The violet, the pink, and jessamine,
I pricked them into paper with a pin
(And thou wast happier than myself the while!
Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile!);
Could those few pleasant hours again appear,
Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here?
I would not trust my heart! The dear delight
Seems so to be desired, perhaps, I might!
But, No! What here we call our life is such,
So little to be loved, and thou so much;
That I should ill requite thee, to constrain
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again!
Thou, as a gallant bark, from Albion's coast
(The storms all weathered, and the Ocean crossed),
Shoots into port at some well-havened isle,
Where spices breathe and brighter seasons smile,
There, sits quiescent on the floods, that show
Her beauteous form reflected clear below;
While airs, impregnated with incense, play
Around her, fanning light her streamers gay :
So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached the shore
'Where tempests never beat, nor billows roar'1;
And thy loved Consort, on the dang'rous tide
Of life, long since has anchored by thy side.
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest,
Always from port withheld, always distrest;
Me, howling winds drive devious, tempest-tost,
Sails ripped, seams op'ning wide, and compass lost;
And, day by day, some current's thwarting force
Sets me more distant from a prosp'rous course.
But, O, the thought that thou art safe, and he!
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me!
My boast is not that I deduce my birth
From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth;
But higher far, my proud pretensions rise!
The son of parents passed into the skies!
And now, Farewell! TIME, unrevoked, has run
His wonted course; yet what I wished is done.
By Contemplation's help, not sought in vain,
I seem t' have lived my childhood o'er again!
To have renewed the joys that once were mine,
Without the sin of violating thine!
And, while the wings of Fancy still are free,
And I can view this mimic show of thee;
TIME has but half succeeded in his theft!
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left!
I AM just two and two! I am warm, I am cold; And the parent of numbers that cannot be told! I am lawful, unlawful! a duty, a fault!
I am often sold dear; good for nothing when bought! An extraordinary boon, and a matter of course! And yielded with pleasure, when taken by force!
A Riddle by COWPER
Made me swear like a trooper!
But my anger, alas! was in vain!
For remembering the bliss
Of Beauty's soft Kiss,
I now long for such Riddles again!
VERSES SUPPOSED ΤΟ BE WRITTEN BY
DURING HIS SOLITARY ABODE IN THE
ISLAND OF JUAN FERNANDEZ.
I AM Monarch of all I survey!
My right there is none to dispute!
From the centre all round to the sea,
I am Lord of the fowl and the brute!
O, Solitude! where are the charms
That Sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of Alarms,
Than reign in this horrible place!
I am out of Humanity's reach!
I must finish my journey alone!
Never hear the sweet music of speech;
I start at the sound of my own!
The beasts that roam over the plain,
My form with indifference see!
They are so unacquainted with Man,
Their tameness is shocking to me!
Society, Friendship, and Love,
Divinely bestowed upon Man,
O, had I the wings of a dove,
How soon would I taste you again!
My sorrows I then might assuage
In the ways of Religion and Truth!
Might learn from the wisdom of Age,
And be cheered by the sallies of Youth!
Religion! what treasure untold
Resides in that heavenly word!
More precious than silver and gold,
Or all that this earth can afford!
But the sound of the Church going bell,
These valleys and rocks never heard!
Never sighed at the sound of a Knell;
Or smiled when a Sabbath appeared!
Ye winds! that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore
Some cordial endearing report
Of a land I shall visit no more!
My friends! do they now and then send
A wish, or a thought, after me?
O, tell me, I yet have a friend;
Though a friend I am never to see!
How fleet is a glance of the mind!
Compared with the speed of its flight,
The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-winged arrows of light!
When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I seem to be there!
But, alas! Recollection, at hand,
Soon hurries me back to despair!
But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest,
The beast is laid down in his lair,
Even here, is a season of rest;
And I, to my Cabin repair.
There is mercy in ev'ry place!
And mercy, encouraging thought!
Gives even affliction a grace;
And reconciles Man to his lot.
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