"Obscurest night involved the sky, The Atlantic billows roared, He long survives who lives an hour And so long he, with unspent power, No poet wept him, but the page Of narrative sincere, That tells his name, his worth, his age, And tears, by bards or heroes shed, I therefore purpose not, or dream, But misery still delights to trace No voice divine the storm allay'd, And whelmed in deeper gulfs than he !" friend, inspired me with a lively, but too sanguine hope, that I might see him once more restored. Alas! the verses which I surveyed as a delightful omen of future letters from a correspondent so inexpressibly dear to me, proved the last effort of his pen." Cowper's weakness now very rapidly increased, and by the end of February it had become so great as to render him incapable of enduring the fatigue of his usual ride, which was hence discontinued. In a few days he ceased to come down stairs, though he was still able, after breakfasting in bed, to adjourn to another room, and to remain there till the evening. By the end of the ensuing March, he was compelled to forego even this trifling exercise. He was now entirely confined to his bed-room; he was, however, still able to sit up to every meal except breakfast. His friend, Mr. Rose, about this time, paid him a visit. Such, however, was the melancholy change which his complicated maladies had produced upon his mind, that he expressed no pleasure at the arrival of one whom he had previously been accustomed to greet with the most cordial reception. Mr. Rose remained with him till the first week in April, witnessing with much sorrow the sufferings of the afflicted poet, and kindly sympathizing with his distressed relations and friends. Little as Cowper had appeared to enjoy his company, he evinced symp toms of considerable regret at his departure. detained by the impending death of a darling child. Both Lady Hesketh and Mr. Hayley would have followed the humane example of Mr. Rose, in visiting the dying poet, had they not been prevented by circumstances over which they had no control. Anxious as all his friends now were, that he The health of the former had suffered considerably should be constantly employed, as this proved the by her long confinement with Cowper, at the combest remedy for his depression, they were frequent-mencement of his last attack, and the latter was ly pained to see him reduced to a state of hopeless inactivity, owing to the severity of his mental an- Mr. Johnson informs us, in his sketch of the poet's guish. At these seasons, what suited him best was life, that, "on the 19th April the weakness of this Mr. Johnson's reading to him, which he was accus- truly pitiable sufferer had so much increased that tomed to do, almost invariably for a length of time, his kinsman apprehended his death to be near. Adevery day. And so industriously had he perseve-verting, therefore, to the affliction, as well of body red in this method of relieving the poet's mind, that as of mind, which his beloved inmate was then enafter having exhausted numerous works of fiction during, he ventured to speak of his approaching which had the power of attracting his attention, he dissolution as the signal of his deliverance from began to read to his afflicted relative the poet's own both these miseries. After a pause of a few moworks. Cowper evinced no disapprobation to this ments, which was less interrupted by the objections till the reader arrived at the history of John Gilpin, of his desponding relative than he had dared to hope, when he entreated his relative to desist. he proceeded to an observation more consolatory still-namely, that in the world to which he was hastening, a merciful Redeemer, who had prepared unspeakable happiness for all his children, and therefore for him —- To the first part of this sentence he had listened with composure, but the concluding words were no sooner uttered than his passionately expressed entreaties that his companion would desist from any further observations of a similar kind, clearly proved that though he was on the eve of being invested with angelic light, the darkness of delusion still veiled his spirit." It became evident towards the close of 1799, that his bodily strength was rapidly declining, though his mental powers, notwithstanding the unmitigated severity of his depression, remained unimpaired. In January, 1800, Mr. Johnson observed in him many symptoms which he thought very unfavorable. This induced him to call in additional medical advice. His complaint was pronounced to be, not as has been generally stated, dropsical, but a breaking up of the constitution. Remedies however were tried, and he was recommended to take as much gentle exercise as he could bear. To this recommendation he discovered no particular aversion, and Mr. Johnson took him for a ride in a post-chaise as often as circumstances would permit; it was, however, with considerable difficulty he could be prevailed upon to use such medicines as it was thought necessary to employ. On the following day, which was Sunday, he revived a little. Mr. Johnson, on repairing to his room, after he had discharged his clerical duties, found him in bed and asleep. He did not, however, leave the room, but remained watching him, expecting he might, on awaking, require his assistance. Whilst engaged in this melancholy office, and enAbout this time his friend Mr. Hayley wrote to deavoring to reconcile his mind to the loss of so him, expressing a wish that he would new-model a dear a