Obrázky na stránke
PDF
ePub

the fox for which they had toiled so hard; and the hounds assembled at the foot of the tree, with faces not less expressive of the most rational delight, contemplated the same object. The huntsman remounted; cut off a foot, and threw it to the hounds-one of them swallowed it whole like a bolus. He then once more alighted, and drawing down the fox by the hinder legs, desired the people, who were by this time rather numerous, to open a lane for him to the right and left. He was instantly obeyed, when throwing the fox to the distance of some yards, and screaming like a fiend, “tear him to pieces"—at least six times repeatedly, he consigned him over absolutely to the pack, who in a few minutes devoured him completely. Thus, my dear, as Virgil says, what none of the gods could have ventured to promise me, time itself, pursuing its accustomed course, has of its own accord presented me with. I have been in at the death of a fox, and you now know as much of the matter as I, who am as well informed as any sportsman in England. Yours, W. C.

CCLXIII.-To LADY HESKETH.

The Lodge, March 12, 1788. Slavery, and the Manners of the Great, I have read. The former I admired, as I do all that Miss More writes, as well for energy of expression as for the tendency of the design. I have never yet seen any production of her pen that has not recommended itself by both these qualifications. There is likewise much good sense in her manner of treating every subject, and no mere poetic cant (which is the thing that I abhor) in her manner of treating any. And this I say, not because you now know and visit her, but it has long been my avowed opinion of her works, which I have both spoken and written as often as I have had occasion to mention them.

Mr. Wilberforce's little book (if he was the author of it) has also charmed me. It must, I should imagine, engage the notice of those to whom it is addressed. In that case one may say to them, either answer it or be set down by it. They will do neither. They will approve, commend, and forget it. Such has been the fate of all exhortations to reform, whether in verse or prose, and however closely pressed upon the conscience, in all ages. Here and there a happy individual, to whom God gives grace and wisdom to profit by the admonition, is the better for it. But the aggregate body (as Gilbert Cooper used to call the multitude) remain, though with a very good understanding of the matter, like horse and mule that have none.

We shall now soon lose our neighbours at the Hall. We shall truly miss them, and long for their return. Mr. Throckmorton said to me last night, with sparkling eyes, and a face expressive of the highest pleasure-"We compared you this morning with Pope;

we read your fourth Iliad, and his, and I verily think we shall beat him. He has many superfluous lines, and does not interest one. When I read your translation I am deeply affected; I see plainly your advantage, and am convinced that Pope spoiled all by attempting the work in rhyme." His brother George, who is my most active amanuensis, and who indeed first introduced the subject, seconded all he said. More would have passed, but Mrs. Throckmorton having seated herself at the harpsichord, and for my amusement merely, my attention was of course turned to her. The new vicar of Olney is arrived and we have exchanged visits. He is a plain, sensible man, and pleases me much. A treasure for Olney, if Olney can understand his value.

W. C.

CCLXIV.-To GENERAL COWPER.

Weston, 1788.

MY DEAR GENERAL, A letter is not pleasant which excites curiosity but does not gratify it. Such a letter was my last, the defects of which I therefore take the first opportunity to supply. When the condition of our negroes in the islands was first presented to me as a subject for songs, I felt myself not at all allured to the undertaking: it seemed to offer only images of horror, which could by no means be accommodated to the style of that sort of composition. But having a desire to comply, if possible, with the request made to me, after turning the matter in my mind as many ways as I could, I at last, as I told you, produced three, and that which appears to myself the best of those three I have sent you. Of the other two, one is serious, in a strain of thought perhaps rather too serious, and I could not help it. The other, of which the slave-trader is himself the subject, is somewhat ludicrous. If I could think them worth your seeing, I would, as opportunity should occur, send them also. If this amuses you, shall be glad.

THE MORNING DREAM*, A BALLAD.

To the Tune of" Tweed Side."

'Twas in the glad season of spring,

Asleep at the dawn of the day,

I dream'd what I cannot but sing,
So pleasant it seem'd as I lay.

I dream'd that on ocean afloat,

Far hence to the westward I sail'd,

While the billows high lifted the boat,

And the fresh blowing breeze never fail'd.

W. C.

I

* The excellence of this ballad induces me to reprint it here, although it

has appeared in an edition of Cowper's Poems.

In the steerage a woman I saw,

Such at least was the form that she wore,
Whose beauty impress'd me with awe,

Never taught me by woman before:
She sat, and a shield at her side

Shed light, like a sun, on the waves,
And, smiling divinely, she cried-

"I go to make freemen of slaves."
Then raising her voice to a strain,

The sweetest that ear ever heard,
She sung of the slave's broken chain
Wherever her glory appear'd.
Some clouds, which had over us hung,
Fled, chased by her melody clear,
And methought while she liberty sung,
'Twas liberty only to hear.

Thus swiftly dividing the flood,

To a slave-cultured island we came,
Where a demon, her enemy, stood,
Oppression his terrible name:
In his hand, as a sign of his sway,
A scourge hung with lashes he bore,
And stood looking out for his prey,
From Africa's sorrowful shore.
But soon as approaching the land,

That goddess-like woman he view'd,
The scourge he let fall from his hand,

With blood of his subjects imbrued.
I saw him both sicken and die,

And the moment the monster expired
Heard shouts, that ascended the sky,

From thousands with rapture inspired.
Awaking, how could I but muse,

At what such a dream should betide.
But soon my ear caught the glad news,

Which served my weak thought for a guide

That Britannia, renown'd o'er the waves,

For the hatred she ever has shown

To the black-sceptred rulers of slaves,
Resolves to have none of her own.

