AN EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL.1

DEAR Joseph-five-and-twenty years ago—
Alas, how time escapes !—'tis even so—
With frequent intercourse, and always sweet,
And always friendly, we were wont to cheat
A tedious hour-and now we never meet !
As some grave gentleman in Terence says
('Twas therefore much the same in ancient days),
Good lack, we know not what to-morrow brings-
Strange fluctuation of all human things!
True. Changes will befall, and friends may part,
But distance only cannot change the heart:
And, were I call'd to prove the assertion true,
One proof should serve a reference to you.
Whence comes it then, that in the wane of life,
Though nothing have occurr'd to kindle strife,
We find the friends we fancied we had won,
Though numerous once, reduced to few or none?
Can gold grow worthless that has stood the touch?
No; gold they seem'd, but they were never such.

Horatio's servant once, with bow and cringe,
Swinging the parlour door upon its hinge,
Dreading a negative, and overawed

Lest he should trespass, begg'd to go abroad. "Go, fellow !—whither?”—turning short about—

Nay-stay at home-you're always going out."

"'Tis but a step, sir, just at the street's end."

"For what?"" An' please you, sir, to see a friend." "A friend!" Horatio cried, and seem'd to start

1 An early friend of Cowper's, who introduced him to Thurlow. He was made the Chancellor's Secretary.

“Yea, marry shalt thou, and with all my heart.
And fetch my cloak; for though the night be raw,
I'll see him too-the first I ever saw."

I knew the man, and knew his nature mild,
And was his plaything often when a child;
But somewhat at that moment pinch'd him close,
Else he was seldom bitter or morose:

Perhaps, his confidence just then betray'd,

His grief might prompt him with the speech he made;
Perhaps 'twas mere good humour gave it birth,
The harmless play of pleasantry and mirth.
Howe'er it was, his language in my mind,
Bespoke at least a man that knew mankind.
But not to moralise too much, and strain
To prove an evil of which all complain
(I hate long arguments verbosely spun),
One story more, dear Hill, and I have done.
Once on a time, an emperor, a wise man,
No matter where, in China or Japan,
Decreed, that whosoever should offend
Against the well-known duties of a friend,
Convicted once, should ever after wear
But half a coat, and show his bosom bare :
The punishment importing this, no doubt,
That all was nought within, and all found out.
O happy Britain! we have not to fear
Such hard and arbitrary measure here;
Else, could a law like that which I relate
Once have the sanction of our triple state,
Some few that I have known in days of old,
Would run most dreadful risk of catching cold;
While you, my friend, whatever wind should blow,
Might traverse England safely to and fro,
An honest man, close buttoned to the chin,
Broadcloth without, and a warm beat within.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM CAWTHORNE UNWIN.

UNWIN, I should but ill repay
The kindness of a friend,
Whose worth deserves as warm a lay

As ever friendship penned,

Thy name omitted in a page

That would reclaim a vicious age.

A union formed, as mine with thee,
Not rashly or in sport,

May be as fervent in degree,
And faithful in its sort,

And may as rich in comfort prove,
As that of true fraternal love.

The bud inserted in the rind,
The bud of peach or rose,
Adorns, though differing in its kind,
The stock whereon it grows,

With flower as sweet or fruit as fair
As if produced by nature there.

Not rich, I render what I may,
I seize thy name in haste,
And place it in this first assay,

Lest this should prove the last.
'Tis where it should be-in a plan
That holds in view the good of man.

The poet's lyre, to fix his fame,
Should be the poet's heart;
Affection lights a brighter flame
Than ever blazed by art.
No muses on these lines attend,
I sink the poet in the friend.

VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF DR. LLOYD,1 OF WESTMINSTER SCHOOL.

SPOKEN AT THE WESTMINSTER ELECTION NEXT AFTER HIS DECEASE.

OUR good old friend is gone, gone to his rest,
Whose social converse was itself a feast,
O ye of riper years, who recollect

How once ye loved and eyed him with respect,
Both in the firmness of his better day,
While yet he ruled you with a father's sway,
And when impair'd by time, and glad to rest,
Yet still with looks in mild complacence drest,
He took his annual seat, and mingled here
His sprightly vein with yours,-now drop a tear.
In morals blameless as in manners meek,

He knew no wish that he might blush to speak,
But, happy in whatever state below,

And richer than the rich in being so,

1 Translated from the Latin verses then spoken, of which Cowper says, “Their elegance will sufficiently recommend them to persons of classical taste and erudition."

Obtain'd the hearts of all, and such a meed
At length from one, as made him rich indeed.
Hence, then, ye titles, hence, not wanted here!
Go, garnish merit in a higher sphere,

The brows of those, whose more exalted lot
He could congratulate, but envied not.

Light lie the turf, good senior, on thy breast!
And tranquil as thy mind was, be thy rest,
Though, living, thou hadst more desert than fame,
And not a stone now chronicles thy name.

ON THE PROMOTION OF EDWARD THURLOW, ESQ.,

TO THE LORD HIGH CHANCELLORSHIP OF ENGLAND.

ROUND Thurlow's head in early youth,

And in his sportive days,

Fair Science poured the light of truth,
And Genius shed his rays.

"See!" with united wonder cried
The experienced and the sage,

"Ambition in a boy supplied

With all the skill of age!

"Discernment, eloquence, and grace
Proclaim him born to sway
The balance in the highest place,
And bear the palm away.”