ANGLO-SAXON COLLECTION THE BEQUEST OF Professor of English Literature m the Cornell University 18ZO-1911 Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013172634 THE TASK, TABLE TALK,. AND OTHER POEMS WILLIAM GOWPEE WITH CRITICAL OBSERVATIONS OF VARIOUS AUTHORS ON HIS GENIUS AND CHARACTER, AND NOTES, CRITICAL AND ILLUSTRATIVE, JAMES ROBERT BOYD, EDITOR OF THE FAKADISE LOST, THOMSON'S SEASONS, ETC., ■WITH NOTES. NEW YOEK: PUBLISHED BY A. S." BARNES & CO 51 JOHN-STKEET. CINCINNATI:— H. W. DERBY. 1854. Entered according to Act of Congress, In the year 1853, By A. S. BARNES & CO., Tti thp Clerk's Office of the District Court of the "United States for the Southern District of New York. PREFATORY REMARKS. In a correspondence with the Rev. Albert Barnes, of Philadelphia, some months since, in reference to what poem it would be desirable next to illustrate, he replies : " 1 think, by all means, The Task. A man who spreads that over the world is always doing good." Encouraged by this expression of opinion, as well as by the promptings of my own mind, and by the concur- rence pf my publishers, in reference to the undertaking, I have essayed to bring out an edition of Cowper, which, I hope, may serve the valuable purpose of rendering him a favorite with the young and with the general reader. While Cowper's verse is eminently perspicuous, pi'aeti- cal, and adapted to the popular mind, it cannot be de- nied'that the mass of readers will fail properly to under- stand or appreciate large portions of it, unless accompa- nied with explanatory and illustrative notes. To the Task, which is acknowledged by all as the best production of Cowper's vigorous mind, I have added a few of his other poems, that seem most worthy of a place beside it, and best entitled to be preserved as memorials of his surpassing genius. In making the selection, I have been guided by a desire to accommodate it, as far as practicable, to the taste of the young, as well as of the mature and cultivated reader ; and have embraced in it 4r PEEFATOBY EEMAEKS. as large a number of poems as can be properly illustrated in a single volume. The present edition has been prepared, not only for popular use, but for a place in seminaries of learning, under the strong conviction that a familiar and critical acquaintance with the best of the English poets should be made at school, and that there, under competent instruc- tion, in the reading of those poets, with the aid of ample notes, a decided taste should be formed for such invalua- ble productions of human genius, not only as a means of rational enjoyment in future years, but as means of a wider usefulness. The text of this edition has been carefully collated with that of Dr. Southey, and numerous errors found in some American editions have been corrected. It fur- nishes also, among the notes, those Parallel Passages in ■ueweVhich distinguished Southey's edition, and which will afford much pleasure to every reader of taste. An Index to the' Task, so very useful for reference, will be found at the end of the volume, derived from the same edition. Concerning these .Parallel Passages and the Index, Southey, in his preface, remarks : " An admirer of Cowper and a most attentive reader of his worksyhas sent me a copy of the Task, in the margin of which he has inserted such parallel passages as he supposed Cow- per, while composing the text, might have bad, wittingly or unwittingly, in mind. He accompanied it with a very useful index to that poem, thinking that, although the Task is one of the most popular long poems in our lan- guage, it is probably the one in which, from its discur- sive character, we find with most difficulty a half-remem- bered passage." Por " Table Talk" and " Conversation" also, I have in PBEFATOEY EEMAEE3. 5 like manner prepared an Index, and have divided all the larger poems (except " Table Talk," which did not so well admit of the division) into sections of convenient length, with heads announcing the most prominent sub- jects. This important peculiarity of the present edition will be found a great convenience, either for desultory perusal, or when used in schools. The Person and O/iaracter of Cowper are set forth, with uncommon accuracy and beauty, in the following Sketch, by the Rev. T. S. Grimshawe, editor of an ex- cellent London edition of Cowper ; while the Genius and Poetry of Cowper are exhibited with equal excellence in the appended dissertation of the Rev. J. ~W. Cunning- ham, Vicar of Harrow, England. To render the portrait of the man and of his genius more complete, additions have been made from the crit- ical observations of Thomas Campbell, the poet, Lord Jeffrey, and a discriminating writer in the North Ameri- can Review. The Notes of the present edition, will be found also to contain a large number of biographical incidents of the author, which, besides their intrinsic interest, serve the important purpose of casting light upon the text, so that the present volume may be regarded as containing a Biography of Cowper in the best form it could assume — that of illustrating most happily the noblest produc- tions of his mind and heart. To enjoy fully the exquisite poetry of such a writer, one must have at hand the entire literature related to each of the poems — must be familiar with the circum- stances under which it was written, with the scenery present to the mind of the author, the persons he alludes to, the learned or obsolete phrases or words employed, 6 PEEFATOET EEMAKKS. the ancient and now forgotten customs hinted at ; in one word, the reader, for the time, must be furnished, as far as practicable, with the mental perceptions and associa- tions and emotions of the author himself when engaged in the composition of each successive poem. To supply the common reader with such materials for the enjoy- ment, and for the profitable perusal, of these celebrated productions of Oowper, is the high aim of the present edition. Having now completed the labor of annotation and criticism upon the,most admired poems of Milton, Young, Thomson, and Cowper, and thus having furnished a se- ries, perhaps sufficiently extended, of the English Poets, illustrated and fitted for popular use and appreciation, I would simply express the hope that they may attain the important purpose for which they were designed, of again directing an earnest public attention to those valuable standard authors, and of greatly augmenting their influ- ence and usefulness, in an age when they are in danger of being wholly or nearly covered up by the overwhelm- ing abundance of a more fresh and exciting, but less profitable literature. J R. B. Geneva, N. Y. THE PERSON AM) CHARACTER OF COWPER. [Skstohkd by the Rev. T. S. Gbjmshawe, F. S. A, in a recent London EDITION OP CoWFEb's WoEKS.] Whenever men have acquired celebrity by those powers of genius with which Providence has seen fit to discriminate them, a curiosity prevails to learn all the minuter traits of person, habit, and real character. We wish to realize the portrait before our eyes, to see how far all the component parts are in harmony with each other ; or whether the elevation of mind which raises them beyond the general standard is perceptible in the occurrences of common life. The person and mind of Cowper seem to have been formed with equal kindness by nature : and it may be questioned if she ever bestowed on any man, with a fonder prodigality, all the requisites to conciliate affection and to inspire respect. He is said to have been handsome in his youth. His features strongly expressed the powers of his mind and all the sensibility of his heart ; and even in his declining years, time seemed to have spared much" of its ravages, though his mind was harassed by unceasing nervous excitement. He was of a middle stature, rather strong than delicate in the form of his limbs: the color of his hair was of a light brown, that of his eyes a bluish gray, and his complexion ruddy. In .his dress he was neat but not finical ; in his diet temperate, and not dainty. He had an air of pensive reserve in his deportment, and his extreme shyness sometimes produced in his manners an inde- 8 PERSON AND CHARACTER OF COWPER. scribable mixture of awkwardness and dignity ; but no person could be more truly graceful, when he was in perfect health, and perfectly pleased with his society. Towards women, in particular, his behavior and conversation were delicate and fas- cinating in the highest degree. There was a simplicity of manner and character in Cowper which always charms, and is often the attribute of real genius. He was singularly calculated to excite emotions of esteem and love by those qualities that win confidence and inspire sympathy. In friendship he was uniformly faithful ; and, if the events of life had not disappointed his fondest hopes, no man would have been more eminently adapted for the endearments of domestic life. His daily habits of study and exercise are so minutely and agreeably delineated in his Letters, that they present a perfect portrait of his domestic character. His voice conspired with his features to announce to all who saw and heard him the extreme sensibility of his heart ; and in reading aloud he furnished the chief delight of those social, en- chanting winter evenings, which he has described so happily in the Fourth Book of "The Task." Secluded from the world as he had long been, he yet retained in advanced life singular talents for conversation ; and his remarks were uniformly distinguished by mild and benevolent pleasantry, by a strain of delicate humor, varied by solid and serious good sense, and those united charms of a cultivated mind, which he has himself very happily described in drawing the character of a venerable friend ; "Grave without dulness, learned without pride, Exact, yet not precise ; though meek, keen-eyed ; Who, when occasion justified its use, Had wit as bright as ready to produce ; Could fetch from records of an earlier age, Or from philosophy's enlighteu'd page, His rich materials, and regale your ear With strains, it was a privilege to hear. PEBSOW AND CHARACTER OF COWPEB. V Vet, above all, his luxury supreme, And his chief glory, was the gospeLtbeme : Ambitious not to shine or to excel, But to treat justly what he loved so well." But the traits of his character are nowhere developed •with happier effect than in his own writings, and especially in his poems. From these we shall make a few extracts, and suffer him to draw the portrait for himself. His admiration of the works of Nature : " I never framed a wish, or form'd a plan That flatter'd me with hopes of earthly bliss, But there I laid the scene. There early etray'd My Fancy, ere yet liberty of choice Had found me, or the hope of being free. My very dreams were rural ; rural too The first-born efforts of my youthful muse ; Sportive and jingling her poetic bells Ere yet her ear was mistress of their powers. No bard could please me hut whose lyre was tuned To Nature's praises." Task, Bk. IV. " 'Tis born with all ; the love of Nature's works Is an ingredient in the compound man, Infused at the creation of his kind. ***** * * This obtains in all, That all discern a beauty in His works, And all can taste them," &c Bk. IV., 110-162. God seen and adored in the works of Nature : "Not a flower But shows some touch in freckle, streak, or stain, Of His unrivall'd pencil. He inspires 1* 10 PERSON AND OHAKAOTEB OF COWPBB. Their balmy odors, and imparts their hues, And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes, In grains as countless as the sea-side sands, The forms with which He sprinkles all the earth." Bk. "VL, 240-246. His fondness for retirement : " Since then, with few associates, in remote And silent woods I wander, far from those My former partners of the peopled scene ; "With few associates, and not wishing more. Here much I ruminate, as much I may, With other views of men and manners now Than once, and others of a life to come,'' &c Bk. Ill, m-iss. His love for his country : " England, with all thy faults I love thee still — My country ! and, while yet a nook is left, "Where English minds and manners may be found, Shall be constraint to love thee. Though thy clime Be fickle, and thy year most part deform'd With dripping rains, or wither'd by a frost, I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies, And fields without a flower, for warmer France With all her vines ; nor for Ausonia's groves Of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bowers." Bk. II. His humane and generous feelings : " I was born of woman, and drew milk As sweet as charity from human breasts. I think, articulate, I laugh and weep, And exercise all functions of a man. How then should I and any man that lives Be strangers to each other I" &c Bk. III., 196-210. PEKSON AMD CHABACTEB OB" COWPEB. 