CCLXV.-TO THE REV. WALTER BAGOT.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

March 19, 1788. The spring is come, but not, I suppose, that spring which our poets have celebrated. So I judge at least by the extreme severity of the season, sunless skies and freezing blasts, surpassing all that we experienced in the depth of winter. How do you dispose of yourself in this howling month of March? As for me I walk daily, be the weather what it may, take bark and write verses. By the aid of such means as these, I combat the north-east wind with some measure of success, and look forward, with the hope of enjoying it, to the warmth of summer.

Have you seen a little volume lately published, entitled the Manners of the Great? It is said to have been written by Mr.

Wilberforce, but, whether actually written by him or not, is undoubtedly the work of some man intimately acquainted with the subject, a gentleman and a man of letters. If it makes the impression on those to whom it is addressed, that may be in some degree expected from his arguments, and from his manner of pressing them, it will be well. But you and I have lived long enough in the world to know that the hope of a general reformation in any class of men whatever, or of women either, may easily be too sanguine.

I have now given the last revisal to as much of my translation as was ready for it, and do not know that I shall bestow another single stroke of my pen on that part of it before I send it to the press. My business at present is with the sixteenth book, in which I have made some progress, but have not yet actually sent forth Patroclus to the battle. My first translation lies always before me; line by line I examine it as I proceed, and line by line reject it. I do not, however, hold myself altogether indebted to my critics for the better judgment that I seem to exercise in this matter now than in the first instance. By long study of him I am, in fact, become much more familiar with Homer than any time heretofore, and have possessed myself of such a taste of his manner as is not to be attained by mere cursory reading for amusement. But, alas! 'tis, after all, a mortifying consideration, that the majority of my judges hereafter will be no judges of this. Græcum est, non potest legi, is a motto that would suit nine in ten of those who will give themselves airs about it, and pretend to like or to dislike. No matter, I know I shall please you, because I know what pleases you, and am sure that I have done it.

Adieu! my good friend, ever affectionately yours,

W. C.

CCLXVI.-To SAMUEL ROSE, Esq.

MY DEAR FRIEND, Weston, March 29, 1788. I rejoice that you have so successfully performed so long a journey without the aid of hoofs or wheels. I do not know that a journey on foot exposes a man to more disasters than a carriage or a horse; perhaps it may be the safer way of travelling, but the novelty of it impressed me with some anxiety on your account.

It seems almost incredible to myself, that my company should be at all desirable to you, or to any man. I know so little of the world as it goes at present, and labour generally under such a depression of spirits, especially at those times when I could wish to be most. cheerful, that my own share in every conversation appears to me to be the most insipid thing imaginable. But you say you found it otherwise, and I will not for my own sake doubt your sincerity; de gustibus non est disputandum, and, since such is yours, I shall leave you in quiet possession of it, wishing indeed both its continuance and increase. I shall not find a properer place in which to say,

accept of Mrs. Unwin's acknowledgments, as well as mine, for the kindness of your expressions on this subject, and be assured of an undissembling welcome at all times when it shall suit you to give us your company at Weston. As to her, she is one of the sincerest of the human race, and if she receives you with the appearance of pleasure, it is because she feels it. Her behaviour on such occasions is with her an affair of conscience, and she dares no more look a falsehood than utter one.

It is almost time to tell you that I have received the books safe; they have not suffered the least detriment by the way, and I am much obliged to you for them. If my translation should be a little delayed in consequence of this favour of yours, you must take the blame on yourself. It is impossible not to read the notes of a commentator so learned, so judicious, and of so fine a taste as Dr. Clarke, having him at one's elbow. Though he has been but a few hours under my roof, I have already peeped at him, and find that he will be instar omnium to me. They are such notes exactly as I wanted. A translator of Homer should ever have somebody at hand to say, "that's a beauty," lest he should slumber where his author does not, not only depreciating by such inadvertency the work of his original, but depriving, perhaps, his own of an embellishment which wanted only to be noticed.

If you hear ballads sung in the streets on the hardships of the negroes in the island, they are probably mine. It must be an honour to any man to have given a stroke to that chain, however feeble. I fear, however, that the attempt will fail. The tidings which have lately reached me from London concerning it are not the most encouraging. While the matter slept, or was but slightly adverted to, the English only had their share of shame in common with other nations on account of it. But since it has been canvassed and searched to the bottom, since the public attention has been rivetted to the horrible scheme, we can no longer plead, either that we did not know it or did not think of it. Wo be to us if we refuse the poor captives the redress to which they had so clear a right, and prove ourselves in the sight of God and men indifferent to all considerations but those of gain.

Adieu,

CCLXVII.-To LADY HESKETH.

W. C.

The Lodge, March 31, 1788.

MY DEAREST COUSIN, Mrs. Throckmorton has promised to write to me. I beg that as often as you shall see her you will give her a smart pinch, and say, “Have you written to my cousin?" I build all my hopes of her performance on this expedient, and for so doing these my letters, not patent, shall be your sufficient warrant. You are thus to give her the question till she shall answer "Yes." I have written one more song and sent it; it is called the Morning Dream, and may

« PredošláPokračovať »