William Cowper

But strive still to be a man before your mother.

For 'tis a truth well known to most, That whatsoever thing is lost, We seek it, ere it come to light, In every cranny but the right.

The path of sorrow, and that path alone, Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown.

And the tear that is wiped with a little address, May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.

A kick that scarce would move a horse May kill a sound divine.

He sees that this great roundabout The world, with all its motley rout, Church, army, physic, law, Its customs and its businesses, Is no concern at all of his, And says—what says he?—Caw.

There is a bird who by his coat, And by the hoarseness of his note, Might be supposed a crow.

He that holds fast the golden mean, And lives contentedly between The little and the great, Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door.

My soul Shall bear that also; for, by practice taught, I have learned patience, having much endured.

As when around the clear bright moon, the stars Shine in full splendor, and the winds are hush'd, The groves, the mountain-tops, the headland-heights Stand all apparent, not a vapor streaks The boundless blue, but ether open'd wide All …

I will venture to assert, that a just translation of any ancient poet in rhyme is impossible. No human ingenuity can be equal to the task of closing every couplet with sounds homotonous, expressing at the same time the full sense, and only …

So Fancy dreams. Disprove it, if ye can, Ye reasoners broad awake, whose busy search Of argument, employed too oft amiss, Sifts half the pleasures of short life away!

Thou wast a bauble once; a cup and ball, Which babes might play with; and the thievish jay Seeking her food, with ease might have purloined The auburn nut that held thee, swallowing down Thy yet close-folded latitude of boughs And all …

It seems idolatry with some excuse, When our forefather Druids in their oaks Imagined sanctity.

Survivor sole, and hardly such, of all that once lived here

Prove that you have human feelings, Ere you proudly question ours!

Deem our nation brutes no longer, Till some reason ye shall find Worthier of regard and stronger Than the colour of our kind.

Fleecy locks and black complexion Cannot forfeit nature's claim; Skins may differ, but affection Dwells in white and black the same.

Forced from home and all its pleasures Afric's coast I left forlorn, To increase a stranger's treasures O'er the raging billows borne. Men from England bought and sold me, Paid my price in paltry gold;

Now let us sing — Long live the king, And Gilpin, long live he; And, when he next doth ride abroad, May I be there to see!

A hat not much the worse for wear.

The dogs did bark, the children screamed, Up flew the windows all; And every soul cried out, "Well done!" As loud as he could bawl.

O'erjoyed was he to find That, though on pleasure she was bent, She had a frugal mind.

My sister, and my sister’s child, Myself, and children three, Will fill the chaise; so you must ride On horseback after we.