The works of William Cowper; his life and letters by W. Hayley, ed. by T.S. Grimshawe

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24 ページ - For the preaching of the cross is to them that perish foolishness ; but unto us which are saved it is the power of God.
3 ページ - Tis now become a history little known, That once we called the pastoral house our own. Short-lived possession! but the record fair That memory keeps of all thy kindness there, Still outlives many a storm, that has effaced A thousand other themes less deeply traced. Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, That thou might'st know me safe and warmly laid...
2 ページ - Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, I learned at last submission to my lot; But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot. Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, Children not thine have trod my nursery floor...
3 ページ - All this, and more endearing still than all, Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall, Ne'er roughened by those cataracts and breaks, That humour interposed too often makes; All this still legible in memory's page, And still to be so to my latest age...
253 ページ - I love the memory of Vinny Bourne. I think him a better Latin poet than Tibul'lus, Propertius, Ausonius, or any of the writers in his way, except Ovid, and not at all inferior to him.
216 ページ - Then holding the spectacles up to the court — Your lordship observes they are made with a straddle As wide as the ridge of the Nose is; in short, Designed to sit close to it, just like a saddle.
156 ページ - At present, the difference between them and me is greatly to their advantage. I delight in baubles, and know them to be so ; for rested in, and viewed without a reference to their Author, what is the earth, — what are the planets, — what is the sun itself but a bauble ? Better for a man never to have seen them, or to see them with the eyes of a brute, stupid and unconscious of what he beholds, than not to be able to say, " The Maker of all these wonders is my friend...
140 ページ - It is like that of a fine organ ; has the fullest and the deepest tones of majesty, with all the softness and elegance of the. Dorian flute. Variety without end and never equalled, unless perhaps by Virgil.
3 ページ - I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, Children not thine have trod my nursery floor ; And where the gardener Robin, day by day, Drew me to school along the public way, Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapt In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capt, 'Tis now become a history little known, That once we called the pastoral house our own.
186 ページ - Indeed I wonder that a sportive thought should ever knock at the door of my intellects, and still more that it should gain admittance. It is as if harlequin should intrude himself into the gloomy chamber where a corpse is deposited in state. His antic gesticulations would be unseasonable at any rate, but more especially so if they should distort the features of the mournful attendants into laughter. But the mind long wearied with the sameness of a dull, dreary prospect, will gladly fix its eyes on...

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