11 His lore of liberty : "0 Liberty! the prisoner's pleasing dream, ( The poet's muse, his passion, and his theme j Genius is thine, and thou art Fancy's nurse ; Lost without thee the ennobling powers of verso ; Heroic song from thy free touch acquires Its clearest tone, the rapture it inspires : Place me where Winter breathes his keenest air, And I will sing, if Liberty be there ; And I will sing at Liberty's dear feet, In Afric's torrid clime, or India's fiercest heat." Table Talk. " Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume; And we are weeds without it." Task, Bk. V. His depressive malady, and the source of its cure : " I was a stricken deer, that left the herd Long since ; with many an arrow deep infix'd My panting side was charged, when I withdrew To seek a tranquil death in distant shades. There was I found by One, who had himself Been hurt by the archers. In his side he bore, And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars. With gentle force soliciting the darts, He drew them forth, and heal'd, and bade me live." Bk. UL The employment of his time, and design of his life and writ* ings: " Me, therefore, studious of laborious ease, Not slothful, happy to deceive the time. Not waste it, and aware that human life Is but a loan to be repaid with use, When He shall call his debtors to account, 12 FEKS0N AND CHAEAOTEK OF COWPEK. From whom are all our VJessiDgs, business finds E'en here ; while sedulous I seek t' improve, At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd, The mind He gave me ; driving it, though slack Too oft, and much impeded in its work By causes not to be divulged in vain, To its just point — the service of mankind." Bk. Ill, 361-372. Here perhaps will be the most convenient and fitting place to insert a few observations from the pen of Lord Jeffrey, as more fully illustrating the personal character of the poet. The personal character of Cowper is easily estimated from the -writings he has left, and the anecdotes contained in this publication (Hayley's Life of Cowper). He seems to have been chiefly remarkable for a certain feminine gentleness and delicacy of nature, that shrank back from all that was boisterous, pre- sumptuous, or rude. His secluded life and awful impressions of religion," concurred in fixing upon his manners something of a saintly purity and decorum, and in cherishing that pensive and contemplative turn of mind by which he was so much dis- tinguished. His temper appears to have been yielding and be- nevolent ; and though sufficiently steady and confident in the opinions he had adopted, he was very little inclined, in general, to force them upon the conviction of others. The warmth of his religious zeal made an occasional exception ; but the habitual temper of his mind was toleration and indulgence ; and it would be difficult, perhaps, to name a 'satirical and popular author so entirely free from jealousy and fastidiousness, or so much dis- posed to make the most liberal and impartial estimate of the merit of others, in literature, in politics, and in the virtues and accomplishments of social life. No angry or uneasy passions, PEKS0N AND CHARACTER Off COWPEE. 13 indeed, seem at any time to have found a place in his bosom ; and, being incapable of malevolence himself, he probably passed through life without having Once excited that feeling in the breast of another. Mr. Grimshawe's sketch, will now be resumed; in which he proceeds to say that, the office of doing justice to the poetical genius of Cowper having been assigned to an individual so well qualified to execute it with taste and ability (the Kev. John Cunningham, whose disser- tation follows this article), all that now seems necessary, is simply to illustrate the beauties of Gowper's poetry in the same manner as we have exhibited his personal character. We shall present a hrief series of poetical portraits. The following portrait of Lord Chatham is drawn with great force and spirit : " In him Demosthenes was heard again ; And Freedom taught him her Athenian strain : She clothed him with authority and awe, Spoke from his lips, and in his looks gave law. His speech, his form, his action, full of grace, And all his country beaming in his face, He stood, as some inimitable hand "Would strive to make a Paul or Tally stand. Mb sycophant or slave, that dared oppose Her sacred cause, but trembled when he rose ; And every venal stickler for the yoke Felt himself crush'd at the first word he spoke." Tabk Tali;. 14: PERSON AND CHABACTEB OS COWFEE. Sir Joshua Reynolds : "There touch'd by Reynolds, a dull blank becomes A lucid mirror, in 'which Ifature sees All her reflected features." Bacon the sculptor : " Bacon there Gives more than female beauty to a stone, And Chatham's eloquence to marble lips." * The Martyrs of the Reformation : " Their blood is shed In confirmation of the noblest claim, Our claim to feed upon immortal truth, To walk with God, to be divinely free, To soar, and to anticipate the skies. Yet few remember them. They lived unknown Till persecution dragg'd them into fame, And chased them up to heaven. Their ashes flew — No marble tells us whither. With their names No bard embalms and sanctifies his song : And history, so warm on meaner themes, Is cold on this. She execrates indeed The tyranny that doom'd them to the fire, But gives the glorious sufferers little praise." Task, Bk. V. Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress : " O thou, whom, borne on Fancy's eager wing Back to the season of life's happy spring, I pleased remember, and, while mem'ry yet Holds fast her office here, can ne'er forget ; Ingenious dreamer, in whose well-told tale Sweet fiction and sweet truth alike prevail ; Whose humorous vein, strong sense, and simple style, May teach the gayest, make the gravest smile ; * Alluding to the monument to Lord Chatham, in Westminster Abbey. PEESON AND OHABAOTEB 05" COWPKB. 15 Witty and well-employ'd, and, like thy Lord, Speaking in parables his slighted word : I name thee not, lest so despised a name Should move a sneer at thy deserved fame : Tet e'en in transitory life's late day, That mingles all my brown with sober gray, Revere the man, whose Pilgrim marks the road, And guides the Progress of the soul to God." Tirocinium. Brown, the rural designer, who, in Cowper's time, was greatly celebrated for his skill in laying out grounds for the nobility and gentry. For a beautiful sketch of him refer to " The Task," Book III., 765-783. London : The sketch will be found in " The Task," Book III., 835-848. Book I., 697-724. We add a few short passages : " Not to understand a treasurer's worth Till time has stolen away the slighted good, Is cause of half the poverty we feel, And makes the world the wilderness it is." " Not a year but pilfers as he goes Some youthful grace, that age would gladly keep." With these acknowledged claims to popular favor, it is pleas- ing to reflect on the singular moderation of Cowper amidst the snares of literary fame. His motives seem to have been pure and simple, and his main design to elevate the character of the age, and to glorify God. But it is not merely the poetic claims of Cowper which have earned for him so just a title to public gratitude and praise. It would be unjust not to bestow particular notice on a talent, in which he singularly excelled — the talent of writing letters. 16 PERSON AND OHAEACTEB OP COWPEK. The Letters of Cowper are not distinguished by any remarkable superiority of thought or diction : it is rather the easy and grace- ful flow of sentiment and feeling, his enthusiastic love of nature, his touching representations of common and domestic life, and above all, the ingenuous disclosure of the recesses of his own heart, that constitute their charm and excellence. They form a hind of biographical sketch, drawn by his own hand. His poetry proclaims the author; his correspondence depicts the man. We see him in his walks, in the privacy of his study, in his daily occupations, amid the endearments of home, and with all the qualities that inspire friendship, and awaken confidence and love. We learn what he thought, what he said, his views of men and manners, his personal habits and -history. His ideas usually flow without meditation. All is natural and easy. There is no display, no evidence of conscious superiority, no conceal- ment of his real sentiments. He writes as he feels and thinks, and with such an air of truth and frankness, that he seems to stamp upon the letter the image of his mind, with the same fidelity of resemblance that the canvas represents his external form and features. We see in them the sterling good sense of a man, the playfulness and simplicity of a child, the winning softness and delicacy of a woman's feelings. He can write upon any subject, or write without one. He can embellish what is real by the graces of his imagination, or invest what is imagin- ary with the semblance of reality. He can smile or he can weep ; philosophize or trifle ; descant with fervor on the loveli- ness of nature, talk about his tame hares, or cast the overflow- ings of an affectionate heart at the shrine of friendship. His correspondence is a wreath of many flowers. His letters will always be read with delight and interest, and by many, perhaps, will be considered to be the rivals of his poems. They are justly entitled to the eulogium which we know to have been pronounced upon them by Charles James Fox, — that of being " the best specimens of epistolary excellence in the English Ian- PEESON AND CHABACTEE OF COWPEE. IT The great end and aim which he proposed to himself as an. author has already been illustrated from his writings : we add one more passage to show the sanctity of his character : " Since the dear hour that brought me to thy foot, And cut up all my follies by the root, I never trusted to an arm but thine, Nor hoped but in thy righteousness divine. My prayers and alms, imperfect and defiled, Were but the feeble efforts of a child ; Howe'er perform'd, it was their brightest part That they proceeded from a grateful heart. Cleansed in thine own all-purifying blood, Forgive their evil, and accept their good. I cast them at thy feet— my only plea Is what it was — dependence upon thee : While struggling in the vale of tears below, That never fail'd, nor shall it fail me now.'* Truth. "We confess that we are edified ■ hy this simple, yet sublime piety. It was from this source that Cowper drew the materials that have given to his writings the character of so elevated a mo- rality, Too seldom, alas ! have poets consecrated their powers to the cause of divine truth. In modern times, especially, we have witnessed a voluptuous imagery mid_ appeal^ to_the j>assions, in some highly-gifted^ writersj whjch_Jiaxfi-.-Contri]MJted to under- mine public morality^and to tarnish the purity of j&jnale minds. But it is the honorable distinction of Cowper 's poetry, that noth- ing is to be found to excite ajilu^gnjkejcheek^ modesty, nor a single line that requires to be blotted. He has done much to introduce a purer and more exalted taste ; he is the poet of na- ture, the poet of tha heart and conscience, and, what is a still higher praise, the poet of Christianity. He mingled the waters of Helicon with the hallowed streams of Siloam ; and planted the ■ Cross amid the bowers of the Muses. That religion cannot only supply the noblest theme, but also communicate a corresponding sublimity of thought and language, 18 PEKSON AlSfD CHARACTER OF COWPER. ■will appear on reading the glowing and poetical description of the Millennial Period, commencing with — " Sweet is the harp of prophecy." Task, Bk. VI, 747-817. . By this strain of poetry, so adapted to the 'spirit of the pres- ent age, Cowper is rapidly accomplishing a revolution in the public taste, and creating a new race of readers. He is purify- ing the literary atmosphere from its noxious vapors. He has taught us that literary celebrity, acquired at the cost of public morals, is but an inglorious triumph, and merits no better title than that of splendid infamy. His page has fully proved that the varied field of nature, the scenes of domestic life, and the rich domains of moral and religious truth, are sufficiently ample for the exercise of poetic taste and fancy ; while they never fail to tranquillize the mind, to invigorate the principles, and to en- large the bounds of virtuous pleasure. Though the singular and mysterious malady of Cowper has been the occasion of repeated remark, we cannot dismiss the sub- ject without a few reflections. In recording the lot of genius, Milton, it is known, was blind, Pope was afflicted with sickness, and Tasso, Swift, and Collins, were exposed to the aberrations of reason. " Moralists," says Dr. Johnson, " talk of the uncertainty of fortune, and of the transitoriness of beauty ; but it is yet more dreadful to consider that the powers of the mind are equally liable to change — that understanding may make its appearance and depart, that it may blaze and expire." It seems as if the mind were too ethereal to be confined within the bounds of its earthly prison, or that the too frequent and intense exercise of thought disturbs the digest- ive organs, and lays the foundation of hypochondriacal feelings, which cloud the serenity of the soul. Let those to whom Providence has assigned a humbler path, learn the duty of contentment, and be thankful that if they are denied the honors attendant on rank and genius, they are at least exempted from its trials. For where there are heights, PERSON AOT> CHABACTEE OF COWPEE. 