[519] Mrs. Bodham was always addressed by Cowper in this playful and complimentary style, though her Christian name was Ann.
[520] No present could possibly have been more acceptable to Cowper than the receipt of his mother's picture. He composed the beautiful verses, on this occasion, so tenderly descriptive of the impression made on his youthful imagination by the remembrance of her virtues. We extract the following passage:—
My mother! when I learn'd that thou wast dead,
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed?
Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son,
Wretch even then, life's journey just begun?
Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss;
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss—
Ah, that maternal smile! it answers—Yes.
I heard the bell toll'd on thy burial day,
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away,
And, turning from my nursery-window, drew
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu!
But was it such?—It was. Where thou art gone,
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore,
The parting word shall pass my lips no more!
Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern,
Oft gave me promise of thy quick return.
What ardently I wish'd, I long believed,
And, disappointed still, was still deceived;
By expectation every day beguiled,
Dupe of to-morrow, even from a child.
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went,
Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent,
I learn'd at last submission to my lot,
But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot.
[521] Dr John Donne, an eminent and learned divine, whose life is written by Izaak Walton. Born 1573, died 1631.
[522] The Rev. J. Johnson's sister.
[523] Mrs. Ann Bodham.
[524] This expression alludes to the situation of the rooms occupied by him at Caius College, Cambridge.
[525] The following is the passage alluded to.
Hast thou by statute shoved from its design
The Saviour's feast, his own blest bread and wine,
And made the symbols of atoning grace
An office-key, a picklock to a place?
That infidels may prove their title good,
By an oath dipp'd in sacramental blood?
A blot that will be still a blot, in spite
Of all that grave apologists may write:
And, though a bishop toil to cleanse the stain,
He wipes and scours the silver cup in vain.
And hast thou sworn on every slight pretence,
Till perjuries are common as bad pence,
While thousands, careless of the damning sin,
Kiss the book's outside, who ne'er look'd within?
Expostulation.