תמונות בעמוד

To-morrow's business, when the labourers have
Such rest in bed, that their last church-yard grave,
Subject to change, will scarce be a type of this,
Now when the client, whose last hearing is ,
To-morrow, sleeps; when the condemned man,
Who when he opes his eyes, must shut them then .
Again by death, although sad watch he keep,
Doth practise dying by a little sleep,

Thou at this midnight seest me. It must be however confessed' of these writers, that if they are upon common subjects often unnecessarily and unpoetically subtle; yet where scholastick speculation can be properly admitted, their copiousness and acuteness may be justly admired. What Cowley has written upon Hope, shews an unequalled fertility of invention:

Hope, whose weak being ruin'd is,

Alike if it succed, and if it miss ;
Whom good or ill does equally confound;
And both the horns of Fate's dilemma wound.

Vain shadow, which dost vanquish quite,
Both at full noon and perfect night!
The stars have not a possibility

Of blessing thee;
If things then from their end we happy call,
'Tis Hope is the most hopeless thing of all.

Hope, thou bold taster of delight,
Who, whilst thou should'st but taste, devour'st it quite!
Thou bring'st us an estate, yet leav'st us poor,
By clogging it with legacies before !
The joys which we entire should wed,
Come deflower'd virgins to our bed ;
Good fortunes without gain imported be,,
Sech mighty custom's paid to thee :
For joy, like wine, kept close does better taste;

If it take air before, its spirits waste.. To the following comparison of a man that travels, and his wife that stays at home, with a pair of compasses, it may be doubted whether absurdity or ingenuity has the better claim:

Our two souls therefore, which are one,

Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expanson,

Like gold to airy thinness beat.
If they be two, they are two so

As stiff twin-compasses are two,
Thy soul the fixt foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th' other do.


And though it in the centre sit, i

Yet when the other far doth roar,
It leans, and hearkens after it,

And grows erect, as that comes home.
Such wilt thou be to me, who must

Like th’ other foot obliguely run.
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end, where I began.

Donne. In all these examples it is apparent, that whatever is improper or vitious, is produced by a voluntary deviation from nature in pursuit of something new and strange ; and that the writers fail to give delight, by their desire of exciting admiration.

HAVING thus endeavoured to exhibit a general representation of the style and sentiments of the metaphysical poets, it is now proper to examine particularly the works of Cowley, who was almost the last of that race, and undoubtedly the best.

His Miscellanies contain a collection of short compositions, written some as they were dictated by a mind at leisure, and some as they were called forth by different occasions; with great variety of style and sentiment, from burlesque levity to awful grandeur. Such an assemblage of diversified excellence no other poet has loitherto afforded. To choose the best, among many good, is one of the most hazardous attempts of criticism. I know not whcther Scaliger himself has persuaded many readers to join with him in his preference of the iwo favourite odes, which he estimates in his raptures at the value of a kingdom. I will however venture to recommend Cowley's first piece, which ought to be inscribed To my muse, for want of which the second couplet is without reference. When the title is added, there will still remain a defect; for every piece ought to contain in itself whatever is necessary to make it intelligible., Pope bas some epitaphs without names; which are therefore epitaplıs to be lett, occupied indeed for the present, but hardly appropriated.

The ode on Wit is almost without a rival. It was about the time of Cowley that Wit, which had been till then used for Intellection, in contradistinction 10 will, took the meaning, whatever it þe, which it now bears.

Of all the passages in which poets have exemplified their own precepts, none sill easily be found of greater excellence than that in which Cowley condemns exoberance of Wit:

Yer 'tis not to adorn and gild each part,

That shews more cost chan art.
Jewels at nose and lips but ill appear ;

Rather than all things wit, let none be there.
Several lights will not be seen,

If there be nothing else between.
Men doubt, because they stand so thick i'ch' sky,
If those be stars which paint the galaxy

In his verses to Lord Falkland, whom every man of his time was proud to · praise, there are, as there must be in all Cowley's compositions, some striking thoughts; but they are not well wrought. His elegy on Sir Henry Wotton is vi. gorous and happy, the series of thoughts is easy and natural, and the conclusion, though a little weakened by the intrusion of Alexander, is elegant and forcible.

It may be remarked, that in this Elegy, and in most of his encomiastic poems, he has forgotten or neglected to name his heroes.

In his poem on the death of Harvey, there is much praise, but little paffion, a very just and ample delineation of such virtues as a studious privacy admits, and such intellectual excellence as a mind not yet called forth to action can display. He knew how to distinguish, and how to commend the qualities of his companion; but when he wishes to make us weep, he forgets to weep himself, and diverts his sorrow by imagining how his crown of bays, if he had it, would crackle in the fire. It is the odd fate of this thought to be worse for being true.

The bay leaf crackles remarkably as it burns; as therefore this property was not assigned it by chance, the mind must be thought sufficiently at ease that could attend to suclı minuteness of physiology. But the power of Cowley is not so much to move the affections, as to exercise the understanding.

The Chronicle is a composition unrivalled and alone : such gaiety of fancy, such facility of expression, such varied similitude, such a succession of images, and such a dance of words, it is in vain to expect except from Cowley. His strength always appears in his agility, his volatility is not the fiutter of a light, bụt the bound of an elastic mind. His levity never leaves his learning behind it; the moralist, the politician, and the critićk, mingle their influence even in this airy frolick of genius. To such a performance Suckling could have brought the gaiety, but not the knowledge ; Dryden could have supplied the knowledge, but not the gaiety.

The verses to' Davenant, which are vigorously begun, and happily con. cluded, contain some hints of criticism very justly conceived and happily ex. pressed. Cowley's critical abilities have not been sufficiently observed: the few decisions and remarks which his prefaces and his notes on the Davideis supply, were at that time accessions to English literature, and shew such skill as raises our wish for more examples.

