[]AN ESSAY ON THE WRITINGS and GENIUS OF POPE.

SECT. I. Of the PASTORALS, and the MESSIAH an Eclogue.

PRINCES and Authors are ſeldom ſpoken of, during their lives, with juſ⯑tice and impartiality. Admiration and envy, their conſtant attendants, like two unſkilful artiſts, are apt to overcharge their pieces with too great a quantity of light or of ſhade; and are diſqualified happily to hit upon that middle colour, that mixture of [2] error and excellence, which alone renders every repreſentation of man juſt and natural. This perhaps may be one reaſon, among o⯑thers, why we have never yet ſeen a fair and candid criticiſm on the character and merits of our laſt great poet, Mr. POPE. I have therefore thought, that it would be no unpleaſing amuſement, or uninſtructive employment to examine at large, without blind panegyric, or petulant invective, the writings of this Engliſh Claſſic, in the order in which they are arranged in the elegant edition of Mr. Warburton. As I ſhall nei⯑ther cenſure nor commend, without alleging the reaſon on which my opinion is founded, I ſhall be entirely unmoved at the impu⯑tation of malignity, or the clamours of po⯑pular prejudice.

IT is ſomething ſtrange, that in the paſ⯑torals of a young poet there ſhould not be found a ſingle rural image that is new: but this I am afraid is the caſe in the PASTORALS before us. The ideas of Theocritus, Vir⯑gil, [3] and Spenſer, are indeed here exhibited in language equally mellifluous and pure; but the deſcriptions and ſentiments are trite and common. That the deſign of paſtoral poeſy is, to repreſent the undiſturbed felicity of the golden age, is an empty notion, which, though ſupported by a Rapin and a Fonte⯑nelle, I think, all rational critics have agreed to exſtirpate and explode. But I do not re⯑member, that even theſe laſt-mentioned cri⯑tics have remarked the circumſtance that gave origin to the opinion that any golden age was intended. Theocritus, the father and the model of this enchanting ſpecies of compoſition, lived and wrote in Sicily. The climate of Sicily was delicious, and the face of the country various, and beautiful: it's vallies and it's precipices, it's grot⯑tos and caſcades were SWEETLY INTER⯑CHANGED, and it's fruits and flowers were laviſh and luſcious. The poet deſcribed what he ſaw and felt: and had no need to have recourſe to thoſe artificial aſſemblages of pleaſing objects, which are not to be found [4] in nature. The figs and the honey which he aſſigns as a reward to a victorious ſhep⯑herd were in themſelves exquiſite, and are therefore aſſigned with great propriety^*: and the beauties of that luxurious land⯑ſchape ſo richly and circumſtantially deline⯑ated in the cloſe of the ſeventh idyllium, where all things ſmelt of ſummer and ſmelt of autumn,

were preſent and real. Succeeding writers ſuppoſing theſe beauties too great and a⯑bundant to be real, referred them to the fictitious and imaginary ſcenes of a golden age.

A MIXTURE of Britiſh and Grecian ideas may juſtly be deemed a blemiſh in the PAS⯑TORALS of POPE: and propriety is certainly violated, when he couples Pactolus with Thames, and Windſor with Hybla. Com⯑plaints of IMMODERATE heat, and wiſhes to be conveyed to cooling caverns, when uttered [5] by the inhabitants of Greece, have a deco⯑rum and conſiſtency, which they totally loſe in the character of a Britiſh ſhepherd: and Theocritus, during the ardors of Sirius, muſt have heard the murmurings of a brook, and the whiſpers of a pine, ^* with more home⯑felt pleaſure, than Pope ^† could poſſibly ex⯑perience upon the ſame occaſion. We can never completely reliſh, or adequately under⯑ſtand any author, eſpecially any Ancient, ex⯑cept we conſtantly keep in our eye his cli⯑mate, his country, and his age. POPE him⯑ſelf informs us, in a note, that he judiciouſly omitted the following verſe,

on account of the abſurdity, which Spenſer overlooked, of introducing wolves into Eng⯑land. But on this principle, which is cer⯑tainly a juſt one, may it not be aſked, why he ſhould ſpeak, the ſcene lying in Windſor- [6] Foreſt, of the SULTRY SIRIUS, ^* of the GRATEFUL CLUSTERS of grapes, ^† of a pipe of reeds, ^‡ the antique fiſtula, of thanking Ceres for a plentiful harveſt, ^§ of the ſacri⯑fice of lambs, ^| with many other inſtances that might be adduced to this purpoſe. That POPE however was ſenſible of the importance of adapting images to the ſcene of action, is obvious from the following example of his judgment; for in tranſlating,

he has dextrouſly dropt the laurels appropri⯑ated to Eurotas, as he is ſpeaking of the river Thames, and has rendered it,

IN the paſſages which POPE has imitated from Theocritus, and from his Latin tran⯑ſlator Virgil, he has merited but little ap⯑plauſe. It may not be unentertaining to ſee [7] how coldly and unpoetically POPE has copied the ſubſequent appeal to the nymphs on the death of Daphnis, in compariſon of Milton on LYCIDAS, one of his juvenile pieces.

THE mention of places remarkably roman⯑tic, the ſuppoſed habitation of Druids, bards, and wizards, is far more pleaſing to the ima⯑gination, than the obvious introduction of Cam and Iſis, as ſeats of the Muſes.

[8] A SHEPHERD in Theocritus wiſhes with much tenderneſs and elegance, both which muſt ſuffer in a literal tranſlation, ‘"Would I could become a murmuring bee, fly into your grotto, and be permitted to creep a⯑mong the leaves of ivy and fern that com⯑poſe the chaplet which adorns your head."’ ^*

POPE has thus altered this image,

On three accounts the former image is pre⯑ferable to the latter: for the paſtoral wild⯑neſs, the delicacy, and the uncommonneſs of the thought. I cannot forbear adding, that the riddle of the Royal Oak, in the firſt Paſ⯑toral, invented in imitation of the Virgilian aenigmas in the third eclogue, ſavours of pun, and puerile conceit.

With what propriety could the tree, whoſe ſhade protected the king, be ſaid to be pro⯑lific of princes?

THAT POPE has not equalled Theocritus, will indeed appear leſs ſurpriſing, if we re⯑flect, that no original writer ever remained ſo unrivalled by ſucceeding copyiſts, as this Sici⯑lian maſter.

IF it ſhould be objected, that the barren⯑neſs of invention imputed to POPE from a view of his PASTORALS, is equally imputable to the Bucolics of Virgil, it may be anſwered, that whatever may be determined of the reſt, yet the firſt and laſt Eclogues of Virgil are indiſputable proofs of true genius, and power of fancy. The influence of war on the tran⯑quillity of rural life^†, rendered the ſubject [10] of the firſt new, and intereſting: its compo⯑ſition is truly dramatic; and the characters of it's two ſhepherds are well ſupported, and happily contraſted: and the laſt has expreſ⯑ſively painted the changeful reſolutions, the wild wiſhes, the paſſionate and abrupt ex⯑clamations, of a diſappointed and deſpairing lover.

UPON the whole, the principal merit of the PASTORALS of POPE conſiſts, in their cor⯑rect and muſical verſification; muſical, to a degree of which rhyme could hardly be thought capable: and in giving the firſt ſpe⯑cimen of that harmony in Engliſh verſe, which is now become indiſpenſably neceſſary; and which has ſo forcibly and univerſally in⯑fluenced the publick ear, as to have rendered every moderate rhymer melodious. POPE lengthened the abruptneſs of Waller, and at the ſame time contracted the exuberance of Dryden.

[11] I REMEMBER to have been informed, by an intimate friend of POPE, that he had once laid a deſign of writing AMERICAN ECLOGUES: The ſubject would have been fruitful of the moſt poetical imagery; and, if properly executed, would have reſcued the author from the accuſation here urged, of having written Eclogues without invention.

OUR author, who had received an early tincture of religion, a reverence for which he preſerved to the laſt, was with juſtice con⯑vinced, that the ſcriptures of God contained not only the pureſt precepts of morality, but the moſt elevated and ſublime ſtrokes of ge⯑nuine poeſy; ſtrokes as much ſuperior to any thing Heatheniſm can produce, as is Jehovah to Jupiter. This is the caſe more particularly in the exalted propheſy of Iſaiah, which POPE has ſo ſucceſsfully verſified in an Ec⯑logue, that inconteſtably ſurpaſſes the Pollio of Virgil: although perhaps the dignity, the energy, and the ſimplicity of the original are [12] in a few paſſages weakened and diminiſhed by florid epithets, and uſeleſs circumlocutions.

are lines which have too much prettineſs, and too modern an air. The judicious addi⯑tion of circumſtances and adjuncts is what renders poeſy a more lively imitation of nature than proſe. POPE has been happy in introducing the following circumſtance: the prophet ſays, ‘"The parched ground ſhall become a pool;"’ Our author ex⯑preſſes this idea by ſaying, that the ſhepherd,

A ſtriking example of a ſimilar beauty may be added from Thompſon. Meliſander, in the Tragedy of AGAMEMNON, after telling us he was conveyed in a veſſel, at mid-night, to the wildeſt of the Cyclades, adds, when the pitileſs mariners had left him in that dread⯑ful ſolitude,

ON the other hand, the prophet has been ſometimes particular, when POPE has been only general. ‘"Lift up thine eyes round about, and ſee; all they gather themſelves together, they come to thee:—The multitude of CAMELS ſhall cover thee: the DROMEDARIES of Median and Ephah: all they from Sheba ſhall come: they ſhall bring gold and incenſe, and they ſhall ſhew forth the praiſes of the Lord. All the FLOCKS of Kedar ſhall be gathered together unto thee; the RAMS of Ne⯑baioth ſhall miniſter unto thee."^*’ In imitating this paſſage, POPE has omitted the different beaſts that in ſo pictureſque a man⯑ner characterize the different countries which were to be gathered together on this impor⯑tant event, and ſays only in undiſtinguiſhing terms,

AS proſperity and happineſs are deſcribed in this Eclogue by a combination of the moſt pleaſing and agreeable objects, ſo miſery and deſtruction are as forcibly delineated in the ſame Iſaiah, by the circumſtances of diſtreſs and deſolation, that were to attend the fall of that magnificent city, Babylon: and the latter is perhaps a more proper and intereſting ſubject for poetry than the former; as ſuch kinds of objects make the deepeſt impreſſion on the mind: pity being a ſtronger ſenſation than complacency. Accordingly a noble ode on the deſtruction of Babylon, taken from the fourteenth chapter of Iſaiah, has been written by Mr. Lowth, whoſe latin prelec⯑tions on the inimitable poeſy of the Hebrews, abounding in remarks entirely new, deli⯑vered in the pureſt and moſt expreſſive lan⯑guage, are the richeſt augmentation literature [15] has lately received; and from which the fol⯑lowing paſſage gradually unfolding the ſingu⯑lar beauties of this prophecy, is here cloſely, though faintly, tranſlated, and inſerted as a pattern of juſt criticiſm.

IT cannot be thought ſtrange, that he who could ſo judiciouſly explain, could as poetically expreſs, the ideas of Iſaiah: the latter he has performed in many inſtances; but in none more ſtrikingly than in the fol⯑lowing, which magnificently repreſents the Meſſiah treading the wine-preſs in his anger, and which and impartial judge, not blinded by the charms of antiquity, will think equal to any deſcription in Virgil, in point of ele⯑gance and energy:

SECT. II. Of WINDSOR-FOREST, and LYRIC Pieces.

DESCRIPTIVE Poetry was by no means the ſhining talent of POPE. This aſ⯑ſertion may be manifeſted by the few images introduced in the poem before us, which are not equally applicable to any place whatſo⯑ever. Rural beauty in general, and not the peculiar beauties of the foreſt of Windſor, are here deſcribed. Nor are the ſports of ſetting, ſhooting, and fiſhing, included between the ninety-third and one hundred and forty-ſixth verſes, to which the reader is referred, at all more appropriated. The ſtag-chaſe, that im⯑mediately follows, although ſome of the lines are incomparably good, ^* is not ſo full, ſo animated, and ſo circumſtantiated, as that of Somerville.

THE digreſſion that deſcribes the demoli⯑tion [21] of the thirty villages by William the Conqueror, is well imagined; particularly,

Though I cannot forbear thinking, that the following picture of the ruins of Godſtow⯑Nunnery, drawn, it ſhould ſeem, on the ſpot, and worthy the hand of Paul Brill, is by no means excelled by the foregoing.

[22] VOLTAIRE, that lively maintainer of many a paradox, is inclined to diſpute the truth of the devaſtation imputed to William I. ‘"Une telle action, ſays he, eſt trop inſenſée pour etre vraiſemblable. Les hiſtoriens ne font pas attention qu'il faut au moins vingt an⯑nées pour qu'un nouveau plan d'arbres devi⯑enne une forêt propre a là chaſſe. On lui fait ſemer cette forêt en 1080, il avoit alors 63 ans. Quelle apparence y a-t-il qu'un homme raiſonable ait à cet âge détruit des villages pour ſemer quinze lieues en bois dans l'eſpérance d'y chaſſer un jour?"^*’ There is indeed ſome probability that, the character of this prince has been miſrepre⯑ſented, and his oppreſſions magnified. The law of the curfeu-bell, by which every in⯑habitant of England was obliged to extinguiſh his fire and candles at eight in the evening, has been uſually alleged as the inſtitution of a capricious tyrant. But this law, as Vol⯑taire ^† rightly obſerves, was ſo far from being [23] abſurdly tyrannical, that it was an ancient eccleſiaſtical cuſtom eſtabliſhed among all the monaſteries of the north. Their houſes were built of wood, and ſo cautious a method to prevent fire, was an object worthy a prudent legiſlator. A more amiable idea than POPE has here exhibited of the Conqueror, is given us of the ſame prince, by that diligent en⯑enquirer into antiquity the Preſident Henault, in a paſſage that contains ſome curious parti⯑culars, characteriſtical of the manner of that age. ‘"This monarch protected letters, at a time, when books were ſo rare and un⯑common, that a counteſs of Anjou gave for a collection of homilies, two hundred ſheep, a meaſure of wheat, another of rye, a third of millet, and a certain number of the ſkins of martens."^†’ But to return. The ſtory of ^‡ Lodona is prettily Ovidian; but there is ſcarcely a ſingle incident in it, [24] but what is borrowed from ſome transformation of Ovid. The picture of a virtuous and learn⯑ed man in retirement ^* is highly finiſhed, as it flowed from the ſoul of our poet, who was here in his proper element, recommending integrity and ſcience. He has no where diſ⯑covered more poetic enthuſiaſm, than where, ſpeaking of the poets who lived or died near this ſpot, he breaks out,

The enumeration of the princes who were either born or interred at Windſor is judi⯑ciouſly introduced. Yet I have frequently wondered that he ſhould have omitted the opportunity of deſcribing at length it's vene⯑rable ancient caſtle, and the fruitful and ex⯑tenſive proſpects ^‡ which it commands. He [25] ſlides with dexterity and addreſs from ſpeak⯑ing of the miſeries of the civil war to the bleſſings of peace.^* OLD FATHER THAMES is raiſed, and acts, and ſpeaks, with becoming dignity. And though the trite and obvious inſignia of a river god are attributed, yet there is one circumſtance in his appearance highly pictureſque,

The relievo of his urn alſo is finely imagined,

He has with exquiſite ſkill ſelected only thoſe rivers as attendants of Thames, who are his ſubjects, his tributaries, or neighbours. I cannot reſiſt the pleaſure of tranſcribing the paſſage.

AS I before produced a paſſage of Mil⯑ton which I thought ſuperior to a ſimilar one of POPE, I ſhall, in order to preſerve impartiality, produce another from Milton, in which I think him inferior to the laſt quoted paſſage, except perhaps in the third line; firſt remarking that both authors are much in⯑debted to Spenſer. ^†

[27] THE poets, both ancient and modern, are obliged to the rivers for ſome of their moſt moſt ſtriking deſcriptions. The Tiber, and the Nile of Virgil, the Aufidus of Horace, the Sabrina of Milton, and the Scamander of Homer, are among their capital figures.

THE influences and effects of peace, and its conſequence, a diffuſive commerce, are expreſ⯑ſed by ſelecting ſuch circumſtances, as are beſt adapted to ſtrike the imagination by lively pictures; the ſelection of which chiefly con⯑ſtitutes true poetry. An hiſtorian or proſe⯑writer might ſay, ‘"Then ſhall the moſt diſtant nations crowd into my port:"’ a poet ſets before your eyes ‘"the ſhips of uncouth form,"’ that ſhall arrive in the Thames; ^*

And the benevolence and poetry of the ſuc⯑ceeding wiſh, are worthy admiration,

The two epithets native and ſable have pecu⯑liar elegance and force; and as Peru was particularly famous for its long ſucceſſion of Incas, and Mexico for many magnificent works of maſſy gold, there is great propriety in fixing the reſtoration of the grandeur of each to that object, for which each was once ſo remarkable.

THE groupe of allegorical perſonages that ſucceeds the laſt mentioned lines, are worthy the pencil of Rubens or Julio Romano: it may, perhaps, however be wiſhed that the epithets barbarous (diſcord), mad (ambition), hateful (envy), ^† had been particular and pic⯑tureſque, inſtead of general and indiſcrimi⯑nating; though it may poſſibly be urged, that in deſcribing the dreadful inhabitants of the portal of hell, Virgil has not always uſed [29] ſuch adjuncts and epithets as a painter or ſta⯑tuary might work after; he ſays only ultrices CURAE, mortiferum BELLUM, mala MENTIS GAUDIA; particularly, maleſuada is only ap⯑plied to FAMES, inſtead of a word that might repreſent the meagre and ghaſtly figure in⯑tended. I make no ſcruple of adding, that in this famous paſſage, Virgil has exhibited no images ſo lively and diſtinct, as theſe living figures painted by POPE, each of them with their proper inſignia and attributes.

A PERSON of no ſmall rank has informed me, that Mr. Addiſon was inexpreſſibly cha⯑grined at this noble concluſion of WINDSOR-FOREST, both as a politician and as a poet. As a politician, becauſe it ſo highly celebrated that treaty of peace which he deemed ſo perni⯑cious to the liberties of Europe; and as a [30] poet, becauſe he was deeply conſcious that his own CAMPAIGN, that gazette in rhyme, contained no ſtrokes of ſuch genuine and ſublime poetry as the concluſion before us.

IT is one of the greateſt and moſt pleaſing arts of deſcriptive poetry, to introduce moral ſentences and inſtructions in an oblique and indirect manner, in places where one natu⯑rally expects only painting and amuſement. We have virtue, as Mr. POPE remarks, ^* put upon us by ſurprize, and are pleaſed to find a thing where we ſhould never have looked to meet with it. I muſt do a noble En⯑gliſh poet the juſtice to obſerve, that it is this particular art that is the very diſtinguiſhing excellence of COOPERS-HILL; throughout which, the deſcriptions of places, and images raiſed by the poet, are ſtill tending to ſome hint, or leading into ſome reflection, upon moral life, or political inſtitution; much in the ſame manner as the real ſight of ſuch ſcenes and proſpects is apt to give the mind a [31] compoſed turn, and incline it to thoughts and contemplations that have a relation to the object. This is the great charm of the in⯑comparable ELEGY written in a Country Church-Yard. Having mentioned the ruſtic monuments and ſimple epitaphs of the ſwains, the amiable poet falls into a very natural re⯑flection:

OF this art Mr. POPE has exhibited ſome ſpecimens in the poem we are examining, but not ſo many as might be expected from a mind ſo ſtrongly inclined to a moral way of writing. After ſpeaking of hunting the hare, he immediately ſubjoins, much in the ſpirit of Denham,

[32] Where he is deſcribing the tyrannies formerly exerciſed in this kingdom,

He inſtantly adds with an indignation becom⯑ing a true lover of liberty, as ſuch he was,

But I am afraid our author in the following paſſage has fallen into a fault very uncommon in his writings, into a reflection that is very far-fetched and forced;

BOHOURS would rank this compariſon among falſe thoughts and Italian conceits; ſuch particularly as abound in the works of Marino. The fallacy conſiſts in giving deſign and artifice to the wood, as well as to the [33] coquette; and in putting the light of the ſun and the warmth of a lover on a level.

A PATHETIC reflection, properly intro⯑duced into a deſcriptive poem, will have a ſtill greater force and beauty, and more deep⯑ly intereſt a reader, than a moral one. When POPE therefore has deſcribed a pheaſant ſhot, he breaks out into a very maſterly excla⯑mation;

where this exquiſite picture heightens the diſtreſs, and powerfully excites the commi⯑ſeration, of the reader. To this purpoſe I may add a paſſage in an ODE to Fancy, ^† which I have heard commended for a ſimi⯑lar ſtroke of a pathetic nature. After paſſing through various ſcenes, the poet leads us,

The object of fear indicated in the two laſt lines, is, I believe, new and unborrowed, and intereſts us in the ſcene deſcribed. Under this head it would be unpardonable to omit a capital, and, I think, the moſt excellent ex⯑ample extant, of the beauty here intended, in the third Georgic of Virgil: ^* The poet having mournfully deſcribed a heifer ſtruck with a peſtilence, and falling down dead in the middle of his work, artfully reminds us of his former ſervices;

This circumſtance would have been ſufficient, as it raiſed our pity from a motive of grati⯑tude; but with this circumſtance the tender [35] Virgil was not content; what he adds there⯑fore of the natural undeviating temperance of the animal, who cannot have contracted diſ⯑eaſe by exceſs, and who for that reaſon de⯑ſerved a better fate, is moving beyond com⯑pare:

OF Engliſh poets, perhaps, none have excel⯑led the ingenious Mr. Dyer in this oblique inſtruction, into which he frequently ſteals imperceptibly, in his little deſcriptive poem entitled GRONGAR HILL, where he diſpoſes every object ſo as it may give occaſion for ſome obſervation on human life. Denham himſelf is not ſuperiour to this neglected author, in this particular. After painting a landſchape very extenſive and diverſified, he adds;

Another view from his favourite ſpot, gives him an opportunity, for ſliding into the fol⯑lowing moralities.

THE unexpected inſertion of ſuch reflections, imparts to us the ſame pleaſure that we feel, when in wandering through a wilderneſs or grove, we ſuddenly behold in the turning of the walk, a ſtatue of ſome VIRTUE or MUSE.

[37] IT may be obſerved in general, that deſ⯑cription of the external beauties of nature, is uſually the firſt effort of a young genius, before he hath ſtudied manners and paſſions. Some of Milton's moſt early, as well as moſt exquiſite pieces, are his Lycidas, L'Allegro, and Il Penſeroſo; if we may except his Ode on the Nativity of Chriſt, which is indeed prior in the order of time, and in which a penetrating critic might have diſcovered the ſeeds of that boundleſs imagination, which was one day to produce the Paradiſe Loſt. This ode, which, by the way, is not ſufficiently read, or admired, is alſo of the deſcriptive kind; but the objects of his deſcription are great, and ſtriking to the imagination; the falſe gods and goddeſſes of the Heathen forſaking their temples on the birth of our ſaviour, divina⯑tion and oracles at an end! which facts though perhaps not hiſtorically true, are poetically beautiful.