friend, by considering the gain which that passage in his translation of the Iliad, where men- friend would experience, his reflections were sudtion is made of the very ancient sculpture in which denly interrupted by the singularly varied tone in Daedalus had represented the Cretan dance for Ari- which Cowper then began to breathe. Imaginadne. "On the 31st January," says Mr. Hayley, "I ing it to be the sound of his immediate summons, received from him his improved version of the lines after listening to it for several minutes, he arose in question, written in a firm and delicate hand. froin the foot of the bed on which he was sitting, to The sight of such writing from my long silent | take a nearer, and, as he supposed, a last view of his departing relative, commending his soul to that | sure they have never been in print, though he rather Yes, from its earthly tenement 'tis flown; Ascribe creation's ever-varying form; Early on Friday morning, the 25th, a decided Who wings the lightning, and who drives the storm, "From this mournful period," writes Mr. Johnson, "till the features of his deceased friend were closed from his view, the expression which the kinsman of Cowper observed in them, and which he was affectionately delighted to suppose an index of the last thoughts and enjoyments of his soul in its gradual escape from the depths of despondence, was that of calmness and composure, mingled, as it were, with holy surprise." He was buried in that part of Dereham church, called St. Edmund's Chapel, on Saturday, the 2d May, 1800; and his funeral was attended by several of his relatives. In a literary point of view, his long and painful affliction had ever been regarded as a national calamity; a deep and almost universal sympathy was felt in his behalf; and by all men of learning and of piety, his death was looked upon as an event of no common importance. As he died without a will, his amiable and beloved relation, Lady Hesketh, kindly undertook to become his administratrix. She raised a tablet monument to his memory, with the following inscrip BURIED IN THIS CHURCH, Ye who with warmth the public triumph feel The following lines have been kindly handed to CHAPTER XVIII. Description of his person, his manners, his disposition, his piety. His attachment to the Established Church. His attainments. Originality of his poetry. His religious sentiments. The warmth of his friendship. His attachment to the British constitution. His industry and perseverance. Happy manner in which he could console the afflicted. His occasional intervals of enjoyment. Character as a writer. Powers of description. Beauty of his letters. His aversion to flattery, to affectation, to cruelty. His love of liberty, and dread of its abuse. Strong attachment to, and intimate acquaintance with the Scriptures. Pleasure with which he sometimes viewed the works of creation. Contentment of his mind. Extract from an anonymous critic. Poetic tribute to his memory. Ir is scarcely necessary to add any thing on the subject of Cowper's character, after the ample delineation that has already been given of it in this memoir: we shall, however, subjoin the following brief remarks, which could not so conveniently be introduced in any other part of the narrative. Cowper was of the middle stature; he had a fine, open, and expressive countenance; that indicated much thoughtfulness, and almost excessive sensibility. His eyes were more remarkable for the expression of tenderness than of penetration. The general expression of his countenance partook of that sedate cheerfulness, which so strikingly characterizes all his original productions, and which never failed to impart a peculiar charm to his conversation. His limbs were more remarkable for strength than for delicacy of form. He possessed a warm temperament; and he says of himself, in a letter to his cousin Mrs. Bodham, dated February 27, 1790, that he was naturally "somewhat irritable," but, if he was, his religious principles had so subdued that tendency, that a near relation, who was intimately acquainted with him the last ten years of his life, never saw his temper ruffled in a single instance. His manners were generally somewhat shy and reserved, particularly to strangers: when, however, he was in perfect health, and in such society as was quite congenial to his taste, they were perfectly free and unembarrassed; his conversation was unrestrained and cheerful, and his whole deportment was the most polite and graceful, especially to females, towards whom he conducted himself, on all occasions, with the strictest delicacy and propriety. | much accustomed to the style and manner of others, it is almost impossible to avoid it, and we imitate, in spite of ourselves, just in the same proportion as we admire." Cowper's mode of expressing his thoughts is entirely Much as Cowper was admired by those who knew original: his blank verse is not the blank verse of Milhim only as a writer, or as an occasional correspondent, ton, or of any other poet. His numbers, his pauses, his he was infinitely more esteemed by his more intimate diction, are all of his own growth, without transcription, friends; indeed, the more intimately he was known, the and without imitation. If he thinks in a peculiar train, more he was beloved and revered. Nor was this affec-it is always as a man of genius, and what is better still, tionate attachment so much the result of his brilliant as a man of ardent and unaffected piety. His predecestalents, as it was of