Full slowly pacing o'er the stones,
With caution and good heed.

But finding soon a smoother road
Beneath his well-shod feet,
The snorting beast began to trot,
Which gall'd him in his seat.

So, fair and softly, John he cried,
But John he cried in vain;
That trot became a gallop soon,
In spite of curb and rein.

So stooping down, as needs he must
Who cannot sit upright,

He grasp'd the mane with both his hands,
And eke with all his might.

His horse, who never in that sort
Had handled been before,
What thing upon his back had got
Did wonder more and more.

Away went Gilpin, neck or nought;
Away went hat and wig;
He little dreamt, when he set out,
Of running such a rig.

The wind did blow, the cloak did fly
Like streamer long and gay,
Till, loop and button failing both,
At last it flew away.

Then might all people well discern
The bottles he had slung;

A bottle swinging at each side,

As hath been said or sung.

The dogs did bark, the children scream'd,
Up flew the windows all;
And every soul cried out, Well done
As loud as he could bawl.

Away went Gilpin-who but he ?
His fame soon spread around,
He carries weight? he rides a race!
'Tis for a thousand pound!

And still, as fast as he drew near,
'Twas wonderful to view,
How in a trice the turnpike men
Their gates wide open threw.
And now, as he went bowing down
His reeking head full low,
The bottles twain behind his back
Were shatter'd at a blow.

Down ran the wine into the road,
Most piteous to be seen,

Which made his horse's flanks to smoke
As they had basted been.

But still he seem'd to carry weight,
With leathern girdle braced;
For all might see the bottle necks
Still dangling at his waist.

Thus all through merry Islington
These gambols he did play,
Until he came unto the Wash

Of Edmonton so gay;

And there he threw the wash about
On both sides of the way,

Just like unto a trundling mop,
Or a wild goose at play.

At Edmonton his loving wife

From the balcony spied

Her tender husband, wondering much
To see how he did ride.

Stop, stop, John Gilpin !-Here's the house-
They all at once did cry;

The dinner waits, and we are tired:
Said Gilpin-So am I!

But yet his horse was not a whit
Inclined to tarry there;

For why ?-his owner had a house
Full ten miles off, at Ware,

So like an arrow swift he flew,
Shot by an archer strong;
So did he fly-which brings me to
The middle of my song.

Away went Gilpin out of breath,
And sore against his will,
Till at his friend the calender's
His horse at last stood still.

The calender, amazed to see

His neighbour in such trim,
Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate,
And thus accosted him:

What news? what news? your tidings tel!;
Tell me you must and shall-

Say why bare-headed you are come,
Or why you come at all?

Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,
And loved a timely joke;
And thus unto the calender
In merry guise he spoke :

I came because your horse would come;
And, if I well forebode,

My hat and wig will soon be here,
They are upon the road.

The calender right glad to find
His friend in merry pin,
Returned him not a single word,
But to the house went in;

Whence straight he came with hat and wig
A wig that flow'd behind,

A hat not much the worse for wear,
Each comely in its kind.

He held them up, and in his turn
Thus show'd his ready wit,
My head is twice as big as yours,
They therefore needs must fit.

But let me scrape the dirt away,
That hangs upon your face;
And stop and eat, for well you may
Be in a hungry case.

Said John-It is my wedding-day,
And all the world would stare,
If wife should dine at Edmonton,
And I should dine at Ware.

So turning to his horse, he said,
I am in haste to dine;
'Twas for your pleasure you came here,
You shall go back for mine.

Ah luckless speech, and bootless boast'
For which he paid full dear;
For, while he spake, a braying ass
Did sing most loud and clear;

Whereat his horse did snort, as he
Had heard a lion roar,

And gallop'd off with all his might,
As he had done before.

Away went Gilpin, and away

Went Gilpin's hat and wig: He lost them sooner than at first, For why? They were too big.

Now Mrs. Gilpin, when she saw Her husband posting down Into the country far away,

She pull'd out half-a-crown;

And thus unto the youth she said

That drove them to the Bell,

This shall be yours, when you bring back My husband safe and well.

The youth did ride, and soon did meet
John ceming back amain;

Whom in a trice he tried to stop,
By catching at his rein;

But not performing what he meant.
And gladly would have done,

The frighted steed he frighted more,
And made him faster run.

Away went Gilpin, and away

Went post-boy at his heels,
The post-boy's horse right glad to miss
The lumbering of the wheels.

Six gentlemen upon the road,
Thus seeing Gilpin fly,

With post-boy scampering in the rear,
They raised the hue and cry :-

Stop thief! stop thief!-a highwayman! Not one of them was mute;

And all and each that pass'd that way
Did join in the pursuit.

