NOTE I. VERSE 7.

Of the ſeveral authors who have written on Epic Poetry, many of the moſt celebrated are more likely to confound and depreſs, than to enlighten and exalt the young Poetical Student. The Poe⯑tics of Scaliger, which are little more than a laboured panegyric of Virgil, would lead him to regard the Aeneid as the only ſtandard of [136] perfection; and the more elegant and accom⯑pliſhed Vida inculcates the ſame puſillanimous leſſon, though in ſpirited and harmonious verſe:

[137] A Critic, who lately roſe to great eminence in our own country, has endeavoured by a more ſingular method to damp the ardour of inventive Genius, and to annihilate the hopes of all who would aſpire to the praiſe of originality in this higher ſpecies of poetical compoſition. He has attempted to eſtabliſh a Triumvirate in the Epic world, with a perpetuity of dominion. Every reader who is converſant with modern criticiſm, will perceive that I allude to the following paſſage in the famous Diſſertation on the ſixth Book of Virgil:—‘"Juſt as Virgil rivalled Homer, ſo Milton emulated both of them. He found Ho⯑mer poſſeſſed of the province of Morality; Virgil of Politics; and nothing left for him but that of Religion. This he ſeized, as aſpiring to ſhare with them in the government of the Poetic world: and, by means of the ſuperior dignity of his ſub⯑ject, hath gotten to the head of that Triumvirate, which took ſo many ages in forming. Theſe are the three ſpecies of the Epic Poem; for its largeſt ſphere is human action, which can be conſidered [138] but in a moral, political, or religious view: and Theſe the three Makers; for each of their Poems was ſtruck out at a heat, and came to perfection from its firſt eſſay. Here then the grand ſcene was cloſed, and all farther improvements of the Epic at an end."’

I apprehend that few critical remarks contain more abſurdity (to uſe the favourite expreſſion of the author I have quoted) than the preceding lines. Surely Milton is himſelf a proof that human action is not the largeſt ſphere of the Epic Poem; and as to Virgil, his moſt paſſionate admirers muſt allow, that in ſubject and deſign he is much leſs of an original than Camoens or Lucan. But ſuch a critical ſtatute of limitation, if I may call it ſo, is not leſs pernicious than abſurd. To diſ⯑figure the ſphere of Imagination with theſe capri⯑cious and arbitrary zones, is an injury to ſcience. Such Criticiſm, inſtead of giving ſpirit and ener⯑gy to the laudable ambition of a youthful Poet, can only lead him to ſtart like Macbeth at unreal mockery, and to exclaim, when he is invited [139] by Genius to the banquet, ‘"The Table's full!"’

NOTE II. VERSE 77.

For this fable, ſuch as it is, I am indebted to a paſſage in Athenaeus, which the curious reader may find in the cloſe of that fanciful and entertaining compi⯑ler, page 701 of Caſaubon's edition.

NOTE III. VERSE 207.

I have ventured to ſuppoſe that Greece produced no worthy ſucceſſor of Homer, and that her ex⯑ploits againſt the Perſians were not celebrated by any Poet in a manner ſuitable to ſo ſublime a ſub⯑ject:—yet an author named Chaerilus is ſaid to have recorded thoſe triumphs of his country in [140] verſe, and to have pleaſed the Athenians ſo highly, as to obtain from them a public and pecuniary reward. He is ſuppoſed to have been a cotempo⯑rary of the hiſtorian Herodotus. But from the general ſilence of the more early Greek writers concerning the merit of this Poet, we may, I think, very fairly conjecture that his compoſitions were not many degrees ſuperior to thoſe of his unfortunate nameſake, who frequented the court of Alexander the Great, and is ſaid to have ſung the exploits of his Sovereign, on the curious con⯑ditions of receiving a piece of gold for every good verſe, and a box on the ear for every bad one. The old Scholiaſt on Horace, who has preſerved this idle ſtory, concludes it by ſaying, that the miſerable Bard was beat to death in conſequence of his contract. Some eminent modern Critics have indeed attempted to vindicate the reputation of the more early Chaerilus, who is ſuppoſed to be confounded, both by Horace himſelf, and after⯑wards by Scaliger, with the Chaerilus rewarded [141] by Alexander. Voſſius^*, in particular, appears a warm advocate in his behalf, and appeals to va⯑rious fragments of the ancient Bard preſerved by Ariſtotle, Strabo, and others, and to the teſtimony of Plutarch in his favour. But on conſulting the fragments he has referred to, they rather fortify than remove my conjecture. The ſcrap preſer⯑ved by Ariſtotle in his Rhetoric is only half a verſe, and quoted without any commendation of its author. The two citations in Strabo amount to little more. The curious reader may alſo find in Athenaeus an Epitaph on Sardanapalus, attri⯑buted to this Poet; who is mentioned by the ſame author as peculiarly addicted to the groſſer exceſſes of the table.—Let us now return to that Chaerilus whom Horace has ‘"damn'd to everlaſting fame."’ The judicious and elegant Roman Satiriſt ſeems remarkably unjuſt in paying a compliment to the poetical judgment of his pa⯑tron Auguſtus, at the expence of the Macedonian hero. Alexander appears to have poſſeſſed much [142] more poetical ſpirit, and a higher reliſh for poetry, than the cold-blooded Octavius. It is peculiarly unfair, to urge his liberality to a poor Poet, as a proof that he wanted critical diſcernment, when he had himſelf ſo thoroughly vindicated the deli⯑cacy of his taſte, by the enthuſiaſtic Bon-mot, That he had rather be the Therſites of Homer than the Achilles of Chaerilus.

NOTE IV. VERSE 231.

Though Boſſu is called ‘"the beſt explainer of Ariſtotle, and one of the moſt learned and judi⯑cious of modern critics,"’ by a writer for whoſe opinions I have much eſteem, I cannot help thinking that his celebrated Eſſay on Epic Poetry is very ill calculated either to guide or to inſpirit a young Poet. The abſurdity of his advice concerning the mode of forming the fable, by chuſing a moral, inventing the incidents, and then ſearching hiſtory for names to ſuit them, has been ſufficiently expoſed: and as to his leading [143] idea, concerning the deſign of Homer in the com⯑poſition of the Iliad and Odyſſey, I apprehend moſt poetical readers muſt feel that he is proba⯑bly miſtaken; for it is a conjectural point, and placed beyond the poſſibility of deciſion. Perhaps few individuals differ more from each other in their modes of thinking, by the force of educa⯑tion and of national manners, than a modern French Critic and an early Poet of Greece; yet the former will often pretend, with the moſt de⯑ciſive air, to lay open the ſenſorium of an ancient Bard, and to count every link in the chain of his ideas. Thoſe who are moſt acquainted with the movements of imagination, will acknow⯑ledge the ſteps of this airy power to be ſo light and evaneſcent in their nature, that perhaps a Poet himſelf, in a few years after finiſhing his work, might be utterly unable to recollect the ex⯑act train of thought, or the various minute occur⯑rences, which led him to the general deſign, or directed him in the particular parts of his poem But, in ſpite of the interval of ſo many [144] centuries, the deciſive magic of criticiſm can call up all the ſhadows of departed thought that ever exiſted in his brain, and diſplay, with a moſt aſtoniſhing clearneſs, the preciſe ſtate of his mind in the moment of compoſition.

On the Odyſſey Boſſu remarks, ‘"Que la ve⯑rité qui ſert de fond à cette fiction, & qui avec elle compoſe la fable, eſt, que l'abſence d'une perſonne hors de chez ſoi, ou qui n'a point l'oeil à ce qui s'y fait, y cauſe de grands deſ⯑ordres^*."’

On the mature conſideration of theſe two mo⯑ral axioms, the Critic ſuppoſes the ſublime Bard to have begun his reſpective Poems; for Homer, continues he, ‘"^†n'avoit point d'autre deſſein que de former agreablement les moeurs de ſes Citoïens, en leur propoſant, comme dit Horace, ce qui eſt utile ou pernicieux, ce qui eſt honnete [146] ou ce qui ne l'eſt pas:—il n'a entrepris de raconter aucune action particuliere d'Achille ou d'Ulyſſe. Il a fait la fable et le deſſein de ſes poemes, ſans penſer à ces princes; & enſuite il leur a fait l'honneur de donner leurs noms aux heros qu'il avoit feints."’

