: tise tumbler's tricks to shew the steadiness of his poise, and his fearlessness of vertigo. It was to avoid singularity perhaps, that he complied with the fashion of the hour so far as he has done; but he still is comparatively a plain man, and not enough in the height of the mode to be noticed on that account alone. Had he carried his compliance much farther, be would certainly have attracted much more of the popular gaze; had he not complied so far, he would have allowed much freer exercise to those poetical powers which he undoubtedly possesses; and would not have frittered away their energies in an endless search after variety. Mr. Bowles has at various times given to the public, one by one, four volumes of poems; and though judgment has already been passed on the three first, and the last, therefore, which has only just now appeared, is the more immediate object of consideration; yet it seems but justice, in weighing his merits as a poet, to take into the scale his former productions: at least, liberal judges will not object to this proceeding since its object is to shew that Mr. Bowles has more genius and talent than those who only read his last volume would give him credit for. His first volume undoubtedly contains the best of his works, his last the worst; and as in this he professes to have closed his book for ever, there is no room to hope that he will redeem the reputation he may lose by not having closed it sooner. His poetical character then must be determined by what is already before the public, and it would be unfair not to give him the advantage of all that may tend towards its support or elevation. It is not intended, however, here to enter into a specification of the particular merits of the author's former volumes, or a minute examination of their defects: they have been for many years open to public investigation, and it were an ill compliment to Mr. Bowles to suppose that they have excited no curiosity: if they have not, it is too late to think of awakening it now; and if they have, their merits or defects remain not to be discovered. It will be sufficient for the purpose proposed, to take such a general view only as may serve to shew what are the most prominent and characteristic features of the writer's genius. Whoever contemplates the works of this author, must be forcibly struck with the strain of deep melancholy that pervades them. For this he has very ingenuously accounted in a short introduction prefixed to his first volume, with the intention of obviating" the common re mark on melancholy poetry, that it has been very often gravely composed, when possibly the heart of the writer had very little share in the distress he chose to describe." But he adds, "There is a great difference between natural and fabricated feelings, even in poetry;" and he leaves those readers, "who have felt sensations of sorrow, to judge to which of these two characters his poems belong." Now, in fact, the public has no right to enquire whether the sorrows which a poet chooses to describe, be imaginary, or real; it is enough that they are described naturally, and that they excite sympathy in the reader. But it is not quite so certain that a poet may be allowed to give vent, on all occasions, to his 'personal feelings,' however afflicting may be the cause which agitates and depresses his spirit. It may be questioned even whether by this selfviolation of the sacredness of his sorrows, he does not subject himself to the imputation of querulousness: and readers who are impatient of complaint, may be apt to apply to him the sarcastic lines of Cowper, respecting those nervous valetudinarians, who are eternally reciting the history of their disorders; 'I thought I should have died, I was so bad, There is undoubtedly a vast difference between a melancholy description of objects not in themselves melancholy, and such a selection of images as, from their nature or their associations, are calculated to excite that class of sensations, which may be termed poetical melancholy. In one case, you see with the poet's eye only, in the other with your own. A man, labouring under a deep depression of spirits, sickens at the sight of pleasure, he views every thing with a jaundiced eye, and a scene of the gayest merriment presents to his mind nothing but the most gloomy reflection: he anticipates the reverse of the scene, and laments, the instability of all sublunary enjoyment. He casts his misty mantle before the brightest landscape, and they, who contemplate it through that medium, behold every object dim, shadowy, cheerless and distorted. The poems of Collins and of Ossian induce a pleasing melancholy in the reader, by the pensive colouring which they give to images naturally of a stilland sober sort; but these poets would have broken the spell of their enchantment, if they had officiously obtruded their own sorrows on the reader. From the moment that a poem is opened, the author should be lost sight of; if the reader's mind is left sufficiently unoccupied to think about him, the poem must be void of interest: but if the author forces himself on his notice, he wilfully foregoes the advantage he might have gained by keeping himself in the back-ground, and if he does not entirely destroy the interest he may have excited, he undoubtedly weakens it by distracting the reader's attention, and dividing it between the fabric and the architect. It may be considered as no small evidence of the poetical powers of Mr. Bowles, that, notwithstanding this defect runs through almost the whole of his productions, and acts as a drawback upon their interest, the mild light of his genius still attracts and preserves attention. It is easy to discover, that he is a very accurate observer of nature, and it will be readily admitted, that he selects his images with the most delicate taste; his language is, in general, highly poetical, his versification harmonious, and a strain of pure and tender sentiment pervades the whole. His first publication displayed these qualities in a very eminent degree, and entitled him to an elevated rank : among elegiac poets and writers of sonnets: his succeeding effusions have rather tended to shake the foundation of his fame than to support it. If invention indeed, as it is the noblest and sublimest part of the poetical character, were considered absolutely indispensable in all, who presume to range the fields of Poesy, Mr. Bowles, on a severe examination, perhaps, might be found a trepasser; since to invention, in its strict and proper sense, he has very slight pretensions. But a law of this sort, if rigidly enforced, would affect the claims of many writers, who have been long regarded as the chief ornaments of poetry, and to call in question whose title to such distinction, would be deemed a sort of sacrilege offered to the divinity of the Muse. There is no doubt, however, that a writer, who delineates natural objects faithfully, and colours them with delicacy, has a fair claim to the rank of a poet, though not in the highest degree; as the delineator of landscape or still-life on canvas, is a painter, though of an order inferior to the painter of history. On entering into a more particular examination of the volume now immediately under review, it will be proper to consider Mr. Bowles rather attentively in this point of view. There is scarcely any one of his compositions, in which he has not displayed his sensibility to the graces of nature, and the correctness and vividness of the impression which they leave on his fancy. The following short passage shews the habitual disposition of his mind : "Still mine eye "Sought every charm of nature; every light Many highly-finished descriptions are to be found even in this last volume, which is so inferior to the author's former productions: but it is in delicate and passing allusions to picturesque objects, in those graceful and seemingly careless touches of the pencil, that he is most eminently successful. Of this description are the following passages in his poem, intitled The Sylph of Summer :' "The winds too are thy subjects; from the breeze, "On the high mountain's van pursues the down "Soft daughter of the AIR, 1 P. 127. The author's chief defect, as a descriptive poet, is minuteness. He enters too much into detail; he delineates faithfully the various parts, which properly combined, produce a beautiful picture, but he labours every part equally, and wants the power of combination: so that he may be said to be rather a painter of causes than of effects; and though this may be very good philosophy, it is bad poetry. A number of images, however beautiful in themselves, unless disposed with judgment and effect, will not form a poem, any more than a number of solo parts, thrown carelessly together, will form a concerto, or a dozen houris, ranged in a row, an historical picture. Having examined the poetical character of Mr. Bowles, and pointed out its most peculiar features, it only remains to shew what deviations he has made from his own proper path. It is presumed, that few readers will have any difficulty in discovering upon what models he composed the passages subjoined. "'Twas in the twilight of the deepest wood, " A river dark and silent flow'd, there stood |