The International Monthly Magazine - Volume V - No IIVarious
History
The International Monthly Magazine - Volume V - No II
Various
Art, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Science -- History -- Periodicals
The career of Abraham Cowley was never sullied by vice,(3) he was loyal
without being servile, and at once modest, independent and sincere. His
character is eloquently drawn by Doctor Spratt. "He governed his passions
with great moderation, his virtues were never troublesome or uneasy to
any, whatever he disliked in others he only corrected by the silent
reproof of a better practice."
He died at Chertsey on the 28th of July, 1667, and was interred in
Westminster Abbey. A throng of nobles followed him to his grave, and the
worthless king who had deserted him is reported to have said, that Mr.
Cowley had not left a better man behind him in England.
It is said the body of Cowley was removed from Chertsey by water, thus
making the Thames he loved so well, the highway to his grave; there is
something highly poetic in this idea of a funeral, so still and solemn,
with the oars dropping noiselessly in the blue water. Pope in allusion to
it, says:
"What tears the river shed,
When the sad pomp along his banks was led;"
which rather inclines us to the belief, that in this, as in many other
instances, the poetic reading is not the true one,
"The muses oft in lands of vision play:"
but the fact that he died at Chertsey, as much respected as a man, as he
was admired as a poet, is certain, and his house is often visited by
strangers, who are permitted to see his favorite haunts by the kindness of
its proprietor, who honors the spot so hallowed by memories of "the
melancholy Cowley:"—he who considered and described "business" as:
"The contradiction to his fate."
But we must postpone our farther rambles for the present.
[Illustration: TREES ON ST ANNE’S HILL.]
TREES ON ST ANNE’S HILL.
Chertsey loses half its romantic interest by the intrusion of the
progressive agents of our time—our noisy time, of which the spirit
willingly brooks no souvenirs of monastic repose. The old quaint quiet
town has now its railroad, and the shades of its heroes have departed.
TRAUGOTT BROMME ON THE UNITED STATES OF NORTH AMERICA, TEXAS AND THE
COLONIES.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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