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CONVICTION.

For few believe the wonders Thou hast wrought,

And none can teach them but whom Thou hast taught.

And indeed the picture here drawn is of a beauty and accuracy that can find no rival in the English language. The materials required to produce it are not at the command of the ordinary poet, however acute, profound and vast his native genius, or all-entrancing and encompassing his imagination.

If ever thou hast felt another's pain,

If ever when he sighed hast sighed again,
If ever on thine eyelid stood the tear
That pity had engendered, drop one here.

This man was happy-had the world's good word,
And with it every joy it could afford.

Friendship and love seemed tenderly at strife
Which most should sweeten his untroubled life;
Politely learn'd, and of a gentle race,

Good breeding and good sense gave all a grace;
And whether at the toilet of the fair

He laughed and trifled, made him welcome there,
Or if in masculine debate he shared,

Insured him mute attention and regard.

Alas, how changed! Expressive of his mind,
His eyes are sunk, arms folded, head reclined,
Those awful syllables, hell, death, and sin,
Though whispered, plainly tell what works within;
That conscience there performs her proper part,
And writes a doomsday sentence on his heart!
Forsaking and forsaken of all friends,

He now perceives where earthly pleasure ends.
Hard task! for one who lately knew no care,
And harder still, as learned beneath despair!
His hours no longer pass unmarked away,
A dark importance saddens every day.
He hears the notice of the clock, perplexed,
And cries, Perhaps eternity strikes next!

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FORGIVENESS.

Sweet music is no longer music here,
And laughter sounds like madness in his ear.
His grief the world of all her power disarms,
Wine has no taste, and beauty has no charms.
God's holy word, once trivial in his view,
Now by the voice of his experience true,
Seems, as it is, the fountain whence alone
Must spring that hope he pants to make his own.
Now let the bright reverse be known abroad;
Say man's a worm, and power belongs to God.
As when a felon, whom his country's laws
Have justly doomed for some atrocious cause,
Expects in darkness and heart-chilling fears,
The shameful close of all his misspent years;
If chance on heavy pinions slowly borne,
A tempest usher in the dreaded morn,
Upon his dungeon walls the lightnings play,
The thunder seems to summon him away,
The warder at the door his key applies,
Shoots back the bolt, and all his courage dies.
If then, just then, all thoughts of mercy lost,
When Hope, long lingering at last yields the ghost,
The sound of pardon pierce his startled ear,
He drops at once his fetters and his fear.

A transport glows in all he looks and speaks,
And the first thankful tears bedew his cheeks.
Joy, far superior joy, that much outweighs
The comfort of a few poor added days,
Invades, possesses, and o'erwhelms the soul
Of him whom Hope has with a touch made whole.
'Tis heaven, all heaven, descending on the wings
Of the glad legions of the King of kings;
'Tis more 'tis God diffused through every part,
'Tis God Himself triumphant in his heart.
O welcome now the sun's once hated light!
His noonday beams were never half so bright.
Not kindred minds alone are called to employ
Their hours, their days, in listening to his joy;
Unconscious nature, all that he surveys,

Rocks, groves, and streams must join him in his praise.

In these poems, in the piece on “Charity,” we encounter the first expressive and energetic lines devoted by Cowper to the description of his abhorrence of slavery. The sentiments are those not of a man merely, but a Christian; not of our native love of liberty—a constituent element in every human mind-but also as taught by grace, and by the charity which is the fairest and foremost in the train of graces.

Oh most degrading of all ills that wait
On man, a mourner in his best estate!
All other sorrows virtue may endure,
And find submission more than half a cure.
Grief is itself a medicine, and bestowed
To improve the fortitude that bears the load,
To teach the wanderer, as his woes increase,
The path of wisdom, all whose paths are peace.
But slavery!-Virtue dreads it as her grave:
Patience itself is meanness in a slave:
Or, if the will and sovereignty of God
Bid suffer it awhile, and kiss the rod,
Wait for the dawning of a brighter day,

And snap the chain the moment when you may.
Nature imprints upon whate'er we see
That has a heart and life in it, Be free!

The beasts are chartered-neither age nor force

Can quell the love of freedom in a horse,

He breaks the curb that held him at the rack
And, conscious of an unincumbered back,
Snuffs up the morning air, forgets the rein;
Loose fly his forelock and his ample mane;
Responsive to the distant neigh, he neighs,
Nor stops, till overleaping all delays

He finds the pasture where his fellows graze.
Canst thou, and honored with a Christian name,
Buy what is woman-born, and feel no shame?

EXPEDIENCY.

Trade in the blood of innocence, and plead
Expedience as a warrant for the deed?

So may the wolf, whom famine has made bold,
To quit the forest and invade the fold.

So may the ruffian, who with ghostly glide,
Dagger in hand, steals close to your bedside;
Not he, but his emergence forced the door,
He found it inconvenient to be poor.

A Briton knows, or, if he knows it not,
The Scripture placed within his reach, he ought,
That souls have no discriminating hue,

Alike important in their Maker's view;

That none are free from blemish since the fall
And love Divine has paid one price for all.
The wretch that works and weeps without relief
Has ONE that notices his silent grief.

He from whose hand alone all power proceeds,
Ranks its abuse among the foulest deeds,
Considers all injustice with a frown,

But marks the man that treads his fellow down.
Remember, Heaven has an avenging rod;
To smite the poor is treason against God.

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CHAPTER XVI.

LADY AUSTEN.-JOHN GILPIN.-MADAME GUION. THE COLUBRIAD. -COWPER'S EXQUISITE HUMOR.

A SHORT time before the publication of this volume, the same Divine providence that had prepared for Cowper such a resting-place and home in the family of the Unwin's, brought to their acquaintance a new friend, whose lively wit, and influence over the mind of the poet, were to prove the occasion of the greatest production of his genius. This was Lady Austen, the widow of Sir Robert Austen, and sister of the wife of one of Cowper's neighbors, a clergyman at Clifton, about a mile from Olney. The conversational powers of this lady were great, and Cowper was pleased and delighted, for a season, with her acquaintance and friendship. He described her to his friend, Mr. Unwin, as a woman of fine taste and discernment, with many features of character to admire, but one in particular, on account of the rarity of it, to engage your attention and esteem. She has a degree of grati

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tude in her composition, so quick a sense of obli