sublime as it was, wanted the animating voice of friendship to raise it into confident exertion, The Task would not have been written without the inspiring voice of Lady Austen. The solemn and sage spirit of Numa required the inspiration of his Egeria.

"Sic sacra Numæ ritusque colendos

Mitis Aricinio dictabat nympha sub antro."

The great pleasure that Cowper felt in the conversation of accomplished women inspired him with that delicate vivacity, with which he was accustomed to express his gratitude for a variety of little occasional presents, that he received from his female friends.

Dr. Johnson has said surlily and unjustly of Milton, "that he never learnt the art of doing little things with grace." But in truth, poets who possess such exquisite feelings, and such powers of language, as belonged to Milton, and to Cowper, can hardly fail to give elegance and grace to their poetical trifles, whenever affection leads them to trifle in verse. Cowper was singularly happy in those occasional compliments, which he often addressed to ladies, in return for some highly welcome, though trivial gift, endeared to his affectionate spirit by his regard for the giver. To illustrate this very amiable part of his character, I shall insert a few of these effusions of his gayety and his gratitude.

TO MY COUSIN,

ANNE BODHAM,

ON RECEIVING FROM HER

A NETWORK PURSE, MADE BY HERSELF,

MAY 4, 1793.

My gentle Anne, whom heretofore,
When I was young, and thou no more
Than plaything for a nurse,

I danc'd and fondled on my knee,

A kitten both in size and glee,

I thank thee for my purse.

Gold pays the worth of all things here;
But not of love;-that gem's too dear
For richest rogues to win it;

I, therefore, as a proof of love,
Esteem thy present far above

The best things kept within it.

TO MRS. KING,

ON

HER KIND PRESENT TO THE AUTHOR,

A PATCHWORK QUILT OF HER OWN MAKING.

THE bard, if e'er he feel at all,
Must sure be quicken'd by a call
Both on his heart and head,
To pay with tuneful thanks the care,
And kindness of a lady fair,

Who deigns to deck his bed.

A bed like this, in ancient time,
On Ida's barren top sublime,

(As Homer's epic shows)

Compos'd of sweetest vernal flow'rs,
Without the aid of sun or show'rs,
For Jove and Juno rose.

Less beautiful, however gay,

Is that, which in the scorching day
Receives the weary swain;

Who, laying his long scythe aside,
Sleeps on some bank, with daises pied,
Till rous'd to toil again.

What labours of the loom I see!

Looms numberless have groan'd for me;
Should every maiden come,

VOL. IV.

To scramble for the patch, that bears The impress of the robe she wears, The bell would toll for some.

And Oh! what havoc would ensue!
This bright display of every hue
All in a moment fled!

As if a storm should strip the bowers,
Of all their tendrils, leaves and flowers,
Each pocketting a shred.

Thanks then to ev'ry gentle fair,
Who will not come to pick me bare
As bird of borrow'd feather;
And thanks to one, above them all,
The gentle fair of Pirtenhall,

Who put THE WHOLE TOGETHER.

GRATITUD E.

ADDRESSED TO

LADY HESKETH.

THIS cap, that so stately appears,
With ribbon-bound tassel on high,
Which seems, by the crest that it rears,
Ambitious of brushing the sky;

This cap to my cousin I owe,

She gave it, and gave me beside, Wreath'd into an elegant bow,

The ribbon, with which it is tied.

This wheel-footed studying chair,
Contriv'd both for toil and repose,
Wide-elbow'd, and wadded with hair,
In which I both scribble and doze,
Bright-studded to dazzle the eyes,
And rival in lustre of that,
In which, or astronomy lies,
Fair Cassiopeia sat:

These carpets, so soft to the foot,
Caledonia's traffic and pride!

Oh spare them, ye knights of the boot!
Escap'd from a cross-country ride!
This table and mirror within,

Secure from collision and dust, At which I oft shave cheek and chin, And periwig nicely adjust:

This moveable structure of shelves,
For its beauty admir'd and its use,
And charg'd with octavos and twelves,
The gayest I had to produce,
Where, flaming in scarlet and gold,
My poems enchanted I view,
And hope, in due time to behold
My Iliad and Odyssey too:

This china, that decks the alcove,
Which her people call a buffet,

But what the gods call it above,
Has ne'er been reveal'd to us yet: