From thefe contents our readers may perceive that the author has attempted no fable, nor regular feries of connected incidents. The whole confifts of reflections and ftrictures, ferious, humorous, fatirical, and moral; each fubject introducing the next with feeming eafe. Few topics of public notoriety have escaped his notice. His poetry, confequently, puts on various fhapes, being defcriptive, pathetic, familiar, and didactic, according to the prefent fubject. With regard to the merit of the whole, it is that of uniform excellence; in the perufal of which the reader is led on imperceptibly, and every fubject begets an impatience for that which is to fucceed. Hence, in giving a few fpecimens, we fhall confine ourselves to fuch as will vindicate our opinion of the versatility of Mr. Cowper's pen.
Of defcriptive poetry let the following fuffice.
Defcending now (but cautious, left too fast)
A fudden fteep, upon a rustic bridge
We pafs a gulph, in which the willows dip
Their pendent boughs, ftooping as if to drink.
Here, ancle-deep in mofs and flowery thyme,
We mount again, and feel, at every step,
Our foot half funk in hillocks green and foft,
Rais'd by the mole, the miner of the foil.
He, not unlike the great ones of mankind,
Disfigures earth, and, plotting in the dark,
Toils much to earn a monumental pile
That may record the mischiefs he has done.
The fummit gain'd, behold the proud alcove
That crowns it! yet, not all its pride secures
The grand retreat from injuries imprefs'd
By rural carvers, who with knives deface
The pannels, leaving an obscure rude name
In characters uncouth, and spelt amiss.
So ftrong the zeal t'immortalize himself
Beats in the breaft of man, that ev'n a few,
Few tranfient years, won from th' abyss abhorr'd
Of blank oblivion, feems a glorious prize;
And even to a clown. Now roves the eye;
And, posted on this speculative height,
Exults in its command. The sheepfold here
Pours out its fleecy tenants o'er the glebe.
At first, progreffive as a ftream, they feek
The middle field; but, fcatter'd by degrees,
Each to his choice, foon whiten all the land.
There, from the fun-burnt hay-field, homeward creeps
The loaded wain; while, lighten'd of its charge,"
The wain that meets it paffes fwiftly by,
The boorish driver leaning o'er his team
Vocif'rous, and impatient of delay.
T 2
Nor lefs attractive is the woodland scene,
Diversified with trees of every growth,
Alike, yet various. Here the grey fmooth trunks
Of afh or lime, or beech, diftinctly shine,
Within the twilight of their diftant shades;
There, loft behind a rifing ground, the wood
Seems funk, and fhorten'd to its topmost boughs.
No tree in all the grove but has its charms,
Though each its hue peculiar; paler fome,
And of a wannifh grey; the willow fuch,
And poplar, that with filver lines his leaf,
And afh far ftretching his umbrageous arm.
Of deeper green the elm; and deeper ftill,
Lord of the woods, the long-furviving oak.
Some gloffy leav'd, and shining in the fun,
The maple, and the beech, of oily nuts
Prolific, and the lime at dewy eve
Diffufing odours; nor unnoted pafs
The fycamore, capricious in attire,
Now green, now tawny, and, ere autumn yet
Have chang'd the woods, in fcarlet honours bright.
O'er thefe, but far beyond, (a spacious map
Of hill and valley interspersed between)
The Oufe, dividing the well-water'd land,
Now glitters in the fun, and now retires,
As bashful, yet impatient to be feen.
Hence the declivity is fharp and short,
And fuch the re-afcent; between them weeps
A little naiad her impov'rish'd urn
All fummer long, which winter fills again.'
The remainder of this picture is very beautiful; nor will ⚫ur readers complain of the length of the following quotation. • Whom call we gay? That honour has been long The boast of mere pretenders to the name.
The innocent are gay-the lark is gay,
That dries his feathers, faturate with dew,
Beneath the rofy cloud, while yet the beams
Of day-fpring overfhoot his humble neft.
The peafant too, a witnefs of his fong,
Himfelf a fongfter, is as gay as he.
But fave me from the gaiety of those
Whofe head-achs nail them to a noon-day bed;
And fave me too from their's, whofe haggard eyes
Flash defperation, and betray their pangs
For property ftripp'd off by venal chance;
From gaiety that fills the bones with pain,
The mouth with blasphemy, the heart with woe.'
Throughout the poem our author has contrived to introduce
fome little episodes, which agreeably relieve the train of re
flection. That of his "tame hare" yields to few things of the kind in our language. The fympathy of the female breaft will do ample juftice to the following picture of forlorn mifery.
There often wanders one, whom better days
Saw better clad, in cloak of fatin, trimm'd
With lace, and hat with fplendid ribband bound.
A ferving maid was fhe, and fell in love
With one who left her, went to fea and died.
Her fancy follow'd him, thro' foaming waves,
To distant fhores; and fhe would fit and weep
At what a failor fuffers; fancy, too,
Delufive moft where warmest wishes are,
Would oft anticipate his glad return,
And dream of tranfports the was not to know.
She heard the doleful tidings of his death,
And never smil'd again. And now the roams
The dreary wafte; there fpends the livelong day;
And there, unless when charity forbids,
The livelong night. A tatter'd apron hides,
Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides a gown
More tatter'd ftill; and both but ill conceal
A bofom heav'd with never-ceafing fighs.
She begs an idle pin of all the meets,
And hoards them in her fleeve; but needful food,
Though prefs'd with hunger oft, or comelier clothes,
Though pinch'd with cold, afks never-Kate is craz'd.'
We have already obferved, that the ftile of this poem is not equal. He is fometimes not only familiar, but quaint, in imitation, as it would appear, of the ancient English poets. This prevents the reader from being tired. Even beauty, an eminent critic has obferved, muft have its occafional foil, to preferve its charms. After allowing to London, as a populous city, the merit it is entitled to, Mr. Cowper proceeds to cenfure certain abuses.
• She (London) has her praife. Now mark a spot or two,
That fo much beauty would do well to purge;
And fhow this queen of cities, that fo fair
May yet be foul; fo witty, yet not wife.
It is not feemly, nor of good report,
That fhe is flack in difcipline. More prompt
T'avenge than to prevent the breach of law;
That he is rigid in denouncing death
On petty robbers, and indulges life
And liberty, and oft times honour too,
To peculators of the public gold.
That thieves at home must hang; but he that
Into his overgorged and bloated purfe,
The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes.
Nor is it well, nor can it come to good,
That, through profane and infidel contempt,
Of holy writ, fhe has prefum'd t'annul
And abrogate, as roundly as fhe may,
The total ordinance and will of God;
Advancing fashion to the poft of truth,
And cent'ring all authority in modes.
And cuftoms of her own, till fabbath rites
Have dwindled into unrefpected forms,
And knees and haffocks are well nigh divorc❜d.'
In many parts of the Tafk there is a strain of pious melancholy, which apparently refults from an experience of life, and a knowledge of the ways of men. The tenor of his reafon
ing is in favour of retirement and folitude; he has a taste for the pleasures of rural fimplicity, and appears to have imbibed a love for the works of nature, after a conviction that those of man are too imperfect and erroneous to confer happiness. Of the circumstances in the author's life, which probably have induced his present habits of thinking, he has not left us entirely ignorant. In the third book we find him alluding to his own hiftory.
I was a ftricken deer, that left the herd
Long fince; with many an arrow deep infixt
My panting fide was charg'd when I withdrew
To feek a tranquil death in distant shades.
There was I found by one who had himself
Been hurt by th' archers. In his fide he bore,
And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars.
With gentle force foliciting the darts,
He drew them forth, and heal'd, and bade me live.
Since then, with few affociates, in remote
And filent woods I wander, far from those
My former partners of the peopled fcene,
With few affociates, and not wishing more."
In the following lines there is an unusual animation and fpirit, joined to the jufteft fatire. In general, where our author chaftifes the fashionable follies, he is fevere and indignant. In man or woman, but far most in man,
And most of all in man that minifters
And ferves the altar, in my foul I loath
All affectation: 'Tis my perfect scorn;
Object of my implacable difguft.
What will a man play tricks; will he indulge
A filly, fond conceit of his fair form
And juft proportion, fafhionable mien,
pretty face, in presence of his God? Or will he feek to dazzle me with tropes, As with the di'mond on his lily hand;
And play his brilliant parts before my eyes,
When I am hungry for the bread of life?
He mocks his Maker, proftitutes and fhames
His noble office; and, instead of truth,
Difplaying his own beauty, ftarves his flock.-
Some, decent in demeanor while they preach,
That task perform'd, relapfe into themfelves,
And, having fpoken wifely, at the close
Grow wanton, and give proof to ev'ry eye-
Whoe'er was edifi'd, themfelves were not.
Forth comes the pocket mirror. First we ftroke
An eyebrow; next, compofe a ftraggling lock;
Then, with an air moft gracefully perform'd,
Fall back into our feat, extend an arm,
And lay it at its eafe with gentle care,
With handkerchief in hand, depending low:
The better hand, more bufy, gives the nofe
Its bergamot, or aids th' indebted eye
With op'ra glafs, to watch the moving scene,
And recognize the flow-retiring fair.
Now, this is fulfome; and offends me more
Than, in a churchman, flovenly neglect
And ruftic coarsenefs would. An heav'nly mind
May be indiff'rent to her house of clay,
And flight the hovel, as beneath her care;
But how a body so fantastic, trim,
And quaint in its deportment and attire,
Can lodge an heav'nly mind-demands a doubt.'
But we must refer the reader to the work itself for many beauties which it were impoffible to detail here. The " "rival of the Newfpapers"-" The poor Family-piece"The "Farmer's Daughter"-" Amusements of Monarchs"
“Spiritual Liberty not perishable"-" Origin of Cruelty "to Animals"-and many other paffages, will afford readers of feeling and tafte the greatest pleasure and fatisfaction. And, while the imagination and fancy are delighted with the manner, the heart cannot remain untouched by matter which is drawn from the fources of eternal wisdom. We fhall conclude our account of the Task with the following lines, in which the energy of diction, and warmth of philanthropy, cannot be sufficiently commended.
'Twere well, fays one fage, erudite, profound,
Terribly arch'd and aquiline his nofe,
And overbuilt with most impending brows;
'Twere well, could you permit the world to live
As the world pleases. What's the world to you?
Much. I was born of woman, and drew milk,
As fweet as charity, from human breasts.
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