Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, VERSES SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY ALEXANDER SELKIRK, by WILLIAM COWPER


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

VERSES SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY ALEXANDER SELKIRK, by             Poem Explanation     Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: I am monarch of all I survey
Last Line: And reconciles man to his lot.
Variant Title(s): Verses By Alexander Selkirk;alexander Selkirk;the Solitude Of Alexander Selkirk
Subject(s): Explorers; Memory; Selkirk, Alexander (1676-1721); Solitude; Exploring; Discovery; Discoverers; Loneliness


I am monarch of all I survey,--
My right there is none to dispute;
From the centre all round to the sea,
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
O Solitude! where are the charms
That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms
Than reign in this horrible place.
I am out of humanity's reach;
I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the sweet music of speech,--
I start at the sound of my own.
The beasts that roam over the plain
My form with indifference see;
They are so unacquainted with man,
Their tameness is shocking to me.
Society, friendship, and love,
Divinely bestowed upon man!
O, had I the wings of a dove,
How soon would I taste you again!
My sorrows I then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth,--
Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheered by the sallies of youth.
Religion! what treasure untold
Resides in that heavenly word!--
More precious than silver and gold,
Or all that tiffs earth can afford;
But the sound of the church-going bell
These valleys and rocks never heard,
Never sighed at the sound of a knell,
Or smiled when a Sabbath appeared.
Ye winds that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore
Some cordial, endearing report
Of a land I shall visit no more!
My friends,--do they now and then send
A wish or a thought after me?
O, tell me I yet have a friend,
Though a friend I am never to see.
How fleet is a glance of the mind!
Compared with the speed of its flight,
The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-winged arrows of light.
When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I seem to be there;
In a moment I seem to be there;
But, alas! recollection at hand
Soon hurries me back to despair.
But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest,
The beast is laid down in his lair;
Even here is a season of rest.,
And I to my cabin repair.
There's mercy in every place,
And mercy--encouraging thought!--
Gives even affliction a grace,
And reconciles man to his lot.




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