Attain'd the glorious aim, thy heart desired: Destin'd to spread, uncrampt by time or space, Progressive goodness thro' the human race! Thou monitor! by youth and age revered! By wisdom prized! to tenderness endear'd! While men and angels bid thy fame extend, And nature owns thee her benignant friend; Could there be mortals so perversely blind, As coarsely to revile thy tender mind, Basely applying, with malignant glee, The hateful title Misanthrope, to thee! Let just oblivion wrap in endless night Such baleful fruits of worth-defaming spight: Truth ne'er could Cowper's want of zeal reprove, As fervent as a saint in friendly love. Hannah! to whose effulgent mind belong Continual plaudits from the sons of song, Be witness how, in his sequester'd bowers, Cowper acknowledging thy various powers, Ever on thee, thy verse, thy prose, bestow'd Applause, where cloudless admiration glow'd With warmth, that jealousy could ne'er perplex; He praised thee, as the glory of thy sex, In verbal power, in intellectual grace, Never inferior to man's lordly race! Congenial spirits, warm'd with kindly zeal, Each others merits ye were sure to feel For one, true virtue's favorite employ, Her happiest exercise! her highest joy. One glorious motive sway'd each active mind Whether the bard, to rhymes no more confin'd, Rapidly sketch'd with glance intensely keen, His bird's-eye prospect of our human scene, Or the fair moralist, in polish'd prose, Describ'd the living manners as they rose. One glorious motive clear in each we prize. Bright as the vestal flame, which never dies. The philanthropic wish, from heaven inspir'd, That keeps the toiling mind in toil untir'd; The wish, unstain'd by every selfish aim. Free from the thirst of lucre and of fame; The wish most valued, when best understood, To make the pen an instrument of good, Recalling mortals lost in false delight, To find true favour in their Saviour's sight. The Bard, enfranchised from his earthly fate, Now soars, from this probationary state To join the seraphs of sublimer tone, Whose harps are vocal round the Almighty throne: On earth his laurels no destruction fear From cold neglect, or envy's blighting leer. Verse, in whose influence the good rejoice, Is sure to echo from the human voice, While praise, as faithful as the mystic dove, Flows from the lips, of gratitude and love. Cowper still lives, to truth's clear optics given, Endear'd to earth, and recompens'd by heaven! And O dear lady! who like him, canst feel For erring mortals anxious friendly zeal, And deck, like him, thy monitory page With charms attractive both to youth and age, Whose pure instruction, with a skill refin'd, Suits both the lowly, and the lofty mind: Like Cowper, thou canst bear, with calm disdain, While pity saves thee from resentment's pain, The dark insidious enmity of those Who, self-entitled friends, and secret foes, If they applaud thy talents, still deride Thy warm devotion, as fanatic pride, Tho' such devotion, undebased by art,