swered her, "if you will give me a subject." "Oh, you can write on any subject; write upon this Sofa," she jestingly replied. And the result is that long poem which opens, "I sing the Sofa." His excuse is that "the Fair commands the song." The Task reveals the main characteristic of Cowper a power to enter sympathetically into the humbler household activities and feelings and to give these emotions intimate, deep-felt, and realistic expression. In this he was somewhat hampered, inasmuch as the public taste had not yet escaped the artificial bondage of the age of Pope; but he was one whose work and silent influence prepared the world for the complete emancipation that came with the more important and more magnificent work of Wordsworth and Coleridge a generation later. And every one who reads Cowper's life and his poetry will gladly join in the eloquent eulogy which Mrs. Browning voices over his grave: It is a place where poets crowned may feel the heart's decaying; It is a place where happy saints may weep amid their pray ing; Yet let the grief and humbleness as low as silence languish : Earth surely now may give her calm to whom she gave her anguish. O poets, from a maniac's tongue was poured the deathless singing! O Christians, at your cross of hope a hopeless hand was cling ing! O men, this man in brotherhood your weary paths beguiling, Groaned inly while he taught you peace, and died while ye were smiling! And now, what time ye all may read through dimming tears his story, How discord on the music fell and darkness on the glory, And how when, one by one, sweet sounds and wandering lights departed, He wore no less a loving face because so broken-hearted, He shall be strong to sanctify the poet's high vocation, Nor ever shall he be, in praise, by wise or good forsaken, Named softly as the household name of one whom God hath taken. With quiet sadness and no gloom I learn to think upon him, With meekness that is gratefulness to God whose heaven hath won him, Who suffered once the madness-cloud to His own love to bind him, But gently led the blind along where breath and bird could find him; And wrought within his shattered brain such quick poetic senses As hills have language for, and stars, harmonious influences: The pulse of dew upon the grass kept his within its number, And silent shadows from the trees refreshed him like a slum ber. SWEET stream, that winds through yonder glade, Silent and chaste she steals along, Far from the world's gay busy throng: 5 Intent upon her destined course; Blessing and blest where'er she goes; 10 THE POPLAR FIELD THE poplars are fell'd; farewell to the shade Twelve years have elapsed since I first took a view 5 The blackbird has fled to another retreat 9 My fugitive years are all hasting away, And I must ere long lie as lowly as they, With a turf on my breast and a stone at my head, 15 The change both my heart and my fancy employs; THE SHRUBBERY O HAPPY shades! to me unblest! This glassy stream, that spreading pine, But fix'd unalterable Care Foregoes not what she feels within, And slights the season and the scene. 5 10 This moss-grown alley, musing, slow, They seek like me the secret shade, 20 Me, fruitful scenes and prospects waste These tell me of enjoyments past, And those of sorrows yet to come. |