Fairer fight than orchard fhows,
Which befide a river blows:
Yet, another fpring I fee,
And a brighter bloom in thee :
And another round of time,
Circling, ftill improves thy prime
And, beneath the vernal skies,
Yet a verdure more fhall rife,
Ere thy beauties, kindling flow,
In each finish'd feature glow,
Ere, in fmiles and in difdain,
Thou exert thy maiden reign,
Abfolute to fave, or kill,
Fond beholders, at thy will.
Then the taper-moulded waste
With a span of ribbon brac'd,
And the fwell of either breast,
And the wide high-vaulted chest,
And the neck fo white and round,
Little neck with brilliants bound,
And the store of charms which fhine
Above, in lineaments divine,
Crowded in a narrow space
To complete the defperate face,
Thefe alluring powers, and more,
Shall enamour'd youths adore;
Thefe, and more, in courtly lays,
Many an aking heart fhall praife.
Happy thrice, and thrice again,
Happiest he of happy men,
Who, in courtship greatly fped,
Wins the damfel to his bed,
Bears the virgin-prize away,
Counting life one nuptial day!
For the dark-brown dusk of hair,
Shadowing thick thy forehead fair,
Down the veiny temples growing,
O'er the floping shoulders flowing,
And the fimoothly pencil'd brow,
Mild to him in every vow,
And the fringed lid below,
Thin as thinneft bloffoms blow,
And the hazely-lucid eye,
Whence heart-winning glances fly,
And that cheek of health, o'erfpread
With foft-blended white and red,
And the witching fmiles which break
Round thofe lips, which fweetly speak,
And thy gentleness of mind,
Gentle from a gentle kind,
Thefe endowments, heavenly dower!
Brought him in the promis'd hour,
Shall for ever bind him to thee,
Shall renew him ftill to woo thee.
On the DEATH of the RIGHT HONOURABLE
WILLIAM EARL COWPER. 1723.
STROPHE I.
WAKE the British harp again,
To a fad melodious strain;
Wake the harp, whofe every ftring,
When Halifax refign'd his breath,
Accus'd inexorable death;
For I, once more, must in affliction sing,
One fong of forrow more beftow,
The burden of a heart o'ercharg`d with woe:
Yet, O my foul, if aught may bring relief,
Full many, grieving, fhall applaud thy grief,
The pious verfe, that Cowper does deplore,
Whom all the boasted powers of verse cannot restore,
ANTIS TROPHE I.
Not to her, his fondest care,
Not to his lov'd offspring fair,
From her, from them, from Britain torn :
With her, with them, does Britain mourn:
His name, from every eye, calls forth a tear ;
And, intermingling, fighs with praise,
All good men wish the number of his days
Had been to him twice told, and twice again,
In that feal'd book, where all things which pertain To mortal man, whatever things befall,
Are from eternity confirm'd, beyond recall:
Where every lofs, and every gain,
Where every grief, and every joy,
Every pleasure, every pain,
Each bitter, and each sweet alloy,
To us uncertain though they flow,
Are pre-ordain'd, and fix'd, above.
Too wretched state, did man foreknow
Thofe ills, which man cannot remove!
Vain is wisdom for preventing
What the wifest live lamenting.
STROPHE II.
Hither fent, who knows the day
When he fhall be call'd away?
Various is the term affign'd:
An hour, a day, fome months, or years,
The breathing foul on earth appears:
But, through the fwift fucceffion of mankind,
Swarm after fwarm! a bufy race,
The strength of cities, or of courts the grace,
Or who in camps delight, or who abide
Diffus'd o'er lands, or float on oceans wide,
Of them, though many here long-lingering dwell, And fee their children's children, yet, how few excel! 46°
ANTIST ROPHE II.
Here we come, and hence we go,
Shadows paffing to and fro,
Seen a while, forgotten foon:
But thou, to fair diftinction born,
Thou, Cowper, beamy in the morn
Of life, ftill brightening to the pitch of noon,
Scarce verging to the steep decline,
Hence fummon'd while thy virtues radiant shine,
Thou fingled out the fosterling of fame,
Secure of praife, nor lefs fecur'd from blame,
Shalt be remember'd with a fond applaufe,
So long as Britons own the fame indulgent laws.
United in one public weal,
Rejoicing in one freedom, all,
Cowper's hand apply'd the feal,
And level'd the partition-wall.
The chofen feeds of great events
Are thinly fown, and flowly rife:
And Time the harveft-fcythe prefents,
In feafon, to the good and wife:
Hymning to the harp-my ftory,
Fain would I record his glory.
STROPHE III.
Pouring forth, with heavy heart,
Truth unleaven'd, pare of art,
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