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perly considered by his relations as an act of imperious duty. He quitted it with reluctance, and perhaps I cannot more forcibly express both the regard of Cowper, and my own regard for that endearing scene, than by introducing at this time, when we are taking leave of Weston for ever, a little poem, that I believe to be the last original work which he produced in that beloved abode. The poem describes not his residence, but the encreasing infirmities of that aged companion, who had so long contributed to his domestic comfort. I question if any language on earth can exhibit a specimen of verse more exquisitely tender.

TO

M A RY.

The twentieth year is well nigh past,
Since first our sky was overcast,
Ah would that this might be the last!

My Mary!

Thy spirits have a fainter flow,
I see thee daily weaker grow--
'Twas my distress that brought thce low,

My Mary!

Thy needles, once a shining store,
For my sake restless heretofore ;
Now rust disus’d, and shine no more,

My Mary!

For though thou gladly would'st fulfil
The same kind office for me still,
Thy sight now seconds not thy will,

My Mary!

But well thou play'd'st the huswife's part,
And all thy threads with magic art,
Have wound themselves about this heart.

My Mary!

Thy indistinct expressions seem '
Like language utter'd-in a dream;
Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme.

My Mary!

Thy silver locks, once auburn bright,
Are still more lovely in my sight
Than golden beams of orient. light.

My Mary!

For could I view nor them nor thee,
What sight worth seeing could I see?
The sun would rise in vain for me,

My Mary!

Partakers of thy sad decline,
Thy hạnds their little force resign;
Yet gently prest, press gently mine,

My Mary!

Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st,
That nowy at every step thou mov'st
Upheld by two, yet still thou lov'st,

My Mary!

And still to love, though prest with ill;
In wintry age to feel no chill,
With me is to be lovely still,

My Mary!

But ah ! by constant heed I know,
How oft the sadness that I show,
Transforms thy smiles to looks of woc,

My Mary!

And should my future lot be cast
With much resemblance of the past,
Thy worn-out heart will break at last,

My Mary!

On Tuesday the twenty-eighth of July, 1795, Cowper and Mrs. Unwin removed under the care and guidance of Mr. Johnson, from Weston to NorthTuddenham, in Norfolk, by a journey of three days, passing through Cambridge without stopping there. In the evening of the first day they rested at the village of Eaton, near St. Neot's. Cowper walked with his young kinsman in the church-yard by moon-light, and spoke of the poet Thomson with more composure of mind than he had discovered for many months. .. This conversation was almost his last glimmering of cheerfulness.

At North-Tuddenbam the travellers were accommodated with a commodious, untenanted parsonage-house, by the kindness of the Revd. Leonard Shelford. Here they resided till the nineteenth of August. It was the considerate intention of Mr. Johnson not to remove the two invalides immediately to his own house, in the town of East-Dereham, lest the situation in a market-place, should be distressing to the tender spirits of Cowper.

In their new temporary residence they were received by Miss Johnson, and Miss Perowne; and - Vol. 4.

here I am irresistibly led to remark the kindness of Providence towards Cowper, in his darkest seasons of calamity, by supplying him with attendants peculiarly suited to the exigencies of mental dejection.

Miss Perowne is one of those excellent beings, whom nature seems to have formed expressly for the purpose of alleviating the sufferings of the afflicted : tenderly vigilant in providing for the wants of sickness, and resolutely firm in adminstering such relief as the most intelligent compassion can supply. Cowper speedily observed and felt the invaluable virtues of his new attendant, and during the last years of his life he honoured her so far, as to prefer her personal assistance to that of every individual around him.

Severe as his depressive malady appeared at this period, he was still able to bear considerable exercise, and before he left Tuddenham, he walked with Mr. Johnson to the neighbouring village of Mattishall, on a visit to his cousin, Mrs. Bodham. On surveying his own portrait by Abbot, in the house of that lady, he clasped his hands in a paroxysm of pain, and uttered a vehement wish, that his present sensations might be such as they were when that picture was painted.

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