the real goodness of his disposition, sors had circumscribed themselves, both in the choice and gentleness of his conduct. and management of their subjects, by the observance of a limited number of models, who were thought to have exhausted all the legitimate resources of the art. "But Cowper," says a great modern critic, at once ventured to cross this enchanted circle, and thus regained the natural liberty of invention, and walked abroad in the open field of observation as freely as those by whom it was originally trodden. He passed from the imitation of poets to the imitation of nature, and ventured boldly upon the representation of objects that none before him had imagined could be employed in poetic imagery. In the ordinary occupations, occurrences, and duties of domestic life, he found a multitude of subjects for ridicule and reflection, for pathetic and picturesque description, for moral declamation and devotional rapture, that would have been looked upon with disdain or despair by all his predecessors. He took as wide a range in language too, as in matter; and shaking off the tawdry encumbrance of that poetical diction which had nearly reduced poetry to a skilful collection of a set of appropriated phrases, he made no scruple to set down in verse every expression that would have been admitted in prose; and to take advantage of all the varieties and changes of which our language is susceptible.” Cowper was emphatically, in the strictest and most scriptural sense of the term, a good man. His goodness, however, was not the result of mere effort, unconnected with Christian principles, nor did it arise from the absence of those evil dispositions of which all have reason, more or less, to complain; on the contrary, all his writings prove that he felt and deplored the existence of evil affections, and was only able to suppress them by a cordial reception of the gospel of Christ, and the diligent use of those means enforced under that pure and self-denying dispensation. Nor was the goodness of Cowper a mere negative goodness, inducing him only to avoid doing evil; it is evident, from many passages, both from his poetic and prose productions, that he ever looked upon his talents, not as his own, but as belong. ing to Him from whom he had received them. Under the influence of this impression, all his best and most important_original productions were unquestionably written. Desirous of communicating to his fellow-men the same invaluable benefits which he had himself received from the simple yet sublime truths of Christianity, and incapable of attempting it in any other way than that of becoming an author, he took up his pen and produced those unrivalled poems, which, while they It has been justly remarked, "that between the poetry delight the mere literary reader for their elegance, of Cowper and that of Dryden and Pope, and some of beauty, and sublimity, are no less interesting to the their successors, there is an immense difference. It Christian for the accurate and striking delineations of would be easy to show how little he owed to his immereal religion, with which they abound. As long as the diate forerunners, and how much his immediate followEnglish language exists, they will most eagerly be ers have been indebted to him. All the cant phrases, sought after, both by the scholar and by the Christian. all the technicalities of the former school, he utterly Cowper was warmly attached to the religion of the threw away; and by his rejection of them, they became established church, in which he had been trained up, obsolete. He boldly adopted cadences of verse unat and which, like his friend Mr. Newton, he calmly and tempted before, which, though frequently uncouth, and deliberately preferred to any other. His attachment, sometimes scarcely reducible to rhyme, were not selhowever, was not that of the narrow-minded bigot dom ingeniously significant, and signally energetic. He which blinds the mind to the excellencies of every other feared not to employ colloquial, philosophical, judicial religious community; on the contrary, it was the at-idioms, and forms of argument and illustration, which tachment of the firm and steady friend of religious liber- enlarged the vocabulary of poetical terms, less by recurty, in the most liberal sense of the term. Of a sectarian ring to obsolete ones, than by hazardous, and generally spirit he was ever the open and avowed opponent. He happy innovations of his own invention, which have sincerely and very highly respected the conscientious of since become dignified by usage; but which Pope and all parties. In one of his letters to Mr. Newton, advert- his imitators durst not have touched. The eminent ading to a passage in his writings that was likely to ex- venturous revivers of English poetry, about thirty years pose him to the charge of illiberality, he thus writes. ago, Southey, Wordsworth, and Coleridge, in their When I wrote the passage in question, I was not at all blank verse, trod directly in the steps of Cowper; and, aware of any impropriety in it. I am however, glad you in their early productions at least, were each in a meahave condemned it; and though I do not feel as if I sure what he had made them. Cowper may be legiticould presently supply its place, shall be willing to at-mately styled the father of this triumvirate, who are, in tempt the task, whatever labor it may cost me; and truth, the living fathers of an innumerable company of rejoice that it will not be in the power of the