Chapter LIII: Part THE THIRD (9)

My dear Friend,--I have risen, while the owls are still hooting, to pursue my accustomed labours in the mine of Homer; but before I enter upon them, shall give the first moment of daylight to the purpose of thanking you for your last letter, containing many pleasant articles of intelligence, with nothing to abate the pleasantness of them, except the single circumstance that we are not likely to see you here so soon as I expected. My hope was, that the first frost would bring you and the amiable painter with you.[727] If, however, you are prevented by the business of your respective professions, you are well prevented, and I will endeavour to be patient. When the latter was here, he mentioned one day the subject of Diomede's horses, driven under the axle of his chariot by the thunderbolt which fell at their feet, as a subject for his pencil.[728] It is certainly a noble one, and therefore worthy of his study and attention. It occurred to me at the moment, but I know not what it was that made me forget it again the next moment, that the horses of Achilles flying over the foss, with Patroclus and Automedon in the chariot, would be a good companion for it.[729] Should you happen to recollect this, when you next see him, you may submit it, if you please, to his consideration. I stumbled yesterday on another subject, which reminded me of said excellent artist, as likely to afford a fine opportunity to the expression that he could give it. It is found in the shooting match in the twenty-third book of the Iliad, between Meriones and Teucer. The former cuts the string with which the dove is tied to the mast-head, and sets her at liberty; the latter, standing at his side, in all the eagerness of emulation, points an arrow at the mark with his right hand, while with his left he snatches the bow from his competitor; he is a fine poetical figure, but Mr. Lawrence himself must judge whether or not he promises as well for the canvas.[730]

[727] Lawrence.

[728]

He, thund'ring downward hurl'd his candent bolt
To the horse-feet of Diomede: dire fum'd
The flaming sulphur, and both horses drove
Under the axle.--

_Cowper's Version_, book viii.

[729]

Right o'er the hollow foes the coursers leap'd,
By the immortal gods to Peleus given.--

_Cowper's Version_, book xvi.

[730] Cowper here inverts the order of the names, and attributes
to Teucer, what in the original is ascribed to Meriones.

At once Meriones withdrew the bow
From Teucer's hand, but held the shaft the while,
Already aim'd......
He ey'd the dove aloft beneath a cloud,
And struck her circling high in air; the shaft
Pass'd through her, and returning pierc'd the soil
Before the foot of brave Meriones.
She, perching on the mast again, her head
Reclin'd, and hung her wide-unfolded wing;
But, soon expiring, dropp'd and fell remote.

The concluding lines of this passage convey a beautiful and
affecting image.

He does great honour to my physiognomy by his intention to get it engraved; and, though I think I foresee that this _private publication_ will grow in time into a publication of absolute publicity, I find it impossible to be dissatisfied with anything that seems eligible both to him and you. To say the truth, when a man has once turned his mind inside out for the inspection of all who choose to inspect it, to make a secret of his face seems but little better than a self-contradiction. At the same time, however, I shall be best pleased if it be kept, according to your intentions, as a rarity.

I have lost Hayley, and begin to be uneasy at not hearing from him; tell me about him when you write.

I should be happy to have a work of mine embellished by Lawrence, and made a companion for a work of Hayley's. It is an event to which I look forward with the utmost complacence. I cannot tell you what a relief I feel it not to be pressed for Milton.

W. C.

TO SAMUEL ROSE, ESQ.

Weston, Dec. 8, 1793.

My dear Friend,--In my last I forgot to thank you for the box of books, containing also the pamphlets. We have read, that is to say, my cousin has, who reads to us in the evening, the history of Jonathan Wild,[731] and found it highly entertaining. The satire on great men is witty, and I believe perfectly just: we have no censure to pass on it, unless that we think the character of Mrs. Heartfree not well sustained; not quite delicate in the latter part of it; and that the constant effect of her charms upon every man who sees her, has a sameness in it that is tiresome, and betrays either much carelessness, or idleness, or lack of invention. It is possible, indeed, that the author might intend by this circumstance a satirical glance at novelists, whose heroines are generally all bewitching; but it is a fault that he had better have noticed in another manner, and not have exemplified in his own.

