For solitude, however some may rave,
Seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave,
A sepulchre in which the living lie,

Where all good qualities grow sick and die.

I praise the Frenchman ;* his remark was shrewd,—
"How sweet, how passing sweet is solitude!
But grant me still a friend in my retreat,
Whom I may whisper-Solitude is sweet."
Yet neither these delights, nor aught beside
That appetite can ask, or wealth provide,
Can save us always from a tedious day,
Or shine the dulness of still life away;
Divine communion carefully enjoy'd,
Or sought with energy, must fill the void.

O sacred art! to which alone life owes
Its happiest seasons, and a peaceful close,
Scorn'd in a world indebted to that scorn
For evils daily felt and hardly borne,

Not knowing thee, we reap, with bleeding hands,
Flowers of rank odour upon thorny lands,
And while experience cautions us in vain,
Grasp seeming happiness, and find it pain.
Despondence, self-deserted in her grief,
Lost by abandoning her own relief;
Murmuring and ungrateful discontent,
That scorns afflictions mercifully meant;
Those humours tart as wines upon the fret,
Which idleness and weariness beget;

These and a thousand plagues that haunt the breast,
Fond of the phantom of an earthly rest,

Divine communion chases, as the day

Drives to their dens the obedient beasts of prey.
See Judah's promised king, bereft of all,
Driven out an exile from the face of Saul,
To distant caves the lonely wanderer flies,
To seek that peace a tyrant's frown denies.
Hear the sweet accents of his tuneful voice,
Hear him, o'erwhelm'd with sorrow, yet rejoice
No womanish or wailing grief has part,
No, not a moment, in his royal heart;
'Tis manly music, such as martyrs make,
Suffering with gladness for a Saviour's sake;
His soul exults, hope animates his lays,
The sense of mercy kindles into praise,
And wilds familiar with a lion's roar,
Ring with ecstatic sounds unheard before.

* La Bruyère.

† David.

1 Sam. xxii. 1; xxiv. 3.

"Tis love like his that can alone defeat
The foes of man, or make a desert sweet.
Religion does not censure or exclude
Unnumber'd pleasures harmlessly pursued.
To study culture, and with artful toil
To meliorate and tame the stubborn soil;
To give dissimilar yet fruitful lands

The grain, or herb, or plant that each demands;
To cherish virtue in an humble state,

And share the joys your bounty may create; To mark the matchless workings of the power That shuts within its seed the future flower, Bids these in elegance of form excel,

In colour these, and those delight the smell,
Sends Nature forth, the daughter of the skies,
To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes;
To teach the canvas innocent deceit,

Or lay the landscape on the snowy sheet;
These, these are arts pursued without a crime,
That leave no stain upon the wing of time.
Me poetry (or, rather notes that aim
Feebly and vainly at poetic fame)

Employs, shut out from more important views,
Fast by the banks of the slow-winding Ouse;
Content if, thus sequester'd, I may raise
A monitor's, though not a poet's praise,
And while I teach an art too little known,
To close life wisely, may not waste my own.

THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN.

SHOWING HOW HE WENT FARTHER THAN HE INTENDED, AND CAME
SAFE HOME AGAIN.

1782.

The story of John Gilpin's ride was related to Cowper by his friend, Lady Austen, who had heard it as a child. It caused the poet a sleepless night, we are told, as he was kept During these restless hours he turned it into the famous ballad. Advertiser, November 14th, 1782, anonymously.

awake by laughter at it.

It appeared in the Public

A celebrated actor named Henderson took it for one of his public recitations at Freemasons' Hall. It became immediately so popular that it was printed everywhere-in newspapers, magazines, and separately. It was even sung as a common ballad in the streets. It has preserved its popularity to the present date.

The original John Gilpin was, it is said, a Mr. Beyer, a linendraper, who lived at the Cheapside corner of Paternoster Row. He died in 1791, at the age of nearly a hundred

years.

JOHN GILPIN was a citizen

Of credit and renown,

A trainband captain eke was he
Of famous London town.

John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear,

66

Though wedded we have been

These twice ten tedious years, yet we
No holiday have seen.

To-morrow is our wedding day,
And we will then repair
Unto the Bell at Edmonton,
All in a chaise and pair.

My sister, and my sister's child,
Myself, and children three,

Will fill the chaise; so you must ride
On horseback after we.'

He soon replied,-" I do admire

Of womankind but one,

And you are she, my dearest dear;
Therefore it shall be done.

I am a linendraper bold,

As all the world doth know,

And my good friend the calender
Will lend his horse to go."

Quoth Mrs. Gilpin,-"That's well said;
And for that wine is dear,

We will be furnished with our own,
Which is both bright and clear."
John Gilpin kissed his loving wife;
O'erjoyed was he to find,

That, though on pleasure she was bent,
She had a frugal mind.

The morning came, the chaise was brought,
But yet was not allowed

To drive up to the door, lest all

Should say that she was proud.

So three doors off the chaise was stayed,
Where they did all get in;

Six precious souls, and all agog

To dash through thick and thin.

Smack went the whip, round went the wheels,
Were never folk so glad,

The stones did rattle underneath,
As if Cheapside were mad.
John Gilpin at his horse's side
Seized fast the flowing mane,
And up he got, in haste to ride,
But soon came down again;

For saddletree scarce reached had he,
His journey to begin,

When, turning round his head, he saw
Three customers come in.

So down he came; for loss of time,
Although it grieved him sore,
Yet loss of pence, full well he knew,
Would trouble him much more.

'Twas long before the customers
Were suited to their mind,

When Betty screaming came down stairs,"The wine is left behind!"

"Good lack!" quoth he, "yet bring it me,

My leathern belt likewise,

In which I bear my trusty sword
When I do exercise."

Now Mistress Gilpin (careful soul!)
Had two stone bottles found,
To hold the liquor that she loved,
And keep it safe and sound.
Each bottle had a curling ear,
Through which the belt he drew,
And hung a bottle on each side,
To make his balance true.

Then over all, that he might be
Equipped from top to toe,

His long red cloak, well brushed and neat,
He manfully did throw.

Now see him mounted once again
Upon his nimble steed,

Full slowly pacing o'er the stones,
With caution and good heed.

But finding soon a smoother road
Beneath his well-shod feet,
The snorting beast began to trot,
Which galled him in his seat.

So "Fair and softly," John he cried,
But John he cried in vain ;
That trot became a gallop soon,
In spite of curb and rein.

So stooping down, as needs he must
Who cannot sit upright,

He grasped the mane with both his hands,
And eke with all his might.

His horse, who never in that sort
Had handled been before,

What thing upon his back had got
Did wonder more and more.

Away went Gilpin, neck or nought;
Away went hat and wig;

He little dreamt, when he set out,
Of running such a rig.

The wind did blow, the cloak did fly,
Like streamer long and gay,
Till, loop and button failing both,
At last it flew away.

Then might all people well discern
The bottles he had slung;

A bottle swinging at each side,
As hath been said or sung.