Such was his first volume. It appeared in March 1782; its price was y. He sent copies to a few only of his friends. Among them were the Chancellor and Colman, now manager of the Haymarket theatre. The copy to Thurlow was accompanied by the following letter: —
"Olney, Bucks, Feb. 25, 1782.
"My Lord,—I make no apology for what I account a duty; I should offend against the cordiality of our former friendship should I send a volume into the world, and forget how much I am bound to pay my particular respects to your Lordship upon that occasion. When we parted you little thought of hearing from me again; and I as little that I should live to write to you, still less that I should wait on you in the capacity of an author.
"Among the pieces I have the honour to send, there is one for which 1 must entreat your pardon. I mean that of which your Lordship is the subject. The best excuse I can make is, that it flowed almost spontaneously from the affectionate remembrance of a connexion that did me so much honour.
"As to the rest, their merits, if they have any, and their defects, which are probably more than I am aware of, will neither of them escape your notice. But where there is much discernment, there is generally much candour; and I commit myself into your Lordship's hands, with the less anxiety, being well acquainted with yours.
"If my first visit, after so long an interval should prove neither a troublesome nor a dull one, but especially if not altogether an unprofitable one, oinne tuli punctum.
"I have the honour to be, though with very different impressions of some subjects, yet with the same sentiments of affection and esteem as ever, your Lordship's faithful and most obedient, humble servant, "W. C."
Neither Thurlow nor Colman acknowledged the gift; and Hill, who of course was much with Thurlow, and had mentioned Cowper's name to him, never heard a word from him on this subject. Colman, too, on publishing his translation of the Ars Poetica soon after, hurt Cowper's feelings by not sending him a copy. Some months after, the poor Poet, who had hitherto hoped against hope, gave vent to his wounded feelings in his indignant "Valediction." [1]
Striving to be unconcerned, he now watched to see his volume running the gauntlet of the critics. The Critical Review immediately fell foul of the volume. Southey has disinterred and gibbeted the article, which is evidently the work of some pert and ignorant youth—"nothing more nor less than a pompous noodle," as Thackeray said of one of his critics. A few excerpts will suffice:—"Not possessed of any abilities or power of genius;" "weak and languid verses;" "neither novelty, spirit, or animation;" "flat and tedious;" "no better than a dull sermon;" "very indifferent verse;" "coarse, vulgar, and unpoetical." Other magazines, the Gentleman's and the London, spoke in approbation; and Dr. Benjamin Franklin delighted the Poet by writing to Mr. Thornton, who sent him the volume, a discriminating and highly favourable opinion. The Monthly, the chief of the reviews, delayed a long time, but at length spoke in praise. But though the critics admitted him as a poet, they could not make him a popular one. People apparently made up their minds that he was a very good sort of a man, who wrote nice verses on the Evangelical side, and troubled themselves no more about him. The volume did not sell. Another lady became the means of making him popular.
- ↑ P. 354. See note on it.
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