Book vi.

The office of doing justice to the poetical genius of Cowper has been assigned to an individual so well qualified to execute it with taste and ability, that the Editor begs thus publicly to record his acknowledgements and his unmingled satisfaction. The bowers of the Muses are not unknown to the Rev. John Cunningham, and, in contemplating the poetical labours of others, he might, with a small variation, justly apply to himself the well-known exclamation, "Ed anch'io son pittore."[778]

[778] Attributed to Correggio, after contemplating the works of Raphael.

All therefore that seems necessary, is simply to illustrate the beauties of Cowper's poetry in the same manner as we have exhibited his personal character. We shall present a brief 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 books 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 Tully stand. No sycophant or slave, that dared oppose Her sacred cause, but trembled when he rose; And every venal stickler for the yoke Felt himself crushed at the first word he spoke.

_Table Talk._

Sir Joshua Reynolds:

There, touch'd by Reynolds, a dull blank becomes A lucid mirror, in which Natures 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.[779]

[779] Alluding to the monument of Lord Chatham, in Westminster Abbey.

John Thornton, Esq.:

Some men make gain a fountain, whence proceeds A stream of liberal and heroic deeds; The swell of pity, not to be confined Within the scanty limits of the mind, Disdains the bank, and throws the golden sands, A rich deposit, on the bordering lands: These have an ear for his paternal call, Who make some rich for the supply of all; God's gift with pleasure in his praise employ, And Thornton is familiar with the joy.

_Charity._

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 liv'd unknown, Till persecution dragg'd them into fame, And chas'd them up to heav'n. 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 suff'rers little praise.

_Task_, book 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 pleas'd 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 hum'rous vein, strong sense, and simple style, May teach the gayest, make the gravest smile; Witty, and well-employ'd, and, like thy Lord, Speaking in parables his slighted word: I name thee not, lest so despis'd a name Should move a sneer at thy deserved fame: Yet, e'en in transitory life's late day, That mingles all my brown with sober grey, Revere the man, whose Pilgrim marks the road, And guides the Progress of the soul to God.

_Tirocinium._

Brown, the rural designer:[780]

[780] Brown, in Cowper's time, was the great designer in the art of laying out grounds for the nobility and gentry.

Lo! he comes-- Th' omnipotent magician, Brown appears. Down falls the venerable pile, th' abode Of our forefathers, a grave whisker'd race, But tasteless. Springs a palace in its stead, But in a distant spot; where more expos'd It may enjoy th' advantage of the north, And agueish east, till time shall have transform'd Those naked acres to a shelt'ring grove. He speaks. The lake in front becomes a lawn, Woods vanish, hills subside, and valleys rise, And streams, as if created for his use, Pursue the track of his directing wand, Sinuous or straight, now rapid and now slow, Now murm'ring soft, now roaring in cascades, E'en as he bids. Th' enraptur'd owner smiles. 'Tis finish'd. And yet, finished as it seems. Still wants a grace, the loveliest it could show, A mine to satisfy the enormous cost.

_The Task_, book iii.

London:

Oh! thou resort and mart of all the earth, Chequer'd with all complexions of mankind, And spotted with all crimes; in whom I see Much that I love and much that I admire, And all that I abhor; thou freckled fair, That pleases and yet shocks me, I can laugh, And I can weep, can hope, and yet despond, Feel wrath and pity when I think on thee! Ten righteous would have sav'd a city once, And thou hast many righteous.--Well for thee-- That salt preserves thee; more corrupted else, And therefore more obnoxious at this hour, Than Sodom in her day had power to be, For whom God heard his Abram plead in vain.

THE CONTRAST.

Where finds Philosophy her eagle eye, With which she gazes at yon burning disk Undazzled, and detects and counts his spots? In London. Where her implements exact, With which she calculates, computes, and scans, All distance, motion, magnitude, and now Measures an atom, and now girds a world? In London. Where has commerce such a mart, So rich, so throng'd, so drain'd, and so supplied, As London--opulent, enlarg'd, and still Increasing, London? Babylon of old Not more the glory of the earth than she, A more accomplish'd world's chief glory now.