The preceding remarks of this celebrated Cri⯑tic have been frequently admired as an ingenious conjecture, which moſt happily illuſtrates the real purpoſe of Homer. To me they appear ſo much the reverſe, that if I ventured to adopt any decided opinion on a point ſo much darkened by the clouds of antiquity, I ſhould rather in⯑cline to the idea which Boſſu affects to explode, and ſuppoſe the Poems of Homer intended pa⯑negyrics on the very princes whom the Critic affirms he never thought of while he was de⯑ſigning the works which have made them im⯑mortal.

There is a ſtriking paſſage on this ſubject in a dialogue of Plato, which I ſhall enlarge upon, for two reaſons: 1ſt, As it proves that the latter [147] perſuaſion concerning the purpoſe of Homer was entertained at Athens; and 2dly, Becauſe it gives me a pleaſing opportunity of ſupporting the learned Madame Dacier againſt an ill⯑grounded cenſure of a late Engliſh critic. In her Preface to the Odyſſey, ſhe aſſerts, that the judgment of antiquity decided in favour of the Iliad; and ſhe appeals to part of the ſentence in Plato, to which I have alluded, as a proof of her aſſertion. Mr. Wood, in a note to the Intro⯑duction of his Eſſay on Homer, endeavours to ſhew the inſufficiency of this proof; and ſtill farther, to convince us that Madame Dacier was utterly miſtaken in her ſenſe of the paſſage to which ſhe appealed. If he ventures to con⯑tradict this learned lady, he does not however inſult her with that inſolent pertneſs with which ſhe is frequently treated in the notes to Pope's Homer; and which, for the honour of our Eng⯑liſh Poet, I will not ſuppoſe to be his. But though Mr. Wood endeavours to ſupport his opinion by argument, I apprehend that he is [148] himſelf miſtaken, and that Madame Dacier is perfectly right in underſtanding the words of Socrates in their literal ſenſe, without the leaſt mixture of irony. It is true, indeed, that the aim of Socrates, in the courſe of the dialogue, is to ridicule the preſumption and ignorance of the ſophiſt Hippias, in the moſt ironical manner; but the particular ſpeech on which Madame Dacier founds her opinion, is a plain and ſimple addreſs to Eudicus, before he enters on his de⯑bate with the Sophiſt. It turns on the moſt ſimple circumſtance, the truth of which Eu⯑dicus could hardly be ignorant of, namely, the ſentiments of his own father concerning the Poems of Homer. As theſe ſentiments are ſuch as I believe moſt admirers of the ancient Bard have entertained on the point in queſtion, I per⯑fectly agree with Madame Dacier in thinking that Socrates means to be literal and ſerious, when he ſays to Eudicus, ‘ [...] [149] [...].’ Plat. Hip. min. edit. Serrani, tom. i. p. 363. ‘"I have heard your father Apemantus ſay, that the Iliad of Homer was a finer poem than his Odyſſey, and as far ſurpaſſed it in excellence as the virtue of Achilles ſurpaſſed the virtue of Ulyſſes; for thoſe two poems, he ſaid, were purpoſely compoſed in honour of thoſe two heroes: the Odyſſey, to ſhew the virtues of Ulyſſes; the Iliad, thoſe of Achilles."’ —Plato's Leſſer Hippias, tranſlated by Sydenham, page 13.

Let us now return to Boſſu; whoſe opinion concerning the purpoſe of Homer we may venture to oppoſe, ſupported as it is by an ingenious in⯑terpretation of ſome ambiguous paſſages in the Poetics of Ariſtotle; and this oppoſition may be grounded, not ſo much on the ſentence which I have quoted from Plato, as on the probable conduct of Epic compoſition in the early ages of poetry. In [150] ſuch periods as produced the talents of Virgil and of Dryden, when all the arts of refined flattery were perfectly underſtood, we can eaſily conceive that they might both be tempted to compliment the reigning monarch under the maſk of ſuch heroic names as hiſtory could ſupply, and their genius accommodate to their purpoſe. We find accordingly, that the Roman Bard is ſuppoſed to have drawn a flattering portrait of his Emperor in the character of Aeneas, and that the Engliſh Poet has, with equal ingenuity, enwrapt the diſ⯑ſolute Charles the Second in the Jewiſh robes of King David. But in ſo rude an age as we muſt admit that of Homer to have been; when the Poet was certainly more the child of Nature than of Art; when he had no hiſtory to conſult, perhaps no patron to flatter, and no critics to elude or obey; in ſuch an age, may we not more naturally conjecture, that poetical compoſition was neither laboured in its form, nor deep in its deſign? that, inſtead of being the ſlow and ſyſ⯑tematic [151] product of political reaſoning, it was the quick and artleſs offspring of a ſtrong and vivify⯑ing fancy, which, brooding over the tales of tra⯑dition, ſoon raiſed them into ſuch life and beauty, as muſt ſatisfy and enchant a warlike and popular audience, ever ready to liſten with delight to the heroic feats of their anceſtors.

If the learned Boſſu appears unfortunate in his ſyſtem concerning the purpoſe of Homer, he may be thought ſtill more ſo in his attempt to analyſe the Divinities of Virgil; for, to throw new light on the convention of the Gods, in the opening of the tenth Aeneid, he very ſeriouſly informs us, that ‘"^*Venus is divine mercy, or the love of God towards virtuous men, and Juno his juſtice."’

I cannot conclude theſe very free ſtrictures on a celebrated author, without bearing a pleaſing teſtimony to the virtues of the man.—Boſſu is allowed by the biographers of his country to have been remarkable for the mildeſt manners and [152] moſt amiable diſpoſition; totally free from that imperious and bigotted attachment to ſpeculative opinions, which the ſcience he cultivated is ſo apt to produce. He endeared himſelf to Boileau by a generous act of friendſhip, that led to an intimacy between them, which was diſſolved only by the death of the former, in 1680.

NOTE V. VERSE 244.

As it requires much leiſure to examine, and more ſkill to unravel, an intricate hypotheſis, twiſted into a long and laboured chain of quotation and argu⯑ment, the Diſſertation on the ſixth Book of Vir⯑gil remained for ſome time unrefuted. The public very quietly acquieſced in the ſtrange poſition of its author, ‘"That Aeneas's adventure to the In⯑fernal Shades, is no other than a figurative de⯑ſcription of his initiation into the Myſteries; and particularly a very exact one of the ſpectacles of the Eleuſinian."’ At length a ſuperior but anony⯑mous [153] Critic aroſe, who, in one of the moſt judi⯑cious and ſpirited eſſays that our nation has pro⯑duced on a point of claſſical literature, completely overturned this ill-founded edifice, and expoſed the arrogance and futility of its aſſuming archi⯑tect. The Eſſay I allude to is intitled "Critical Obſervations on the Sixth Book of the Aeneid;" printed for Elmſly, 1770: and as this little pub⯑lication is, I believe, no longer to be pur⯑chaſed, the curious reader may thank me for tranſcribing a few of its moſt ſtriking paſſages.

Having ridiculed, with great ſpirit and pro⯑priety, Warburton's general idea of the Aeneid as a political inſtitute, and his ill-ſupported aſſertion, that both the ancient and modern poets afforded Virgil a pattern for introducing the Myſteries in⯑to this famous epiſode, the author proceeds to ex⯑amine how far the Critic's hypotheſis of initiation may be ſupported or overthrown by the text of the Poet.