[731] A production of Fielding's.

The first volume of _Man as He is_ has lain unread in my study-window this twelvemonth, and would have been returned unread to its owner, had not my cousin come in good time to save it from that disgrace. We are now reading it, and find it excellent; abounding with wit and just sentiment, and knowledge both of books and men.

Adieu!
W. C.

TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ.

Weston, Dec. 8, 1793.

I have waited, and waited impatiently, for a line from you, and am at last determined to send you one, to inquire what has become of you, and why you are silent so much longer than usual.

I want to know many things, which only you can tell me, but especially I want to know what has been the issue of your conference with Nichol: has he seen your work?[732] I am impatient for the appearance of it, because impatient to have the spotless credit of the great poet's character, as a man and a citizen, vindicated, as it ought to be, and as it never will be again.

[732] Hayley's Life of Milton.

It is a great relief to me, that my Miltonic labours are suspended. I am now busy in transcribing the alterations of Homer, having finished the whole revisal. I must then write a new preface, which done, I shall endeavour immediately to descant on _The Four Ages_.

Adieu! my dear brother,
W. C.

* * * * *

The Miltonic labours of Cowper were not only suspended at this time, but we lament to say never resumed.

There is a period in the history of men of letters, when the mind begins to shrink from the toil and responsibility of a great undertaking, and to feel the necessity of contracting its exertions within limits more suited to its diminished powers. Physical and moral causes are often found to co-operate in hastening this crisis. The sensibilities that are inseparable from genius, the ardour that consumes itself by its own fires, the labour of thought, and the inadequacy of the body to sustain the energies of the soul within--these often unite in harassing the spirits, and sowing the seeds of a premature decay. Such was now the case with Cowper. His literary exertions had been too unremitting, and though we must allow much to the influence of his unhappy malady, and to the illness of Mrs. Unwin, yet there can be no doubt that his long and laborious habits of study had no small share in undermining his constitution.

It seems desirable therefore, at this period, to refer to the intended edition of Milton, and briefly to state the result of his labours.

The design is thus stated by Cowper himself, in one of his letters. "A Milton, that is to rival, and if possible to exceed in splendour, Boydell's Shakspeare, is in contemplation, and I am in the Editor's office. Fuseli is the painter. My business will be to select notes from others, and to write original notes; to translate the Latin and Italian poems, and to give a correct text."

All that he was enabled to accomplish of this undertaking was as follows:

He commenced the series of his translations about the middle of September, 1791. In February, 1792, he had completed all his Latin pieces, and shortly after he finished the Italian. While at Eartham, in August, he revised all his translations, and they were subsequently retouched, in his declining strength, at East Dereham. From an amiable desire to avoid what might create irritation, he omitted the Poems against the Catholics, and thus assigned his motives in a letter to Johnson.

Weston, Oct. 30, 1791.

"We and the Papists are at present on amicable terms. They have behaved themselves peaceably many years, and have lately received favours from Government. I should think, therefore, that the dying embers of ancient animosity had better not be troubled."

* * * * *

He also omitted a few of the minuter poems, as not worthy of being ranked with the rest.

He was assisted in the execution of this work by the Adamo of Andreini, Bentley's Milton, an interleaved copy of Newton's, and Warton's edition of the minor poems.[733]

