when the accent and the phrases of the " Spectator" and the "Tatler" still lingered upon the public tongue. Milton he read in boyhood with a passion of delight; and the ear is often reminded in the "Task" of his majestic pauses. The writers, however, who chiefly coloured and shaped his poetry, were unquestionably Churchill and Young. His admiration of Churchill never wavered. Cowper was about fourteen years old when the concluding portion of the "Night Thoughts" appeared; and they had reached the height of their fame during his sojourn in the Temple. The resemblance to Young is not to be looked for in direct imitations, but in certain peculiarities of thought and utterance, scattered over the poems. To this class may be assigned the description of the gipsy encampment:

-the sportive wind blows wide

Their flutt'ring rags, and shows a tawny skin,
The vellum of the pedigree they hide.

And all these charms of fancy, tenderness, and wisdom are reflected through language nearly without a stain or a flaw. Purer, sweeter, simpler English never was written. La Fontaine gives the best idea of it to a French, as Wordsworth to a native reader. Several of the shorter poems are remarkable, as we see in Herbert, for the monosyllabic flow of the words, which not only enriches their music, but imparts to it the hearty Saxon tone. This, like every other excellence, he improved by labour. He did not take his pen from a line while there was the faintest hope of rendering it better; completing his work slowly, with many backward and forward steps of the artist, to judge of the effect of distance, combination, and colour. And so by genius and by toil, he has climbed to no mean seat in that Temple of Fame which he honoured and sought. Seven years before his death, he dreamed a dream of Pindus, and related it to Hayley. He seemed to be in a house in the city of London, with

much company assembled in the room, when, looking to the further end of it, he saw a figure which he immediately knew to be that of Milton. He was gravely attired in the fashion of the times. Cowper, after the transport of astonishment and delight had passed away, determined to accost him, and was received with a welcome of mingled dignity and sweetness, and listened to with a smile and a gentle bending of the head, as he spoke of the "Paradise Lost." Milton then took his hand affectionately, and said, "Well, you, for your part, will do well also." The dream melted with the sun, but its interpretation is known.

THE

4

POEMS OF COWPER.

VERSES WRITTEN AT BATH, ON FINDING
THE HEEL OF A SHOE, IN 1748.

[THE opinion long prevailed that Cowper began to be a poet late in life. It was an error which he himself encouraged:-"At fifty years of age," he told Mr. Park (1792), "I commenced author; it is a whim that has served me longest and best, and will probably be my last." This was a mere extravagance of the pen. He had been a rhymer from boyhood, and mentions a translation from Tibullus, done in his fifteenth year. In one of his letters he alludes to the ballads which he composed, while in the Temple, upon the model of Rowe, Congreve, and Prior, and of which "two or three had the honour to be popular." The poem on the "Heel of a Shoe" is the earliest specimen of his genius that has reached us, and it shows the music of the "Task" to have been, not an invented, but a recollected tune. The manner of Milton was not copied and burlesqued with more happiness by Philips; while in the moral of the verse "The Splendid Shilling" is greatly excelled.]

FORTUNE! I thank thee: gentle Goddess! thanks!
Not that my Muse, tho' bashful, shall deny,

She would have thank'd thee rather, hadst thou cast
A treasure in her way; for neither meed
Of early breakfast, to dispel the fumes,

And bowel-raking pains of emptiness,

Nor noontide feast, nor ev'ning's cool repast,

Hopes she from this-presumptuous, tho', perhaps,
The cobbler, leather-carving artist! might.
Nathless she thanks thee, and accepts thy boon,
Whatever; not as erst the fabled cock,

B

Vainglorious fool! unknowing what he found,
Spurn'd the rich gem thou gav'st him. Wherefore, ah!
Why not on me that favour, (worthier sure!)
Conferr'dst thou, Goddess! Thou art blind, thou say'st:
Enough!-thy blindness shall excuse the deed.
Nor does my Muse no benefit exhale
From this thy scant indulgence!—even here,
Hints, worthy sage philosophy, are found;
Illustrious hints, to moralize my song!
This pond'rous heel of perforated hide
Compact, with pegs indented, many a row,
Haply (for such its massy form bespeaks),
The weighty tread of some rude peasant clowr.
Upbore: on this supported oft, he stretch'd,
With uncouth strides, along the furrow'd glebe,
Flatt'ning the stubborn clod, till cruel time
(What will not cruel time), or a wry step,
Sever'd the strict cohesion; when, alas!
He, who could erst, with even, equal pace,
Pursue his destin'd way with symmetry,
And some proportion form'd, now, on one side,
Curtail'd and maim'd, the sport of vagrant boys,
Cursing his frail supporter, treacherous prop!
With toilsome steps, and difficult, moves on:
Thus fares it oft with other than the feet
Of humble villager-the statesman thus,
Up the steep road, where proud ambition leads,
Aspiring, first uninterrupted winds

His
prosp'rous way; nor fears miscarriage foul,
While policy prevails, and friends prove true:
But that support soon failing, by him left,
On whom he most depended, basely left,
Betray'd, deserted; from his airy height
Headlong he falls; and thro' the rest of life,
Drags the dull load of disappointment on.

AN ODE.

ON READING SIR CHARLES GRANDISON, IN 1753

SAY, ye apostate and profane,
Wretches who blush not to disdain
Allegiance to your God,

Did e'er your idly-wasted love
Of virtue for her sake remove,

And lift you from the crowd?

Would you the race of glory run,
Know, the devout, and they alone,
Are equal to the task:

The labours of the illustrious course
Far other than the unaided force
Of human vigour ask,

To arm against repeated ill
The patient heart, too brave to feel
The tortures of despair;
Nor safer yet high-crested Pride,
When wealth flows in with every tide
To gain admittance there.

To rescue from the tyrant's sword
The oppressed;- -unseen and unimplored,
To cheer the face of woe;

From lawless insult to defend
An orphan's right, a fallen friend,
And a forgiven foe;

These, these distinguish from the crowd,
And these alone, the great and good,
The guardians of mankind;

Whose bosoms with these virtues heave,
Oh, with what matchless speed they leave
The multitude behind!

Then ask ye, from what cause on earth
Virtues like these derive their birth?
Derived from Heaven alone,
Full on that favoured breast they shine,
Where faith and resignation join

To call the blessing down.