Having ſhewn, in this ſpirited manner, how far the hypotheſis of the Critic is inconſiſtent with particular paſſages, and with the general character of the Poet, the Eſſayiſt proceeds to al⯑ledge ‘"two ſimple reaſons, which perſuade him that Virgil has not revealed the ſecret of the Eleu⯑ſinian myſteries: the firſt is his ignorance, and the [160] ſecond his diſcretion."’ The author then proves, by very ingenious hiſtorical arguments, 1ſt, That it is probable the Poet was never initiated himſelf; and, 2dly, That if he were ſo, it is more pro⯑bable that he would not have violated the laws both of religion and of honour, in betraying the ſecret of the Myſteries; particularly, as that ſpe⯑cies of profanation is mentioned with abhorrence by a cotemporary Poet:

When Horace compoſed the Ode which contains the preceding paſſage,

Such is the forcible reaſoning of this ingenious and ſpirited writer. I have been tempted to tranſ⯑cribe theſe conſiderable portions of his Work, by an idea (perhaps an ill-founded one) that the cir⯑culation of his little Pamphlet has not been equal to its merit. But if it has been in any degree ne⯑glected by our country, it has not eſcaped the re⯑ſearches, [162] or wanted the applauſe, of a learned and judicious foreigner. Profeſſor Heyne, the late accurate and accompliſhed Editor of Virgil, has mentioned it in his Comments to the ſixth Book of the Aeneid, with the honour it deſerves. He remarks, indeed, that the Author has cenſured the learned Prelate with ſome little acrimony; ‘"Paullò acrius quam velis."’ But what lover of poetry, unbiaſſed by perſonal connection, can ſpeak of Warburton without ſome marks of in⯑dignation? If I have alſo alluded to this famous Commentator with a contemptuous aſperity, it ariſes from the perſuaſion that he has ſullied the page of every Poet whom he pretended to illuſ⯑trate; and that he frequently degraded the uſeful and generous profeſſion of Criticiſm into a mean inſtrument of perſonal malignity: or (to uſe the more forcible language of his greateſt antagoniſt) that he ‘"inveſted himſelf in the high office of Inquiſitor General and Supreme Judge of the Opinions of the Learned; which he aſſumed and exerciſed with a ferocity and deſpotiſm without [163] example in the Republic of Letters, and hardly to be paralleled among the diſciples of Domi⯑nic^*."’ It is the juſt lot of tyrants to be deteſted; and of all uſurpers, the literary deſpot is the leaſt excuſable, as he has not the common tyrannical plea of neceſſity or intereſt to alledge in his behalf; for the prevalence of his edicts will be found to ſink in proportion to the arbitrary tone with which they are pronounced. The fate of War⯑burton is a ſtriking inſtance of this important truth. What havock has the courſe of very few years produced in that pile of imperious criticiſm which he had heaped together! Many of his notes on Shakeſpeare have already reſigned their place to the ſuperior comments of more accom⯑pliſhed Critics; and perhaps the day is not far diſtant, when the volumes of Pope himſelf will ceaſe to be a repoſitory for the lumber of his [164] friend. The ſevereſt enemies of Warburton muſt indeed allow, that ſeveral of his remarks on his Poetical Patron are entitled to preſervation, by their uſe or beauty; but the greater part, I ap⯑prehend, are equally deſtitute of both: and how far the Critic was capable of diſgracing the Poet, muſt be evident to every reader who recollects that the nonſenſe in the Eſſay on Criticiſm, where Pegaſus is made to ſnatch a grace, which is juſtly cenſured by Dr. Warton, was firſt introduced into the poem by an arbitrary tranſpoſition of the editor.

Though arrogance is perhaps the moſt ſtrik⯑ing and characteriſtical defect in the compoſition of this aſſuming Commentator, he had certainly other critical failings of conſiderable importance; and it may poſſibly be rendering ſome little ſer⯑vice to the art which he profeſſed, to inveſtigate the peculiarities in this ſingular writer, which conſpire to plunge him in the crowd of thoſe evaneſcent critics (if I may uſe ſuch an expreſſion) [165] whom his friend Pope beheld in ſo clear a viſion, that he ſeems to have given us a prophetical portrait of his own Commentator:

I ſhall therefore hazard a few farther obſerva⯑tions, not only on this famous Critic of our age and country, but on the two greater names of antiquity, to each of whom he has been de⯑clared ſuperior by the partial voice of enthuſiaſtic friendſhip. I wiſh not to offend his moſt zea⯑lous adherents; and, though I cannot but con⯑ſider him as a literary uſurper, I ſpeak of him as a great Hiſtorian ſaid of more exalted tyrants, ſine ira et ſtudio, quorum cauſas procul habeo.—There ſeem to be three natural endow⯑ments requiſite in the formation of an accom⯑pliſhed [166] critic;—ſtrong underſtanding, lively imagination, and refined ſenſibility. The firſt was the characteriſtic of Ariſtotle; and, by the conſent of all ages, he is allowed to have poſ⯑ſeſſed it in a ſuperlative degree. May I be par⯑doned for the opinion, that he enjoyed but a very moderate portion of the other two? I would not abſolutely ſay, that he had neither Fancy nor Feel⯑ing: but that his imagination was not brilliant, and that his ſenſibility was not exquiſite, may, I think, be fairly preſumed from the general tenor of his proſe; nor does the little relique of his poetry contradict the idea. The two qualities in which Ariſtotle may be ſuppoſed defective, were the very two which peculiarly diſtinguiſh Lon⯑ginus; who certainly wanted not underſtanding, though he might not poſſeſs the philoſophical ſagacity of the Stagyrite. When conſidered in every point of view, he appears the moſt con⯑ſummate character among the Critics of anti⯑quity. If Warburton bore any reſemblance to either of theſe mighty names, I apprehend it [167] muſt be to the former, and perhaps in imagina⯑tion he was ſuperior to Ariſtotle: but, of the three qualities which I have ventured to con⯑ſider as requiſite in the perfect Critic, I conceive him to have been miſerably deficient in the laſt, and certainly the moſt eſſential of the three; for, as the great Commentator of Horace has phi⯑loſophically and truly remarked, in a note to that Poet, ‘"Feeling, or Sentiment, is not only the ſureſt, but the ſole ultimate arbiter of works of genius^*."’ A man may poſſeſs an acute un⯑derſtanding and a lively imagination, without being a found Critic; and this truth perhaps cannot be more clearly ſhewn than in the writings of Warburton. His underſtanding was undoubtedly acute, his imagination was lively; but Imagination and Sentiment are by no means ſynonymous: and he certainly wanted thoſe finer feelings, which conſtitute accuracy of diſcernment, and a perfect percep⯑tion of literary excellence. In conſequence [168] of this defect, inſtead of ſeizing the real ſenſe and intended beauties of an author, he frequently followed the caprices of his own active fancy, which led him in queſt of ſecret meanings and myſterious alluſions; theſe he readily found, and his powers of underſtanding enabled him to dreſs them up in a plauſible and ſpecious form, and to perſuade many readers that he was (what he believed himſelf to be) the reſtorer of genuine Criticiſm. As a farther proof that he was deſti⯑tute of refined ſenſibility, I might alledge the peculiarity of his diction, which, as Dr. John⯑ſon has very juſtly remarked, is coarſe and im⯑pure. Perhaps it may be found, that in pro⯑portion as authors have enjoyed the quality which I ſuppoſe him to have wanted, they have been more or leſs diſtinguiſhed by the eaſe, the elegance, and the beauty of their language: were I required to fortify this conjecture by ex⯑amples, I ſhould produce the names of Virgil and Racine, of Fenelon and Addiſon—that Addiſon, who, though inſulted by the Com⯑mentator [169] of Pope with the names of an indif⯑ferent Poet and a worſe Critic, was, I think, as much ſuperior to his inſulter in critical taſte, and in ſolidity of judgment, as he confeſſedly was in the harmony of his ſtyle, and in all the finer graces of beautiful compoſition.

NOTE VI. VERSE 257.

