Their blood is shed Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress: O thou, whom, borne on fancy's eager wing May teach the gayest, make the gravest smile; Brown, the rural designer :* Lo! he comes Th' omnipotent magician, Brown, appears. And all that I abhor; thou freckled fair, THE CONTRAST. Where finds Philosophy her eagle eye, The gin-palace: Behold the schools, in which plebeian minds, That, like the filth with which the peasant feeds And agueish east, till time shall have transform'd Ye all can swallow, and she asks no more. Those naked acres to a shelt'ring grove. London: Oh! thou resort and mart of all the earth, * Brown, in Cowper's time, was the great designer in the art of laying out grounds for the nobility and gentry. Task, book iv. We add a few short passages: How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude! Not a year but pilfers as he goes We must not omit a most splendid specimen of Cowper's poetic genius, entitled the "Yardley Oak." It is an unfinished poem, and supposed to have been written in the year 1791, and laid aside, without ever having been resumed, when his attention was engrossed with the edition of Milton. Whatever may be the history of this admirable fragment, it has justly acquired for Cowper the reputation of having produced one of the richest and most highly finished pieces of versification that ever flowed from the pen of a poet. Its existence even was unknown both to Dr. Johnson and Hayley, till the latter discovered it buried in a mass of pers. We subjoin in a note a letter addressed by Dr. Johnson to Hayley, containing further particulars.* pa Though this fragment is inserted among the poems, we extract the following passages, as expressive of the vigor and inspiration of true poetic genius. No flock frequents thee now. Of girth enormous, with moss-cushion'd root With these acknowledged claims to popular favor, it is pleasing 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. He was not insensible to the value of applause, when conferred by a liberal and powerful mind, but even in this instance it was a subdued and chastened feel Thou wast a bauble once, a cup and ball Seeking her food, with ease might have purloin'd Time made thee what thou wast, king of the And Time hath made thee what thou art-a cave That graz'd it, stood beneath that ample cope "January 6, 1804. YARDLEY OAK IN GIRTH, FEET 22, INCHES 64. THE OAK AT YARDLEY LODGE, FEET 28, INCHES 5. As to Yardley Oak, it stands in Yardley Chase, where the Earls of Northampton have a fine seat. It was a favorite walk of our dear Cowper, and he once carried Te to see that oak. I believe it is five miles at least from Weston Lodge. It is indeed a noble tree, perfectly sound, and stands in an open part of the Chase, with only one or two others near it, so as to be seen to advantage. "With respect to the oak at Yardley Lodge, that is quite in decay-a pollard, and almost hollow. I took an excrescence from it in the year 1791, and if I mistake not, Cowper told me it is said to have been an oak in the time of the Conqueror. This latter oak is on the road to the former, but not above half so far from Weston Lodge, being only just beyond Killick and Dinglederry. This is all I can tell you about the oaks. They were old acquaintances, and great favorites of the bard. How rejoiced I am to hear that he has immortalized one of them in blank verse! Where could those one hundred and ixty-one lines lie hid? Till this very day I never heard of their existence, nor suspected it." A more pleasing evidence could not be visits to Weston, brought a recent newspa adduced than when Hayley, in one of his per containing a speech of Mr. Fox, in which that distinguished orator had quoted the following impressive verses on the Bastille, in the House of Commons. Ye horrid tow'rs, the abode of broken hearts: Mrs. Unwin discovered marks of vivid satisfaction, Cowper smiled, and was silent. The late Samuel Whitbread, Esq., was an enthusiastic admirer of the poetry of Cowper, and solicitous to obtain a relic of the Yardley Oak. Mr Bull, of Newport delay having occurred, Mr. Whitbread addressed to him Pagnel, promised to send a specimen, but some little the following verses, which, emanating from such a man, and not having met the public eye, will, we are persuaded, be considered as a literary curiosity, and of no mean merit. "Send me the precious bit of oak, †These lines were written prophetically, and previously to the event. The late Lord Erskine was a frequent reciter of pas We have mentioned how little Cowper was elated by praise. We shall now state how much he was depressed by unjust censure. His first volume of poems had been severely criticised by the Analytical Review. His feelings are recorded in