As yet Cowper's productions were few in number, but at the age of 50, during his convalescence, he composed, at the suggestion of Mrs. Unwin and other friends, a volume of poetry comprising, Hope, The progress of Error,' 'Charity and Expostulation.' At the advice of Lady Austin he began the "Task;' to her promptings we are also indebted for John Gilpin. Some time after this he wrote the "Tirocinium,' a poem exposing the then existing system of public education

THOUGHTS ON NATURE.

Happy, if full of days, but happier far, If, ere we yet discern life's evening star, Sick of the service of a world that feeds Its patient drudges with dry chaff and weeds,

We can escape from custom's idiot sway, 5 To serve the Sovereign we were born t'obey:

Then sweet to muse upon his skill displayed,
(Infinite skill,) in all that he has made!
To trace, in Nature's most minute design,
The signature and stamp of power Divine;
Contrivance intricate, expressed with ease,
Where unassisted sight no beauty sees.
The shapely limb, and lubricated joint,
Within the small dimensions of a point,
Muscle and nerve miraculously spun,
His mighty work, who speaks, and it is
done,

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The Invisible, in things scarce seen revealed,
To whom an atom is an ample field:
To wonder at a thousand insect forms,
These hatched, and those resuscitated worms,
New life ordained and brighter scenes to
share,

Once prone on earth, now buoyant upon air; Whose shape would make them, had they bulk and size,

More hideous foes than fancy can devise; With helmet-heads and dragon-scales adorned, 25 The mighty myriads, now securely scorned, Would mock the majesty of man's high birth,

Despise his bulwarks, and unpeople earth.

in England, in which the feeling produced by his own sufferings, when at school, is very easily traced. He then undertook the translation of Homer, which he published by subscription. Soon afterwards, he again fell into religious despondency, and the death of Mrs. Unwin (1796) proved a final blow both for his mind and body. He lingered three years in misery, and died in 1800, aged 69, and was buried in the parish church of East Dereham.

Stars countless, each in his appointed place,

Fast anchored in the deep abyss of space: At such a sight to catch the poet's flame, And with a rapture like his own exclaim, These are thy glorious works, thou Source of good!

How dimly seen, how faintly understood! Thine, and upheld by thy paternal care, 45 This universal frame, thus wondrous fair; Thy power divine, and bounty beyond thought,

Adored and praised in all that thou hast wrought,

Absorbed in that immensity I see, I shrink abashed, and yet aspire to thee; 50 Instruct me, guide me to that heavenly day, Thy words more clearly than thy works, display That, while Thy truths my grosser thoughts refine,

I may resemble thee, and call thee mine!

GRATITUDE TO GOD.

How blest thy creature is, O God,
When with a single eye

He views the lustre of thy word,
The day-spring from on high.

Through all the storms that veil the skies,
And frown on earthly things,

The Sun of Righteousness he eyes
With healing on his wings.

Struck by that light the human heart,
A barren soil no more,
Sends the sweet smell of grace abroad,
Where serpents lurked before.

The glorious orb, whose golden beams
The fruitful year control,

Since first, obedient to thy word
He started from the goal,

Has cheered the nations with the joys
His orient rays impart;

But, Jesus, 'tis thy light alone
Can shine upon the heart.

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20

JOHN GILPIN.

John Gilpin was a citizen,

Of credit and renown,
A train-band captain eke was he
Of famous London town.

John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear,
Though wedded we have been
These twice ten tedious years, yet we
No holiday have seen.
To-morrow is our wedding day,
And we will then repair
Unto the Bell at Edmonton,
All in a chaise and pair;

My sister and my sister's child,
Myself and children three,

Will fill the chaise, so you must ride
On horseback after we.

He soon replied, I do admire
Of womankind but one:

And you are she, my dearest dear,
Therefore it shall be done.

I am a linen-draper bold,

As all the world doth know,

And my good friend the calender (1) Will lend his horse to go.

So down he came; for loss of time,
Although it griev'd him sore,
Yet loss of pence, full well he knew,
Would trouble him much more.

"Twas long before the customers
Were suited to their mind;
When Betty screaming came down stairs,
The wine is left behind!'-

Good lack! quoth he-yet bring it me,
My leathern belt likewise,

10 In which I bear my trusty sword
When I do exercise.

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20

Now Mistress Gilpin, careful soul!
Had two stone bottles found,
To hold the liquor that she lov'd,
And keep it safe and sound.
Each bottle had a curling ear,
Through which the belt he drew,
And hung a bottle on each side,
To make his balance true;
Then over all, that he might be
Equipp'd from top to toe,

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60

65

70

His long red cloak, well brush'd and neat,
He manfully did throw.

Now see him mounted once again
Upon his nimble steed,
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.

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30

40

That trot became a gallop soon,

He little dreamt, when he set out,

For saddle-tree scarce reach'd had he, His journey to begin,

The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, Like streamer long and gay,

50

Till loop and button failing both,

When turning round his head, he saw Three customers come in.

At last it flew away.

(1) Cloth-presser.

Where English minds and manners may be found,

Shall be constrain'd to love thee. Though thy clime

Be fickle, and thy year most part deform'd 5 With dripping rains, or wither'd by a frost, I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies, And fields without a flower, for warmer France

With all her vines; nor for Ausonia's groves
Of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bowers.
To shake thy senate, and from heights
sublime

Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire
Upon thy foes, was never meant my task:
But I can feel thy fortunes and partake
Thy joys and sorrows, with as true a heart 15
As any thunderer there. And I can feel
Thy follies too; and with a just disdain
Frown at effeminates, whose very looks
Reflect dishonour on the land I love.
How, in the name of soldiership and sense,
Should England prosper, when such things,

Or all that we have left is empty talk
Of old achievements, and despair of new.

III.

Hark! 'tis the twanging horn o'er yonder bridge

That with its wearisome but needful length Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the

moon

Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright;
He comes, the herald of a noisy world, 5
With spatter'd boots, strapp'd waist, and
frozen locks;

News from all nations lumbering at his back.
True to his charge, the close pack'd load
behind,
Yet careless what he brings, his one con-

cern

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Is to conduct it to the destin'd inn; And, having dropp'd the expected bag, pass on.

He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch, Cold and yet cheerful: messenger of grief Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some; To him indifferent whether grief or joy. 15 Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks, Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet With tears, that trickled down the writer's cheeks

Fast as the periods from his fluent quill, Or charged with amorous sighs of absent swains,

20

Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each,