POETRY. 
796 
full meed of praife. But, beautiful as is the verfe of the 
“ Pleafures of the Imagination,” the thoughts excel even 
the art they are exprefl'ed by. Perhaps no author, fcarcely 
Ariftotle himfelf, has developed fuch original conceptions 
as to the nature of poetry as Akenlide in Book I. of the 
above work. He feems to have difcovered the true ele¬ 
ments of the imagination; and he difplay s them with a clear- 
nefs which, though inferior to that which profe is capable 
of, is yet a great wonder to find acomplifhed in verfe. He 
developes throughout his work conceptions of beauty in 
many and varied forms, but all excellent; and perhaps 
the only real objection that can be made to his work is, 
that it is not complete; that he did not explain the 
nature of the fublime in a clear manner; nor carry that 
fubjeCt to the fhrine of religion, whence it derived in 
other hands fuch refplendence and exaltation. 
The blank verfe of Young by no means appears to us a 
good model for imitation. It is never profaic; but it is 
certainly very abrupt and harfli, and has a tedious and 
grating famenefs. At times he lofes this fault, but it is 
only for a line or two. What a bright exception to his 
faults is the opening fentence of the Night Thoughts, 
beginning “ Tired Nature’s fweet refforer, balmy deep !” 
In his Laft Day, as johnfon obferves, “ he has an equa¬ 
bility and propriety which he afterwards either never 
endeavoured for, or never attained. Neverthelefs the 
fubjeft is too much for the poet; it is languid and tedious; 
and, though there are many noble and fublime thoughts 
in it, the attempt to reprel'ent too minutely the laft judg¬ 
ment pro.luces many ideas both mean and ridiculous. 
We muft ever venerate the man who devotes his talents 
to the praife of his God ; and can never criticife that 
facred poetry with feverity which bears marks of earneft 
and fenfible piety. But the truth muft be told. The 
perufal of the Night Thoughts is rather a duty than a 
pleafure. The fubjeCt tires, but virtue never tires. 
Then perhaps the execution of the talk is faulty. This 
feems to us to be actually the cafe. Young was gloomy 
and defpondent. He whines from one end of his book to 
the other. He has no glowing pictures of virtue, only 
tedious exhortations to it, and reflections that do not lead 
to make men much better. Indeed they are of that per¬ 
plexing kind, that they rather drive them to the oppofite 
of goodnefs. 
The “ Univerfal Paflion” of Young fliows his powers of 
fatire to great advantage, and has a perpetual fparkling 
epigrammatic point that tells well. 
We fhall clofe the account of the poets of the eigh¬ 
teenth century with the name of Coivper, an author who 
has enjoyed a great and extenfive reputation. To the 
juftice of this reputation many excellent critics agree. 
But for our own parts we cannot help placing him fome- 
what low in comparifon with his elegant pretleceflbrs. 
No one can refufe him the merit of a true and earneft love 
of religion, and a zeal for the promotion of virtue, and 
a deteftation of vice almoft unparalleled. No one can deny 
that his reafonings are forcible, well arranged, and ex- 
prefied with variety. But he wants all the charm of fweet 
founds; he is an orator, not a poet. He declaims 
finely, writes good profe in verfe, but not poetry. We 
think he fhines more in Gilpin than in any other pro¬ 
duction. 
His blank verfe is eafy, but by no means mufical, and 
whole pages of it may be read as animated profe. He 
had a great facility of imitating Milton and Thompfon, 
which he applied to very abfurd purpofes. Meaning to 
be plain, he was often familiar; and the reader is often 
ftartled with a half-founding fentence, of as much length 
and grandeur as that which defcribes the fpear of Satan 
in Paradife Loft, employed to tell us of a teacup ora fofa, 
or that 
Joint ftools were then created ; on three legs 
Upborne they flood. Three legs upholding firm 
A mafly flab, in fafhion fquare or round. 