critics, modern poets, whom no ingenuity can well classify and whatever else they may charge me with, to accuse me arrange." of bigotry, or a design to make a certain denomination The poetry of Cowper is in the highest degree deservodious at the hazard of the public peace. I had rathering the honorable appellation of Christian poetry. He my book should be burnt, than a single line guilty of consecrated his muse to the service of that pure and such tendency should escape me.' self-denying religion, taught by Christ and his apostles. In this respect his poems differed from the productions of any writers that had then appeared, with the exception of Milton and Young. Both these individuals, though they wrote on religious subjects, yet in all probability wrote principally for fame with Cowper, however, the desire of doing good predominated over every other feeling; and the hope of emolument, nay, even the love of fame itself, was looked upon as subordinate The productions of Cowper were eminently and en- to this great object, the last to which poets generally tirely his own; he had neither borrowed from, nor imi-pay any consideration. To YOUNG, Cowper was evitated any one. He copied from none, either as to his subjects, or the manner of treating them. All was the creation of his own inventive genius. Adverting to this circumstance, in one of his letters, he thus writes:-"I reckon it among my principal advantages as a composer of verses, that I have not read an English poet these thirteen years, and but one these twenty years. Imitation even of the best models is my aversion; it is a servile and mechanical trick, that has enabled many to usurp the name of author, who could not have written at all, if they had not written upon the pattern of some original. But when the ear and the taste have been Cowper's attainments as a scholar were highly respectable; he was master of four languages, besides his own: Greek, Latin, Italian, and French; and though his reading was by no means so extensive as that of some, it was turned to better account, as he was a most thoughtful and attentive reader, and it was undoubtedly amply sufficient for every purpose, with a genius so brilliant, and a mind so original as his. dently superior, in every thing that constitutes real poetic excellence: and equal to MILTON in the ease and elegance of his compositions, and in the vivacity and beauty of his imagery, though seldom, and perhaps never, rising to that majestic sublimity to which the author of Paradise Lost sometimes soared, and in which he stands unrivalled among modern, if not among ancient poets. Milton's matchless poem is a most sublime description of the great facts of the Christian system; every line of it fills the reader with surprise. Hurried on through a profusion of imagery splendid and grand, and never inelegant, tawdry, or ungraceful, the mind be comes astonished, and is much more powerfully affected than the heart. We look in vain for those touching appeals to the affections with which Cowper's poetry abounds, which come home to the bosoms and hearts of all. "Poet and Saint, to him is justly given, The two most sacred names of earth and heaven." In the productions of Milton and Young, there is not much of practical, and still less of experimental, piety. They confined themselves chiefly to the theory of religion. Cowper, on the contrary, whose views of the great leading truths of Christianity were equally, if not more comprehensive, describes, with unequalled simplicity and beauty, those less splendid, but not less useful, parts of religion, which his predecessors had left almost untouched: hence the superiority of his muse to theirs in these respects. No uninspired orator ever so happily and so strikingly described the operations of Divine grace upon the human soul. The gospel had come home to him, not in word only, but in demonstration of the Spirit, and in power. He not only possessed a comprehensive knowledge of the Christian system, which enabled him, whenever he had occasion for it, to describe and illustrate, with all the force and beauty of poetic enchantment, that solid foundation on which the Christian builds his hopes, but he had himself felt the astonishing efficacy of these truths on the heart, when truly and cordially received. This accounts for the unrivalled felicity with which he describes the happy influence of Christianity in all cases where it is rightly embraced, unless, as in his own case, its influence be prevented by some unaccountable bodily distemper. Treating the great peculiarities of the Christian system-the depravity of man-the necessity of regeneration-the efficacy of the atonement access to God, through the Divine Spiritjustification by faith, with others of a like kind, not merely as subjects of inquiry, but as things which had been to him matters of actual experience, it is no wonder that his muse sometimes carried him to a depth of Christian feeling, unsung, and even unattempted before. As he himself, in his poem on Charity, beautifully sings"When one that holds communion with the skies Has fill'd his urn, where these pure waters rise, And once more mingles with us meaner things, 'Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings; Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide, That tells us whence his treasures are supplied." "Cowper," as Mr. Hayley justly observes, "accomplished as a poet, the sublimest object of poetic ambition -he has dissipated the general prejudice that