The lovers of poetry, and to ſuch only I write, will not be diſpleaſed at my preſenting them alſo with the following image, which is ſo ſtrongly conceived, that methinks I ſee at this inſtant the daemon it repreſents;

Attention is irreſiſtibly awoke and engaged by that air of ſolemnity, and enthuſiaſm, that reigns in the following ſtanzas:

Such is the power of true poetry, that one is almoſt inclined to believe the ſuperſtitions here alluded to, to be real; and the ſucceed⯑ing circumſtances make one ſtart and look around;

Methinks we behold the prieſts interrupted in the middle of the ſecret ceremonies they were performing, ‘"in their temples dim,"’ gazing with ghaſtly eyes on each other, and terrified and wondering from whence theſe aërial voices ſhould proceed! I have dwelt [40] chiefly on this ode as much leſs celebrated than L'Allegro and Il Penſoroſo, which are now univerſally known, but which by a ſtrange fatality lay in a ſort of obſcurity, the private enjoyment of a few curious readers, till they were ſet to admirable muſic by Mr. Handel. And indeed this Volume of Milton's miſcellaneous poems has not till very lately met with ſuitable regard. Shall I offend any rational admirer of POPE by remarking, that theſe juvenile deſcriptive poems of Milton, as well as his latin elegies, are of a ſtrain far more exalted than any the former author can boaſt? Let me add at the ſame time, what juſtice obliges me to add, that they are far more incorrect. For in the very ode before us, occur one or two paſſages, that are pue⯑rile and affected, to a degree not to be paral⯑lelled in the purer, but leſs elevated, compoſi⯑tions of POPE. The ſeaſon being winter, Mil⯑ton has ſaid, that in honour to Jeſus,

[41] And afterwards obſerves, in a very epigram⯑matic and very forced thought, unſuitable to the dignity of the ſubject and of the reſt of the ode, that, ‘"ſhe wooed the air, to hide her guilty front with innocent ſhow,"’

‘"C'eſt aſſez, to apply the words of the ſenſible Voltaire, d'avoir cru appercevoir quelques er⯑reurs d'invention dans ce grand genie; c'eſt une conſolation pour un eſprit auſſi bornè que le mien, d'etre bien perſuadé que les plus grands hommes ſe trompent comme le vulgaire."’

IT would be unpardonable to conclude theſe remarks on deſcriptive poeſy, without taking notice of the SEASONS of Thomſon, who had peculiar and powerful talents for [42] this ſpecies of compoſition. Let the reader therefore pardon a digreſſion, if ſuch it be, on his merits and character. Thomſon was bleſſed with a ſtrong and copious fancy; he hath enriched poetry with a variety of new and original images, which he painted from nature itſelf, and from his own actual obſer⯑vations: his deſcriptions have therefore a diſ⯑tinctneſs and truth, which are utterly wanting to thoſe, of poets who have only copied from each other, and have never looked abroad on the objects themſelves. Thomſon was accuſ⯑tomed to wander away into the country for days and for weeks, attentive to, ‘"each rural ſight, each rural ſound;"’ while many a poet who has dwelt for years in the Strand, has attempted to deſcribe fields and rivers, and generally ſucceeded accordingly. Hence that nauſeous repetition of the ſame circum⯑ſtances; hence that diſguſting impropriety of introducing what may be called a ſet of here⯑ditary images, without proper regard to the age, or climate, or occaſion, in which they were formerly uſed. Though the diction of [43] the SEASONS is ſometimes harſh and inharmo⯑nious, and ſometimes turgid and obſcure, and though in many inſtances, the numbers are not ſufficiently diverſified by different pauſes, yet is this poem on the whole, from the num⯑berleſs ſtrokes of nature in which it abounds, one of the moſt captivating and amuſing in our language, and which, as its beauties are not of a fugacious kind, as depending on par⯑ticular cuſtoms and manners, will ever be peruſed with delight. The ſcenes of Thom⯑ſon are frequently as wild and romantic as thoſe of Salvator Roſa, pleaſingly varied with precipices and torrents, and ‘"caſtled cliffs,"’ and deep vallies, with piny mountains, and the gloomieſt caverns. Innumerable are the little circumſtances in his deſcriptions, totally unobſerved by all his predeceſſors. What poet hath ever taken notice of the leaf, that towards the end of autumn,

Or who, in ſpeaking of a ſummer evening, hath ever mentioned,

Or the following natural image, at the ſame time of the year?

Where do we find the ſilence and expecta⯑tion that precedes an April ſhower inſiſted on, as in ver. 165 of SPRING, or where,

How full, particular and pictureſque is this aſſemblage of circumſtances that attend a very keen froſt in a night of winter!

In no one ſubject are common poets more confuſed and unmeaning, than in their deſcrip⯑tions of rivers, which are generally ſaid only to wind and to murmur, while their qualities and courſes are ſeldom accurately marked; examine the exactneſs of the enſuing deſcrip⯑tion, and conſider what a perfect idea it com⯑municates to the mind.

[46] A groupe worthy the pencil of Giacomo da Baſſano, and ſo minutely delineated, that he might have worked from this ſketch;

He adds, that the ox in the middle of them,

A natural circumſtance, that to the beſt of my remembrance hath eſcaped even the natural Theocritus. Nor do I recollect that any poet hath been ſtruck with the murmurs of the numberleſs inſects, that ſwarm abroad at the noon of a ſummer's day; as attendants of the evening indeed, they have been mentioned;

But the novelty and nature we admire in the deſcriptions of Thomſon is by no means his only excellence; he is equally to be praiſed, for impreſſing on our minds the effects, which the ſcene delineated would have on the pre⯑ſent ſpectator or hearer. Thus having ſpoken of the roaring of the ſavages in the wilderneſs of Africa, he introduces a captive, who though juſt eſcaped from ^† priſon and ſlavery under the tyrant of Morocco, is ſo terrified and aſtoniſhed at the dreadful uproar, that

Thus alſo having deſcribed a caravan loſt and overwhelmed in one of thoſe whirlwinds that ſo frequently agitate and lift up the whole ſands of the deſart, he finiſhes his picture by adding that,

And thus, laſtly, in deſcribing the peſtilence that deſtroyed the Britiſh troops at the ſiege of Carthagena, he has uſed a circumſtance inimitably lively, pictureſque, and ſtriking to the imagination; for he ſays that the admiral not only heard the groans of the ſick that echoed from ſhip to ſhip, but that he alſo pen⯑ſively ſtood, and liſtened at midnight to the daſhing of the waters, occaſioned by throw⯑ing the dead bodies into the ſea;

A minute and particular enumeration of cir⯑cumſtances judiciouſly ſelected, is what chief⯑ly diſcriminates poetry from hiſtory, and ren⯑ders the former, for that reaſon, a more cloſe and faithful repreſentation of nature than the [49] latter. And if our poets would accuſtom themſelves to contemplate fully every object, before they attempted to deſcribe it, they would not fail of giving their readers more new images than they generally do. ^*

[50] THESE obſervations on Thomſon, which however would not have been ſo large, if there had been already any conſiderable cri⯑ticiſm on his character, might be ſtill aug⯑mented by an examination and developement of the beauties in the Loves of the birds, in SPRING, verſe 580. A view of the torrid zone in SUMMER, verſe 626. The riſe of fountains and rivers in AUTUMN, verſe 781. A man periſhing in the ſnows, in WINTER, verſe 277, and the wolves deſcending from the Alps, and and a view of winter within the polar circle, verſe 809, which are all of them highly finiſhed originals, excepting a few of thoſe blemiſhes intimated above. WINTER is in my apprehenſion the moſt valuable of theſe four poems, the ſcenes of it, like thoſe of Il Pen⯑ſeroſo of Milton, being of that awful, and [51] ſolemn, and penſive kind, on which a great genius beſt delights to dwell.

MR. POPE it ſeems was of opinion, that deſcriptive poetry is a compoſition as abſurd as a feaſt made up of ſauces: and I know many other perſons that think meanly of it. I will not preſume to ſay it is equal, either in dignity or utility, to thoſe compoſitions that lay open the internal conſtitution of man, and that IMITATE characters, manners, and ſen⯑timents. I may however remind ſuch con⯑temners of it, that, in a ſiſter-art, landſchape⯑painting claims the very next rank to hiſtory⯑painting; being ever preferred to ſingle por⯑traits, to pieces of ſtill-life, to droll figures, to fruit and flower-pieces; that Titian thought it no diminution of his genius, to ſpend much of his time in works of the former ſpecies; and that, if their principles lead them to condemn Thomſon, they muſt alſo condemn the Georgics of Virgil, and the greateſt part of the nobleſt deſcriptive poem extant, I mean, that of Lucretius.

[52] WE are next to ſpeak of the LYRIC pieces of POPE. He uſed to declare, that if Mr. Dry⯑den had finiſhed a tranſlation of the Iliad, he would not have attempted one after ſo great a maſter; he might have ſaid with more pro⯑priety, I will not write a muſic-ode after Alexander's Feaſt, which the variety and har⯑mony of its numbers, and the beauty and force of its images, have conſpired to place at the head of modern lyric compoſitions. This of Mr. POPE is, however, indiſputably the ſecond of the kind, ^* ‘"propior tamen primo quam [53] tertio,"’ to uſe an expreſſion of Quintilian. The firſt ſtanza is almoſt a perfect concert of itſelf; every different inſtrument is deſcribed [54] and illuſtrated, in numbers, that admirably repreſent, and correſpond to its different qua⯑lities and genius. The beginning of the ſe⯑cond ſtanza, on the power which muſic ex⯑erts over the paſſions, is a little flat, and by no means equal to the concluſion of that ſtanza. The animating ſong that Orpheus ſung to the Argonauts, copied from Valerius Flaccus, for that of Apollonius is of a different nature, is the happily choſen ſubject of the fourth. On hearing which,

Which effects of the ſong, however lively, do not equal the force and ſpirit of what Dryden aſcribes to the ſong of his Grecian artiſt; for when Timotheus cries out REVENGE, raiſes the furies, and calls up to Alexander's view a troop of Grecian ghoſts that were ſlain and left unburied, inglorious and forgotten, each of them waving a torch in his hand, and pointing to the hoſtile temples of the Perſians, and demanding vengeance of their prince, he [55] inſtantly ſtarted from his throne,

while Thais and the attendant princes ruſhed out with him, to ſet fire to the city. The whole train of imagery in this ſtanza is alive, ſublime, and animated to an unparallelled degree; the poet had ſo ſtrongly poſſeſſed himſelf of the action deſcribed, that he places it fully before the eyes of the reader.

THE deſcent of Orpheus into hell is grace⯑fully introduced in the fourth ſtanza, as it naturally flowed from the ſubject of the pre⯑ceding one; the deſcription of the infernal regions is well imagined, and the effects of the muſician's lyre on the inhabitants of hell, are elegantly tranſlated from the fourth Geor⯑gic of Virgil, ^* and happily adapted to the ſubject in queſtion. The ſupplicating ſong at the beginning of the ſixth ſtanza, is highly pathetic and poetical, eſpecially when he con⯑jures the powers below,

Theſe images are pictureſque and appro⯑priated; and theſe are ſuch notes as might,

But the numbers that conclude this ſtanza are of ſo burleſque and ridiculous a kind, and have ſo much the air of an Hudibraſtic ſong at a county election, that one is amazed and con⯑cerned to find them in a ſerious ode, and in an ode of a writer eminently ſkilled, in gene⯑ral, in accommodating his ſounds to his ſen⯑timents.

[57] One would imagine that John Dennis, or ſome hero of the Dunciad, had been here attempting to traveſty this deſcription of the reſtoration of Eurydice to life. It is obſervable, that this is the very meaſure, Addiſon thought was pro⯑per to uſe in the comic character of Sir Truſty; by the introduction of which he has ſo ſtrange⯑ly debaſed and degraded his opera of Roſa⯑mond.

Theſe numbers therefore, according to Ad⯑diſon's ear, conveyed a low and ludicrous idea, inſtead of being expreſſive of triumph and exultation, the images here intended to be impreſſed by POPE.

VIRGIL is again imitated throughout the [58] ſixth ſtanza, which deſcribes the behaviour of Orpheus on the ſecond loſs of Eurydice. I wiſh POPE had inſerted that ſtriking circum⯑ſtance, ſo ſtrongly imagined, of a certain me⯑lancholy murmur, or rather diſmal ſhriek, that was heard all around the lakes of Aver⯑nus, the moment Orpheus looked back on his wife;

And as proſopopeias are a great beauty in lyric poetry, ſurely he ſhould not have omit⯑ted thoſe natural and pathetic exclamations of Eurydice, the moment ſhe was ſnatched back, and which ſhe uttered as ſhe was gra⯑dually ſinking to the ſhades, eſpecially where ſhe movingly takes her laſt adieu,

And adds, that ſhe is now ſurrounded with a vaſt darkneſs, ‘"feror ingenti circumdata [59] nocte,"’ and in vain ſtretching out her feeble arms towards him,

This lively and pathetic attitude would have ſhone under the hands of POPE. The reader, I preſume, feels the effect of the judi⯑cious placing in the verſe, heu! non tua, and of its repetition after tibi. The places in which Orpheus, according to POPE, made his lamentations, are not ſo wild, ſo ſavage and diſmal, as thoſe mentioned by Virgil; to introduce him ‘"beſide the falls of foun⯑tains,"’ conveys not ſuch an image of deſo⯑lation and deſpair, as the caverns on the banks of Strymon and Tanais, the Hyperborean deſarts, and the Riphaean ſolitudes. And to ſay of Hebrus, only, that it ‘"rolls in mean⯑ders,"’ is flat and frigid, and does not heighten the melancholy of the place. There is an antitheſis in the ſucceeding lines, ‘"he glows amid Rhodope's ſnows,"’ which I hope the [60] poet did not intend, as it would be a trivial and puerile conceit. The death of Orpheus is expreſſed with a beautiful brevity and ab⯑ruptneſs, ſuitable to the nature of the ode;

Where inſtead of ſung, Virgil ſays vocabat, which is more natural and tender; and Virgil adds a very moving epithet, that he called miſeram Eurydicen. I am ſenſible POPE never intended an exact tranſlation of the paſſages of the Georgics here alleged; I only hint, that in my humble judgment he has omitted ſome of the moſt ſtriking incidents in the ſtory. I have lately ſeen a manuſcript ode, entitled, ‘"On the Uſe and Abuſe of Po⯑etry,"’ in which Orpheus in conſidered in ano⯑ther, and a higher light, according to ancient mythology, as the firſt legiſlator and civilizer of mankind. I ſhall here inſert a ſtanza of it, containing part of what relates to this ſubject.

I am not permitted to tranſcribe any more, and therefore return to POPE again.

THE beginning of the laſt ſtanza of the ode here examined, ſeems to be a repetition of the [62] ſubject of the ſecond, the power of muſic over the paſſions, which may perhaps be reckoned a blameable tautology; eſpecially as theſe lines,

are inferior, I am afraid, to the former on the ſame ſubject, which contain beautiful and po⯑etical perſonifications;

It is obſervable that this ode of POPE, and the Alexander's Feaſt of Dryden, both of them conclude with an epigram of four lines; a ſpecies of wit as flagrantly unſuitable to the dignity, and as foreign to the nature, of the lyric, as it is of the epic muſe.

[63] IT is to be regretted, that Mr. Handel has not ſet to muſic the former, as well as the latter, of theſe celebrated odes, in which he has diſplayed the combined powers of verſe and voice, to a wonderful degree. No poem indeed, affords ſo much various matter for a compoſer to work upon; as Dryden has here introduced and expreſſed all the greater paſſi⯑ons, and as the tranſitions from one to the other are ſudden and impetuous. Of which we feel the effects, in the pathetic deſcription of the fall of Darius, that immediately ſucceeds the joyous praiſes of Bacchus. The ſymphony, and air particularly, that accompanies the four words, ‘"fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,"’ is ſtrangely moving, ^* and conſiſts of a few [64] ſimple and touching notes, without any of thoſe intricate variations, and affected divi⯑ſions, into which, in compliance with a vici⯑ous and vulgar taſte, this great maſter hath ſometimes deſcended. Even this piece of Handel, ſo excellent on the whole, is not free from one or two blemiſhes of this ſort, particularly in the air, ‘"with raviſh'd ears,"’ &c.

THE moderns have perhaps practiſed no ſpecies of poetry with ſo little ſucceſs, and with ſuch indiſputable inferiority to the anci⯑ents, [65] as the ODE; which ſeems owing to the harſhneſs and untuneableneſs of modern languages, abounding in monoſyllables, and crowded with conſonants. This particularly is the caſe of the Engliſh, whoſe original is Teutonic, and which therefore, is not ſo mu⯑ſical as the Italian, the Spaniſh, or even the French, as not having ſo great a quantity of words derived from the Latin. But the Latin language itſelf, as well as all others, muſt yield to the unparalled ſweetneſs and copiouſ⯑neſs of the Greek. ‘"Tantò eſt ſermo graecus latino jucundior, ſays Quintilian, in his twelfth book, ut noſtri poetae, quoties dulce carmen eſſe voluerunt, illorum id nominibus exornent."’ ^* [66] What line even in the Italian poets is ſo ſoft and mellifluous, as ^*

or as in the tender Bion,

to inſtance in no more? If we caſt a tran⯑ſient view over the moſt celebrated of the mo⯑dren lyrics, we may obſerve, that the ſtanza of Petrarch, which has been adopted by all his ſucceſſors, diſpleaſes the ear, by its tedi⯑ous uniformity, and by the number of iden⯑tical cadences. And indeed to ſpeak truth, there appears to be little valuable in Petrarch, except the purity of his diction. His ſenti⯑ments even of love, are metaphyſical and far fetched, neither is there much variety in his ſubjects, or fancy in his method of treating them; Metaſtaſio is a much better lyric poet. When Boileau attempted an ode, he exhibited a glaring proof, of what will be more fully inſiſted on in the courſe of this Eſſay, that the writer whoſe grand, characteriſtical talent, is [67] ſatyric or moral poetry, will never ſucceed, with equal merit, in the higher branches of this art. In his ode on the taking Namur, are inſtances of the ^* BOMBASTIC, of the PROSAIC, and of the PUERILE. And it is no ſmall confirmation of the ruling paſſion of this author, that he could not conclude his ode, but with a ſevere ſtroke on his old anta⯑goniſt Perrault, though the majeſty of this ſpecies of compoſitions is ſo much injured, by deſcending to perſonal ſatire. The name of Malherbe is reſpectable, as he was the firſt re⯑former of the French poeſy, and the firſt who gave his countrymen any idea of a legi⯑timate ode, though his own pieces have hardly any thing but harmony to recommend them. The odes of la Motte, are fuller of delicate [68] ſentiment, and philoſophical reflection, than of imagery, of figures, and poetry. There are particular ſtanzas eminently good, but not one entire ode. Some of Rouſſeau, particu⯑larly that to Fortune, and ſome of his pſalms; and one or two of Voltaire, particularly, to the king of Pruſſia, on his acceſſion to the throne, and on Meaupertuis's travels to the north, to meaſure the degrees of the meridian towards the equator, ſeem to riſe above that correct mediocrity which diſtinguiſhes the lyric poetry of the French. In this ode of Voltaire, we find a proſopopeia of Americus, and afterwards a ſpeech of Newton, on the deſign of this traveller and his companions, that approach to the ſublime,

I hope I ſhall not tranſgreſs a very ſenſible obſervation of Mr. POPE, who would have a true critic be

if I ſhould ſay we have lately ſeen two or three lyric pieces, ſuperiour to any he has left us; I mean an Ode on Lyric Poetry, and another to Lord Huntingdon, by Doctor Aken⯑ſide; and a Chorus of Britiſh Bards, by Mr. Gilbert Weſt, at the end of the Inſtitution of the Order of the Garter. Both theſe are written with regular returns of the Strophe, Antiſtrophe. and Epode, which gives a truely Pindaric variety to the numbers, that is want⯑ing not only to the beſt French and Italian, but even to the beſt Latin odes. In the pieces here commended, the figures are ſtrong, and the tranſitions bold, and there is a juſt mix⯑ture of ſentiment and imagery: and particularly, they are animated with a noble ſpirit of liber⯑ty. I muſt refer the reader to the characters of Alcaeus and of Milton in the two firſt, and to the ſtanza of Mr. Weſt's ode on the barons procuring magna charta, which I chuſe to give at length, becauſe it contains almoſt all [70] the different meaſures of which the Engliſh language ſeems capable. ^*

THE next LYRIC compoſitions of Pope, are two choruſes inſerted in a very heavy tragedy, altered from Shakeſpear by the Duke of Buck⯑ingham; in which we ſee, that the moſt accu⯑rate obſervation of dramatic rules without genius, is of no effect. Theſe choruſes are [71] extremely elegant and harmonious; but are they not chargeable with the fault, which Ariſtotle imputes to many of Euripides, that they are foreign and adventitious to the ſub⯑ject, and contribute nothing towards the ad⯑vancement of the main action? Whereas the chorus ought, [...],^* to be a part or member of the one Whole, cooperate with it, and help to accela⯑rate the intended event; as is conſtantly, adds the philoſopher, the practiſe of Sophocles. Whereas theſe reflections of POPE on the baneful influences of war, on the arts and learning, and on the univerſal power of love, ſeem to be too general, are not ſufficiently appropriated, do not riſe from the ſubject and occaſion, and might be inſerted with e⯑qual propriety in twenty other tragedies. This remark of Ariſtotle, tho he does not himſelf produce any examples, may be verified from the following among many others. In the Phoenicians of Euripides, they ſing [72] a long and very beautiful, but ill placed, hymn to Mars; I ſpeak of that which begins ſo nobly,

‘"O woeful Mars! why art thou ſtill delight⯑ed with blood and with death, and why an enemy to the feaſts of Bacchus?"’ And a ſtill more glaring inſtance may be brought from the end of the third act of the Troades, in which the ſtory of Ganymede is introduced not very artificially. ^‡ To theſe may be added that exquiſite ode in praiſe of Apollo, de⯑ſcriptive of his birth and victories, which we find about the middle of the laſt act of the Iphigenia in Tauris. ^†

