ページの画像
PDF
ePub
[graphic]

THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. Just as it used to do, and when Mr. P goes up stairs, for aught I know, or ever shall know, the fall of his foot can hardly, perhaps, be distinguished from that of Mr. Newton. But Mr. Newton's foot will never be heard upon that staircase again. These reflections, and such as these, occurred to me on this occasion. If I were in a condition to leave Olney, I certainly would not stay in it. It is no attachment to the place that binds me here, but an unfitness for every other. I lived in it once, but now I am buried in it, and have no business with the world on the outside of my sepulchre; my appearance would startle them, and theirs would be shocking to me."

In a letter to Mr. Newton, 3d May, 1780, he thus writes: "You indulge me in such a variety of subjects, and allow me such a latitude of excursion, in this scribbling employment, that I have no excuse for silence. I am much obliged to you for swallowing such boluses as I send you, for the sake of my gilding, and verily believe, I am the only man alive, from whom they would be welcome, to a palate like yours. I wish I could make them more splendid than they are, more alluring to the eye, at least, if not more pleasing to the taste, but my leafgold is tarnished, and has received such a tinge from the vapors that are ever brooding over my mind, that I think it no small proof of your partiality to me, that you will read my letters. If every human being upon earth could think for one quarter of an hour, as I have thought for many years, there might perhaps be many miserable men among them, but not one unawakened one would be found, from the Arctic to the Antarctic circle. At present, the difference between them and me is greatly to their advantage. I delight in baubles, and know them to be so, for, rested in, and viewed without a reference to their author, what is the earth, what are the planets, what is the sun itself, but a bauble? Better for a man never to have seen them, or to see them with the eyes of a brute, stupid and unconscious of what he beholds, than not to be able to say, The maker of these wonders is my friend!' Their eyes have never been opened, to see that they are trifles; mine have been, and will be, till they are closed for ever."

"I live in a world abounding with incidents, upon which many grave, and perhaps some profitable observations, might be made; but these incidents never reaching my unfortunate ears, both the entertaining narrative, and the reflections it might suggest, are to be annihilated and lost. I look back on the past week, and say, what did it produce? I ask the same question of the week preceding, and duly receive the same answer from both-nothing! A situation like this, in which I am as unknown to the world, as I am ignorant of all that passes in it -in which I have nothing to do but to think, would exactly suit me, were my subjects of meditation as agreeable as my leisure is uninterrupted: my passion for retirement is not at all abated, after so many years spent in the most sequestered state, but rather increased; a circumstance I should esteem wonderful, to a degree not to be accounted for, considering the condition of my mind, did I not know that we think as we are made to think, and of course, approve and prefer, as Providence, who appoints the bounds of our habitation, chooses for us. Thus, I am both free, and a prisoner at the same time. The world is before me; I am not shut up in the Bastile; there are no moats about my castle, no locks upon my gates, of which I have not the keys; but an invisible, uncontrollable agency, a local attachment, an inclination, more forcible than I ever felt, even to the place of my birth, serves me for prison walls, and for bounds, which I cannot pass. In former years I have known sorrow, and NUMBER 5.

and in this gloomy and uncomfortable climate, it is no easy matter for the owner of a mind like mine, to divert it from sad subjects, and fix it upon such as may administer to its amusement. Poetry, above all things, is useful to me in this respect. While I am held in pursuit of pretty images, or a pretty way of expressing them, I forget every thing that is irk-privilege, which you will know how to dilate upoL some, and, like a boy that plays truant, determine to avail himself of the present opportunity to be amused, regardless of future consequences. It will not be long perhaps, before you will receive a poem, called the Progress of Error; that will be succeeded by another, in due time, called Truth. Don't be alarmed. I ride Pegasus with a curb. He will never run away with me again. I have even convinced Mrs. Unwin, that I can manage him, and make him stop, when I please."

in their hands, and is of perpetual obligation, both upon Jews and Christians; the commandment enjoins it, and the prophets have enforced it; and, in many instances, the breach of it has been punished with a providential severity, that has made bystanders tremble. Secondly, it may be considered as a better than I can tell you; thirdly, as a sign of that covenant by which believers are entitled to a rest that yet remaineth; fourthly, as the sine qua non of the Christian character, and upon this head, I should guard against being misunderstood to mean no more than two attendances upon public worship, which is a form observed by thousands who never kept a Sabbath in. their lives. Consistence is necessary to give substance and solidity to the whole. To sanctify the day at church, and to trifle it away out of church, say to my catechumen, Do you love the day, or do you not? If you love it, you will never inquire how far you may safely deprive yourself of the enjoyment of it. If you do not love it, and you find yourself in conscience obliged to acknowledge it, that is an alarming symptom, and ought to make you tremble. If you do not love it, then it is a weariness to you, and you wish it over. The ideas of labor and rest, are not more opposite to each other than the idea of a Sabbath, and that dislike and disgust, with which it fills the souls of thousands, to be obliged to keep it: it is worse than bodily labor."