the following (hitherto unpublished) letter to John Thornton, Esq. Olney, May 21, 1782. Dear Sir,-You have my sincere thanks for your obliging communication, both of my book to Dr. Franklin, and of his opinion of it to me. Some of the periodical critics, I understand have spoken of it with contempt enough; but, while gentlemen of taste and candor have more favorable thoughts of it, I see reason to be less concerned than I have been about their judgment, hastily framed perhaps, and certainly not without prejudice against the subjects of which it treats. Your friendly intimation of the Doctor's sentiments reached me very seasonably, just when, in a fit of despondence, to which no man is naturally more inclined, I had begun to regret the publication of it, and had consequently resolved to write no more. For if a man has the fortune to please none but his friends and their connexions, he has reason enough to conclude that he is indebted for the measure of success he meets with, not to the real value of his book, but to the partiality of the few that approve it. But I now feel myself differently affected towards my favorite employment; for which sudden change in my sentiments I may thank you and your correspondent in France, his entire unacquaintedness with me, a man whom he never saw, nor will see, his character as a man of sense and condition, and his acknowledged merit as an ingenious and elegant writer, and especially his having arrived at an age when men are not to be pleased they know not why, are so many circumstances sages from Cowper's poems. The Editor is indebted to dote which was communicated to him by Joseph Jekyll, E. H. Barker, Esq., of Thetford, for the following aneeEsq., the eminent counsellor. Mr. Jekyll was dining with Lord Oxford, and among the company were Dr. Parr, Horne Tooke, Lord Erskine, and Mr. W. Scott (brother to Lady Oxford). Lord Erskine recited, in his admirable manner, the verses of Cowper about the Captive, without saying whose they and said that he had never heard of them or seen them before; he inquired whose they were? H. Tooke said, "Why, Cowper's." Dr. Parr said he had never read Cowper's poems. "Not read Cowper's poems" said Horne Tooke, and you never will, I suppose, Dr. Parr, till they are turned into Greek When the company went into the drawing-room, Lady Oxford presented Dr. Parr with a small edition of Cowper's Poems, and Mr. Jekyll was desired by her ladyship to write in the Horne Tooke wrote also underneath, "Who never read the book," and signed his name to it: all present signed were; Dr. Parr expressed great admiration of the verses, book, From the Countess of Oxford to Dr. Parr." their names and added some remark, and among the rest W. Scott. At the sale of Dr. Parr's books, this volume fetched about five pounds, being considered valuable and curious, as the W. Scott signed was supposed to have been Sir W. Scott (since Lord Stowell). Lord Stowell afterwards took great pains to contradict the report. that give a value to his commendations, and make them the most flattering a poor poet could receive, quite out of conceit with himself, and quite out of heart with his occupations. If you think it worth your while, when you write next to the Doctor, to inform him how much he has encouraged me by his approbation, and to add my respects to him, you will oblige me still further; for next to the pleasure it would afford me to hear that it has been useful to any, I cannot have a greater, so far as my volume is in question, than to hear it has pleased the judicious. Mrs. Unwin desires me to add her respectful compliments. I am, dear sir, Your affectionate and most obedient servant, W. C. To John Thornton, Esq. Clapham, Surrey. ercise of criticism, the world might never Through this harsh and unwarrantable exhave possessed the immortal poem of “ The Task," if an American Philosopher had not awarded that honorable meed of just praise and commendation, which an English critic thought proper to withhold. But it is not merely the poetic claims of Cowper which have earned for him so just s title to public gratitude and praise. It would be unjust not to bestow particular notice on a talent, in which he singularly excelled, and as she is indebted to it for a considerable one that friendship ought especially to honor, portion of her happiest sources of delight— we mean the talent of writing letters. Swift be too labored, and deficient in ease. Those of Pope are generally considered to is frequently ill-natured and offensive. Gray is admirable, but not equal to Cowper either in the graces of simplicity, or in the warmth of affection. The letters of Cowper are not distinguished diction; it is rather the easy and graceful by any remarkable superiority of thought or 