  Poems by William Cowper, of the Inner Temple, Esq. 8vo. 5s. Johnson. These Poems are written, as we learn from the title-page, by Mr. Cowper of the Inner Temple, who seems to be a man of a sober and religious turn of mind, with a benevolent heart, and a serious wish to inculcate the precepts of morality; he is not, however, possessed of any superior abilities, or powers of genius, requisite to so arduous an undertaking; his verses are, in general, weak and languid, and have neither novelty, spirit, or animation, to recommend them; that mediocrity so severely condemned by Horace, Non Dii non homines, &c. pervades the whole; and, whilst the author avoids every thing that is ridiculous or contemptible, he, at the same time, never rises to any thing that we can commend or admire. He says what is incontrovertible, and what has already been said over and over, with much gravity, but says nothing new, sprightly, or entertaining; travelling on in a plain, level, flat road, with great composure, almost through the whole long, and rather tedious volume, which is little better than a dull sermon, in very indifferent verse, on Truth, the Progress of Error, Charity, and some other grave subjects. If this author had followed the advice given by Caraccioli, 'The clear harangue, and cold as it is clear, Falls soporific on the listless ear.' In his learned dissertation on Hope, we meet with the following lines [Quotes some fifty lines from Hope beginning, Build by whatever plan caprice decrees, With what materials, on what ground you please, etc.] All this is very true; but there needs no ghost, nor author, nor poet, to tell us what we knew before, unless he could tell it to us in a new and better manner. Add to this, that many of our author's expressions are coarse, vulgar, and unpoetical; such as parrying, pushing by, spitting abhorrence, &c. The greatest part of Mr. Cowper's didactics is in the same strain. He attempts indeed sometimes to be lively, facetious, and satirical; but is seldom more successful in this, than in the serious and pathetic. In his poem on Conversation there are two or three faint attempts at humour; in one of them he tells us that 'A story in which native humour reigns Is often useful, always entertains, A graver fact enlisted on your side, May furnish illustration, well applied; But sedentary weavers of long tales, Give me the fidgets and my patience fails. 'Tis the most asinine employ on earth, To hear them tell of parentage and birth, Embellished with, he said, and so said I. At ev'ry interview their route the same, The repetition makes attention lame, We bustle up with unsuccessful speed, And in the saddest part cry—droll indeed! The path of narrative with care pursue, Still making probability your clue, On all the vestiges of truth attend, And let them guide you to a decent end. Of all ambitions man may entertain, The worst that can invade a sickly brain, Is that which angles hourly for surprize, And baits its hook with prodigies and lies. Credulous infancy or age as weak Are fittest auditors for such to seek, Who to please others will themselves disgrace, Yet please not, but affront you to your face.' In the passage above quoted, our readers will perceive that the wit is rather aukward, [sic] and the verses, especially the last, very prosaic. Toward the end of this volume are some little pieces of a lighter kind, which, after dragging through Mr. Cowper's long moral lectures, afforded us some relief. The fables of the Lily and the Rose, the Nightingale and Glow-worm, the Pine-apple and the Bee, with two or three others, are written with ease and spirit. It is a pity that our author had not confined himself altogether to this species of poetry, without entering into a system of ethics, for which his genius seems but ill adapted.—The Critical Review. |
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