On another occasion he gives the following cu-is profanation, and vitiates all. After all, I should rious and playful description of himself:-"I can compare this mind of mine to nothing that resembles it more, than to a board, that is under the carpenter's plane, (I mean while I am writing to you;) the shavings are my uppermost thoughts; after a few strokes of the tool, it acquires a new surface; this again, upon a repetition of his task, he takes off, and a new surface still succeeds. Whether the shavings of the present day, will be worth your acceptance, I know not; I am, unfortunately, made neither of cedar nor of mahogany, but Truncus ficulnus, inutile lignum, consequently, though I should be planed till I am as thin as a wafer, if will be but rubbish at last."

To his cousin, Mrs. Cowper, he again writes:"I know not what impressions time may have made To his cousin, Mrs. Cowper, he thus plaintively upon your person, for while his claws, (as our grandescribes his feelings:-"My days steal away silent- dams called them,) strike deep furrows in some ly, and march on, (as poor mad Lear would have faces, he seems to sheath them with much tendermade his soldiers march) as if they were shod withness, as if fearful of doing injury to others. But; felt; not so silently but that I hear them, yet were though an enemy to the body, he is a friend to the it not that I am always listening to their flight, hav-mind, and you have doubtless found him so. Though, ing no infirmity that I had not when I was much younger, I should deceive myself with an imagination that I am still young. I am fond of writing, as an amusement, but do not always find it one. Being rather scantily furnished with subjects that are good for any thing, and corresponding only with those who have no relish for such as are good for nothing, I often find myself reduced to the necessity, the disagreeable nécessity, of writing about myself. This does not mend the matter much; for though, in a description of my own condition, I discover abundant materials to employ my pen upon, yet as the task is not very agreeable to me, so, I am sufficiently aware, that it is like to prove irksome to others. A painter, who should confine himself, in the exercise of his art, to the drawing of his own picture, must be a wonderful coxcomb indeed, if he did not soon grow sick of his occupation, and be peculiarly fortunate if he did not make others as sick as himself."

Notwithstanding Cowper's depressive malady, yet his views of religion, even at that period, remained unaltered, and were as much distinguished for their excellence as ever. Writing to his friend, Mr. Unwin, the following judicious remarks occur, respecting keeping the Sabbath:-"With respect to the advice you are required to give to a young lady, that she may be properly instructed in the manner of keeping the Sabbath, I just subjoin a few hints that have occurred to me on the occasion. I think the Sabbath may be considered, first, as a commandment, no less binding upon Christians than upon Jews. The spiritual people among them did not think it enough, merely to abstain from manual occupations on that day, but entering more deeply into the meaning of the precept, allotted those hours they took from the world, to the cultivation of holiness in their own souls; which ever was, and ever will be, incumbent upon all who have the Scripture

even in this respect, his treatment of us depends upon what he meets with at our hands, if we use him well, and listen to his admonitions, he is a friend indeed; but otherwise, the worst of enemies, who takes from us daily, something that we valued, and gives us nothing better in its stead. It is well with them, who, like you, can stand a tip-toe on the mountain-top of human life, look down with pleasure upon the valley they have passed, and sometimes stretch their wings in joyful hope of a happy flight into eternity. Yet a little while, and your hope will be accomplished. The course of a rapid river is the justest of all emblems, to express the variableness of our scene below. Shakspeare says, none ever bathed himself twice in the same stream; and it is equally true, that the world upon which we close our eyes at night, is never the same as that upon which we open them in the morning."

CHAPTER VIII.

