Caricamento in corso...

Verses Written at Bath, on Finding the Heel of a Shoe

Fortune! I thank thee: gentle goddess! thanks!
Not that my muse, though bashful, shall deny
She would have thank’€™d thee rather hadst thou cast
A treasure in her way; for neither meed
Of early breakfast, to dispel the fumes,
And bowel-racking pains of emptiness,
Nor noontide feast, nor evening’€™s cool repast,
Hopes she from this’€”presumptuous, though, perhaps,
The cobbler, leather-carving artist! might.
Nathless she thanks thee and accepts thy boon,
Whatever; not as erst the fabled cock,
Vain-glorious fool! unknowing what he found,
Spurn’€™d the rich gem thou gavest him. Wherefore, ah!
Why not on me that favour (worthier sure!)
Conferr’€™dst thou, goddess! Thou art blind thou say’€™st:
Enough!'€”thy blindness shall excuse the deed.
Nor does my muse no benefit exhale
From this thy scant indulgence!'€”even here
Hints worthy sage philosophy are found;
Illustrious hints, to moralize my song!
This ponderous heel of perforated hide
Compact, with pegs indented, many a row,
Haply (for such its massy form bespeaks)
The weighty tread of some rude peasant clown
Upbore: on this, supported oft, he stretch’€™d,
With uncouth strides, along the furrow’€™d glebe,
Flattening the stubborn clod, till cruel time
(What will not cruel time?) on a wry step
Sever’€™d the strict cohesion; when, alas!
He, who could erst, with even, equal pace,
Pursue his destined way with symmetry,
And some proportion form’€™d, now on one side
Curtail’€™d and maim’€™d, the sport of vagrant boys,
Cursing his frail supporter, treacherous prop!
With toilsome steps, and difficult, moves on.
Thus fares it oft with other than the feet
Of humble villager’€”the statesman thus,
Up the steep road where proud ambition leads,
Aspiring, first uninterrupted winds
His prosperous way; nor fears miscarriage foul,
While policy prevails, and friends prove true;
But, that support soon failing, by him left
On whom he most depended, basely left,
Betray’€™d, deserted; from his airy height
Headlong he falls; and through the rest of life
Drags the dull load of disappointment on.
Altre opere di William Cowper...



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