GENIUS
ENIUS of COWPER, cft, in pensive mood,
I pore delighted o'er thy varied page,
And trace the pure effusions of thy wit,
Flowing in numbers musically sweet,
Easy and smooth as thy own winding Ouse,
And fraught with sentiments sublimer still.
'Twas thine to soothe with mild persuasive art,
With manly nervous eloquence to please,
Or temper with a just severity
Thy moral strain ;-not proudly "conjur❜d up
"To serve occasions of poetic pomp,"
But ever to thy Maker's glorious cause
Devoted ;-nor less studious of the high
Immortal interests of thy fellow men;
When, thus, with thee, in converse sweet, awhile
Set free from life's entanglements, from all
Those busy cares; which oft, alas, impede
The better purposes of Christian grace,
And wean the soul from happiness and heav'n ;-
My heart acknowledges th' inspiring theme;
And meditates thy praise.-Not cold the strain,
Nor vain the task, if, hap'ly, in th' essay,
I catch one pure, one genuine spark from thee.
Where are the Sons of Song, the rev'rend train, Who once in Selma's sacred hålls attun'd,
To deeds of virtuous praise, their trembling strings?
And where the pensive band, who'o'er the urn
Of meaner genius and inferior fame,
Pour the soft stream of tributary tears,
Elegiac stanza and funereal hymn?
While Cowper's memory asks the plausive strain,
Why lie their lyres neglected and unstrung,
Unwept the bard of nature and of truth?
And all unconscious of their loss, supine
Sleep his lov'd Muses on th' Aonian hill?
O form'd by nature, as by virtue form'd
To polish, to instruct, improve thy age:
To give to poetry a sacred charm
Unfelt before, and in one hallow'd theme,
To blend the Seraph's with the Poet's fire!
Permit a youth from letter'd fame remote,
And skill scholastic,-simple as sincere ;
Whose sober footsteps strive not to attain
Parnassian heights ;-who seeks no laurel there;
But, by fair Orwell's shores, with beauty crown'd,
And busy, commerce, tho' by bard, as yet
Unsung their praise pre-eminent, devotes
To diff'rent labours his assiduous hours; *
Not prompt to flatter with unmeaning praise,
Tho' proud t' appreciate thy just desert;
One who unknown, yet lov'd thee, and who still
Esteems thy memory precious ;-O permit
The luxury to sympathize with thee,
Afflicted mourner in a vale of tears!
Το pay his humble tribute to thy worth,
And well directed talents;-since no voice
Of praise or censure can affect thee now.
And oh! howe'er for poesy unfit,
Unskill'd in language courtly or refin'd,
To soothe the nicer ear of classic taste;
In offering to his friends and the public, a second edition of the Tribute to Cowper, the author takes this opportunity gratefully to acknowledge the indulgence they have bestowed on the first. He has corrected some inaccuracies, and made some additions to the original poem; but he is sensible, that there is still ample room to deprecate the severity of criticism.
Still let me strive, with humbler aim to win
Affections' partial eye, unapt to frown
On ev'n a muse like mine, that seeks to dress
Thy laurell'd portrait with wild "flow'rs of verse."
And, sure, the meed, that grateful truth bestows,
On virtue, ev'n in humbler sphere than thine;
In silent conflicts, steadily engag'd
With selfish passions, (no inglorious aim,)
And nobly consecrating all her pow'rs,
To works of pure beneficence and love,
Transcends th' applause, admiring nations pay
To warriors and to statesmen, oft acquir'd
By motives less refin'd, when scann'd by Him,
Whose wisdom penetrates the brilliant mask,
By interest or ambition oft assum'd;
Divests vain glory of her dazzling plumes,
And not the action values, but the heart.-
While wond'ring Senates their high names enroll,
Her's in a sweet memorial speeds to Heav'n;
And while their trophies grace th' historic page,
Her's shall endure, tho' suns and stars decay.
Hail, gentle bard, whose honour'd page combines The various pow'rs of verse-The march sublime
Of MILTON'S Song, majestic as his theme;
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