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PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED.

A FABLE.

[The severe and long-continued winter of 1783-4, appears to have suggested this sprightly and elegant fable.]

I SHALL not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau

If birds confabulate or no ;

'Tis clear, that they were always able
To hold discourse, at least in fable;
And e'en the child, who knows no better
Than to interpret by the letter,
A story of a cock and bull,

Must have a most uncommon skull.

It chanced then on a winter's day,
But warm, and bright, and calm as May,
The birds, conceiving a design

To forestal sweet St Valentine,

In many an orchard, copse, and grove,
Assembled on affairs of love,

*

And with much twitter and much chatter,
Began to agitate the matter.

At length a Bulfinch, who could boast
More years and wisdom than the most,
Entreated, opening wide his beak,
A moment's liberty to speak;
And, silence publicly enjoin'd,
Deliver'd briefly thus his mind :

66

My friends! be cautious how ye treat
The subject upon which we meet ;

I fear we shall have winter yet."

A Finch, whose tongue knew no control,

With golden wing and satin poll,

A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried
What marriage means, thus pert replied:

* It was one of the whimsical speculations of this philosopher, that all fables which ascribe reason and speech to animals should be withheld from children, as being only vehicles of deception. But what child was ever deceived by them, or can be, against the evidence of his senses ?-Author's note.

"Methinks the gentleman," quoth she, "Opposite in the apple-tree,

By his good will would keep us single
Till yonder heaven and earth shall mingle,
Or (which is likelier to befall)
Till death exterminate us all.
I marry without more ado:

My dear Dick Redcap, what say you ?"

Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling, Turning short round, strutting and sideling, Attested, glad, his approbation

Of an immediate conjugation.

Their sentiments so well express'd
Influenced mightily the rest,

All pair'd, and each pair built a nest.

But though the birds were thus in haste, The leaves came on not quite so fast, And Destiny, that sometimes bears An aspect stern on man's affairs, Not altogether smiled on theirs. The wind, of late breathed gently forth, Now shifted east, and east by north; Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know, Could shelter them from rain or snow, Stepping into their nests, they paddled, Themselves were chill'd, their eggs were addled ; Soon every father bird and mother

Grew quarrelsome, and peck'd each other,

Parted without the least regret,
Except that they had ever met,
And learn'd in future to be wiser,
Than to neglect a good adviser.

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AN EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.

[First printed in Cowper's second volume. His motives for the insertion of this "truly Horatian" composition are explained in the following extract from a private letter to Mr Hill: "You do me justice when you ascribe my printed Epistle to you to my friendship for you, though, in fact, it was equally owing to the opinion that I have of yours for me. Having, in one part or other of my two volumes, distinguished by name the majority of those few for whom I entertain a friendship, it seemed to me that it would be unjustifiable negligence to omit yourself; and if I took that step without communicating to you my intention, it was only to gratify myself the more, with the hope of surprising you agreeably." 1784.]

Dear Joseph,—Five-and-twenty years ago-
Alas, how time escapes!-'tis even so-
With frequent intercourse, and always sweet,
And always friendly, we were wont to cheat
A tedious hour-and now we never meet!
As some grave gentleman in Terence says
('Twas therefore much the same in ancient days,)
Good lack, we know not what to-morrow brings --
Strange fluctuation of all human things!
True. Changes will befall, and friends may part,
But distance only cannot change the heart:
And, were I call'd to prove the assertion true,
One proof should serve― a reference to you.
Whence comes it, then, that in the wane of life,
Though nothing have occurr'd to kindle strife,
We find the friends we fancied we had won,
Though numerous once, reduced to few or none?
Can gold grow worthless, that has stood the touch?
No; gold they seem'd, but they were never such.
Horatio's servant once, with bow and cringe,
Swinging the parlour-door upon its hinge,
Dreading a negative, and overawed

Lest he should trespass, begg'd to go abroad.
Go, fellow!-whither?-turning short about
Nay. Stay at home-you 're always going out.
'Tis but a step, sir, just at the street's end.-
For what? -An please you, sir, to see a friend.-

A friend! Horatio cried, and seem'd to start—
Yea, marry, shalt thou, and with all my heart.-
And fetch my cloak; for, though the night be raw,
I'll see him too-the first I ever saw.

I knew the man, and knew his nature mild,
And was his plaything often when a child;
But somewhat at that moment pinch'd him close,
Else he was seldom bitter or morose.

Perhaps his confidence just then betray'd,

His grief might prompt him with the speech he made ;
Perhaps 'twas mere good humour gave it birth,
The harmless play of pleasantry and mirth.
Howe'er it was, his language, in my mind,
Bespoke at least a man that knew mankind.
But not to moralize too much, and strain
To prove an evil, of which all complain,
(I hate long arguments verbosely spun,)
One story more, dear Hill, and I have done :
Once on a time an emperor, a wise man,
No matter where, in China or Japan,
Decreed, that whosoever should offend
Against the well-known duties of a friend,
Convicted once should ever after wear
But half a coat, and shew his bosom bare.
The punishment importing this, no doubt,
That all was naught within, and all found out.
O happy Britain! we have not to fear
Such hard and arbitrary measure here ;
Else, could a law, like that which I relate,
Once have the sanction of our triple state,

Some few, that I have known in days of old,
Would run most dreadful risk of catching cold;
While you, my friend, whatever wind should blow,
Might traverse England safely to and fro,

An honest man, close button'd to the chin,
Broad cloth without, and a warm heart within.

EPITAPH ON A HARE.

[First published in the Gentleman's Magazine for December, 1784. Cowper's love of animals, and the history of his "Hares" particularly, have been explained in the Life. The following extract shews that the poet's menagerie was occasionally pretty numerous : "Our friend," says Lady Hesketh, in a letter to her sister, “is very fond of animals, and had at one time five rabbits, three hares, eight pair of pigeons, two guinea pigs, a magpie, a jay, and a starling; besides two goldfinches, two canary birds, two dogs, and a squirrel, which used to play with one of the hares continually."]

HERE lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue,

Nor swifter greyhound follow,

Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew,
Nor heard the huntsman's hallo',

Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,
Who, nursed with tender care,
And to domestic bounds confined,
Was still a wild Jack-hare.

Though duly from my hand he took
His pittance every night,

He did it with a jealous look,

And, when he could, would bite.

His diet was of wheaten bread,
And milk, and oats, and straw;
Thistles, or lettuces instead,
With sand to scour his maw.

On twigs of hawthorn he regaled,
On pippins' russet peel,
And when his juicy salads fail'd,
Sliced carrot pleased him well.

A Turkey carpet was his lawn,
Whereon he loved to bound,
To skip and gambol like a fawn,
And swing his rump around.

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