ON the other hand, the choruſes of Sopho⯑cles never deſert the ſubject of each particular drama, and all their ſentiments and reflections are drawn from the ſituation of the principal perſonage of the fable. Nay Sophocles hath [73] artfully found a method of making thoſe poetical deſcriptions, with which the choruſes of the ancients abound, carry on the chief deſign of the peice, and has by theſe means accompliſhed what is a great difficulty in writ⯑ing tragedy, has united poetry with propriety. In the ^* Philoctetes the chorus takes a natural occaſion, at verſe 694, to give a minute and moving picture of the ſolitary life of that unfortunate hero; and when afterwards at verſe 855, pain has totally exhauſted the ſtrength and ſpirits of Philoctetes, and it is neceſſary for the plot of the tragedy that he ſhould fall aſleep, it is then, that the chorus breaks out into an exquiſite ode to ſleep. As in the Antigone, with equal beauty and decorum in an addreſs to the god of love, at verſe 791 of that play. And thus laſtly, when [74] the birth of Edipus is doubtful, and his pa⯑rents unknown, the chorus ſuddenly exclaims, ‘" [...]; From which, O my ſon, of the immortal gods didſt thou ſpring? Was it ſome nymph afavourite of Pan that haunts the mountains, or ſome daughter of Apollo, for this god loves the remote rocks and caverns; or was it Mercury who reigns in Cyllene; or did Bacchus, [...], a god who dwells on the tops of the mountains, beget you, on any of the nymphs that fre⯑quent Helicon, with whom he frequently ſports?"^*’

THE judicious author of the tragedy of Elfrida, hath given occaſion to a kind of controverſy among the more curious critics, concerning the utility of the chorus, which, after the model of the ancients, he hath en⯑deavoured to revive. To imagine, that the great Grecian maſters retained it only out of reſpect to its antiquity, and from no intrin⯑ſic [75] valuableneſs or propriety of the thing, can ſcarcely be imagined. The ſentiments of the excellent Brumoy are moderate and rational, and ſeem to comprehend all that is neceſſary to be ſaid on this ſubject. ‘"I know ſays he, the chorus is attended with inconve⯑niences, and that it has ſometimes com⯑pelled the ancients to violate probability; but it notwithſtanding is apparent by the uſe they ſometimes made of it, that its advantages exceed its inconveniences. Sophocles had the addreſs to withdraw his chorus for a few moments, when their abſence was neceſſary, as in the Ajax. If the chorus therefore incommodes the poet, and puts him under difficulties, he muſt charge it ſolely to his own want of dexterity. What advantage, on the other hand, may he not reap, from a body of actors that fill the ſtage; that render more lively, ſtriking, and ſenſible, the continuity of the action, and give it the air of greater PROBABILITY, ſince it is not natural or con⯑ceivable, that a great and illuſtrious action, [76] ſuch as a revolution in a ſtate, ſhould paſs without witneſſes. We perceive and feel a kind of void on our ſtage, on account of the ab⯑ſence of choruſes; and the ſucceſsful attempt of Racine, who adopted and revived the uſe of them in his ATHALIA and ESTHER, were ſufficient, one would imagine, to undeceive and convince us, of their importance, and utility. The baniſhment of the chorus has been the neceſſary conſequence of the cuſ⯑tom of the moderns, to take for their repre⯑ſentations, ALL kinds of ſubjects; whereas the ancients treated only ſuch actions as were publicly tranſacted: and to fill, and indeed overcharge the action with incidents and ſurprizes. For how could theſe ſub⯑jects, and theſe various crowded events and incidents, have been poſſibly introduced in a public place, expoſed to the view of cour⯑tiers and the people, while the generality of our tragedies turn on particular and pri⯑vate affairs, ou la cour et le peuple n'en⯑trent ſouvent pour rien? the Athenian ſpec⯑tators were ever accuſtomed to concern [77] themſelves in all public affairs, and to be witneſſes and judges of them. The modern ſtage, by its diſuſe of the chorus, may per⯑haps have gained a great number of fine ſubjects for tragedy; yet, in return, it is burthened with confidents, it looſes the continuity of action, and is deprived of the magnificent ſpectacle that ſerves to ſupport that action, and which is, if I may be al⯑lowed the expreſſion, le fonds, ou l 'accom⯑pagnement du tableau."^*’

I THOUGHT it more equitable, as well as more convincing, to quote at large the words of this admirable critic, whoſe work is one of the moſt valuable that his elegant nation hath produced, than to adopt, as ſome have done with ſmall variations, his opinion, with⯑out acknowledging the debt. An apology would be neceſſary for this digreſſion, if it was not my profeſſed deſign in this Eſſay, to expatiate into ſuch occaſional diſquiſitions, as [78] naturally ariſe from the ſubject; it has how⯑ever kept us too long from ſurveying a valuable literary curioſity, I mean the earlieſt produc⯑tion of POPE, written when he was not twelve years old, his ODE ON SOLITUDE. The firſt ſketches of ſuch an artiſt ought highly to be prized. Different geniuſes unfold them⯑ſelves, at different periods of life. In ſome minds the ore is a long time in ripening. Not only inclination, but opportunity and encou⯑ragement, a proper ſubject, or a proper pa⯑tron, influence the exertion or the ſuppreſſion of genius. Theſe ſtanzas on Solitude, are a ſtrong inſtance of that contemplative and mo⯑ral turn, which was the diſtinguiſhing charac⯑teriſtic of our poet's mind. An ode of Cowley which he produced at the age of thirteen years, is of the ſame caſt, and perhaps not in the leaſt inferior to this of POPE. The voluminous Lopez de Vega, is commonly, but I fear incredibly, reported by the Spani⯑ards, to have compoſed verſes when he was five years old; and Torquato Taſſo, the ſe⯑cond [79] of the Italian poets, for that wonderful original Dante is the firſt, is ſaid to have re⯑cited poems and orations of his writing, when he was ſeven. It is however certain, which is more extraordinary, that he produced his Rinaldo in his eighteenth year, no bad pre⯑curſor to the Gieruſalemma Liberata, and no ſmall effort of that genius, which was one day to ſhew, how fine an epic poem the Ita⯑lian language, notwithſtanding the vulgar imputation of effeminacy, was capable of producing.

THOSE who are fond of biographical anec⯑dotes, which are ſome of the moſt amuſive and inſtructive parts of hiſtory, will be per⯑haps pleaſed with the following particulars in the life of POPE. He frequently declared, that the time of his beginning to write verſes, was ſo very early in his life, that he could ſcarcely recal it to his memory. When he was yet a child, his father, who had been a mer⯑chant in London, and retired to Binfield with about twenty thouſand pounds, would fre⯑quently [80] order him to make Engliſh verſes. It ſeems he was difficult to be pleaſed, ^* and would make the lad correct them again and again. When at laſt he approved them, he took great pleaſure in peruſing them, and would ſay, ‘"theſe are good RHYMES."’ Theſe early praiſes of a tender and reſpected parent, cooperating with the natural inclina⯑tion of the ſon, may poſſibly be the cauſes that fixed our young bard in a reſolution of becoming eminent in this art. He was taught to read very early by an aunt; and of his own indefatigable induſtry learned to write, by copying printed books, which he executed with great neatneſs and exactneſs. When he was eight years old, he was put under the direction of one Taverner, a prieſt, who taught him the rudiments of the latin and greek tongues together. About this time he accidentally met with Ogilby's tranſlation of Homer, which, notwithſtanding the deadneſs and inſipidity of the verſification, arreſted [81] his attention by the force of the ſtory. The Ovid of Sandys fell next in his way; and it is ſaid, that the raptures theſe tranſlations gave him were ſo ſtrong, that he ſpoke of them with pleaſure to the period of his life. About ten, being now at ſchool at Hide-park corner, whither he went from a popiſh ſemi⯑nary at Twiford, near Wincheſter, he was carried ſometimes to the playhouſe; and be⯑ing ſtruck, we may imagine, with theatrical repreſentations, he turned the chief events into a kind of play, made up of a number of ſpeeches from Ogilby's tranſlation, connected with verſes of his own. He perſuaded the upper boys to act this piece, which, from its curioſity, one would have been glad to have beheld. The maſter's gardener repreſented the character of Ajax; and the actors were dreſſed after the pictures of his favourite Ogil⯑by, far the beſt part of that book, as they were deſigned and engraved by artiſts of note. At twelve, he retired with his father into Windſor-Foreſt; and it was there he firſt peruſed the writings of Waller, of Spenſer, [82] and of Dryden. The ſecond is ſaid to have made a poet of Cowley; that Ogilby ſhould give our author his firſt poetic pleaſures, is a remarkable circumſtance. On the firſt ſight of Dryden he abandoned the reſt, having now found an author, whoſe caſt was exactly con⯑genial with his own. His works therefore he ſtudied, with equal pleaſure and attention: he placed them before his eyes as a model; of which more will be ſaid in the courſe of theſe papers. He copied not only his harmo⯑nious verſification, but the very turns of his periods. It was hence he was enabled to give to rhyme all the harmony of which it is capable. ^*

ABOUT this time, that is about fifteen years old, he began to write his ALCANDER, an epic poem, of which he himſelf ſpeaks with ſo much amiable frankneſs and ingenuity, in a paſſage reſtored to his excellent preface to his works. ‘"I confeſs there was a time when [83] I was in love with myſelf, and my firſt productions were the children of ſelf-lvoe upon innocence. I had made an epic poem, and panegyrics on all the princes of Europe, and I thought myſelf the greateſt genius that ever was. I cannot but regret theſe delightful viſions of my childhood, which, like the fine colours we ſee when our eyes are ſhut, are vaniſhed for ever."’ Atterbury had peruſed this early piece, and, we may gather from one of his letters, adviſed him to burn it; though he adds, ‘"I would have interceeded for the firſt page, and put it, with your leave, among my curioſities."^*’ I have been credibly informed, that ſome of the anonymous verſes, quoted as examples of the Art of Sinking in Poetry, in the incom⯑parable ſatire ſo called, were ſuch as our poet remembered from his own ALCANDER. So ſenſible of its own errors and imperfections is a mind truly great.

[84] QUINTILIAN, whoſe knowledge of human nature was conſummate, has obſerved, that nothing very correct and faultleſs, is to be ex⯑pected in very early years, from a truly ele⯑vated genius: that a generous extravagance and exuberance are its proper marks, and that a premature exactneſs is a certain evi⯑dence of future flatneſs and ſterility. His words are incomparable, and worthy conſide⯑ration. ^* ‘"Audeat haec aetas plura, et INVE⯑NIAT, et inventis gaudeat, ſint licet illa non ſatis interim ſicca et ſevera. Facile remedium eſt ubertatis, ſterilia nullo labore vincuntur. Illa mihi in pueris natura nimi⯑um ſpei dabit, in quâ INGENIUM judicio praeſumitur. Materiam eſſe primum volo vel abundantiorem, atque ultra quam opor⯑tet fuſam. Multum inde decoquent anni, multum ratio limabit, aliquid velut uſu ip⯑ſo deteretur, ſit modo unde excidi poſſit et quod exculpi: erit autem, ſi non ab ini⯑tio tenuem laminam duxerimus, et quam [85] caelatura altior rumpat.—Quare mihi ne maturitas quidem ipſa feſtinet, nec muſta in lacu ſtatim auſtera ſint; ſic et annos ferent, et vetuſtate proficient."’ This is very ſtrong and maſculine ſenſe, expreſſed and enlivened by a train of metaphors, all of them elegant, and well preſerved. Whether theſe early productions of POPE, would not have appeared to Quintilian to be rather too finiſhed, correct, and pure, and what he would have inferred concerning them, is too delicate a ſubject for me to enlarge upon. Let me rather add an entertaining anecdote. When Guido and Domenichino had each of them painted a picture in the Church of Saint Andrew, Annibal Carrache, their maſter, was preſſed to declare, which of his two pupils had excelled. The picture of Guido repreſented Saint Andrew on his knees before the croſs, that of Domenichino repreſented the flagel⯑lation of that apoſtle. Both of them in their different kinds were capital pieces, and were painted in freſco, oppoſite each other, to eter⯑nize, as it were, their rivalſhip and conten⯑tion [86] Guido, ſaid Carrache, has performed as a maſter, and Domenichino as a ſcholar. But, added he, the worth of the ſcholar is more valuable than that of the maſter. In truth, one may perceive faults in the picture of Domenichino that Guido has avoided; but then there are noble ſtrokes, not to be found in that of his rival. It was eaſy to diſcern a genius that promiſed to produce beauties, to which the ſweet, the gentle, and the grace⯑ful Guido would never aſpire.

The laſt piece that belongs to this Section, is the ODE entitled, THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL, written in imitation of the well known ſonnet of Hadrian, addreſt to his departing ſpirit; concerning which it was our author's judicious opinion, that the dimi⯑nutive epithets with which it abounds, ſuch as Vagula, Blandula, were by no means expreſſions of levity and indifference, but rather of endear⯑ment, of tenderneſs and concern. This ode was written we find at the deſire of Steele; and our poet in a letter to him on that oc⯑caſion, [87] ſays—‘"You have it, as Cowley calls it, juſt warm from the brain; it came to me the firſt moment I waked this morn⯑ing; yet you'll ſee, it was not ſo abſolutely inſpiration, but that I had in my head, not only the verſes of Hadrian, but the fine fragment of Sappho."^*’

IT appears however that our author had another compoſition in his head, beſides thoſe he here refers to, for there is a cloſe and ſur⯑priſing reſemblance ^† between this ode of POPE, and one of a very obſcure and juſtly forgotten rhymer of the age of Charles the ſecond, namely Thomas Flatman; from whoſe dunghill, as well as from the dregs of ^‡ Craſhaw, of Carew, of Herbert, and others, (for it is well known he was a great [88] reader of all thoſe poets) POPE has very judiciouſly collected gold. And the follow⯑ing ſtanza is perhaps the only valuable one Flatman ^* has produced.

The third and fourth lines are eminently good and pathetic, and the climax well preſerved; the very turn of them is cloſely copied by POPE; as is likewiſe the ſtriking circum⯑ſtance of the dying man's imagining he hears a voice calling him away;

I AM ſenſible of the difficulty of diſtin⯑guiſhing reſemblances from thefts; and of what a late critic has urged, that a want of ſeeming originality ariſes frequently, not from a barrenneſs and timidity of genius, but from invincible neceſſity, and the nature of things: that the works of thoſe who profeſs an art, whoſe eſſence is imitation, muſt needs be ſtamped with a cloſe reſemblance to each other, ſince the objects material or animate, extraneous or internal, which they all imi⯑tate, lie equally open to the obſervation of all, and are perfectly ſimilar. Deſcriptions there⯑fore that are faithful and juſt, MUST BE UNI⯑FORM AND ALIKE; the firſt copier may be perhaps entitled to the praiſe of priority, but a ſucceeding one ought not certainly to be condemned for plagiariſm.

THESE general obſervations however true, do not, I think, extend to the caſe before us, becauſe not only the thoughts, but even the [90] words are copied; and becauſe the images, eſpecially the laſt, are ſuch, as are not imme⯑diately impreſſed by ſenſible objects, and which therefore, on account of their SINGU⯑LARITY, did not lie in common for any poet to ſeize. Let us however moderate the matter, and ſay, what perhaps is the real fact, that POPE fell into the thoughts of Flatman una⯑wares, and without deſign; and having for⯑merly read him, imperceptibly adopted this paſſage, even without knowing that he had borrowed it. That this will frequently hap⯑pen, is evident from the following curious particulars related by Menage, ^* which, be⯑cauſe much has been ſaid of late on this head by many writers of criticiſm, I ſhall here inſert. ‘"I have often heard M. Chapelain, and M. Dandilly declare, that they wrote the following line,"’

without knowing it was in Malherbe; and the moment I am making this remark, recollect [91] that the ſame thing happened to M. Furetiere. I have often heard Corneille declare, that he inſerted in his Polyeucte, two celebrated lines concerning fortune, without knowing they were the property of M. Godeau biſhop of Vence;

GODEAU had inſerted them in an ode to Car⯑dinal Richleiu, fifteen years before Polyeucte was written. Porphyry in a fragment of his book on Philology, quoted by Euſe⯑bius, in the tenth book of his Evangelical preparation, makes mention of an author named Aretatedes, who compoſed an entire treatiſe on this ſort of reſemblances. And St. Jerom relates, that his preceptor Do⯑natus, explaining that ſenſible paſſage in Terence, ‘"Nihil eſt dictum quod non dictum ſuit prius,"’ railed ſeverely at the ancients, for taking from his his beſt thoughts; ‘"Pereant qui ante nos, noſtra dixerunt."’

[92] MENAGE makes theſe obſervations on oc⯑caſion of a paſſage in the Poetics of Vida, intended to juſtify borrowing the thoughts and even expreſſions of others, which paſſage is very applicable to the ſubject before us:

Menage adds, that he intended to compile a regular treatiſe on the thefts and imitations of the poets. As his reading was very exten⯑ſive, his work would probably have been very entertaining. For ſurely it is no trivial amuſement, to trace an applauded ſentiment or deſcription to its ſource, and to remark, with what ^† judgment and art it is adapted and inſerted; provided this be done with ſuch a ſpirit of modeſty and candour, as evidently ſhews, the critic intends merely to gratify [93] curioſity, and not to indulge envy, malig⯑nity, and a petulant deſire of dethroning eſtabliſhed ^‡ reputations. Thus for inſtance, ſays the Rambler, ^† ‘"it can ſcarcely be doubt⯑ed, that in the firſt of the following paſ⯑ſages POPE remembered OVID, and that in the ſecond ^* he copied CRASHAW, be⯑cauſe there is a concurrence of more re⯑ſemblances, than can be imagined to have happened by chance."’

Two other critics have alſo remarked ſome farther remarkable coincidencies of POPE's thought and expreſſions, with thoſe of other writers, which are here inſerted, as they can⯑not fail of entertaining the curious.

The concluſion of the epitaph on Gay, where he obſerves, that his honour conſiſts not in being entombed among kings and heroes,

is adopted from an old Latin elegy on the death of prince Henry; this conceit of his friend's being enſhrined in the hearts of the virtuous, is, by the way, one of the moſt forced and far-fetched, that POPE has fallen into. ^†

BEN JOHNSON, as another ingenious critic has remarked, wrote an elegy on the lady [96] Anne Pawlet, Marchioneſs of Winton; the beginning of which POPE ſeems to have thought of, when he wrote his verſes, to the Memory of an unfortunate lady. Johnſon begins his elegy,

In which ſtrain POPE beautifully breaks out,

as Johnſon now lies before me, I may perhaps be pardoned for pointing out another paſſage in him, which POPE probably remem⯑bered, when he wrote the following:

Thus Johnſon ſpeaking of a parcel of books,

I SHOULD be ſenſibly touched at the injuri⯑ous imputation of ſo ungenerous, and indeed impotent a deſign, as that of attempting to diminiſh, or fully the reputation of ſo valu⯑able a writer as POPE, by the moſt diſtant hint, or accuſation of his being a plagiary; a writer, to whom the Engliſh poeſy, and the Engliſh language is everlaſtingly indebted: but we may ſay of his imitations, what his poetical father Dryden ſaid of another, who deſerved not ſuch a panegyric ſo juſtly as our author: ‘"HE INVADES AUTHORS LIKE A MONARCH, AND WHAT WOULD BE THEFT IN OTHER POETS, IS ONLY VICTORY IN HIM."^†’ For indeed he never works on the ſame ſubject with another, without heightening the piece with more maſterly ſtrokes, and a more artful pencil. And, as was obſerved of Auguſtus, what he finds [98] merely coarſe brick, he leaves magnificent marble. Thoſe who flattered themſelves, that they ſhould diminiſh the reputation of Boi⯑leau, by printing, in the manner of a com⯑mentary at the bottom of each page of his works, the many lines he has borrowed from Horace and Juvenal, were groſsly deceived. The verſes of the ancients, which this poet hath turned into French with ſo much ad⯑dreſs, and which he hath happily made ſo homogeneous, and of a piece with the reſt of the work, that every thing ſeems to have been conceived in a continued train of thought, by the very ſame perſon, confer as much honour on M. Deſpreaux, as the verſes which are purely his own. The original turn which he gives to his tranſlations, ^† the bold⯑neſs [99] of his expreſſions, ſo little forced and unnatural, that they ſeem to be born, as it were with, his thoughts, diſplay almoſt as much invention, as the firſt production of a thought entirely new. This induced La Bruyere to ſay, ‘"que Deſpreaux paroiſſoit creer les penſees d'autruy."’ Both he and POPE might have anſwered to their ^* accuſers, in the words with which Virgil is ſaid to have replied, to thoſe who accuſed him of borrowing all that was valuable in his Aeneid from Homer; ‘CUR NON ILLI QUOQUE EADEM FURTA TENTARENT? VERUM INTELLECTUROS, FACILIUS ESSE HERCULI CLAVUM, QUAM HOMERO VERSUM SURRIPERE.^†’

SECT. III. Of the ESSAY on Criticiſm.

WE are now arrived at a poem of that ſpecies, for which our author's ge⯑nius was particularly turned, the DIDACTIC and the MORAL; it is therefore, as might be expected, a maſter-piece in its kind. I have been ſometimes inclined to think, that the praiſes Addiſon has beſtowed on it, ^* were a little partial and invidious. ‘"The obſerva⯑tions, ſays he, follow one another, like thoſe in Horace's Art of Poetry, without that methodical regularity which would have been requiſite in a proſe writer."’ It is however certain, that the poem before us is by no means deſtitute of a juſt integrity, and a lucid order: each of the precepts and re⯑marks naturally introduce the ſucceeding ones, ſo as to form an entire whole. The ingeni⯑ous Mr. Hurd, hath alſo uſefully ſhewn, that [101] Horace obſerved a ſtrict method, and unity of deſign, in his epiſtle to the Piſones, and that altho the connexions are delicately fine and almoſt imperceptible, like the ſecret hinges of a well-wrought box, yet they art⯑fully and cloſely unite each part together, and give coherence, uniformity, and beauty to the work. The Spectator adds; ‘"The ob⯑ſervations in this eſſay are ſome of them un⯑common;"’ there is, I fear, a ſmall mixture of ill-nature in theſe words; for this ESSAY tho' on a beaten ſubject, abounds in many new remarks, and original rules, as well as in many happy and beautiful illuſtrations, and applications of the old ones. We are indeed amazed to find ſuch a knowledge of the world, ſuch a maturity of judgment, and ſuch a penetration into human nature, as are here diſplayed, in ſo very young a writer as was POPE, when he produced this ESSAY; for he was not twenty years old. Correct⯑neſs and a juſt taſte, are uſually not attained but by long practice and experience in any art; but a clear head, and ſtrong ſenſe were [102] the characteriſtical qualities of our author, and every man ſooneſt diſplays his radical excellencies. If his predominant talent be warmth and vigor of imagination, it will break out in fanciful and luxuriant deſcrip⯑tions, the colouring of which will perhaps be too rich and glowing. If his chief force lies in the underſtanding rather than in the imagination, it will ſoon appear by ſolid and manly obſervations on life or learning, ex⯑preſſed in a more chaſt and ſubdued ſtyle. The former will frequently be hurried into obſcurity or turgidity, and a falſe grandeur of diction; the latter will ſeldom hazard a figure, whoſe uſage is not already eſtabliſhed, or an image beyond common life; will always be perſpicuous if not elevated; will never diſ⯑guſt, if not tranſport his readers; will avoid the groſſer faults, if not arrive at the greater beauties of compoſition; The ‘"eloquentiae genus,"’ for which he will be diſtinguiſhed, will not be the ‘"plenum, & erectum, & audax, & praecultum,"’ but the ‘"preſſum, [103] & mite, & limatum."^*’ In the earlieſt letters of POPE to Wycherly, to Walſh, and Cromwell, we find many admirable and acute judgments of men and books, and an intimate acquaintance not only with ſome of the beſt Greek and Roman, particularly the latter, but the moſt celebrated of the French and Italian claſſics.