Theſe, and the ſix ſubſequent lines, allude to the following paſſage in Dr. Warton's Eſſay on Pope: ‘"I conclude theſe reflections with a remarkable fact:—In no poliſhed nation, after Criticiſm has been much ſtudied, and the rules of writing eſta⯑bliſhed, has any very extraordinary work ever ap⯑peared. This has viſibly been the caſe in Greece, in Rome, and in France, after Ariſtotle, Horace, and Boileau had written their Arts of Poetry. In our own country, the rules of the Drama, for inſtance, [170] were never more completely underſtood than at preſent; yet what unintereſting, though faultleſs, Tragedies have we lately ſeen? ſo much better is our judgment than our execution. How to ac⯑count for the fact here mentioned, adequately and juſtly, would be attended with all thoſe difficul⯑ties that await diſcuſſions relative to the produc⯑tions of the human mind, and to the delicate and ſecret cauſes that influence them; whether or no the natural powers be not confined and debilitated by that timidity and caution which is occaſioned by a rigid regard to the dictates of art; or whe⯑ther that philoſophical, that geometrical, and ſyſ⯑tematical ſpirit ſo much in vogue, which has ſpread itſelf from the ſciences even into polite li⯑terature, by conſulting only reaſon, has not dimi⯑niſhed and deſtroyed ſentiment, and made our poets write from and to the head, rather than the heart; or whether, laſtly, when juſt models, from which the rules have neceſſarily been drawn, have once appeared, ſucceeding writers, by vainly and am⯑bitiouſly [171] ſtriving to ſurpaſs thoſe juſt models, and to ſhine and ſurpriſe, do not become ſtiff and forced, and affected in their thoughts and dic⯑tion."’ Warton's Eſſay, page 209, 3d edition.—I admire this ingenious and modeſt reaſon⯑ing; but, for the honour of that ſeverer art, which this pleaſing writer has the happy talent to enliven and embelliſh, I will venture to ſtart ſome doubts concerning the fact itſelf for which he endeavours to account. Perhaps our acquaint⯑ance with thoſe writings of Greece and Rome, which were ſubſequent to Ariſtotle and Horace, is not ſufficiently perfect to decide the point either way in reſpect to thoſe countries. But with regard to France, may we not aſſert, that her po⯑etical productions, which aroſe after the publica⯑tion of Boileau's Didactic Eſſay, are at leaſt equal, if not ſuperior, to thoſe which preceded that period? If the Henriade of Voltaire is not a fine Epic poem, it is allowed to be the beſt which the French have to boaſt; not to mention the [172] dramatic works of that extraordinary and univer⯑ſal author. If this remarkable fact may indeed be found true, I ſhould rather ſuppoſe it to ariſe from the irritable nature of the poetic ſpirit, ſo peculiarly averſe to reſtraint and controul. The Bard who could gallop his Pegaſus over a free and open plain, might be eager to engage in ſo pleaſing an exerciſe; but he who obſerved the direction⯑poſts ſo thickly and ſo perverſely planted, that, in⯑ſtead of aſſiſting his career, they muſt probably oc⯑caſion his fall, would eaſily be tempted to deſcend from his ſteed, and to decline the courſe. Let me illuſtrate this conjecture by a ſtriking fact, in the very words of the Poet juſt mentioned, who was by no means deficient in poetical confi⯑dence, and who has left us the following anec⯑dote of himſelf, in that pleaſing little anony⯑mous work, intitled, Commentaire Hiſtorique ſur les Oeuvres de l'Auteur de la Henriade. ‘"Il lut un jour pluſieurs chants de ce poeme chez le jeune Préſident de Maiſons, ſon intime ami. On [173] l'impatienta par des objections; il jetta ſon ma⯑nuſcrit dans le feu. Le Préſident Hénaut l'en retira avee peine. "Souvenez vous (lui dit Mr. Hénaut) dans une de ſes lettres, que c'eſt moi qui ai ſauvé la Henriade, et qu'il m'en a couté une belle paire de manchettes."’

To return to the Eſſay on Pope.—I rejoice that the amiable Critic has at length obliged the pub⯑lic with the concluſion of his moſt engaging and ingenious work: he has the ſingular talent to inſtruct and to pleaſe even thoſe readers who are moſt ready to revolt from the opinion which he endeavours to eſtabliſh; and he has in ſome degree atoned for that exceſs of ſeverity which his firſt volume diſcovered, and which ſunk the reputation of Pope in the eyes of many, who judge not for themſelves, even far below that mortifying level to which he meant to reduce it. Had Pope been alive, to add this ſpirited eſſay to the bundle of writings againſt himſelf, which he is ſaid to have collected, he muſt have felt, that, [174] like the dagger of Brutus, it gave the moſt pain⯑ful blow, from the character of the aſſailant:

Yet Pope aſcended not the throne of Poetry by uſurpation, but was ſeated there by a legal title; of which I ſhall ſpeak farther in a ſubſequent note.

NOTE VII. VERSE 359.

Boileau's Art of Poetry made its firſt appearance in 1673, ſix years after the publication of Pa⯑radiſe Loſt. The verſes of the French Poet to which I have particularly alluded, are theſe:

[176] The preceding lines, which are ſaid to have been levelled at the Clovis of Deſmaretz, appear ſo pointed againſt the ſubject of Milton, that we might almoſt believe them intended as a ſatire on our divine Bard. There is nothing in Boileau's admirable Didactic Eſſay ſo liable to objection as the whole paſſage concerning Epic poetry. His patronage of the old Pagan divinities, and his ob⯑lique recommendation of Claſſical heroes, are alike exceptionable. Even a higher name than Boileau has failed in framing precepts for the Epic Muſe. The maxims delivered by Taſſo himſelf, in his Diſcourſe on Epic poetry, are ſo far from perfect, that an agreeable and judicious French critic has very juſtly ſaid of him, ‘"S'il eût mis ſa theorie en pratique, ſon poeme n'auroit pas tant de charmes^*."’ I am not ſo vain as to think of ſucceeding in the point where theſe im⯑mortal authors have failed; and I muſt beg my [177] reader to remember, that the preſent work is by no means intended as a code of laws for the Epic poet; it is not my deſign‘To write receipts how poems may be made;’ for I think the writer who would condeſcend to frame this higher ſpecies of compoſition accord⯑ing to the exact letter of any directions whatever, may be moſt properly referred to that admirable receipt for an Epic poem, with which Martinus Scriblerus will happily ſupply him. My ſerious deſire is to examine and refute the prejudices which have produced, as I apprehend, the neglect of the Heroic Muſe: I wiſh to kindle in our Poets a warmer ſenſe of national honour, with ambi⯑tion to excel in the nobleſt province of poeſy. If my Eſſay ſhould excite that generous enthuſi⯑aſm in the breaſt of any young poetic genius, ſo far from wiſhing to confine him by any arbitrary dictates of my own imagination, I ſhould rather ſay to him, in the words of Dante's Virgil,

NOTE VIII. VERSE 377.

‘"On foot, with a lance in his hand, the Em⯑peror himſelf led the ſolemn proceſſion, and di⯑rected the line, which was traced as the boundary of the deſtined capital; till the growing circum⯑ference was obſerved with aſtoniſhment by the aſſiſtants, who at length ventured to obſerve, that he had already exceeded the moſt ample meaſure of a great city. "I ſhall ſtill advance," replied Conſtantine, "till he, the inviſible guide who marches before me, thinks proper to ſtop."’ GIBBON, Vol. II. page 11.

NOTE I. VERSE 28.

