In this sketch we have chosen rather to present the history, than the character, of Cowper's genius; of the latter we shall take some further notice in contrasting him with the lofty bard, to whom he has allied himself in the volume before us. Of Milton so much has been said, that we can scarcely say too little. His merits have been irreversibly established by every test of sound criticism that has been employed to assay and illustrate them, as well as by every ordeal which envy, prejudice, or bigotry could invent to obscure or depreciate them. His genius was of the highest order, and qualified rather to command than to court ad uiration; the admiration which it obtains is rendered with less fervour than reverence, and more as homage to a sovereign than as gratitude to a benefactor. The sublimity of his invention over-awed the Graces, and the severity of his taste made fiction itself as inflexible as truth. In Comus, the loveliest, the most airy and delightful of all his poems, there is a dignity in the graver, and a chastised gaiety in the lighter scenes, as coldly dissimilar from the bewitching freedom and familiarity of Shakspeare, in the Midsummer Night's Dream, as Sabrina and her Nymphs are elementally distinct from Queen Titania and her Fairies. Milton's supreme dominion lay over the mind and the imagination, and over both it was exercised with a moderation almost as marvellous as its force: in his noblest labours nothing ever seems difficult to him; when he has been displaying powers that might be deemed supernatural, he appears so unexhausted and vigorous that we are ready to exclaim, in his own words, "Yet half his strength he put not forth." Par. Lost, Book 6 v. 853. Over the passions he either had little authority, or he disdained to employ it: the reconciliation between Adam and Eve after their fall, (Par. Lost, Book x, v. 845, &c.) is perhaps the only scene in his works that can nove to tears: the penitence of Eve is indeed irresistibly pathetic. Milton's few attempts at wit and humour only prove, that he could condes. cend to neither, without falling from all his grandeur into absolute baseness. The chief excellence of his poetry is surpassing elevation of thought, sustained by unfailing powers of language; its chief defect is the absence of a charm neither to be named nor defined, which should render the whole as lovely as it is beautiful, and as captivating as it is sublime. His Muse has the majesty of Juno to dazzle the eye, but she want the girdle of Venus to bind the affections. His poetry will for ever be read by the few, and praised by the many: the weakest capacity may be offended by its faults; but it would require a genius equal to his own to comprehend and to enjoy all its merits. Cowper rarely equals Milton in sublimity, to which his subjects but seldom led; he excels him in easy expression, delicate pleasantry, and generous satire; and he resembles him in the temperate use of all his transcendant abilities. He never crushes his subject by falling upon it, nor permits his subject to crush him by falling beneath it. Invested with a sovereign command of diction, and enjoying unlimited freedom of thought, he is never prodigal of words, and he never riots amidst the exuberance of his conceptions; his economy displays his wealth, and his moderation is the proof of his power; his richest phrases seem the most obvious expression of his ideas, and his mightiest exertions are made apparently without toil. This, as we have already observed, is one of the grandest characteristics of Milton. It would be difficult to name a third Poet of our country, who could claim a similar distinction. Others, like Cowley, overwhelm their theme with their eloquence, or, like Young, sink exhausted beneath it, by aiming at magnificent but unattainable compression; a third class, like Pope, whenever they write well, write their best, and never win but at full speed, and with all their might; while a fourth, like Dryden and Churchill, are confident of their strength, yet so careless of their strokes, that when they conquer it seems a matter of course, and when they fall a matter of no consequence, for they can rise again as soon as they please. Milton and Cowper alone appear always to walk within the limits of their genius, yet up to the height of their great argument.? We are not pretending to exalt them above all other British poets; we have only compared them together on one point, wherein they accord with each other, and differ from the rest. But there is one feature of resemblance between them, of a nobler kind. These good and faithful servants, who had received ten talents each, neither buried them in the earth, nor expended them for their own glory, nor lavished them in profligacy, but occupied them for their master's service; and we trust have both entered into his joy. Their unfading labours, (not subject to change from being formed according to the fashion of this world, but being of equal and eternal interest to man in all ages,) have disproved the idle and impious position, which vain philosophy, hating all godliness, has endeavoured to establish,-that religion can neither be adorned by poetry, nor poctry ennobled by religion. We must now turn to the work before us, the offspring of their congenial minds. The Latin and Italian poems of Milton were written in his youth; they were translated by Cowper in his old age: we have, in this volume, the flowers of Milton's spring, and the fruits of