The Works of William Cowper. William Cowper

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СКАЧАТЬ describe, and the words densissimus imber give one an idea of a shower indeed, but of such a shower as is not very common, and such a one as only Virgil could have done justice to by a single epithet. Far therefore from agreeing with the Doctor in his stricture, I do not think the Æneid contains a nobler line, or a description more magnificently finished.

      We are glad that Dr. C—— has singled you out upon this occasion. Your performance we doubt not will justify his choice: fear not, you have a heart that can feel upon charitable occasions, and therefore will not fail you upon this. The burning words will come fast enough when the sensibility is such as yours.

      Yours, my dear friend,

       W. C.

      The ingenuity and humour of the following verses, as well as their poetical merit, give them a just claim to admiration.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN.[238]

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      Olney, April 25, 1784.

      My dear William—Thanks for the fish, with its companion, a lobster, which we mean to eat to-morrow.

      TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY OF THE HALYBUTT ON WHICH I DINED THIS DAY, MONDAY, APRIL 26, 1784.

      Where hast thou floated, in what seas pursued

       Thy pastime? when wast thou an egg new-spawn'd

       Lost in th' immensity of ocean's waste?

       Roar as they might, the overbearing winds

       That rock'd the deep, thy cradle, thou wast safe.

       And in thy minikin and embryo state,

       Attach'd to the firm leaf of some salt weed,

       Didst outlive tempests, such as wrung and rack'd

       The joints of many a stout and gallant bark,

       And whelm'd them in the unexplored abyss.

       Indebted to no magnet and no chart,

       Nor under guidance of the polar fire,

       Thou wast a voyager on many coasts,

       Grazing at large in meadows submarine,

       Where flat Batavia, just emerging, peeps

       Above the brine—where Caledonia's rocks

       Beat back the surge—and where Hibernia shoots

       Her wondrous causeway far into the main.

       —Wherever thou hast fed, thou little thought'st,

       And I not more, that I should feed on thee.

       Peace, therefore, and good health, and much good fish,

       To him who sent thee! and success as oft

       As it descends into the billowy gulf,

       To the same drag that caught thee!—Fare thee well!

       Thy lot, thy brethren of the slimy fin

       Would envy, could they know that thou wast doom'd

       To feed a bard, and to be praised in verse.

TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.

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      Olney, April 26, 1784.

      We are glad that your book runs. It will not indeed satisfy those whom nothing could satisfy but your accession to their party; but the liberal will say you do well, and it is in the opinion of such men only that you can feel yourself interested.

      I have lately been employed in reading Beattie and Blair's Lectures. The latter I have not yet finished. I find the former the most agreeable of the two, indeed the most entertaining writer upon dry subjects I ever met with. His imagination is highly poetical, his language easy and elegant, and his manner so familiar that we seem to be conversing with an old friend upon terms of the most sociable intercourse while we read him. Blair is on the contrary rather stiff, not that his style is pedantic, but his air is formal. He is a sensible man, and understands his subjects, but too conscious that he is addressing the public, and too solicitous about his success, to indulge himself for a moment in that play of fancy which makes the other so agreeable. In Blair we find a scholar, in Beattie both a scholar and an amiable man, indeed so amiable that I have wished for his acquaintance ever since I read his book. Having never in my life perused a page of Aristotle, I am glad to have had an opportunity of learning more than (I suppose) he would have taught me, from the writings of two modern critics. I felt myself too a little disposed to compliment my own acumen upon the occasion. For, though the art of writing and composing was never much my study, I did not find that they had any great news to tell me. They have assisted me in putting my observations into some method, but have not suggested many of which I was not by some means or other previously apprized. In fact, critics did not originally beget authors, but authors made critics. Common sense dictated to writers the necessity of method, connexion, and thoughts congruous to the nature of their subject; genius prompted them with embellishments, and then came the critics. Observing the good effects of an attention to these items, they enacted laws for the observance of them in time to come, and, having drawn their rules for good writing from what was actually well written, boasted themselves the inventors of an art which yet the authors of the day had already exemplified. They are however useful in their way, giving us at one view a map of the boundaries which propriety sets to fancy, and serving as judges to whom the public may at once appeal, when pestered with the vagaries of those who have had the hardiness to transgress them.

      The candidates for this county have set an example of economy which other candidates would do well to follow, having come to an agreement on both sides to defray the expenses of their voters, but to open no houses for the entertainment of the rabble; a reform, however, which the rabble did not at all approve of, and testified their dislike of it by a riot. A stage was built, from which the orators had designed to harangue the electors. This became the first victim of their fury. Having very little curiosity to hear what gentlemen could say who would give them nothing better than words, they broke it in pieces, and threw the fragments upon the hustings. The sheriff, the members, the lawyers, the voters, were instantly put to flight. They rallied, but were again routed by a second assault like the former. They then proceeded to break the windows of the inn to which they had fled; and a fear prevailing that at night they would fire the town, a proposal was made by the freeholders to face about, and endeavour to secure them. At that instant a rioter, dressed in a merry Andrew's jacket, stepped forward and challenged the best man among them. Olney sent the hero to the field, who made him repent of his presumption: Mr. A—— was he. Seizing him by the throat, he shook him—he threw him to the earth, he made the hollowness of his scull resound by the application of his fists, and dragged him into custody without the least damage to his person. Animated by this example, the other freeholders followed it, and in five minutes twenty-eight out of thirty ragamuffins were safely lodged in gaol.

      Adieu, my dear friend,

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