Ho⯑mer, like moſt tranſcendent characters, has found detractors in every age. We learn from a paſſage in the Life of Socrates, by Diogenes Laer⯑tius, that the great Poet had, in his life-time, an adverſary named Sagaris, or Syagrus; and his ca⯑lumniator Zoilus is proverbially diſtinguiſhed. In [180] the Greek Anthologia, there is a ſepulchral in⯑ſcription on a ſlanderer of the ſovereign Bard, which, for its enthuſiaſtic ſingularity, I ſhall pre⯑ſent to the reader:

Parthenius, ſay the Commentators, was a diſ⯑ciple of Dionyſius of Alexandria, who flouriſhed under Nero and Trajan. Erycius, the author of the inſcription, is ſuppoſed to have lived in the ſame age.—Among the modern adverſaries of Homer, the French are moſt remarkable for their ſeverity and injuſtice: nor is it ſurpriſing, that the nation which has diſplayed the fainteſt ſparks of Epic fire, ſhould be the moſt ſolicitous to re⯑duce the oppreſſive ſplendor of this exalted lumi⯑nary. [182] The moſt depreciating remarks on genius, in every walk, are generally made by thoſe who are the leaſt able to prove its rivals; and often, per⯑haps, not ſo much from the prevalence of envious malignity, as from the want of vivid and delicate perception. The merits and the failings of Ho⯑mer were agitated in France with all the heat and acrimony of a theological diſpute. Madame Dacier diſtinguiſhed herſelf in the conteſt by her uncommon talents and erudition: ſhe combated for the Grecian Bard with the ſpirit of Minerva defending the father of the Gods. It muſt how⯑ever be confeſſed, that ſhe ſometimes overſtepped the modeſty of wiſdom, and caught, unwarily, the ſcolding tone of Juno. It is indeed amuſing, to obſerve a people, who pique themſelves on their extreme politeneſs, and cenſure Homer for the groſs behaviour of his Gods, engaging among themſelves in a ſquabble concerning this very Poet, with all the unrefined animoſity of his Olympian Synod. In the whole controverſy there is nothing more worthy of remembrance [183] and of praiſe, than the lively elegance and the pleaſing good-humour of Mr. de la Motte, who, though not one of the moſt exalted, was certain⯑ly one of the moſt amiable characters in the lite⯑rary world; and made a generous return to the ſeverity of his female antagoniſt, by writing an ode in her praiſe. Voltaire has pointed out, with his uſual ſpirit, the failings of La Motte in his Abridgement of the Iliad; but he has frequently fallen himſelf into ſimilar defects, and is equally unjuſt to Homer, againſt whom he has levelled the moſt bitter ſarcaſms both in proſe and verſe. Voltaire attacking Homer, is like Paris ſhooting his arrow at the heel of Achilles: the two Poets are as unequal as the two ancient Warriors; yet Homer, like Achilles, may have his vulnerable ſpot: but with this happy difference, that although the ſhaft of ridicule, which is pointed againſt him, may be tinged with venom, its wound cannot be mortal. Perhaps no better anſwer can be made to all thoſe who amuſe themſelves with writing againſt Homer, than the following reply of Ma⯑dame [184] Dacier to the Abbé Terraſſon, who had attacked her favourite Bard in two abuſive vo⯑lumes:—‘"Que Monſieur l' Abbé Terraſſon trouve Homere ſot, ridicule, extravagant, en⯑nuyeux, c'eſt ſon affaire, le public jugera ſi c'eſt un defaut à Homere de deplaire à M. l' Abbé Terraſſon, ou à M. l' Abbé Terraſſon de ne pas gouter Homere."’

NOTE II. VERSE 85.

Dio Chryſoſtom, in one of his orations, has called Socrates the diſciple of Homer, and drawn a ſhort parallel of their reſpective merits; obſerving, in honour of both, ‘" [...]."’ DION. CHRYS. p. 559.

NOTE III. VERSE 119.

I mean not to injure the dignity of Pindar by this aſſertion. Though Quinctilian, in drawing the character of the Grecian Lyric Poets, has given him high pre-eminence in that choir, we may, I think, very fairly conjecture that ſome odes of Alcaeus and Steſichorus were not inferior to thoſe of the Theban Bard, who is ſaid to have been re⯑peatedly vanquiſhed in a poetical conteſt by his female antagoniſt Corinna. The abſurd jealouſy of our ſex concerning literary talents, has led ſome eminent writers to queſtion the merits of Corinna, as Olearius has obſerved, in his Diſſerta⯑tion on the female Poets of Greece. But her glo⯑ry ſeems to have been fully eſtabliſhed by the pub⯑lic memorial of her picture, exhibited in her native city, and adorned with a ſymbol of her victory. Pauſanias, who ſaw it, ſuppoſes her to have been one of the handſomeſt women of her time; and the ingenuity of ſome Critics imputes her ſucceſs [186] in the poetical conteſt to the influence of her beauty. They have taken ſome liberties leſs pardonable with her literary reputation; and, by their curious comments on a ſingle Greek ſyl⯑lable, made the ſublime Pindar call his fair rival a Sow; though the unfortunate word [...], which may be twiſted into that meaning, ſigni⯑fies, in its more obvious conſtruction, that the Poet challenged his ſucceſsful antagoniſt to a new trial of ſkill.—For a more minute account of this ſingular piece of criticiſm, I muſt refer the reader to the notes on Corinna, in the Fragmenta Poe⯑triarum, by Wolfius. Time has left us only a few diminutive ſcraps of Corinna's Poetry; but Plu⯑tarch, in his Treatiſe on the Glory of the Athe⯑nians, has preſerved one of her critical Bon-mots, which may deſerve to be repeated. That author aſſerts, that Corinna inſtructed Pindar in his youth, and adviſed him to adorn his compoſition with the embelliſhments of fable. The obedient Poet ſoon brought her ſome verſes, in which he had followed her advice rather too freely; when his Tutreſs, [187] ſmiling at his profuſion, [...].

NOTE IV. VERSE 126.

Apollonius, ſurnamed the Rhodian from the place of his reſidence, is ſuppoſed to have been a native of Alexandria; where he is ſaid to have recited ſome portion of his Poem, while he was yet a youth. Finding it ill received by his country⯑men, he retired to Rhodes, where he is conjec⯑tured to have poliſhed and completed his Work; ſupporting himſelf by the profeſſion of Rhetoric, and receiving from the Rhodians the freedom of their city. He at length returned, with conſide⯑rable honour, to the place of his birth, ſucceed⯑ing Eratoſthenes in the care of the Alexandrian Library, in the reign of Ptolemy Euergetes, who aſcended the throne of Egypt in the year before [188] Chriſt 246. That prince had been educated by the famous Ariſtarchus, and rivalled the pre⯑ceding ſovereigns of his liberal family in the mu⯑nificent encouragement of learning. Apollonius was a diſciple of the poet Callimachus; but their connection ended in the moſt violent enmity; which was probably owing to ſome degree of contempt expreſſed by Apollonius for the light compoſitions of his maſter. The learned have vainly endeavoured to diſcover the particulars of their quarrel.—The only Work of Apollo⯑nius which has deſcended to modern times, is his Poem, in four Books, on the Argonautic expe⯑dition. Both Longinus and Quinctilian have aſ⯑ſigned to this Work the mortifying character of Mediocrity: but there lies an appeal from the ſentence of the moſt candid and enlightened Cri⯑tics to the voice of Nature; and the merit of Apollonius has little to apprehend from the deci⯑ſion of this ultimate judge. His Poem abounds in animated deſcription, and in paſſages of the [189] moſt tender and pathetic beauty. How finely painted is the firſt ſetting forth of the Argo! and how beautifully is the wife of Chiron introduced, holding up the little Achilles in her arms, and ſhewing him to his father Peleus as he ſailed along the ſhore! But the chief excellence in our Poet, is the ſpirit and delicacy with which he has deli⯑neated the paſſion of love in his Medea. That Virgil thought very highly of his merit in this particular, is ſufficiently evident from the minute exactneſs with which he has copied many tender touches of the Grecian Poet. Thoſe who com⯑pare the third Book of Apollonius with the fourth of Virgil, may, I think, perceive not only that Dido has ſome features of Medea, but that the two Bards, however different in their reputation, reſembled each other in their genius; and that they both excel in delicacy and pathos.

NOTE V. VERSE 190.

