to alter, if you mean to keep, those last lines I sent you. Do that, &
read these for your pains:--

TO THE POET COWPER

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 reanimate the Lyre, whose chords
Have slumber'd, and have idle lain so long,
To the immortal sounding of whose strings
Did Milton frame the stately-paced verse;
Among whose wires with lighter finger playing,
Our elder bard, Spenser, a gentle name,
The Lady Muses' dearest darling child,
Elicited the deftest tunes yet heard
In Hall or Bower, taking the delicate Ear
Of Sydney, & his peerless Maiden Queen.

Thou, then, take up the mighty Epic strain,
Cowper, of England's Bards, the wisest & the best.

1796.

I have read your climax of praises in those 3 reviews. These mighty
spouters-out of panegyric waters have, 2 of 'em, scattered their spray
even upon me! & the waters are cooling & refreshing. Prosaically, the
Monthly Reviewers have made indeed a large article of it, & done you