held it hardly possible for a modern author to succeed in sacred poetry. He has proved that verse and devotion are natural allies. He has shown that true poetical genius cannot be more honorably or more delightfully employed than in diffusing through the heart and mind of man a filial affection for his Maker, with a firm and cheerful trust in his word. He has sung in a strain, in some degree at least equal to the great subject, the blessed advent of the Messiah; and perhaps it will not be saying too much, to assert that his poetry will have no inconsiderable influence in preparing the world for the cordial reception of all the rich blessings which this event was intended to introduce." Up to the period when Cowper's productions were given to the world, it was foolishly imagined impossible successfully to employ the graces and beauties of poetry on the side of virtue. A great modern critic had inconsiderately declared that "contemplative piety cannot be poetical." Had he asserted only, that it had very rarely been so, the assertion would not have been unjust. It would, indeed, have coincided with the views entertained by Cowper himself; for, of his predecessors' productions, with few exceptions, no one could have formed a more correct opinion, as will appear by the following lines: "Pity religion has so seldom found A skilful guide into poetic ground! The flowers would spring where'er she deigned to stray, This censure, severely as it may fall on most of Cow'per's predecessors, is not unjust. His muse, however, was the first to show that poetry may be made the handmaid to religion. When he gave to the world the productions of his unrivalled pen, they saw, indeed, a bard all fire, Touched with a coal from heaven, assume the lyre, And tell the world, still kindling as he sung, With more than mortal music on his tongue, That he who died below, and reigns above, Inspires the song, and that his name was love." Cowper's religious sentiments were undoubtedly Calvinistic, and though his views of divine truth were generally unexceptionable, they were sometimes rather strongly tinged with the peculiarities of that system. On no occasion, however, that comes within our recollection, do we find him speaking of the character of God in such terms as would lead any, who were sincerely desirous of approaching Him in the way of his own appointment, to doubt of gracious reception at his hands. His own case, indeed, must be excepted, as his melancholy depression ever led him to regard himself as a solitary instance of the rejection of God and of the reversal of his decree. It could seldom, if ever, be inferred from any of his representations, that he thought the Divine Being, by the mere excercise of his sovereignty, continued any of his creatures, except, indeed, it were himself, in a state of suffering in the present life, or placed them beyond the means of escaping from misery in the future. His views of the atonement, and of the infinite extent of its efficacy, were such as led him, whenever he had occasion to advert to it, to represent it truly, as a solid ground of hope and comfort, to every converted sinner, whatever might have been his character. He felt an entire conviction that he whose infinite compassion had prompted him to make provision for the restoration of fallen man to his favor, intended it to be universally beneficial; and that the perverseness and obstinacy of men were the only reasons why it was not so. That he should have regarded his own case as an exception, and should, consequently, have passed the greater part of his life in the bitterness of despair, is a difficulty which we are persuaded will, in the present life, for ever remain unaccounted for. To assert, as some have done, on no other foundation than that of mere opinion, that had he not been religious be would never have been melancholy, is utterly at variance with all the leading facts of his history. To every well regulated mind, it will be abundantly evident, that, whatever reasons may be assigned for the affecting pe culiarity of his case, the deep concern he felt for religion could never have been the cause. On the contrary, it will appear clearly to have been much more likely to become the best preventive, as, in fact, the events of his life prove it to have been, though, owing to some un accountable organic conformation, much less completely than might have been hoped. No person was ever more alive to the benefits of real friendship, or had ever formed more correct conceptions of its obligations and delights. His inimitable stanzas, on this most interesting subject, which are perhaps superior to any thing that has ever been written upon it, prove incontestibly that he understood what were its indispensable prerequisites, and his whole conduct through life shows that he felt the full force of that friendship which he so admirably described. It is difficult to make extracts from a poem, every line of which is selves the pleasure of presenting our readers with the almost alike excellent: we cannot, however, deny ourfollowing admirable lines: Who hopes a friend, should have a heart A man renowned for repartee With friendship's finest feeling; Beware of tattlers! keep your ear Religion should extinguish strife, Only on topics left at large, Then judge, before you choose your man, And having made election, See that no disrespect of yours, Such as a friend but ill endures, Enfeeble his affection As similarity of mind, Or something not to be defined, The