process of time, from a friendship so unexpected, and so pleasing; but he does not seem to have been aware, in the slightest degree, of the evident dangers that must naturally attend an intimacy so very close, yet perfectly innocent, between a Poet and two Ladies, who, with very different mental powers, had each reason to flatter herself that she could agreeably promote the studies, and animate the fancy of this fascinating Bard.

Genius of the most exquisite kind is sometimes, and perhaps generally, so modest, and diffident, as to require continual solicitation and encouragement, from the voice of sympathy, and friendship, to lead it into permanent and successful exertion. Such was

the genius of Cowper; and he therefore considered the chearful and animating society of his new accomplished Friend, as a blessing conferred on him by the signal favour of Providence. She returned the following summer to the house of her sister, situated on the brow of a hill, the foot of which is washed by the River Ouse, as it flows between Clifton and Olney. Her benevolent ingenuity was exerted to guard the spirits of Cowper from sinking again into that hypochondriacal dejection, to which, even in her company, he still sometimes discovered an alarming tendency. To promote his occupation and amusement, she furnished him with a small portable Printing-Press, and he gratefully sent her the following Verses printed by himself, and enclosed in a billet that alludes to the occasion on which they were composed—a very unseasonable flood, that interrupted the communication between Clifton and Olney.

VOL. I.

R

To

To watch the storms, and hear the sky
Give all our Almanacks the lie;

To shake with cold, and see the plains
In Autumn drown'd with Wintry rains;
'Tis thus I spend my moments here,
And wish myself a Dutch Mynheer;
I then should have no need of wit;
For lumpish Hollander unfit!
Nor should I then repine at mud,
Or meadows delug'd with a flood;
But in a bog live well content,
element;

And find it just my

Should be a clod, and not a man.
Nor wish in vain for Sister Ann,
With charitable aid to drag
My mind out of its proper quag;
Should have the genius of a boor,
And no ambition to have more.

"MY DEAR SISTER,

You see my beginning-I do not know but in time I may proceed even to the printing of halfpenny Ballads-Excuse the coarseness of my paper-I wasted such a quantity before I could accomplish any thing legible, that I could not afford finer. I intend to employ an ingenious mechanic of the town to make me a longer case: for you may observe, that my lines turn up their tails like Dutch mastiffs, so difficult do I find it to make the two halves exactly coincide with each other.

Wc

We wait with impatience for the departure of this unseasonable flood-We think of you, and talk of you, but we can do no more, till the waters shall subside. I do not think our correspondence should drop because we are within a mile of each other. It is but an imaginary approximation, the flood having in reality as effectually parted us, as if the British Channel rolled between us.

Yours my dear Sister, with Mrs. Unwin's best love.

August 12, 1782.

W. COWPER.

A flood that precluded him from the conversation of such an enlivening friend, was to Cowper a serious evil; but he was happily relieved from the apprehension of such disappointment in future, by seeing the friend so pleasing and so useful to him very comfortably settled, as his next door neighbour.

Lady Austen became a tenant of the Parsonage in Olney; when Mr. Newron occupied that Parsonage, he had opened a door in the garden-wall, that admitted him, in the most commodious manner, to visit the sequestered Poet, who resided in the next house. Lady Austen had the advantage of this easy intercourse, and so captivating was her society, both to Cowper, and to Mrs. Unwin, that these intimate neighbours might be almost said to make one family, as it became their custom to dine always together, alternately in the houses of the two ladies.

The musical talents of Lady Austen induced Cowper to write a few Songs of peculiar sweetness and pathos, to suit particular airs that she was accustomed to play on the harpsichord. I insert three of these as proofs, that even in his hours of social amusement, the Poet loved to dwell on ideas of tender devotion, and pathetic solemnity.

SONG,

WRITTEN IN THE SUMMER OF 1783, AT THE REQUEST OF

LADY AUSTEN.

AIR" My fond Shepherds of late, &c."

No longer I follow a sound;

No longer a dream I pursue :
O Happiness, not to be found,
Unattainable treasure, adieu!

I have songht thee in splendor and dress;
In the regions of pleasure and taste:
I have sought thee, and seem'd to possess,
But have prov'd thee a vision at last.

An humble ambition and hope

The voice of true wisdom inspires; 'Tis sufficient, if Peace be the scope,

And the summit of all our desires.

Peace

Peace may be the lot of the mind,

That seeks it in meekness and love; But rapture and bliss are confin'd

To the glorified Spirits above.

SONG 2.

AIR" The Lass of Pattie's Mill."

When all within is peace,

How Nature seems to smile!

Delights that never cease,

The livelong day beguile.

From morn to dewy eve,

With open hand she showers, Fresh blessings, to deceive,

And soothe the silent hours.

It is content of heart,

Gives Nature power to please; The mind that feels no smart, Enlivens all it sees;

Can make a wintry sky

Seem bright as smiling May, And evening's closing eye

As peep of early day.

The