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THE Life of Cowley, notwithstanding the penury of English biography, has been written by Dr. Sprat, an author whose pregnancy of imagination and elegance of language have deservedly set him high in the ranks of literature ; but his zeal of friendship, or ambition of eloquence, has produced a funeral oration rather than a history: he has given the character, not the life, of Cowley; for he writes with so little detail, that scarcely any thing is distinctly known, but all is shown confused and enlarged through the mist of panegyric.

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ABRAHAM COWLEY was born in the year one thousand six hundred and eighteen. His father was a grocer, whose condition Dr. Sprat conceals under the general appellation of a citizen; and, what would probably not have been less carefully suppressed, the omission of his name in the register of St. Dunstan's parish gives reason to suspect, that his father was a sectary. Whoever he was, he died before the birth of his son, and consequently left him to the care of his mother; whom Wood represents as struggling earnestly to procure him a literary education, and who, as she lived to the age of eighty, had her solicitude rewarded by seeing ber son eminent, and, I hope, by sceing him fortunate, and partaking his prosperity. We know at least, from Sprat's account, that he always acknowledged her care, and justly paid the dues of filial gratitude.

In the window of his mother's apartment lay Spenser's Fairy Queen, in which he very early took delight to read, till, by feeling the charms of verse, he became, as he relates, irrecoverably a poet. Such are the accidents, which, sometimes remembered, and perhaps sometimes forgotten, produce that particular designation of mind, and propensity for some certain science or employment, which is commonly called genius. The true genius is a mind of large general powers, accidentally determined to some particular direction. Sir Joshua Reynolds, the great painter of the present age, had the first fondness for his art excited by the perusal of Richardson's treatise.

By his mother's solicitation he was admitted into Westminster school, where he was soon distinguished. He was wont, says Sprat, to relate, « that he had this defect in his memory at that time, that his teachers never could bring it to retain the ordinary rules of grammar."

This is an instance of the natural desire of man to propagate a wonder. It is surely very difficult to tell any thing as it was heard, when Sprat could not retain from am. plifying a commodious incident, though the book to which he prefixed his narrative contained its confutation. A memory, admitting some things, and rejecting others, an intellectual digestion, that concocted the pulp of learning, but refused the husks, had the appearance of an instinctive elegance, of a particular provision made by Nature for literary politeness. But in the author's own honest relation, the marvel vanishes: he was, he says, “ such an enemy to all constraint, that his master never could prevail on him to learn the rules without book.” He does not tell that he could not learn the rules; but that, being able to perform his exercises without them, and being an “ enemy to constraint,” he spared himself the labour.

Among the English poets, Cowley, Milton, and Pope might be said “ to lisp in numbers,” and have given such early proofs, not only of powers of language, but of comprehension of things, as, to more tardy minds, seem scarcely credible. But of the learned puerilities of Cowley there is no doubt, since a volume of his poems was. not only written, but printed, in his thirteenth year', containing, with other poeti. cal compositions, The tragical History of Pyramus and Thisbe, written when he was ten years old, and Constantia and Philetus, written two years after.

While he was yet at school, he produced a comedy called Love's Riddle, though it was not published till he had been some time at Cambridge. This comedy is of the pastoral kind, which requires no acquaintance with the living world, and there. fore the time at which it was composed adds little to the wonders of Cowley's mino. rity.

In 1636, he was removed to Cambridge”, where he continued his studies with great intenseness, for he is said to have written, while he was yet a young student, the greater part of his Davideis; a work of which the materials could not have been collected without the study of many years, but by a mind of the greatest vigour and activity.

Two years after his settlement at Cambridge, he published Love's Riddlo, with a poetical dedication to sir Kenelm Digby, of whose acquaintance all his contemporaries seem to have been ambitious; and Naufragium Joculare, a comedy written in Latin, but without due atteution to the ancient models; for it is not loose verse, but mere prose. It was printed with a dedication in verse to Dr. Comber, master of the college; but, having neither the facility of a popular nor the accuracy of a learned work, it seems to be now universally neglected.