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 kind 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 inspare 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 premeditation. All is natural and easy. There is no display, no evidence of conscious superiority, no concealment 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 canvass represents his external form and features. We see in them the sterling good sense of a man, the playfulness and simplicity of a child, and 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 imaginary with the semblance of reality. He can smile or he can weep, philosophize or trifle, descant with fervor on the loveliness of nature, talk about his tame hares, or cast the overflowings 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 Fox,that of being the best specimens of epistolary excellence in the English language." Among men distinguished by classical taste and acquirements, his Latin poems will ever be considered as elegant specimens of composition, and formed after the best models of antiquity. There is one exquisite little gem, in Latin haxameters, entitled "Votum," beginning thus: O matutini rores, auræque salubres, the combination of powers not often united in the same mind. All that now remains is to consider the consecration of these faculties to high and holy ends; and the influence of his writings on the literary, the moral, and religious character of his age. 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, That never failed, nor shall it fail me now. Truth. We confess that we are edified by this simple, yet sublime and holy piety. It was from this source that Cowper drew the materials that have given to his writings the character of so elevated a morality. Too seldom, alas! have poets consecrated their powers to the cause of divine truth. In modern times, especially, we have witnessed a voluptuous imagery and appeal to the passions, in some highly-gifted writers, which have contributed to undermine public morality, and to tarnish the purity of female minds. But it is the honorable distinction of Cow which we believe has never received an Eng-per's poetry, that nothing is to be found to lish dress. A gentleman of literary taste has kindly furnished us with a pleasing version, which we are happy to subjoin in a note. We trust the author will excuse the insertion of his name. We have thus endeavored to exhibit the singular versatility of Cowper's genius, and * THE WISH. "Ye verdant hills, ye soft umbrageous vales, There, far from tolly, fraud's ensnaring wiles, excite a blush on the cheek of modesty, nor a single line that requires to be blotted out. He has done much to introduce a purer and more exalted taste; he is the poet of nature, the poet of the heart and conscience, and, what is a still higher praise, the poet of Helicon with the hallowed streams of Siloam, Christianity. He mingled the waters of and planted the cross amid the bowers of the muses. Johnson, indeed, has remarked, that religion is not susceptible of poetry.* If this * The reasons which he assigns, in justification of this opinion, are thus specified. "Let no pious ear be offended if I advance, in opposition to many authorities, that poetical devotion cannot often please. The doctrines of religion may indeed be defended in a didactic poem; and he who has the happy power of arguing in verse will not lose it because his subject is sacred. A poet may describe the beauty and the The world's dark frown, or still more dangerous smiles, grandeur of nature, the flowers of the spring, and the Let peaceful duties peaceful hours engage; Fling deeper shades athwart my lessening way Beneath the grassy turf, or silent stone; T. Ostler. harvests of autumn, the vicissitudes of the tide, and the revolutions of the sky, and praise the Maker for his works, in lines which no reader shall lay aside. The subject of the disputation is not piety, but the motives to piety; that of the description is not God, but the works of God. "Contemplative piety, or the intercouse between God and the human soul, cannot be poetical. Man, admitted to implore the mercy of his Creator, and plead the merits ing the majesty of God, in whose presence empires are as a grain of sand, and the whole universe as a tent, which to-day is set up, and removed to-morrow. Sometimes, as when he paints the charms of peace, Isaiah has the softness and sweetness of an eelogue; at others, he soars above mortal conception. But what is there in profane antiquity com be true, it can arise only from the want of religious authors and religious readers. But we venture to deny the position, and to maintain that religion ennobles whatever it touches. In architecture, what building ever rivalled the magnificence of