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But waged with death a lasting strife,
He shouted: nor his friends had fail'd
They left their outcast mate behind,
Some succour yet they could afford;
The cask, the coop, the floated cord,
But he (they knew) nor ship nor shore,
Nor, cruel as it seem'd, could he
Their haste himself condemn,
Alone could rescue them;
He long survives, who lives an hour
And so long he, with unspent power,
And ever as the minutes flew,
At length, his transient respite past,
Had heard his voice in every blast,
For then, by toil subdued, he drank
No poet wept him; but the page
That tells his name, his worth, his age,
And tears by bards or heroes shed
I therefore purpose not, or dream,
No voice divine the storm allay'd,
When, snatch'd from all effectual aid,
But I beneath a rougher sea,
HIC sepultus est
Unicus, unicè dilectus,
Care, vale! Sed non æternum, care, valeto!
FAREWELL!" But not for ever," Hope replies,
I AM just two and two, I am warm, I am cold,
I am often sold dear, good for nothing when bought;
FROM THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE, VOL. LXXVI. P. 1224.
A RIDDLE by Cowper
Made me swear like a trooper;
But my anger, alas! was in vain ;
I now long for such riddles again.
IN SEDITIONEM HORRENDAM,
CORRUPTELIS GALLICIS, UT FERTUR, LONDINI NUPER EXORTAM.
PERFIDA, crudelis, victa et lymphata furore,
FALSE, cruel, disappointed, stung to the heart,
COWPER had sinn'd with some excuse,
He had committed this abuse
Of changing ewes for wethers';
I have heard about my wether mutton from various quarters. It was a blunder hardly pardonable in a man who has lived amid fields and meadows, grazed by sheep, almost these thirty years. I have accordingly satirized myself in two stanzas
But, male for female is a trope,
Or rather bold misnomer,
When he translated Homer.
SUBJOINED TO THE YEARLY BILL OF MORTALITY OF THE
PARISH OF ALL-SAINTS, NORTHAMPTON 1,
ANNO DOMINI 1787.
Pallida Mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas,
Pale Death with equal foot strikes wide the door
WHILE thirteen moons saw smoothly run
Was man (frail always) made more frail
Did famine or did plague prevail,
which I composed last night, while I lay awake, tormented with pain, and well dosed with laudanum. If you find them not very brilliant, therefore, you will know how to account for it.— Letter to Joseph Hill, April 15, 1792.
1 Composed for John Cox, parish clerk of Northampton.