pa

cility were beginning to be painfully visible; nor can nature present a spectacle more truly pitiable, for dominion, which it knows not either how to than imbecility in such a shape, eagerly grasping retain, or how to relinquish."-Vol. ii. pp. 161, 162.

From a part of these evils, however, the poet was relieved, by the generous compassion of Lady Hesketh, who nobly took upon herself the task of superintending this melan choly household. We will not withhold from our readers the encomium she has so well earned from the biographer.

Homer was scarcely finished, when a proposal was made to the indefatigable translator, to engage in a magnificent edition of Milton, for which he was to furnish a version of his Latin and Italian poetry, and a critical commentary upon his whole works. Mr. Hayley had, at this time, undertaken to write a life of Milton: and some groundless reports, as to an intended rivalry between him and Cowper, led to a friendly explanation, and to a very cordial and affectionate intimacy. In the year 1792, Mr. Hayley paid a visit to his newly acquired friend at Weston; and hap"Those only, who have lived with the superpened to be providentially present with him annuated and melancholy, can properly appreciate when the agony which he experienced from fectly apprehend, what personal sufferings it must the value of such magnanimous friendship; or perthe sight of a paralytic attack upon Mrs. Un-cost the mortal who exerts it, if that mortal has win, had very nearly affected his understand-received from nature a frame of compassionate ing. The anxious attention of his friend, and sensibility. The lady, to whom I allude, has felt the gradual recovery of the unfortunate but too severely, in her own health, the heavy tax tient, prevented any very calamitous effect that mortality is forced to pay for a resolute perse. verance in such painful duty."-Vol. ii. p. 177. from this unhappy occurrence: But his spirits appear never to have recovered the shock; and the solicitude and apprehension which he constantly felt for his long tried and affectionate companion, suspended his literary exertions, aggravated the depression to which he had always been occasionally liable, and rendered the remainder of his life a very precarious struggle against that overwhelming malady by which it was at last obscured. In the end of summer, he returned Mr. Hayley's visit at Eartham; but came back again to Weston, with spirits as much depressed and forebodings as gloomy as ever. His constant and tender attention to Mrs Unwin, was one cause of his neglect of every thing else. "I cannot sit," he says in one of his letters, "with my pen in my hand, and my books before me, while she is, in effect, in solitude-silent, and looking in the fire." A still more powerful cause was, the constant and oppressive dejection of spirits that now began again to overwhelm him. "It is in vain," he says, "that I have made several attempts to write since I came from Sussex. Unless more comfortable days arrive, than I have now the confidence to look for, there is an end of all writing with me! I have no spirits. When Rose came, I was obliged to prepare for his coming, by a nightly dose of laudanum."

It was impossible, however, for any care or attention to arrest the progress of that dreadful depression, by which the faculties of this excellent man were destined to be extinguished. In the beginning of the year 1794, he became utterly incapable of any sort of exertion, and ceased to receive pleasure from the company or conversation of his friends. Neither a visit from Mr. Hayley, nor his Majesty's order for a pension 300l. a-year, was able to rouse him from that languid and melancholy state into which he had gradually been sinking; and, at length, it was thought necessary to remove him from the village of Weston to Tuddenham in Norfolk, where he could be under the immediate superintend ence of his kinsman, the Reverend Mr. Johnson. After a long cessation of all correspondence, he addressed the following very moving lines to the clergyman of the favourite village, to which he was no more to return:

"I will forget, for a moment, that to whomsoever I may address myself, a letter from me can no otherwise be welcome, than as a curiosity. To you, sir, I address this, urged by extreme penury thing of what is doing, and has been done, at of employment, and the desire I feel to learn some. Weston (my beloved Weston!) since I left it? No situation, at least when the weather is clear and bright, can be pleasanter than what we have In the course of the year 1793, he seems here; which you will easily credit, when 1 add, to have done little but revise his translation that it imparts something a little resembling pleaof Homer, of which he meditated an im- ton!-If Mr. Gregson and the Courtney's are sure even to me.-Gratify me with news of Wesproved edition. Mr. Hayley came to see him there, mention me to them in such terms as you a second time at Weston, in the month of sce good. Tell me if my poor birds are living! November; and gives this affecting and pro-I never see the herbs I used to give them, without phetic account of his situation

a recollection of them, and sometimes am ready to gather them, forgetting that I am not at home.

Pardon this intrusion."

