Of Akenside, as a man, our previous remarks have perhaps indicated
our opinion. He was rather a scholar somewhat out of his element,
and unreconciled to the world, than a thorough gentleman; irritable,
vehement, and proud--his finer traits were only known to his
intimates, who probably felt that in Wordsworth's words,
"You must love him ere to you
He doth, seem worthy of your love."
In religion his opinions seem to have been rather unsettled; but, of
whatever doubts he had, he gave the benefit latterly to the
Christian side--at least he was ever ready to rebuke noisy and
dogmatic infidelity. It is said that he intended to have included
the doctrine of immortality in his later version of the "Pleasures
of Imagination"--and even as the poem is, it contains some transient
allusions to that great object of human hope, although none, it must
be admitted, to its special Christian grounds.
We have now a very few sentences to enounce about his poetry, or,
more properly speaking, about his two or three good poems, for we
must dismiss the most of his odes, in their deep-sounding dulness,
as nearly unworthy of their author's genius.
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