And now the turnpike gates again
Flew open in short space;
The toll-men thinking, as before,
That Gilpin rode a race.

And so he did, and won it too,
For he got first to town;

Nor stopp'd till where he had got up,
He did again get down.

Now let us sing, long live the king,
And Gilpin long live he;
And when he next doth ride abroad,
May I be there to see!

TO THE

REV. W. CAWTHORNE UNWIN.

UNWIN, I should but ill repay
The kindness of a friend,
Whose worth deserves as warm a lay
As ever friendship penn'd,
Thy name omitted in a page,
That would reclaim a vicious age.

A union form'd, as mine with thee,
Not rashly, or in sport,
May be as fervent in degree,

And faithful in its sort,
And may as rich in comfort prov
As that of true fraternal love.

The bud inserted in the rind,

The bud of peach or rose,
Adorns, though differing in its kind,
The stock whereon it grows,
With flower as sweet, or fruit as fair,
As if produced by nature there.

Not rich, I render what I may,
I seize thy name in haste,
And place it in this first essay,

Lest this should prove the last. "Tis where it should be-in a plan, That holds in view the good of man.

The poet's lyre, to fix his fame,
Should be the poet's heart;
Affection lights a brighter flame
Than ever blazed by art.
No muses on these lines attend,
I sink the poet in the friend.

ANSWER TO STANZAS

Addressed to Lady Hesketh, by Miss Catharine Fanshawe, in returning a Poem of Mr. Cowper's, lent to her, on condition she should neither show it, nor take a Copy. 1793.

TO be remember'd thus is fame,
And in the first degree;
And did the few like her the same,
The press might sleep for me.

So Homer, in the memory stored

Of many a Grecian belle,

Was once preserved-a richer hoard, But never lodged so well.

ON THE ICE ISLANDS,

Seen floating in the German Ocean.-1799. WHAT portents, from what distant region, ride, Unseen till now in ours, th' astonished tide? In ages past, old Proteus, with his droves.

Of sea-calves, sought the mountains and the groves; But now, descending whence of late they stood, Themselves the mountains seem to rove the flood. Dire times were they, full-charged with human woes;

And these, scarce less calamitous than those.
What view we now? More wond'rous still!
Behold!

Like burnish'd brass they shine, or beaten gold;
And all around the pearl's pure splendor show,
And all around the ruby's fiery glow.

Come they from India, where the burning earth.
All bounteous, gives her richest treasures birth;
And where the costly gems, that beam around
The brows of mightiest potentates, are found?
No. Never such a countless dazzling store
Had left, unseen, the Ganges' peopled shore.
Rapacious hands, and ever-watchful eyes,
Should sooner far have mark'd and seized the prize.
Whence sprang they then? Ejected have they come
From Vesuvius', or from Etna's burning womb?
Thus shine they self-illumed, or but display
The borrow'd splendors of a cloudless day?
With borrow'd beams they shine. The gales that
breathe

Now landward, and the current's force beneath,
Have borne them nearer: and the nearer-sight,
Advantaged more, contemplates them aright.
Their lofty summits crested high, they show,
With mingled sleet, and long incumbent snow,
The rest is ice. Far hence, where, most severe,
Bleak winter well-nigh saddens all the year,
Their infant growth began. He bade arise
Their uncouth forms, portentous in our eyes.
Oft as dissolved by transient suns, the snow
Left the tall cliff, to join the flood below,
He caught, and curdled with a freezing blast
The current, ere it reach'd the boundless waste.
By slow degrees uprose the wonderous pile,
And long successive ages roll'd the while,
Till, ceaseless in its growth, it claim'd to stand
Tall as its rival mountains on the land.
Thus stood, and, unremovable by skill,
Or force of man, and stood the structure still ;
But that, though firmly fix'd, supplanted yet
By pressure of its own enormous weight,
It left the shelving beach-and, with a sound
That shook the bellowing waves and rocks around,
Self-launch'd, and swiftly, to the briny wave,
As if instinet with strong desire to lave,
Down went the ponderous mass. So bards of old,
How Delos swam the Egean deep, have told.
But not of ice was Delos. Delos bore
Herb, fruit, and flower. She, crown'd with laurel,
Even under wintry skies, a summer smile;
And Delos was Apollo's favourite isle.
But, horrid wanderers of the deep, to you
He deems Cimmerian darkness only due.
Your hated birth he deign'd not to survey,
But scornful, turn'd his glorious eyes away.
Hence! seek your home, nor longer rashly dare
The darts of Phoebus, and a softer air;
Lest ye regret, too late, your native coast,
In no congenial gulph for ever lost.