Cowper's autumn. The merit of the originals has been acknowledged, both at home and abroad, from the time of their first appearance: it is therefore unnecessary either to insist or to expatiate upon it here. In these translations, we were pleased to observe that the versification (we mean the ten syllable metre,) is smoother, more elegantly compact, and more vigorously rounded, than the heroic rhymes were in Cowper's first volume; in which, though we find many passages of transcendant energy, and ravishing sweetness, the thought on the whole is too loosely attired in a careless and ungraceful deshabille. The Poet, we know, wrote purposely in these unrestrained numbers; and Churchill was his model : but it must be confessed that Cowper (and perhaps every other English writer) is far inf rior to Churchill in the torrent, tempest, and whirlwind' of poetical eloquence. Every one, we believe, will agree with us in asserting, that Table Talk, the Progress of Error, and the other poems here alluded to, in heroic verse, are estimated more according to the weight of the gold of which they are composed, than by the fashion in which they are cast. These objections we apply only to Cowper's rhyming heroics. They are less felt in his lyric pieces, and the freedom which he assumes is more tolerable, where the lines are short, and the endings are frequently varied. But there must be melody and vigour in each line of the heroic couplet, and a corresponding harmony between both, besides a progressive cadence to the close of the period, where the strain ends: for every period ought to be a tune. In these translations, the poet will be found more equal, engaging, and sonorous in his numbers, than he was generally in his original poems. Perhaps this excellence was occasioned by the circumstance of his following, in high sounding Latin, and smooth-sliding' Italian, the excursions of a spirited Muse, then balancing her wings, essaying her strength, and meditating "no middle flight, above the Aonian Mount." As a translator, Cowper has been sufficiently faithful to the text of his author, and he has abundantly compensated for any occasional and unavoidable defection. He is elegantly close, and eloquently free. We shall give several specimens, accompanied with very brief remarks, as no elaborate analysis of this work is necessary. Among the introductory complimentary verses addressed to Milton by learned Italians, we select the following stanza from the canzone of AntonioFrancini, rather asa felicitous anticipation of the Poet's future attainments, than as a hyperbolical compliment at the time when it was written. 'The secret things of heaven and earth, To thee are copiously reveal'd, Thou know'st them clearly, and thy views attain The utmost bounds prescribed to moral Truth's domain.' p. 6. Milton's third Elegy, on the death of the Bishop of Winchester, composed in the Author's seventeenth year, and translated about Cowper's seventieth, is conceived in high poetical spirit, and exquisitely executed. It has often struck us that Milton's views of picturesque nature were more magnificent than just, more classical than correct; like the Ideal of beauty in sculpture and painting, his poetical beauty is equally the offspring of imagination; delighting the eye, and filling the mind, but never touching the heart with either the force or the tenderness of truth. In this poem we meet with a very inaccurate and offensive passage in the original, which is rendered yet more glaringly false in the translation. The latter is a remarkable circumstance, for Cowper is himself one of the most minute and faithful painters in verse of real Nature. Talia dum lachrymans alto sub pectore volvo, * • While thus I mourn'd, the star of evening stood, Here the first appearance of the Evening Star, descending to "the western flood," is represented by two poets of unimpeachable taste, and enthusiastic love of truth and nature, as "newly risen" above it !-Perhaps Milton intended to convey the image of Hesperus darting through the broken clouds. of a passing storm in the west; but Cowper evidently understood 'occiduis exit aquis' according to the most obvious meaning of the phrase, and if he understood it rightly, with all due reverence to the authority of Milton we must affirm that he has taken a most unwarrantable poetical liberty with "the loveliest of the stars of heaven." The apparition of the Prelate, in this elegy, ascending to the kingdom of glory with a convoy of angels, is striking and sublime. While I, that splendour, and the mingled shade His snowy vesture's hem descending low I mourned my banished sleep, with fond concern ; Frequent to me may dreams like this return!" pp. 18, 19. Milton's poetry abounds with classical allusions and mytholo gical embellishments; and these, particularly the latter, are sometimes singularly blended with scriptural truths and Christian subjects. The fourth Elegy, addressed to his Tutor, Thomas Young, then resident at Hamburgh, affords some curious examples of things sacred and profane thus blended together. "Hence, my epistle,-skim the deep,-fly o'er There lives, deep-learn'd and primitively just, Or ministering (which is his weightiest care) To Christ's assembled flock their heavenly fare. p. 20, 21, 22. The latter part of this Elegy is purely and evangelically Christian. That which follows, on the Spring, exhibits a bold prosopopoeia of the Earth wooing the Sun, and putting forth all her beauty to attract his love. |