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COWPER'S POEMS.

VOLUME II.

THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOWWORM.

A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long
Had cheered the village with his song,
Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,
Began to feel, as well he might,
The keen demands of appetite;
When, looking eagerly around
He spied far off, upon the ground,
A something shining in the dark,
And knew the glowworm by his spark;
So stooping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop.
The worm, aware of his intent,
Harangued him thus, right eloquent-
Did you admire my lamp, quoth he,
As much as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong
As much as I to spoil your song;
For 'twas the self-same Power divine
Taught you to sing and me to shine;
That you with music, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night.
The songster heard his short oration,
And, warbling out his approbation,

Released him, as my story tells,
And found a supper somewhere else.
Hence jarring sectaries may learn
Their real interest to discern;

That brother should not war with brother,
And worry and devour each other;
But sing and shine by sweet consent,
Till life's poor transient night is spent,
Respecting in each other's case
The gifts of nature and of grace.

Those Christians best deserve the name
Who studiously make peace their aim;
Peace both the duty and the prize
Of him that creeps and him that flies.

AN EPISTLE TO AN AFFLICTED PROTESTANT LADY IN FRANCE.

MADAM,

A stranger's purpose in these lays Is to congratulate, and not to praise. To give the creature the Creator's due Were sin in me, and an offence to you. From man to man, or e'en to woman paid, Praise is the medium of a knavish trade, A coin by craft for folly's use design'd, Spurious, and only current with the blind.

The path of sorrow, and that path alone, Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown; No traveller ever reach'd that blest abode,

Who found not thorns and briers in his road. The world may dance along the flowery plain, Cheer'd as they go by many a sprightly strain, Where Nature has her mossy velvet spread, With unshod feet they yet securely tread,

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