Alas for the Poet! who dares undertake

To urge reformation of national ill—
His head and his heart are both likely to ache
With the double employment of mallet and mill.

If he wish to instruct, he must learn to delight, Smooth, ductile, and even, his fancy must flow, Must tinkle and glitter like gold to the sight, And catch in its progress a sensible glow.

After all he must beat it as thin and as fine
As the leaf that enfolds what an invalid swallows,
For truth is unwelcome, however divine,

And unless you adorn it, a nausea follows.

LINES,

COMPOSED FOR A MEMORIAL OF

ASHLEY COWPER, ESQ.

IMMEDIATELY AFTER HIS DEATH,

BY HIS NEPHEW WILLIAM OF WESTON.

[JUNE, 1788.]

FAREWELL! endued with all that could engage All hearts to love thee, both in youth and age! In prime of life, for sprightliness enroll'd Among the gay, yet virtuous as the old;

In life's last stage, (O blessings rarely found!) Pleasant as youth with all its blossoms crown'd; Through every period of this changeful state Unchang'd thyself-wise, good, affectionate!

Marble may flatter, and lest this should seem O'ercharg'd with praises, on so dear a theme, Although thy worth be more than half supprest, Love shall be satisfied, and veil the rest.

I

ON THE

QUEEN'S VISIT TO LONDON,

THE NIGHT OF THE 17TH MARCH, 1789.

WHEN, long sequester'd from his throne, George took his seat again,

By right of worth, not blood alone,

Entitled here to reign,

Then, Loyalty, with all his lamps
New trimm'd, a gallant show!
Chasing the darkness, and the damps,
Set London in a glow.

"Twas hard to tell, of streets or squares,

Which form'd the chief display,

These most resembling cluster'd stars,

Those the long milky way.

Bright shone the roofs, the domes, the spires,

And rockets flew, self-driven,

To hang their momentary fires

Amid the vault of Heaven.

So fire with water to compare,
The ocean serves, on high

Up-spouted by a whale in air,
T' express unwieldy joy.

Had all the pageants of the world

In one procession join'd,

And all the banners been unfurl'd

That heralds e'er design'd,

For no such sight had England's Queen
Forsaken her retreat,

Where, George recover'd made a scene
Sweet always, doubly sweet.

Yet glad she came that night to prove,

A witness undescried,

How much the object of her love

Was lov'd by all beside.

Darkness the skies had mantled o'er

In aid of her design——

Darkness, O Qucen! ne'er call'd before To veil a deed of thine!

On borrow'd wheels away she flies,

Resolv'd to be unknown,

And gratify no curious eyes

That night, except her own.

Arriv'd, a night like noon she sccs,
And hears the million hum;

As all by instinct, like the bees,

Had known their sov'reign come.