"Twas nature, Sir, whose strong behest

Impell'd me to the deed.

Yet much as nature I respect,
I ventur'd once to break

(As you perhaps may recollect)
Her precept for your sake;

And when your linnet on a day,
Passing his prison door,

Had flutter'd all his strength away,

And panting press'd the floor,

Well knowing him a sacred thing,
Not destin'd to my tooth,

I only kiss'd his ruffled wing,

And lick'd the feathers smooth.

Nor some reproof yourself refuse

From your aggriev'd Bow-wow;

If killing birds be such a crime
(Which I can hardly see),

What think you, Sir, of killing Time
With verse address'd to me?

ANSWER

TO

Stanzas addressed to Lady Hesketh, by Miss Catharine Fanshawe, in returning a Poem of Mr. Cowper's, lent to her, on condition she should neither show it, nor take a copy.

[1793.]

To be remember'd thus is fame,

And in the first degree;

And did the few like her the same,
The press might sleep for me.

So Homer, in the mem'ry stored

Of many a Grecian belle,

Was once preserv'd-a richer hoard,

But never lodg'd so well.

ᎢᎾ

THE SPANISH ADMIRAL

COUNT GRAVINA,

ON

His translating the Author's Song on a Rose into Italian Verse.

[1793.]

My rose, Gravina, blooms anew,

And, steep'd not now in rain,

But in Castalian streams by You,

Will never fade again.

ON

FLAXMAN'S PENELOPE.

[SEPT. 1793.]

THE suitors sinn'd, but with a fair excuse,
Whom all this elegance might well seduce;
Nor can our censure on the husband fall,

Who, for a wife so lovely, slew them all.

ON

RECEIVING HEYNE'S VIRGIL

FROM MR. HAYLEY.

[OCT. 1793.]

I SHOULD have deem'd it once an effort vain

To sweeten more sweet Maro's matchless strain,

But from that error now behold me free,

Since I receiv'd him as a gift from Thee.

ΤΟ

MARY.

[AUTUMN OF 1793.]

THE twentieth year is well nigh past,
Since first our sky was overcast,

Ah would that this might be the last!

My Mary!

Thy spirits have a fainter flow,

I see thee daily weaker grow

'Twas my distress, that brought thee low,

My Mary!

Thy needles, once a shining store,
For my sake restless heretofore,

Now rust disus'd, and shine no more,

My Mary!