19 there are depths ; and he who occupies the summit is often seen descending into the valley of humiliation. That a similar morbid temperament may be traced in the case of Cowper is indisputable ; nor can a more conclusive evidence be adduced than the words of his own memoir • " I was struck, not long after my settlement in the Temple (as a student at law), with such a dejection of spirits, as none but they who have felt the same can have the least conception of. Day and night I was upon the rack, lying down in horror, and rising up in de- spair." In his subsequent attack, religion became an adjunct, not a cause ; for he describes himself at that period as having lived without religion. The impression under which he labored was therefore manifestly not suggested by a theological creed, but was the delusion of a distempered fancy. Every other view is founded on misconception, and must inevitably tend to mislead the public. The fruitful source of all this misery was the indulgence of an over-excited state of feeling. His mind was never quiescent. Occurrences, which an ordinary degree of self-possession would have "met with calmness, or passive indifference, were to him the subject of mental agony and distress. His imagination gave magnitude to trifles, till what was at first ideal at length as- sumed the character of a terrible reality. He was always anti- cipating evil ; and so powerful is the influence of fancy, that what we dread we seldom fail to realize. Thus Swift lived in the constant fear of mental imbecility, and at length incurred the calamity. We scarcely know a spectacle more pitiable, and yet more reprehensible. For what is the use of reason, if we reject its dictates ? or the promise of the Spirit to help our in- firmities, if we nevertheless yield to their sway ? How import- ant in the education of youth to repress the first symptoms of nervous irritability, to invigorate the principles, and to train the mind to habits of self-discipline, and firm reliance upon God ! The far greater proportion of human trials originate not in the appointment of Providence, but may be traced to the want of a 20 PERSON AND CHARACTER OE COWFER. well-ordered and duly-regulated mind ; to the ascendency of passion, and to the absence of mental and moral energy. It is possible to indulge in a state of mind that shall rob every bless- ing of half its enjoyment, and give to every trial a double por- tion -of bitterness. We turn with delight to a more edifying feature in his char- acter — his submission, under this dark dispensation, and to that wise Providence which overruled for good his distressing malady. The severest trials are not without their alleviation, nor the ac- companiment of some gracious purpose. Had it not been for Cowper's malady, the world might never have been presented with the Task, nor the Church of Christ with the Olney Hymns. He was constrained to write in order to divert his melancholy. " Despair," he observes, " made amusement necessary, and I found poetry the most agreeable amusement." "In such a sit- uation of mind, encompassed by the midnight of absolute de- spair, and a thousand times filled with unspeakable horror, I first commenced an author. Distress drove me to it ; and the impossibility of subsisting without some employment still rec- ommends it." Independently of the interest created by the events of Cow- per's life, there is something singularly inqjressive in tlie mecJtan- ism of his mind. It presents the most wonderful combinations of the grave and the gay, the social and the retired ; ministering to the spiritual joy of others, yet enveloped in the gloom of dark- ness ; enchained with fetters, yet vigorous and free ; soaring to the heights of Zion, yet precipitated to the depths below. It re- sembled a beautiful landscape, overshadowed by a dark and impending cloud. But it is worthy of observation, that for up- wards of twenty years — during this period of his life — his mind never suffered a total alienation. It was a partial eclipse ; not night, nor yet day. He lived long enough, both for himself and others ; sufficient to discharge all the claims of an affectionate friendship, and to raise to himself an imperishable name on the noble foundation of moral virtue. THE GENIUS AND POETRY OF COWPER. The following judicious observations are selected from a Dissertation by the Bev. J. W. Cumotgham, Vicar of Harrow, England. It has the greater value from the fact that the writer took pains to acquaint himself with the observations of different reviewers, scattered over a large number of volumes, and has endeavored (and not without remarkable success) to collect those criticisms into a focus, and thus present them within a moderate compass to the reader. -He declares himself not ashamed to profit from the labor and genius of his predecessors in the same course, and to let them say for him what he could not say so well for himself. It is impossible not to be struck with certain peculiarities in the , history of Cowper, as connected with his poetical produc- tions. Although " born a poet, if ever there was one" — think- ing and feeling upon all occasions as none but a poet could, expressing himself in verse with almost incredible facility, it does not appear that Cowper, between the ages of fourteen and thirty-three produced any thing beyond the most trifling speci- mens of his art. A few light and agreeable poems, two hymns written at Huntingdon, with about sixty others composed at Olney, are almost the only known poetical productions of his 22 THE GENIUS AND POETRY OF COWPEK. pen between the years 1749 and 1782, at which last period lie committed his volumes of poems in rhyme to the press. There are examples in the physical world of mountains re- posing in coldness and quietness for ages, and, at length, with- out any apparent new stimulus, awaking from then - slumber and deluging the surrounding vineyards with streams of fire. But it is, we believe, an unheard-of poetical phenomenon, for a mind teeming with such tendencies and capabilities as that of Cowper, to sleep through so long a period, and, at length, suddenly to awake, when illness and age might seem to have laid their pal- sying hand upon its energies, and at once to erect itself into poetical life and supremacy. But if the tardy development of the powers of our author was one peculiarity in his case, the suddenness and completeness of the development was, under his circumstances, a still greater subject of surprise. While there were certain peculiarities in the case of Cowper which were cal- culated to destroy all reasonable expectations of such poems as he has given to the public, we are not sure that these very pe- culiarities have not assisted to supply his poetry with some of its characteristic and most valuable features. Among the quali- ties, for example, by which his compositions are distinguished, _ are those of strong sense — moderation on all subjects most apt to throw the mind off its balance — maturity in thought, reason- ing, and imagination — fulness without inflation — the "strength of the oak without its nodosities" — the "inspiration of the Sibyl without her contortions" — the most profound and exten- sive views of human nature. But perhaps every one of these qualities is oftener the growth of age than of youth ; and is rath- er the tardy fruit of patient experience than the sudden shoot of untrained and undisciplined genius. In like manner, the poetry of Cowper is characterized by the most touching tenderness, by the deepest sympathy with the sufferings of others, by a penetrating insight into the dark re- cesses of a tempted and troubled heart. But where are qualities such as these so likely to be cultivated as in the shady places of THE GENIUS AMD POETET OF COWPEH. 23 a suffering mind, and in the school of that stern mistress who teaches us "from our own to melt at others' woe," and to ad- minister to others the medicines which have healed ourselves ? In proceeding to consider some of the claims of Cowper to the character of a poet, we would first direct attention to the consti- tution of his mind. Almost all critics have regarded an ardent love of nature as a sine qua non in the constitution of a poet. And nature, surely, never had a more enthusiastic admirer than the author of the Task. How feelingly does he write on this subject ! " I have loved the rural walk through lanes Of grassy swarth, close-cropp'd by nibbling sheep, And skirted thick with intertexture firm Of thorny boughs ; have Wed the rural walk O'er bills, through valleys, and by river's brink, E'er since, a truant boy, I pass'd my bounds, To enjoy a ramble on the banks of Thames." v Although unacquainted with nature in her suhlimest aspect, every point in creation appears to have a charm for him. Poetry being essentially an imitative art, he who is no lover of nature loses all the finest subjects of imitation. On the contrary, this attachment, especially if he be of an ardent character, supplies subjects to the Muse everywhere. Winter or summer, the wil- derness and the garden, the cedar of Libanus and the hyssop on the wall ; all that is dull and ineloquent to another has a voice for him, and rouses him to think, to fee], to admire, and to speak. " Oh, I could spend whole days and nights (writes Cow- per to Mrl Newton) in feeding upon a lovely prospect ! My eyes drink the rivers as they flow. If every human being on earth could think for one quarter of an hour as I have done for many years, there might perhaps be many miserable men among them, but not an unawakened one could be found from the arctic to the antartic circle." Another poetical quality in the mind of Cowper is his ardent YA THE GENIUS AND FOETKY OF COWPEK. love of his species — a love which led him to contemplate, with the most solicitous regard, their wants, tastes, passions ; their diseases, and the appropriate remedies for them. It has been justly observed, that, if there are some that have little taste for the poetry which delineates only inanimate beings or objects, there is hardly any one who does not listen with sympathy and delight to that which exhibits the fortunes and feelings of man. The truth is, we suppose, that this last order of topics is most easily brought home to our business and bosoms. Aristotle con- siders that the imitation or delineation of human actions is one of the main objects of poetry. But if this be true, if " the proper study of mankind is man," and one of the highest offices of poetry be to exhibit, as upon the stage, the fortunes and pas- sions of his fellow-beings — few have attained such eminence in his art as Cowper. His hymns are the close transcripts of his own soul. His rhymed poems are for the most part exhibitions of man in all his attitudes of thought and action. In the " Task" he passes every moment from the contemplation 6f nature to that of the being who inhabits this fair though fallen world. He lashes the vices, laughs at the follies, mourns over the guilt of his species : he spares no pains to conduct the guilty to the feet of their only true Friend, and to land the miserable amidst the green pastures and still waters of heavenly consolation. Another property in the mind of Cowper, which has given birth to some of the noblest passages in his poems, is his in- tense love of freedom. The political state of England was scarce- ly ever more degraded than at the period when he began to write ; and every real patriot who could wield the pen, or lift the voice in the cause of legitimate and regulated freedom, had plenty to do at home. At the same period also the profligacy and tyranny of the privileged orders in France, and other of the old European dynasties, were such as to provoke the indignation of every lover of liberty. And lastly, at this time, that horrible traffic in human flesh, that capital crime, disgrace, and curse of the human species, the Slave Trade, prevailed in all its horrors. THE GENIUS AND POETRY OF COWPEE. 