'Tis not, as heads that never ach, suppose, Man is a harp, whose chords elude the sight, The screws revers'd (a task, which if He please No wounds like those, a wounded spirit feels; A Father's frown, and kiss the chast'ning Hand! It is in this aweful, and instructive light, that Cowper himself teaches us to consider the calamity, of which I am now speaking; and of which he, like his illustrious brother of Parnassus, the younger Tasso, was occasionally a most affecting example. Heaven appears to have given a striking lesson to mankind, to guard both virtue, and genius, against pride of heart, and pride of intellect, by thus suspending the affections, and the talents, of two most tender, and sublime Poets, who, in the purity of their lives, and in the splendor of their intellectual powers, will be ever deservedly reckoned among the pre-eminent of the earth. From December 1763, to the following July, the pure mind of Cowper appears to have laboured under the severest sufferings of morbid depression: but the medical skill of Dr. Cotton, and the chearful, benignant manners of that accomplished physician, gradually succeeded, with the blessing of Heaven, in removing the undescribable load of religious despondency, which had clouded the admirable faculties of this innocent, and upright man. His ideas of religion were changed, from the gloom of terror and despair, to the lustre of comfort and delight. This juster and happier view of Evangelical truth is said to have arisen in his mind, while he was reading the 3d Chapter of St. Paul's Epistle to the Romans. Devout contemplation became more and more dear to his reviving spirit: resolving to relinquish all thoughts of a laborious profession, and all intercourse with the busy world, he acquiesced in a plan of settling at Huntingdon, by the advice of his brother, who, as a Minister of the Gospel, and a Fellow of Bennet College, in Cambridge, resided in that University ; a situation so near to the place chosen for Cowper's retirement, that it afforded to these affectionate brothers opportunities of easy and frequent intercourse. I regret that all the letters, which passed between them, have perished, and the more so as they sometimes corresponded in verse. John Cowper was also a Poet. He had engaged to execute a translation of Voltaire's Henriade, and in the course of the work requested and obtained the assistance of William, who translated, as he informed me himself, two entire Cantos Cantos of the Poem. A specimen of this fraternal production, which appeared in a Magazine of the year 1759, will be found in the Appendix to these volumes. In June 1765, the reviving Invalid removed to a private lodging in the Town of Huntingdon, but Providence soon introduced him into a family, which afforded him one of the most singular, and valuable friends, that ever watched an afflicted mortal in seasons of overwhelming adversity; that friend, to whom the Poet exclaims, in the commencement of the Task, And witness, dear companion of my walks, To serve occasions of poetic pomp, But genuine, and art partner of them all. These verses would be alone sufficient to make every poetical Reader take a lively interest in the lady, they describe, but these are far from being the only tribute, which the gratitude of Cowper has paid to the endearing virtues of his female companion. More poetical memorials of her merit will be found in these Volumes, and and in verse so exquisite, that it may be questioned, if the most passionate love ever gave rise to poetry more tender, or more sublime. Yet, in this place, it appears proper to apprize the Reader, that it was not love, in the common acceptation of the word, which inspired these admirable eulogies. The attachment of Cowper to was an attachment perhaps Mrs. Unwin, the Mary of the Poet! unparalelled. Their domestic union, tho' not sanctioned by the common forms of life, was supported with perfect innocence, and endeared to them both, by their having struggled together, thro' a series of sorrow. A spectator of sensibility, who had contemplated the uncommon tenderness of their attention to the wants and infirmities of each other, in the decline of life, might have said of their singular attachment, L'Amour n'a rien de si tendre, Ni L'Amitié de si doux. As a connexion so extraordinary forms a striking feature in the history of the Poet, the Reader will probably be anxious to investigate its origin and progress.—It arose from the following little incident. The countenance and deportment of Cowper, tho' they indicated his native shyness, had yet very singular powers of attraction. On his first appearance in one of the churches at Huntingdon, he he engaged the notice and respect of an amiable young man, William Cawthorne Unwin, then a student at Cambridge, who, having observed, after divine service, that the interesting Stranger was taking a solitary turn under a row of trees, was irresistibly led to share his walk, and to solicit his acquaintance. They were soon pleased with each other, and the intelligent youth, charmed with the acquisition of such a friend, was eager to communicate the treasure to his parents, who had long resided in Huntingdon. Mr. Unwin, the father, had for some years, been master of a free school in the town; but, as he advanced in life, he quitted that laborious situation, and settling in a large convenient house, in the High-Street, contented himself with a few domestic pupils, whom he instructed in classical literature. This worthy Divine, who was now far advanced in years, had been Lecturer to the two Churches in Huntingdon, before he obtained, from his College at Cambridge, the Living of Grimston. While he lived in expectation of this preferment, he had attached himself to a young lady of lively talents, and remarkably fond of reading. This lady, who, in the process of time, and by a series of singular events, became the friend and guardian of Cowper, was the daughter of Mr. Cawthorne, a draper in Ely. She was married to Mr. Unwin on his succeeding to the preferment, that he ex pected |