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　　TO THE POET COWPER

　　_On his Recovery from an Indisposition. Written some Time Back

　　(Summer, 1796)_

　　Cowper, I thank my God, that thou art heal'd.

　　Thine was the sorest malady of all;

　　And I am sad to think that it should light

　　Upon the worthy head: but thou art heal'd,

　　And thou art yet, we trust, the destin'd man,

　　Born to re-animate the lyre, whose chords

　　Have slumber'd, and have idle lain so long;

　　To th' immortal sounding of whose strings

　　Did Milton frame the stately-paced verse;

　　Among whose wires with lighter finger playing

　　Our elder bard, Spencer, a gentler name,

　　The lady Muses' dearest darling child,

　　Enticed forth the deftest tunes yet heard

　　In hall or bower; taking the delicate ear

　　Of the brave Sidney, and the Maiden Queen.

　　Thou, then, take up the mighty epic strain,

　　Cowper, of England's bards the wisest and the best!

　　December 1, 1796. The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb — Volume 4