The Works of William Cowper: The life of William Cowper. Letters, 1765-1783

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Fraser & Company, 1835
 

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Page 7 - Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, I learn'd at last submission to my lot, But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot.
Page 168 - And it seem'd, to a fanciful view, To weep for the buds it had left with regret, On the flourishing bush where it grew. I hastily seized it, unfit as it was For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd, And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas ! I snapp'd it, it fell to the ground. And such...
Page 10 - May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, The parting word shall pass my lips no more ! Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern, Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. What ardently I wish'd I long believed. And, disappointed still, was still deceived. By expectation every day beguiled, Dupe of to-morrow even from a child.
Page 118 - When one, that holds communion with the skies, Has filled his urn where these pure waters rise, And once more mingles with us meaner things, 'Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings ; Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide, That tells us whence his treasures are supplied.
Page 89 - Tis not, as heads that never ache suppose, Forgery of fancy and a dream of woes ; Man is a harp whose chords elude the sight, Each yielding harmony, disposed aright, The screws reversed, (a task which if he please God in a moment executes with ease,) Ten thousand thousand strings at once go loose, Lost, till he tune them, all their power and use.
Page 265 - The poet's or historian's page by one Made vocal for the amusement of the rest...
Page 135 - I have been reading Gray's works, and think him the only poet since Shakespeare entitled to the character of sublime. Perhaps you will remember that I once had a different opinion of him. I was prejudiced. He did not belong to our Thursday society, and was an Eton man, which lowered him prodigiously in our esteem. I once thought Swift's letters the best that could be written ; but I like Gray's better. His humour, or his wit, or whatever it is to be called, is never ill-natured or offensive, and...
Page 32 - Ah, my dear God ! though I am clean forgot, Let me not love thee, if I love thee not.
Page 25 - For what is our hope, or joy, or crown of rejoicing? Are not even ye in the presence of our Lord Jesus Christ at his coming?
Page 86 - They whose spirits are formed like mine, to whom a public exhibition of themselves, on any occasion, is mortal poison, may have some idea of the horrors of my situation; others can have none.

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