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of his application, he made a tour through various parts of India, in the course of which he wrote • The Enchanted Fruit, or Hindu Wife,' a poetical tale, and a “Treatise on the Gods of Greece, Italy, and India.' He also studied the Sanscrit language, being unwilling to continue at the mercy of the Pundits, who dealt out Hindu law as they pleased. Some translations from oriental authors, and original poems and essays, he contributed to a periodical established at Calcutta, entitled “The Asiatic Miscellany.' He meditated an epic poem on the discovery of England by Brutus, and had matured his design so far as to write the arguments of the intended books of his epic, but the poem itself he did not live to attempt. In 1789, Sir William translated an ancient Indian drama, Sacontala, or the Fatal Ring,' which exhibits a picture of Hindu manners in the century preceding the Christian era. He engaged to compile a digest of Hindu and Mohammedan laws; and in 1794 he translated the • Ordinances of Menu,' or the Hindu system of duties, religious and civil. His motive to this task, like his inducement to the digest, was to aid the benevolent intentions of our legislature in securing to the natives, in a qualified degree, the administration of justice by their own laws. Sir William died April 27, 1794. Every honour was paid to his reinains, and the East India Company erected a monument to his memory in St. Paul's Cathedral. The attainments of Sir William Jones were so profound and various, that it is difficult to conceive how he had comprised them in his short life of forty-eight years. With respect to the division of his time, he had written in India, on a small piece of paper, the following lines:
Sir Edward Coke :
Six hours in sleep, in law's grave study six,
Seven hours to law, to soothing slumber seven,
An Ode, in Imitation of Alccus.
Thick wall or moated gate;
Not bays and broad-armed ports,
Not starred and spangled courts,
No: men, high-minded men,
In forest, brake, or den,
* As respects sleep, the example of Sir Walter Scott may be added to that of Sir Wil. liam Jones, for the great novelist has stated that he required seven hours of total unconsciousness to fit him for the duties of the day.
As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude;
Men who do their duties know,
Prevent the long-aimed blow,
These constitute a state,
O'er thrones and globes elate
Smit by her sacred frown,
And e'en the all-dazzling Crown
Such was this heaven-loved isle,
No more shall Freedom smile ?
Since all must life resign,
'Tis folly to decline,
A Persian Song of Hafiz.
To love and joy thy thoughts confine, And bid these arms thy neck enfold Nor hope to pierce the sacred gloom. That rosy cheek, that lily hand, Would give thy poet more delight
Beauty has such resistless power, Than all Bokhara's haunted gold,
That even the chaste Egyptian dame Than all the gems of Samarcand.
Sighed for the blooming Hebrew boy:
For her how fatal was the hour, Boy, let yon liquid ruby flow,
When to the banks of Nilus came
A youth so lovely and so coy!
But ah! sweet maid, my counsel hearA stream so clear as Rocnabad,
Youth should attend when those advise A bower so sweet as Mosellay.
Whom long experience renders sage
While music charms the ravished ear; Oh! when these fair perfidious maids, While sparkling cups delight our eyes, Whose eyes our secret haunts infest, Be gay, and scorn the frowns of age. Their dear destructive charms display, Each glance my tender breast invades, What cruel answer have I heard ? And robs my wounded soul of rest,
And yet, by Heaven, I love thee still: As Tartars seize their destined prey. Can aught be cruel from thy lip?
Yet say, how fell that bitter word In vain with love our bosoms glow : From lips which streams of sweetness fill Can all our tears, can all our sighs,
Which nought but drops of honey sip? New lustre to those charms impart? Can cheeks, where living roses blow, Go boldly forth, my simple lay, Where nature spreads her richest dyes, Whose accents flow with artless ease, Require the borrowed gloss of art ?
Like orient pearls at random strung:
Thy notes are sweet, the damsels say; Speak not of fate : ah ! change the theme, But oh ! far sweeter, if they please And talk of odours, talk of wine,
The nymph for whom these notes are Talk of the flowers that round us bloom: sung!
The Concluding Sentence of Berkeley's Siris imitated.
Before thy mystic altar. heavenly Truth.
And life's last shade be brightened by thy ray:
Tetrastic-From the Persian.
NATHANIEL COTTON. NATHANIEL COTTON (1721-1788) wrote Visions in Verse,' for children, and a volume of poetical Miscellanies.' He followed the medical profession in St. Albans, and was distinguished for his skill in the treatment of cases of insanity. Cowper, his patient, bears evidence to his ‘well-known humanity and sweetness of temper.'
The Fireside. Dear Chloe, while the busy crowd,
Our babes shall richest comforts bring: The vain, the wealthy, and the proud, If tutored right, they'll prove a spring In folly's maze advance;
Whence pleasures ever rise : Though singularity and pride
We'll form their minds, with studious Be called our choice, we'll step aside,
care, Nor join the giddy dance., in
To all that's manly, good, and fair,
And train them for the skies.
While they our wisest hours engage, . Where love our hours employs; They'll joy our youth, support our age, No noisy neighbour enters here;
And crown our hoary hairs :
They'll grow in virtue every day;
And thus our fondest loves repay,
And recompense our cares.
No borrowed joys, they're all our own, . And they are fools who roam :
While to the world we live unknown, The world has nothing to bestow;
Or by the world forgot:
We look with pity on the great,
And bless our huinbler lot.
But then how little do we need!