wore,

say'st:

Enough!-thy blindness shall excuse the deed.
Nor does my muse no benefit exhale
From this thy scant indulgence :-even here,
Hints, worthy sage philosophy, are found;
Illustrious hints, to moralize my song.
This ponderous heel of perforated hide
Compact, with pegs indented, many a row,
Haply, (for such its massy form bespeaks)
The weighty tread of some rude peasant clown
Upbore: on this supported oft, he stretch'd,
With uncouth strides, along the furrow'd glebe,
Fattening the stubborn clod, till cruel time,
(What will not cruel time?) on a wry step,
Sever'd the strict cohesion; when, alas!
He, who could erst, with even equal pace,
Pursue his destined way with symmetry,
And some proportion form'd, now, on one side,
Curtail'd and maim'd, the sport of vagrant boys,
Cursing his frail supporter, treacherous prop!
With toilsome steps, and difficult, moves on:
Thus fares it oft with other than the feet
Of humble villager-the Statesman thus,
Up the steep road where proud ambition leads,
Aspiring, first uninterrupted winds

His prosperous way; nor fears miscarriage foul,
While policy prevails, and friends prove true;
But that support soon failing, by him left,
On whom he most depended, basely left,
Betrayed, deserted; from his airy height
Headlong he falls; and through the rest of life,
Drags the dull load of disappointment on.

STANZAS

On the late indecent liberties taken with the Remains of the Great Milton.-1790

"ME too, perchance, in future days,
The sculptured stone shall show,
With Paphian marble or with bays
Parnassian on my brow.

But I, or ere that season come,
Escaped from every care,
Shall reach my refuge in the tomb,
And sleep securely there."*

So sang, in Roman tone and style,
The youthful bard, ere long
Ordain'd to grace his native isle
With her sublimest song.

Who then but must conceive disdain,
Hearing the deed unbless'd,

Of wretches who have dared profane
His dread sepulchral rest ?

Ill fare the hands that heaved the stones
Where Milton's ashes lay,
That trembled not to grasp his bones
And steal his dust away!

O ill-requited bard! neglect
Thy living worth repaid,
And blind, idolatrous respect

As much affronts thee dead.

Forsitan et nostros ducat de marmore vultus, Nectens aut Paphia myrti aut Parnasside lauri Fronde comas-At ego secura pace quiescam. Milton in Manso.

THE COTTAGER AND HIS LANDLORD.

A PEASANT to his lord paid yearly court,
Presenting pippins, of so rich a sort
That he, displeased to have a part alone,
Removed the tree, that all might be his own.
The tree, too old to travel, though before
So fruitful, wither'd, and would yield no more;
The squire, perceiving all his labour void,
Cursed his own pains, so foolishly employ'd:
And "Oh," he cried, "that I had lived content
With tribute, small indeed, but kindly meant!
My avarice has expensive proved to me,
Has cost me both my pippins, and my tree."

THE COLUBRIAD.

1782.

CLOSE by the threshold of a door nail'd fast
Three kittens sat; each kitten look'd aghast.
I passing swift, and inattentive by,

At the three kittens cast a careless eye;
Not much concern'd to know what they did there;
Not deeming kittens worth a poet's care.

But presently a loud and furious hiss

Caused me to stop, and to exclaim "what's this?'
When lo! upon the threshold met my view,
With head erect, and eyes of fiery hue,

A viper, long as Count de Grasse's cue.

Forth from his head his forked tongue he throws,
Darting it full against a kitten's nose;
Who, having never seen, in field or house,
The like, sat still and silent as a mouse:
Only projecting, with attention due,

Her whisker'd face, she ask'd him, "who are you?"
On to the hall went I, with pace not slow,
But swift at lightning, for a long Dutch hoe:
With which well arm'd, I hasten'd to the spot,
To find the viper, but I found him not;
And turning up the leaves, and shrubs around,
Found only, that he was not to be found.
But still the kittens sitting as before,
Sat watching close the bottom of the door.
"I hope," said I," the villain I would kill,
Has slipp'd between the door, and the door sill;
And if I make despatch, and follow hard,
No doubt but I shall find him in the yard;"
For long ere now it should have been rehearsed,
'Twas in the garden that I found him first.
Even there I found him, there the full-grown cat
His head, with velvet paw, did gently pat;
As curious as the kittens erst had been
To learn what this phenomenon might mean.
Fill'd with heroic ardour at the sight,
And fearing every moment he would bite,
And rob our household of our only cat,
That was of age to combat with a rat;
With outstretch'd hoe I slew him at the door,
And taught him never to come there no more.

