William Cowper

John Gilpin was a citizen Of credit and renown, A train-band captain eke was he, Of famous London town.

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.

But the sound of the church-going bell These valleys and rocks never heard; Ne'er sigh'd at the sound of a knell, Or smiled when a Sabbath appear'd.

There is mercy in every place, And mercy, encouraging thought! Gives even affliction a grace And reconciles man to his lot.

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.

Religion! what treasure untold Resides in that heavenly word!

Society friendship and love Divinely bestow'd upon man, O had I the wings of a dove How soon I would taste you again!

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.

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 monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute; From the center all round to the sea I am lord of the fowl and the brute.

I praise the Frenchman, his remark was shrewd — How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude! But grant me still a friend in my retreat Whom I may whisper — solitude is sweet.

Till authors hear at length, one general cry, Tickle and entertain us, or we die!The loud demand from year to year the same, Beggars invention and makes fancy lame.

Philologists, who chase A panting syllable through time and space, Start it at home, and hunt it in the dark, To Gaul, to Greece, and into Noah's ark.

Built God a church, and laugh'd his word to scorn.

An idler is a watch that wants both hands; As useless when it goes as when it stands.

Absence of occupation is not rest, A mind quite vacant is a mind distressed.

A business with an income at its heels Furnishes always oil for its own wheels.

He likes the country, but in truth must own, Most likes it, when he studies it in town.

The disencumbered Atlas of the state.

But Conversation, choose what theme we may, And chiefly when religion leads the way, Should flow, like waters after summer show'rs, Not as if raised by mere mechanic powers.

But that disease when soberly defined Is the false fire of an o'erheated mind.

That good diffused may more abundant grow.

Our wasted oil unprofitably burns, Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns.

I pity bashful men, who feel the pain Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain, And bear the marks upon a blushing face, Of needless shame, and self-impos'd disgrace.