The poetical works of William Cowper Complete edition, with memoir, explanatory notes, &c .. . ewd he felt it. EPITAPH ON DR. JOHNSON. Heue Johnson lies, a sage by allallowd, Whom to have bred, may well makeEngland proud; Whose prose was eloquence, by Wis-dom taught, The graceful vehicle of virtuousthought; Whose verse may claim, grave,masculine, and strong, Superior praise to the mere poets song;Who many a noble gift from heaven possessd,And faith at last, alone worth all the man, immortal by a double prize,By fame on earth, by glory in the skies ! ON THE AUTHOR* OE LETTERS ON LITERATU
The poetical works of William Cowper Complete edition, with memoir, explanatory notes, &c .. . ewd he felt it. EPITAPH ON DR. JOHNSON. Heue Johnson lies, a sage by allallowd, Whom to have bred, may well makeEngland proud; Whose prose was eloquence, by Wis-dom taught, The graceful vehicle of virtuousthought; Whose verse may claim, grave,masculine, and strong, Superior praise to the mere poets song;Who many a noble gift from heaven possessd,And faith at last, alone worth all the man, immortal by a double prize,By fame on earth, by glory in the skies ! ON THE AUTHOR* OE LETTERS ON LITERATURE. 1785. The Genius of the Augustan ageHis head among Romes ruins,reard, And bursting with heroic rage,When literary Heron appeard, Thou hast, he cried, like him ofold,Who set the Ephesian dome on fire, By being scandalously bold, Attaind the mark of thy desire. And for traducing Virgils nameShalt share his merited reward; A perpetuity of fame, That rots, and stinks, and is ab-horrd. * John Pinkerton, Heron was deplume, Cowper was very indignant at thepublication of these I And now in the grass behold they are laid,And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade! The Poplar Field. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 399 THE SHRUBBERY WRITTEN IX A TIME OF AFFLICTION. Oh happy shades ! to me imblest,Friendly to peace, but not to me, How ill the scene that offers rest,And heart that cannot rest, agree! This glassy stream, that spreadingpine,Those alders quivering to thebreeze,Might soothe a soul less hurt thanmine,And please, if anything couldplease. But fixd unalterable Care, Foregoes not what she feels withinShews the same sadness every where, And slights the season and thescene. For all that pleased in wood orlawn,While Peace possessd these silentbowers,Her animating smile withdrawn,Has lost its beauties and its powers. The saint or moralist should treadThis moss-grown alley, musingslow; They seek like me the secret shade,But not like me, to nourish woe. Me fruitful scene
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