25 How splendid are many of the passages scattered so prodigally through his poems, in which the author rebukes the crimes of despotism and cruelty at home or abroad, and claims for man- kind the high privileges with which God, by an everlasting charter, had endowed them. But, after all, perhaps, the peculiarity in the mind of Cowper, which gives the chief charm to his poetry, is the depth and ar- dor of his piety. It is impossible not to be aware of the severance which crit- ics have labored to effect between religion and poetry — between the character of the prophet and of the poet ; and that John- son's decision is thought by some to be final on the subject. Cowper himself admits that the connection has been rare be- tween the two characters — as witness the following lines (see Table Talk, lines 716-726, 734-739). " Pity religion has so seldom found A skilful guide into poetic ground 1" etc. The theory which endeavors to secure a perpetual divorce be- tween religion and poetry has not the authority of the great critics of antiquity — Longinus and Quinctilian, nor is it founded on just views of the constitution of our nature. Lighter themes can be expected to awaken only light and transient feeh'ngs in the bosom. The profounder topics of religion sink deeper ; touch all the hidden springs of thought and action ; and awaken emotions which have all the force and permanence of the great principles and interests in which they originate. No assertion has less warrant than that taste suffers by its alliance with religion. The proper objects of taste are beauty and sublimity ; and if (as a modern critic seems to us to have incontrovertibly established) beauty and sublimity do not reside in the mere -forms and colors of the objects we contemplate, but in the associations which they suggest to the mind, it cannot be questioned that the associations suggested to a man of piety ex- ceed both in beauty and sublimity those of every other class. 2 26 THE GENIUS AND POBTET OF COWPEE. God, as a Father, is the most lovely of all objects : God, as-an avenger, is the most terrible; and it is to the religious man ex- clusively, that this at once most tender and most terrible Being is, disclosed, in all the beauty and majesty of holiness, by every object which he contemplates. The same sentiment is expressed by Cowper : " His are the mountains, and the valleys his, And the resplendent rivers. His to enjoy With a propriety that none can feel But who, with filial confidence inspired, Can lift to heaven an unpresumptuous eye, And smiling say, ' My Father made them all !' " It is striking to what extent the greatest poets of all ages and countries have called in religion, under some form or other, to their assistance. This may be affirmed not only of Homer in the Iliad and Odyssey, and of Virgil in the Georgics and" ^Eneid, but of the most distinguished English poets — of " the sage and serious Spenser," and of the immortal author of "Paradise Lost" himself. Nor can we hesitate to trace the deep interest continually excited by the poetry of Cowper, in great measure, to the same source. Though often careless in the structure of his verse ; though sometimes lame and prosaic in his manner ; though frequently employed about unpopular topics; he is per- haps the most popular, with the exception of one, of all the English poets ; and we believe that the main source of his gen- eral acceptance is the fact that he never fails to introduce the Creator into the scenes of his own universe ; that, by the soar- ings of his own mind, he lifts us from earth to heaven, and " makes us familiar with a world unseen ;" that he draws large- ly from the mine of Scripture, and thus exhibits the majesty and love of the Divine Being, in words and imagery, which the great object of his wonder and love himself provides. / Indeed, few have been disposed to deny to Cowper the high- est of all poetical titles — that of The Poet of Christianity. In THE GENIUS AND POETKY OF COWPEE. 27 this field he has but one rigil, the author of the "Paradise Lost." And, happily, the provinces which they have chosen for themselves within the sacred inclosure are, for the most part, so distinct, that it is scarcely necessary to bring them into com- parison. The distinguishing qualities of Milton are a surpassing elevation of thought and energy of expression, which leave the mind scarcely able to breathe under the pressure of his majesty, courage, and sublimity. " Oowper," says Mr. James Montgom-- ery, " rarely equals Milton in sublimity, to which his subjects but seldom led; he excels him in easy expression, delicate pleas- antry, and generous satire ; and he resembles him in the tem- perate use of all his transcendent abilities. He never crushes his subject by falling upon it, nor permits his subject to crush him by falling beneath it. Invested with a sovereign command of diction, and enjoying unlimited freedom of thought, he is never prodigal of words, and he never riots amid the exuberance of his conceptions : his economy displays his wealth, and his moderation is the proof of his power : his richest phrases seem the most obvious expression of his ideas, and his mightiest exertions are made apparently without toil. This is one of the grandest char- acteristics of Milton. It would be difficult to name a third Eng- lish poet who could claim a similar distinction." " Milton and Cowper alone," adds the same critic, " appear always to walk within the limits of their genius, yet up to the height of their great argument. We are not pretending to ex- alt them above all other British poets ; we have only compared them together on one point wherein they accord with each other and differ from the rest. But there is one feature of resemblance between them of a nobler kind. These good and faithful ser- vants, who had received ten talents each, neither buried them in the earth nor expended them for their own glory, nor lavished them in profligacy, but occupied them for their Master's service ; and we trust have both entered into his 'joyJ Their unfading labors have disproved the idle and impious position, which vain philosophy has endeavored to establish, — that religion 28 THE GENIUS AND POETRT OF OOWPEK. can neither be adorned by poetry, nor poetry ennobled by Te- ligion." Having thus noticed some of those grand peculiarities in the mind of Cowper which appear to have mainly contributed to place him among the highest order of poets, we proceed to point out some subordinate qualifications, without which those already referred to would have failed to raise him to his present ele- vation. In the first place, then, he was one of the most simple and natural of all writers. With the exception of the sacred vol- ume, it would perhaps be impossible-to name any compositions with so large a proportion of simple ideas and Saxon monosyl- lables. He began to be an author whenPope, with his admira- ble critic Jplmsonjjiad^ established a _taste for all that was most ornate, pompous, and_ complicated .Jnjihraseplogy. But, with aue respect for the genius and power of this class of writers, he may be said to have hewn out to himself a new path to glory. It has been justly said by an accomplished, modern critic and poet (Montgomery), that, " between -the school of Dry den and Pope, with their few remembered successors, not one of whom ranks now above a fourth-rate poet ; for Young, Thomson, Gold- smith, Gray, and Collins, though flourishing in the interval, were not of their school, but all, in their respective ways, originals ; — between the school of Dryden, and Pope, and our undisciplined, independent contemporaries, Cowper stands as having closed the age of the former illustrious masters, and commenced that of the eccentric leaders of the modern fashions in song. We cannot stop to trace the affinity which he bears to either of these gen- erations, so dissimilar from each other ; but it would be easy to show how little he owed to his immediate forerunners, and how much his immediate, followers have been indebted to him. All the cant phrases, all the technicalities of the former school he utterly threw away, and by his rejection of them they became obsolete. He boldly adopted cadences of verse unattempted before, which; though frequently uncouth, and sontetimes scarcely THE GENIUS AND POETKY OF COWPEK. 29 reducible to rhythm, were jiot seldom ingeniously significant, and signally energetic. He feared not to employ colloquial, philo- sophical, judicial idioms, and forms of argument, and illustra- tions, which enlarged the vocabulary of poetical terms, less by recurring to obsolete ones (which has been too prodigally done since), than by hazardous, and generally happy innovations of more recent origin, which have become graceful and dignified by usage, though Pope and his imitators durst not have touched them. The eminent adventurous revivers of English poetry about thirty years ago, Southey, Wordsworth, and Coleridge, in their blank verse, trod directly in the steps of Oowper, and, in their early productions at least, were each, in a measure, what he made them. Our author may legitimately be styled the fa- ther of this triumvirate, who are, in truth, the living fathers of the innumerable race of moderns,, whom no human ingenuity could well classify into their respective schools." The simplicity of Oowper, as a thinker, examiner, and writer, is unquestionably one of his greatest charms. In all that he says and does, there is a total absence of all plot and stratagem, of all pretensions to think profoundly or write finely ; though, without an effort, he does both. His manner is to invite you to walk abroad with him amidst the glories of nature ; to fix at random on some point in the landscape ; to display its beauties or its peculiarities— to touch on some feature which has perhaps alto- gether escaped your own eye — to pour out the simplest thoughts in the simplest language — and to make you feel that never man before had so sweet, so moral, so devout, so affectionate, so gift- ed, so musical a companion. The simplicity of his style is, con- sidering its strength, without a parallel. No author perhaps has done more to recover the language of Britain from the tyranny of a foreign idiom, and to teach English people to speak in Eng- lish accents. In some instances, it may be granted, that he is somewhat more colloquial and homely than the dignity of his subject warrants ; but for offences of this kind he makes the amplest compensation, by leading us to those " wells of unde- 30 THE GENIUS AKD POETBY 01? OOWPEE'. filed English," at which he had drunk so deeply, and whence alone the pure streams of English composition are to be drawn. It is next to be noticed, that the style of Cowper is as nervous, as it is dear and unpretending. It is impossible to compare the works of Addison, and others of the simple class of writers, with Johnson and those of his class, without feeling that what they gain in simplicity they often lose in strength and power. But the language of Cowper is often to the full as vigorous and mas- culine as that of Shakspeare. Bring a tyrant or a slave-driver before him for judgment; and the axe of the one and the scourge- of the other are not keener weapons than the words of the poet. In the next place, it will not be questioned by any reader of his Letters that Cowper was a wit of the very highest order — and this quality is by no means confined to his prose, but enters largely into every thing that he writes. No author surprises us more frequently with rapid turns and unexpected coincidences. The mock sublime is one of his favorite implements ; and he employs it with almost unrivalled success. There is also a deli- cacy of touch in his witticisms which is more easily felt than de- scribed ; and his wit has this noble singularity, that it is never derived from wrong sources, or directed to wrong ends. It never wounds a feeling heart, or deepens the blush upon a modest cheek. Other wits are apt to dip< their vessels in any stream which pre- sents itself : Cowper draws only from the purest fountains. It has been said of Sterne that he hides his pearls in a ditch, and forces his readers to dive for them ; but the witticisms of Cow- per are as well calculated to instruct as to delight. This last topic is intimately connected with another — the as- tonishing fertility of his imagination. It was observed by the late Sir James Mackintosh, of the friend and ornament of his species, William Wilberforce, that "he was perhaps the finest of all orators of his own particular order ; that the wealth of his imagination was such, that no idea seemed to present itself to his mind without its accompanying image or ghost, which he could THE GENIUS AND POETKY OF COWPEB. 31 produce at his pleasure, and which it was a matter of self-denial if he did not produce." And the latter part of this criticism might seem to be made for Cowper. His mind appears never to wait for an image, but to be overrun by them.- In argument or description — in hurling the thunders of rebuke, or whispering the messages 6f mercy — he does but wave his wand, and a host of spiritual essences descend to darken or brighten the scenes at his bidding ; to supply new weapons of rebuke, or new visionsof love and joy. Some of his personifications are among the finest in any language. What, for example, has more of the genuine spirit of poetry than the personification of Famine in the follow- ing lines ? — " He calls for Famine and the meager fiend Blows mildew from between his lips And taints the golden ear." What, again, is superior in this way to his address to Win- ter?