Oh, this lane!

Now it is plain,

That struggling and striving is labour in vain.”

HE.

"Stick fast there, while I go and look."

SHE.

"Don't go away for fear I should fall;"

HE.

"I have examined it every nook,

And what you have here is a sample of all:
Come wheel around,

The dirt we have found,

Would buy an estate at a farthing a pound."

Now sister Ann,* the guitar you must take,
Set it and sing it, and make it a song;
I have varied the verse for variety's sake,
And cut it off short because it was long.

'Tis hobbling and lame,

Which critics wont blame,

For the sense and the sound they say should be the same.

As a writer, Cowper's powers of description, both in poetry and prose, were of the highest order; equalled by few, and excelled by none. His richly cultivated mind, united to an imagination as brilliant as it was chaste, enabled him to paint the visible beauties of the material, as well as the ideal charms of the moral world, with an ease and felicity equally delightful. No one could describe the feelings of the heart with more vivid force, or knew better how to levy contributions on the rich and varied scenes of nature. He possessed all the requisite qualifications for a poet of the highest class;—a familiar acquaintance with the ancient classics; a comprehensive mind, well stored with accurate information on almost every subject; a fertile * Lady Austen.

A A

genius; a rich fancy; an excursive, but chaste imagination to all which were added, an extensive knowledge of the varied feelings of the human heart, and a most devout regard to the solemn claims of religion.

To take a comprehensive review of the poet's original productions, in the order in which they appeared, would require a much greater space than it would be prudent to devote to it here. TABLE TALK is a dialogue, carried on with uncommon spirit and vivacity, in which a variety of of most interesting topics are happily introduced and descanted on with great force and beauty. The PROGRESS OF ERROR is much more serious than its predecessor; and though it contains passages of unrivalled excellence, it exhibits occasional marks of weakness, and is less beautiful than any other in the volume.

TRUTH exhibits a wonderful combination of different powers, in which passages, humorous and affecting, are scattered with delightful profusion.

EXPOSTULATION, founded on a sermon by Mr. Newton, is an impassioned appeal to men, in almost all conditions, on behalf of religion; it abounds with imagery, grand, impressive, and awful, exhibiting proofs of the poet's deep acquaintance with the inspired prophetic records. HOPE is less impassioned than its predecessor, but not less beautiful. It is written throughout with great elegance, beauty, and force, and the sentiments it breathes are purely evangelical. CHARITY is a poem of less vigour, but equally instructive, admonitory, and delightful.

IN CONVERSATION, the poet appears in the character of a teacher of manners, as well as of morals, and delineates with exquisite and unerring skill, many of the follies and frailties of life. The loquacious-the incommunicative -the noisy and tumultuous--the disputatious-the scrupulous and irresolute-the furious and intractable -the lu

dicrous-the censorious-the peevish-the bashful—with others of similar kind, may here find their character drawn by the pen of a master, in the liveliest colours, and with striking accuracy.

Many excellent and judicious remarks are to be found in this admirable poem, on the manner in which conversation, to make it really edifying, must be carried on; and the certain benefits resulting from it, where it is so conducted, are forcibly and clearly pointed out.

RETIREMENT, will be read with delight by all, but especially by those who are looking forward to that season when

Hackney'd in business, wearied at that oar,

Which thousands, once fast chain'd to, quit no more,
But which, when life at ebb runs weak and low,

All wish, or seem to wish, they could forego."

The poet happily ridicules the fallacy of supposing it impossible to be pious while following the active pursuits of life,

"Truth is not local, God alike pervades

And fills the world of traffic and the shades,
And may be fear'd amidst the busiest scenes,

Or scorn'd where business never intervenes."

In the same happy strain he exposes the absurdity of seeking retirement as an excuse for indolence.

"An idler is a watch that wants both hands,

As useless if it goes, as when it stands.

Absence of occupation is not rest;

A mind quite vacant is a mind distrest."

The TASK, however, is by far the poet's greatest production, and had he written nothing else, would have immor

talized his name, and given him a place among the highest class of poets. Here his muse kindled into its happiest inspirations, and burst forth into its sublimest strains. Commencing with objects the most familiar, and in a manner inimitably playful, the poet touches on a vast variety of subjects, many of them unsung, and unattempted before, scattering wherever he goes

"From grave to gay, from lively to severe,"

an exuberance of beauty and elegance, that enchains the reader, carrying him through the muse's adventurous track, without the least restraint, and without feeling a moment's uneasiness. The transitions are the happiest imaginable; after delineating one object with matchless felicity and force, presenting it in shapes almost endlessly diversified, ere he is aware of it, another and another starts up before the reader, with magical effect, but without the slightest confusion, or the least violation of perspicuity. This admirable poem may be repeatedly read with increasing delight. It yields an almost inexhaustible source of pleasure and instruction. The reader rises from its perusal, not only filled with astonishment at the mighty powers of its author, but what is of equal, and perhaps of greater importance, with feelings of the most unfeigned esteem for the poet, and with sentiments of benevolence towards all mankind.

The letters of Cowper are unquestionably among the best productions of this interesting class of writings that are to be found in the English language. Easy and natural, and everywhere simple and elegant, without the slightest affectation of formality, or the most distant approach to that studied and artificial style, which invariably destroys the beauty of such productions, they never fail to interest and delight the reader; and will ever be regarded as perfect

models of epistolary correspondence. Their peculiar charm is, perhaps, to be attributed chiefly, if not entirely, to that affectionate glow of pure friendship, by which they are so pre-eminently distinguished. Fascinating as they are to every reader of taste, for the chaste, yet unornamented style in which they are composed; for their easy and natural transitions; and for their concise, yet sufficiently copious descriptions, it is to that sprightly and genuine affection which runs through the whole of them, causing the reader to peruse them with almost as much interest as if they were addressed to him personally, that they are principally indebted for their claim to superiority.

To the above remarks on Cowper's letters, we have great pleasure in adding the following testimony of the late distinguished scholar and writer, the Rev. Robert Hall, of Bristol, whose eloquence was unrivalled, and whose powers being all consecrated to the cause of religion, ren dered him an ornament to the age in which he lived. In a letter to Rev. J. Johnson, Cowper's justly esteemed relative, he thus writes. "It is quite unnecessary to say that I perused the letters with great admiration and delight. I have always considered the letters of Mr. Cowper as the finest specimens of the epistolary style in our language. To an air of inimitable ease and carelessness, they unite a high degree of correctness, such as could result only from the clearest intellect, combined with the most finished taste. I have scarcely found a single word which is capable of being exchanged for a better. Literary errors I can discern none. The selection of the words, and the structure of the periods, are inimitable; they present as striking a contrast as can well be conceived, to the turgid verbosity which passes at present for fine writing, and which bears a great resemblance to the degeneracy which marks the style of Ammianus Mar