This burlefque in blank verfe is very difgufting, an d 
our author is often burlefque without meaning it. The 
thoughts of Cowper flow eafily in moll of his didaCtic 
pieces, and are clearly if not elegantly exprefl'ed ; but they 
are common. A great reafon of this poet’s popula¬ 
rity is to be traced to that good difpofition of mankind, 
which makes them try to admire what they think ought 
to be admired, even though, in plain truth, it does not 
pleafe. Cowper is always religious and moral; and 
therefore he deferves great praife. The only queftion is. 
Will thefe noble feelings make a poet ? Not alone. 
Mere praife and mere thankfgiving, though they for a 
time elevate us beyond all other pleafures, will not bear 
the long continuance that defcriptions of nature will; and 
therefore whoever would teach piety in verfe muft con¬ 
fine himfelf to fhort hymns or odes; or, if he write a 
long piece, muft enliven it by the painting of nature’s 
beauties and human feelings. The fame may be faid of 
other high fentiments. What is more infpiring than the 
theme of freedom ? but its praife is foon exhaufted : the 
joys of liberty, the oppreflions of delpotifm, are the 
moil hackneyed and the dulleft of fubjeCts. But Cow per 
loved to talk of patriotifm, and hence he was admired. 
With this anfwer, let us not forget how touching he is 
in the “ Lines on the Receipt of my Mother's Picture.” 
Rhyme, indeed, improved Cowper’s ideas : its difficulty 
perhaps made him re-confider and clarify them. 
IV. Of the Modern School of Poetry. 
The German Drama is of recent date; even fo late as 
the beginning of the laft century, nothing had been 
effected for it. Tranflations from the French were then 
introduced. Thefe, of courfe, tended little to excite the 
poetical imagination of the Germans. Lefling derided, 
however, the bad tafte of tranflating the French poets, 
recommending the attempt at original compofitions, and 
the ftudy of Shakefpeare. The Germans at once bounded 
with a lofty fpring into a fublime region of myftical 
allegory, and penetrated deeply into the tortured recedes 
of the human heart in its worft and moft affliCted mo¬ 
ments. We pafs all minor candidates to talk of Goethe. 
The genius of this author has broken through all 
bounds. To have thrown off the fhackles of the French 
and ancient critics, is of courfe praifeworthy. To re¬ 
ject the loofe chains with which our Shakefpeare reftrain- 
ed his pen in his beft productions, is perhaps a fault. 
He has attempted every fpecies of drama, and has fucceed- 
ed in moft. His famous “ Fault” is a fragment founded 
on the well-known ftory of the Devil and DoCtor Fauftus. 
It is a production perfectly original, fince in arrange¬ 
ment or thought nothing ever was publifhed like it. 
It is the picture of a mind arrived at nearly the higheft 
point of knowledge, fed to gorging with the intellectual 
repalt, turning of itfelf to contemplate its own gigantic 
progrefs, its own ftupendous elevation. It is prefently 
looking good-humouredly at the manners of the elegant 
and refined world. It pleafes itfelf then with low and 
fenfual gratifications. Profound in reafoning, bold to 
ralhnefs in concluiion, elevated to the very ultimate 
bounds of imagination, fafcinating in its ftyle, the Fault 
wants only the fixed principles of religion to have made 
it an everlafting companion of human meditation. But 
fince, moft unaccountable blindnefs! Goethe, though 
ever in the region of the ideal, has failed to fee God and 
his attributes, his mighty labour is like the wreck of a 
noble fliip, whence indeed the future builder may cull 
ltrong plank and enduring oak, but of which the fabric 
no more is ufeful. 
Schiller , like Goethe, has the merit of genius and 
invention, with the like want of judgmentand tafte. Alb 
his works abound in fituations of terrific effeCf, and are 
filled with profound and philofophical reflections. But 
thefe are often very aukwardly introduced, as in the play 
of Don Carlos,, where they become tedious. Schiller has 
2 traced 