Scaliger appears to be the moſt extravagant of all the Critics who have laviſhed their undiſtin⯑guiſhing encomiums on Virgil, by aſſerting that he alone is entitled to the name of Poet. Poeti⯑ces, lib. iii. c. 2.—Though the opinion of Spence, and other modern Critics, concerning the cha⯑racter of Aeneas, conſidered as an allegorical portrait of Auguſtus, ſeems to gain ground, yet it might perhaps be eaſy to overturn the inge⯑nious conjectures and the fanciful reaſoning by which that idea has been ſupported. This attempt would have the ſanction of one of the moſt judi⯑cious Commentators of Virgil; for the learned Heyne expreſsly rejects all allegorical interpre⯑tation, and thinks it improbable that a Poet of ſo correct a judgment could have adopted a plan which muſt neceſſarily contract and cramp his [191] powers. He even ventures to aſſert, that if the character of Aeneas was delineated as an allego⯑rical portrait of Auguſtus, the execution of it is unhappy. The ſtrongeſt argument which has been adduced to ſupport this conjecture, is founded on the ingenious interpretation of the following paſſage in the opening of the third Georgic:

Theſe lines, in which Virgil expreſſes his in⯑tention of dedicating a temple to Auguſtus, have been conſidered as the nobleſt allegory of ancient [192] Poetry ^*; and the great Critic who firſt ſtarted the idea, has expatiated, in the triumph of his diſcovery, on the myſterious beauties they con⯑tain: but the whole of this hypotheſis is unfor⯑tunately built upon the rejection of three verſes, which are pronounced unworthy of the Poet, and which, though found in every MS. the Critic claims a right of removing. A licence ſo extra⯑ordinary cannot even be juſtified by the talents of this accompliſhed writer: for if the leſs elegant paſſages of the ancient Poets might be removed at pleaſure, their compoſitions would be expoſed to the caprice of every fantaſtic commentator. The obvious and literal interpretation not only renders this violence unneceſſary, but is more agreeable to the judgment of the Poet and the manners of his age. The cuſtom of erecting real temples was ſo familiar to antiquity, that a Ro⯑man would never have ſuſpected the edifice was to be raiſed only with poetical materials. We may even conjecture, from a line of Statius, that [193] the Poet himſelf had a temple erected to his me⯑mory; and, without any breach of probability, we may admit his intention of giving his living Emperor ſuch a teſtimony of his gratitude. This adulation, though ſhocking to us, was too gene⯑rally juſtified by example to oblige the Poet to palliate it by a fiction. He had before ac⯑quieſced in the divinity of his Imperial Pa⯑tron, and had expreſſed the idea in its full ſenſe:

Having made ſuch an invocation in the begin⯑ning of his Work, was his delicacy afterwards to be ſhocked, and oblige him to pay a compliment under the diſguiſe of an obſcure conceit? for that [194] allegory muſt be allowed to be obſcure, which had remained through ſo many ages unexplained. The unfortunate rejected lines, for whoſe ele⯑gance we do not contend, may at leaſt be reſcued from impropriety by a literal interpretation of the preceding paſſage; for, diſmiſs the conjectured allegory, and the chief objections againſt them remain no longer. If the phraſeology be peculiar, it is at leaſt ſupported by concurring MSS. The adjective ardens is ſometimes undoubtedly joined to a word that does not denote a ſubſtance of heat or flame, as the Critic himſelf admits in the caſe of ardentes hoſtes, to which we may add the ver⯑bum ardens of Cicero^*. As to the line which is [195] ſaid to contain the moſt glaring note of illegi⯑timacy,

many reaſons might induce the Poet to uſe the name of Tithonus, which at this diſtance of time it is not eaſy for us to conjecture. Perhaps he choſe it to vary the expreſſion of Aſſaraci Proles, which he had adopted in the preceding lines. The abſurdity of the ſubject-matter, and the place in which it is introduced, that are inſiſted on as the principal objections, ariſe ſolely from the allego⯑rical hypotheſis: without it the conſtruction will be plain and natural. The Poet expreſſes his in⯑tention of erecting a temple to Auguſtus, and expatiates on the magnificence with which it was to be adorned: he then returns to his preſent poetical ſubject—

and, having dwelt a little on that, to avoid too long a digreſſion, very naturally reſumes the [196] praiſes of the Emperor, by alluding to the ſub⯑limer ſong which he intended to devote to him hereafter:

Perhaps the important poſition that gave riſe to this conjecture, and to others of a ſimilar com⯑plexion, ‘"that the propriety of allegorical com⯑poſition made the diſtinguiſhed pride of ancient poetry,"’ is as queſtionable as the conjecture itſelf; and a diligent and judicious peruſal of the ancient Poets might convince us, that ſimplicity was their genuine character, and that many of their allegorical beauties have originated in the fertile imagination of their commentators. Ariſ⯑tarchus, indeed, the celebrated model of ancient criticiſm, rejected with great ſpirit the allegorical interpretations of Homer, as we are informed by Euſthathius; but the good Archbiſhop of Theſ⯑ſalonica, who, like ſome modern prelates, had a paſſion for allegory, cenſures the great Critic of [197] Alexandria for his more ſimple mode of con⯑ſtruction, and ſuppoſes it an injury to the re⯑fined beauties and profound wiſdom of the Poet. ‘' [...].’ EUSTH. vol. iii. page 1300.

Having conſidered in this note ſome conjectures on Virgil, that appear to me fantaſtical and ill founded, I am tempted to produce two illuſtra⯑tions of the ſame great poet, which, if I am not deceived by friendſhip, reflect more light and honour on the firſt of the Roman poets. At all events, they will be eſteemed as a literary cu⯑rioſity by the reader, when I tell him they were written by a Critic, whoſe name is doubly en⯑titled to reſpect in the republic of letters, from his own taſte and erudition, and from the poetical ge⯑nius of his daughter.—In the early part of his life, Mr. Seward of Lichfield had thoughts of pub⯑liſhing a tranſlation of Virgil in blank verſe. Among his remarks on different paſſages of his [198] author, the two following appeared to me par⯑ticularly happy; and I tranſcribe them from the papers of my worthy old friend, in the perſua⯑ſion that every lover of Virgil will peruſe them with pleaſure.