man who hails you Tom, or Jack, To pardon, or to bear it. Some friends make this their prudent planSay little, and hear all you can; Safe policy, but hateful! So barren sands imbibe the shower, They whisper trivial things, and small; Things serious, deem improper. Just like a simmering copper. A principal ingredient. True friendship has, in short, a grace, That proves it heaven-descended: To last till life is ended." Cowper was, through life, the warm, though not the blind admirer of the British constitution; and though he made no pretensions to the character of a politician, yet he took the liveliest interest in all that related to the honor and prosperity of his country, In one of his letters to Mr. Newton he thus writes:-"I learned when I was a boy, being the son of a staunch Whig, and a man that loved his country, to glow with that patriotic enthusiasm which is apt to break forth into poetry, or at least to prompt a person, if he has any inclination that way, to poetical endeavors. After I was grown up, and while I lived in the Temple, I produced several halfpenny ballads, two or three of which had the honor of being popular. But unhappily, the ardor I felt upon the occasion, disdaining to be confined within the bounds of fact, pushed me upon uniting the prophetical with the poetical character, and defeated its own purpose. I am glad it did. The less there is of this sort in my productions the better. The stage of national affairs is such a fluctuating scene, that an event which seems probable to-day becomes impossible to-morrow; and unless a man were indeed a prophet, he cannot, but with the greatest hazard of losing his labor, bestow his rhymes upon future contingencies, which perhaps are never to take place, but in his own wishes and in the reveries of his own fancy." The time which Cowper bestowed upon his translation of Homer, and the indefatigable diligence with which he labored in this great work, notwithstanding his melancholy depression, until he had completed it, prove that he was not easily to be diverted from what he had once undertaken; and that few men were equal and perhaps none superior, to him, in those essential qualities of a truly great mind-industry and perseve ence of mind, which is a prime constituent in the character of every great man. Several incidents, however, are related of him, which go to prove that such was very far from being the case. His conduct to Mr. Unwin and Mr. Newton, who both in their turns, at different times, thought themselves entitled to complain of some neglect, proves that he allowed not the affection of friendship to intrench upon his right to judge at all times for himself. Alluding to Mr. Newton's displeasure, he remarks to another friend :-"If he says more on the subject I shall speak freely, and perhaps please him less than I have already done." Almost in the same breath, however, evincing his deep knowledge of human nature, he adds:-"But we shall jumble together again, as people, who have an affection for each other at the bottom, never fail to do." On one occasion, some friend having remarked to Cowper, that he knew a person who wished to see a sample of his verse, before subscribing for his edition of Homer, he replied-" that when he dealt in wine, or cloth, or cheese, he would give samples, but of verse never." The same independence he evinced on another occasion, writing to the friend whom he had employed to negotiate for the publication of his second volume of poetry, he remarks -"If Johnson should stroke his chin, look up to the ceiling, and cry nymph! anticipate him, I beseech you, at once, by saying, that you know I should be very sorry he should undertake for me to his own disadvantage, or that my volume should be in any degree pressed upon him." The depressive malady under which Cowper labored through the greatest part of his life, might naturally be supposed to have disqualified him entirely for the kind office of comforting those who were in distress: in truth, however, no one had better learned the divine skill of strengthening the weak mind, of encouraging the timid and trembling believer, of lifting up the weak hands that were hanging down, wiping the tear of sorrow from the mournful eye, and directing the Christian to look alone to heaven for support in all his difficulties. His poems abound with passages the most tender and consolatory; enforcing with an eloquence, persuasive and almost irresistible, humble submission to the Divine will, in circumstances the most discouraging. The following lines, forming part of a poetic epistle to a lady in France, show how admirably he could pour the healing oil of comfort into the wounded spirits of others, though he was unable to assuage the grief of his own: "The path of sorrow, and that path alone, Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown: * But He, who knew what human hearts would prove, Ah! be not sad! although thy lot be cast Far from the flock, and in a boundless waste; No shepherd's tents within thy view appear, But the Chief Shepherd even there is near. Thy tender sorrows and thy plaintive strain Flow in a foreign land, but not in vain; Thy tears all issue from a source divine, And every drop bespeaks a Saviour thine. Notwithstanding the almost unmitigated severity of It might be imagined that Cowper's very retired man- Cowper's sufferings, there were seasons in which he ner of life, had deprived him of that manly independ-enjoyed some internal tranquillity, and was enabled to rance. |