the temple of Jerusalem, St. Peter's in Rome, or the imposing grandeur of St. Paul's? In painting, what power of art can surpass the Transfig-parable to the wailings of Jeremiah, when he uration of a Raphael, the Ecce Homo of a Guido, or the Elevation and Descent of the Cross in a Rubens? In poetry, where shall we find a nobler production of human genius than the Paradise Lost? Again, let us listen to the language of the pious Fénélon: 6 "No Greek or Latin poetry is comparable to the Psalms. That which begins, The God of gods, the Lord hath spoken, and hath called up the earth,' exceeds whatever human imagination has produced. Neither Homer, nor any other poet, equals Isaiah, in describ of his Redeemer, is already in a higher state than poetry can confer. mourns over the calamities of his people? or to Nahum, when he foresees in spirit the downfall of Nineveh, under the assault of an innumerable army? We almost behold the formidable host, and hear the arms and the chariots. Read Daniel, denouncing to Belshazzar the vengeance of God, ready to fall upon him; compare it with the most sublime passages of pagan antiquity; you find nothing comparable to it. It must be added that, in the Scriptures, everything sustains itself; whether we consider the historical, the legal, or the poetical part of it, the proper character appears in all." It would be singular, if a subject which "The essence of poetry is invention; such invention as, by producing something unexpected, surprises and unveils to the eye of faith the glories of the delights. The topics of devotion are few, and being few invisible world, and which is to be a theme are universally known; but, few as they are, they can be made no more; they can receive no grace from nov- of gratitude and praise throughout eternity, elty of sentiment, and very little from novelty of ex- could inspire no ardor in a poet's soul; and "Poetry pleases by exhibiting an idea more grateful to if the wings of imagination could take flight the mind than the things themselves afford. This effect to every world save to that which is eternal. proceeds from the display of those parts of nature which We leave our Montgomeries to refute so attract, and the concealment of those which repel the imagination. But Religion must be shown as it is: sup-gross an error, and appeal with confidence to pression and addition equally corrupt it; and such as it the page of Cowper. is, it is known already. pression. "From poetry the reader justly expects, and from good poetry always obtains, the enlargement of his comprehension and elevation of his fancy; but this is rarely to be hoped by Christians from metrical devotion. Whatever is great, desirable, or tremendous, is comprised in the name of the Supreme Being. Omnipotence cannot be exalted; Infinity cannot be amplified; Perfection cannot be improved. "The employments of pious meditation are Faith, Thanksgiving, Repentance, and Supplication. Faith, invariably uniform, cannot be invested by fancy with decorations. Thanksgiving, the most joyful of all holy effusions, yet addressed to a Being without passions, is confined to a few modes, and is to be felt, rather than expressed. Repentance, trembling in the presence of the Judge, is not at leisure for cadences and epithets. Supplication of man to man may diffuse itself through many topics of persuasion; but supplication to God can only cry for mercy. Of sentiments purely religious it will be found that the most simple expression is the most sublime. Poetry loses its lustre and its power, because it is applied to the decoration of something more excellent than itself. All that pious verse can do is to help the memory and delight the ear, and for these purposes it may be very useful; but it supplies nothing to the mind. The ideas of Christian theology are too simple for eloquence, too sacred for fiction, and too majestic for ornament; to recommend them by tropes and figures, is to magnify by a concave mirror the sidereal hemisphere."-See Life of Waller. These remarks seem to be founded on very erroneous principles; but having already offered our sentiments, "Pity that Religion has so seldom found and that we cordially share in his conviction, We quote the following passage, to show that religion can not only supply the noblest theme, but also communicate a corresponding sublimity of thought and language. It is the glowing and poetical description of the millennial period, commencing with Sweet is the harp of prophecy. We have room only for the concluding por One song employs all nations, and all cry, "The flowers would spring where'er she deign'd to stray, And Ethiopia spreads abroad the hand And every Muse attend her on her way." Table Talk. And worships. Her report has travell'd forth |