"He possessed completely at this period all the admirable faculties of his mind, and all the native tenderness of his heart; but there was something In summer 1796, there were some faint indescribable in his appearance, which led me to glimmerings of returning vigour, and he again. apprehend, that, without some signal event in his applied himself, for some time, to the revisal favour, to re-animate his spirits, they would gradu-of his translation of Homer. In December, ally sink into hopeless dejection. The state of his aged infirm companion, afforded additional ground for increasing solicitude. Her cheerful and beneficent spirit could hardly resist her own accumulated maladies, so far as to preserve ability sufficient to watch over the tender health of him whom she had watched and guarded so long. Imbecility of body and mind must gradually render this tender and heroic woman unfit for the charge which she had so laudably sustained. The signs of such imbe

Mrs. Unwin died; and such was the severe depression under which her companion then laboured, that he seems to have suffered but little on the occasion. He never afterwards mentioned her name! At intervals, in the summer, he continued to work at the revisal of his Homer, which he at length finished in 1799; and afterwards translated some of

Gay's Fables into Latin verse, and made ners, something of a saintly purity and de English translations of several Greek and corum, and in cherishing that pensive and Latin Epigrams. This languid exercise of contemplative turn of mind, by which he was his once-vigorous powers was continued till so much distinguished. His temper appears the month of January 1800, when symptoms to have been yielding and benevolent; and of dropsy became visible in his person, and though sufficiently steady and confident in soon assumed a very formidable appearance. the opinions he had adopted, he was very After a very rapid but gradual decline, which little inclined, in general, to force them upon did not seem to affect the general state of his the conviction of others. The warmth of his spirits, he expired, without struggle or agita- religious zeal made an occasional exception: tion, on the 25th of April, 1800. but the habitual temper of his mind was toleration and indulgence; and it would be difficult, perhaps, to name a satirical and popular author so entirely free from jealousy and fastidiousness, or so much disposed to make the most liberal and impartial estimate of the merit of others, in literature, in politics, and in the virtues and accomplishments of social life. No angry or uneasy passions, indeed, seem at any time to have found a place in his bosom; and, being incapable of malevolence himself, he probably passed through life, without having once excited that feeling in the breast of another.

Of the volumes now before us, we have little more to say. The biography of Cowper naturally terminates with this account of his death; and the posthumous works that are now given to the public, require very few observations. They consist chiefly of short and occasional poems, that do not seem to have been very carefully finished, and will not add much to the reputation of their author. The longest is a sort of ode upon Friendship, in which the language seems to be studiously plain and familiar, and to which Mr. Hayley certainly has not given the highest poetical praise, by saying that it " contains the essence of every thing that has been said on the subject, by the best writers of different countries." Some of the occasional songs and sonnets are good; and the translations from the anthologia, which were the employment of his last melancholy days, have a remarkable closeness and facility of expression. There are two or three little poetical pieces, written by him in the careless days of his youth, while he resided in the Temple, that are, upon the whole, extremely poor and unpromising. It is almost inconceivable, that the author of The Task should ever have been guilty of such verses as the following:

""Tis not with either of these views,

That I presume to address the Muse; But to divert a fierce banditti, (Sworn foes to every thing that's witty!) That, with a black infernal train, Make cruel inroads in my brain, And daily threaten to drive thence My little garrison of sense: The fierce banditti which I mean, Are gloomy thoughts, led on by spleen. Then there's another reason yet, Which is, that I may fairly quit The debt which justly became due The moment when I heard from you: And you might grumble, crony mine, If paid in any other coin."-Vol. i. p. 15. It is remarkable, however, that his prose was at this time uncommonly easy and elegant. Mr. Hayley has preserved three numbers of the Connoisseur, which were written by him in 1796, and which exhibit a great deal of that point and politeness, which has been aimed at by the best of our periodical essayists since the days of Addison.

The personal character of Cowper is easily estimated, from the writings he has left, and the anecdotes contained in this publication. He seems to have been chiefly remarkable for a certain feminine gentleness, and delicacy of nature, that shrunk back from all that was boisterous, presumptuous, or rude. His secluded life, and awful impressions of religion, concurred in fixing upon his man

As the whole of Cowper's works are now before the public, and as death has finally closed the account of his defects and excellencies, the public voice may soon be expect ed to proclaim the balance; and to pronounce that impartial and irrevocable sentence which is to assign him his just rank and station in the poetical commonwealth, and to ascertain the value and extent of his future reputation. As the success of his works has, in a great measure, anticipated this sentence, it is the less presumptuous in us to offer our opinion of them.

