Indeed, that Cowper is remembered at all is due more to his
shorter poems such as Boadicea and The Wreck of the Royal George,
and chiefly, perhaps, to John Gilpin, which in its own way is a
treasure that we would not be without. Other of his shorter
poems are full of a simple pathos and gentle humor. The last he
wrote was called The Castaway, and the verse with which it ends
describes not unfittingly the close of his own life. For his
mind sank ever deeper into the shadow of madness until he died in
April 1800--
"No voice divine the storm allayed,
No light propitious shone;
When, snatched from all effectual aid,
We perished, each alone:
But I beneath a rougher sea,
And whelmed in deeper gulfs than he."
Cowper was never a power in our literature, but he was a
forerunner, "the forerunner of the great Restoration of our
literature."* And unlike most forerunners he was popular in his
own day. And although it is faint, like the scent of forgotten
rose leaves, his poetry still keeps a charm and sweetness for
those who will look for it.
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