human
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.
gpt
I hope William Cowper is safe and calm in heaven now,
human
Do you pity what he suffered on earth?
gpt
Pity him, Shirley? What can I do else? He was nearly broken-hearted when he wrote that poem, and it almost breaks one's heart to read it. But he found relief in writing it--I know he did; and that gift of poetry--the most divine bestowed on man--was, I believe, granted to allay emotions when their strength threatens harm. It seems to me, Shirley, that nobody should write poetry to exhibit intellect or attainment. Who cares for that sort of poetry? Who cares for learning--who cares for fine words in poetry? And who does not care for feeling--real feeling--however simply, even rudely expressed?
human
It seems you care for it, at all events; and certainly, in hearing that poem, one discovers that Cowper was under an impulse strong as that of the wind which drove the ship--an impulse which, while it would not suffer him to stop to add ornament to a single stanza, filled him with force to achieve the whole with consummate perfection. You managed to recite it with a steady voice, Caroline. I wonder thereat.
gpt
Cowper's hand did not tremble in writing the lines. Why should my voice falter in repeating them? Depend on it, Shirley, no tear blistered the manuscript of 'The Castaway.' I hear in it no sob of sorrow, only the cry of despair; but, that cry uttered, I believe the deadly spasm passed from his heart, that he wept abundantly, and was comforted.
human
One could have loved Cowper, if it were only for the sake of having the privilege of comforting him.
gpt
You never would have loved Cowper, rejoined Caroline promptly.
human
He was not made to be loved by woman.
gpt
What do you mean?
human
What I say. I know there is a kind of natures in the world--and very noble, elevated natures too--whom love never comes near. You might have sought Cowper with the intention of loving him, and you would have looked at him, pitied him, and left him, forced away by a sense of the impossible, the incongruous, as the crew were borne from their drowning comrade by 'the furious blast.'
gpt
You may be right. Who told you this?
human
And what I say of Cowper, I should say of Rousseau. Was Rousseau ever loved? He loved passionately; but was his passion ever returned? I am certain, never. And if there were any female Cowpers and Rousseaus, I should assert the same of them.
gpt
Who told you this, I ask? Did Moore?
human
Why should anybody have told me? Have I not an instinct? Can I not divine by analogy? Moore never talked to me either about Cowper, or Rousseau, or love. The voice we hear in solitude told me all I know on these subjects.
gpt
Do you like characters of the Rousseau order, Caroline?
human
Not at all, as a whole. I sympathize intensely with certain qualities they possess. Certain divine sparks in their nature dazzle my eyes, and make my soul glow. Then, again, I scorn them. They are made of clay and gold. The refuse and the ore make a mass of weakness: taken altogether, I feel them unnatural, unhealthy, repulsive.
gpt
I dare say I should be more tolerant of a Rousseau than you would, Cary. Submissive and contemplative yourself, you like the stern and the practical. By the way, you must miss that Cousin Robert of yours very much, now that you and he never meet.
human
I do.
gpt
And he must miss you?
human
That he does not.
gpt
I cannot imagine, pursued Shirley, who had lately got a habit of introducing Moore's name into the conversation, even when it seemed to have no business there--
human
I cannot imagine but that he was fond of you, since he took so much notice of you, talked to you, and taught you so much.
gpt
He never was fond of me; he never professed to be fond of me. He took pains to prove that he only just tolerated me.