DU BOS ^† fixes the period of time, at which, generally ſpeaking, the poets and the painters have arrived at as high a pitch of perfection, as their geniuſes will permit, to be the age of thirty years, or a few years more or leſs. Virgil was near thirty when he compoſed his firſt Eclogue; Horace was a grown man when he began to be talked of at Rome as a poet, having been formerly engaged in a buſy military life. Racine was about the ſame age when his ANDROMACHE, which may be regarded as his firſt good tragedy, was played. Corneille was more than thirty [104] when his CID appeared. Deſpreaux was full thirty when he publiſhed his ſatires, ſuch as we now have them; Moliere was full forty when he wrote the firſt of thoſe comedies, on which his reputation is founded. But to excell in this ſpecies of compoſition, it was not ſufficient for Moliere to be only a great poet; but it was more neceſſary for him to gain a thorough knowledge of men and the world, which is ſeldom attained ſo early in life, but without which, the beſt poet would be able to write but very indifferent comedies. Raphael was about thirty years old alſo, when he diſplayed the beauty and ſublimity of his genius in the Vatican. For it is there we be⯑hold the firſt of his works, that are worthy the great name he at preſent ſo deſervedly poſ⯑ſeſſes. When our Shakeſpear wrote his LEAR, Milton his PARADISE LOST, Spenſer his FAIRY QUEEN, and Dryden his MUSIC ODE, they were all of them paſt the middle age of man. From this ſhort review it ap⯑pears, that few poets ripened ſo early as POPE; who ſeems literally and ſtrictly to have [105] fulfilled the precept of Horace in each of it's circumſtances;

he was laborious and indefatigable in his pur⯑ſuits of learning;

and above all, what is of the greateſt conſe⯑quence in preſerving each faculty of the mind in due vigour,

theſe are the two temptations to which a youthful bard is principally ſubject, and into whoſe ſnares he generally falls. If the ima⯑gination be lively, the paſſions will be ſtrong. True genius ſeldom reſides in a cold and phleg⯑matic conſtitution. The ſame temperament, and the ſame ſenſibility that makes a poet or a painter, will be apt to make a man a lover and a debauchee. POPE was happily ſecured from falling into theſe common failings, the bane of ſo many others, by the weakneſs and [106] delicacy of his body, and the bad ſtate of his health. The ſenſual vices were too violent for ſo tender a frame; he never fell into intemperance and diſſipation. May I add, that even his bodily make was of uſe to him as a writer; for one who was acquainted with the heart of man, and the ſecret ſprings of our actions, has obſerved with great penetra⯑tion; ‘"^*It is good to conſider deformity, not as a ſigne, which is more deceivable, but as a cauſe, which ſeldom faileth of the effect. Whoſoever hath any thing fixed in his perſon, that doth induce contempt, hath alſo a perpetual ſpur in himſelfe, to reſcue and deliver himſelf from ſcorne."’ I do not think it improbable, that this circum⯑ſtance might animate our poet, to double his diligence to make himſelf diſtinguiſhed, and hope I ſhall not be accuſed, by thoſe who have a knowledge of human nature, of aſſign⯑ing his deſire of excellence to a motive too mean and ſordid, as well as too weak and inefficacious, to operate ſuch an effect.

It was another circumſtance equally propi⯑tious to the ſtudies of POPE, in this early part of his life, that he inherited a fortune that was a decent competence, and ſufficient to ſupply the ſmall expences, which both by conſtitution and reflection he required. He had no occaſion to diſtract his thoughts by being ſollicitous, ‘"de lodice paranda;"’ he needed not to wait,

his father retired from buſineſs, at the revo⯑lution, to a little convenient box, at Binfield, near Oakingham, in Berkſhire, ^‡ and having converted his effects into money, is ſaid to have brought with him into the country al⯑moſt [108] twenty thouſand pounds. As he was a papiſt he could not purchaſe, nor put his money to intereſt on real ſecurity; and as he adhered to the intereſts of King James, he he made a point of conſcience not to lend it to the new government;

he therefore kept this ſum in his cheſt, and lived upon the principal; till by that time his ſon came to the ſucceſſion, it was almoſt all fairly ſpent. There was however enough left to ſupply the occaſions of our author, ^* and to keep him from the two moſt deſtruc⯑tive [109] enemies to a young genius, want and dependence. ‘"I can eaſily conceive, ſays a late moraliſt, that a mind occupied and overwhelmed with the weight and immen⯑ſity of its own conceptions, glancing with aſtoniſhing rapidity from heaven to earth, and from earth to heaven, cannot willingly ſubmit to the dull drudgery, of examining the juſtneſs and accuracy of a butcher's bill. To deſcend from the wideſt and comprehenſive views of nature, and weigh out hops for a brewing, muſt be invincibly diſguſting to a true genius; to be able to build imaginary palaces of the moſt exqui⯑ſite architecture, but yet not to pay a car⯑penter's bill, is a cutting mortification and diſgrace."^*’

ON the other hand, opulence, and high ſtation would be equally pernicious and un⯑favourable to a young genius; as they would almoſt unavoidably embarraſs and immerſe him, in the cares, the pleaſures, the indo⯑lence, [110] and the diſſipation, that accompany abundance. And perhaps the fortune moſt truly deſireable, and the ſituation moſt pre⯑ciſely proper for a young poet, are marked out in that celebrated ſaying of Charles the ninth of France; ‘"equi et poetae ALENDI ſunt, non SAGINANDI."’

THE ESSAY ON CRITICISM, which occa⯑ſioned the introduction of theſe reflections, was firſt, I am well informed, written in proſe, according to the precept of Vida, and the practice of Racine.

When Racine had fixed on a ſubject for a play, he wrote down in plain proſe, not on⯑ly the ſubject of each of the five acts, but of every ſcene and every ſpeech; ſo that he [111] could take a view of the whole at once, and ſee whether every part cohered, and coopera⯑ted to produce the intended event: when his matter was thus regularly diſpoſed, he was uſed to ſay, ‘"My Tragedy is finiſhed."’

I NOW propoſe to make ſome obſervations on, and illuſtrations of ſuch paſſages and precepts in this ESSAY, as, on account of their utility, novelty, or elegance, deſerve particular atten⯑tion; and perhaps I may take the freedom to hint at a few imperfections, in this SEN⯑SIBLE performance. I ſhall cite the paſſages in the natural order, in which they ſucceſ⯑ſively occur.

• 1.
  In poets as true genius is but rare ^† —

  It is indeed ſo extremely rare, that no country in the ſucceſſion of many ages has produced above three or four perſons that deſerve the title. The ‘"man of rhymes"’ may be eaſily found; but the genuine poet, of a lively plaſtic imagination, the true MAKER [112] or CREATOR, is ſo uncommon a progidy, that one is almoſt tempted to ſubſcribe to the opi⯑nion of Sir William Temple, where he ſays, ‘"That of all the numbers of mankind, that live within the compaſs of a thouſand years, for one man that is born capable of making a great poet, there may be a thouſand born capable of making as great generals, or miniſters of ſtate, as the moſt renowned in ſtory."^*’ There are indeed more cauſes required to concur to the formation of the former than of the latter, which neceſſarily render it's production more difficult.

• 2.
  True taſte as ſeldom is the critic's ſhare. ^‡ —

  La Bruyere ſays very ſenſibly, I will allow the good writers are ſcarce enough; but then I aſk, where are the people that know how to read?

• 3.
  Let ſuch teach others who themſelves excel,

  And cenſure freely who have written well. ^† —

  [113] It is ſomewhere remarked by Dryden, I think, that none but a poet is qualified to judge of a poet. The maxim is however contradicted by experience. Ariſtotle is ſaid indeed to have written one ode; but neither Boſſu nor Hurd, are poets. The penetrating author of the Reflexions on Poetry, Painting, and Muſic, will for ever be read with delight, and with profit by all ingenious artiſts; il ne ſavait pourtant pas la muſique, ſays Voltaire, ^* il n'avoit jamais pu faire de vers, & n'avoit pas un tableau: mais il avoit beaucoup lû, vû, entendû, & reflechi. And Lord Shafteſ⯑bury ſpeaks with ſome indignation on this ſubject; if a muſician performs his part well in the hardeſt ſymphonies, he muſt neceſſa⯑rily know the notes, and underſtand the rules of harmony and muſic. But muſt a man, therefore, who has an ear, and has ſtudied the rules of muſic, of neceſſity have a voice or hand? can no one poſſibly judge a fiddle, but who is himſelf a fidler? can no [114] one judge a picture, but who is himſelf a layer of colours? ^‡ Quintilian and Pliny, who ſpeak of the works of the ancient pain⯑ters and ſtatuaries, with ſo much taſte and ſentiment, handled not themſelves either the pencil or the chiſſel, nor Longinus nor Dio⯑nyſius, the harp. But altho' ſuch as have actually performed nothing in the art itſelf, may not on that account, be totally diſquali⯑fied to judge with accuracy of any piece of workmanſhip, yet perhaps a judgment will come with more authority and force from an artiſt himſelf. Hence the connoiſſeurs highly prize the treatiſe of Rubens, concerning the imitation of antique ſtatues, the art of paint⯑ing by Leonardo da Vinci, and the lives of the painters by Vaſari. As for the ſame rea⯑ſons, Rameau's diſſertation on the thorough baſs, and the introduction to a good taſte in muſic by the excellent, but neglected, Ge⯑miniani, demand a particular regard. The prefaces of Dryden would be equally valu⯑able, [115] if he did not ſo frequently contradict himſelf, and advance opinions diametrically oppoſite to each other. Some of Corneille's diſcourſes on his own tragedies are admirably juſt. And one of the beſt pieces of modern criticiſm, the academy's obſervations on the Cid, was we know the work of perſons who had themſelves written well. And our au⯑thor's own excellent preface to his tranſlation of the Iliad, one of the beſt pieces of proſe in the Engliſh language, is an example how well poets are qualified to be critics.

• 4.
  Some neither can for wits nor critics paſs,

  As heavy mules are neither horſe or aſs;

  Thoſe half-learn'd witlings, numerous in our iſle,

  As half form'd inſects on the banks of Nile;

  Unfiniſh'd things, one knows not what to call,

  Their generation's ſo equivocal. ^* —

  Theſe lines and thoſe preceding, and follow⯑ing them, are excellently ſatirical; and were, I think, the firſt we find in his works, that give an indication of that ſpecies of poetry to [116] which his talent was moſt powerfully bent, and in which, tho' not, as we ſhall ſee, in others, he excelled all mankind. The ſimile of the mule heightens the ſatire, and is new; as is the application of the inſects of the Nile. POPE never ſhines ſo brightly as when he is proſcribing bad authors.

• 5.
  In the ſoul while MEMORY prevails,

  The ſolid pow'r of UNDERSTANDING fails;

  Where beams of bright imagination play,

  The memory's ſoft figures melt away. ^* —

  I hardly believe there is in any language a metaphor more appoſitely applied, or more elegantly expreſſed, than this of the effects of the warmth of fancy. Locke who has embelliſhed his dry ſubject with a vaſt variety of pleaſing ſimilitudes and alluſions, has a paſſage relating to the retentiveneſs of the memory ſo very like this before us, and ſo happily worded, that I cannot forbear giving the reader the pleaſure of comparing them together; only premiſing that theſe two paſ⯑ſages [117] are patterns of the manner in which the metaphor ſhould be uſed, and of the method of preſerving it unmixed with any other idea, and not continuing it too far. Our minds re⯑preſent to us thoſe tombs to which we are approaching; where though the braſs and marble remain, yet the inſcriptions are effa⯑ced by time, and the imagery moulders away. How much the conſtitution of our bodies are concerned in this, and whether the temper of the brain makes this difference, that in ſome, it retains the characters drawn on it like marble, in others like freeſtone, and in others little better than ſand, I ſhall not here en⯑quire; though it may ſeem probable that the conſtitution of the body does ſometimes in⯑fluence the memory; ſince we ſometimes find, a diſeaſe quite ſtrip the mind of all its ideas, and the flames of a fever, in a few days CALCINE all thoſe images to duſt and confu⯑ſion, which ſeemed to be as laſting as if graved in marble. ^*

  [118] WITH reſpect to the truth of this obſer⯑vation of POPE, experience abundantly evinc⯑eth, that the three great faculties of the foul here ſpoken of are ſeldom found united in the ſame perſon. There have yet exiſted, but a few tranſcendant geniuſes, who have been ſingularly bleſt with this rare aſſemblage of different talents. All that I can at preſent recollect, who have at once enjoyed in full vigour, a ſublime and ſplendid imagination, a ſolid and profound underſtanding, an exact and tenacious memory, are Herodotus, Plato, Tully, Livy, Tacitus, Galilaeo, Bacon, Des Cartes, Malebranche, Milton, Burnet of the Charterhouſe, Berkley and Monteſqueiu. Ba⯑con in his Novum Organum, divides the hu⯑man genius into two ſorts; men of dry di⯑ſtinct heads, cool imaginations, and keen ap⯑plication; they eaſily apprehend the diffe⯑rences of things, are maſters in controverſy, and excell in confutation; and theſe are the moſt common. The ſecond ſort are men of warm fancies, elevated thought, and wide knowledge: they inſtantly perceive the re⯑ſemblances [119] of things, and are poets or makers in ſcience, invent arts, and ſtrike out new light wherever they ^* carry their views. This general obſervation has in it all that acuteneſs, comprehenſion, and knowledge of man, which ſo eminently diſtinguiſhed this philoſopher.

• 6.
  One ſcience only will one genius fit;

  So vaſt is art, ſo narrow human wit.—

  Not only bounded to peculiar arts,

  But oft in thoſe confin'd to ſingle parts. ^† —

  When Tully attempted poetry, he became as ridiculous as Bolingbroke when he attempted philoſophy and divinity; we look in vain for that genius which produced the Diſſertation on Parties, in the tedious philoſophical works; of which it is no exaggerated ſatire to ſay, that the reaſoning of them is ſophiſtical and inconcluſive, the ſtyle diffuſe and verboſe, and the learning ſeemingly contained in them not drawn from the originals, but picked up [120] and purloined from French critics and tranſla⯑tions, and particularly from Bayle, from Rapin, and Thomaſſin, (as perhaps may be one day minutely ſhewn) together with the aſſiſtances that our Cudworth and Stanley, happily af⯑forded a writer confeſſedly ignorant of the Greek tongue, who has yet the inſufferable ^* arrogance to vilify and cenſure, and to think [121] he can confute the beſt writers in that beſt language.

  WHEN Fontaine, whoſe tales indicated a truly comic genius, brought a comedy on the ſtage, it was received with a contempt equally unexpected and undeſerved. Terence has left us no tragedy, and the Mourning Bride of Congreve, notwithſtanding the praiſes be⯑ſtowed on it by POPE, in the Dunciad, ^* is certainly a deſpicable performance; the plot is unnaturally intricate, and overcharged with incidents, the ſentiments trite, and the lan⯑guage turgid and bombaſt. Heemſkirk and Teniers could not ſucceed in a ſerious and ſublime ſubject of hiſtory-painting. The latter, it is well known, deſigned cartoons for tapeſtry, repreſenting the hiſtory of the Tur⯑riani of Lombardy. Both the compoſition and [122] the expreſſion are extremely indifferent; and ſome nicer virtuoſi have remarked, that in the ſerious pieces, into which Hogarth has deviated from the natural biaſs of his genius, there are ſome ſtrokes of the Ridiculous di⯑ſcernible, which ſuit not with the dignity of his ſubject. In his PREACHING OF St. PAUL, a dog ſnarling at a cat; and in his PHARAOH's DAUGHTER, the figure of the infant Moſes, who expreſſes rather archneſs than timidity, are alleged as inſtances, that this artiſt, unrivalled in his own walk, could not reſiſt the impulſe of his imagination to⯑wards drollery. His picture, however, of Richard III. is pure and unmixed with any ridiculous circumſtances, and ſtrongly impreſſes terror and amazement. The mo⯑deſty and good ſenſe of the ancients is, in this particular, as in others, remarkable. The ſame writer never preſumed to undertake more than one kind of dramatic poetry, if we except the CYCLOPS of Euripides. A poet never preſumed to plead in public, or to write hiſtory, or indeed any conſiderable [123] work in proſe. The ſame actors never reci⯑ted tragedy and comedy; this was obſerved ſo long ago, as by Plato, in the third book of his REPUBLIC. They ſeem to have held that diverſity, nay univerſality, of excellence, at which the moderns frequently aim, to be a gift unattainable by man. We therefore of Great-Britain have perhaps more reaſon to congratulate ourſelves, on two very ſingular phenomena; I mean, Shakeſpear's being able to pourtray characters ſo very different as FALSTAFF, and MACKBETH; and Garrick's being able to perſonate ſo inimitably a LEAR, or an ABEL DRUGGER. Nothing can more fully demonſtrate the extent and verſatility of theſe two original geniuſes. Corneille, whom the French are ſo fond of oppoſing to Shake⯑ſpear, produced very contemptible comedies; and the PLAIDEURS of Racine is ſo cloſe a reſemblance of Ariſtophanes, as it ought not to be here urged. The moſt univerſal of authors ſeems to be Voltaire; who has writ⯑ten almoſt equally well, both in proſe and verſe; and whom either the tragedy of ME⯑ROPE, [124] or the hiſtory of LOUIS XIV, would alone have immortalized.

• 7.
  Thoſe rules of old, diſcover'd not devis'd,

  Are nature ſtill, but nature methodiz'd;

  Nature, like liberty, is but reſtrain'd

  By the ſame laws which firſt herſelf ordain'd. ^*

  THE precepts of the art of poeſy, were po⯑ſterior to practiſe; the rules of the Epopea were all drawn from the Iliad and the Odyſ⯑ſey; and of Tragedy, from the EDIPUS of Sophocles. A petulant rejection, and an im⯑plicit veneration, of the rules of the ancient critics, are equally deſtructive of true taſte. ‘"It ought to be the firſt endeavour of a writer, ſays the excellent RAMBLER, ^† to diſtinguiſh nature from cuſtom, or that which is eſtabliſhed, becauſe it is right, from that which is right, only becauſe it is eſtabliſhed; that he may neither violate eſſential principles by a deſire of novelty, nor debar himſelf from the attainment of [125] any beauties within his view, by a need⯑leſs fear of breaking rules, where no liter⯑ary dictator had authority to preſcribe."’ The ſame penetrating and judicious author, who always thinks for himſelf, has alſo ano⯑ther paſſage too full of ſtrong ſenſe, and too appoſite to the ſubject before us, to be here omitted.

  "CRITICISM, though dignified, from the earlieſt ages, by the labours of men emi⯑nent for knowledge and ſagacity, and ſince the revival of polite literature, the favorite ſtudy of European ſcholars, has not yet attained the certainty and ſtability of ſci⯑ence. The rules, that have been hitherto received, are ſeldom drawn from any ſet⯑tled principle, or ſelf-evident poſtulate; nor are adapted to the natural and invariable conſtitution of things: but will be found upon examination, to be the arbitrary edicts of dictators exalted by their own authority, who out of many means by which the ſame end may be attained, ſelected thoſe which [126] happened to occur to their own reflection; and then by an edict, which idleneſs and timidity were willing to obey, prohibited any new experiments of wit, reſtrained fancy from the indulgence of her innate inclination to hazard and adventure, and condemned all the future flights of genius, to perſue the path of the Maeonian eagle."

  "THE authority claimed by critics may be more juſtly oppoſed, as it is apparently derived from them whom they endeavour to controul; for we are indebted for a very ſmall part of the rules of writing to the acuteneſs of thoſe by whom they are delivered. The critics have generally no other merit, than that of having read the works of great authors with attention; they have obſerved the arrangement of their matter, and the graces of their expreſſion, and then expect honour and reverence for precepts, which they never could have inven⯑ted; ſo that practice has introduced rules, rather than rules have directed practice."

  [127] "FOR this reaſon, the laws of every ſpecies of writing have been ſettled by the ideas of him by whom it was firſt raiſed to reputa⯑tion; without much enquiry, whether his performances were not yet ſuſceptible of improvement. The excellencies and the faults of celebrated writers have been equally recommended to poſterity; and ſo far has blind reverence prevailed, that the NUMBER of their BOOKS has been thought worthy of imitation."^*

  THIS liberal and manly cenſure of critical bigotry, extends not to thoſe fundamental and indiſpenſable rules, which nature and neceſſity dictate, and demand to be obſerved; ſuch, for inſtance, in the higher kinds of poetry, that the action of the epopea be one, great, and entire; that the hero be eminently diſtin⯑guiſhed, move our concern, and deeply in⯑tereſt us; that the epiſodes ariſe eaſily out of the main fable; that the action commence as near the cataſtrophe as poſſible: and in the [128] drama, that no more events be crowded to⯑gether, than can be juſtly ſuppoſed to happen during the time of repreſentation, or to be tranſacted on one individual ſpot, and the like. But the abſurdity here animadverted on, is the ſcrupulous nicety of thoſe, who bind them⯑ſelves to obey frivolous and unimportant laws; ſuch as, that an epic poem ſhould conſiſt not of leſs than twelve books; that it ſhould end fortunately; that in the firſt book there ſhould be no ſimile; that the exordium ſhould be very ſimple and unadorned: that in a tragedy, only three perſonages ſhould ap⯑pear at once upon the ſtage; and that a tragedy muſt conſiſt of five acts; by the rigid obſervati⯑on of which laſt unneceſſary precept, the poet is deprived of uſing many a moving ſtory, that would furniſh matter enough for three per⯑haps, but not for five acts; with others of the like nature. For the reſt, as Voltaire ob⯑ſerves, ^* whether the action of an epopea be ſimple or complex, completed in a month or in a year, or a longer time, whether the [129] ſcene be fixed to one ſpot, as in the Iliad; or that the hero voyages from ſea to ſea, as in the Odyſſey; whether he be furious like Achilles, or pious like Eneas; whether the action paſs on land or ſea; on the coaſt of Africa, as in the Luziada of Camoens; in America, as in the Araucana of Alonzo D'Ercilla; in heaven, in hell, beyond the limits of our world, as in the Paradiſe Loſt; all theſe circumſtances are of no conſequence: the poem will be for ever an Epic poem, an Heroic poem, at leaſt till another new title be found proportioned to its merit. If you ſcruple, ſays Addiſon, to give the title of an Epic poem to the Paradiſe Loſt of Milton, call it, if you chuſe, a DIVINE poem, give it whatever name you pleaſe, provided you confeſs, that it is a work as admirable in its kind as the Iliad. ‘"Ne diſputons jamais ſur les noms, c'eſt une puerilitè impardonable."’

