pleased to remark the very promising seeds of those peculiar powers which unfolded themselves in the richest maturity, at a distant period, and rendered that beautiful and sublime poem, The Task, the most instructive and interesting of modern compositions. Veres written at Bath, in 1748, on finding the Fortune! I thank thee: gentle Goddess! thanks! ah! Wherefore Why not on me that favour, (worthier sure!) Conferr'dst thou, Goddess! Thou art blind, thou say'st: Enough!-Thy blindess shall excuse the deed. Nor does my Muse no benefit exhale Upbore: on this supported, oft he stretch'd His prosp'rous way; nor fears miscarriage foul, Of a youth, who, in a scene like Bath, could produce such a meditation, it may fairly be expected that he would, "In riper life, exempt from public haunt, Find tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in every thing." These few words of Shakspeare have often appeared to me as an absolute portrait of Cowper, at that happiest period of his days, when he exercised and enjoyed his rare poetical powers in privacy, at the pleasant village of Weston. But before we contemplate the poetical Recluse in that scene, it is the duty of his biogra pher to relate some painful incidents, that led him, by extraordinary steps, to his favourite retreat. Though extreme diffidence, and a tendency to despond, seemed early to preclude Cowper from the expectation of climbing to the splendid summit of the profession he had chosen; yet, by the interest of his family, he had prospects of emolument, in a line of public life, that appeared better suited to the modesty of his nature, and to his moderate ambition. In his thirty-first year he was nominated to the of fices of reading Clerk, and Clerk of the private Committees in the House of Lords. A situation the more desirable, as such an establishment might enable him to marry early in life; a measure to which he was doubly disposed by judgment and inclination. But the peculiarities of his wonderful mind rendered him unable to support the ordinary duties of his new office; for the idea of reading in public proved a source of torture to his tender and apprehensive spirit. An expedient was devised to promote his interest, without wounding his feelings. Resigning his situation of reading Clerk, he was appointed Clerk of the Journals in the same House of Parliament, with a hope that his personal appearance in that assembly might not be required; but a parliamentary dispute made it necessary for him to appear at the bar of the House of Lords to entitle himself publicly to the office. Speaking of this important incident in a sketch, which he once formed himself, of passages in his early life, he expresses what he endured at the time, in these remarkable words: They whose spirits are formed like mine, to whom a public exhibition of themselves is mortal poison, may have some idea of the horrors of my situation-others can have none." 33 His terrors on this occasion arose to such an astonishing height, that they utterly overwhelmed his reason; for although he had endeavoured to prepare himself for his public duty, by attending closely at the office for several months, to examine the parliamentary journals, his application was rendered useless by that excess of diffidence, which made him conceive that whatever knowledge he might previously acquire, it would all forsake him at the bar of the House. This distressing apprehension increased to such a degree, as the time for his appearance approached, that when the day so anxiously dreaded arrived, he was unable to make the experiment. The very friends who called on him for the purpose of attending him to the House of Lords, acquiesced in the cruel necessity of his relinquishing the prospect of a station so severely formidable to a frame of such singular sensibility. The conflict between the wishes of just affectionate ambition and the terrors of diffidence, so entirely overwhelmed his health and faculties, that after two learned and benevolent Divines (Mr. John Cowper, his brother, and the celebrated Mr. Martin Madan, his first cousin) had vainly endeavoured to establish a lasting tranquillity in his mind, by friendly and religious conversation, it was found necessary to remove him to St. Alban's, where he resided a considerable time, under the care of that eminent physician, Dr. Cotton, a scholar and a poet, who added to many accomplishments a peculiar sweetness of manners, in very advanced life, when I had the pleasure of a personal acquaintance with him. The misfortune of mental derangement is a topic of such awful delicacy, that I consider it as the duty of a biographer rather to sink in tender silence, than to proclaim, with circumstantial and offensive temerity, the minute particulars of a calamity to which all human beings are exposed, and perhaps in proportion as they have received from nature those delightful but dangerous gifts, a heart of exquisite tenderness, and a mind of creative energy. This is a sight for pity to peruse, Till she resembles, faintly, what she views; Pierc'd with the woes, that she laments in vain. This, of all maladies that man infest, Claims most compassion, and receives the least. But, with a soul that ever felt the sting 'Tis not, as heads that never ach suppose, Ten thousand thousand strings at once go loose; No wounds like those a wounded spirit feels; A Father's frown, and kiss the chast'ning hand! |