For nature's calls are few :
In this the art of living lies,
To want no more than may suffice
And make that little do. Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle powers,
We'll therefore relish with content We, who improve his golden hours, Whate'er kind providence has sent, By sweet experience know,
Nor aim beyond our power; That marriage, rightly understood,
For, if our stock be very small, Gives to the tender and the good
'Tis prudence to enjoy it all, A paradise below.
Nor lose the present hour.
* The following is the last sentence of the Siris. 'He that would make a real progress in knowledge must dedicate his age as well as youth, the latter growth as well as the first-fruits, at the altar of Truth.'
To be resigned when ills betide,
And pleased with favours given;
Whose fragrance smells to heaven.
Thus, hand in hand, through life we'll go;
With cautious steps we'll tread;
And mingle with the dead :
And cheer our dying breath;
And smooth the bed of death,
We'll ask no long-protracted treat,
But when our feast is o'er,
The relics of our store.
WILLIAM COWPER. WILLIAM COWPER (1731–1800), 'the most popular poet of his generation, and the best of English letter-writers,'as Southey has designated him, belonged emphatically to the aristocracy of England. His father, the Rev. Dr. Cowper, chaplain to George II., was the son of Spencer Cowper, one of the judges of the court of Common Pleas, and a younger brother of the first Earl Cowper, lord chancellor. His mother was allied to some of the noblest families of England, descended by four different lines from King Henry III. This lofty lineage cannot add to the lustre of the poet's fame, but it sheds additional grace on his piety and humility. Dr. Cowper, besides his royal chaplaincy, held the rectory of Great Birkhamstead, in the county of Hertford, and there the poet was born, November 15, 1731. In his sixth year he lost his mother—whom he tenderly and affectionately remembered through all his life and was placed at a boarding-school, where he continued two years. The tyranny of one of his school-fellows, who held in complete subjection and abject fear the timid and home-sick boy, led to his removal from this seminary, and undoubtedly prejudiced him against the whole system of public education. He was next placed at Westminster School, where he had Churchill and Warren Hastings as schoolfellows, and where, as he says, he served a seven years' apprenticeship to the classics. At the age of eighteen he was removed, in order to be articled to an attorney. Having passed through this training—with the future Lord Chancellor Thurlow for his fellow-clerk-Cowper, in 1754, was called to the bar. He never made the law a study: in the solicitor's office he and Thurlow were constantly employed from morning to night in giggling and making giggle,' and 'in his chambers in the Temple he wrote gay verses, and associated with Bonnel Thornton, Colman, Lloyd, and other wits. He contributed a few papers to the Connoisseur' and to the 'St. James's Chronicle,' both conducted by his friends. Darker days were at hand.
Cowper's father was now dead, his patrimony was small, and he was in his thirty-second year, almost unprovided with an aim,' for the law was with him a mere nominal profession. In this crisis of his fortunes his kinsman, Major Cowper, presented him to the office
of clerk of the journals to the House of Lords---a desirable and lucrative appointment. Cowper accepted it; but the labour of studying the forms of procedure, and the dread of qualifying himself by appearing at the bar of the House of Lords, plunged him in the deepest misery and distress. The seeds of insanity were then in his frame; and after brooding over his fancied ills till reason had fled, he attempted to commit suicide. Happily this desperate effort failed; the appointment was given up, and Cowper was removed to å private madhouse at St. Albans, kept by Dr.' Cotton. The cloud of horror gradually passed away, and on his recovery, he resolved to withdraw entirely from the society and business of the world. He had still a small portion of his funds left, and his friends subscribed a further sum, to enable him to live frugally in retirement. The bright hopes of Cowper's youth seemed thus to have all vanished: his prospects of advancement in the world were gone; and in the new-born zeal of his religious fervour, his friends might well doubt whether his reason had been completely restored. He retired to the town of Huntingdon, near Cambridge, where his brother resided, and there formed an intimacy with the family of the Rev. Morley Unwin, a clergyman resident in the place. He was adopted as one of the family; and when Mr. Unwin himself was suddenly removed, the same connection was continued with his widow. Death only could sever a tie so strongly knit-cemented by mutual faith and friendship, and by sorrows of which the world knew nothing. To the latest generation the name of Mary Unwin will be united with that of Cowper, partaker of his fame as of his sad decline;
By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light. .. : After the death of Mr. Unwin in 1767, the family were advised by the Rev. John Newton—a remarkable man in many respects--to fix their abode at Olney, in the northern division of Buckinghamshire, where Mr. Newton himself officiated as curate. This was accordingly done, and Cowper removed with them to a spot which he has consecrated by his genius. He had still the river Ouse with him, as at Huntingdon, but the scenery is more varied and attractive, and abounds in fine retired walks. His life was that of a religious recluse; he ceased corresponding with his friends, and associated only with Mrs. Unwin and Newton. The latter engaged his assistance in writing a volume of hymns, but his morbid melancholy gained ground, and in 1773 it became a case of decided insanity. About two years were passed in this unhappy state. The poet, as appears from a diary kept by Newton, would have been married to Mrs. Unwin but for this calamity, On his recovery, Cowper took to gardening, rearing hares, drawing landscapes, and composing poetry. The latter was fortunately the most permanent enjoyment; and its fruits appeared in a volume of poems published in 1782. The sale of the work was slow; but his friends were eager in its praise, and it received the approbation of