Although Cunningham cannot be admitted to a very high rank among poets, he may be allowed to possess a considerable share of genius. His poems have a peculiar sweetness and elegance; his sentiments are generally natural, and his language simple, and appropriate to his subject, except in some of his longer pieces, where he accumulates epithets that appear to be laboured, and are sometimes uncouth compounds, either obsolete or unauthorized. As he contemplated Nature with a fond and minute attention, and had familiarized his mind to rural scenes and images, his pastorals will probably continue to be his most favoured efforts. He has informed us that Shenstone, with whose correspondence he was honoured, encouraged him to cultivate this species of poetry. His Landscape is a cluster of beauties which every reader must feel, but such as only a very accurate observer of nature could have grouped with equal effect. His fables are ingenious, and his lyric pieces were at one time in very high estimation, and certainly cannot suffer by a comparison with their successors on the stage and public gardens. His love-verses and his tributes of affection bespeak considerable ardour, with sometimes an attempt at conceits to which he seems to have been led by imitation. If he does not often move the passions, he always pleases the fancy, and his works have lost little of the popularity with which they were originally favoured, A CARD FROM THE AUTHOR, ΤΟ DAVID GARRICK, ESQ. REMOTENESS of situation, and some other circumstances, have hitherto deprived the author of that happiness he might receive from seeing Mr. Garrick. 'Tis the universal regard his character commands, occasions this address. It may be thought by many, (at a visit so abrupt as this is) that something highly complimentary should be said on the part of the intruder; but according to the ideas the author has conceived of Mr. Garrick's delicacy and good sense, a single period in the garb of flattery would certainly offend him. He therefore takes his leave ;-and after having stept (perhaps a little too forward) to offer his tribute of esteem, respectfully retires. NEWCASTLE, Aug. 1771. POEMS OF JOHN CUNNINGHAM. DAY: Carpe diem. MORNING. IN the barn the tenant cock, Hor. Close to Partlet perch'd on high, Briskly crows, (the shepherd's clock!) Jocund that the morning's nigh. Swiftly from the mountain's brow, Shadows, nurs'd by night, retire: And the peeping sun-beam, now, Paints with gold the village spire. Philomel forsakes the thorn, Plaintive where she prates at night; And the lark, to meet the morn, Soars beyond the shepherd's sight. From the low-roof'd cottage ridge, See the chatt'ring swallow spring; Daisies, in the dewy dale. Colin, for the promis'd corn (Ere the harvest hopes are ripe) Anxious, hears the huntsman's horn, Boldly sounding, drown his pipe. |