Addressed To Miss ----, On Reading The Prayer For Indifference, An Ode, By Mrs. Greville.
By William Cowper
And dwells there in a female heart,
By bounteous Heaven designd,
The choicest raptures to impart,
To feel the most refined
Dwells there a wish in such a breast
Its nature to forego,
To smother in ignoble rest
At once both bliss and woe!
Far be the thought, and far the strain,
Which breathes the low desire,
How sweet soeer the verse complain,
Though Phbus string the lyre.
Come, then, fair maid (in nature wise),
Who, knowing them, can tell
From generous sympathy what joys
The glowing bosom swell:
In justice to the various powers
Of pleasing, which you share,
Join me, amid your silent hours,
To form the better prayer.
With lenient balm may Oberon hence
To fairy-land be driven,
With every herb that blunts the sense
Mankind received from heaven.
Oh! if my sovereign Author please,
Far be it from my fate
To live unblest in torpid ease,
And slumber on in state;
Each tender tie of life defied,
Whence social pleasures spring,
Unmoved with all the world beside,
A solitary thing
Some Alpine mountain, wrapt in snow,
Thus braves the whirling blast,
Eternal winter doomd to know,
No genial spring to taste.
In vain warm suns their influence shed,
The zephyrs sport in vain,
He rears unchanged his barren head,
Whilst beauty decks the plain.
What though in scaly armour dressd,
Indifference may repel
The shafts of woein such a breast
No joy can ever dwell.
Tis woven in the worlds great plan,
And fixd by Heavens decree,
That all the true delights of man
Should spring from sympathy.
Tis nature bids, and whilst the laws
Of nature we retain,
Our self-approving bosom draws
A pleasure from its pain.
Thus grief itself has comforts dear
The sordid never know;
And ecstacy attends the tear
When virtue bids it flow.
For, when it streams from that pure source,
No bribes the heart can win
To check, or alter from its course,
The luxury within.
Peace to the phlegm of sullen elves,
Who, if from labour eased,
Extend no care beyond themselves,
Unpleasing and unpleased.
Let no low thought suggest the prayer,
Oh! grant, kind Heaven, to me,
Long as I draw ethereal air,
Sweet Sensibility!
Whereer the heavenly nymph is seen,
With lustre-beaming eye,
A train, attendant on their queen,
(Her rosy chorus) fly;
The jocund loves in Hymens band,
With torches ever bright,
And generous friendship, hand in hand
With pitys watry sight.
The gentler virtues too are joind
In youth immortal warm;
The soft relations, which, combined,
Give life her every charm.
The arts come smiling in the close,
And lend celestial fire;
The marble breathes, the canvas glows,
The muses sweep the lyre.
Still may my melting bosom cleave
To sufferings not my own,
And still the sigh responsive heave
Whereer is heard a groan.
So pity shall take virtues part,
Her natural ally,
And fashioning my softend heart,
Prepare it for the sky.
This artless vow may heaven receive,
And you, fond maid, approve:
So may your guiding angel give
Whateer you wish or love!
So may the rosy-fingerd hours
Lead on the various year,
And every joy, which now is yours,
Extend a larger sphere!
And suns to come, as round they wheel,
Your golden moments bless
With all a tender heart can feel,
Or lively fancy guess!