This, one of the most exquisite poems in the language, was written by Cowper in "the last glimmering of the evening light," before his mind was wholly overwhelmed by the final attack of insanity. "Every line is instinct with a profound and chastened feeling, to which it would be difficult to find a parallel. There is not a phrase, not a word, which jars upon the most susceptible ear, not a tinge of exaggeration, not a touch that is excessive. The fact that he who gave forth these supreme utterances of filial love was old himself when he did it, brings into the relationship a strange, tender equality which is marvellously touching." 1. =steep.= Imbue. From Ger. _stippen_. From the same root as _dip_, with the letter _s_ prefixed. 2. =Elysian reverie.= Heavenly meditation. See note on Elysium, page 79. 3. =when I learnt.= Cowper was only six years old when his mother died. 4. =concern.= Distress, anxiety. 5. Nearly fifty years after his mother's death, Cowper wrote: "I can truly say that not a week passes (perhaps I might with equal veracity say a day) in which I do not think of her; such was the impression her tenderness made upon me, though the opportunity she had for showing it was so short." 6. =plum.= Perhaps the gravest fault in this poem is the frequent intermixture, as in these two lines, of trivial thoughts and circumstances with those of a more noble character. 7. Explain the metaphor which the poet attempts to carry through these three lines. =Brakes= = _breaks_, interruptions. What is the meaning of _humor_? 8. =as a gallant bark.= Observe the beauty of the simile in these twelve lines, also of the simile which follows. 9. Probably misquoted from "The Dispensary," by Samuel Garth (1670-1719): "To die is landing on some silent shore, Where billows never break nor tempests roar." 10. =this mimic show.= Explain the meaning of this expression. EPITAPH ON A HARE. Here lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue, Nor swifter greyhound follow, Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew, Nor ear heard huntsman's halloo; Old Tiney, surliest of his kind, Who, nursed with tender care, And to domestic bounds confined, Was still a wild Jack hare. Though duly from my hand he took His pittance every night, He did it with a jealous look, And, when he could, would bite. His diet was of wheaten bread, And milk, and oats, and straw; Thistles, or lettuces instead, With sand to scour his maw. On twigs of hawthorn he regaled, On pippins' russet peel, And, when his juicy salads failed, Sliced carrot pleased him well. A Turkey carpet was his lawn, Whereon he loved to bound, To skip and gambol like a fawn, And swing his rump around. His frisking was at evening hours, For then he lost his fear, But most before approaching showers, Or when a storm drew near.