set before him; and these are from the first book only of "The Task."

Few poets, however, have so many readers as Cowper. The religious bigot presses him to his bosom on account of his distempered creed, that horrible creed which preyed on his own heart, which saddened this world, and blasted the hopes of a better. The railing reformer" quotes" him on account of the satirical abuse of the Clergy, Public Schools, and Bishops; the sincerely-pious, for many holy strains of religious dignity and truth; the generous, for his indignation against human wrongs; the patriot, for his majestic scorn of tyranny; but the GENUINE poet, for such passages as I have pointed out, which glow through all the gloom of his heart, and which breathe benevolence, kindness, compassion-yes, and "HOPE," and "CHARITY,"* far more than those poems which are so called. Perhaps the reader will excuse my introducing the following lines on this heart-rending subject of Cowper's malady: they will at least shew I do not confine my own poetry to" inanimate objects."

SWEET bard, whose tones e'en MILTON might approve, And SHAKESPEARE, from high fancy's sphere, Turning to the sound his ear,

Bend down a look of sympathy and love;

O swell the lyre again,

As if in full accord it pour'd an angel's strain!

But ah! what means that look aghast,

*Faith, Hope, and Charity, names of poems in the first volume.

He turns the dreadful silence of his eye,

And the lov'd lyre it falls-falls-from his nerveless hand!

"Come, peace of mind, delightful guest,
"O come, and make thy downy nest
"Once more on his sad heart;"*
Meek Faith, a drop of comfort shed;
Sweet Hope, support his aged head;

And Charity, avert the burning dart!
Fruitless the pray'r-the night of deeper woes
Seems o'er his head e'en now to close;

In vain the path of purity he trod,

In vain,

And pour'd from fancy's shell his hermit strainHe has no hope on earth-FORSAKE HIM NOT, O God.

That Mr. Roscoe, and the ultra-admirers (I might say fanatic idolaters) of Pope, should be anxious to overturn the groundwork of the criterion by which I sought to appreciate, not to depreciate, his poetical character, I do not wonder; for if these premises are not founded in truth, there can be no reason given, why Pope, as a poet, should not be classed, as Mr. Roscoe has done, with Shakespeare. That this should be attempted in so shallow a manner, so disingenuously, so quibblingly, (as I

* From his own affecting hymn.

have often found,) is, I confess, astonishing; more so, that the want of consideration should lead men of literary character to advance instances, which being examined, turn in my favour, and against those who advanced them.

After shewing in what manner all the examples brought against my principles turn against Mr. Roscoe, I trust the basis of my argument will be acknowledged, and its "invariableness" proved. I could have formed no idea-though uneducated sciolists and verbal quibblers might argue superficially against them-that any well-informed man could deny them, founded, as I believe they are, not only on the communis sensus criticorum, but the immoveable basis of common sense.

Yours, &c. &c.

W. L. BOWLES.

LETTER XIV.

MY DEAR SIR,

I HAD been almost disposed to throw away the pen from sickening disdain; but I feel somewhat refreshed, as I have no doubt the reader will be, by these quotations from Cowper.

Need I pursue this contest further? Is it possible, I am combating published opinions of the Author of the Life of Lorenzo de Medici? It seems to me that such is the strange enthusiasm upon this subject, when the fame of one particular poet appears affected, that it bereaves sensible men of their common understanding.

Mr. Roscoe's arguments, however, may wear a specious appearance to those who have not considered the question attentively; therefore I thus proceed, ad finem.

"The question is NOT, then, whether Pope selected the most sublime, the most romantic, &c. but whether he has animated them with the living breath of his own genius." Roscoe.

By your leave, THE QUESTION IS, whether Pope has "selected subjects adapted to the higher orders " of poetry," before his station in his art can be assigned. He has selected chiefly those subjects which no genius, as I think we have shewn, can raise to the highest order of poetry, any more than the genius of Homer himself could have placed the Margites and Frogs in the first order of poems; and if Homer COULD NOT, then I think we may admit, without much irreverence, that his TRANSLATOR COULD NOT, though he may have animated all the subjects he selected "with the "breath of his own genius!!"

Mr. Roscoe's arguments are triumphantly confirmed by "Rubens' Landscape," as if it was not enough to bring Vida's ivory knights in battle array against me! Hear him.

"The finest landscape that Rubens ever painted is of a flat and uniform country in a SHOWER OF RAIN."* Roscoe.

So, then, Rubens could make so "unfavourable "a subject" as a flat country and a shower of rain the finest of his landscapes! My good sir, granting the conclusion, (which I do, argumenti causa,) that Rubens has made, out of "a shower

I have seen this very striking and beautiful picture in the collection of the Gentleman to whom this publication is dedicated. If it is the same, Mr. Roscoe forgets that very "artificial" object—a rainbow!