AN

EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.

DEAR Joseph-five and twenty years ago→→
Alas how time escapes!-'tis even so-
With frequent intercourse, and always sweet,
And always friendly, we were wont to cheat
A tedious hour-and now we never meet!
As some grave gentleman in Terence says.
("Twas therefore much the same in ancient days)
Good lack, we know not what to-morrow brings
Strange fluctuation of all human things!
True. Changes will befall, and friends may part,
But distance only cannot change the heart:

And, were I call'd to prove th' assertion true,
One proof should serve-a reference to you.

Whence comes it then, that in the wane of life,
Though nothing have occurr'd to kindle strife,
We find the friends we fancied we had won,
Though numerous once, reduced to few or none?
Can gold grow worthless that has stood the touch?
No; gold they seem'd, but they were never such.
Horatio's servant once, with bow and cringe,
Swinging the parlour-door upon its hinge,
Dreading a negative, and over-awed
Lest he should trespass, begg'd to go abroad.
Go, fellow-whither ?-turning short about
Nay. Stay at home-you're always going out.
"Tis but a step, Sir, just at the street's end.-
For what?-An't please you, Sir, to see a friend.—
A friend! Horatio cried, and seem'd to start-
Yea marry shalt thou, and with all my heart.-
And fetch my cloak; for, though the night be raw,
I'll see him too-the first I ever saw.

I knew the man, and knew his nature mild, And was his plaything often when a child; But somewhat at that moinent pinch'd him close, Else he was seldom bitter or morose. Perhaps his confidence just then betray'd, [made; His grief might prompt him with the speech he Perhaps 'twas mere good-humour gave it birth. The harmless play of pleasantry and mirth: Howe'er it was, his language, in my mind, Bespoke at least a man that knew mankind. But not to moralize too much, and strain To prove an evil of which all complain, (I hate long arguments verbosely spun) One story more, dear Hill, and I have done. Once on a time an emperor, a wise man, No matter where, in China or Japan, Decreed, that whosoever should offend Against the well-known duties of a friend, Convicted once should ever after wear But half a coat, and show his bosom bare'; The punishment importing this, no doubt, That all was naught within, and all found out. O happy Britain! we have not to fear Such hard and arbitrary measures here; Else, could a law like that which I relate, Once have the sanction of our triple state, Some few that I have known in days of old, Would run most dreadful risk of catching cold; While you, my friend, whatever wind should blow, Might traverse England safely to and fro, An honest man, close-button'd to the chín, Eroad-cloth without, and a warm heart within.

TO KOBERT LLOYD, ESQ.

1754.

"TIS not that I design to rob
Thee of thy birthright, gentle Bob,
For thou art born sole heir, and single,
Of dear Mat. Prior's easy jingle;
Not that I mean, while thus I knit

My threadbare sentiments together,

To show my genius or my wit,

When God and you know I have neither; Or such as might be better shown

By letting poetry alone.

'Tis not with either of these views,
That I presumed to' address the muse
But to divert a fierce banditti,

(Sworn foes to every thing that's witty!)
That, with a black, infernal train,
Make cruel inroads in my brain,
And daily threaten to drive thence
My little garrison of sense.
The fierce banditti which I mean,
Are gloomy thoughts, led on by spleen.
Then there's another reason yet,
Which is, that I may fairly quit
The debt, which justly became due
The moment when I heard from you:
And you might grumble, crony mine,
If paid in any other coin;

Since twenty sheets of lead, God knows,
(I would say twenty sheets of prose)

Can ne'er be deem'd worth half so much
As one of gold-and yours was such.
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,
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,
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.
The sense was dark; 'twas therefore fit
With simile to' 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 :
Where then the preference shall we place,
Or how do justice in this case?
Matthew (says fame) with endless pains,
Smooth'd and refined the meanest strains;
Nor suffer'd one ill-chosen rhyme
To' 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;

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 scavant,
Let fall a poem en passant,

Nor needs his genuine ore refine;-
'Tis ready polish'd from the mine.

TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON.

An Invitation into the Country.

THE swallows, in their torpid state
Compose their useless wing,
And bees, in hives, as idly wait
The call of early spring.

The keenest frost that binds the stream,
The wildest wind that blows,
Are neither felt nor fear'd by them,
Secure of their repose.

But man, all feeling and awake,

The gloomy scene surveys;

With present ills his heart must ache,. And pant for brighter days.