• 8.
  Hear how learn'd Greece her uſeful rules indites,

  When to repreſs, and when indulge our flights. ^*

  [130] IN the ſecond part of Shafteſbury's ADVICE to an Author, is a judicious and elegant ac⯑count of the riſe and progreſs of arts and ſciences, in ancient Greece; to ſubjects of which ſort, it were to be wiſhed this author had always confined himſelf, as he indiſputably underſtood them well, rather than that he had blemiſhed and belied his patriotiſm, by writing againſt the religion of his country. I ſhall give the reader a paſſage that relates to the origin of criticiſm, which is curious and juſt. ‘"When the perſuaſive arts, which were neceſſary to be cultivated among a people that were to be convinced before they acted, were grown thus into repute; and the power of moving the affections become the ſtudy and emulation of the forward wits and aſpiring geniuſes of the times; it would neceſſarily happen, that many geniuſes of equal ſize and ſtrength, though leſs covetous of public ap⯑plauſe, of power, or of influence over man⯑kind, would content themſelves with the contemplation merely of theſe enchanting arts. Theſe they would the better enjoy, the more [131] they refined their taſte, and cultivated their ear.—Hence was the origin of CRITICS; who, as arts and ſciences advanced, would neceſſarily come withal into repute; and be⯑ing heard with ſatisfaction in their turn, were at length tempted to become authors, and ap⯑pear in public. Theſe were honoured with the name of Sophiſts; a character which in early times was highly reſpected. Nor did the graveſt philoſophers, who were cenſors of manners, and critics of a higher degree, diſdain to exert their criticiſm on the inferior arts; eſpecially in thoſe relating to ſpeech, and the power of argument and perſuaſion. When ſuch a race as this was once riſen, 'twas no longer poſſible to impoſe on mankind, by what was ſpecious and pretending. The pub⯑lic would be paid in no falſe wit, or jingling eloquence. Where the learned critics were ſo well received, and philoſophers themſelves diſ⯑dained not to be of the number; there could not fail to ariſe critics of an inferior order, who would ſubdivide the ſeveral provinces of this empire."^*’

• [132]9.
  Know well each Ancient's proper character;

  His fable, ſubject, ſcope, in every page;

  Religion, country, genius of his age. ^*

  FROM their inattention to theſe particulars, many critics, and particularly the French, have been guilty of great abſurdities. When Perrault impotently attempted to ridicule the firſt ſtanza of the firſt Olympic of Pindar, he was ignorant that the poet, in beginning with the praiſes of WATER^†, alluded to the philoſophy of Thales, who taught that water was the principle of all things; and which philoſophy, Empedocles the Sicilian, a co⯑temporary of Pindar, and a ſubject of Hiero to whom Pindar wrote, had adopted in his beautiful poem. Homer and the Greek tra⯑gedians have been likewiſe cenſured, the for⯑mer for protracting the Iliad after the death of Hector; and the latter, for continuing the AJAX and PHOENISSAE, after the deaths of their reſpective heroes. But the cenſurers did not conſider the importance of burial among [133] the ancients: and that the action of the Iliad would have been imperfect without a de⯑ſcription of the funeral rites for Hector and Patroclus; as the two tragedies, without thoſe of Polynices and Eteocles: for the an⯑cients eſteemed a deprivation of ſepulture to be a more ſevere calamity than death itſelf. It is obſervable that this circumſtance did not occur to POPE^*, when he endeavoured to juſtify this conduct of Homer, by only ſay⯑ing, that as the anger of Achilles does not die with Hector, but perſecutes his very re⯑mains, the poet ſtill keeps up to his ſubject by deſcribing the many effects of that anger, 'till it is fully ſatisfied: and that for this reaſon, the two laſt books of the Iliad may be thought not to be excreſcencies, but eſſential to the poem. I will only add, that I do not know an author whoſe capital excellence ſuffers more from the reader's not regarding his climate and country, than the incomparable Cer⯑vantes. There is a ſtriking propriety in the madneſs of Don Quixote, not frequently [134] taken notice of; for Thuanus informs us, that MADNESS is a common diſorder among the Spaniards at the latter part of life, about the age of which the knight is repreſented. ‘"Sur la fin de ſes jours Mendozza devint furieux, comme font d'ordinaire les Eſpagnols."^†’

• 10.
  Still with itſelf compar'd, his text peruſe,

  And let your comment be the Mantuan Muſe. ^‡

  ALTHOUGH perhaps it may ſeem impoſſible to produce any new obſervations on Homer and Virgil, after ſo many volumes of criticiſm as have been ſpent upon them, yet the fol⯑lowing remarks have a novelty and penetra⯑tion in them that may entertain; eſpecially as the treatiſe from which they are taken is ex⯑tremely ſcarce. ‘"Quae variae inter ſe notae atque imagines animorum, a principibus utriuſque populi poetis, Homero & Virgilio, mirificè exprimuntur. Siquidem Homeri duces & reges rapacitate, libidine, atque [135] anilibus queſtibus, lacrymiſque puerilibus, Graecam levitatem & inconſtantiam referunt. Virgiliani vero principes, ab eximio poeta, qui Romanae ſeveritatis faſtidium, & Latinum ſupercilium verebatur, & ad heroum popu⯑lum loquebatur, ita componuntur ad majeſta⯑tem conſularem, ut quamvis ab Aſiatica mol⯑litie luxuque venerint, inter Furios atque Clau⯑dios nati educatique videantur. Neque ſuam, ullo actu, Aeneas originem prodidiſſet, niſi a praefactiore aliquanto pietate, fudiſſet crebro copiam lacrymarum.—Qua meliorum ex⯑preſſione morum hac aetate, non modo Vir⯑gilius Latinorum poetarum princeps, ſed qui⯑vis inflatiſſimus vernaculorum, Homero prae⯑fertur: cum hic animos proceribus induerit ſuos, ille verò alienos.—Quamobrem va⯑rietas morum, qui carmine reddebantur, & hominum ad quos ea dirigebantur, inter Lati⯑nam Graecamque poeſin, non inventionis tan⯑tum attulit, ſed & elocutionis diſcrimen illud, quod praecipue inter Homerum & Virgilium deprehenditur; cum ſententias & ornamenta quae Homerus ſparſerat, Virgilius, Romano⯑rum [136] aurium cauſa, contraxerit; atque ad mores & ingenia retulerit eorum, qui a poeſi non petebant publicam aut privatam inſtitu⯑tionem, quam ipſi Marte ſuo invenerant; ſed tantùm delectationem."^*’ Blackwell, in his Enquiry into the Life and Writings of Homer, has taken many obſervations from this valu⯑able book, particularly in his twelfth Section.

• 11.
  Some beauties yet no precepts can declare,

  For there's a happineſs, as well as care.

  Muſic reſembles poetry; in each

  Are nameleſs graces, which no methods teach,

  And which a maſter-hand alone can reach. ^†

  POPE in this paſſage ſeems to have re⯑membered one of the Eſſays of Bacon, of which he is known to have been remarkably fond. ‘"There is no excellent beauty, that hath not ſome ſtrangeneſs in the proportion. A man cannot tell whether Apelles or Albert Durer, were the more trifler: whereof the one would make a perſonage by geometrical [137] proportions; the other, by taking the beſt parts out of divers faces, to make one excel⯑lent. Such perſonages, I think, would pleaſe nobody but the painter that made them. Not but I think, a painter may make a better face than ever was; but he muſt do it by a kind of felicity, as a muſician that maketh an excellent ayre in muſic, and not by rule. A man ſhall ſee faces, that if you examine them, part by part, you ſhall find never a good one; and yet altogether doe well."^*’

• 12.
  Thus Pegaſus, a nearer way to take,

  May boldly deviate from the common track;

  From vulgar bounds with brave diſorder part,

  And ſnatch a grace beyond the reach of art,

  Which, without paſſing through the judgment, gains

  The heart, and all it's ends at once obtains. ^†

  HERE is evidently a blameable mixture of metaphors, where the attributes of the horſe and the writer are confounded. The former may juſtly be ſaid to ‘"take a nearer way, and, to deviate from a track;"’ but how can a horſe ‘"ſnatch a grace,"’ or ‘"gain the heart?"’

• [138]13.
  Some figures monſtrous and miſhap'd appear,

  Conſider'd ſingly, or beheld too near,

  Which, but proportion'd to their light, or place,

  Due diſtance reconciles to time and place. ^*

  BY this excellent obſervation, delivered in a beautiful metaphor, all the faults imputed to Homer may be juſtified. Thoſe who cen⯑ſure what is called the GROSSNESS of ſome of his images, may pleaſe to attend to the follow⯑ing remark of a writer, by no means pre⯑judiced in favour of the ancients. ‘"Quant a ce qu'on appelle GROSSIERETE dans les héros d'Homére, on peut rire tant qu'on voudra de voir Patrocle, au neuviéme livre de l'Iliade, mette trois gigots de mouton dans une marmite, allumer & fouſſer le feu, & préparer le diner avec Achille: Achille & Pa⯑trocle n'ent ſont pas moins éclatans. Charles XII. Roi de Suéde, a fait ſix mois ſa cuiſine a Demir-Tocca, ſans perdre rien de ſon he⯑roiſme, & la plûpart de nos generaux qui portent dans une campe tout le luxe d'une [139] cour effeminée, auront bien de la pein a egaler ces heros, qui faiſoient leur cuiſine aux-memes.—En un mot, Homere avoit a repreſenter un Ajax & un Hector; non un courtiſan de Verſailles, ou de ſaint James."^*’

• 13.
  A prudent chief not always muſt diſplay

  His pow'rs in equal rank, and fair array. ^†

  THE ſame may be ſaid of muſic: concern⯑ing which a diſcerning judge has lately made the following obſervation. ‘"I do not mean to affirm, that in this extenſive work [of Marcello] every recitative, air, or chorus, is of equal excellence. A continued elevation of this kind no author ever came up to. Nay, if we conſider that variety, which in all arts is neceſſary to keep up attention, we may per⯑haps affirm with truth, that INEQUALITY makes a part of the character of excellence: that ſomething ought to be thrown into ſhades, in order to make the lights more [140] ſtriking. And, in this reſpect, Marcello is truly excellent: if ever he ſeems to FALL, it is only to RISE with more aſtoniſhing majeſty and greatneſs."^*’ It may be pertinent to ſubjoin Roſcommon's remark on the ſame ſubject.

  —Far the greateſt part

  Of what ſome call neglect, is ſtudy'd art.

  When Virgil ſeems to trifle in a line,

  'Tis but a warning piece, which gives the ſign

  To wake your fancy, and prepare your ſight

  To reach the noble height of ſome unuſual flight. ^†
• 14.
  Hail Bards triumphant born in happier days. ^‡

  DOCTOR Warburton is of opinion, that ‘"there is a pleaſantry in this title, which al⯑ludes to the ſtate of WARFARE, that all true genius muſt undergo while here on earth."’ Is not this interpretation of the word trium⯑phant very far-fetched, and foreign to the author's meaning? Who, I conceive, uſed the word, to denote merely the TRIUMPH, which aroſe from ſuperiority.

• [141]15.
  The laſt, the meaneſt of your ſons inſpire. ^*

  ‘"THIS word laſt, ſays the ſame commen⯑tator, ſpoken in his early youth, as it were by chance, ſeems to have been OMINOUS."’ I am not perſuaded that all true genius died with POPE: and preſume that the Seaſons of Thomſon, the Pleaſures of Imagination, and Odes, of Akenſide, the Night-thoughts of Young, the Leonidas of Glover, the Elegy of Gray, together with many pieces in Dodſley's Miſcellanies, were not publiſhed when Dr. Warburton delivered this inſinuation of a failure of poetical abilities.

• 16.
  So pleas'd at firſt the towring Alps we try,

  Mount o'er the vales, and ſeem to tread the ſky,

  Th' eternal ſnows appear already paſt,

  And the firſt clouds, and mountains ſeem the laſt:

  But, thoſe attain'd, we tremble to ſurvey

  The growing labours of the lengthen'd way;

  Th' increaſing proſpect tires our wand'ring eyes,

  Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps ariſe. ^†

  [142] THIS compariſon is frequently mentioned, as an inſtance of the ſtrength of fancy. The images however appear too general and indiſ⯑tinct, and the laſt line conveys no new idea to the mind. The following picture in Shafteſbury, on the ſame ſort of ſubject, ap⯑pears to be more full and ſtriking. ‘"Beneath the mountain's foot, the rocky country riſes into hills, a proper baſis of the ponderous maſs above: where huge embodied rocks lie piled on one another, and ſeem to prop the high arch of heaven. See! with what trem⯑bling ſteps poor mankind tread the narrow brink of the deep precipices! From whence with giddy horror they look down, miſtruſt⯑ing even the ground that bears them; whilſt they hear the hollow ſound of torrents under⯑neath, and ſee the ruin of the impending rock; with falling trees, which hang with their roots upwards, and ſeem to draw more ruin after them."^*’ See Livy's pictureſque deſcription of Annibal paſſing the Alps.

• [143]17.
  A perfect judge will read each work of wit,

  With the ſame ſpirit, that it's author writ. ^*

  To be able to judge of poetry, ſays Vol⯑taire, a man muſt feel ſtrongly, muſt be born with ſome ſparks of that fire, which animates the poet whom he criticiſes. As in deciding upon the merit of a piece of muſic, it is not enough, it is indeed nothing, to calculate the proportion of ſounds as a mathematician, but we muſt have an ear and a ſoul for muſic. ^†

• 18.
  Thus when we view ſome well-proportion'd dome,

  (The world's juſt wonder, and ev'n thine, O Rome!)

  No ſingle parts unequally ſurpriſe,

  All comes united to th' admiring eyes;

  No monſtrous height, or breadth, or length appear,

  The Whole at once is bold, and regular. ^‡

  THIS is juſtly and elegantly expreſſed; and though it may ſeem difficult to ſpeak of the ſame ſubject after ſuch a deſcription, yet Akenſide has ventured, and nobly ſucceeded.

  [144]

  Mark, how the dread PANTHEON ſtands,

  Amid the domes of modern hands!

  Amid the toys of idle ſtate,

  How ſimply, how ſeverely great!

  Then pauſe! ^* —
• 19.
  Once on a time, La Mancha's knight, they ſay,

  A certain bard encountring on the way. ^§ —

  BY this ſhort tale POPE has ſhewed us, how much he could have excelled in telling a ſtory of humour. The incident is taken from the ſe⯑cond part of Don Quixote, firſt written by Don Alonzo Fernandez de Avellanada, and after⯑wards tranſlated, or rather imitated and new⯑modelled, by no leſs an author than the cele⯑brated Le Sage. ^† The book is not ſo con⯑temptible as ſome authors inſinuate; it was well received in France, and abounds in many [145] of humour and character worthy Cervantes himſelf. The brevity to which POPE's narration was confined, would not permit him to inſert the following humorous dialogue at length. ‘"I am ſatisfied you'll compaſs your deſign, ſaid the other ſcholar, provided you omit the combat in the liſts. Let him have a care of that, ſaid Don Quixote interrupting him, that is the beſt part of the plot. But Sir, quoth the Batchelor, if you would have me adhere to Ariſtotle's rules, I muſt omit the combat. Ariſtotle, replied the Knight, I grant was a man of ſome parts; but his capacity was not unbounded: and give me leave to tell you, his authority does not extend over combats in the liſt, which are far above his narrow rules. Would you ſuffer the chaſte Queen of Bohe⯑mia to periſh? For how can you clear her in⯑nocence? Believe me, COMBAT is the moſt honourable method you can purſue; and, beſides, it will add ſuch grace to your play, that all the rules in the univerſe muſt not ſtand in competition with it. Well, Sir Knight, replied the Batchelor, for your ſake, and for [146] the honour of chivalry, I will not leave out the combat: and that it may appear the more glorious, all the court of Bohemia ſhall be preſent at it, from the princes of the blood, to the very footmen. But ſtill one difficulty remains, which is, that our common theatres are not large enough for it. There muſt be one erected on purpoſe, anſwered the Knight; and, in a word, rather than leave out the combat, the play had better be acted in a field or plain."^*’

• 20.
  Some to conceit alone their taſte confine, ^†

  And glitt'ring thoughts ſtruck out at every line.

  SIMPLICITY, with elegance and propriety, is the perfection of ſtyle in every compoſition. Let us, on this occaſion, compare two paſſages from Theocritus and Ovid upon the ſame ſubject. The Cyclops, in the former, addreſſes Galatea with compariſons, natural, obvious, and drawn from his ſituation.

  [147]

  [...]

  [...]

  [...] ^§

  Theſe ſimple and paſtoral images were the moſt proper that could occur to a Cyclops, and to an inhabitant of Sicily. Ovid could not reſtrain the luxuriancy of his genius, on the ſame occaſion, from wandering into an endleſs variety of flowery and unappropriated ſimilitudes, and equally applicable to any other perſon or place.

  Candidior nivei folio, Galatea, liguſtri;

  Floridior pratis; longâ procerior alno;

  Splendidior vitro; tenero laſcivior haedo;

  Laevior aſſiduo detritis aequore conchis;

  Solibus hybernis, aeſtivâ gratior umbrâ;

  Nobilior pomis; platano conſpectior altâ;

  Lucidior glacie; maturâ dulcior uvâ;

  Mollior & cygni plumis, & lacte coacto;

  Et, ſi non fugias, riguo formoſior horto. ^*

  There are ſeven more lines of compariſon.

• 21.
  Falſe eloquence, like the priſmatic glaſs,

  In gaudy colours ſpreads on every place:

  The face of nature we no more ſurvey,

  All glares alike without diſtinction gay. ^†

  [148] THE nauſeous affectation of expreſſing every thing pompouſly and poetically, is no where more viſible, than in a poem lately publiſhed, entitled AMYNTOR and THEO⯑DORA. The following inſtance may be al⯑leged amongſt many others. Amyntor hav⯑ing a pathetic tale to diſcover, and being at a loſs for utterance, uſes theſe ornamental and unnatural images.

  —O could I ſteal

  From harmony her ſofteſt warbled ſtrain

  Of melting air! or Zephire's vernal voice!

  Or Philomela's ſong, when love diſſolves

  To liquid blandiſhment his evening lay,

  All nature ſmiling round. ^* —

  Voltaire ſays very comprehenſively, with re⯑ſpect to every ſpecies of compoſition, ‘"Il ne faut rechereher, ni les penſeés, ni les tours, ni les expreſſions, & que l'art, dans tous les grand ovrages, eſt de bien raiſonner, ſans trop faire d'argumens; de bien peindre, ſans vouloir tout peindre; d'émouvoir, ſans vouloir toujours exciter les paſſions."^†’

• [149]22.
  Some by old words to fame have made pretence. ^*

  QUINTILIAN's advice on this ſubject is as follows. ‘"Cùm ſint autem verba propria, ficta, tranſlata; propriis dignitatem dat anti⯑quitas. Namque & ſanctiorem, & magis admirabilem reddunt orationem, quibus non quilibet fuit uſurus: eoque ornamento acer⯑rimi judicii Virgilius unice eſt uſus. Olli enim, & quianam, & mis, & pone, pellu⯑cent, & aſpergunt illam, quae etiam in pictu⯑ris eſt gratiſſima, vetuſtatis inimitabilem arti auctoritatem. Sed utendum modo, nec ex ultimis tenebris repetenda."^†’

• 23.
  Where'er you find the cooling weſtern breeze,

  In the next line it whiſpers through the trees. ^§

  UNVARIED rhymes highly diſguſt readers of a good ear. We have not many compoſi⯑tions where NEW and uncommon rhymes are introduced. One or two writers however I cannot forbear mentioning, who have been ſtudious of this beauty. They are Parnelle, [150] Pitt in his Tranſlations from Vida, Weſt in his Pindar, Thomſon in the Caſtle of Indo⯑lence, and the author of an elegant Ode TO SUMMER, publiſhed in a Miſcellany entitled the UNION." ^*

• 24.
  A needleſs Alexandrine ends the ſong. ^†

  ALTHOUGH the Alexandrine may be ſup⯑poſed to be a modern meaſure, yet I would remark, that it was firſt uſed or invented by Robert of Gloceſter, whoſe poem conſiſts entirely of Alexandrine verſes, with the addi⯑tion of two ſyllables; as does that of Warner's ALBION's ENGLAND, with many of the lives in the MIRROR of MAGISTRATES, and Dray⯑ton's POLYOLBION. Moſt of the pſalms of Sternhold and Hopkins are really written ^§ in this meaſure, though commonly printed other⯑wiſe. Dryden was the firſt who introduced it in our Engliſh heroic, for we do not ever find it in Sandys or Waller.

• [151]25.
  And praiſe the eaſy vigor of a line,

  Where Denham's ſtrength and Waller's ſweetneſs join. ^*

  FENTON, in his entertaining obſervations on Waller, has given us a curious anecdote concerning the great induſtry and exactneſs with which Waller publiſhed even his ſmalleſt compoſitions. ‘"When the court was at Windſor, theſe verſes ^† were writ in Taſſo of her Royal Highneſs, at Mr. Waller's requeſt, by the late Duke of Buckingham⯑ſhire; and I very well remember to have heard his Grace ſay, that the author employed the GREATEST PART OF A SUMMER, in com⯑poſing, and correcting them. So that how⯑ever he is generally reputed the parent of thoſe ſwarms of inſect-wits, who affect to be thought eaſy writers, it is evident that he be⯑ſtowed much time and care on his poems, before he ventured them out of his hands."^‡’

• [152]26.
  True eaſe in writing comes from art, not chance,

  As thoſe move eaſieſt who have learn'd to dance. ^*

  IT is well known, that the writings of Voi⯑ture, of Saraſſin, and Fontaine, coſt them much pains, and were laboured into that fa⯑cility for which they are ſo famous, with re⯑peated alterations, and many raſures. Moliere is reported to have paſt whole days in fixing upon a proper epithet or rhyme, although his verſes have all the flow and freedom of converſation. This happy facility, ſaid a man of wit, may be compared to garden⯑terraces: the expence of which does not ap⯑pear; and which, after the coſt of ſeveral millions, yet ſeem to be a mere work of chance and nature. I have been informed, that Addiſon was ſo extremely nice in poliſh⯑ing his proſe compoſitions, that, when almoſt a whole impreſſion of a Spectator was worked off, he would ſtop the preſs, to inſert a new prepoſition or conjunction.