— " Winter 1 ruler of the inverted year 1 Thy scatter' d hair with sleet-lite ashes fill'd,. Thy breath congeal'd upon thy lips, thy cheeia Fringed with a beard made white with other snows Than those of age, thy forehead wrapp'd in clouds, A lifeless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne A sliding car, indebted to no wheels, But urged by storms along its slippery way." But the examples of this species of personification are without number ; and we are not afraid to bring many of them into com- parison with the Discord of Homer, the Fame of Virgil, or the Famine of Ovid — passages of so powerful a cast as at once, and without any assistance, to establish the poetical authority of their inventors. It may seem strange to some that we should assign a place among the poetical claims of Cowper to his strong sense. He appears to us to be one of the most just, natural, and rational of all writers ; and, however poetry may seem to appropriate to 32 THE GENIUS AND POETET OF OOWPEE. herself rather the remote and visionary regions of fiction than that of dull reality, we are disposed to think that, even in her wildest wanderings, she will maintain no real or permanent as- cendency over the mind if she widely deviates from nature and good sense. " Monstrous sights," says Beattie, and he might have added, monstrous conceptions, " please but for a moment, if they please at all ; for they derive their charm merely from the beholder's amazement To say of any thing that it is * contrary to nature,' denotes censure and disgust on the part of the speaker ; as the epithet ' natural' intimates an agreeable quality, and seems, for the most part, to imply that a thing is as it ought to be, suitable to our own taste, and congenial to our own disposition Think how we should relish a painting in which there was no regard to colors, proportions, or any of the physical laws of nature ; where the eyes and ears of animals were placed in their shoulders, where the sky was green, and the grass crimson." Such distortions and anomalies would not be less offensive in poetry than in the sister art. And it is one of the main sources of delight in Cowper that all is in its due pro- portion, and wears its right colors ; -that the " eyes and ears" are in "their proper places ;" that his skies are blue, and his grass is green ; and'that every reflection of the poet has, what he him- self calls, the " stamp and clear impression of good sense." The very passage in the Sixth Book of "The Task," from which this line is taken, and which furnishes, perhaps, the most perfect delineation of a true Christian, supplies, at the same time, an admirable example of the quality we mean ; and shows that even where his feelings were the most intensely interested, his passions were under the control of his reason; that, when he mounted "the chariot of the sun, he took care not to approach too near the flaming luminary. It would be impossible, in a sketch such as this, not to advert to the powers of the author as a satirist. And here, we think, the most partial critic will be scarcely disposed to deny that he sometimes handles his knife a little at random, and with too THE GENIUS AND POETRY OF COWPEB. 33 much severity. He had early in life been intimate with Church- ill ; and with scarcely a touch of the temper of that right Eng- lish poet, had plainly caught something of his manner. There is this wide distinction between him and his master — that his - irony and rebuke are never the weapons of party or personality, but of truth, honor, and-the public good. The strong, though homely image, applied by Churchill to another critic, — " Like a butcher, doomed for life In his mouth to wear his knife," — is too just a picture of its author, but is infinitely far from being that of Cowper. It was well said of his satire, that " it was the offspring of benevolence ; and that, like the Pelian spear, it fur- nishes the only cure for the wound it inflicts. When he is obliged to blame, he pities : when he condemns, it is with regret. His censures display no triumphant superiority, but rather ex- press a turn of feeling such as we might suppose angels to indulge in at the prospect of human frailty." But, if his satirical powers Were sometimes indulged to excess, it is impossible to deny that he was, generally and habitually, of all poets the most sympathizing amd tender. Nothing in human composition can surpass the tenderness of the poem on receiving his mother's picture (inserted at the end of this volume), or of those exquisite lines addressed to a Protestant lady in France suffering under deep calamity. The hymns -are almost uniformly of the same character. Drawn from the .deep recesses of a broken heart, they find a short and certain way to the bosom of others. And this leads to the notice of another peculiarity of his writings. It is said to have been a favorite maxim of Lord Byron, "that every writer is interesting to others' in proportion as he is able and willing to seize and to display to them the hid- den workings of his own soul." The noble critic is himself a strong exemplification of the truth of his own rule. Wot merely >his heroes and his heroines, but his rocks, mountains, and rivers, 2* 34 THE GENIUS AHD POETEY OF COWPEE. are a sort oi fiua-^imile of himself. The blue lake reposing among the mountains is the bard in a state of repose. The thunder leaping from rock to rock is the same mind under the strong ex- citement of passion. But, perhaps, of all writers Cowper is the most habitually what may be termed an experimentalist in poetry. He sought in " the man -within," the secret machinery by which to touch and to control the world without. He felt deeply, and caught the /feeling as it rose, and transferred it warm from the heart to his own paper. Hence one great attraction of his writings. The sensations of other men are to a great degree our own ; and the poetical exhibition of these sensations is the pre- senting to us a sort of illuminated mirror in which we see our- selves, and are, according to the view, moved to sorrow or to joy. • Preachers as well as poets will do well to remember this law of our nature, and will endeavor to analyze and to delineate their own feelings if they mean to reach those of others. Unhappily, • the noble author of this canon in philosophy and literature had no very profitable picture of this kind to display to his fellow- men. He has taught, however, no unimportant lesson to his species, if he has instructed us in the utter wretchedness of those who, gifted with the noblest»powers, refuse to consecrate them to the glorious Giver. But, however unprofitable his own appli- cation of the rule, the rule itself is valuable ; and, in the case of ■ Gowper, we have the application of it, both on the largest scale and to the best possible purpose. It has been the habit with many to assign to Cowper only a second or third place in the scale of poets, on the ground that he is, according to their estimate, altogether " incapable of the true sublime." Now, it must be admitted that, if the only true sublimity in writing be to write like Milton, Cowper cannot be ranked in the same class as a poet. Of Milton it may be said, •in the words of a poet as great as himself — " He doth bestride the world Like a Colossus ; and we petty men Walk under his huge legs." THE GEtrrtJS AND POBTEY OF COWPEE. 35 Nothing can be more astonishing than the composure and dig- nity with which, like his own Satan, he climbs the "empyreal height" — sails between world and world — and moves among thrones and principalities as if in his natural element. " The genius of Cowper," as it has been justly said, " did not lead him to emulate the songs of the seraphim;'' but, though in -one re- spect he moves in a lower region than his great master, in what may be termed the " moral sublime," he is by no means inferior to him. Scarcely any poetry awakens in the mind more of those deep emotions of " pity and terror," which the great critic of antiquity describes as the main sources of the sublime ; and by which poetry is said to " purge the mind of her votaries." In this view of the sublime we know of few passages which surpass the description of " liberty of soul," in the conclusion of the Fifth Book of the Task, 883-908. It is superfluous to enter upon a detailed proof that Cowper's poems in rhyme, though occasionally brightened by passages of extraordinary msrit, are often prosaic in their character, and halt- ing and feeb\e in the versification : that his shorter poems, whether of a gay or of a doctrinal cast, are, for the pathos, wit, delicacy of conception, and felicity of expression, unequalled in our language : that his Homer is an. evidence, not of his inca- pacity as a translator, but of the impossibility of transmuting into stiff unyielding English monosj'llables the rich compounds of the Greek, without a sacrifice both of sound and sense ; that " The Task" outruns in power, variety, depth of thought, fertil- ity of imagination, vigor of expression, in short, in all that con- stitutes a poet of the highest order, every hope which his earlier poems had allowed his readers to indulge. On the whole, his " Poems" will always be considered as one of the richest legacies which genius and virtue have bequeathed to mankind ; and will be welcomed wherever the English lan- guage is known, and English minds, tastes, and habits prevail ; wherever the approbation of what is good, and the abhorrence of what is evil is felt ; wherever truth is honored, and God and his creatures loved. -TAliL! TA[L[& a TABLE TALK. INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. Some writer has suggested that this poem would constitute a very suitable introduction to the Task. Agreeing in this opinion, I have as- signed to it the place proposed. The author's views in writing the poem have been fully given us in his own felicitous language, and should be understood for the better ap- preciation of the poem. Upon sending it to his friend, the Rev. John Newton of London, he said to him, " It is a medley of many things ; some that may be useful, and some that, for aught I knoy, may be very divert- ing. I am merry, that I may decoy people into my company ; and grave, that they may be the better for it. Now and then I put on the garb of a philosopher, and take the opportunity that disguise procures me, to drop a word in favor of religion. In short, there is some froth, and here and there a bit of sweetmeat, which seems to entitle it justly to the name of a certain dish the ladies call a trifle. I did not choose, to be more face- tious, lest I should consult the taste of my readers at the expense of my own approbation ; nor more serious than I have been, lest I should forfeit theirB. A poet in my circumstances has a difficult part to act : t>ne min- ute obliged to bridle his humor, if he has any, and the next to clap a spur to the sides of it : now ready to weep from a sense of the import- ance of his subject, and on a sudden constrained to laugh, lest his gravity should be mistaken for dullness. If this be not violent exercise for the mind, I know not what it js ; and if any man doubt it, let him try." He elsewhere informs us, that his aim in writing poetry was not pecu- niary gain, nor ambition to exhibit himself to the world as a genius-~but his own amusement ; that no other occupation so well diverted him from a train of melancholy thoughts which, when not thus employed, were for- ever pouring themselves in upon him. As happily suited still further to prepare the mind for reading to ad- vantage, and with interest, the following poem, I am gratified to quote from the North American Review some valuable and very jusi observa- tions : " ' Table Talk' was the earliest of the pieces which compose Cowper's 40 TABLE TALK. first volume, and the rest -were written at the suggestions of friends, on subjects which happened to striko his imagination. Original and power- ful as these poems (of the first volume) were, they were very slow in winning their way to the public favor : the sale was far from rapid, and the critical verdicts of literary tribunals did not tend to increase their circulation. One of the Reviews declared, that they were evidently the productions of a very pious gentleman, without one spark of genius. But considering all circumstances, this was not surprising ; the versification of the day was such as Pope had left it, and ears accustomed to the even flow of his numbers were startled by the bolder grace of Cowper's lines. It seemed like absurd presumption in one unknown to fame, to step so widely from the beaten path ; and, as every one knows, literary indepen- dence is not easily forgiven. Then, too, the preface by Mr. Newton was of a nature to alarm light readers : it was written with more solemnity than was called for by the occasion. He does not seem to have admired the play of Cowper's humor, though it was. one of his most remarkable powers : the poet studiously apologizes for it in his letters to Newton, assuring bim that it was introduced in order to gain a hearing from the thoughtless. It must be manifest to every one that he. indulged his hu- mor simply because he could not help it. " Though the immediate success of his first volume was not great, it was sufficient to encourage one who never had a very exalted opinion of his own powers ; and having at this time a new and animated companion, Lady Austin, who had much influence over him, and used it to induce him to write, he commenced a new poem, the Task, which was completed and given to the world in 1185. This work was at once successful, and placed him at the head of all the poets of the day. " As a poet, Cowper was a man of great genius, and in a, day when poetry was more read than the present, enjoyed a popularity almost un- exampled. The strain of his writing was familiar even to homeliness. .He drew from his own resources only ; throwing off all affectation or re- serve, he made his reader acquainted with all his sentiments and feelings, and did not disguise his weaknesses and sorrows. There is always some- thing attractive in this personal strain where it does not amount to ego- tism, and he thus gained many admirers who never would have been interested by poetry alone. The religious character of his writings was also a recommendation to many, besides those who favored views of that subject similar to his own. There was a wide sympathy, a generous re- gard for all the human race expressed in the Task, which gave his read- ers a respect for his heart. Then, too, his views- of nature were drawn from personal observation ; all his readers could remember, or at any time see, those which precisely resembled the subjects of his description. By addressing himself to the heart universal, and using language such as could- be understood by the humble as well as the high, he influenced a wider circle than any poet who went before him ; and by inspiring a feel- INTRODUCTORY EEMAEKS. 41 ing of intimacy, a kind of domestic confidence in his readers, he made his works ' household words,' and all who shared his feelings became inter- ested in his fame. " We have already alluded to the success of his earlier poems, and ex- plained the reasons why it was so small. But his change in the English style of versification, though it seemed wild and lawless at the time, was a great improvement upon his predecessors. There was an artificial ele- gance in the measure of Pope, which, however pleasing to the musical ear, was a restraint upon the flow of sentiment, and sometimes wearied with its sweetness. Cowper's bold freedom, though it seemed at first lite uncouth roughness, gained much in variety of expression, without losing much in point of sound. It offended, because it seemed careless, and as if he respected little the prevailing taste of his readers ; but it was far from being unpolished as it seemed. He tells us that the lines of his earlier poems were touched and retouched with fastidious delicacy : his ear was not easily pleased." " His own language on this point, in a letter to a friend, is highly inter- esting : " To touch and retouch, is, though some writers boast of negli- gence, and others would be ashamed to show their foul copies, the secret of almost all good'writing, especially in verse. I am never weary of it my- self. With the greatest indifference to fame, which you know me too well to suppose me capable of affecting, I have taken the utmost pains to deserve it. This may appear a mystery or a parodox, in practice,~but it is true. I considered that the taste of the day is refined and delicate to excess, and that to disgust that delicacy of the taste by a slovenly inat- tention to it, would be to forfeit at once all hope of being useful ; and for this reason, though I have written more verse this year than perhaps any man in England, I have finished, and polished, and touched, and retouch- ed, with the utmost care. Whatever faults I may be chargeable with as a poet, I cannot accuse myself of negligence : I never suffer a line ts> past till I have made it as good as lean; and though some may be offended at my doctrines, I trust none will be disgusted by slovenly inaccuracy, in the numbers, the rhymes, or the language. If, after *IL I should be con- verted into waste paper, it may be my misfortune, but it will not be my fault ; and I shall bear it with perfect serenity." €Mt <&M. Si U forte mem gravis wet sarcma ch/i/rtas, Altjioito. Hot. lib. i. Epist. IS. A. You told me, I remember, glory, built On selfish principles, is shame and guilt ; The deeds that men admire as half divine, Stark naught, because corrupt in their design. Strange doctrine this ! that without scruple tears 5 The laurel that the very lightning spares ; Brings down the warrior's trophy to the dust, And eats into his bloody sword like rust. JB. I grant, that men continuing what they are, Fierce, avaricious, proud, there must be war ; 10 And never meant the rule should be applied To him that fights with justice on his side. Let laurels, drench'd in pure Parnassian dews, Reward his memory, dear to every muse, 4. Before we yield our admiration to splendid deeds, it behooves us to ascertain the end which the performer had in view. It is this which gives to actions all their character : it is this which imparts to them their glory or their shame. Hence the observation is equally true and important, that "glory, built on selfish principles, is shams and guilt." 13. Laurels, Courage in arms, and ever prompt to show His manly forehead to the fiercest foe ; Glorious in war, but for the sake of peace, His spirits rising as his toils increase, Guards well what arts and industry have won, 280 And Freedom claims him for her first-born son. Slaves fight for what were better cast away — The chain that binds them, and a tyrant's sway ; But they that fight for freedom, undertake 259. Chartered land : Britain is bo denominated, because her citizens have their rights defined and secured by certain written documents, which preserve them from the evils of an irresponsible despotism. 260-297. The advantages of a state of freedom are here beautifully and eloquently described, in implied contrast to the sad privations of a state of slavery. 273. Free to prove, &c. : Language borrowed from the apostle Paul: "Prove all things : hold fast that which is good." 66 TABLE TALK. 'The noblest cause ^ankind can have at stake : 285 Religion, virtue, truth, whate'er we call A blessing — freedom is' the pledge of all. O Liberty ! the prisoner's pleasing dream, The poet's muse, his passion, and his theme ; Genius is thine, and thou art Fancy's nurse ; 290 Lost without thee the ennobling powers of verse ; Heroic song from thy free touch acquires Its clearest tone, the rapture it inspires. , Place me where Winter breathes his keenest air, And I will sing, if Liberty be there ; 295 . And I will sing at Liberty's dear feet, In Afric's torrid clime, or India's fiercest heat. A. Sing where you please : in such a cause I grant An English poet's privilege to rant ; But is not Freedom — at least, is not ours, 300 Too apt to play the wanton with her powers, Grow freakish, and, o'erloaping every mound, Spread anarchy and terror all around ? _B. Agreed. But would you sell or slay your horse For bounding and curvetting in his course ; 805 Or if, when ridden with a careless rein, He break away, and seek the distant plain ? No. His high mettle, under good control, Gives him Olympic speed, and shoots him to the goal. Let Discipline employ her wholesome arts ; 310 Let magistrates alert perform their parts, K"ot skulk or put on a prudential mask, 289. Tlie poet's muse, &c. : The source of his poetic inspiration, the ob- ject of his passion, and'the subject upon which he loves to write. 309. Olympic speed: Speed such as that which was displayed in the celebrated races at Olympia, on the banks of the Alpheus, in ancient Greece. The horse races were cither with chariots, or races on horseback, and were attended by vast multitudes of citizens. 310-329. Let discipline, &c. : Consult the Task, Bk. V 446-479, for a note upon this passage. TABLE TALK. 57 As if their duty were a desperate task ; Let active Laws apply the needful curb, To guard the Peace, that Riot would disturb : 315 And Liberty, preserved from wild excess, Shall raise no feuds for armies to suppress. When Tumult lately burst his prison door, And set plebeian thousands in a roar ; When he usurp'd Authority's just place, 320 And dared to look his master in the face ; When the rude rabble's watchword was — Destroy ! And blazing London seem'd a second Troy ; Liberty blush'd, and hung her drooping head, Beheld their progress with the deepest dread ; 325 Blush'd that effects like these she should produce, Worse than the deeds of galley-slaves broke loose. She loses in such storms her very name, And fierce Licentiousness should bear the blame. Incomparable gem ! thy worth untold ; 330 Cheap, though blood-bought, and thrown away, when sold ; May no foes ravish thee, and no false friend Betray thee, while professing to defend ! Prize it, ye ministers ; ye monarchs, spare ; Ye patriots, guard it with a miser's care. 335 A. Patriots, alas ! the few that have been found, Where most they flourish, upon English ground, 319. Plebeian thousands : The term plebeian is derived from the divi- sion of the citizens of ancient Eome into the patricians and plebeians — the latter denoting the lower classes of the people, who were, for centu- ries, excluded from all civil, military, and sacerdotal offices. He through the midst unmart'd . In show plebeian angel militant Of lowest order. Par. Lost. 823. Troy : The ancient Troy, or Ilium, on the western coast of Asia Minor, which, after a ten years' siege, was burnt by the Creeks, 1184 years before the Christian era. 3* 58 TABLE TALK. The country's need, have scantily supplied, And the last left the scene, when Chatham died. B. Not so — the virtue still adorns our age, 340 Though the chief actor died upon the stage. In. him Demosthenes was heard again; Liberty taught him her Athenian strain : She clothed him with authority and awe, Spoke from his lips, and in his looks gave law. 345 His speech, bis form, his action, full of grace, And all his country beaming in his face, He stood, as some inimitable hand Would strive to make a Paul or Tully stand. No sycophant or slave, that dared oppose 350 Her sacred cause, but trembled when he rose ; And every venal stickler for the yoke Felt himself crush'd at the first word he spoke. Such men are raised to station and command, When Providence means mercy to a land. 355 He speaks, and they appear : to him they owe Skill to direct, and strength to strike the blow; To manage with address, to seize with power The crisis of a dark decisive hour. 339. Chatham: William Pitt, earl of Chatham, who greatly distinguish- ed himself in the British Parliament by his eloquent speeches in favor of the rights of the American colonies, from 1774 to 1778. His character and abilities are so ably described by Cowper in the next paragraph, that nothing needs to be added. In him reappeared that patriotic, impres- sive, argumentative, and energetic eloquence for which the great Athe- nian orator, Demosthenes, was so distinguished : he is compared also, in the grandeur of his position in debate, to the great apostle Paul, and to Tully (Cicero), the glory of the ancient Roman senate. Such men are raised up by a kind Providence to meet the great emergencies of a state. Gideon is referred to, as one of this class, appointed to guide the affairs of the Hebrew nation at a critical period of its history. His praise was, that he made himself subservient (361) to the good of his country. The Btory of his achievements may be found in the book of Judges, chapters vii.. viii. TABLE TALK. 59 So Gideon earn'd a victory- not his own ; 360 Subserviency his praise, and that alone. Poor England ! thou art a devoted deer, Beset with every ill but that of fear. Thee nations hunt ; all mark thee for a prey ; They swarm around thee, and thou stand'st at bay. 365 Undaunted still, though wearied and perplex'd, Once Chatham saved thee ; but who saves thee next ? Alas ! the tide of pleasure sweeps along All that should be the boast of British song. 