The great merit of this writer appears to us to consist in the boldness and originality of his composition, and in the fortunate audacity with which he has carried the dominion of poetry into regions that had been considered as inaccessible to her ambition. The gradual refinement of taste had, for nearly a century, been weakening the force of original genius. Our poets had become timid and fastidious, and circumscribed themselves both in the choice and the management of their subjects, by the observance of a limited number of models, who were thought to have exhausted all the legitimate resources of the art. Cowper was one of the first who crossed this enchanted circle; who reclaimed the natural liberty of invention, and walked abroad in the open field of observation as freely as those by whom it was originally trodden. He passed from the imitation of poets, to the imitation of nature, and ventured boldly upon the representation of objects that had not been sanctified by the description of any of his predecessors. In the ordinary occupations and duties of domestic life, and the consequences of modern manners, in the common scenery of a rustic situation, and the obvious contemplation of our public institutions, he has found a multitude of subjects for ridicule and reflection, for pathetic and picturesque description, for moral declamation, and devotional rapture, that would have been looked upon with disdain, or with despair, by most of out poetical adventu ers. He took as wide a

not harmony and meaning go together? It is it is translated, is a true English style, though difficult, to be sure; and so it is, to make meaning and verse of any kind go together: But it is the business of a poet to overcome these difficulties, and if he do not overcome them both, he is plainly deficient in an accomplishment that others have attained. To those who find it impossible to pay due attention both to the sound and the sense, we would not only address the preceding exhortation of Cowper, but should have no scruple to exclaim, "Give us a sentence of plain prose, full of spirit and meaning, rather than a poem of any kind that has nothing but its versification to recommend it."

Though it be impossible, therefore, to read the productions of Cowper, without being delighted with his force, his originality, and his variety; and although the enchantment of his moral enthusiasm frequently carries us insensibly through all the mazes of his digressions, it is equally true, that we can scarcely read a single page with attention, without being offended at some coarseness or lowness of expression, or disappointed by some "most lame and impotent conclusion." The dignity of his rhetorical periods is often violated by the intrusion of some vulgar and colloquial idiom, and the full and transparent stream of his diction broken upon some obstreperous verse, or lost in the dull stagnation of a piece of absolute prose. The effect of his ridicule is sometimes impaired by the acrimony with which it is attended; and the exquisite beauty of his moral painting and religious views, is injured in a still greater degree by the darkness of the shades which his enthusiasm and austerity have occasionally thrown upon the canvas. With all these defects, however, Cowper will probably very long retain his popularity with the readers of English poetry. The great variety and truth of his descriptions; the minute and correct painting of those home scenes, and private feelings with which every one is internally familiar; the sterling weight and sense of most of his observations, and, above all, the great appearance of facility with which every thing is executed, and the happy use he has so often made of the most common and ordinary language; all concur to stamp upon his poems the character of original genius, and remind us of the merits that have secured immortality to Shakespeare.

After having said so much upon the original writings of Cowper, we cannot take our leave of him without adding a few words upon the merits of the translation with which we have found him engaged for so considerable a portion of his life. The views with which it was undertaken have already been very fully explained in the extracts we have given from his correspondence; and it is impossible to deny, that his chief object has been attained in a very considerable degree. That the translation is a great deal more close and literal than any that had previously been attempted in English verse, probably will not be disputed by those who are the least disposed to admire it; that the style into which

not perhaps a very elegant or poetical one,
may also be assumed; but we are not sure
that a rigid and candid criticism will go far.
ther in its commendation. The language is
often very tame, and even vulgar; and there
is by far too great a profusion of antiquated
and colloquial forms of expression. În the
dialogue part, the idiomatical and familiar
turn of the language has often an animated
and happy effect; but in orations of dignity,
this dramatical licence is frequently abused,
and the translation approaches to a parody.
In the course of one page, we observe that
Nestor undertakes "to entreat Achilles to a
calm." Agamemnon calls him, "this wrangler
here." And the godlike Achilles himself
complains of being treated "like a fellow of
no worth."
"Ye critics say,

How poor to this was Homer's style!"'
In translating a poetical writer, there are
two kinds of fidelity to be aimed at. Fidelity
to the matter, and fidelity to the manner of the
original. The best translation would be that,
certainly, which preserved both. But, as this
is generally impracticable, some concessions
must be made upon both sides; and the largest
upon that which will be least regretted by
the common readers of the translation. Now,
though antiquaries and moral philosophers,
may take great delight in contemplating the
state of manners, opinions, and civilization,
that prevailed in the age of Homer, and be
offended, of course, at any disguise or modern
embellishment that may be thrown over his
representations, still, this will be but a second-
ary consideration with most readers of poet
ry; and if the smoothness of the verse, the
perspicuity of the expression, or the vigour
of the sentiment, must be sacrificed to the
observance of this rigid fidelity, they will
generally be of opinion, that it ought rather
to have been sacrificed to them; and that the
poetical beauty of the original was better
worth preserving than the literal import of
the expressions. The splendour and magnifi-
cence of the Homeric diction and versification
is altogether as essential a part of his compo-
sition, as the sense and the meaning which
they convey. His poetical reputation depends
quite as much on the one as on the other; and
a translator must give but a very imperfect and
unfaithful copy of his original, if he leave out
half of those qualities in which the excellence
of the original consisted. It is an indispensa
ble part of his duty, therefore, to imitate the
harmony and elevation of his author's lan-
guage, as well as to express his meaning; and
he is equally unjust and unfaithful to his
original, in passing over the beauties of his
diction, as in omitting or disguising his sen-
timents. In Cowper's elaborate version, there
are certainly some striking and vigorous pas-
sages, and the closeness of the translation
continually recals the original to the memory
of a classical reader; but he will look in vain
for the melodious and elevated language of
Homer in the unpolished verses and collo.
quial phraseology of his translator.

