A CALM WINTER'S NIGHT.
How beautiful this night! the balmiest sigh,
Which vernal zephyrs breathe in evening's ear,
Were discord to the speaking quietude1
That wraps this moveless scene.
Studded with stars unutterably bright,
Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls,
Seems like a canopy which love has spread
To curtain her sleeping world. Yon gentle hills,
Robed in a garment of untrodden snow-
Yon darksome rocks, whence icicles depend,
So stainless that their white and glittering spires
Tinge not the moon's pure beam-yon castled steep,
Whose banner hangeth o'er the time-worn tower
So idly, that rapt fancy deemeth it
A metaphor of peace, all form a scene
Where musing solitude might love to lift
Her soul above this sphere of earthliness;
Where silence undisturbed might watch alone,.
So cold, so bright, so still.
LIKE as that lion through the green woods came,
With roar which startled the hushed solitude,
Yet soon as he saw Una, that fair dame
To virtue wedded, quieted his rude
And savage heart, and at her feet sank tame
As a pet lamb-so March, though his first mood
Was boisterous and wild, feeling that shame
Would follow his fell steps, if Spring's young brood
(1) Speaking quietude-This metaphor is by no means new, but its fitness to illustrate the subject renders it particularly striking here.
(2) Whose banner, &c.-An exquisite fancy. The poet's touch converts the emblem of war into a symbol of peace, and thus blends it into harmony with the other features of this calm, still, beautiful scene.
(3) Una-See the extracts from Spenser's "Faerie Queene," in the second part of this work.
Of buds and blossoms withered where he trod-
Calmed his fierce ire. And now blue violets
Wake to new life; the yellow primrose sits
Smiling demurely from the wayside clod;
And early bees are all day on the wing,
And work like labour, yet like pleasure sing.
"ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE.”1
On that those lips had language! Life has past
With me but roughly since I heard thee last.2
Those lips are thine-thine own sweet smile I see,
The same that oft in childhood solaced me;
Voice only fails, else how distinct they say,
"Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away!"
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes-
Blessed be the art that can immortalize,
The art that baffles time's tyrannic claim
To quench it 3-here shines on me still the same.
Faithful remembrancer of one so dear,
O welcome guest, though unexpected here!
Who bidd'st me honour with an artless song,
Affectionate, a mother lost so long.
I will obey, not willingly alone,
But gladly, as the precept were her own:
And, while that face renews my filial grief,
Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief,
Shall steep me in Elysian reverie,
A momentary dream, that thou art she.
(1) The tenderness and pathos of these lines have never been surpassed. The "charm," which the poet's fancy "weaves for his relief," cannot but entangle and hold every reader of refined feeling and taste.
The picture was sent him by his cousin, Mrs. Bodham. In his letter acknowledging the receipt of it he says:-"The world could not have furnished you with a present so acceptable as the picture which you have so kindly sent me. .........I kissed it, and hung it where it is the last object that I see at night, and, of course, the first on which I open my eyes in the morning."
(2) Heard thee last-These lines were written by Cowper more than fifty years after his mother's death, which occurred when he was about six years old. (3) It-i. e. the meek intelligence, &c.
My mother! when I learned that thou wast dead,
Say, wast thou conscious1 of the tears I shed?
Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son,
Wretch even then, life's journey just begun?
Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss;
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss.
Ah, that maternal smile! it answers-Yes.
I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day,
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away;
And, turning from my nursery window, drew
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu !
But was it such ?-It was.-Where thou art gone,
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore,
The parting word shall pass my lips no more!
Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern,
Oft gave me promise of thy quick return.
What ardently I wished, I long believed,
And, disappointed still, was still deceived:
By expectation every day beguiled,
Dupe of to-morrow even from a child!
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went,
Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent,
I learned at last submission to my lot,
But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot.
Where once we dwelt, our name is heard no more.
Children not thine have trod my nursery floor;
And where the gardener, Robin, day by day,
Drew me to school along the public way,
Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapt
In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet-capt,
'Tis now become a history little known,
That once we called the pastoral house2 our own.
Short-lived possession! but the record fair,
That memory keeps of all thy kindness there,
Still outlives many a storm that has effaced
A thousand other themes less deeply traced.
(1) Conscious-from the Latin con, together, and scio, I know-knowing within oneself. The word is incorrectly used in this passage. We may be aware of the thoughts and actions of others, but we can be conscious only of our own.
(2) Pastoral house-The parsonage house of Great Berkhampstead, in Hertfordshire, of which place Cowper's father was rector, and where he himself was born in the year 1731.
Thy nightly visits to my chamber made,
That thou mightst know me safe and warmly laid;
Thy morning bounties ere I left my home,
The biscuit, or confectionary plum;
The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowed
By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glowed ;-
All this, and more endearing still than all,
Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall,
Ne'er roughened by those cataracts and breaks,
That humour interposed too often makes ;—
All this still legible in memory's page,
And still to be so to my latest age,
Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay
Such honours to thee as my numbers may;
Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere,
Not scorned in heaven, though little noticed here.
Could time, his flight reversed, restore the hours,
When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers,
The violet, the pink, and jessamine,
I pricked them into paper with a pin,
(And thou wast happier than myself the while,
Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile,)
Could those few pleasant days again appear,
Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here?
I would not trust my heart-the dear delight
Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might-
But no-what here we call our life is such,
So little to be loved, and thou so much,
That I should ill requite thee to constrain
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again.
Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast
(The storms all weathered and the ocean crossed)
Shoots into port at some well-havened isle,
Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile,
There sits quiescent on the floods, that show
Her beauteous form reflected clear below,
While airs impregnated with incense play
Around her, fanning light her streamers gay;
So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached the shore
Where tempests never beat, nor billows roar,"
(1) Where tempests, &c.-This line is taken (Cowper himself tells us in a note) from a poem by Dr. Garth.
And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide
Of life, long since, has anchored by thy side.
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest,
Always from port withheld, always distrest-
Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tost,
Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compass lost,
And day by day some current's thwarting force
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course.
But oh! the thought, that thou art safe, and he!
That thought is joy, arrive1 what may to me.
My boast is not that I deduce my birth
From loins enthroned and rulers of the earth;
But higher far my proud pretensions rise-
The son of parents past into the skies!
And now, farewell!-time unrevoked has run
His wonted course, yet what I wished is done.
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain,
I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again;
To have renewed the joys that once were mine,
Without the sin of violating thine;
And, while the wings of fancy still are free,
And I can view this mimic show of thee,
Time has but half succeeded in his theft-
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.
ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE.
YE2 distant spires! ye antique towers!
That crown the watery glade,
Where grateful Science still adores
Her Henry's holy shade;
And ye, that from the stately brow
Of Windsor's heights the expanse below
(1) Arrive-a Gallicism, from the French arriver, to happen.
(2) Ye, &c.-The first fourteen lines form a sort of complicated vocative case, the grammatical construction remaining incomplete until we reach the line, "I feel the gales," &c.
(3) Henry's holy shade-Henry VI. founded Eton College, in 1441. "Holy shade," on account of the saintliness of character attributed to him.
(4) Ye-i. e. ye towers of Windsor Castle.
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