The lines from Jersey are a very curious and pleasing specimen of the familiar descending to the burlesque.'

His two metrical disquisitions for and against Reason, are no mean specimens of metaphysical poetry. The stanzas against knowledge produce little conviction. In those which are intended to exalt the human faculties, Reason las its proper task assigned it; that of judging, not of things revealed, but of the reality of revelation, In the verses for Reason is a passage which Bentley, in the only English verses which he is known to have written, seems to have copied, though with the inferiority of an imitator.

The holy Book like the eighth sphere doth shine

With thousand lights of iruth divine,
So numberless the stars that to our eye
It makes all but one galaxy :


Yet Reason must assist too; for in eis

So vast and dangerous as these,
Our course by stars above we cannot know

Without the compass too below.
After this, says Bentley *:

. Who travels in religious jars,

Truth nix'd with error, shade with says,
Like Whiston wanting pyx or stars, .

In ccean wide or sinks or strays. Cowley seems to have had, what Milton is believed to have wanted, the skill to rate his owni performances biy their just value, and has therefore closed his Miscellanies with the vërses upon Crashaw, which apparently èxcell all that have gone before them, and in which there are beautics which common authors mav justly think not only above their attainment, but above their ambition.

To the Miscellanies succeeded the Anacreontiques, or paraphrastical translations of some little poems, which pass, however justly, under the name of Anacreon. Of those songs dedicated to festivity and gaiety, in which every the morality is voluptuous, and which teach nothing but the enjoyment of the present day, he has given rather a pleasing than a faithful representation, having retained their sprightliness, but lost their simplicity. The Ariacteon of Cowley, like the Homer of Pope, has admitted the decoration of some moderni graces, by which he is undoubtedly more amiable to commor readers, and perhaps, if they would honestly declare their own perceptions, to far the greater part of those whom courtesy and ignorance are conteiit to style the Learned.

These little pieces will be found more finished in their kind than any other of Cowley's works. The diction shews nothing of the mould of time, and the sentiments are at no great distance from our present habitudes of thought. Real mirth must be always natural, and nature is uniform. Men have been wise in very different modes; but they have always laughed the sắme way.

Levity of thought naturally produced familiarity of language, and the familiarpart of language continues loiig the same: tlie dialoglie of comedy, when it' is transcribed from popular manners and real life, is read froin age to age with equal pleasure. The artifices of inversion, by which the established order of words is changed, or of innovation, by which new words or new meanings of words are introduced, is practised, not by thiose who talk to be understood, but by those who write to be admired.

The Anacreontiques therefore of Cowley give now all the pleasure which they ever gare. If he was formed by nature for one kind of writing inore than for another, his power seems to have been greatest in the familiar and tlie festive.

The next class of his poems is called The Mistress, of which it is not necessary .. to select any particular pieces for praise or censure. • They have all the same. beauties and faults, and nearly in the same proportion. They are written with

• Dodsley's Collecnion of Poems, vol. V. E. VOL. I.



exuberance of wit, and with copiousness of learning; and it is truly asserted by Sprat, that the plenitude of the writer's knowledge flows in upon his page, so that the reader is commonly surprised into some improvement. But, considered as the verses of a lover, no man that has ever loved will much commend them. They are neither courtly nor pathetick, have neither gallantry nor fondness. His praises are too far sought, and too hyperbolical, either to express love, or to excite it ; every stanza is crowded with darts and flames, with wounds and death, with mingled souls, and with broken hearts.

The principal artifice hy which The Mistress is filled with conceits is very copiously described by Addison. Love is by Cowley, as by other poets, expressed metaphorically by filame and fire; and that which is true of real fire is said of love, or figurative fire, the same word in the same sentence retaining both significations. Thus,“ observing the cold regard of his mistress's eyes, “ and at the same time their power of producing love in bim, he considers " then as burning glasses made of ice. Finding hiinself able to live in the “ greatest extremities of love, he concludes the torrid zone to be habitable. : “ Upon the dying of a tree, on which he had cut his loves, he observes, that “ his fames had burnt up and withered the tree.

These conceits Addison calls mixt wit; that is, wit which consists of thoughts true in one sense of the expression, and false in the other. Addison's representation is sufficiently indulgent. That confusion of images may entertain for a moment; but being unnatural, it soon grows wearisome. Cowley delighted in it, as much as if he had invented it; but not to mention the ancients, he might have found it full-blown in modern Italy. Thus Sannazaro:

Aspice quam variis distringar Lesbia curis.!

Uror, & heu! nostro manat ab igne liquor;

* Sum Nilus, sumque Ætna simul; restringite Hammas . O lacrime, aut lacrimas ebibe flamma meas.. One of the severe theologians of that time censured him as having published a book of profane and lascivious Verses. From the charge of profaneness, the constant tenoi of his life, which seems to have been eminently virtuous, and the general tendency of his opinions, which discover no irreverence of religion, must defend him; but that the accusation of lasciviousness is unjust, the perusal of his works will sufficiently evince.

Cowley's Mistress has no power of seduction : “ she plays round the head, “ but reaches not the heart.” Her beauty and absence, her kindness and cruelty. her disdain and inconstancy, produce no correspondence of emotion. His poetical account of the virtues of plants, and colours of Howers, is not perused with more sluggish frigidity. The compositions are such as might have been written for penance by a heripit, or for hire by a philosophical rhymer who had only heard of another sex ; for they turn the mind only on the writer, whom, without thinking on a woman but as the subject for his task, we sometimes esteem as learned, and sometimes despise as triling, always admire as ingenious, and always condemn as unnatural.


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