.
Your brain well furnish’d, and your tongue well taught
To press with energy your ardent thought, 10
Your senatorial dignity of face,
Sound sense, intrepid spirit, manly grace,
Have rais’d you high as talents can ascend,
Made you a peer, but spoilt you for a friend.
Pretend to all that parts have e’er acquir’d,
Be great, be fear’d, be envied, be admir’d,
To fame as lasting as the earth pretend,
But not, hereafter, to the name of friend.
I sent you verse, and, as your Lordship knows,
Back’d with a modest sheet of humble prose, 20
Not to recall a promise to your mind,
Fulfill’d with ease had you been so inclin’d,
But to comply with feelings, and to give
Proof of an old affection still alive. —
Your sullen silence serves at least to tell
Your alter’d heart — and so, my Lord — farewell!
Next, busy Actor on a meaner stage,
Amusement-monger of a trifling age,
Illustrious histrionic patentee,
Terentius, once my friend, farewell to thee. 30
In thee some virtuous qualities combine
To fit thee for a nobler post than thine,
Who, born a gentleman, hast stoop’d too low
To live by buskin, sock, and raree-show.
Thy schoolfellow, and partner of thy plays
Where Nicol swung the birch and twin’d the bays,
And having known thee bearded and full grown,
The weekly censor of a laughing town,
I thought the volume I presum’d to send,
Grac’d with the name of a long absent friend, 40
Might prove a welcome gift, and touch thine heart,
Not hard by nature, in a feeling part.
But thou, it seems (what cannot grandeur do,
Though but a dream?) art grown disdainful too,
And strutting in thy school of Queens and Kings,
Who fret their hour and are forgotten things,
Hast caught the cold distemper of the day,
And, like his Lordship, cast thy friend away.
Oh, Friendship, cordial of the human breast,
So little felt, so fervently profess’d, 50
Thy blossoms deck our unsuspecting years,
The promise of delicious fruit appears;
We hug the hopes of constancy and truth,
Such is the folly of our dreaming youth;
But soon, alas! detect the rash mistake
That sanguine inexperience loves to make,
And view with tears th’ expected harvest iost,
Decay’d by time or wither’d by a frost.
Whoever undertakes a friend’s great part
Should be renew’d in nature, pure in heart, 60
Prepar’d for martyrdom, and strong to prove
A thousand ways the force of genuine love.
He may be call’d to give up health and gain,
T’ exchange content for trouble, ease for pain,
To echo sigh for sigh, and groan for groan,
And wet his cheeks with sorrows not his own.
The heart of man for such a task too frail,
When most relied on is most sure to fail,
And, summon’d to partake its fellow’s woe,
Starts from its office like a broken bow. 70
Vot’ries of bus’ness and of pleasure prove
Faithless alike in friendship and in love.
Retir’d from all the circles of the gay,
And all the crowds that bustle life away,
To scenes where competition, envy, strife,
Beget no thunder-clouds to trouble life,
Let me, the charge of some good angel, find
One who has known and has escap’d mankind,
Polite yet virtuous, who has brought away
The manners, not the morals of the day. 80
With Him, perhaps with Her (for men have known
No firmer friendships than the fair have shown)
Let me enjoy in some unthought-of spot,
All former friends forgiven and forgot,
Down to the close of life’s fast-fading scene,
Union of hearts, without a flaw between.
’Tis grace, ’tis bounty, and it calls for praise,
If God give health, that sunshine of our days —
And if he add, a blessing shar’d by few,
Content of heart, more praises still are due — 90
But if he grant a friend, that boon possess’d
Indeed is treasure, and crowns all the rest;
William Cowper- Collected Poetical Works Page 48