• [153]27.
  Soft is the ſtream, when Zephyr gently blows,

  And the ſmooth ſtream in ſmoother numbers flows;

  But when loud ſurges laſh the ſounding ſhore,

  The hoarſe rough verſe ſhould like the torrent roar;

  When Ajax ſtrives ſome rock's vaſt weight to throw,

  The line too labours, and the words move ſlow;

  Not ſo when ſwift Camilla ſcours the plain,

  Flies o'er th'unbending corn, and ſkims along the main. ^*

  THESE lines are uſually cited as fine ex⯑amples of adapting the ſound to the ſenſe. But that POPE has failed in this endeavour, has been lately demonſtrated by the RAM⯑BLER. ‘"The verſe intended to repreſent the whiſper of the vernal breeze muſt ſurely be confeſſed not much to excell in ſoftneſs or volubility; and the ſmooth ſtream runs with a perpetual claſh of jarring conſonants. The noiſe and turbulence of the torrent, is indeed, diſtinctly imaged; for it requires very little ſkill to make our language rough. But in the lines which mention the effort of Ajax, there is no particular heavineſs or delay. The ſwiftneſs of Camilla is rather contraſted than exemplified. Why the verſe ſhould be [154] lengthened to expreſs ſpeed, will not eaſily de diſcovered. In the dactyls, uſed for that purpoſe by the ancients, two ſhort ſyllables were pronounced with ſuch rapidity, as to be equal only to one long; they therefore natu⯑rally exhibit the act of paſſing through a long ſpace in a ſhort time. But the Alexandrine, by its pauſe in the midſt, is a tardy and ſtately meaſure; and the word unbending, one of the moſt ſluggiſh and ſlow which our language affords, cannot much accelerate its motion."^†’

• 28.
  Be thou the firſt true merit to befriend,

  His praiſe is loſt, who ſtays 'till all commend. ^‡

  WHEN Thomſon publiſhed his WINTER, it lay a long time neglected, 'till Mr. Spenſe made honourable mention of it in his Eſſay on the Odyſſey; which becoming a popular book, made the poem univerſally known. Thomſon always acknowledged the uſe of this early recommendation; and from this circum⯑ſtance, an intimacy commenced between the [155] critic and the poet, which laſted 'till the la⯑mented death of the latter, who was of a moſt amiable benevolent temper.

• 29.
  And ſuch as Chaucer is ſhall Dryden be. ^*

  WALLER has an elegant copy of verſes on the mutability of the Engliſh tongue, which bears a ſtrong reſemblance to this paſſage of POPE.

  Poets that laſting marble ſeek,

  Muſt carve in Latin or in Greek;

  We write in ſand; our language grows,

  And like the tide, our work o'erflows.

  Chaucer his SENSE can only boaſt,

  The glory of his numbers loſt!

  Years have defac'd his matchleſs ſtrain,

  And yet HE DID NOT SING IN VAIN. ^†

  TO fix a language has been found, among the moſt able undertakers, to be a fruitleſs project. The ſtyle of the preſent French Novels and Memoirs, for the French at pre⯑ſent produce little beſides, is viſibly different [156] from that of Boileau and Boſſuet, notwith⯑ſtanding the ſtrict and ſeaſonable injunctions of the Academy: and the diction, even of ſuch a writer as Maffei, is corrupted with many words, not to be found in Machiavel or Arioſto.

• 30.
  So when the faithful pencil has deſign'd

  Some bright idea of the maſter's mind,

  When a new world leaps out at his command,

  And ready nature waits upon his hand;

  When the ripe colours ſoften and unite,

  And ſweetly melt into juſt ſhade and light;

  Where mellowing years their full perfection give,

  And each bold figure juſt begins to live,

  The treacherous colours the fair art betray,

  And all the bright creation fades away. ^*

  I HAVE quoted theſe beautiful lines at lenth, as I believe nothing was ever ſo happily expreſſed on the art of painting: a ſubject of which POPE always ſpeaks con amore. Of all poets whatever, Milton has ſpoken moſt feelingly of muſic, and POPE of painting. [157] The reader may however compare the fol⯑lowing paſſage of Dryden, on the ſame ſubject.

  More cannot be by mortal art expreſs'd,

  But venerable age ſhall add the reſt,

  For Time ſhall with his ready pencil ſtand,

  Retouch your figures with his ripening hand;

  Mellow your colours, and imbrown the tint,

  Add ev'ry grace, which Time alone can grant.

  To future ages ſhall your ſame convey,

  And give more beauties than he takes away. ^*

  IF POPE has ſo much excelled in ſpeaking in the propereſt terms of this art, it may per⯑haps be aſcribed to his having practiſed it; the ſame may be ſaid of Milton, with reſpect to muſic. It may perhaps be wondered at, that a proficiency in theſe arts is not now frequently found in the ſame perſon. I can⯑not at preſent recollect any painters that were good poets; except Salvator Roſa, and Charles Vermander of Mulbrac in Flanders, whoſe comedies are much eſteemed. But the ſatires of the former contain no ſtrokes of that fervid and wild imagination, ſo viſible in his landſchapes.

• [158]31.
  If wit ſo much from ign'rance undergo. ^*

  THE inconveniencies that attend wit are well enumerated in this excellent paſſage. Poets, who imagine they are known and admired, are frequently mortified and hum⯑bled. Boileau going one day to receive his penſion, and the treaſurer reading theſe words in his Order, ‘"The penſion we have granted to Boileau, on account of the ſatisfaction his works have given us,"’ aſked him, of what kind were his works: ‘"Of Maſonry, replied the poet, I am a BUILDER."’ Racine always reckoned the praiſes of the ignorant among the chief ſources of chagrin: and uſed to relate, that an old magiſtrate, who had never been at a play, was carried, one day, to his Andromaque. This magiſtrate was very attentive to the tragedy, to which was added the Plaideurs; and going out of the theatre, he ſaid to the author, ‘"I am extremely pleaſed, Sir, with your Andro⯑maque, I am only amazed that it ends ſo [159] gaily; J'avois d'abord en quelque envie de pleurer, mais la vue des petits chiens m'a fait rire."’

• 32.
  Now they who reach Parnaſſus' lofty crown,

  Employ their pains to ſpurn ſome others down. ^*

  THE arts uſed by Addiſon to ſuppreſs the riſing merit of POPE, which are now fully laid open, give one pain to behold, to what mean artifices envy and malignity will com⯑pel a gentleman and a genius to deſcend. It is certain, that Addiſon diſcouraged POPE from inſerting the machinery in the Rape of the Lock: that he privately inſinuated that POPE was a Tory and a Jacobite; and had a hand in writing the Examiners: that Addiſon himſelf tranſlated the firſt book of Homer, publiſhed under Tickel's name: and that he ſecretly encouraged Gildon to abuſe POPE in a virulent pamphlet, for which Addiſon paid Gildon ten guineas. This uſage extorted from POPE the famous character of Atticus, [160] which is perhaps the fineſt piece of ſatire extant. It is ſaid, that when Racine read his tragedy of Alexander to Corneille, the latter gave him many general commendations, but adviſed him to apply his genius, as not being adapted to the drama, to ſome other ſpecies of poetry. Corneille, one would hope, was incapable of a mean jealouſy, and if he gave this advice, thought it really proper to be given.

• 33.
  When love was all an eaſy monarch's care,

  Seldom at council, never in a war. ^*

  THE diſſolute reign of Charles II. juſtly deſerved the ſatirical proſcription in this paſ⯑ſage. Under the notion of laughing at the abſurd auſterities of the Puritans, it became the mode to run into the contrary extreme, and to ridicule real religion and unaffected virtue. The King, during his exile, had ſeen and admired the ſplendor of the court of Louis XIV. and endeavoured to introduce the ſame luxury into the Engliſh court. The [161] common opinion, that this was the Auguſtan age in England, is exceſſively falſe. A juſt taſte was by no means yet formed. What was called SHEER WIT, was alone ſtudied and applauded. Rocheſter, it is ſaid, had no idea that there could be a better poet than Cowley. The King was perpetually quoting HUDIBRAS. The neglect of ſuch a poem as the Paradiſe Loſt, will for ever remain a monu⯑ment of the bad taſte that prevailed. It may be added, that the progreſs of philological learning, and of what is called the belle lettres, was perhaps obſtructed by the inſti⯑tution of the Royal Society; which turned the thoughts of men of genius to phyſical enquiries. Our ſtyle in proſe was but begin⯑ning to be poliſhed: although the diction of Hobbes is ſufficiently pure; which philoſo⯑pher, and not the FLORID Spratt, was the claſſic of that age. If I was to name a time, when the arts and polite literature, were at their height in this nation, I ſhould mention the latter end of King William, and the reign of Queen Anne.

• [162]34.
  With mean complacence ne'er betray your truſt,

  Nor be ſo civil as to prove unjuſt. ^*

  OUR poet practiſed this excellent precept, in his conduct towards Wycherley; whoſe pieces he corrected, with equal freedom and judgment. But Wycherley, who had a bad heart, and an inſufferable ſhare of vanity, and who was one of the profeſſed WITS of the laſt-mentioned age, was ſoon diſguſted at this candour and ingenuity of POPE; in⯑ſomuch, that he came to an open and unge⯑nerous rupture with him.

• 35.
  Fear not the anger of the wiſe to raiſe;

  Thoſe beſt can bear reproof who merit praiſe. ^†

  THE freedom and unreſervedneſs, with which Boileau and Racine communicated their works to each other, is hardly to be pa⯑rallelled: of which many amiable inſtances appear in their letters, lately publiſhed by the ſon of the latter: particularly in the follow⯑ing. ‘"J'ai trouve que la TROMPETTE & [163] LES SOURDS etoient trop joues, & qu'il ne falloit point trop appuyer ſur votre incommo⯑dite, moins encore chercher de l'eſprit ſur ce ſujet."^*’ Boileau communicated to his friend the firſt ſketch of his ode on the Taking Na⯑mur. It is entertaining to contemplate a rude draught by ſuch a maſter; and is no leſs pleaſing to obſerve the temper, with which he receives the objections of Racine. ^† ‘"J'ai deja retouche a tout cela; mais je ne veux point l'achever que ja n'aie reçû vos re⯑marques, qui ſurement m'eclaireront encore l'eſprit."’ The ſame volume informs us of a curious anecdote, that Boileau generally made the ſecond verſe of a couplet before the firſt; that he declared it was one of the grand ſecrets of poetry to give, by this means, a greater energy and meaning to his verſes; that he adviſed Racine to follow the ſame method, and ſaid on this occaſion, ‘"I have taught him to rhyme difficilement."’

• [164]36.
  No place ſo ſacred from ſuch fops is barr'd,

  Nor is Paul's church more ſafe than Paul's church-yard;

  Nay, fly to altars; there they'll talk you dead:

  For fools ruſh in where angels fear to tread. ^*

  THIS ſtroke of ſatire is literally taken from Boileau.

  Gardez-vous d'imiter ce rimeur furieux,

  Qui de ſes vains ecrits lecteur harmonieux

  Aborde en recitant quiconque le ſalüe,

  Et pourſuit de ſes vers les paſſans dans la rüe,

  Il n'eſt Temple ſi ſaint des Anges reſpecte,

  Qui ſoit contre ſa muſe un lieu du ſurete. ^†

  Which lines allude to the impertinence of a French poet, called Du Perrier; who, find⯑ing Boileau one day at church, inſiſted upon repeating to him an ode, during the elevation of the hoſt; and deſired his opinion, whe⯑ther or no it was in the manner of Malherbe. Without this anecdote, the pleaſantry of the ſatire would be overlooked. It may here be occaſionally obſerved, how many beauties in this ſpecies of writing are loſt, for want of [165] knowing the facts to which they allude. The following paſſage may be produced as a proof. Boileau, in his excellent Epiſtle to his Gar⯑dener at Anteuil, ſays,

  Mon maitre, dirois-tu, paſſe pour un Docteur,

  Et parle quelquefois mieux qu'un Predicateur. ^†

  IT ſeems, our ^* author and Racine returned one day in high ſpirits from Verſailles with two honeſt citizens of Paris. As their con⯑verſation [166] was full of gaiety and humour, the two citizens were vaſtly delighted: and one of them, at parting, ſtopt Boileau with this compliment, ‘"I have travelled with Doctors of the Sorbonne, and even with Religious; but I never heard ſo many fine things ſaid before; en verite vous parlez cent fois mieux qu'un PREDICATEUR."’

  [167] IT is but juſtice to add, that the fourteen ſucceeding verſes in the poem before us, con⯑taining the character of a TRUE CRITIC, are ſuperior to any thing in Boileau's Art of Poetry: from which, however, POPE has borrowed many obſervations.

• [168]37.
  The mighty STAGYRITE firſt left the ſhore,

  Spread all his ſails, and durſt the deep explore.

  He ſteer'd ſecurely, and diſcover'd far,

  Led by the light of the Maeonian ſtar. ^*

  A NOBLE and juſt character of the firſt and the beſt of critics! And ſufficient to repreſs the faſhionable and nauſeous petulance of ſe⯑veral impertinent moderns, who have at⯑tempted to diſcredit this great and uſeful writer! Whoever ſurveys the variety and per⯑fection of his productions, all delivered in the chaſteſt ſtyle, in the cleareſt order, and the moſt pregnant brevity, is amazed at the im⯑menſity of his genius. His logic, however at preſent neglected for thoſe redundant and verboſe ſyſtems, which took their riſe from Locke's Eſſay on the Human Underſtanding, is a mighty effort of the mind: in which are diſcovered the principal ſources of the art of reaſoning, and the dependencies of one thought on another; and where, by the different combinations he hath made of all the forms [169] the underſtanding can aſſume in reaſoning, which he hath traced for it, he hath ſo cloſely confined it, that it cannot depart from them, without arguing inconſequentially. His Phyſics contain many uſeful obſervations, particularly his Hiſtory of Animals; to aſſiſt him in which, Alexander gave orders, that creatures of different climates and countries ſhould, at a great expence, be brought to him, to paſs under his inſpection. His Mo⯑rals are perhaps the pureſt ſyſtem in antiquity. His Politics are a moſt valuable monument of the civil wiſdom of the ancients; as they preſerve to us the deſcription of ſeveral go⯑vernments, and particularly of Crete and Car⯑thage, that otherwiſe would have been un⯑known. But of all his compoſitions, his Rhetoric and Poetics are moſt complete. No writer has ſhewn a greater penetration into receſſes of the human heart, than this philoſo⯑pher, in the ſecond book of his Rhetoric; where he treats of the different manners and paſſions, that diſtinguiſh each different age and condition of man; and from whence Horace [170] plainly took his famous deſcription, in the Art of Poetry. ^* La Bruyere, Rochefoucault, and Montaigne himſelf, are not to be com⯑pared to him in this reſpect. No ſucceeding writer on eloquence, not even Tully, has added any thing new or important on this ſubject. His Poetics, which I ſuppoſe are here by POPE chiefly referred to, ſeem to have been written for the uſe of that prince, with whoſe education Ariſtotle was honoured, to give him a juſt taſte in reading Homer and the tragedians: to judge properly of which, was then thought no unneceſſary accompliſh⯑ment in the character of a prince. To at⯑tempt to underſtand poetry without having diligently digeſted this treatiſe, would be as abſurd and impoſſible, as to pretend to a ſkill in geometry, without having ſtudied Euclid. The fourteenth, fifteenth, and ſixteenth chap⯑ters, wherein he has pointed out the propereſt methods of exciting TERROR and PITY, con⯑vince us, that he was intimately acquainted with thoſe objects, which moſt forcibly affect the [171] heart. The prime excellence of this precious treatiſe is the ſcholaſtic preciſion, and philo⯑ſophical cloſeneſs, with which the ſubject is handled, without any addreſs to the paſſions, or imagination. It is to be lamented, that the part of the Poetics in which he had given precepts for comedy, did not likewiſe deſcend to poſterity.

• 38.
  HORACE ſtill charms with graceful negligence,

  And without method talks us into ſenſe. ^*

  THE vulgar notion, that Horace wrote his Epiſtle to the Piſos without method, has been lately confuted, as we hinted before. ^† It is equally falſe that, that epiſtle contains a com⯑plete Art of Poetry; it being ſolely confined to the ſtate and defects of the Roman drama. The tranſitions in the writings of Horace, are ſome of the moſt exquiſite ſtrokes of his art: many of them paſs at preſent unobſerved; and that his cotemporaries were equally blind to this beauty, he himſelf complains, though with a ſeeming irony,

  [172]

  Cum lamentamur, non APPARERE labores

  Noſtros, et TENUI deducta poemata filo. ^*

  It ſeems alſo to be another common miſtake, that one of Horace's characteriſtics is the SUBLIME: of which indeed he has given a very few ſtrokes, and thoſe taken from Pin⯑dar, and, probably, from Alcaeus. His excel⯑lence lay in exquiſite obſervations on human life, and in touching the foibles of mankind with delicacy and urbanity. 'Tis eaſy to perceive this moral turn in all his compo⯑ſitions: the writer of the epiſtles is diſcerned in the odes. Elegance, not ſublimity, was his grand characteriſtic. Horace is the moſt popular author of all antiquity; the reaſon is, becauſe he abounds in images drawn from familiar life, and in remarks, that ‘"come home to mens buſineſs and boſoms."’ Hence he is more frequently quoted and alluded to, than any poet of a higher caſt.

• 39.
  See DIONYSIUS Homer's thoughts refine,

  And call new beauties forth from ev'ry line. ^†

  [173] THESE proſaic lines, this ſpiritleſs elogy, are much below the merit of the critic whom they are intended to celebrate. POPE ſeems here rather to have conſidered Dionyſius, as the author only of his little Treatiſe concern⯑ing Homer; and to have in ſome meaſure overlooked, or at leaſt not to have ſufficiently inſiſted on, his moſt excellent book, ΠΕΡΙ ΣΥΝΘΗΣΕΩΣ ΟΝΟΜΑΤΩΝ, in which he has unfolded all the ſecret arts that render compoſition harmonious. One part of this diſcourſe, I mean from the beginning of the twenty-firſt to the end of the twenty⯑fourth Section, is perhaps one of the moſt uſeful pieces of criticiſm extant. He there diſcuſſes the three different ſpecies of compo⯑ſition; which he divides into the NERVOUS and AUSTERE, the SMOOTH and FLORID, and the MIDDLE, which partakes of the nature of the two others. As examples of the firſt ſpecies, he mentions Antimachus and Empe⯑docles in heroics, Pindar in lyric, Aeſchylus in tragic poetry, and Thucydides in hiſtory. As examples of the ſecond, he produces Heſiod [174] as a writer in heroics; Sappho, Anacreon, and Simonides, in lyric; Euripides ONLY, among tragic writers; among the hiſtorians, Ephorus, and Theopompus; and Iſocrates among the rhetoricians: all theſe, ſays he, have uſed words that are ΛΕΙΑ, χαι ΜΑΛΑΚΑ, χαι ΠΑΡΘΕΝΩΠΑ. The writers which he al⯑leges as inſtances of the third ſpecies, who have happily blended the two other ſpecies of compoſition, and who are the moſt complete models of ſtyle, are Homer, in epic poetry; Steſichorus and Alcaeus in lyric; in tragic, Sophocles; in hiſtory, Herodotus; in elo⯑quence, Demoſthenes; in philoſophy, Demo⯑critus, Plato, and Ariſtotle.

• 40.
  Fancy and art in gay PETRONIUS pleaſe,

  The ſcholar's learning with the courtier's eaſe. ^*

  FOR what merit Petronius ſhould be placed among uſeful critics, I could never diſcern. There are not above two or three pages, con⯑taining critical remarks, in his work: the chief merit of which is that of telling a ſtory [175] with grace and eaſe. His own ſtyle is more affected than even that of his cotemporaries, when the Auguſtan ſimplicity was laid aſide. Many of his metaphors are far-fetched, and mixed; of which this glaring inſtance may be alleged. ‘"Neque concipere aut edere partum mens poteſt, niſi ingenti flumine literarum inundata:"^*’ where animal con⯑ception and delivery, are confounded with vegetable production. His character of Ho⯑race however celebrated, ‘"Horatii curioſa fae⯑licitas,"’ is ſurely a very unclaſſical in⯑verſion; for he ought to have called it the happy carefulneſs of Horace, rather than his careful happineſs. I ſhall obſerve by the way, that the copy of this author found ſome years ago, bears many ſignatures of its ſpuriouſneſs, and particularly of its being forged by a French⯑man. For we have this expreſſion, ‘"ad CAS⯑TELLA ſeſe receperunt,"’ that is, ‘"to their CHATEAUX,"’ inſtead of ‘"ad Villas."’

• 41.
  In grave QUINTILIAN's copious work we find

  The juſteſt rules, and cleareſt method join'd.

  [176] TO commend Quintilian barely for his me⯑thod, and to inſiſt merely on this excellence, is below the merit of one of the moſt rational and elegant of Roman writers. Conſidering the nature of Quintilian's ſubject, he afforded copious matter, for a more appropriated and poetical character. No author ever adorned a ſcientifical treatiſe with ſo many beautiful metaphors. Quintilian was found in the bot⯑tom of a tower of the monaſtery of St. Gal, by Poggius; as appears by one of his letters dated 1417, written from Conſtance, when the council was then ſitting. The mo⯑naſtery was about twenty miles from that city. Silius Italicus was found at the ſame time and place.

• 42.
  Thee bold LONGINUS all the Nine inſpire,

  And bleſs their critic with a poet's fire. ^*

  THIS abrupt addreſs to Longinus is more ſpirited and ſtriking, and more ſuitable to the character of the perſon addreſſed, than if he had coldly ſpoken of him in the third perſon. [177] The taſte and ſenſibility of Longinus were exquiſite, but his obſervations are too general, and his method too looſe. The preciſion of the true philoſophical critic is loſt in the decla⯑mation of the florid rhetorician. Inſtead of ſhewing for what reaſon a ſentiment or image is SUBLIME, and diſcovering the ſecret power by which they affect a reader with pleaſure, he is ever intent on producing ſomething SUBLIME himſelf, and ſtrokes of his own elo⯑quence. Inſtead of pointing out the founda⯑tion of the grandeur of Homer's imagery, where he deſcribes the motion of Neptune, the critic is endeavouring to rival the poet, by ſaying that, ‘"there was not room enough in the whole earth, to take ſuch another ſtep."’ He ſhould have ſhewn why the ſpeech of Phaeton to his ſon, in a fragment of Euripides, was ſo lively and pictureſque: in⯑ſtead of which, he ardently exclaims, ‘"would not you ſay, that the ſoul of the writer aſ⯑cended the chariot with the driver, and waS whirled along in the ſame flight and danger with the rapid horſes?"’ We have lately [178] ſeen a juſt ſpecimen of the genuine method of criticiſing, in Mr. Harris's accurate Diſcourſe on Poetry, Painting, and Muſic. I have fre⯑quently wondered, that Longinus, who men⯑tions Tully, ſhould have taken no notice of Virgil. I ſuppoſe he thought him only a ſervile copier of the Greeks.