[733] Of these editions of Milton, that of Bentley has always
been considered a complete failure. It is remarkable for the
boldness of its conjectural emendations, and for the liberties
taken with the text. An amusing anecdote is recorded on this
subject. To a friend expostulating with him on the occasion,
and urging that it was impossible for Milton, in so many
instances, to have written as he alleged, he replied with his
characteristic spirit, "Then he ought to have written so." Bishop
Newton's edition has acquired just celebrity, and has served as
the basis of all subsequent editions. It has been deservedly
called "the best edited English Classic up to the period of its
publication." Warton's edition of "The Juvenile and Minor Poems"
discovers a classical and elegant taste. Its merit, however, is
greatly impaired by the severity of its censures on Milton's
republican and religious principles. It was to rescue that great
poet from the animadversions of Warton and Dr. Johnson that
Hayley engaged in a life of Milton, which does honour to the
manliness and generosity of his feelings. But the most powerful
defence is that of the Rev. Dr. Symmons, who, with considerable
vigour of thought and language, has taken a most comprehensive
view of the character and prose writings of Milton. He would
have been entitled to distinguished praise, if, in vindicating
the republicanism of Milton, he had not deeply fallen into it
himself. In the present day the clouds of prejudice seem to
have subsided, and the errors of the politician are deservedly
forgotten in the celebrity of the poet. There was a period
when, according to Dr. Johnson, a monument to Philips, with
an inscription by Atterbury, in which he was said to be _soli
Miltono secundus_, was refused admittance by Dean Sprat into
Westminster Abbey, on the ground of its "being too detestable to
be read on the wall of a building dedicated to devotion."

The honours of a monument were at length conceded to Milton
himself; but the beautiful and elegant Latin inscription,
composed by Dr. George, Provost of King's College, Cambridge,
shows that it was thought necessary to apologize for its
admission into that sacred repository of kings and prelates.*

*We cannot refrain from enriching our pages with this much
admired Epitaph.

"Augusti regum cineres sanctæque favillæ
Heroum, Vosque O! venerandi nominis umbræ!
Parcite, quod vestris, infensum regibus olim,
Sedibus infertur nomen: liceatque supremis
Funeribus finire odia, et mors obruat iras.
Nunc sub foederibus coeant felicibus, una
Libertas, et jus sacri inviolabile sceptri.
Rege sub _Augusto_ fas sit laudare _Catonem_."

With respect to his critical labours, he proceeded with singular slowness and difficulty. It appears to have been a most oppressive burden on his spirits. "Milton especially," he observes, "is my grievance; and I might almost as well be haunted by his ghost as goaded with continual reproaches for neglecting him." He was always soliciting more time, and when the appointed period was expired, he renewed his application for fresh delay. His commentary is restricted to the three first books of the Paradise Lost.

This seems to imply that however nature designed him to be a poet, she denied the qualifications necessary to constitute the critic; for it will generally be found, that to execute with delight and ease is the attribute of genius, and the evidence of natural impulse; and that slowness of performance indicates the want of those powers that afford the promise and pledge of success.

In this unfinished state, the work was published by Hayley, in the year 1808, for the benefit of the second son of Mr. Rose, the godchild of Cowper. Some designs in outline were furnished by Flaxman, highly characteristic of his graceful style.

The translations are a perfect model of beautiful and elegant versification.

We consider Milton's address to his father to be one of the most beautiful compositions extant, and rejoice in presenting it to the reader in an English form, so worthy of the original Latin poem.

TO HIS FATHER.

Oh that Pieria's spring would thro' my breast
Pour its inspiring influence, and rush,
No rill, but rather an o'erflowing flood!
That for my venerable father's sake,
All meaner themes renounc'd, my muse on wings
Of duty borne, might reach a loftier strain.
For thee, my father! howsoe'er it please,
She frames this slender work, nor know I aught,
That may thy gifts more suitably requite;
Though to requite them suitably would ask
Returns much nobler, and surpassing far
The meagre stores of verbal gratitude:
But, such as I possess, I send thee all.
This page presents thee in their full amount
With thy son's treasures, and the sum is nought:
Nought save the riches that from airy dream
In secret grottoes, and in laurel bow'rs,
I have, by golden Clio's gift, acquir'd.

He then sings the praises of song in the following animated strain.

Verse is a work divine; despise not thou
Verse therefore, which evinces (nothing more)
Man's heavenly source, and which, retaining still
Some scintillations of Promethean fire,
Bespeaks him animated from above.
The gods love verse; the infernal pow'rs themselves
Confess the influence of verse, which stirs
The lowest deep, and binds in triple chains
Of adamant both Pluto and the shades.
In verse the Delphic priestess, and the pale
Tremulous Sybil, make the future known,
And he who sacrifices, on the shrine
Hangs verse, both when he smites the threat'ning bull,
And when he spreads his reeking entrails wide
To scrutinize the Fates envelop'd there.