'Tis not the wreath, that once adorn'd thy brow, 370 The prize of happier times, will serve thee now. Our ancestry, a gallant, Christian race, Patterns of every virtue, every grace, Confess'd a God ; they kneel'd before they fought, • And praised him in the victories he wrought. S'JS Now from the dust of ancient days bring forth 372. Our ancestry, Ac. : Reference is probably made to the Puritans. Macaulay informs us that the army of Cromwell was chiefly distinguished from other armies by the austere morality and the fear of God, which pervaded all ranks ; that these were composed of persons superior in sta- tion and education to the multitude — sober, moral, diligent, and accus- tomed to reflect : that they had been induced to take up arms, not by the pressure of want, not by trie love of novelty and license, not by the arts of recruiting officers, but by religious and political zeal, mingled with the desire of distinction and promotion. In his army the 'power of prayer was uniformly associated with the power of the sword. The Bible was their daily study, and the principal source of their extraordinary and irresistible bravery and prowess. The • eminently pious Richard Baxter, after the battle of Edgehill, was chosen by Cromwell's regiment as their pastor. The piety generally prevailing among Oliver's soldiers (says Dr. Merle) has been so much ridiculed for two centuries past, and the public opinion has been so misled on this point, that it will be long ere men's minds will be in a condition to appreciate them aright. We, however, will never consent to call good evil, or pretend that men can " gather grapes of thorns or figs of thistles." If soldiers lead a disorderly and irrehgious life, provided they are brave, there are writers. who can never be suffi- ciently loud in their praise ; but soldiers professing Christianity merfy according to their views, nothing but blame aud ridicule. 60 TABLE TALK. Their sober zeal, integrity, and worth ; Courage, ungraced by these, affronts the skies, Is but the fire 'without the sacrifice. The stream, that feeds the well-spring of the hearts- 380 Not more invigorates life's noblest part, Than Virtue quickens with a warmth divine The powers that Sin has brought to a decline, A. Th' inestimable Estimate of Brown Rose like a paper kite, and charm'd the town ; 385 But measures, plann'd and executed well, Shifted the wind that raised it, and it fell. He trod the very self-same ground you tread, And Victory refuted all he said. B. And yet his judgment was not framed amiss ; 390 Its error, if it err'd, was merely this — He thought the dying hour already come, And a complete recovery struck him dumb. 379. The fire without the sacrifice : An allusion to the animal sacrifices burned upon the Hebrew altars. Memory recurs to that touching pas- sage in sacred history which relates the preparations for the offering of Isaac upon Mount Moriah : " And Isaac spake unto Abraham his father, and said, My father ; and he said, Here am- 1, my son. And he said, Be- hold the fire and the wood : but where is'the lamb for a burnt-offering I" Gen. xxii. 7. 384-389. Estimate of Brown, &c. : The following historical statement of Dr. Russell will explain these lines : " When intelligence of these new losses and disgraces (the loss of Fort William Henry in 1757, by a dis- graceful surrender to Montcalm) arrived in England, the people, already sufficiently mortified, sunk into a general despondency. And certain moral and political writers, who foretold the ruin of the nation, and as- cribed its misfortunes to a total corruption of manners and principles, and utter extinction of the martial spirit, gained universal credit. The most distinguished of these writers was Dr. Brown, whose Estimate of the Manners and Principles of the Times, abounding with awful predictions, was bought up and read with incredible avidity, and as much confided in as if he had been divinely inspired." — Russell's Mod. Europe, vol. ii. 607. Soon afterwards a favorable change occurred in the military affairs of Great Britain, which nullified the gloomy predictions of this and similar productions of that period.. TA3LE TALK. 61 But that effeminacy, folly, lust, Enervate and enfeeble, and needs must ; 395 And that a nation shamefully debased "Will be despised and trampled on at last, Unless sweet Penitence her powers renew ; Is -truth, if history itself be true. There is a time, and Justice marks the date, 400 For long-forbearing clemency to wait ; That hour elapsed the incurable revolt Is punish'd, and down comes the thunderbolt. If Mercy then put by the threatening blow, Must she perform the same kind office now ? 405 ' May she ? and if offended Heaven be still Accessible, and prayer prevail, she will. 'Tis not, however, insolence and noise, The tempest of tumultuary joys, Nor is it yet despondence and dismay 410 Will win her visits, or engage her stay ; Prayer only, and the penitential tear, Can call her smiling down, and fix her here. But when a country (one that I could name), In prostitution sinks the sense of shame ; 415 When infamous Venalit}', grown bold, Writes on his bosom, To be let or sold ; When Perjury, that Heaven-defying vice, Sells oaths by tale, and at the lowest price, Stamps God's own name upon a lie just made, 420 To turn a penny in the way of trade ; When Avarice starves (and never hides his face) Two or three millions of the human race, And not a tongue inquires how, where, or when, Though conscience will have twinges now and then ; 425 When profanation of the sacred cause, In all its parts, times, ministry, and laws, Bespeaks a land, once Christian, fallen and lost, 62 TABLE TALK. In all, but wars against that title most ; What follows next let cities of groat name, 430 And regions long since desolate, proclaim. Nineveh, Babylon, and ancient Rome, Speak to the present times, and times to come ; They cry aloud in every careless ear, " Stop while you may ; suspend your mad career ; 435 learn from our example and our fate, Learn wisdom and repentance ere too late !" Not only Vice disposes and prepares The mind, that slumbers sweetly in her snares, To stoop to Tyranny's usurp'd command, 440 And bend her polish'd neck beneath his hand (A dire effect, by one of Nature's laws, Unchangeably connected with its cause) ; But Providence. himself will intervene, To throw his dark displeasure o'er the scene ; - 445 All are his instruments ; each form of war, What burns at home, or threatens from afar : Nature in arms, her elements at strife, The storms that overset the joys of life, Are but his rods to scourge a guilty land, 450 And waste it at the bidding of his hand. He gives the word, and Mutiny soon roars In all her gates, and shakes her distant shores ; The standards of all nations are unfurl'd ; She has one foe, and that one foe the world. 455 And, if he doom that people with a frown, And mark them with a seal of wrath press'd down, Obduracy takes place : callous and tough, The reprobated race grows judgment-proof ; " 450. Are but his rods, &c. : Thus Jehovah, by his prophets, speaks of the Assyrian armies as the rod employed for punishing the unfaithful Israelites : " Assyrian, the rod of mine anger, and the staff in their hand is mine indignation," Ac. (Isaiah x 5, 6, 15.) TABLE TALK. 63 Earth shakes beneath them, and Heaven roars above ; 460 But nothing scares them from the course they love ; To the lascivious pipe and wanton song, That charm down fear, they frolic it along, With mad rapidity and unconcern, Down to the gulf, from which is no return. 465 They trust in navies, and their navies fail — God's curse can cast away ten thousand sail ! They trust in armies, and their courage dies; In wisdom, wealth, in fortune, and in lies ; But all they trust in, withers, as it must, 470 When He commands, in whom they place no trust. Vengeance at last pours down upon their coast A long-despised, but now victorious host ; Tyranny sends the chain, that must abridge The noble sweep of all their privilege ; 475 Gives liberty the last, the mortal shock : Slips the slave's collar on, and snaps the lock. A. Such lofty strains embellish what you teach ; Mean you to prophesy, or but to preach ? B. I know the mind that feels indeed the fire 480 The muse imparts, and can command the. lyre, Acts with a force, and kindles with a zeal, Whate'er the theme, that others never feel. If human woes her soft attention claim, A tender sympathy pervades the frame ; 485 She pours a sensibility divine Along the nerves of every feeling line. But if a deed not tamely to be borne Fire indignation and a sense of scorn, The strings are swept with such a power, so loud, 490 481. Can command the lyre : In the earliest ages of Grecian literature poems were prepared altogether in adaptation to music performed- upoD the lyre, a species of harp ; they were sung as well as read. They gen- erally expressed the individual feelings and sentiments of the writer. 64 TABLE TALK. The storm of music shakes the astonish'd crowd. So, when remote futurity is brought Before the keen inquiry of her thought, A terrible sagacity informs The poet's heart ; he looks- to distant storms ; 495 He hears the thunder ere the tempest lowers ; And, arm'd with strength surpassing human powers, Seizes events as yet unknown to man, And darts his soul into the dawning plan. Hence in a Roman mouth, the graceful name 500 Of prophet and of poet was the same ; Hence, British poets, too, the priesthood shared, And every hallow'd druid was a bard. But no prophetic fires to me belong ; I play with syllables, and sport in song. 505 A* At Westminster, where little poets strive To set a distich upon six and five, 501. 'Twas certainly prophetic that the name Of prophet and of poet is the same. — Sir John Denham. 503. Druid: Name given to the priests of ancient Britain, while it was yet Pagan. It is supposed to be derived from a Greek word for oak, and given to them because they sacrificed under that kind of tree. They worshipped the Deity under the symbol of the oak. Human victims, Cassar informs us, were sometimes offered by them. Their chief settle- ment was in the island of Anglesey, the ancient Mona. Poetry and sev- eral of the sciences were cultivated by them. 506. Westminster : The western suburb of London, where a classical school of some celebrity existed. To this institution Cowper was sent when ten years old ; and there he served a seven years' apprenticeship to the classics. The writing of poetry, of verse at least, seems, from the text, to have been one of the ordinary exercises of the boys at that school. In one of his letters, Cowper writes : " I was a school-boy in high favor with the master, received a silver groat for my exercise, and had the pleasure of Beeing it sent from form to form, for the admiration of all who were able to understand it." It was probably'an exercise in Latin verse, in which, Dr. Southey says, he excelled. By distich upon six a,ndfiiie is meant a couple of lines in verse, making complete sense, and consisting, the first of six measures, or poetic feet, the second of five ; the name i given to the first being hexameter, and to the second pentameter. TABLE TALK. 65 Where Discipline helps the opening buds of sense, And makes his pupils proud with silver pence, I was a poet too ; but modern taste 510 Is so refined, and delicate, and chaste, That verse, whatever fire the fancy warms, Without a creamy smoothness has no charms. Thus, all success depending on an ear, And thinking I might purchase it too dear, 515 If sentiment were sacrificed to sound, And truth cut short to make a period round, I judged a man of sense could scarce do worse, Than caper in the morris-dance of verse. JB. Thus reputation is a spur to wit, 520 And some wits flag through fear of losing it. Give me the line that ploughs its stately course Like a proud swan, conquering the stream by force ; That, like some cottage beauty, strikes the heart, Quite unindebted to the tricks of art. 525 When Labor and when Dulness club in hand, 508. "Where Discipline- helps, &c. : A very efficient administrator of discipline was the celebrated Dr. Busby. "As we stood before Busby's tomb (in Westminster Abbey) the knight uttered himself again after the same manner : ' Dr. Busby ! a great man ! he whipped my grandfather : a very great man ! I should have gone to him myself, if I had not been a blockhead : a very great man !' " — Addison. Sir Roger de Coverlet/. 513. Without a creamy smoothness, &c. : The reader may refer to the preceding dissertation of Mr. Cunningham for an illustration of the style that was popular when Cowper began to write — that part which shows that Cowper was one of the most simple and natural of writers. 519. Morris-dance of verse : By this phrase, the author intends to stig- matize rhyme, as trifling, and unworthy of a poet of sense — comparing it, probably from the jingle of its sounds, to the morris or Moorish dance, in which, to the sound of castanets, tambors, Ac, young men performed, with bells, near their feet, and ribbons of different colors attached to their arms, and thrown over their shoulders — a fantastic sort of dance, therefore. 