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 even as if an angel shook his wings;
Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide,
That tells us whence his treasures are supplied.

We must not omit a most splendid specimen of Cowper's poetic genius, entitled the "Yardley Oak.” It is an unfinished poem, and supposed to have been written in the year 1791, and laid aside, without ever having been resumed, when his attention was engrossed with the edition of Milton. Whatever may be the history of this admirable fragment, it has justly acquired for Cowper the reputation of having produced one of the richest and most highly finished pieces of versification that ever flowed from the pen of a poet. Its existence even was unknown both to Dr. Johnson and Hayley, till the latter discovered it buried in a mass of papers. We subjoin in a note a letter addressed by Dr. Johnson to Hayley, containing further particulars.*

66

"January 6, 1804.

Among our dear Cowper's papers, I found the following memorandum :

YARDLEY OAK IN GIRTH, FEET 22, INCHES 61.
THE OAK AT YARDLEY LODGE, FEET 28, INCHES 5.

As to Yardley Oak, it stands in Yardley Chase, where the Earls of Northampton have a fine seat. It was a favourite walk of our dear Cowper, and he once carried me to see that oak. I believe it is five miles at least from Weston Lodge. It is indeed a noble tree, perfectly sound, and stands in an open part of the Chase, with only one or two others near it, so as to be seen to advantage.

"With respect to the oak at Yardley Lodge, that is quite in

Though this fragment is inserted among the poems, we extract the following passages, as expressive of the vigour and inspiration of true poetic genius.

Thou wast a bauble once, a cup and ball,

Which babes might play with; and the thievish jay,
Seeking her food, with ease might have purloin'd
The auburn nut that held thee, swallowing down
Thy yet close-folded latitude of boughs,
And all thine embryo vastness at a gulp.
But Fate thy growth decreed; autumnal rains
Beneath thy parent tree mellow'd the soil,
Design'd thy cradle; and a skipping deer,
With pointed hoof dibbling the glebe, prepar'd
The soft receptacle, in which, secure,

Thy rudiments should sleep the winter through.
So Fancy dreams.

Time made thee what thou wast, king of the woods;
And Time hath made thee what thou art a cave
For owls to roost in! Once thy spreading boughs
O'erhung the champaign: and the numerous flocks,
That graz'd it, stood beneath that ample cope
Uncrowded, yet safe-shelter'd from the storm.
No flock frequents thee now.

decay-a pollard, and almost hollow. I took an excrescence from it in the year 1791, and, if I mistake not, Cowper told me it is said to have been an oak in the time of the Conqueror. This latter oak is in the road to the former, but not above half so far from Weston Lodge, being only just beyond Killick and Dinglederry. This is all I can tell you about the oaks. They were old acquaintance and great favourites of the bard. How rejoiced I am to hear that he has immortalized one of them in blank verse! Where could those one hundred and sixty-one lines lie hid? Till this very day I never heard of their existence, nor suspected it."

While thus through all the stages thou hast push'd
Of treeship-first a seedling, hid in grass;
Then twig; then sapling; and, as cen'try roll'd
Slow after century, a giant bulk

Of girth enormous, with moss-cushion'd root
Upheav'd above the soil, and sides imboss'd
With prominent wens globose-till, at the last,
The rottenness which time is charg'd to inflict
On other mighty ones found also thee.

Time was, when, settling on thy leaf, a fly
Could shake thee to the root-and time has been
When tempests could not.*

*The late Samuel Whitbread, Esq. was an enthusiastic admirer of the poetry of Cowper, and solicitous to obtain a relic of the Yardley Oak. Mr. Bull, of Newport Pagnel, promised to send a specimen, but some little delay having occurred, Mr. Whitbread addressed to him the following verses, which, emanating from such a man, and not having met the public eye, will, we are persuaded, be considered as a literary curiosity, and of no mean merit.

"Send me the precious bit of oak,
Which your own hand so fondly took
From off the consecrated tree,

A relic dear to you and me.

To many 'twould a bauble prove

Not worth the keeping,-Those who love
The teeming grand poetic mind,
Which God thought fit in chains to bind,
Of dreadful, dark, despairing gloom;
Yet left within such ample room,
For coruscations strong and bright:
Such beams of everlasting light,
As make men envy, love, and dread,
The structure of that wondrous head,
Must prize a bit of Judith's stem,
That brought to light that precious gem-
The fragment: which in verse sublime
Records her honours to all time "

With these acknowledged claims to popular favour, it is pleasing to reflect on the singular moderation of Cowper amidst the snares of literary fame. His motives seem to have been pure and simple, and his main design to elevate the character of the age, and to glorify God. He was not insensible to the value of applause, when conferred by a liberal and powerful mind, but even in this instance it was a subdued and chastened feeling. A more pleasing evidence could not be adduced than when Hayley, in one of his visits to Weston, brought a recent newspaper, containing a speech of Mr. Fox, in which that distinguished orator had quoted the following impressive verses on the Bastille, in the House of Commons.

Ye horrid tow'rs, the abode of broken hearts;
Ye dungeons, and ye cages of despair,
That monarchs have supplied from age to age
With music, such as suits their sov'reign ears,
The sighs and groans of miserable men!
There's not an English heart that would not leap,
To hear that ye were fall'n at last; to know,
That e'en our enemies, so oft employ'd

In forging chains for us, themselves were free.*

Mrs. Unwin discovered marks of vivid satisfaction, Cowper smiled, and was silent.†

These lines were written prophetically, and previously to the event.

The late Lord Erskine was a frequent reciter of passages from Cowper's poems. The Editor is indebted to E. H. Barker, Esq. of Thetford, for the following anecdote which was communicated to him by Joseph Jekyll, Esq. the eminent counsellor.

Mr. Jekyll was dining with Lord Oxford, and among the

We have mentioned how little Cowper was elated by praise. We shall now state how much he was depressed by unjust censure. His first volume of poems had been severely criticised by the Analytical Review. His feelings are recorded in the following (hitherto unpublished) letter to John Thornton, Esq.

Olney, May, 21, 1782.

Dear Sir-You have my sincere thanks for your obliging communication, both of my book to Dr. Franklin, and of his opinion of it to me. Some of the periodical critics I understand have spoken of it with contempt enough; but, while gentlemen of

company were Dr. Parr, Horne Tooke, Lord Erskine, and Mr. W. Scott, (brother to Lady Oxford.) Lord Erskine recited, in his admirable manner, the verses of Cowper about the Captive, without saying whose they were; Dr. Parr expressed great admiration of the verses, and said that he had never heard of them or seen them before; he inquired whose they were ? H. Tooke said, "Why Cowper's." Dr. Parr said he had never read Cowper's poems. Not read Cowper's poems!" said Horne Tooke, "and you never will, I suppose, Dr. Parr, till they are turned into Greek?" When the company went into the drawing-room, Lady Oxford presented Dr. Parr with a small edition of Cowper's Poems, and Mr. Jekyll was desired by her ladyship to write in the book, "From the Countess of Oxford to Dr. Parr." Horne Tooke wrote also underneath "Who never read the book," and signed his name to it: all present signed their names and added some remark, and among the rest W. Scott. At the sale of Dr. Parr's books, this volume fetched about five pounds, being considered valuable and curious, as the W. Scott signed was supposed to have been Sir W. Scott, (since Lord Stowell.) Lord Stowell afterward took great pains to contradict the report.