Then launch and hoift the maft: indulgent gales, Supply'd by Phoebus, fill the swelling fails. The milk-white canvas bellying as they blow The parted ocean foams, and roars below; Above the bounding billows swift they flew, Till now the Grecian camp appear'd in view. POPE. The principal remaining poets, of whom it is neceffary for me to take fome notice, are, I think, Cowley, Waller, Thomson, and Young. Had Cowley's judgment borne any proportion to his genius, he would unquestionably have been entitled to a very high rank in the public estimation, which indeed, while the public judgment was as yet immature, he actually enjoyed. In the prefent improved ftate of Verfification, we have few productions of the English mufe more soft, more gay, more airy, than his Anacreontics, his Acmé and Septimius, or his Chronicle. On the other hand, in the pathetic and plaintive ftile, few pieces exhibit a more mournful flow of numbers than his elegy on Harvey, the poem called the Complaint, and fome others. He knew how to exprefs, as well as feel, the most tender as well as the most lively emotions of foul.

"Forgot his Epic, nay, Pindaric, art;

"Yet ftill we love the language of his heart." Waller I regard as greatly inferior to Cowley in genius; but he poffeffed a more correct taste and truer judgment. His Verfifica. tion, when compared with that of the majority of his predeceffors, is eminently fmooth and harmonious; and he contributedmuch to polish and

refine

As

refine the elegant art which he cultivated. Thom-
fon's celebrated poem, I mean the Seasons, I think,
enjoys a reputation at least equal to its merit.
Pope has been called the Poet of Reafon, Thom-
fon may, with equal juftice, be ftiled the Poet of
Nature. He furveyed her various fcenes with a
curious and attentive eye; and he defcribes them
with warmth, accuracy, and fidelity; and in this
the real excellence of his work confifts. When
Thomfon is not defcribing or moralizing, he is no
poet; when he aims at elevation, he is always
turgid; when he wishes to be splendid, he is only
gaudy.

"From bright'ning fields of ether fair difclos'd,
Child of the fun, refulgent Summer comes

In pride of youth, and felt thro' nature's depth,
He comes, attended by the fultry hours,
And ever-fanning breezes on his way;

While from his ardent look the turning Spring
Averts her blufhful face."

Such mechanical poetry as this is calculated merely for grown children. The tales he interweaves are very indifferently narrated. His diction is either artificially ftrained, or difguftingly familiar; and his Verfification is fuch, that for twenty or thirty lines together, I frequently find a great difficulty to distinguish it from profe. In a word, it is a poem in which defcription too much holds the place of fenfe. We read, and we commend, and pretend to admire, and at last we drop afleep over it. Nevertheless, it is upon the whole a pleasing popular performance, and I believe it will long

remain

remain fo; though I greatly doubt whether it will always retain its prefent degree of reputation. His poem, entitled " Liberty," I never yet could fummon up refolution enough to read fairly through. His fmaller pieces merit little attention, the "Castle of Indolence" excepted, which is indeed a very elegant and beautiful allegory.

Young's Night Thoughts may not improperly be confidered as a good poetical contraft to Thomson's Seasons. One delighted as much to exhibit the gloomy, as the other the cheerful face of things. Young's genius was without doubt of a rank much fuperior to that of Thomfon; he poffeffed, as Addison, I think, fays of Lee, true poetic fire, though clouded and obfcured by thick volumes of fmoke. In the article of fublimity, the Night Thoughts may vie with Paradife Loft itself, though in every other refpect it would be abfurd to attempt a comparifon between them. The general character of Young's Verfification is that of harfhnefs and ruggedness, though many paffages may be produced as exceptions. Of the earlier poetical productions of Young I am no admirer: it is to a work begun after he was fixty years of age, when, if we will give any credit to his own declaration,

"He long had buried what gives life to live, "Firmness of nerve, and energy of thought." that he derives, and will continue to derive, his reputation for certainly fuch poems as the Laft Day, and the Paraphrafe on Job, or even his fatires and tragedies, could never entitle

him to a permanent manfion in the temple of Fame.

It would be doing great injuftice to living merit, after enumerating so many illustrious names who have done honour to our age and country, to omit to mention a celebrated poetefs of our own times: I mean Mrs. Barbauld, who, in the elegant miscellaneous collection with which fhe has favoured the world, has exhibited the most beautiful examples of Verfification happily diverfified, and accommodated to the greatest variety of fubjects that I recollect to have met with in any one author. In the poem ftiled "Corfica," her blank verse makes a very near approach to the Miltonic majefty, and the SummerEvening Meditation is in the best manner of Young.-Delia breathes the very foul of Hammond and the Addrefs to Wisdom is written in the true spirit of Prior. The poem on the Origin of Song-Writing might have done honour to Waller; and the Ode to Spring is entitled at leaft to "divide the crown" with Collins's exquifite Ode to Evening. I have seen an allegorical poem alfo in manufcript, by the fame fair and elegant writer, which Spenfer would readily have acknowledged as the work of a kindred mind.

This lady, certainly, if England had produced no Carters, Montagues, or Sewards, might alone fafely be put in competition with the most admired writers of her own fex abroad; with a De Sevigné, a Des Houlieres, a Du Bocage,

or

or a Dacier. Of one fpecies of knowledge, with which the literary world in general is well acquainted, she is indeed apparently wholly destitute -and that is the knowledge of her own fuperiority of genius and merit.