522. The author's ideas of what verse should be, are finely displayed by comparing it to the stately course of the swan forcing its way against a powerful stream, and to the charms of an unaffected cottage beauty. 66 TABLE TALK. Like the two figures at St. Dunstan's, stand, Beating alternately in measured time, The clock-work tintihabulum of rhyme, Exact and regular the sounds will be ; 530 But such mere quarter-strokes are not for me. From him who rears a poem lank and long, From him who strains his all into a song ; Perhaps some bonny Caledonian air, All birks and braes, though he was never there ; 535 Or, having whelp'd a prologue with great pains, Feels himself spent, and fumbles for his brains ; A prologue interdash'd with many a stroke — An art contrived to advertise a joke, So that the jest is clearly to be seen, 540 Not in the words — but in the gap between : 027— 881. The writers of dull though regular rhymes are well repre- sented by the two figures at the clock of St. Dunstan's in London, beating the quarter-strokes of the hour. Like these strokes, the sounds produced by the tintinabulum (little-bell) of rhyme are indeed exact and regular, but give forth no inspiring sentiment, awaken do thought, excite no inter- est, and give no indication of genius. " No church in London was perhaps so well known as St. Dunstan's, in Fleet-street ; not certainly on account of its external elegance, but for the equivocal celebrity it has acquired by the two wooden figures placed on a pediment in front in 1671, representing savages, who indicated the hours and quarters by striking a bell with their clubs. As they were visible in the street, ' they are,' says an historian, ' more admired by any of the pop- ulace on Sundays, than the most elegant preacher from the pulpit within.' Charity induces us to hope better, particularly as Dr. Donne, the celebra- ted Richard Baxter, and the pious Romaine, were preachers at St. Dun- stan's. The old church of St. Dunstan was taken down, and replaced in 1832 by an elegant structure in the Gothic style." — London Encyc. 534-5. Some bonny, &c. : Some pretty Scottish air, celebrating birks and braes ; that is, birches and hill-sides. 538. A prologue, TABLE TALK. Of rank obscenity debauch'd their age : Nor ceased till ever anxious to redress The abuses of her sacred charge, the press, The muse instructed a well-nurtured train Of abler votaries to cleanse the stain, C35 And claim the palm for purity of song, That Lewdness had usurp'd and worn so long. Then decent Pleasantry, and sterling Sense, That neither gave nor would endure offence, Whipp'd out of sight, with satire just and keen, 640 The puppy pack, that had defiled the scene. In front of these came Addison. In him Humor in holiday and sightly trim, 642. Addison : Joseph Addison, the son of an English dean, was born at Milston, Wiltshire, in 16*72. As a prose writer, the principal author of the Spectator, he ranks much higher than as a poet and dramatist. The Spectator was a daily paper edited by Addison and Steele. Its object, as Dr. Johnson well describes it, was to teach the minuter decencies and inferior duties, to regulate the practice of daijy conversation, to correct those depravities which are rather ridiculous than criminal, and remove those grievances which, if they produce no lasting calamities, impress - hourly vexations. To these objects the Spectator (and the Tatler also) superadded literature and criticism, and sometimes taught, with great justness of argument and dignity of language, the most important duties and sublime truths. All these topics were happily varied with elegant fictions and refined allegories, and illuminated with different changes of style and felicities of invention. As a describer of life and manners, he must be allowed (continues Dr. Johnson) to stand perhaps the first of the first rank. His humor, as Steele observes, is so happiiy diffused .as to give the grace of novelty to domes- tic scenes and daily occurrences. He never " oversteps the modesty of nature," nor raises merriment or wonder by the violation of truth. His figures neither divert by distortion, nor amuse by aggravation. He copies life with so much fidelity, that he can hardly be said to invent ; yet his exhibitions have an air so much original, that it -is difficult not to suppose them merely the product of imagination. His prose (he adds) is the model of the middle style : on grave subjects not formal, on light occasions not grovelling ; always equable, and always easy, without glowing words or pointed sentences. It was apparently his principal endeavor to avoid all harshness and severity of diction ; he TABLE TALK. 75 Sublimity and attic taste combined, To polish, furnish, and delight the mind. 645 Then Pope, as harmony itself exact, In verse well disciplined, complete, compact, is therefore sometimes verbose in his transitions and connections, and sometimes descends too much to the language of conversation ; yet if his language had been less idiomatical, it might have lost somewhat of its genuine Anglicism. His sentences have neither studied amplitude, nor affected brevity : his periods, though not diligently rounded, are voluble and easy. Whoever wishes to attain an English style familiar but not coarse, and-elegant but not ostentatious, must give his days and nights to the volumes of Addison. For a fuller account, see Johnson's Lives of the Poets. 644. By attic taste is meant such as was worthy of ancient Attica, of which polished Athens was the capital. 646. Pope : Alexander Pope, of Twickenham, near London. He was born in London, May 22, 1688, and greatly distinguished himself as a let- ter writer and a poet. Though possessed of an extremely feeble consti- tution, he lived till May SO, 1144. His principal poems embrace epis- tles, satires, and moral essays. He is also favorably known as the trans- lator of the Iliad and Odyssey into English rhyme. The character and genjus of Pope (as Chambers observes) have given rise to abundance of comment and speculation. The occasional fierceness and petulance of his satire cannot be justified, even by the coarse attacks of his opponents, and must be ascribed to his extreme sensibility, to over- indulged vanity, and to a hasty and irritable temper. At the same time he was a public benefactor, by stigmatizing the vices of the great, and lashing the absurd pretenders to taste and literature. He was undoubt- edly more the poet of artificial life and manners than the poet of nature. He was a nice observer and an accurate describer of the phenomena of the mind, and of the varying shades and gradations of vice and virtue, wisdom and folly. He was too fond of point and antithesis, but the pol- ish of the weapon was equalled by its keenness. To him (says Tuckerman) we are mainly indebted for a new revelation of the capabilities of English heroic verse. He gave the most striking examples of his favorite theory that " sound should seem an echo of the sense." He carried out the improvement in diction which Dryden com- menced; and while Addison was producing beautiful specimens of re- formed prose, Pope gave a polish and point to verse before unknown. When the vast number of his couplets is considered, their fastidious cor- rectness is truly astonishing." How many examples occur to the memory of his correct and musical rhymes, ringing like the clear chimes of a favor- ite bell through a frosty atmosphere 1 How often do we forget the pov- 76 TABLE TALK. Gave virtue and morality a grace, That quite eclipsing Pleasure's painted face, Levied a tax of wonder and applause, 650 E'en on the fools that trampled on their laws. But he (his musical finesse was such, So nice his ear, so delicate his touch) Made poetry a mere mechanic art ; And every warbler has his tune by heart. 655 Nature imparting her satiric gift, Her serious mirth, to Arbuthnot and Swift, With droll sobriety they raised a smile At Folly's cost, themselves unmoved the while. That constellation set, the world in vain 660 Must hope to look upon their like again. A. Are we then left — B. Not wholly in the dark ; Wit now and then, struck smartly, shows a spark, • erty of the thought — the familiarity of the image — the triteness of the truths they convey, in the fascinating precision of, the verae ! — " Thoughts on the Poets," pp. 81-2. 65*7. Arbuthnot : Dr. John Arbuthnot, the friend of Pope, Swift, Gay, and Prior, was associated with his brother wits in some of the humorous productions of the day, called forth chiefly by political events. See Chambers' English Literature, vol. i. pp. 642-646. 657. Swift : Jonathan Swift (says Dr. Aikin) has carried one species of poetry, that of humorous Batire, to a, degree never before attained. Of the poems of Swift, some of the most striking were composed in mature life, after his attainment of his deanery of St. Patrick; and it will be admitted that no one ever gave a more perfect example of the easy fa- miliarity attainable in the English language. His readiness in rhyme is truly astonishing ; the most uncommon associations of sounds coming to him as it were spontaneously, in words seemingly the best adapted to the occasion. That he was capable of high polish and elegance, some of his woYks sufficiently prove ; but the humorous and sarcastic was his habit- ual taste, which he frequently indulged beyond the bounds of decorum. In wit, both in verse and prose, he stands foremost in grave irony, main- tained with the most plausible air of serious simplicity, and supported by great minuteness of detail. His style in prose, though held up as a model of clearness purity, and simplicity, has only the merit of expressing the author's meaning with perfect precision. He died in 1744 TABLE TALK. 77 Sufficient to redeem the modern race Trom total night and absolute disgrace. 665 While servile trick and imitative knack Confine the million in the beaten track. Perhaps some courser, who disdains the road, Snuffs up the wind, and flings himself abroad. Contemporaries all surpass'd; see one, 670 Short his career, indeed, but ably run. Churchill, himself unconscious of his powers, In penury consumed his idle hours ; And like a scatter'd seed at random sown, Was left to spring by vigor of his own. 675 672. Churchill: Rev. Charles Churchill, born in London, 1731, once much renowned as a poet, though debased by loose and irregular conduct in the latter part of his life. Sou they, in his memoir of Cowper, has de- voted several pages to an account of Churchill, from which I shall now quote : " Cowper had a higher opinion of Churchill than of any other con- temporary writer. ' It is a great thing,' he said, ' to be indeed a poet, and does not happen to more than one man in a rentury ; but Churchill, the great Churchill, deserved that name.' Cowper made him, more than any other writer, his model. No two poets could be more unlike each other in habits, temper, and disposition. Their only sympathy was in a Bpirit of indignation, taking in both the form of satire, but which the one directed against individuals for what he deemed their political turpitude, or for offence given to himself or his friends ; the other against the pre- vailing sins and errors of the age. Churchill's object was to annoy those whom he disliked ; Cowper 's to exhort and reclaim his fellow-creatures. He, however, found something so congenial to his own taste and senti- " ments in the strength and manliness of Churchill's poetry, the generous love of liberty which it breathed, and its general tone of morals, that its venom and virulence seem to have given him no displeasure. No doubt he thought that the principal objects of Churchill's satire deserved the severity with which they were treated, for the flagitious profligacy of their private lives ; and his own feelings went with the satirist, because his political opinions were of the same school. No intimacy, however, ap- pears to have subsisted between Cowper and Churchill, notwithstanding these points of sympathy, and their acquaintance at school. It was by the acrimony and personality of his satire that Churchill made his fortune as a poet. Manly sense is their characteristic, deriving strength of ex- pression from indignation ; and they contain redeeming passages of sound morality and permanent truth." 78 TABLE TALK. Lifted at length, by dignity of thought And dint of genius to an affluent lot, He laid his 65 And bruised the side ; arid, elevated high, Taught the raised shoulders to invade the ears. Long time elapsed or e'er our rugged sires Complain'd, though incommodiously pent in, And ill at ease behind. The ladies first " I 70 'Gan murmur, as became the softer sex^ Ingenious Fancy, never better pleased Than when employ'd to accommodate the fair, Heard the sweet moan with pity, and devised The soft settee ; one elbow at each end, 75 And in the midst an elbow it received, 64. Crewel : Slackly twisted worsted yarn, two-threaded. 55. If cushion might be called,