Makes preparations for publishing his first volume. Reasons assigned for it. Beneficial effects of composition on his mind. His comparative indifference to the success of his volume. Great care, nevertheless, with which he composed it. His readiness to avail himself of the assistance and advice of his friends. The interest which Mr. Newton took in his publication. Writes the preface for the volume. Cowper's judicious reply to some objections that had been made to it. Publication of the volume. Manner in which it was received. Continuance of Cowper's depression. State of his mind respecting religion. His warm attachment to the leading truths of the gospelArdent desires to make his volume the means of conveying them to others.

MORE than seven years had now elapsed since the commencement of Cowper's distressing malady; and though he was not yet perfectly recovered, he had, at length, gradually acquired the full exercise of those mental powers for which he was so highly distinguished. Having now employed his

muse, with the happiest effect, for nearly two years, I will make its appearance in the course of the winter. he had composed a sufficient number of lines to It is a bold undertaking at this time of day, when so form a respectable volume. Mrs. Unwin had wit- many writers of the greatest abilities have gone nessed with delight the productions of his pen, and before, who seem to have anticipated every valuashe now wisely urged him to make them public. ble subject, as well as all the graces of poetical emHe was, at first, exceedingly averse to the measure; bellishment, to step forth into the world in the but, after some consideration, he at length yielded character of a bard; especially when it is considered to her suggestions, and made preparations to appear that luxury, idleness, and vice, have debauched the as an author. His letters to his correspondents on public taste, and that scarcely any thing but childish the subject are highly interesting, and afford a full fiction, or what has a tendency to excite a laugh, is development of the design he had in view in ap- welcome. I thought, however, that I had stumbled pearing before the public. To Mr. Unwin he thus upon some subjects that had never been poetically writes: "Your mother says I must write, and must treated, and upon some others, to which I imagined admits of no apology; I might otherwise plead it would not be difficult to give an air of novelty by that I have nothing to say, that I am weary, the manner of treating them. My sole drift is to that I am dull, that it would be more conve- be useful-a point which, however, I knew I should nient for you, as well as for myself, that I should let in vain aim at, unless I could be likewise entertainit alone. But all these pleas, and whatever pleas ing. I have therefore fixed these two strings to my besides, either disinclination, indolence, or necessity, bow; and by the help of both, have done my best to might suggest, are overruled, as they ought to be, send my arrow to the mark. My readers will hardly the moment a lady adduces her irrefragable argu- have begun to laugh before they will be called upon ment, you must. Úrged by her entreaties, I have at to correct that levity, and peruse me with a more length sent a volume to the press: the greater part serious air. I cast a side-long glance at the goodof it is the produce of last winter. Two-thirds of liking of the world at large, more for the sake of the volume will be occupied by four pieces. It con- their advantage and instruction than their praise. tains, in all, about two thousand five hundred lines; They are children; if we give them physic, we and will be known, in due time, by the names of must sweeten the rim of the cup with honey. As to Table Talk, The Progress of Error, Truth, Expos- the effect, I leave that in His hands, who alone can tulation, with an addition of some smaller poems, produce it: neither prose nor verse can reform the all of which, I believe, have passed under your no- manners of a dissolute age, much less can they intice. Altogether they will furnish a volume of spire a sense of religious obligation, unless assisted, tolerable bulk, that need not be indebted to an into- and made efficacious by the power who superintends lerable breadth of margin, for the importance of its the truth he has vouchsafed to impart." figure."

To his warm friend, Mr. Hill, he thus amusingly adverts to his publication:—“I am in the press, and it is in vain to deny it. My labors are principally the production of the last winter; all, indeed, except a few of the minor pieces. When I can find no other occupation, I think, and when I think, I am very apt to do it in rhyme. Hence it comes to pass that the season of the year which generally pinches off the flowers of poetry, unfolds mine, such as they are, and crowns me with a winter garland. In this respect therefore, I and my contemporary bards are by no means upon a par. They write when the delightful influences of fine weather, fine prospects, and a brisk motion of the animal spirits, make poetry almost the language of nature; and I, when icicles depend from all the leaves of the Parnassian laurel, and when a reasonable man would as little expect to succeed in verse, as to hear a blackbird whistle. This must be my apology to you for whatever want of fire and animation you may observe in what you will shortly have the perusal of. As to the public, if they like me not, there is no remedy. A friend will weigh and consider all disadvantages, and make as large aHowances as an author can wish, and larger, perhaps, than he has any right to expect, but not so the world at large; whatever they do not like, they will not by an apology be persuaded to forgive: it would be in vain to tell them that I wrote my verses in January, for they would immediately reply, Why did you not write them in May? A question that might puzzle a wiser head than we poets are generally blessed with."

