xxviii

PREFATORY MEMOIR OF WILLIAM COWPER.

In 1791 Mrs. Unwin was seized with paralysis, and the effect on Cowper of her illness, and lengthened recovery from it, was very sad. He began to fancy he heard voices speaking to him when he woke in the morning. Mrs. Unwin's intellect, weakened by her illness, succumbed to the same delusion, and a schoolmaster at Olney, Samuel Teedon, actually undertook to explain the meaning of the imagined sounds to Cowper. This man gained great influence over the unhappy poet, who paid him large sums of money at different times. From this period the life of Cowper became clouded and hopeless. Poor Mrs. Unwin, weak in mind and body, had grown fretful and very exacting. He had no companion now but this suffering, imbecile woman, and the equally mad or knavish schoolmaster, Lady Hesketh being at Bath for her health. When she returned she was so shocked and alarmed, that she wrote at once for Mr. Hayley (a friend whom Cowper had lately made in consequence of their being both employed-of course, by different publishers-on an edition of Milton), begging him to come at once to Olney. He complied. They induced the celebrated Dr. Willis to see Cowper, but he could do nothing for the now restless madman.

A pension of 300l. a year was granted to the poet by the king, but he was incapable of understanding his good fortune. Dr. Willis had suggested change of air and scene, and clinging to this last hope, Mr. Johnson succeeded in persuading him to go (with Mrs. Unwin) to North Tuddenham, then to Mundesley, on the coast, and finally to Dunham Lodge, near Swaffham. Here Mrs. Unwin died. Cowper was taken to see her. He uttered an exclamation of sorrow and left the room, but became quite calm directly afterwards, and suffered Johnson to resume the reading which had lately been their only means of pleasing him— that of Miss Burney's novels.

After the death of Mrs. Unwin, Cowper had glimpses of reason. In March, 1799, he continued his revision of his Homer, wrote the Latin poem, "Montes Glaciales," and a few days afterwards "The Castaway. He liked being read to, and would listen to his own poems, except to "John Gilpin," which he disliked.

An excellent woman, Miss Perowne, had in a degree taken Mrs. Unwin's former place beside him, and assisted the loving efforts of his kinsman to cheer and help him. But care and love were alike vain.

In the helpless gloom of melancholy madness his life closed. He died April 25, 1800.

"From that moment (of his death), says his kinsrean, “until the coffin was closed, the expression into which his countenance had settled was that of calmness and composure, mingled, as it were, with a hy surprise."

He had emphatically "entered into his rest," and was at peace. he was buried in Dereham Church, in St. Edmund's Chapel. Mrs. Unwin lies in the south aisle.

THE POETICAL WORKS

OF

WILLIAM COWPER.

Early Poems.

VERSES WRITTEN AT BATH,

ON FINDING THE HEEL OF A SHOE, IN 1748.

FORTUNE! I thank thee: gentle goddess, thanks!
Not that my Muse, though bashful, shall deny
She would have thank'd thee rather, hadst thou cast
A treasure in her way; for neither meed

Of early breakfast, to dispel the fumes

And bowel-raking pains of emptiness,

Nor noontide feast, nor evening's cool repast,

Hopes she from this, presumptuous-though perhaps
The cobbler, leather-carving artist, might.

Nathless she thanks thee, and accepts thy boon,
Whatever; not as erst the fabled cock,

Vain-glorious fool, unknowing what he found,

Spurn'd the rich gem thou gavest him. Wherefore ah!
Why not on me that favour (worthier sure!)

