Serves, in a plain, and homely way,
T'express th' occurrence of the day;
Our health, the weather, and the news;
What walks we take, what books we chuse;
And all the floating thoughts, we find
Upon the surface of the mind.

But when a Poet takes the pen,
Far more alive than other men,
He feels a gentle tingling come
Down to his finger and his thumb,
Deriv'd from nature's noblest part,
The centre of a glowing heart!
And this is what the world, who knows
No flights, above the pitch of prose,
His more sublime vagaries slighting,
Denominates an itch for writing.
No wonder I, who scribble rhyme,
To catch the triflers of the time,

And tell them truths divine, and clear,

Which couch'd in prose, they will not hear;

Who labour hard to allure, and draw
The loiterers I never saw,

Should feel that itching, and that tingling,
With all my purpose intermingling,

To your intrinsic merit true,

When call'd to address myself to you.

Mysterious

Mysterious are his ways, whose power
Brings forth that unexpected hour,
When minds that never met before,
Shall meet, unite, and part no more :
It is th' allotment of the skies,
The Hand of the Supremely Wise,
That guides, and governs our affections,
And plans, and orders our connexions;
Directs us in our distant road,

And marks the bounds of our abode.
Thus we were settled when you found us,
Peasants and children all around us,

Not dreaming of so dear a friend,
Deep in the abyss of Silver-End.*
Thus Martha, even against her will,
Perch'd on the top of yonder hill;
And you, though you must needs prefer
The fairer scenes of sweet Sancerre,t
Are come from distant Loire, to chuse
A cottage on the Banks of Ouse.
This page of Providence, quite new,
And now just opening to our view,
Employs our present thoughts and pains,

To

guess, and spell, what it contains:

But

* An obscure part of Olney, adjoining to the residence of Cowper, which

faced the market-place.

+ Lady Auften's residence in France.

But day by day, and year by year,
Will make the dark ænigma clear;
And furnish us perhaps at last,
Like other scenes already past,
With proof, that we, and our affairs
Are part of a Jehovah's cares:
For God unfolds, by slow degrees,
The purport of his deep decrees;
Sheds every hour a clearer light
In aid of our defective sight;
And spreads at length, before the soul,
A beautiful, and perfect whole,
Which busy man's inventive brain
Toils to anticipate in vain.

Say Anna, had you never known
The beauties of a Rose full blown,
Could you, tho' luminous your eye,
By looking on the bud, descry,
Or guess, with a prophetic power,
The future splendor of the flower?
Just so th' Omnipotent who turns
The system of a world's concerns,
From mere minutiæ can educe
Events of most important use;
And bid a dawning sky display
The blaze of a meridian day.

The works of man tend, one and all,

As needs they must, from great to small;

And

And vanity absorbs at length
The monuments of human strength.
But who can tell how vast the plan,
Which this day's incident began?
Too small perhaps the slight occasion
For our dim-sighted observation ;
It pass'd unnotic'd, as the bird
That cleaves the yielding air unheard,
And yet may prove, when understood,
An harbinger of endless good.

Not that I deem, or mean to call
Friendship a blessing cheap, or small;
But merely to remark, that ours,

Like some of nature's sweetest flowers,
Rose from a seed of tiny size,
That seem'd to promise no such prize :
A transient visit intervening,

And made almost without a meaning,
(Hardly the effect of inclination,
Much less of pleasing expectation!)
Produc'd a friendship, then begun,
That has cemented us in one;
And plac'd it in our power to prove,
By long fidelity and love,

That Solomon has wisely spoken:

"A three-fold cord is not soon broken.”

In this interesting Poem the Author expresses a lively and devout presage of the superior productions, that were to arise in the

process

process of time, from a friendship so unexpected, and so pleasing; but he does not seem to have been aware, in the slightest degree, of the evident dangers, that must naturally attend an intimacy so very close, yet perfectly innocent, between a Poet and two Ladies, who, with very different mental powers, had each reason to flatter herself that she could agreably promote the studies, and animate the fancy of this fascinating Bard.

Genius of the most exquisite kind is sometimes, and perhaps generally, so modest, and diffident, as to require continual solicitation and encouragement, from the voice of sympathy, and friendship, to lead it into permanent and successful exertion. Such was the genius of Cowper; and he therefore considered the chearful and animating society of his new accomplished Friend, as a blessing conferred on him by the signal favour of Providence. She returned the following summer to the house of her Sister, situated on the brow of a hill, the foot of which is washed by the River Ouse, as it flows between Clifton and Olney. Her benevolent ingenuity was exerted to guard the spirits of Cowper from sinking again into that hypochondriacal dejection, to which, even in her company, he still sometimes discovered an alarming tendency. To promote his occupation and amusement, she furnished him with a small portable Printing-Press, and he gratefully sent her the following Verses printed by himself, and enclosed in a billet that alludes to the occasion on which they were composed-a very unseasonable flood, that interrupted the communication between Clifton and Olney.