Cowper’s most laborious work, the translation of Homer in blank verse, was published in 1791.  Its stately, Milton-like movement, and its better rendering of the Greek, make this translation far superior to Pope’s artificial couplets.  It is also better, in many respects, than Chapman’s more famous and more fanciful rendering; but for some reason it was not successful, and has never received the recognition which it deserves.  Entirely different in spirit are the poet’s numerous hymns, which were published in the Olney Collection in 1779 and which are still used in our churches.  It is only necessary to mention a few first lines—­“God moves in a mysterious way,” “Oh, for a closer walk with God,” “Sometimes a light surprises”—­to show how his gentle and devout spirit has left its impress upon thousands who now hardly know his name.  With Cowper’s charming Letters, published in 1803, we reach the end of his important works, and the student who enjoys reading letters will find that these rank among the best of their kind.  It is not, however, for his ambitious works that Cowper is remembered, but rather for his minor poems, which have found their own way into so many homes.  Among these, the one that brings quickest response from hearts that understand is his little poem, “On the Receipt of My Mother’s Picture.” beginning with the striking line, “Oh, that those lips had language.”  Another, called “Alexander Selkirk,” beginning, “I am monarch of all I survey,” suggests how Selkirk’s experiences as a castaway (which gave Defoe his inspiration for Robinson Crusoe) affected the poet’s timid nature and imagination.  Last and most famous of all is his immortal “John Gilpin.”  Cowper was in a terrible fit of melancholy when Lady Austen told him the story, which proved to be better than medicine, for all night long chuckles and suppressed laughter were heard in the poet’s bedroom.  Next morning at breakfast he recited the ballad that had afforded its author so much delight in the making.  The student should read it, even if he reads nothing else by Cowper; and he will be lacking in humor or appreciation if he is not ready to echo heartily the last stanza: 

    Now let us sing, Long live the King,
    And Gilpin, long live he! 
    And when he next doth ride abroad
    May I be there to see.

ROBERT BURNS (1759-1796)

After a century and more of Classicism, we noted with interest the work of three men, Gray, Goldsmith, and Cowper, whose poetry, like the chorus of awakening birds, suggests the dawn of another day.  Two other poets of the same age suggest the sunrise.  The first is the plowman Burns, who speaks straight from the heart to the primitive emotions of the race; the second is the mystic Blake, who only half understands his own thoughts, and whose words stir a sensitive nature as music does, or the moon in midheaven, rousing in the soul those vague desires and aspirations which