and fhynefs of his nature, which difqualified him for fcenes of bufinefs and ambition, endeared him inexpreffi bly to thofe, who had opportunities to enjoy his fociety, and faculties to appreciate the uncommon excellence of his interesting character.

Referved as he was, to an extraordinary and painful degree, his heart and mind were yet admirably fashioned by nature for all the refined intercourfe and confidential delights both of friendship and of love: but though apparently formed to poffefs, and to communicate an extraordinary portion of mortal felicity, the in-. cidents of his life were fuch, that, confpiring with the peculiarities of his nature, they rendered him, at different times, the most unhappy of mankind. The varie ty and depth of his fufferings, in early life, from extreme tenderness of heart, are very forcibly difplayed in the following verfes, which formed part of a letter to one of his female relations at the time they were compofed. The letter has perifhed; and the verses owe their prefervation to the affectionate memory of the la dy to whom they were addreffed.

Doom'd, as I am, in folitude to walte

The prefent moments, and regret the past;
Depriv'd of every joy, I valued most,

My friend torn from me, and my mistress loft :-
Call not this gloom, I wear, this anxious mien,
The dull effect of humour, or of spleen!
Still, ftill, I mourn, with each returning day,
Him* fnatch'd by fate, in early youth, away.
And her through tedious years of doubt and pain,
Fix'd in her choice, and faithful-but in vain!
O prone to pity, generous, and fincere,
Whofe eye ne'er yet refus'd the wretch a tear;

* Sir William Ruffel, the favourite friend of the young Poet,

Whofe heart the real claim of friendship knows,
Nor thinks a lover's are but fancied woes;
See me, ere yet my deftin'd courfe half done,
Caft forth a wand'rer on a wild unknown!
See me neglected on the world's rude coast,
Each dear companion of my voyage lost!
Nor ask why clouds of forrow shade my brow!
And ready tears wait only leave to flow!
Why all, that fooths a heart, from anguish free,
All that delights the happy-palls with me!

When he quitted the house of the folicitor, where he was placed to acquire the rudiments of litigation, he fettled himself in chambers of the Inner-Temple, as a reg ular student of law; but although he refided there to the age of thirty-three, he rambled (according to his own colloquial account of his early years) from the thorny road of his auftere patroness, jurisprudence, into the primrose paths of literature and poetry. Even here his native diffidence confined him to focial and fubordinate exertions :-He wrote and printed both profe and verfe, as the concealed affiftant of lefs diffident authors.

During his refidence in the Temple, he cultivated the friendship of fome eminent literary characters, who had been his fchool-fellows at Westminster, particularly Col-A man, Bonnel, Thornton, and Lloyd. His regard to the two first induced him to contribute to their periodical publication, entitled the Connoiffeur, three excellent papers, which the reader will find in the Appendix to thefe volumes, and from which he will perceive, that Cowper had fuch talents for this pleasant and useful species of compofition, as might have rendered him a worthy affociate, in fuch labours, to Addison himself, whofe graceful powers have never been furpaffed in that prov

ince of literature, which may ftill be confidered as peculiarly his own.

The intimacy of Cowper and Lloyd may have given rife perhaps to fome early productions of our Poet, which it may now be hardly poffible to ascertain ;----the probability of this conjecture arifes from the neceffities of Lloyd, and the affectionate liberality of his friend. As the former was tempted by his narrow finances to engage in periodical works, it is highly probable that the pen of Cowper, ever ready to fecond the charitable wishes of his heart, might be devoted to the fervice of anindigent author, whom he appears to have loved with a very cordial affection. I find that affection agreeably displayed in a sportive poetical epiftle, which may claima place in this volume, not only as an early fpecimen of Cowper's poetry, but as exhibiting a sketch of his own mind at the age of twenty three.

AN EPISTLE TO ROBERT LLOYD, ESQ. 1754

'Tis not that I defign to rob

Thee of thy birth-right, gentle Bob,
For thou art born fole heir, and fingle,
Of dear Mat Prior's eafy jingle; .
Nor that I mean, while thus I knit.
My thread-bare fentiments together,
To fhew my genius, or my wit,

When God and you know, I have neither
Or fuch, as might be better fhewn

By letting poetry alone.

'Tis not with either of these views,

That I prefume t' addrefs the mufe.
But to divert a fierce banditti,
(Sworn foes to every thing that's witty!)
That, with a black, infernal train,

Make cruel inroads in my brain,

;

And daily threaten to drive thence
My little garrifon of sense:

The fierce banditti, which I mean,

Are gloomy thoughts, led on by spleen.
Then there's another reason yet,
Which is, that I may fairly quit

The debt, which justly became due
The moment when I heard from you:
And you might grumble, crony mine,
If paid in any other coin ;

Since twenty fheets of lead, God knows
(I would fay twenty fheets of profe)
Can ne'er be deem'd worth half fo much
As one of gold, and yours was fuch.
Thus, the preliminaries fettled,
I fairly find myself pitch-kettled ;*
And cannot fee, though few fee better,
How I fhall hammer out a letter.

First, for a thought-fince all agree-
A thought-I have it-let me fee-
'Tis gone again-Plague on't! I thought
I had it--but I have it not.

Dame Gurton thus, and Hodge her fon,
That useful thing, her needle, gone;
Rake well the cinders ;-fweep the floor,
And fift the duft behind the door;
While eager Hodge beholds the prize
In old Grimalkin's glaring eyes;
And Grammar finds it on her knees

In every fhining straw fhe fees.
This fimile were apt enough;
But I've another critic-proof!

* Pitch-kettled a favourite phrafe at the time when this epistle was written, expreffive of being puzzled, or what, in the Spectators' time, would have been called bamboozled.

The Virtuofo thus, at noon

Broiling beneath a July fun,
The gilded Butterfly pursues,

O'er hedge and ditch, through gaps and mèws;
And after many a vain effay

To captivate the tempting prey,
Gives him at length the lucky pat,
And has him fafe, beneath his hat:
Then lifts it gently from the ground;
But ah! 'tis loft, as soon as found;
Culprit his liberty regains;

Flits out of fight, and mocks his pains.
The fenfe was dark; 'twas therefore fit
With fimile t' illuftrate it;

But as too much obfcures the fight,
As often as too little light,

We have our fimiliès cut fhort,

For matters of more grave import.

That Matthew's numbers run with eafe,
Each man of common sense agrees;
All men of common fenfe allow,
That Robert's lines are eafy too :
Where then the preference fhall we place?
Or how do juftice in this case?

Matthew (fays Fame) with endless pains
Smooth'd, and refin'd, the meanest strains;
Nor fuffer'd one ill chofen rhyme
T' efcape him, at the idleft time;
And thus o'er all a luftre caft,

*That, while the language lives, fhall laft.
An't please your Ladyship (quoth I)
For 'tis my business to reply;

Sure fo much labour, fo much toil,

Bespeak at least a stubborn foil:
Theirs be the laurel-wreath decreed,

Who both write well, and write full speed!