‘"THERE are two paſſages in the Aeneid, which ſeem to me miſunderſtood by all the com⯑mentators and tranſlators, from the age of the Roman claſſics to the preſent; and yet, when properly explained, they will, I hope, appear beautiful, clear, and almoſt indiſputable. I ſhall mention them as they occurred to me. The firſt of theſe lines is in the eighth book of the Aeneid, verſe 695. It is in the prophetic deſcription of the battle of Actium, between Auguſtus and Antony, carved by Vulcan on the ſhield of Aeneas:— Arva novâ Neptunia caede rubeſcunt. Regina in mediis patrio vocat agmina ſiſtro; Necdum etiam geminos a tergo reſpicit angues: Omnigenûmque deûm monſtra, et latrator Anubis, [199] Contra Neptunum, et Venerem, contraque Minervam, Tela tenent: ſaevit medio in certamine Mavors Caelatus ferro, triſteſque ex aethere Dirae; Et ſciſſà gaudens vadit Diſcordia pallà, Quam cum ſanguineo ſequitur Bellona flagello. The difficulty in this paſſage is, to know what and where the two prophetic ſnakes were behind Cleopatra's back. Moſt commentators ſay that they were carved upon her ſhield, which hung upon her back; but ſurely this could not be de⯑ſigned by Virgil: if he meant to repreſent Cleo⯑patra in armour, as he undoubtedly did, he would not have hung her ſhield behind her back in the hour of battle. In the next place, why does he give her two ſerpents, when both her ſculptors, painters, and hiſtorians give her only one, the bite of which, in that country of veno⯑mous creatures, was quite ſufficient to ſlay her. Nor would Virgil, the model of perſpicuity, ex⯑preſs himſelf ſo confuſedly, as to talk of her [200] turning her eyes to what is carved upon her own back. If the reader is convinced that the paſ⯑ſage wants perſpicuity, he will be pleaſed to find the whole cleared up, by obſerving, that the two ſnakes were on the caduceus of Anubis, which conſiſted of a dog's head on a human figure, with a caduceus in one hand, on the top of which were two beautifully curling aſps or ſnakes, and a purſe or a porridge pot in his left (Le Pluche)—from whence the Greeks, perhaps, without knowing the meaning of this emblem, took their Mercury. They diſcarded the dog's head, as unſightly, and placed a human one in its ſtead; by which they deſtroyed the emblematic figures, though they left the name of latrator, or barker, ſufficient to lead us to its real mean⯑ing; which was, that of the dog-ſtar, the riſing of which juſt preceded the overflow of the Nile. As ſoon, therefore, as the aſtronomers of Egypt could diſcern the dog-ſtar riſen in the ſpring, they gave notice of it by their Anubis, or dog, which was hung out on their ſeveral towers, that [201] all the people might fly to their terraces and places of ſafety: but if clouds had before ob⯑ſtructed the view of the ſtar, and it was riſen high before it was diſcerned, they added wings to his feet and ſhoulders, put his caduceus in his right hand, and a porridge pot, or purſe, in his left, to hurry the people in their preparations againſt the deluge. Virgil therefore, in de⯑ſcribing Cleopatra in her ſhip, evidently ſuppoſes the name of her ſhip to have been Anubis; whoſe image was carved on the poop of it, holding his caduceus behind Cleopatra. The reſt of the Egyptian fleet having ‘"omnigenûm deûm mon⯑ſtra,"’ other Egyptian deities, on their poops, who Contra Neptunum, et Venerem, contraque Minervam, Tela tenent: — that is, the Egyptian ſhips and Roman were ranged in battle againſt each other. [202] Cana fides, et Veſta, Remo cum fratre Quirinus, Jura dabunt: —AENEID I. ver. 292. Scarce any paſſage in Virgil has given me greater trouble, took longer time, or gave me greater pleaſure in the diſcovery, than this. The difficulty was, to know how Virgil came to chuſe Romulus and Remus, the one the murderer of the other, as the joint legiſlators of a new golden age of peace and proſperity. Much hiſtorical knowledge has been in vain applied to form many ſtrange interpretations, with which the Critics themſelves are plainly diſſatisfied: much the moſt plauſible is that of Ruaeus, that "Cana Fides" was the ancient faith of citizens to each other; Veſta, religion; and Romulus and Remus, the power of the Princes united as legiſlators. But how a Fratricide could repreſent ſuch an union would be ſtrange indeed.—I will not detain the reader with enumerating the many abſurd con⯑jectures of interpretation, but ſhall only mention ſome facts relating to a new ſolution. Firſt, this book of Virgil was evidently written ſoon after [203] the battle of Actium, when, Antony being ſubdued, the whole world ſeemed at peace, and Auguſtus ſhut the gate of Janus. Mecaenas was his fa⯑vourite Miniſter and Praetor Urbanus; and had juſt then, with wonderful ſagacity, diſcovered and ſuppreſſed a conſpiracy againſt the Emperor's life, on his return in triumph to Rome. One of the principal actors in this conſpiracy, was the ſon of the late Triumvir Lepidus; whom, with ſeveral other conſpirators, he had, unknown each to the other, ſeized, impriſoned, and privately deſtroyed, without any noiſe or public diſturbance. The knowledge of this recent fact makes it ſtill more ſurpriſing, that Virgil, who is full of compliments to his patron in moſt of his other works, ſhould, in his principal poem, totally omit ſpeaking of him; unleſs he is ſuppoſed to have repreſented him by the character of "fidus Achates," which amounts to no more than that of lighting a fire to dry their clothes and their corn after a ſtorm, or to bring Aſcanius to his father to partake of Dido's entertainment. I hope to prove that Vir⯑gil's [204] ſuppoſed neglect of his friend is not true, and that he is, in the line above, elegantly and judi⯑ciouſly complimented; as alſo very intelligibly ſo, to all who knew the hiſtory of this conſpiracy, and that Mecaenas was Praetor Urbanus, with a power equal, if not ſuperior, to our Lord Chief Juſtice and our Lord Chancellor conjoined. It occurred to me, many years before I knew any proof of it, that "Cana Fides, et Veſta, et Remo cum fratre Quirinus," were the names of thoſe temples where Mecaenas held his beds of juſtice; in the ſame manner as, in the former note, "Anu⯑bis" and "Deorum monſtra" were only the names of the Egyptian ſhips oppoſed to thoſe of the Ro⯑mans, named Mercury, Venus, and Minerva. I had many years a ſtrong ſuſpicion of this, when, accidentally reading Horace's Epiſtle, "Ibam fortè viâ ſacrâ," I found that the temple of Veſta was employed by Mecaenas for trials of civil cauſes. See Sat. IX. Book I.—Having therefore found my conjecture, with regard to the temple of Veſta, verified, I purſued my ſearch to the others, viz. [205] of Romulus and Remus, and of Fides. The firſt I found to be the place of trial and puniſhment of criminals; and the next to be the temple where the tablets of all the Senatûs Conſulta were hung up, and which in Caeſar's time were ſo numerous, that the walls of the temple could not contain them, and therefore an additional building was erected: this, therefore, ſeems extremely proper to accompany the ſeats of judicature. The com⯑pliment to Mecaenas, is this: When civil wars ſhall ceaſe, and all power, regal, conſular, and tribunitial, centre in Auguſtus, his friend and fa⯑vourite, Mecaenas, ſhall be Praetor Urbanus; who ſhall rule by the equitable laws ſuſpended in the ancient temple of Fides, ſhall decide civil cauſes in the temple and grove of Veſta, and criminal ones in the temple of Romulus and Remus^*. All this would be clearly underſtood by thoſe, who knew the ample powers conferred on Mecaenas by his judicial office of Praetor Urbanus."’

NOTE VI. VERSE 260.

