English poem
To Mrs. Unwin.
MARY! I want a lyre with other strings, Such aid from Heaven as some have feign'd they drew, An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new And undebased by praise of meaner things; That ere through age or woe I shed my wings, I may record thy worth with honour due, In verse as musical as thou art true, And that immortalizes whom it sings: But thou hast little need. There is a Book By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light, On which the eyes of God not rarely look, A chronicle of actions just and bright— There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine; And since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine.
More by William Cowper
- To Mrs. King, On Her Kind Present To The Author, A Patchwork Counterpane Of Her Own Making.
- To Mrs. Newton.
- To Mrs. Newton.[101]
- To Mrs. Throckmorton, On Her Beautiful Transcript Of Horace's Ode, 'Ad Librum Suum.'
- To My Cousin, Anne Bodham, On Receiving From Her A Network Purse Made By Herself.
- To My Father.
- To Sir Joshua Reynolds.
- To The Immortal Memory Of The Halibut, On Which I Dined This Day, Monday, April 26, 1784.