might expose him to an extraordinary portion of juvenile discomfort, yet he undoubtedly acquired the accomplishment, and the reputation of scholarship; with the advantage of being known and esteemed by some aspiring youths of his own age, who were destined to become conspicuous, and powerful, in the splendid scenes of the world.

With these acquisitions, he left Westminster, at the age of eighteen, in 1749; and as if destiny had determined, that all his early situations in life should be peculiarly irksome to his delicate feelings, and tend rather to promote, than to counteract a constitutional tendency to a morbid sensibility in his frame, he was removed from a public school to the office of an attorney: He resided three years in the house of a Mr. Chapman, to whom he was engaged by articles for that time. Here he was placed for the study of a profession, which nature seemed resolved that he never should practice.

The law is a kind of soldiership, and like the profession of arms, it may be said to require for the constitution of its heroes

A frame of adamant, a soul of fire."

The soul of Cowper had indeed its fire, but fire so refined and ætherial, that it could not be expected to shine in the gross atmosphere of worldly contention. Perhaps there never existed a mortal, who possessing, with a good person, intellectual powers naturally strong, and highly cultivated, was so utterly unfit to encounter the bustle and

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and perplexities of public life. But the extreme modesty and shyness of his nature, which disqualified him for scenes of business and ambition, endeared him inexpressibly to those, who had opportunities to enjoy his society, and faculties to appreciate the uncom mon excellence of his interesting character.

Reserved as he was, to an extraordinary and painful degree, his heart and mind were yet admirably fashioned by nature for all the refined intercourse, and confidential delights both of friendship and love: but though apparently formed to possess, and to communicate an extraordinary portion of mortal felicity, the incidents of his life were such, that, conspiring with the peculiarities of his nature, they rendered him, at different times, the most unhappy of mankind. The variety and depth of his sufferings, in early life, from extreme tenderness of heart, are very forcibly displayed in the following Verses, which formed part of a letter to one of his female relations, at the time they were composed. The letter has perished; and the verses owe their preservation to the affectionate memory of the lady to whom they were addressed.

Doom'd, as I am, in solitude to waste

The present moments, and regret the past;
Depriv'd of every joy, I valued most,

My Friend torn from me, and my Mistress lost;
Call not this gloom, I wear, this anxious mien,
The dull effect of humour, or of spleen!

Still, still, I mourn, with each returning day,
Him* snatch'd by fate, in early youth, away.
And Her―thro' tedious years of doubt and pain,
Fix'd in her choice, and faithful-but in vain!
O prone to pity, generous, and sincere,
Whose eye ne'er yet refused the wretch a tear;
Whose heart the real claim of friendship knows,
Nor thinks a lover's are but fancied woes;
See me―ere yet my destin'd course half done,
Cast forth a wand'rer on a wild unknown !
See me neglected on the world's rude coast,
Each dear companion of my voyage lost!
Nor ask why clouds of sorrow shade my

And ready tears wait only leave to flow!

brow!

Why all, that soothes a heart, from anguish free,

All that delights the happy-palls with me!

When he quitted the house of the solicitor, where he was placed to acquire the rudiments of litigation, he settled himself in chambers of the Inner-Temple, as a regular student of law; but altho' he resided there to the age of thirty-three, he rambled (according to his own colloquial account of his early years) from the thorny road of his austere patroness, jurisprudence, into the primrose paths of literature and poetry. Even here his native diffidence confined him to social and subordinate exertions:-He wrote and printed both prose and verse, as the concealed assistant of less diffident

* Sir William Russel, the favourite friend of the young Poet.

fident authors. During his residence in the Temple, he cultivated the friendship of some eminent literary characters, who had been his school-fellows at Westminster, particularly Colman, Bonnel Thornton, and Lloyd. His regard to the two first induced him to contribute to their periodical publication, entitled the Connoisseur, three excellent papers, which the Reader will find in the Appendix to these volumes, and from which he will perceive, that Cowper had such talents for this pleasant and useful species of composition, as might have rendered him a worthy associate, in such labours, to Addison himself, whose graceful powers have never been surpassed in that province of literature, which may still be considered as peculiarly his own.

The intimacy of Cowper and Lloyd may have given rise perhaps to some early productions of our Poet, which it may now be hardly possible to ascertain ;---the probability of this conjecture arises from the necessities of Lloyd, and the affectionate liberality of his friend. As the former was tempted by his narrow finances to engage in periodical works, it is highly probable that the pen of Cowper, ever ready to second the charitable wishes of his heart, might be devoted to the service of an indigent author, whom he appears to have loved with a very cordial affection.—I find that affection agreably displayed in a sportive poetical epistle, which may claim a place in this volume, not only as an early specimen of Cowper's poetry, but as exhibiting a sketch cf his own mind at the age of twenty-three.

AN

An EPISTLE to ROBERT LLOYD, Esqr. 1754.

'Tis not that I design to rob

Thee of thy birth-right, gentle Bob,

For thou art born sole heir, and single,

Of dear Mat Prior's easy jingle;

Nor that I mean, while thus I knit

My thread-bare sentiments together,
To shew my genius, or my wit,
When God and you know, I have neither;
Or such, as might be better shewn

By letting Poetry alone.

'Tis not with either of these views,

That I presume to address the Muse ;
But to divert a fierce banditti,

(Sworn foes to every thing that's witty!)
That, with a black, infernal train,
Make cruel inroads in my brain,
And daily threaten to drive thence
My little garrison of sense:
The fierce banditti, which I mean,
Are gloomy thoughts, led on by spleen.
Then there's another reason yet,
Which is, that I may fairly quit
The debt, which justly became due.
The moment, when I heard from you :
And you might grumble, crony mine,
If paid in any other coin;

Since twenty sheets of lead, God knows
(I would say twenty sheets of prose)

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