The Pindarique Odes have fo long enjoyed the highest degree of poetical reputation, that I am not willing to difmifs them with unabated cenfure; and furely though the mode of their compofition be erroneous, yet many parts deferve at least that admiration which is due to great comprehenfion of knowledge, and great fertility of fancy. The thoughts are often new, and often striking; but the greatness of one part is difgraced by the littleness of another; and total negligence of language gives the nobleft conceptions the appearance of a fabrick auguft in the plan, but mean in the materials. Yet furely those verfes are not without a juft claim to praise; of which it may be faid with truth, that no man but Cowley could have written them.

The Davideis now remains to be confidered; a poem which the author defigned to have extended to twelve books, merely, as he makes no fcruple of declaring, because the Eneid had that number; but he had leisure or perfeverance only to write the third part. Epick poems have been left unfinished by Virgil, Statius, Spenfer, and Cowley. That

we have not the whole Davideis is, however, not much to be regretted; for in this undertaking Cowley is, tacitly at least, confeffed to have miscarried. There are not many examples of fo great a work, produced by an author generally read, and generally praised, that has crept through a century with so little regard. Whatever is faid of Cowley, is meant of his other works. Of the Davideis no mention is made; it never appears books, nor emerges in converfation. By the Spectator it has once been quoted, and by Rymer it has once been praised; nor do I recollect much other notice from its publication till now, in the whole fucceffion of English literature.

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Of this obfcurity and neglect, if the reason be inquired, it will be found partly in the choice of the fubject, and partly in the pers formance of the work.

Sacred History has been always read with fubmiffive reverence, and an imagination over-awed and controlled. We have been accustomed to acquiefce in the nakedness and simplicity of the authentick narrative, and to

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repofe on its veracity with fuch humble con fidence, as fuppreffes curiofity. We go with the historian as he goes, and ftop with him when he stops. All amplification is frivolous and vain; all addition to that which is already fufficient for the purposes of religion, feems not only useless, but in fome degree profane.

Such events as were produced by the visi ble interpofition of Divine Power are above the power of human genius to diguify. The miracle of Creation, however it may teem with images, is beft described with little dif fufion of language: He fpake the word, and they were made.

We are told that Saul was troubled with an evil Spirit; from this Cowley takes an opportunity of defcribing hell, and telling the hif tory of Lucifer, who was, he fays,

Once general of a gilded hoft of fprites,
Like Hefper leading forth the fpangled nights;
But down like lightning, which him ftruck, he

came,

And roar'd at his firft plunge into the flame.

Lucifer

Lucifer makes a fpeech to the inferior agents of mischief, in which there is fomething of heathenifm, and therefore of impropriety; and, to give efficacy to his words, concludes by lafhing his breaft with his long tail. Envy, after a paufe, fteps out, and among other declarations of her zeal utters lines:

Do thou but threat, loud ftorms fhall make reply,

And thunder echo to the trembling fky.
Whilst raging seas fwell to fo bold an height,
As fhall the fire's proud element affright.
Th' old drudging Sun, from his long-beaten

way,

Shall at thy voice start, and mifguide the day. The jocund orbs fhall break their measur'd pace,

And stubborn Poles change their allotted place. Heaven's gilded troops fhall flutter here and there,

Leaving their boafting fongs tun'd to a sphere.

Every reader feels himself weary with this useless talk of an allegorical Being.

It is not only when the events are con

feffedly miraculous, that fancy and fiction lofe their effect: the whole fyftem of life, while the Theocracy was yet visible, has an appearance fo different from all other fcenes of human action, that the reader of the Sacred Volume habitually confiders it as a peculiar mode of existence of a distinct species of mankind, that lived and acted with manners uncommunicable; fo that it is difficult even for imagination to place us in the ftate of them whose story is related, and by confequence their joys and griefs are not eafily adopted, nor can the attention be often interested in any thing that befals them.

To the fubject, thus originally indifpofed to the reception of poetical embellishments, the writer brought little that could reconcile impatience, or attract curiofity. Nothing can be more difgufting than a narrative fpangled with conceits, and conceits are all that the Davideis fupplies.

One of the great fources of poetical delight is defcription, or the power of prefent