William Cowper

“ 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.
"And thy loved consort on the dang'rous tide
Of life, long since, has anchor'd by thy side.
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest,
Always from port withheld, always distress'd—
Me howling winds drive devious, tempest toss'd,
Sails ripped, seams op'ning wide, and compass lost,
And day by day some current's thwarting force,
Sets me more distant from a prosp'rous course. ”

“ Life has pass'd
With me but roughly since I heard thee last.
Those lips are thine-thy 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
(Blest be the art that can immortalise,
The art that baffles Time's tyrannic claim
To quench it) here shines on me still the same. ”

“ Oh, that those lips had language! Life has pass'd
With me but roughly since I heard thee last. ”