Pitch-kettled, a favourite phrase at the time when this Epistle was written, expressive of being puzzled, or what, in the Spectator's time, would have been called bamboozled.

Old winter, halting o'er the mead,
Bids me and Mary mourn;
But lovely spring peeps o'er his head,
And whispers your return.

Then April, with her sister May,

Shall chase him from the bowers, And weave fresh garlands every day, To crown the smiling hours.

And if a tear that speaks regret
Of happier times, appear,

A glimpse of joy that we have met,
Shall shine and dry the tear.

TRANSLATION OF

PRIOR'S

CHLOE AND EUPHELIA.

MERCATOR, vigiles oculos ut fallere possit Nomine sub ficto trans mare mittit opes; Lene sonat liquidumque meis Euphelia chordis, Sed solam exoptant te, mea vota, Chloe.

Ad speculum ornabat nitidos Euphelia crines, Cum dixit mea lux, Heus, cane, sume lyram. Namque lyram juxta positam cum carmine vidit, Suave quidem carmen dulcisonamque lyram.

Fila lyræ vocemque paro, suspiria surgunt,

Et miscent numeris murmura mosta meis, Dumque tuæ memoro laudes, Euphelia, formæ, Tota anima interea pendet ab ore Chlöes.

Subrubet illa pudore, et contrahit altera frontem,
Me torquet inea mens conscia, psallo, tremo;
Atque Cupidinea dixit Dea cincta corona,
Heu! fallendi artem quam didicere parum.

A TALE.

This tale is founded on an article of intelligence which the author found in the Buckinghamshire Herald, for Saturday, June 1st, 1793, in the following words:

Glasgow, May 23d, 1793.

"In a block, or pulley, near the head of the mast of a gabert, now lying at the Broomielaw, there is a chaffinch's nest and four eggs. The nest was built while the vessel lay at Greenock, and was followed hither by both birds. Though the block is occasionally lowered for the inspection of the curious, the birds have not forsaken the nest. The cock, however, visits the nest but seldom, while the hen never leaves it, but when she descends to the hull for food."

IN Scotland's realm, where trees are few
Not even shrubs abound;
But where, however bleak the view,
Some better things are found:

For husband there and wife may boast
Their union undefiled,

And false ones are as rare almost
As hedge-rows in the wild.

In Scotland's realm, forlorn and bare,
The history chanced of late-

This history' of a wedded pair,

A chaffinch and his mate.

The spring drew near, each felt a breast With genial instinct fill'd;

They pair'd, and would have built a nest But found not where to build.

The heaths uncover'd, and the moors,

Except with snow and sleet,
Sea-beaten rocks and naked shores
Could yield them no retreat.

Long time a breeding-place they sought,
Till both grew vex'd and tired;
At length a ship arriving, brought
The good so long desired.

A ship?-could such a restless thing
Afford them place of rest?

Or was the merchant charged to brins
The homeless birds a nest?

Hush-silent hearers profit most:-
This racer of the sea

Proved kinder to them than the coast-
It served them with a tree.

But such a tree! 'twas shaven deal,
The tree they call a mast,
And had a hollow, with a wheel.
Through which the tackle pass'd.

Within that cavity aloft

Their roofless home they fix'd, Form'd with materials neat and soft, Bents, wool and feathers mix'd.

Four ivory eggs soon pave its floor,
With russet specks bedight;-
The vessel weighs, forsakes the shore,
And lessens to the sight.

The mother-bird is gone to sea,

As she had changed her kind; But goes the male? Far wiser he > Is doubtless left behind?

No:-soon as from ashore he saw
The winged mansion move,
He flew to reach it, by a law
Of never-failing love.

Then perching at his consort's side,
Was briskly borne along,
The billows and the blast defied,
And cheer'd her with a song.

The seaman with sincere delight
His feather'd shipmates eyes,
Scarce less exulting in the sight

Than when he tows a prize.

For seamen much believe in signs,
And from a chance so new,
Each some approaching good divines,
And may his hopes be true!

Hail, honour'd land! a desert where
Not even birds can hide,
Yet parent of this loving pair

Whom nothing could divide.

And ye who, rather than resign

Your matrimonial plan,
Were not afraid to plough the brine
In company with man:

For whose lean country much disdain
We English often show,
Yet from a richer nothing gain
But wantonness and wo.

Be it your fortune, year by year,
The same resource to prove,
And may ye, sometimes landing here,
Instruct us how to love.

THE NEEDLESS ALARM.

A TALE.

THERE is a field, through which I often pass, Thick overspread with moss and silky grass, Adjoining close to Kilwick's echoing wood, Where oft the bitch-fox hides her hapless brood,