• 43.
  From the ſame foes, at laſt, both felt their doom,

  And the ſame age ſaw learning fall and Rome. ^*

  ‘"'TWAS the fate of Rome to have ſcarce an intermediate age, or ſingle period of time, between the riſe of arts and fall of liberty. No ſooner had that nation begun to loſe the roughneſs and barbarity of their manners, and learn of Greece to form their heroes, their orators, and poets on a right model, than by their unjuſt attempt upon the liberty of the world, they juſtly loſt their own. With their liberty, they loſt not only their force of eloquence, but even their ſtyle and language itſelf. The poets who afterwards [179] aroſe among them, were mere unnatural and forced plants. Their TWO moſt finiſhed, who came laſt, and cloſed the ſcene, were plainly ſuch as had ſeen the days of liberty, ann felt the ſad effects of its departure."^*’

  SHAFTESBURY proceeds to obſerve, that when deſpotiſm was fully eſtabliſhed, not a ſtatue, picture, or medal, not a tolerable piece of architecture, afterwards appeared.—And it was, I may add, the opinion of Lon⯑ginus, and Addiſon, who adopted it from him, that arbitrary governments were perni⯑cious to the fine arts, as well as to the ſci⯑ences. Modern hiſtory, however, has afford⯑ed an example to the contrary. Painting ſculpture, and muſic, have been ſeen to ar⯑rive to a high perfection in Rome, notwith⯑ſtanding the ſlavery and ſuperſtition that reign there: nay, ſuperſtition itſelf has been highly productive of theſe fine arts; for with what enthuſiaſm muſt a popiſh painter work for an altar-piece? Neither Dante, Arioſto, or [180] Taſſo, flouriſhed in free governments; and it ſeems ^* chimerical to aſſert, that Milton would never have written his Paradiſe Loſt, if monar⯑chy had then remained. Michael Angelo, Ra⯑phael, and Julio Romano, lived in deſpotic ſtates. The fine arts, in ſhort, are naturally attendant upon power and luxury. But the ſciences require unlimited freedom, to raiſe them to their full vigour and growth. In a MONARCHY, there may be poets, painters, and muſicians; but orators, hiſtorians, and philoſophers, can exiſt in a REPUBLIC alone.

• 44.
  A ſecond deluge learning thus o'er-run,

  And the monks finiſh'd what the Goths begun. ^†

  EVERY cuſtom and opinion that can de⯑grade and deform humanity, was to be found in the times here alluded to. The moſt cruel tyranny, and the groſſeſt ſuperſtition, reigned without controul. Men ſeemed to have loſt not only the light of learning, but [181] of their common reaſon. Duels, divinations, the ordeal, and all the oppreſſive cuſtoms of the feudal laws, were univerſally practiced: witchcraft, poſſeſſions, revelations, and aſtro⯑logy, ^* were generally believed. The ^† cler⯑gy were ſo ignorant, that in ſome of the moſt ſolemn acts of ſynods, ſuch words as theſe are to be found. ‘"As my lord biſhop cannot write himſelf, at his requeſt I have ſubſcribed."’ They were at that time ſo profligate, as to publiſh Abſolutions for any one who had killed his father, mother, ſiſter, or wife; or had committed the moſt enormous pollutions. On a ſurvey of theſe abſurd abominations, one is apt to cry out in the emphatical words of Lucretius,

  [182]

  Quae procul a NOBIS flectat Fortuna gubernans!

  But we may reſt ſecure, if the obſervation of an acute writer be true, who ſays, ‘"Europe will perhaps behold ages of a bad taſte, but will never again relapſe into barbariſm. The ſole invention of printing has forbidden that event."^*’ The only ſparks of literature that then remained, were to be found among the mahometans, and not the chriſtians. It was from the ARABIANS that we received aſtro⯑nomy, chemiſtry, medicine, algebra, and arithmetic. Albategni, a Saracen, made aſtro⯑nomical obſervations in the 880. Our Alma⯑nack, AL-MANAC, is an Arabic word. The great church at Cordova in Spain, where the Saracens kept a magnificent court, is a monu⯑ment of their ſkill in architecture. The game of cheſs, that admirable effort of the human mind, was by them invented; as were tilts and turnaments. Averroes tranſlated, and com⯑mented upon, the greateſt part of Ariſtotle's works, and was the introducer of that au⯑thor's [183] philoſophy into the ^* weſt. It was Gerbert, who in the reign of Hugh Capet, is ſaid to have introduced into France, the Arabian or Indian cypher: for the Arabians had borrowed from the Indians this manner of computing, and Gerbert learned it from the Saracens, when he made a journey into Spain. Gerbert alſo undertook to make the firſt clock, the motion of which was regu⯑lated by a balance; which method was made uſe of till the year 1650, when they began to place a pendulum inſtead of the balance. ‘"Can it ſcarcely be believed, ſays Mr. He⯑nault, that there ever was ſo little intercourſe between the provinces of France, that an abbot of Clugni, being invited by Bouchard Count of Paris, to bring his Religious to St Maur⯑des-Foſſés, excuſed himſelf from making ſo long a journey, into a country UNKNOWN, and to which he was ſo much a STRANGER?"’ Charlemagne, indeed, two centuries before this laſt mentioned time, had endeavoured to [184] bring civility and learning into France: he introduced the Gregorian chant, and eſta⯑bliſhed a ^* ſchool in his palace, where the fa⯑mous Alcuin, whom he invited from England, inſtructed the Youth. Each of the members of this academy took a particular name; and Charlemagne himſelf, who did it the honour to become one of it's members, aſſumed that of David. This attempt to civilize his bar⯑barous ſubjects, was as arduous, and worthy his great genius, as his noble project to open a communication between the Ocean and the Euxine Sea, and to join the Rhine to the Da⯑nube by a canal.

• 45.
  At length ERASMUS, that great, injur'd name,

  (The glory of the prieſthood, and the ſhame!)

  Stem'd the wild torrent of a barb'rous age,

  And drove thoſe holy Vandals off the ſtage. ^†

  IT were to be wiſhed, our author had drawn a larger and fuller portrait of this won⯑derful man, of whom he appears to have been [185] ſo fond, as to declare in the Letters, ^* that he had ſome deſign of writing his life in latin. I call Eraſmus a wonderful man, not only on account of the variety, and claſſical purity of his works, but of that penetration, that ſtrong and acute ſenſe, which enabled him to pierce through the abſurdities of the times, and expoſe them with ſuch poignant ridicule, and attic elegance. A work of hu⯑mour, and of humour directed to expoſe the prieſts, in that age, was indeed a prodigy. The irony of the Encomium on Folly has never been excelled. Eraſmus, though a commentator, had taſte; and though a catho⯑lic, had charity. His learning was enlivened with wit; and his orthodoxy was tempered with moderation. He was never dazzled with what was called ERUDITION; or miſled by that blind and undiſtinguiſhing veneration which was naturally paid to the antients, on the firſt diſcovery of their writings. By his CICERONIANUS, he repreſſed the affectation of imitating Tully's manner of expreſſion, in [186] every ſpecies of compoſition. In his ECCLE⯑SIASTES, very excellent rules are laid down for preaching. In his DIALOGUES, the ſuper⯑ſtitions of the Romiſh church are expoſed with all the pleaſantry of Lucian: an author, to whom his genius bore great reſemblance; and ſome of whoſe dialogues he has tranſlated with their original ſpirit. Indeed, among the many tranſlators of Greek authors who flou⯑riſhed at that time, Eraſmus ſeems to have been in all reſpects the moſt eminent. To him was the reſtoration of literature princi⯑pally owing. More than one prince ſollicited his friendſhip, and invited him to their courts. We ſee in a letter of Eraſmus, written in the year 1516, that Francis I. who ſhared with Leo X. the glory of reviving ſciences and arts in Europe, having declared to Petit his con⯑feſſor, that he intended to bring into France the moſt learned men he could find, Petit had charged Budaeus, and Cop the royal phyſician, to write to Eraſmus, to engage him to ſettle in France: that Stephen Poncher, embaſſador from the king at Bruſſels, preſ⯑ſed [187] him ſtill more; but that Eraſmus made his excuſes, becauſe his catholic majeſty Charles V. had retained him in the Low-countries. The life of Eraſmus, which deſerves the fineſt pen, has been wretchedly and frigidly written by Knight; although, indeed, the materials he has collected are curious and uſeful.

• 46.
  But ſee! each muſe in Leo's golden days,

  Starts from her trance, and trims her wither'd bays:

  Rome's ancient Genius, o'er its ruins ſpread,

  Shakes off the duſt, and rears his rev'rend head. ^*

  HISTORY has recorded five ages of the world, in which the human mind has ex⯑erted itſelf in an extraordinary manner; and in which it's productions in literature and the fine arts have arrived at a perfection, not equalled in other periods. The FIRST, is the age of Philip and Alexander; about which time flouriſhed Socrates, Plato, Demoſthenes, Ariſtotle, Lyſippus, Apelles, Phidias, Prax⯑iteles, Thucydides, Xenophon, Aeſchylus, Eu⯑ripides, Sophocles, Ariſtophanes, Menander, [188] Philemon. The SECOND age, which has ne⯑ver yet been ſufficiently taken notice of, was that of Ptolomy Philadelphus, king of Aegypt; in which appeared Lycophron, Aratus, Ni⯑cander, Apollonius Rhodius, Theocritus, Cal⯑limachus, Eratoſthenes, Philichus, Eriſiſtratus the phyſician, Timaeus the hiſtorian, Clean⯑thes, Diogenes the painter, and Soſtrates the architect. This prince, from his love of learning, commanded the Old Teſtament to be tranſlated into Greek. The THIRD age is that of Julius Caeſar, and Auguſtus; marked with the illuſtrious names of Laberius, Ca⯑tullus, Lucretius, Cicero, Livy, Varro, Vir⯑gil, Horace, Propertius, Tibullus, Ovid, Phae⯑drus, Vitruvius, Dioſcorides. The FOURTH age was that of Julius II. and Leo X. which produced, Arioſto, Taſſo, Fracaſtorius, San⯑nazarius, Vida, Bembo, Sadolet, Machiavel, Guiccardin, Michael Angelo, Raphael, Titian. The FIFTH age, is that of Louis XIV. in France, and of king William and queen Anne in England: in which, or thereabouts, are to be found, Corneille, Moliere, Racine, Boi⯑leau, [189] Fontaine, Boſſuet, Rochefoucault, Paſ⯑chal, Bourdaloüe, Patru, Malbranche, De Retz, Bruyere, St. Real, Fenelon, Lully, Le Saeur, Pouſſin, Le Brun, Puget, Theo⯑don, Gerardon, Edelinck, Nanteuill, ^* Per⯑rault, Dryden, Tillotſon, Temple, POPE, Addiſon, Garth, Congreve, Rowe, Prior, Lee, Swift, Bolingbroke, Atterbury, Boyle, Locke, Newton, Clarke, Kneller, Thornill, Jervas, Dahl, Purcell, Mead, Friend.

  CONCERNING the particular encouragement given by Leo X. to polite literature, and the fine arts, I forbear to enlarge; becauſe a friend of mine is at preſent engaged in writing, THE HISTORY OF THE AGE OF LEO X. It is a noble period, and full of thoſe moſt important events, which have had the greateſt influence on human affairs. Such as the diſcovery of the Weſt-Indies, by the Spaniards, and of a paſſage to the Eaſt, by the Portugueze; the invention of printing; the reformation of reli⯑ligion; with many others: all which will be [190] inſiſted upon at large, and their conſequences diſplayed. I ſhall only here tranſiently ob⯑ſerve, that ſome efforts to emerge from bar⯑barity had long before this time appeared in Italy. Dante wrote his ſublime ^* and origi⯑nal poem, which is a kind of ſatirical epic, and which abounds in images and ſenti⯑ments equal to the beſt of Homer, but whoſe works he had never ſeen, about the year 1310. Giotto the diſciple of Cimabue, the friend of Dante, and ſubject of his praiſes, was employed, about the ſame time, by Benedict XI.; and a picture of moſaic work done by him, over the gate of St. Peter's church at Rome, is ſtill remaining. A Tuſcan, called Guy of Arezzo, invented the muſical notes in uſe at preſent: and Bruneleſchi built palaces at Florence, in the ſtyle of ancient architecture. Soon afterwards, Boccace and Petrarch poliſhed, and fixed the ſtandard of the Italian language. ^† To Petrarch the ho⯑nour [191] is generally attributed of having reſto⯑red the elegance of the Latin tongue; parti⯑cularly in poetry. But a late acute ſearcher into antiquity, whoſe death is juſtly lamented, the learned Scipio Maffei, has informed us ^* in a curious paſſage, that this was not ſo much owing to Petrarch, as to Albertino Muſſato, a native of Padua: with whoſe me⯑rit the learned ſeem not to be ſufficiently ac⯑quainted. Muſſato died very old, after having borne the greateſt offices in his country, in the year 1329, that is to ſay, thirty-five years before Petrarch. He wrote not only many books of a hiſtory of his own times, but alſo an heroic poem on the ſiege of Padua by the [192] Veroneſe, under the great Can; together with eclogues, elegies, epiſtles in verſe, and an Ovidian Cento. However, to form a full judgment in this caſe, one need only peruſe his two latin tragedies entitled ECCERINIS, and ACHILLES, which he compoſed in the ſtyle and manner of Seneca: and which were the firſt regular and perfect dramas, that are to be found ſince the barbarous and obſcure ages.

• 47.
  Immortal VIDA; on whoſe honour'd brow

  The Poet's bays, and Critic's ivy grow. ^*

  THE merits of Vida ſeem not to have been particularly attended to in England, 'till POPE had beſtowed this commendation upon him: although the Poetics had been correctly pub⯑liſhed at Oxford, by Baſil Kennet, ſome time before. The SILKWORMS of Vida are written with claſſical purity, and with a juſt mixture of the ſtyles of Lucretius and Virgil. It was a happy choice to write a poem on [193] CHESS^*; nor is the execution leſs happy. The various ſtratagems, and manifold intri⯑cacies of this ingenious game, ſo difficult to be deſcribed in latin, are here expreſſed with the greateſt perſpicuity and elegance; ſo that perhaps the game might be learnt from this deſcription. Amidſt many proſaic flat⯑neſſes, there are many fine ſtrokes in the CHRISTIAD: particularly, his angels, with reſpect to their perſons and inſignia, are drawn with that dignity which we ſo much admire in Milton, who ſeems to have had his eye on thoſe paſſages. ^† Gravina applauds Vida, for having found out a method to introduce the whole hiſtory of our Saviour's life, by putting it into the mouth of St. Joſeph and St. John, who relate it to Pilate. But ſurely this ſpeech, conſiſting of as many lines as that of Dido to Aeneas, was too long to be made on ſuch an occaſion; when Chriſt was brought before [194] the tribunal of Pilate, to be judged and con⯑demned to death. The Poetics are perhaps the moſt perfect of his compoſitions: they are excellently tranſlated by Pitt. Vida had formed himſelf upon Virgil, who is therefore his hero: he has too much depreciated Homer. Although his precepts principally regard epic poetry, yet many of them are applicable to every ſpecies of compoſition. ^† This poem has the praiſe of being one of the firſt, if not the very firſt, pieces of criticiſm, that appeared in Italy, ſince the revival of learning: for it was finiſhed, as is evident from a ſhort adver⯑tiſement prefixed to it, in the year MDXX. It is remarkable, that moſt of the great poets about this time, wrote an Art of Poetry. Triſſino, a name reſpected for giving to Eu⯑rope the firſt regular epic poem, and for firſt daring to throw off the bondage of rhyme, publiſhed at Vicenza, in the year MDXXIX, DELLA POETICA, diviſioni quattro, ſeveral [195] years before his Italia Liberata. We have of Fracaſtorius, NAUGERIUS, ſive de Poetica dialogus, Venetiis MDLV. Minturnus, DE POETA, libri ſex, appeared at Venice, MDLIX. Bernardo Taſſo, the father of Torquato, and author of an epic poem entitled L'Amadigi, wrote RAGIONAMENTO della Poeſia, printed at Venice, MDLXII. And to pay the higheſt honour to criticiſm, the great Torquato Taſſo himſelf wrote DISCORSI del Poema Eroico, printed at Venice, MDLXXXVII. Theſe diſ⯑courſes are full of learning and taſte. But I muſt not omit a curious anecdote, which ^* Menage has given us in his Anti-Baillet; namely, that Sperone claimed theſe diſcourſes as his own: for he thus ſpeaks of them in one of his letters to Felice Paciotto; ‘"Laudo voi infinitamente di voler ſcrivere della poetica; della quale interrogato molte fiate dal Taſſo, ^† e riſpondendogli io liberamente, ſi come ſog⯑lio, [196] egli n'a fatto un volume, e mandato al Signior Scipio Gonzaga per coſa ſua, e non mia: ma io ne chiarirò il mondo."’

• 48.
  And BOILEAU ſtill in right of Horace ſways. ^‡

  MAY I be pardoned for declaring it as my opinion, that Boileau's is the beſt ^* Art of Poetry extant? The brevity of his precepts, enlivened by proper imagery, the juſtneſs of his metaphors, the harmony of his numbers, as far as alexandrine lines will admit, the ex⯑actneſs of his method, the perſpicacity of his remarks, and the energy of his ſtyle, all duly conſidered, may render this opinion not unreaſonable. It is ſcarcely to be conceived, how much is comprehended in four ſhort cantos. ^† He that has well digeſted theſe, cannot be ſaid to be ignorant of any important rule of poetry. The tale of the phyſician turn⯑ing architect, in the fourth canto, is told with vaſt pleaſantry. It is to this work Boileau [197] owes his immortality: which was of the high⯑eſt utility to his nation, in diffuſing a juſt way of thinking and writing, baniſhing every ſpe⯑cies of falſe wit, and introducing a general taſte for the manly ſimplicity of the ancients, on whoſe writings this poet had formed his taſte. Boileau's chief talent was the DIDACTIC. His fancy was not the predominant faculty of his mind. Fontenelle has thus characteriſed him. ‘"Il etoit grand et excellent verſificateur, pourvû cependant que cette louange ſe ren⯑ferme dans ſes beaux jours, dont la difference avec les autres eſt bien marquée, et faiſoit ſouvent dire Helas! et Hola! mais il n'etoit pas grand poete, ſi l'entend par ce mot, comme on le doit, celui qui FAIT, qui IN⯑VENTE, qui CREE."^*’

• 49.
  Such was the muſe, whoſe rules and practice tell,

  " Nature's chief maſter-piece is writing well." ^†

  THIS high panegyric procured to POPE the acquaintance, and afterwards, the con⯑ſtant [198] friendſhip of the duke of Buckingham: who, in his ESSAY here alluded to, has fol⯑lowed the method of Boileau, in diſcourſing on the various ſpecies of poetry, to no other purpoſe than to manifeſt his own inferiority. The piece is, indeed, of the ſatyric, rather than of the preceptive, kind. The coldneſs and neglect with which this writer, formed only on the French critics, ſpeaks of Milton, muſt be conſidered as proofs of his want of critical diſcernment, or of critical courage. I can recollect no performance of Buck⯑ingham, that ſtamps him a true genius. His reputation was owing to his rank. In read⯑ing his poems, one is apt to exclaim with our author,

  What woful ſtuff this madrigal would be,

  In ſome ſtarv'd hackney ſonnetteer or me?

  But let a LORD ONCE OWN the happy lines,

  How the wit brightens! how the ſtyle refines!

  Before his ſacred name flies every fault,

  And each exalted ſtanza teems with thought.

  THE beſt part of Buckingham's ESSAY is that, in which he gives a ludicrous account [199] of the plan of a modern tragedy. I ſhould add, that his compliment to POPE, prefixed to his poems, contains a pleaſing picture of the ſedateneſs and retirement proper to age, after the tumults of public life; and by it's moral turn, breathes the ſpirit, if not of a poet, yet of an amiable old man.

• 50.
  Such was ROSCOMMON. ^* —

  AN ESSAY on Tranſlated Verſe ſeems at firſt ſight to be a barren ſubject; yet Roſ⯑common has decorated it with may precepts of utility and taſte, and enlivened it with a tale in imitation of Boileau. It is indiſputably better written than the laſt-mentioned ESSAY. Roſcommon was more learned than Buck⯑ingham. He was bred under Bochart at Caen in Normandy. He had laid a deſign of forming a ſociety for the refining, and fixing the ſtandard of, our language: in which project, his intimate friend Dryden was a principal aſſiſtant. This was the firſt attempt of that ſort; and, I fear, we ſhall never ſee [200] another ſet on foot in our days: even though Mr. Johnſon has lately given us ſo excellent a dictionary. It may be remarked to the praiſe of Roſcommon, that he was the firſt critic who had taſte and ſpirit enough, pub⯑licly to praiſe the Paradiſe Loſt; with a noble encomium of which, and a rational recommendation of blank verſe, he concludes his performance. Fenton, in his Obſervations on Waller, has accurately delineated his cha⯑racter. ‘"His imagination might have pro⯑bably been more fruitful, and ſprightly, if his judgment had been leſs ſevere: but that ſeverity, delivered in a maſculine, clear, ſuc⯑cinct ſtyle, contributed to make him ſo emi⯑nent in the didactical manner, that no man with juſtice can affirm, he was ever equalled by any of our own nation, without confeſſing, at the ſame time, that he is inferior to none. In ſome other kinds of writing his genius ſeems to have wanted fire to attain the point of perfection: but who can attain it?"^*’

• [201]51.
  Such late was WALSH, the muſe's judge and friend. ^*

  IF POPE has here given too magnificent an elogy to Walſh, it muſt pardonably be attri⯑buted to friendſhip, rather than to judgment. Walſh was in general a flimzy and frigid writer. The Rambler calls his works PAGES OF INANITY. His three letters to POPE, however, are well written. His remarks on the nature of paſtoral poetry, on borrowing from the ancients, and againſt florid conceits, are worthy peruſal^†. POPE owed much to Walſh: it was he who gave him a very im⯑portant piece of advice, in his early youth; for he uſed to tell our author, that there was one way ſtill left open for him, by which he might excell any of his predeceſſors, which was, by CORRECTNESS; that though indeed we had ſeveral great poets, we as yet could boaſt of none that were perfectly CORRECT; and that therefore, he adviſed him to make this quality his particular ſtudy.

