The happiness of answer'd prayers,
That gilds thy features, show in theirs.
If they, who on thy state attend,
Awe-struck, before thy presence bend,
"Tis but the natural effect

Of grandeur that ensures respect;
But she is something more than Queen,
Who is beloved where never seen.

GRATITUDE.

ADDRESSED TO LADY HESKETH.

[1786.]

THIS cap, that so stately appears, With ribbon-bound tassel on high, Which seems, by the crest that it rears, Ambitious of brushing the sky : cousin I owe, to my cap She gave it, and gave me beside, Wreathed into an elegant bow,

This

The ribbon with which it is tied:

This wheel-footed studying chair, Contrived both for toil and repose, Wide-elbow'd, and wadded with hair, In which I both scribble and dose, Bright-studded to dazzle the eyes,

And rival in lustre of that

In which, or astronomy lies,
Fair Cassiopeïa sat:

These carpets so soft to the foot,
Caledonia's traffic and pride!

Oh, spare them, ye knights of the boot,
Escap'd from a cross-country ride!
This table and mirror within,

Secure from collision and dust,
At which I oft shave cheek and chin,
And periwig nicely adjust:

This movable structure of shelves,
For its beauty admired and its use,
And charged with octavos and twelves,
The gayest I had to produce;
Where, flaming in scarlet and gold,
My poems enchanted I view,
And hope, in due time, to behold
My Iliad and Odyssey too:

This china, that decks the alcove,
Which here people call a buffet,
But what the gods call it above,

Has ne'er been reveal'd to us yet: These curtains, that keep the room warm Or cool, as the season demands,

Those stoves that for pattern and form, Seem the labour of Mulciber's hands.

All these are not half that I owe

To One, from our earliest youth To me ever ready to show

Benignity, friendship, and truth; For Time, the destroyer declared, And foe of our perishing kind, If even her face he has spared,

Much less could he alter her mind.

ON

Thus compass'd about with the goods
And chattels of leisure and ease,

I indulge my poetical moods

In many
And fancies I fear they will seem—

such fancies as these;

Poets' goods are not often so fine;
The Poets will swear that I dream

When I sing of the splendour of mine.

TO MY COUSIN, ANNE BODHAM,

RECEIVING FROM HER A NETWORK PURSE,

MADE BY HERSELF.

[May 4, 1793.]

My gentle Anne, whom heretofore,
When I was young, and thou no more

Than plaything for a nurse,

I danced and fondled on my knee,

A kitten both in size and glee,

I thank thee for my purse.

Gold pays the worth of all things here;
But not of love ;-that gem's too dear
For richest rogues to win it;
I, therefore, as a proof of love,
Esteem thy present far above

The best things kept within it.

A POETICAL EPISTLE TO LADY AUSTEN.

[December 17, 1781.]

DEAR ANNA, between friend and friend,

Prose answers every common end;

Serves, in a plain and homely way,

Το express the occurrence of the day;
Our health, the weather, and the news;
What walks we take, what books we choose;
And all the floating thoughts we find

Upon the surface of the mind.

But when a Poet takes the pen,
Far more alive than other men,
He feels a gentle tingling come
Down to his finger and his thumb,
Derived from Nature's noblest part,
The centre of a glowing heart:

And this is what the world, which knows
No flights above the pitch of prose,
His more sublime vagaries slighting,
Denominates an itch for writing.
No wonder I, who scribble rhyme
To catch the triflers of the time,

And tell them truths divine and clear,

Which, couch'd in prose, they will not hear;

Who labour hard to allure and draw

The loiterers I never saw,

Should feel that itching, and that tingling,

With all my purpose intermingling,

To your intrinsic merit true,

When call'd to address myself to you.

A POETICAL EPISTLE TO LADY AUSTEN. 273

Mysterious are His ways, whose power
Brings forth that unexpected hour,
When minds, that never met before,
Shall meet, unite, and part no more:
It is the allotment of the skies,
The hand of the Supremely Wise,
That guides and governs our affections,
And plans and orders our connexions :
Directs us in our distant road,

And marks the bounds of our abode.
Thus we were settled when you found us,
Peasants and children all around us,
Not dreaming of so dear a friend,
Deep in the abyss of Silver-End.*
Thus Martha, e'en against her will,
Perch'd on the top of yonder hill ;
And you, though you must needs prefer
The fairer scenes of sweet Sancerre,†
Are come from distant Loire, to choose
A cottage on the banks of Ouse.
This page of Providence quite new,
And now just opening to our view,
Employs our present thoughts and pains,
guess and spell what it contains:
But, day by day, and year by year,
Will make the dark enigma clear;
And furnish us, perhaps, at last,
Like other scenes already past,
With proof, that we, and our affairs,
Are
part of a Jehovah's cares :

To

* An obscure part of Olney, adjoining to the residence of Cowper

which faced the market-place.

Lady Austen's residence in France.