In this undertaking he was encouraged by his friend, Mr. Newton, with whom he corresponded on the subject, and to whom he thus discloses his mind:-"If a board of inquiry were to be established, at which poets were to undergo an examination respecting the motives that induced them to publish, and I were to be summoned to attend, that I might give an account of mine, I think I could truly say, what perhaps few poets could, that though I have no objection to lucrative consequences, if any such should follow, they are not my aim; much less is it my ambition to exhibit myself to the world as a genius. What then, says Mr. President, can possibly be your motive? I answer, with a bow, amusement. There is no occupation within the compass of my small sphere, poetry excepted, that can do much towards diverting that train of melancholy forebodings, which, when I am not thus employed, are for ever pouring themselves in upon me. And if I did not publish what I write, I could not interest myself sufficiently in my own success to make an amusement of it. My own amusement, however, is not my sole motive. 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 sweet-meat, 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 facetious, lest I should consult the taste of my readers at the ex- It might have been supposed that the vigorous expense of my own approbation; nor more serious ercise of the mental powers which the composition than I have been, lest I should forfeit theirs. A of poetry like that of Cowper's required, would have poet in my circumstances has a difficult part to act; increased this depressive malady, instead of diminone minute obliged to bridle his humor, if he has ishing it. His, however, was a peculiar case, and any, the next, to clap a spur to the sides of it. Now he found it of great advantage, as we learn in a letready to weep, from a sense of the importance of ter to Mr. Newton, where he says: "I have never his subject, and on a sudden constrained to laugh, found an amusement, among the many that I have lest his gravity should be mistaken for dullness." been obliged to have recourse to, that so well anWriting to his amiable correspondent, Mrs. Cow-swered the purpose for which I used it, as compoper, 19th October, 1781, he says: "I am preparing sition. The quieting and composing effect of it was a volume of poems for the press, which I imagine such, and so totally absorbed have I sometimes been

in my rhyming occupation, that neither the past nor the future (those themes which to me are so fruitful in regret at other times) had any longer a share in my contemplation. For this reason I wish, and have often wished since the fit left me, that it would seize me again, but hitherto I have wished in vain. I see no want of subjects, but I feel a total disability to discuss them. Whether it is thus with other writers or not, I am ignorant, but I should suppose my case, in this respect, a little peculiar. The voluminous writers at least, whose vein of fancy seems always to have been rich in proportion to their occasions, cannot have been so unlike, and so unequal to themselves. There is this difference between my poetship and the generality of them; they appear to have been ignorant how much they stood indebted to an Almighty power for the exercise of those talents they supposed to be their own. Whereas I know, and know most perfectly, that my power to think, whatever it be, and consequently my power to compose, is, as much as my outward form, afforded to me by the same hand that makes me, in any respect, differ from a brute."

The commencement of authorship is generally a period of much painful anxiety: few persons have ventured on such an undertaking without experiencing considerable excitement; and in a mind like Cowper's, it might have been supposed that such would have been the case in a remarkable degree. No person, however, ever ventured before the public, in the character of an author, with less anxiety. Writing to Mr. Unwin, he says:-"You ask me how I feel on the occasion of my approaching publication? Perfectly at ease. If I had not been pretty well assured beforehand, that my tranquillity would be but little endangered by such a measure, I would never have engaged in it, for I cannot bear disturbance. I have had in view two principal objects; first, to amuse myself, and then to compass that point in such a manner, that others might possibly be the better for my amusement. If I have succeeded, it will give me pleasure; but if I have failed, I shall not be mortified to the degree that might perhaps be expected. The critics cannot deprive me of the pleasure I have in reflecting, that so far as my leisure has been employed in writing for the public, it has been employed conscientiously, and with a view to their advantage. There is nothing agreeable, to be sure, in being chronicled for a dunce; but I believe there lives not a man upon earth who would be less affected by it than myself." Indifferent as he was to the result of his publications, he was far from being careless in their composition. Perhaps no author ever took more pains with his productions, or sought more carefully to make them worthy of public approbation. In one of his letters, adverting to this subject, he says:"To touch and retouch is, though some writers boast of negligence, 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 myself, and if you would take as much pains as I do, you would not need to ask for my corrections. 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 paradox, 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 mattention 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 retouched, 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 to pass till I have made it as good as I can ; 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 all, I should be converted into waste paper, it may be my misfortune, but it will not be my fault; and I shall bear it with perfect serenity."