Conferr'dst thou, goddess? Thou art blind, thou sayest:
Enough!-thy blindness shall excuse the deed.
Nor does my Muse no benefit exhale
From this thy scant indulgence ;-even here,
Hints, worthy sage philosophy, are found,
Illustrious hints to moralize my song.
This ponderous Heel of perforated hide
Compact, with pegs indented many a row,
Haply, (for such its massy form bespeaks,)
The weighty tread of some rude peasant clown
Urbore: on this supported oft he stretch'd,
With uncouth strides, along the furrow'd glebe,

B

Flattening the stubborn clod, till cruel time
(What will not cruel time ?) on awry step,
Seyer'd the strict cohesion; when, alas!
He, who could erst with even equal pace,
Pursue his destined way with symmetry
And some proportion form'd, now, on one side,
Curtail'd and maim'd, the sport of vagrant boys,
Cursing his frail supporter, treacherous prop!
With toilsome steps, and difficult, moves on.
Thus fares it oft with other than the feet
Of humble villager :-the statesman thus,
Up the steep road where proud ambition leads,
Aspiring, first uninterrupted winds

His prosperous way; nor fears miscarriage foul,
While policy prevails and friends prove true:
But that support soon failing, by him left
On whom he most depended,-basely left,
Betray'd, deserted, from his airy height
Headlong he falls, and through the rest of life
Drags the dull load of disappointment on.

OF HIMSELF.

WILLIAM was once a bashful youth;
His modesty was such,

That one might say (to say the truth),
He rather had too much.

Some said that it was want of sense,
And others, want of spirit
(So blest a thing is impudence),
While others could not bear it.

But some a different notion had,
And at each other winking,
Observed that though he little said,
He paid it off with thinking.

Howe'er, it happened, by degrees,
He mended and grew perter;
In company was more at ease,
And dressed a little smarter;

Nay, now and then would look quite gay,
Äs other people do ;

And sometimes said, or tried to say,

A witty thing or so.

He eyed the women, and made free
To comment on their shapes;

So that there was, or seemed to be
No fear of a relapse.

The women said, who thought him rough,

66

But now no longer foolish,

The creature may do well enough,
"But wants a deal of polish."

At length, improved from head to heel,
"Twere scarce too much to say,
No dancing bear was so genteel,
Or half so dégagé.

Now that a miracle so strange

May not in vain be shown

Let the dear maid* who wrought the change
E'en claim him for her own.

POEMS TO DELIA.

Catfield,† July, 1752.

AN APOLOGY FOR NOT SHOWING HER WHAT I HAD WROTE.

DID not my Muse (what can she less ?)
Perceive her own unworthiness,
Could she by some well-chosen theme,
But hope to merit your esteem,
She would not thus conceal her lays,
Ambitious to deserve your praise.
But should my Delia take offence,
And frown on her im pertinence,
In silence, sorrowing and forlorn,
Would the despairing trifler mourn,
Curse her ill-tuned, unpleasing lute,
Then sigh and sit for ever mute.
In secret therefore let her play,
Squandering her idle notes away,
In secret as she chants along,
Cheerful and careless in her song;

* His cousin, Theodora Cowper.

"Cutfield;" Ed. 1825, probably "Catfield," the parish in Norfolk of which Cowper's maternal uncle, the Rev. Roger Donne, was rector. The Delia of the Poet was his cousin, Theodora Jane Cowper, to whom he was much attached. His love was returned, but her father, Mr. Ashley Cowper, refused to consent to their union. “Delia” died unmarried in 1824.

Nor heeds she whether harsh or clear,
Free from each terror, every fear,
From that, of all most dreaded, free,
The terror of offending thee.

At the same place.

APOLOGY TO DELIA,

FOR DESIRING A LOCK OF HER HAIR.

DELIA, the unkindest girl on earth,
When I besought the fair,
That favour of intrinsic worth
A ringlet of her hair,

Refused that instant to comply
With my absurd request,
For reasons she could specify,
Some twenty score at least.

Trust me, my dear, however odd
It may appear to say,

I sought it merely to defraud
Thy spoiler of his prey.

Yes! when its sister locks shall fade,
As quickly fade they must,
When all their beauties are decayed,
Their gloss, their colour, lost-

Ah then! if haply to my share
Some slender pittance fall,
If I but gain one single hair,
Nor age usurp them all;—

When you behold it still as sleek,
As lovely to the view,

As when it left thy snowy neck,
That Eden where it grew,

Then shall my Delia's self declare
That I professed the truth,

And have preserved my little share
In everlasting youth.