He anticipates it as one of the employments of glorified spirits in heaven.

We too, ourselves, what time we seek again
Our native skies, and one eternal Now[734]
Shall be the only measure of our being,
Crown'd all with gold, and chanting to the lyre
Harmonious verse, shall range the courts above,
And make the starry firmament resound.

[734] The same expression is used by Cowley:

"Nothing is there to come, and nothing past,
But an eternal Now does always last."

The sympathy existing between the two kindred studies of poetry and music is described with happy effect.

Now say, what wonder is it, if a son
Of thine delight in verse, if so conjoin'd
In close affinity, we sympathize
In social arts, and kindred studies sweet?
Such distribution of himself to us
Was Phoebus' choice; thou hast thy gift,[735] and I
Mine also, and between us we receive,
Father and son, the whole inspiring god.

[735] Milton's father was well skilled in music.

The following effusion of filial feeling is as honourable to the discernment and liberality of the parent, as it is expressive of the gratitude of the son.

... Thou never bad'st me tread
The beaten path and broad, that leads right on
To opulence, nor did'st condemn thy son
To the insipid clamours of the bar,
To laws voluminous and ill observ'd;
But, wishing to enrich me more, to fill
My mind with treasure, led'st me far away
From city-din to deep retreats, to banks
And streams Aonian, and, with free consent,
Did'st place me happy at Apollo's side.
I speak not now, on more important themes
Intent, of common benefits, and such
As nature bids, but of thy larger gifts,
My father! who, when I had open'd once
The stores of Roman rhetoric, and learn'd
The full-ton'd language of the eloquent Greeks,
Whose lofty music grac'd the lips of Jove,
Thyself did'st counsel me to add the flow'rs,
That Gallia boasts, those too, with which the smooth
Italian his degen'rate speech adorns,
That witnesses his mixture with the Goth;
And Palestine's prophetic songs divine.

We delight in witnessing the exuberance of manly and generous feeling in a son towards a parent, entitled by kind offices to his gratitude, and therefore transcribe the following passage.

Go now, and gather dross, ye sordid minds,
That covet it; what could my father more?
What more could Jove himself, unless he gave
His own abode, the heaven in which he reigns?
More eligible gifts than these were not
Apollo's to his son, had they been safe,
As they were insecure, who made the boy
The world's vice-luminary, bade him rule
The radiant chariot of the day, and bind
To his young brows his own all-dazzling wreath.
I therefore, although last and least my place
Among the learned, in the laurel grove
Will hold, and where the conqu'ror's ivy twines,
Henceforth exempt from the unletter'd throng
Profane, nor even to be seen by such.
Away then, sleepless Care, Complaint, away!
And Envy, with thy "jealous leer malign!"
Nor let the monster Calumny shoot forth
Her venom'd tongue at me. Detested foes!
Ye all are impotent against my peace,
For I am privileg'd, and bear my breast
Safe, and too high for your viperean wound.

He thus beautifully concludes this affecting tribute of filial gratitude.

But thou, my father! since to render thanks
Equivalent, and to requite by deeds
Thy liberality, exceeds my power,
Suffice it, that I thus record thy gifts,
And bear them treasur'd in a grateful mind!
Ye too, the favourite pastime of my youth,
My voluntary numbers, if ye dare
To hope longevity, and to survive
Your master's funeral, not soon absorb'd
In the oblivious Lethæan gulf,
Shall to futurity perhaps convey
This theme, and by these praises of my sire
Improve the fathers of a distant age!

We subjoin Hayley's remark on this poem, in Cowper's edition of Milton.

"These verses are founded on one of the most interesting subjects that language can display, the warmth and felicity of strong reciprocal kindness between a father and a son, not only united by the most sacred tie of nature, but still more endeared to each other by the happy cultivation of honourable and congenial arts. The sublime description of poetry, and the noble and graceful portrait, which the author here exhibits of his own mental character, may be said to render this splendid poem the prime jewel in a coronet of variegated gems."

We extract the following passages from the remarks and notes in Cowper's Milton, as exhibiting the manner in which he executed this portion of his labours.