(July, 1804.)

The Life and Posthumous Writings of WILLIAM COWPER, Esq. With an Introductory Letter to the Right Honourable Earl Cowper. By WILLIAM HAYLEY, Esq. Vol. III. 4to. pp. 416. Johnson, London: 1804.

THIS is the continuation of a work of which | public; and having lived in a state of entire we recently submitted a very ample account seclusion from the world, there were no anecand a very full character to our readers: On dotes of his conversation, his habits or opinthat occasion, we took the liberty of observ- ions, in circulation among his admirers. The ing, that two quarto volumes seemed to be publication of his correspondence has in a almost as much as the biography of a seclud-great measure supplied this deficiency; and ed scholar was entitled to occupy; and, with a little judicious compression, we are still of opinion that the life and correspondence of Cowper might be advantageously included in somewhat narrower limits. We are by no means disposed, however, to quarrel with this third volume, which is more interesting, if possible, than either of the two former, and will be read, we have no doubt, with general admiration and delight.

we now know almost as much of Cowper as we do of those authors who have spent their days in the centre and glare of literary or fashionable notoriety. These letters, however, will continue to be read, long after the curiosity is gratified to which perhaps they owed their first celebrity: for the character with which they make us acquuinted, will always attract by its rarity, and engage by its ele gance. The feminine delicacy and purity of Though it still bears the title of the life of Cowper's manners and disposition, the roCowper, this volume contains no further par-mantic and unbroken retirement in which his ticulars of his history; but is entirely made up of a collection of his letters, introduced by a long, rambling dissertation on letter-writing in general, from the pen of his biographer. This prologue, we think, possesses no peculiar merit. The writer has no vigour, and very little vivacity; his mind seems to be cultivated, but not at all fertile; and, while he always keeps at a safe distance from extravagance or absurdity, he does not seem to be uniformly capable of distinguishing affectation from elegance, or dulness from good judgment. This discourse upon letter-writmg, in short, contains nothing that might not have been omitted with considerable advantage to the publication; and we are rather inclined to think, that those who are ambitious of being introduced to the presence of Cowper, will do well not to linger very long in the antichamber with Mr. Hayley.

Of the letters themselves, we may safely assert, that we have rarely met with any Similar collection, of superior interest or beauty. Though the incidents to which they relate be of no public magnitude or moment, and the remarks which they contain are not uniformly profound or original, yet there is something in the sweetness and facility of the diction, and more, perhaps, in the glimpses they afford of a pure and benevolent mind, that diffuses a charm over the whole collection, and communicates an interest that is not often commanded by performances of greater diguity and pretension. This interest was promoted and assisted, no doubt, in a considerable degree, by that curiosity which always seeks to penetrate into the privacy of celebrated men, and which had been almost entirely frustrated in the instance of Cowper, till the appearance of this publication. Though his writings had long been extremely popular, the author himself was scarcely known to the

innocent life was passed, and the singular gentleness and modesty of his whole character, disarm him of those terrors that so often shed an atmosphere of repulsion around the persons of celebrated writers, and make us more indulgent to his weaknesses, and more delighted with his excellences, than if he had been the centre of a circle of wits, or the oracle of a literary confederacy. The interest of this picture is still further heightened by the recollection of that tremendous malady, to the visitations of which he was subject, and by the spectacle of that perpetual conflict which was maintained, through the greater part of his life, between the depression of those constitutional horrors, and the gaiety that resulted from a playful imagination, and a heart animated by the mildest affections.

In the letters now before us, Cowper dis plays a great deal of all those peculiarities by which his character was adorned or distinguished; he is frequently the subject of his own observations, and often delineates the finer features of his understanding with all the industry and impartiality of a stranger. But the most interesting traits are those which are unintentionally discovered, and which the reader collects from expressions that were employed for very different purposes. Among the most obvious, perhaps, as well as the most important of these, is that extraordinary combination of shyness and ambition, to which we are probably indebted for the very exist ence of his poetry. Being disqualified, by the former, from vindicating his proper place in the ordinary scenes either of business or of society, he was excited, by the latter, to at tempt the only other avenue to reputation that appeared to be open, and to assert the real dignity of the talents with which he felt that he was gifted. If he could only have mus tered courage enough to read the journals vi