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AND

OTHER POEMS,

BY

WILLIAM COWPER,

OF THE INNER TEMPLE, ESQ.

Sicut aquæ tremulum labris ubi lumen ahenis
Sole repercussum, aut radiantis imagine lunæ,
Omnia pervolitat late loca, jamque sub auras
Erigitur, summique ferit laquearia tecti.

Virg. Æn, viii.
So water, trembling in a polish'd vase,
Reflects the beam that plays upon its face;
The sportive light, uncertain where it falls,
Now strikes the roof, now flashes on the walls.

PHILADELPHIA:

PUBLISHED BY THOMAS DESILVER.

Clark & Raser, Printers.

HARI'Ai UNIVERSITY

LIETARY

TABLE TALK.

Si te fortè meæ gravis uret sarcina chartæ,
Abjicito ........ Hor. Lib. I. Epist. 13.

A. You told me, I remember, glory, built On selfish principles, is shame and guilt; The deeds that men admire as half divine, Stark naught, because corrupt in their design. Strange doctrine this! that without scruple tears The laurel that the very lightning spares; Brings down the warrior's trophy to the dust, And eats into his bloody sword like rust.

B. I grant that, men continuing what they are, Fierce, avaricious, proud, there must be war; And never meant the rule should be applied To him that fights with justice on his side.

Let laurels, drench'd in pure Parnassian dews, Reward his memory, dear to every muse, Who, with a courage of unshaken root, In Honour's field advancing his firm foot, Plants it upon the line that Justice draws, And will prevail or perish in her cause. 'Tis to the virtues of such men, man owes . ., His portion in the good that Heaven bestows. And when recording History displays Feats of renown, though wrought in ancient days, Tells of a few stout hearts, that fought and died, Where duty placed them, at their country's side;

The man, that is not moved with what he reads, That takes not fire at their heroic deeds, Unworthy of the blessings of the brave,

But let eternal infamy pursue The wretch to naught but his ambition true, Who, for the sake of filling with one blast 'The post-horns of all Europe, lays her waste. Think yourself station'd on a towering rock, To see a people scatter'd like a flock, Some royal mastiff panting at their heels, With all the savage thirst a tiger feels; Then view him self-proclaim'd in a gazette Chief monster that has plagued the nations yet: The globe and sceptre in such hands misplaced, Those ensigns of dominion, how disgraced! The glass, that bids man mark the feeting hour, And Death's own sithe, would better speak his

power; Then grace the bony phantom in their stead With the king's shoulder-knot and gay cockade; Clothe the twin brethren in each other's dress, The same their occupation and success.

A. 'Tis your belief the world was made for man; King's do but reason on the self-same plan: Maintaining yours, you cannot theirs condemn, Who think, or seem to think, man made for them.

B. Seldom, alas! the power of logic reigns With much sufficiency in royal brains; Such reasoning falls like an inverted cone, Wanting its proper base to stand upon. Man made for kings ! those optics are but dim That tell you somsay, rather, they for him. That were indeed a king-ennobling thought, Could they, or would they, reason as they ought.

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