In the character of Cowper there was nothing like an overweening confidence in his own powers. No person was ever more willing to avail himself of the advice of his friends, nor did any one ever receive advice more gratefully. Not satisfied with bestowing upon his productions the greatest pains himself, he occasionally submitted them to the correction of others, and his correspondence affords many proofs of his readiness to profit by the slightest hint. To Mr. Newton he thus writes:-"I am much obliged to you for the pains you have taken with my poems, and for the manner in which you have interested yourself in their appearance. Your favorable opinion affords me a comfortable presage with respect to that of the public; for though I make allowance for your partiality to me, yet I am sure you would not suffer me, unadmonished, to add myself to the number of insipid rhymers with whose productions the world is already too much pestered. I forgot to mention, that Johnson uses the discretion my poetship has allowed him, with much discernment. He has suggested several alterations, or rather marked several defective passages, which I have corrected, much to the advantage of the poems. In the last sheet he sent me, he noticed three such, which I reduced to better order. In the foregoing sheet I assented to his criticisms in some instances, and chose to abide by the original expressions in others; whenever he has marked such lines as did not please him, I have, as often as I could, paid all possible respect to his animadversions. Thus we jog on together comfortably enough; and perhaps it would be as well for authors in general, if their booksellers, when men of some taste, are allowed, though not to tinker the work themselves, yet to point out the flaws, and humbly to recommend an improvement. I have also to thank you, and ought to have done it in the first place, for having recommended to me the suppression of some lines, which I am now more than ever convinced, would at least have done me no honor."

The great interest Mr. Newton took in Cowper's publication, induced the poet to request him to compose the preface; and his correspondence with Mr. Newton on the subject is alike honorable to his judgment and his feelings; and affords a striking display of the strong hold which religion had upon his affections. He thus introduces the subject to Mr. Newton:-"With respect to the poem called Truth, it is so true that it can hardly fail of giving offence to an unenlightened reader. I think, therefore, that in order to obviate in some measure those prejudices that will naturally erect their bristles against it, an explanatory preface, such as you (and nobody else so well as you) can furnish me with, will have every grace of propriety to recommend it; or if you are not averse to the task, and your avocations will allow you to undertake it, and if you think it will be still more proper, I should be glad to be indebted to you for a preface to the whole. I admit that it will require much delicacy, but am far from apprehending that you will find it difficult to succeed. You can draw a hair-stroke, where another man would make a blot as broad as a sixpence."

The preface composed by Mr. Newton, though it was in the highest degree satisfactory to Cowper, and was admitted by him to be every thing that he could wish, was nevertheless thought by others to be of too sombre a cast to introduce a volume of

poems pre-eminently distinguished for their viva- | per's malady, that a train of melancholy thoughts city and eloquence. Adverting to this objection, seemed ever to be pouring themselves in upon his and to the suggestion of the publisher to suppress it, mind, which neither himself nor his friends were Cowper thus writes:-"If the men of the world ever able to account for, satisfactorily. Writing to are so merrily disposed, in the midst of a thousand his friend, Mr. Newton, who had recently paid him calamities, that they will not deign to read a pre-a visit, he thus discloses the state of his mind:face, of three or four pages, because the purport of "My sensations at your departure were far from it is serious, they are far gone, indeed, in the last pleasant. When we shall meet again, and in what stage of a frenzy. I am, however, willing to hope, circumstances, or whether we shall meet or not, is that such is not the case: curiosity is an universal an article to be found nowhere but in that provipassion. There are few persons who think a book dence which belongs to the current year, and will worth reading, but feel a desire to know something not be understood till it is accomplished. This I about the writer of it. This desire will naturally know, that your visit was most agreeable to me, lead them to peep into the preface, where they will who, though I live in the midst of many agreeables, soon find, that a little perseverance will furnish am but little sensible of their charms. But when them with some information on the subject. If, you came, I determined, as much as possible, to be therefore, your preface finds no readers, I shall take deaf to the suggestions of despair; that if I could it for granted that it is because the book itself is contribute but little to the pleasure of the opportuaccounted not worth their notice. Be that as it may, nity, I might not dash it with unseasonable melanit is quite sufficient that I have played the antic iny- choly, and like an instrument with a broken string, self for their diversion; and that, in a state of de- interrupt the harmony of the concert." jection such as they are absolute strangers to, I have sometimes put on an air of cheerfuiness and vivacity, to which I myself am in reality a stranger, for the sake of winning their attention to more useful matter. I cannot endure the thought, for a moment, that you should descend to my level on the occasion, and court their favor in a style not more unsuitable to your function, than to the constant and consistent strain of your whole character and conduct. Though your preface is of a serious cast, it is free from all offensive peculiarities, and contains none of those obnoxious doctrines at which the world is too apt to be angry, It asserted nothing more than every rational creature must admit to be true-that divine and earthly things can no longer stand in competition with each other, in the judgment of any man, than while he continues ignorant of their respective value; and that the moment the eyes are opened, the latter are always cheerfully relinquished for the former. It is impossible for me, however, to be so insensible to your kindness in writing the preface, as not to be desirous of defying all contingencies, rather than entertain a wish to suppress it. It will do me honor, indeed, in the eyes of those whose good opinion is worth having, and if it hurts me in the estimation of others, I cannot help it; the fault is neither yours nor mine, but theirs. If a minister's is a more splendid character than a poet's, and I think nobody that understands their value can hesitate in deciding that question, then, undoubtedly, the advantage of having our names united in the same volume is all on my side."