At the beginning of the civil war, as the prince passed through Cambridge in his way to York, he was entertained with a representation of the Guardian, a comedy, which, Cowley says, was neither written nor acted, but rough-drawn by him, and repeated by the scholars. That this comedy was printed during his absence from his country, he appears to have considered as injurious to his reputation, though, during the suppression of the theatres, it was sometimes privately acted with sufficient approbation.

i This volume was not published before 1633, when Cowley was fifteen years old. Dr. Johnson, as well as former biographers, seems to have been misled by the portrait of Cowley being by mistake mais ked with the age of thirteen years. R.

2 He was a candidate this year at Westminster school for election to Trinity College, but proved un, puccessful. N.

In 1643, being now master of arts, he was, by the prevalence of the parliament, ejected from Cambridge, and sheltered himself at St. John's College in Oxford; where, as is said by Wood, he published a satire, called The Puritan and Papist, which was only inserted in the last collection of his works }; and so distinguished himself by the warmth of his loyalty and the elegance of his conversation, that he gained the kind. ness and confidence of those who attended the king, and amongst others of lord Falkland, whose notice cast a lustre on all to whom it was extended.

About the time when Oxford was surrendered to the parliament, he followed the queen to Paris, where he became secretary to the lord Jermyn, afterwards earl of St. Alban's, and was employed in such correspondence as the royal cause re. quired, and particularly in cyphering and decyphering the letters that passed be. tween the king and queen; an employment of the highest confidence and honour. So wide was his province of intelligence, that, for several years, it filled all his days and two or three nights in the week..

In the year 1647, his Mistress was published; for he imagined, as he de. clared in his preface to a subsequent edition, that “ poets are scarcely thought free. men of their company without paying some duties, or obliging themselves to be true to love."

This obligation to amorous ditties owes, I believe, its original to the fame of Pe. trarch, who, in an age rude and uncultivated, by his tuneful homage to his Laura, refined the manners of the lettered world, and filled Europe with love and poetry. But the basis of all excellence is truth : he that professes love ought to feel its power. Petrarch was a real lover, and Laura doubtless deserved his tenderness. Of Cowley, we are told by Barnest, who had means enough of information, that, whatever he may talk of his own inflammability, and the variety of characters by which his heart was divided, he in reality was in love but once, and then never had resolution to tell his passion.

This consideration cannot but abate, in some measure, the reader's esteem for the work and the author. To love excellence is natural; it is natural likewise for the lorer to solicit reciprocal regard by an elaborate display of his own qualifications. The desire of pleasing has in different men produced actions of heroism, and effusions of wit; but it seems as reasonable to appear the champion, as the poet, of an “airy nothing," and to quarrel, as to write, for what Cowley might have learned from his master Pindar to call “ the dream of a shadow.”

It is surely not difficult, in the solitude of a college, or in the bustle of the world, to find useful studies and serious employment. No man needs to be so burthened

3 In the first edition of this life, Dr. Johnson wrote, “which was never inserted in any collection of his works; ” but he altered the expression when the Lives were collected into volumes. The satire was added to Cowley's works by the particular direction of Dr. Johnson. N.

4 Barnesü Anacreontem. Dr. J.

with life, as to squander it in voluntary dreams of fictitious occurrences. The man, that sits down to suppose himself charged with treason or peculation, and heats his mind to a elaborate purgation of his character from crimes, which he was never within the possibility of committing, differs only by the infrequency of his folly from him, who praises beauty which he never saw; complains of jealousy which he never felt; supposes himself sometimes invited, and sometimes forsaken ; fatigues, his fancy, and ransacks his memory, for images which may exhibit the gaiety of hope, or the gloominess of despair; and dresses his imaginary Chloris or Phyllis sometimes in flowers fading as her beauty, and sometimes in gems lasting as her virtucs.

