epistolary writings; I must therefore insert a specimen of this his excellence: "Ergo iterum versus? dices. O Vane! quid ergo Morbum ejurasti toties, tibi qui insidet altis, Parcius hæc, sodes, neve inclementibus urge There is another epistle also, well worthy perusal, to his friend, Mat. Clifford, at the end of the same volume. Pope, in one of his imitations of Horace, has exhibited the real character of Cowley with delicacy and candour: "Who now reads Cowley? If he pleases yet, His moral pleases, not his pointed wit; Forgot his epic, nay Pindaric art, But still I love the language of his heart." His prose works give us the most amiable idea both of his abilities and his heart. His Pindaric odes cannot be perused with common patience by a lover of antiquity. He that would see Pindar's manner truly imitated, may read Masters's noble and pathetic Ode on the Crucifixion; and he that wants to be convinced that these reflections on Cowley are not too severe, may read also his epigrammatic version of it: «Η οὐχ ὁράας ὁλοπόρφυρον Σιδονίης ἁλὸς, ἀλ λ' αἵματι σταζομένῳ "Dost thou not see thy prince in purple clad all o'er, Not purple brought from the Sidonian shore ; But made at home with richer gore?" “Ανοιγ' ἄνοιγε Πύλας ὀπωπῶν Καὶ πηγὰς βλεφάρων Δύσαι, ψέκαζε, δεῦε γαῖαν.” "Open, oh! open wide the fountains of thine eyes, Their stock of moisture forth where e'er it lies, For this will ask it all. "Twould all, alas! too little be, Though thy salt tears came from a sea." Cowley being early disgusted with the perplexities and vanities of a court life, had a strong desire to enjoy the milder pleasures of solitude and retirement; he therefore escaped from the tumults of London to a little house at Wandsworth; but finding that place too near the metropolis, he left it for Richmond, and at last settled at Chertsey. He seems to have thought that the swains of Surrey had the innocence of those of Sydney's Arcadia; but the perverseness and debauchery of his own workmen soon undeceived him, with whom, it is said, he was sometimes so provoked, as even to be betrayed into an oath. His income was about three hundred pounds a year. Towards the latter part of his life he shewed an aversion to the company of women, and would often leave the room if any happened to enter it whilst he was present, but still retained a sincere affection for Leonora. His death was occasioned by a singular accident; he paid a visit on foot with his friend Sprat to a gentleman in the neighbourhood of Chertsey, which they prolonged, and feasted too much, till midnight. On their return home they mistook their way, and were obliged to pass the whole night exposed under a hedge, where Cowley caught a severe cold, attended with a fever, that terminated in his death. All these particulars were communicated to me by Mr. Spence from his Anecdotes, who assured me he received them from Mr. Pope's own mouth. IV. COWLEY. THE GARDEN. FAIN would my Muse the flow'ry Treasures sing, 5 Surveys its beauties, whence its beauties grow; 10 There the green Infants in their beds are laid, 15 20 Still turns her beauties from the invading beam, 25 30 WEEPING. WHILE Celia's Tears make sorrow bright, Thus from the Ocean first did rise: And thus through Mists we see the sun, Which else we durst not gaze upon. 5 These silver drops, like morning dew, Foretell the fervour of the day: So from one Cloud soft show'rs we view, And blasting lightnings burst away. The Stars that fall from Celia's eye, Declare our Doom in drawing nigh. The Baby in that sunny Sphere So like a Phaëton appears, That Heav'n, the threaten'd World to spare, 10 15 EXACTLY in the taste of Lopes de Vega, who, speaking of a shepherdess weeping near the sea-side, says, "The ocean advances to collect her tears, and enclosing them in shells, converts them into pearls." |