It is gratifying to observe, that neither the attention which Cowper paid to his publication, nor the depressive malady with which he was afflicted, could divert his attention from the all-important concerns of religion. A tone of deep seriousness, and genuine Christian feeling, pervades many of his letters written about this time. To Mr. Newton he thus writes:-"You wish you could employ your time to better purpose, yet are never idle, in all that you do; whether you are alone, or pay visits, or receive them; whether you think, or write, or walk, or sit still, the state of your mind is such as discovers even to yourself, in spite of all its wanderings, that there is a principle at the bottom, whose determined tendency is towards the best things. I do not at all doubt the truth of what you say, when you complain of that crowd of trifling thoughts that pesters you without ceasing; but then you always have a serious thought standing at the door of your imagination, like a justice of the peace, with the Riot Act in his hand, ready to read it and disperse the mob. Here lies the difference between you and me. You wish for more attention, I for less. Dis. sipation itself would be welcome to me, so it were not a vicious one; but however earnestly invited, it is coy, and keeps at a distance. Yet with all this distressing gloom upon my mind, I experience, as you do, the slipperiness of the present hour, and the rapidity with which time escapes me. Every thing around us, and every thing that befalls us, constitutes a variety, which, whether agreeable or otherwise, has still a thievish propensity; and steals from us days, months, and years, with such unparalleled suddenness, that even while we say they are here, they are gone. From infancy to manhood, is rather a tedious period, chiefly, I suppose, because at that time we act under the control of others, and are not suffered to have a will of our own. But thence downward into the vale of years is such a declivity, that we have just an opportunity to reflect upon the steepness of it, and then find ourselves at the bottom."

Cowper's first volume was published in the spring of 1782. Its success, at first, fell far short of what might have been anticipated from its extraordinary merit. It was not long, however, before the more intelligent part of the reading public appreciated its value. It soon found its way into the hands of all lovers of literature. Abounding with some of the finest passages that are to be met with, either in ancient or modern poetry, it was impossible that it should remain long unnoticed. By mere readers of taste, it was read for the beauty and elegance of The following extracts from his correspondence its composition; by many, it was eagerly sought with Mr. Unwin, who at that time was on a visit at after for the sprightliness, vivacity, and wit, with Brightelmstone, will show the deep tone of seriouswhich it abounded; by Christians, of all denomina-ness that pervaded his mind:-"I think with you, tions, it was read with unfeigned pleasure for the that the most magnificent object under heaven is striking and beautiful descriptions it contained of the great deep; and cannot but feel an unpolite doctrinal, practical, and experimental Christianity. species of astonishment, when I consider the multiIt would scarcely be supposed that the author of a tudes that view it without emotion, and even withvolume of poems like this, exhibiting such a diver- out reflection. In all its varied forms, it is an obsity of powers as could not fail to charm the mind, ject, of all others, the most suitable to affect us with delight the imagination, and improve the heart, lasting impressions of the awful power that created could have remained, during the whole time he was and controls it. I am the less inclined to think this composing it, in a state of great and painful depres- negligence excusable, because at a time of ife sion. Such, however, was the peculiarity of Cow-when I gave as little attention to religion as any

« 前へ次へ »