At Paris, as secretary to lord Jermyn, he was engaged in transacting things of real importance with real men and real women, and at that time did not much employ his thoughts upon phantoms of gallantry. Some of his letters to Mr. Bennet, afterward earl of Arlington, from April to December, in 1650, are preserved in Miscellanca Aulica, a collection of papers published by Brown. These letters, being written like those of other men whose minds are more on things than words, contribute no otherwise to his reputation, than as they show him to have been above the affectation of unseasonable elegance, and to have known, that the business of a statesman can be little forwarded by flowers of rhetoric.

One pássage, however, seems not unworthy of some notice. Speaking of the Scotch treaty, then in agitation :

“ The Scotch treaty,” says he, “is the only thing now in which we are vitally concerned; I am one of the last hopers, and yet cannot now abstain from believing that an agreement will be made ; all people upon the place incline to that of union. The Scotch will moderate something of the rigour of their demands; the mutual necessity of an accord is visible, the king is persuaded of it. And to tell you the truth, (which I take to be an argument above all the rest) Virgil has told the same thing to that purpose.”

This expression, from a secretary of the present time, would be considered as mere. ly ludicrous, or at most as an ostentations display of scholarship ; but the manners of that time were so tinged with superstition, that I cannot but suspect Cowley of kaving consulted on this great occasion the Virgilian lotss, and to have given some credit to the answer of his oracle.

s Consulting the Virgilian lots, sortes Virgilianæ, is a method of divination by the opening of Virgil, and applying to the circumstances of the peruser the first passage, in either of the two pages, that he accidentally fixes his eye on. It is said, that king Charles I. and lord Falkland, being in the Bodleian library, made this experiment of their future fortunes, and met with passages equally ominous to each. Tiat of the king was the following:

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Some years afterward, “ business,” says Sprat, " passed of course into other hands ;” and Cowley, being no longer useful at Paris, was in 1656 sent back into England, that, “ under pretence of privacy and retirement, he might take occasion of giving notice of the posture of things in this nation.”

Soon after his return to London, he was seized by some messengers of the usurping powers, who were sent out in quest of another man, and, being examined, was put into confinement, from which he was not dismissed without the security of a thousand pounds given by Dr. Scarborough.

This year he published his poems, with a preface, in which he seems to have in. serted something suppressed in sulisequent editions, which was interpreted to denote some relaxation of his loyalty. In this preface he declares, that “his desire had been for some days past, and did still very vehemently continue, to retire himself to some of the American plantations, and to forsake this world for ever.”

From the obloquy which the appearance of submission to the usurpers brought upon him, his biographer has been very diligent to clear him, and indeed it does not seem to have lessened his reputation. His wish for retirement we can easily be. lieve to be undissembled : a man, harassed in one kingdom, and persecuted in ano. ther, who, after a course of business that employed all his days and half his nights in cyphering and decyphering, comes to his own country and steps into a prison, will be willing enough to retire to some place of quiet and of safety. Yet let neither our reverence for a genius, nor our pity for a sufferer, dispose us to forget, that if his activity was virtue, his retreat was cowardice.

Yet let a race untam'd, and haughty foes,
His peaceful entrance with dire arms oppose,
Oppress'd with numbers in th’unequal field,
His men discourag'd, and himself expell’d,
Let him for succour sue from place to place,
Torn from his subjects and his son's enbrace.
First let him see his friends in battle slain,
And their untimely fate lament in vain ;
And when, at length, the cruel war shall cease,
On hard conditions may he buy his peace:
Nor let him then enjoy supreme command,
But fall untimely by some hostile hand,
And lie unbury'd on the barren sand.


Lord Falkland's:

Non hæc, O Palla, dederas promissa parenti,
Cautius ut sævo velles te credere Marti.
Haud ignarus eram, quantum nova gloria in armis,
Et prædulce decus primo certamine posset.
Primitiæ jnvenis miseræ, bellique propinqui
Dura rudimenta, & nulla exaudita Deorum,
Vota precesque meæ !

Æneid XI. 152.

O Pallas, thou hast faild thy plighted word!
To fight with caution, not to teinpt the sword,

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