But circumstances, however disposed and happily combined, although they may direct, can never create genius; it is possible that Cowley might never have been enamoured of the Muses, nor Sir Joshua Reynolds have courted the Graces, but for the casual circumstances recorded by the biographer; and Ferguson might not have turned his attention to mechanical inventions, had not an accident befallen the roof of his father's cottage; and even Priestley, the founder of a new and beautiful department in science, might very probably never have been led to think of pneumatic chemistry, had he not lived in the vicinity of a great brewery: still, however, such men could not have shone dimly, if true genius be correctly defined by Dr. Johnson as "a mind of large general powers accidentally determined to some particular direction."[9]—So with Davy; his mind was as vigorous as it was original, and no less logical and precise than it was daring and comprehensive; nothing was too mighty for its grasp, nothing too minute for its observation; like the trunk of the elephant, it could tear up the oak of the forest, or gently pluck the acorn from its branch.
That circumstances in early life should have directed such energies to a science, which requires for its advancement all the aids of novel and bold, and yet patient and accurate research, is one of those fortunate events which every unprejudiced mind will view with triumph.
It is surely not difficult to understand how it happened that a mind endowed with the genius and sensibilities of Davy, should have been directed to the study of Chemistry and Mineralogy, when we consider the nature and scenery of the country in which accident had placed him. Many of his friends and associates must have been connected with mining speculations: "Shafts," "Cross Courses," and "Lodes," were words familiarised to his ears; and his native love of enquiry could not have long suffered them to remain strangers to his understanding. Nor could he have wandered along the rocky coast, or have reposed for a moment to contemplate its wild scenery, without being invited to geological enquiry by the genius of the place; for were we to personify the science, where could we find a more appropriate spot for her "local habitation?" "How often when a boy," said Davy to me, on my showing him a drawing of the wild rock scenery of Botallack Mine, "have I wandered about those rocks in search of new minerals, and, when fatigued, sat down upon the turf, and exercised my fancy in anticipations of scientific renown!"
Such scenery, also, in one who possessed a quick sensibility to the sublime forms of Nature, was well calculated to kindle that enthusiasm which is so essential to poetical genius; and we accordingly learn, that he became enamoured of the Muses at a very early age, and evinced his passion by several poetical productions. I am assured by Dr. Batten that, at the age of twelve years, he had finished an epic poem, which he entitled the "Tydidiad," from its celebrating the adventures of Diomede on his return from the Trojan war. It is much to be regretted that not even a fragment of this poem should have been preserved; but Dr. Batten well remembers that it was characterised by great freedom of invention, vigour of description, and wildness of execution.
At the age of seventeen he became desperately enamoured of a young French lady, at that time resident at Penzance, to whom he addressed numerous sonnets; but these, like the passion that produced them, have long since been extinct.
Several of his minor productions were printed in a work entitled the "Annual Anthology," published in three volumes at Bristol, in 1799; two of which were edited by Southey, and one by James Tobin;—a work of some curiosity, independent of its merits, as the first attempt in this country to establish an "Annual," a species of literary composition which has lately been made very popular and amusing.
These volumes have now become extremely scarce, for which, and other reasons, I have thought it right to place Davy's productions on record in these memoirs; for although they are marked by the common faults of youthful poets, they still bear the stamp of lofty genius. There is, besides, a vein of philosophical contemplation running through their composition, which may be considered as indicating the future character and pursuit of their author; an ardent aspiration after fame seems, even at this early period, to have been felt in all its force, and is expressed in many striking and beautiful passages.
There is still a higher motive by which I am induced to introduce these specimens into my memoir, that of showing the bias of his genius at this early period, with a view to compare it with that which displayed itself in the "last days of the philosopher." We shall find that the bright and rosy hues of fancy which gilded the morning of his life, and were subdued or chased away by the more resplendent light of maturer age, again glowed forth in the evening of his days, and illumined the setting, as they had the dawning of his genius.
His first production bears the date of 1795, and is entitled
THE SONS OF GENIUS.