And such, I exclaimed, is the pitiless part This elegant rose, had I shaken it less, Might have bloomed with its owner awhile, And the tear that is wiped with a little address, May be followed perhaps by a smile. Cowper. VERSES SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY ALEXANDER SELKIRK, DURING HIS SOLITARY ABODE ON A DESERT ISLAND. I am monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute ; 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, Society, friendship, and love, Divinely bestowed upon man, In the ways of religion and truth, Religion what treasure untold 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 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, And I to my cabin repair. Cowper. THE PINE-APPLE AND THE BEE. The pine-apples in triple row, Methinks, I said, in thee I find And disappointment all the fruit. * * * * * The maid, who views with pensive air Like thine, her appetite is keen, Our dear delights are often such, Exposed to view, but not to touch; The sight our foolish heart inflames, We long for pine-apples in frames; With hopeless wish one looks and lingers; One breaks the glass, and cuts his fingers; But they, whom truth and wisdom lead, Can gather honey from a weed. Cowper. ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S Oh that those lips had language! Life has passed With me but roughly since I heard thee last. Those lips are thine-thy own sweet smiles I see, The same, that oft in childhood solaced me; Voice only fails, else, how distinct they say, "Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away!" My Mother! when I learned that thou wast dead, Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed? |