There is hardly any eminent perſonage of anti⯑quity, who has ſuffered more from detraction, both in his literary and moral character, than the poet Lucan. His fate, indeed, ſeems in all points to have been peculiarly ſevere. His early death, at an age when few Poets have even laid the foundation of their capital work, is itſelf ſuffi⯑cient to excite our compaſſion and regret; but to periſh by the envious tyranny of Nero may be conſidered as a bleſſing, when compared with the more cruel misfortune of being branded with in⯑famy in the immortal pages of Tacitus. As I am perſuaded that the great Hiſtorian has inad⯑vertently adopted the groſſeſt calumny againſt our Poet, I ſhall moſt readily aſſign my reaſons for thinking ſo. It may firſt be proper to give a ſhort ſketch of Lucan's life.—He was the ſon of Anneus Mela, the youngeſt brother of Seneca; [207] and, though born at Corduba, was conveyed to Rome at the age of eight months: a circum⯑ſtance, as his more indulgent critics obſerve, which ſufficiently refutes the cenſure of thoſe who conſider his language as provincial. At Rome he was educated under the Stoic Cornutus, ſo warmly celebrated by his diſciple Perſius the Sa⯑tiriſt, who was the intimate friend of our Poet. In the cloſe of his education, Lucan is ſaid to have paſſed ſome time at Athens. On his return to Rome he roſe to the office of Quaeſtor, before he had attained the legal age. He was afterwards inrolled among the Augurs; and married a lady of noble birth, of whoſe amiable character I ſhall ſpeak more at large in a ſubſequent note. Lu⯑can had for ſome time been admitted to fami⯑liarity with Nero, when the Emperor choſe to contend for poetical honours, by the public recital of a poem he had compoſed on Niobe; and ſome verſes of this imperial production are ſuppoſed to be preſerved in the Firſt Satire of Perſius. Lucan had the hardineſs to repeat a poem [208] on Orpheus, in competition with that of Nero; and, what is more remarkable, the judges of the conteſt were juſt and bold enough to decide againſt the Emperor. From hence Nero became the perſecutor of his ſucceſsful rival, and forbade him to produce any poetry in public. The well⯑known conſpiracy of Piſo againſt the tyrant ſoon followed; and Tacitus, with his uſual ſarcaſtic ſeverity, concludes that Lucan engaged in the enterprize from the poetical injuries he had re⯑ceived: a remark which does little credit to the candour of the Hiſtorian; who might have found a much nobler, and I will add a more probable, motive for his conduct, in the generous ardour of his character, and his paſſionate adoration of freedom. In the ſequel of his narration, Tacitus alledges a charge againſt our Poet, which, if it were true, muſt lead us to deteſt him as the moſt abject of mankind. The Hiſtorian aſſerts, that Lucan, when accuſed of the conſpiracy, for ſome time denied the charge; but, corrupted at laſt by a promiſe of impunity, and deſirous to atone for [209] the tardineſs of his confeſſion, accuſed his mother Atilla as his accomplice. This circumſtance is ſo improbable in itſelf, and ſo little conſonant to the general character of Lucan, that ſome writers have treated it with contempt, as a calumny in⯑vented by Nero to vilify the object of his envious abhorrence. But the name of Tacitus has given ſuch an air of authority to the ſtory, that it may ſeem to deſerve a more ſerious diſcuſſion, parti⯑cularly as there are two ſubſequent events re⯑lated by the ſame Hiſtorian, which have a ten⯑dency to invalidate the accuſation ſo injurious to our Poet. The events I mean are, the fate of Annaeus, and the eſcape of Atilla, the two parents of Lucan. The former died in conſequence of an accuſation brought againſt him, after the death of his ſon, by Fabius Romanus, who had been intimate with Lucan, and forged ſome letters in his name, with the deſign of proving his father concerned in the conſpiracy. Theſe letters were produced to Nero, who ſent them to Annaeus, from an eager deſire, ſays Tacitus, to get poſ⯑ſeſſion [210] of his wealth. From this fact two in⯑ferences may be drawn, according to the differ⯑ent lights in which it may be conſidered:—If the accuſation againſt Annaeus was juſt, it is clear that Lucan had not betrayed his father, and he appears the leſs likely to have endangered by his confeſſion the life of a parent, to whom he owed a ſtill tenderer regard:—If Annaeus was not in⯑volved in the conſpiracy, and merely put to death by Nero for the ſake of his treaſure, we may the more readily believe, that the tyrant who mur⯑dered the father from avarice, might calumniate the ſon from envy. But the eſcape of Atilla affords us the ſtrongeſt reaſon to conclude that Lucan was perfectly innocent of the abject and unnatural treachery, of which Tacitus has ſup⯑poſed him guilty. Had the Poet really named his mother as his accomplice, would the vindictive and ſanguinary Nero have ſpared the life of a wo⯑man, whoſe family he deteſted, particularly when other females were put to death for their ſhare in the conſpiracy? That Atilla was not in that [211] number, the Hiſtorian himſelf informs us in the following remarkable ſentence, Atilla mater An⯑naei Lucani, ſine abſolutione, ſine ſupplicio, diſ⯑ſimulata; thus tranſlated by Gordon: ‘"The information againſt Atilla, the mother of Lucan, was diſſembled; and, without being cleared, ſhe eſcaped unpuniſhed."’

The preceding remarks will, I hope, vindicate to every candid mind the honour of our Poet; whoſe firmneſs and intrepidity of character are indeed very forcibly diſplayed in that picture of his death which Tacitus himſelf has given us. I ſhall preſent it to the Engliſh reader in the words of Gordon:—Lucan, ‘"while his blood iſſued in ſtreams, perceiving his feet and hands to grow cold and ſtiffen, and life to retire by little and little to the extremities, while his heart was ſtill beating with vital warmth, and his faculties no wiſe impaired, recollected ſome lines of his own, which deſcribed a wounded ſoldier expiring in a manner that reſembled this. The lines themſelves he rehearſed; and they were the laſt words he [212] ever uttered."’ The Annals of Tacitus, Book xv.—The critics differ concerning the verſes of the Pharſalia which the author quoted in ſo me⯑morable a manner. I ſhall tranſcribe the two paſſages he is ſuppoſed to have repeated, and only add that Lipſius contends for the latter.

Such was the death of Lucan, before he had [214] completed his twenty-ſeventh year. If his cha⯑racter as a man has been injured by the Hiſto⯑rian, his poetical reputation has been treated not leſs injuriouſly by the Critics. Quintilian, by a frivolous diſtinction, diſputes his title to be claſ⯑ſed among the Poets; and Scaliger ſays, with a brutality of language diſgraceful only to himſelf, that he ſeems rather to bark than to ſing. But theſe inſults may appear amply compenſated, when we remember, that in the moſt poliſhed nations of modern Europe the moſt elevated and poetic ſpirits have been his warmeſt admirers; that in France he was idolized by Corneille, and in England tranſlated by Rowe.—The ſevereſt cen⯑ſures on Lucan have proceeded from thoſe who have unfairly compared his language to that of Virgil: but how unjuſt and abſurd is ſuch a compariſon! it is comparing an uneven block of porphyry, taken rough from the quarry, to the moſt beautiful ſuperficies of poliſhed marble. How differently ſhould we think of Virgil as a poet, if we poſſeſſed only the verſes which he [215] wrote at that period of life when Lucan compo⯑ſed his Pharſalia! In the diſpoſition of his ſubject, in the propriety and elegance of diction, he is undoubtedly far inferior to Virgil: but if we attend to the bold originality of his deſign, and to the vigour of his ſentiments; if we conſider the Pharſalia as the rapid and uncorrected ſketch of a young poet, executed in an age when the ſpirit of his countrymen was broken, and their taſte in literature corrupted, it may juſtly be eſteemed as one of the moſt noble and moſt wonderful produc⯑tions of the human mind.

NOTE VII. VERSE 293.

Pom⯑pey, after his defeat at Pharſalia, proceeded to Leſbos, as he had left his wife Cornelia to the protection of that iſland; which received the unfortunate hero with a ſublime generoſity. The Leſbians entreated him to remain amongſt them, and promiſed to defend him. Pompey expreſſed [216] his gratitude for their fidelity, but declined the offer, and embarked with Cornelia. The concern of this gallant people on the departure of their amiable gueſt is thus deſcribed by Lucan:

NOTE VIII. VERSE 296.

Polla Argentaria was the daughter of a Roman Se⯑nator, and the wife of Lucan. She is ſaid to have tranſcribed and corrected the three firſt books of the Pharſalia, after the death of her huſband. It is much to be regretted that we poſſeſs not the poem which he wrote on the merits of this amiable and accompliſhed woman; but her name is immor⯑talized by two ſurviving Poets of that age. The [218] veneration which ſhe paid to the memory of her huſband, is recorded by Martial; and more poe⯑tically deſcribed in that pleaſing and elegant lit⯑tle production of Statius, Genethliacon Lucani, a poem which I the more readily commend, as I may be thought by ſome readers unjuſt towards its author, in omitting to celebrate his Thebaid. I confeſs, indeed, the miſcellaneous poems of Statius appear to me his moſt valuable work: in moſt of theſe there is much imagination and ſen⯑timent, in harmonious and ſpirited verſe. The little poem which I have mentioned, on the an⯑niverſary of Lucan's birth, is ſaid to have been written at the requeſt of Argentaria. The Au⯑thor, after invoking the poetical deities to attend the cere [...]omy, touches with great delicacy and ſpirit on the compoſitions of Lucan's childhood, which are loſt, and the Pharſalia, the production of his early youth; he then pays a ſhort compli⯑ment to the beauty and talents of Argentaria, la⯑ments the cruel fate which deprived her ſo im⯑maturely [219] of domeſtic happineſs; and concludes with the following addreſs to the ſhade of Lucan:

I cannot cloſe this note without obſerving, that the preceding verſes have a ſtrong tendency to prove, that Lucan was perfectly innocent in regard to the accuſation which I have examined before. Had he been really guilty of baſely endangering the life of his mother, it is not probable that his wife would have honoured his memory with ſuch en⯑thuſiaſtic veneration, or that Statius, in verſes de⯑ſigned to do him honour, would have alluded to the mother of Nero. The Reader will pardon my recurring to this ſubject, as it is pleaſing to make uſe of every argument which may remove ſo odious and unjuſt a ſtain from a manly and exalted character.