MRS. MONTAGU'S FEATHER-HANGINGS. 207

But we, in mutual bondage knit

Of friendship's closest tie,
Can gaze on even Darwin's wit
With an unjaundiced eye;

And deem the Bard, whoe'er he be,

And howsoever known,

Who would not twine a wreath for Thee,
Unworthy of his own.

20

ON MRS. MONTAGU'S FEATHER-
HANGINGS.*

HE Birds put off their every hue, To dress a room for Montagu; The Peacock sends his heavenly dyes, His rainbows and his starry eyes; The Pheasant plumes which round infold His mantling neck with downy gold; The Cock his arched tail's azure show; And, river-blanched, the Swan his snow; All tribes beside of Indian name,

* Cowpers's Letters in May and June 1788 contain many allusions to Mrs. Montagu, to her Essay on Shakespeare, and to the gay assemblies of combined literature and fashion which she gathered around her, in her mansion in Portman Square. The feather-hangings adorned one of the rooms in which she held "her court. 99 These lines were written in the former of those months. They appeared in the Gentleman's Magazine for June 1788, p. 542, and in the collected Edition of Cowper's Poems, 2 vols. 8vo. Lond. 1803, i. 263.

That glossy shine, or vivid flame,
Where rises and where sets the day,
Whate'er they boast of rich and gay,
Contribute to the gorgeous plan,
Proud to advance it all they can.
This plumage, neither dashing shower,
Nor blasts that shake the dripping bower,
Shall drench again or discompose,

But screened from every storm that blows,
It boasts a splendour ever new,
Safe with protecting Montagu.

To the same Patroness resort,
Secure of favour at her court,

Strong Genius, from whose forge of thought
Forms rise, to quick perfection wrought,
Which, though new-born, with vigour move,
Like Pallas springing armed from Jove-
Imagination scattering round

Wild roses over furrowed ground,
Which Labour of his frown beguile,
And teach Philosophy a smile-
Wit flashing on Religion's side,
Whose fires, to sacred Truth applied,
The gem, though luminous before,
Obtrude on human notice more,
Like sunbeams on the golden height
Of some tall temple playing bright-
Well tutored Learning, from his books
Dismissed with grave, not haughty, looks,
Their order on his shelves exact,
Nor more harmonious or compact,
Than that to which he keeps confined
The various treasures of his mind-

All these to Montagu's repair,
Ambitious of a shelter there.
There Genius, Learning, Fancy, Wit,
Their ruffled plumage calm refit,
(For stormy troubles loudest roar
Around their flight who highest soar)
And in her eye, and by her aid,
Shine safe without a fear to fade.

She thus maintains divided sway
With yon bright regent of the day;
The Plume and Poet both we know
Their lustre to his influence owe;
And she the works of Phoebus aiding,
Both Poet saves and Plume from fading.

45

50

55

VERSES

Supposed to be written by Alexander Selkirk, during his solitary abode in the island of Juan Fernandez.*

AM monarch of all I survey,

My right there is none to dispute,
From the centre all round to the sea,
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.

O Solitude! where are the charms
That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms,

Than reign in this horrible place.

Poems, 1782, 8vo. p. 305. Cowper probably derived his knowledge of the history of Alexander Selkirk from Steele's account of him published in the Englishman, in 1713.

VOL. I.

P

I am out of Humanity's reach,

I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the sweet music of speech,-

I start at the sound of my own.
The beasts that roam over the plain,
My form with indifference see,
They are so unacquainted with man,
Their tameness is shocking to me.

Society, Friendship, and Love,

Divinely bestowed upon man,
Oh! had I the wings of a dove,
How soon would I taste you again!
My sorrows I then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth
Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheered by the sallies of youth.

Religion! what treasure untold

Resides in that heavenly word!
More precious than silver and gold,
Or all that this earth can afford,
But the sound of the church-going bell
These valleys and rocks never heard,
Never sighed at the sound of a knell,

Or smiled when a sabbath appeared.

Ye Winds that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore,
Some cordial endearing report

Of a land I shall visit no more.

10

- 15

20

25

30

35

My friends, do they now and then send
A wish or a thought after me?

Oh! tell me I yet have a friend,
Though a friend I am never to see.

How fleet is a glance of the Mind,
Compared with the speed of its flight,
The Tempest itself lags behind,

And the swift-winged arrows of Light.
When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I seem to be there;
But alas! Recollection at hand
Soon hurries me back to despair.

But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest,
The beast is laid down in his lair,—
Even here is a season of rest,

And I to my cabin repair.

There is Mercy in every place,
And Mercy, encouraging thought!
Gives even Affliction a grace,

And reconciles man to his lot.

40

45

50

55