  [202] CORRECTNESS is a vague term, frequently uſed without meaning and preciſion. It is per⯑petually the nauſeous cant of the French cri⯑tics, and of their advocates and pupils, that the Engliſh writers are generally INCORRECT. If CORRECTNESS implies an abſence of petty faults, this perhaps may be granted. If it means, that becauſe their tragedians have avoided the irregularities of Shakeſpeare, and have obſerved a juſter oeconomy in their fables, that therefore the Athalia, for inſtance, is preferable to Lear, the notion is groundleſs and abſurd. The Henriade is free from any very groſs faults; but who will dare to rank it with the Paradiſe Loſt? The declamations with which ſome of their moſt perfect trage⯑dies abound, may be reckoned as contrary to the nature of that ſpecies of poetry, and as deſtructive of it's end, as the fools or grave⯑diggers of Shakeſpeare. That the French may boaſt ſome excellent critics, particularly, Boſſu, Boileau, Fenelon, and Brumoy, cannot be denied; but that they are ſufficient to form a taſte upon, without having recourſe to the [203] genuine fountains of all polite literature, I mean the Grecian writers, no one but a ſuper⯑ficial ſcioliſt can allow.

I CONCLUDE theſe reflections with a remark⯑able fact. In no poliſhed nation, after criticiſm has been much ſtudied, and the rules of wri⯑ting eſtabliſhed, has any very extraordinary work ever appeared. This has viſibly been the caſe, in Greece, in Rome, and in France, after Ariſtotle, Horace, and Boileau, had writ⯑ten their ARTS OF POETRY. In our own country, the rules of the drama, for inſtance, 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 exe⯑cution. How to account for the fact here mentioned, adequately and juſtly, would be attended with all thoſe difficulties that await diſcuſſions relative to the productions of the human mind, and to the delicate and ſecret cauſes that influence them. Whether or no, the natural powers be not confined and debi⯑litated [204] by that timidity and caution which is occaſioned by a regard to the dictates of art: or whether, that philoſophical, that geome⯑trical, and ſyſtematical ſpirit ſo much in vogue, which has ſpread itſelf from the ſciences even into polite literature, by conſulting only REASON, has not diminiſhed 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 ambitiouſly endeavouring to ſurpaſs thoſe juſt models, and to be original and new, do not become diſtorted and unnatural, in their thoughts and diction.

SECT. IV. Of the RAPE of the LOCK.

IF the Moderns have excelled the Ancients in any ſpecies of writing, it ſeems to be in ſatire: and, particularly in that kind of ſatire, which is conveyed in the form of the epopee, a pleaſing vehicle of ſatire never uſed by the ancients. As the poet diſappears in this way of writing, and does not deliver the intended cenſure in his own proper perſon, the ſatire becomes more delicate, becauſe more oblique. Add to this, that a tale or ſtory more ſtrongly engages and intereſts the reader, than a ſeries of precepts or reproofs, or even of characters themſelves, however lively and natural. An heroi-comic poem may there⯑fore be juſtly eſteemed the moſt excellent kind of ſatire.

THE invention of it is uſually aſcribed to Aleſſandro Taſſoni; who in the year 1622, publiſhed at Paris, a poem compoſed by him, [206] in a few months of the year 1611, entitled LA SECCHIA RAPITA, or The Rape of the Bucket. To avoid giving offence, it was firſt printed under the name of Androvini Meliſoni. It was afterwards reprinted at Venice, cor⯑rected, with the name of the author, and with ſome illuſtrations of Gaſparo Salviani. But the learned and curious Creſcembini, in his Iſtoria della Volgar Poeſia, ^* informs us, that it is doubtful whether the invention of the ^† heroi-comic poem ought to be aſcribed to Taſſoni, or to Franceſco Bracciolini, who wrote LO SCHERNO DE GLI DEI, which perfor⯑mance, though it was printed four years after LA SECCHIA, is nevertheleſs declared in an epiſtle prefixed, to have been written many years ſooner. The real ſubject of Taſſoni's poem, was the war which the inhabitants of Modena declared againſt thoſe of Bologna, on the refu⯑ſal of the latter to reſtore to them ſome towns, which had been detained ever ſince the time [207] of the emperor Frederic II. The author artfully made uſe of a popular tradition, according to which it was believed, that a certain woodden bucket, which is kept at Modena in the treaſury of the cathedral, came from Bologna, and that it had been forcibly taken away by the Mode⯑neſe. Creſcembini adds, that becauſe Taſſoni had ſeverely ridiculed the Bologneſe, Barto⯑lomeo Bocchini, to revenge his countrymen, printed at Venice MDCXLI, a tragico-heroi⯑comic poem, entitled LE PAZZIE DE SAVI, overo, IL LAMBERTACCIO, in which the Modeneſe are ſpoken of with much contempt. The Italians have a fine turn for works of hu⯑mour, in which they abound. They have another poem of this ſpecies, called MAL⯑MANTILE RACQUISTATO, written by Lo⯑renzo Lippi, in the year MDCLXXVI, which Creſcembini^* highly commends, calling it, ‘"Spiritoſiſimo e legiadriſſimo poema gia⯑coſo."’ It was afterwards reprinted at Flo⯑rence MDCLXXXVIII, with the uſeful anno⯑tations [208] of Puccio Lamoni, a Florentine painter, who was himſelf no contemptible poet.

THE LUTRIN of Boileau was the ſecond remarkable poem, in which the Serious and Comic were happily blended. Boileau him⯑ſelf has given a circumſtantial account of what gave occaſion to this poem; which account, becauſe it is entertaining, and not printed in the common editions of his works, I will inſert at length. ‘"I ſhall not here act like Arioſto, who frequently when he is going to relate the moſt abſurd ſtory in the world, ſolemnly proteſts it to be true, and ſupports it by the authority of archbiſhop Turpin. For my part I freely declare, the whole poem of the DESK is nothing but pure fiction; that it is all invented, even to the name itſelf of the place where the action paſſes. An odd occaſion gave riſe to this poem. In a company I was lately engaged in, the conver⯑ſation turned upon epic poetry: every one delivered his opinion, according to his abili⯑ties; when mine was aſked, I confirmed [209] what I had advanced in my Art of Poetry, that an heroic poem, to be truly excellent, ought to be charged with little MATTER, which it was the buſineſs of invention to ſupport and extend. The opinion was warmly conteſted: but after many reaſons for and againſt, it happened, as it generally does in this ſort of diſputes, that nobody was con⯑vinced, and that each continued in his own opinion. The heat of diſpute being over, we talked on other ſubjects; and laughed at the violence into which we had been betrayed, in diſcuſſing a queſtion of ſo little conſequence. We moralized on the folly of men who paſs almoſt their whole lives, in treating the greateſt trifles in a ſerious manner, and in making to themſelves an important affair of ſomething quite indifferent. To this purpoſe, a country gentleman related a famous quarrel, that had lately happened in a little church in his province, between the treaſurer and the chantor, the two principal dignitaries of that church, about the place in which a reading⯑deſk was to ſtand. We thought it a droll [210] affair. Upon this, one of the critics in com⯑pany, who could not ſo ſoon forget our late diſpute, aſked me, if I, who thought ſo little MATTER neceſſary for an heroic poem, would undertake to write one on a quarrel ſo little abounding in incidents, as this of the two eccleſiaſtics. ‘"J'eus plutôt dit, pourquoi non? que je n'eus fait reflexion ſur ce qu'il me demandoit."’ This made the company laugh, and I could not help laughing with them; not in the leaſt imagining, that I ſhould ever be able to keep my word. But finding myſelf at leiſure in the evening, I re⯑volved the ſubject in my mind, and having conſidered in every view the pleaſantry that it would admit of, I made twenty verſes which I ſhewed to my friends. They were diverted with this beginning. The pleaſure which I ſaw theſe gave them, induced me to write twenty more. Thus, from twenty verſes to twenty, I lengthened the work to near nine hundred. This is the whole hiſtory of the trifle I now offer to the public.—This is a new kind of burleſque, which I have intro⯑duced [211] into our language: for, as in the other kind of burleſque, that of Scarron, Dido and Aeneas ſpoke like fiſh-women and porters, in this of mine, a ^* clock-maker and his wife talk like Dido and Aeneas. I do not know whether my poem will have all the qualities requiſite to ſatisfy a reader: but I dare flatter myſelf, that it will at leaſt be allowed to have the grace of novelty; becauſe I do not con⯑ceive, that there are any works of this nature in our language; the DEFAITES DES BOUTS RIMES of Saraſin being rather a mere allegory than a poem, as this is."’

ON a ſubject ſeemingly ſo unpromiſing and incapable of ornament, has Boileau found a method of raiſing a poem full of beautiful imagery; which appears like that magnificent city, ^† which the greateſt of princes cauſed to be built in a moraſs. Boileau has en⯑livened this piece with many unexpected inci⯑dents and entertaining epiſodes;

[212] Particularly that of the Perruquier, in the ſe⯑cond canto, and of the Battle of the Books, in the fifth. The ſatire throughout is poig⯑nant, though polite, to the laſt degree. The indolence and luxury of the prieſts are ridi⯑culed with the moſt artful delicacy. What a picture has he drawn of the chamber and bed of the treaſurer, where every thing was calculated to promote and preſerve inactivity and eaſe!

The aſtoniſhment of Gilotin, the treaſurer's almoner, to find that his maſter intends to go [213] out before dinner, is extremely natural; and his remonſtrances are inimitably droll and pertinent.

How admirably, is the character of an igno⯑rant and eating prieſt, preſerved in this ſpeech of the ſleek and pampered Canon Evrard, one of the drones, who,

HIS knowledge of the rents of his church, and of the mortgages belonging to it, his ſcorn of the pious and laborious Arnauld, his contempt of learning, and, above all, his ruling paſſion of good-eating, are ſtrokes high⯑ly comic. It is wonderful the eccleſiaſtics of France were not as much irritated by the publi⯑cation of the LUTRIN, as by the TARTUFFE of Moliere; which was ſuppreſſed by their in⯑tereſt, after it had been acted a few nights: although at the ſame time, a very profane farce was permitted to have a long run. When Louis XIV. expreſſed to the Prince of Condè, his wonder at the different fates of theſe two pieces, and aſked the reaſon of it, the prince anſwered, ‘[215]"In the farce, RELIGION only is ridiculed; but, Moliere in the TARTUFFE, has attack⯑ed even the PRIESTS."’

BOILEAU has raiſed his ſubjects by many perſonifications; particularly, in the begin⯑ning of the ſixth canto, PIETY who had re⯑tired to the great Carthuſian monaſtery on the Alps, is introduced as repairing to Paris, accompanied by FAITH, HOPE, and CHA⯑RITY, in order to make her complaint to THEMIS: to which may be added, the mon⯑ſtrous figure of CHICANERY, attended by FAMINE, WANT, SORROW, and RUIN, in the beginning of the fifth canto. The chief divinity that acts throughout the poem, is DISCORD; which goddeſs is repreſented as coming from a convent of Cordeliers. A fine ſtroke of ſatire; but imitated from the ſatyrical Arioſto, who makes Michael find DISCORD in a cloiſter, inſtead of SILENCE, whom he there ſearched for in vain. NIGHT is alſo introduced as an actreſs with great propriety, in the third canto; where ſhe repairs to the [216] famous old tower at Montlery, in order to find out an owl which ſhe may convey into the DESK, and which afterwards produces ſo ridiculous a conſternation. SLOTH is another principal perſonage: ſhe alſo is diſcovered in the dormitory of a monaſtery.

The ſpeech ſhe afterwards makes has a pecu⯑liar beauty, as it ends in the middle of a line, and by that means ſhews her inability to proceed.

THE third heroi-comic poem was the DISPENSARY of Garth: a palpable imitation of the LUTRIN, and the beſt ſatire on the phiſicians extant, except the SANGRADO of Le Sage, who have indeed been the object of almoſt every ſatiriſt. The behaviour and ſentiment of SLOTH, the firſt imaginary being that occurs, are almoſt literally tranſlated from Boileau: particularly the compliment [217] that SLOTH pays to king William, whoſe actions diſturb her repoſe:

Garth, in ridiculing the clergy, ſpeaks of that order with more acrimony than Boileau, who merely laughs at them. But Garth was one of the free-thinking WITS at Button's. He has introduced many excellent parodies of the claſſics: among which I cannot forbear quoting one, which is an imitation of ſome paſſages, which the reader will remember, in Virgil's ſixth book, and where the circum⯑ſtances are happily inverted.

THIS author has been guilty of a ſtrange im⯑propriety, which cannot be excuſed, in making the fury DISEASE talk like a critic, give rules of writing, and a panegyric on the beſt poets of the age^†. The deſcent into the earth in the ſixth canto, is a fine mixture of poetry and philoſophy; the hint is taken from the SYPHILIS of Fracaſtorius. Garth's verſification is flowing and muſical; his ſtyle perſpicuous, and neat; and the poem in gene⯑ral abounds with ſallies of wit, and nervous ſatire.

THE RAPE OF THE LOCK, now before us, is the fourth, and moſt excellent of the heroi⯑comic poems. The ſubject was a quarrel [219] occaſioned by a little piece of gallantry of Lord Petre, who, in a party of pleaſure, found means to cut off a favorite lock of Mrs. Arabella Fermour's hair. POPE was deſired to write it, in order to put an end to the quarrel it produced, by Mr. Caryl, who had been ſecretary to queen Mary, author of Sir Solomon Single a comedy, and of ſome tranſlations in Dryden's Miſcellanies. POPE was accuſtomed to ſay, ‘"What I wrote faſteſt always pleaſed moſt."’ The firſt ſketch of this exquiſite piece, which Addiſon called MERUM SAL, was written in leſs than a fortnight, in two cantos only: but it was ſo univerſally applauded, that, in the next year, our poet enriched it with the machinery of the ſylphs, and extended it to five cantos; when it was printed with a letter to Mrs. Fer⯑mour, far ſuperior to any of Voiture. The inſertion of the machinery of the ſylphs in proper places, without the leaſt appearance of it's being aukwardly ſtitched in, is one of the happieſt efforts of judgment and art. He took the idea of theſe inviſible beings, ſo pro⯑per [220] to be employed in a poem of this nature, from a little french book entitled, Le Comte de Gabalis, of which I have lately met with an account, in an entertaining writer. ‘"The Abbe Villars, who came from Thoulouſe to Paris, to make his fortune by preaching, is the author of this diverting work. The five dialogues of which it conſiſts, are the reſult of thoſe gay converſations, in which the Abbe was engaged á la porte de Richelieu, with a ſet of men, of fine wit and humour, like himſelf. When this book firſt appeared, it was univerſally read, as innocent and amuſing. But at length, it's conſequences were perceived, and reckoned dangerous, at a time when this ſort of curioſities began to gain credit. Our devout preacher was denied the chair, and his book forbidden to be read. It was not clear whether the author intended to be ironical, or ſpoke all ſeriouſly. The ſecond volume which he promiſed, would have decided the que⯑ſtion: but the unfortunate Abbe was ſoon after⯑wards aſſaſſinated by ruffians, on the road to Lyons. The laughers gave out, that the [221] gnomes and ſylphs, diſguiſed like ruffians, had ſhot him, as a puniſhment for revealing the ſecrets of the Cabala; a crime not to be pardoned by theſe jealous ſpirits, as Villars himſelf has declared in his book^*."’ It may not be improper to give a ſpecimen of this authors manner, who has lately been well imitated in the way of mixing jeſt with earneſt, in an elegant piece called HERMIPPUS REDI⯑VIVUS. The Comte de Gabalis being about to initiate his pupils into the moſt profound myſteries of the Roſicruſian philoſophy, ad⯑viſes him to conſider ſeriouſly, whether or no he had courage and reſolution ſufficient to RENOUNCE all thoſe obſtacles, which might prevent his ariſing to that height, which the figure of his nativity promiſed. ‘"Le mot de RENONCER, ſays the ſcholar, m'effraya, et je ne doutay point qu'il n'allaſt me propoſer de renoncer au bapteſme ou au paradis. Ainſi ne ſçachant comme me tirer de ce mauvais [222] pas; Renoncer, luy dis-je, Monſieur, quoi faut il renoncer a quelque choſe? Urayement, reprit il, il le faut bien; & il le faut ſi neceſ⯑ſairement, qu'il faut commencer par là. Je ne ſçay ſi vous pourrez vous reſoudre: mais je ſçay bien que la ſageſſe l'habite point dans un corps ſujet au pechè, comme elle n'entre point dans une ame prevenüe d'erreur ou de malice. Les ſages ne vous admittront jamais a leur compagnie, ſi vous ne renoncez dés á preſent á un choſe qui ne peut compatir avec la ſageſſe. Il faut, aujoûta-it t-il tout bas en ſe baiſſant a mon oreille, il faut renoncer á tout commerce charnel avec les femmes ^*."’ On a di⯑ligent peruſal of this book, I cannot find that POPE has borrowed any particular circum⯑ſtances relating to theſe ſpirits, but merely the general idea of their exiſtence.

THESE machines are vaſtly ſuperior to the allegorical perſonages of Boileau and Garth; not only on account of their novelty, but for the exquiſite poetry, and oblique ſatire, which [223] they have given the poet an opportunity to diſplay. The buſineſs and petty concerns of a fine lady, receive an air of importance from the notion of their being perpetually over⯑looked and conducted, by the interpoſition of celeſtial agents.

IT is judicious to open the poem, by in⯑troducing the Guardian Sylph, warning Be⯑linda againſt ſome ſecret impending danger. The account which Ariel ^* gives of the nature, office, and employment of theſe inhabitants of air, is finely fancied: into which ſeveral ſtrokes of ſatire are thrown with great delicacy and addreſs.

The transformation of women of different tempers into different kinds of ſpirits, cannot be too much applauded.

The deſcription of the ^† toilette, which ſuc⯑ceeds, is judiciouſly given in ſuch magni⯑ficent turns, as dignify the offices performed at it. Belinda dreſſing is painted in as pom⯑pous a manner, as Achilles arming. The canto ends with a circumſtance, artfully con⯑trived to keep this beautiful machinery in [225] the readers eye: for after the poet has ſaid, that the fair heroine

He immediately ſubjoins,

THE mention of the LOCK^†, on which the poem turns, is rightly reſerved to the ſecond canto. The ſacrifice of the baron to implore ſucceſs to his undertaking, is ano⯑ther inſtance of our poet's judgement, in heightening the ſubject^‡. The ſucceeding ſcene of ſailing upon the Thames is moſt gay and riant; and impreſſes the moſt pleaſing pictures upon the imagination. Here too the machinery is again introduced with much propriety. Ariel ſummons his denizens [226] of air; who are thus painted with a rich exuberance of fancy.

Ariel afterwards enumerates the functions and employments of the ſylphs, in the fol⯑lowing manner: where ſome are ſuppoſed to delight in more groſs, and others in more refined occupations.

Thoſe who are fond of tracing images and ſentiments to their ſource, may perhaps be inclined to think, that the hint of aſcribing taſks and offices to ſuch imaginary beings, is taken from the Fairies and the Ariel of Shake⯑ſpeare: let the impartial critic determine, which has the ſuperiority of fancy. The employment of Ariel in the TEMPEST, is ſaid to be,

And again,

Nor muſt I omit that exquiſite ſong, in which his favorite paſtime is expreſſed.

With what wildneſs of imagination, but yet, with what propriety, are the amuſements of the fairies pointed out, in the MIDSUMMER NIGHT's DREAM: amuſements proper for none but fairies?

Shakeſpeare only could have thought of the following gratifications for Titania's lover; and [229] they are fit only to be offered, to her lover, by a fairy-queen.

If it ſhould be thought, that Shakeſpeare has the merit of being the firſt who aſſigned pro⯑per employments to imaginary perſons, in the foregoing lines, yet it muſt be granted, that by the addition of the moſt delicate ſatire to the moſt lively fancy, POPE, in the following paſſage, has excelled any thing in Shakeſpeare, or in any other author,

THE ſeeming importance given to every part of female dreſs, each of which is com⯑mitted to the care and protection of a different ſylph, with all the ſolemnity of a general appointing the ſeveral poſts in his army, ren⯑ders the following paſſage admirable, on account of it's politeneſs, poignancy, and poetry.

The celebrated raillery of Addiſon on the hoop-petticoat, has nothing equal to the fol⯑lowing [231] circumſtance; which marks the diffi⯑culty of guarding a part of dreſs of ſuch high conſequence.

OUR poet ſtill riſes in the delicacy of his ſatire, where he employs, with the utmoſt judgment and elegance, all the implements and furniture of the toilette, as inſtruments of puniſhment to thoſe ſpirits, who ſhall be careleſs of their charge: of puniſhment ſuch as ſylphs alone could undergo. Each of the delinquents,

If Virgil has merited ſuch perpetual commen⯑mendation for exalting his bees, by the ma⯑jeſty and magnificence of his diction, does not POPE deſerve equal praiſes, for the pomp and luſtre of his language, on ſo trivial a ſubject?

THE ſame maſtery of language, appears in the lively and elegant deſcription of the game at Ombre; which is certainly imitated from the Scacchia of Vida, and as certainly equal to it, if not ſuperiour. Both of them have elevated and enlivened their ſubjects, by ſuch ſimiles as the epic poets uſe; but as cheſs is a play of a far higher order than Ombre, [233] POPE had a more difficult taſk than Vida, to raiſe this his inferior ſubject, into equal dignity and gracefulneſs. Here again our poet artfully introduces his machinery:

The majeſty with which the kings of ſpades and clubs, and the knaves of diamonds and clubs, are ſpoken of, is very amuſing to the imagination: and the whole game is con⯑ducted with great art and judgment. I queſtion whether Hoyle could have played it better than Belinda. It is finely contrived that ſhe ſhould be victorious; as it occaſions a change of fortune in the dreadful loſs ſhe was ſpeedily to undergo, and gives occaſion to the poet to introduce a moral reflection from Virgil, which adds to the pleaſantry of the ſtory. In one of the paſſages where POPE has copied Vida, he has loſt the propriety of the original, [234] which ariſes from the different colours of the men, at cheſs.

To this ſcene ſucceeds the tea-table. It is doubtleſs, as hard to make a coffee-pot ſhine in poetry as a plough: yet POPE has ſuc⯑ceeded in giving elegance to ſo familiar an object, as well as Virgil. The guardian ſpirits are again active, and importantly em⯑ployed;

Then follows an inſtance of aſſiduity, fan⯑cied with great delicacy,

But nothing can excell the behaviour of the ſylphs, and their wakeful ſollicitude for their charge, when the danger grows more immi⯑nent, and the cataſtrophe approaches.

The methods by which they endeavoured to preſerve her from the intended miſchief, are ſuch only as could be executed by a ſylph; and have therefore an admirable propriety, as well as the utmoſt elegance.

Still farther to heighten the piece, and to pre⯑ſerve the characters of his machines to the laſt, juſt when the fatal ^‡ forfex was ſpread,

Which laſt line is an admirable parody on that paſſage of Milton, which, perhaps oddly enough, deſcribes Satan wounded:

The parodies are ſome of the moſt exquiſite parts of this poem. That which follows from the ‘"Dum juga montis aper,"’ of Vir⯑gil, contains ſome of the moſt artful ſtrokes of ſatire, and the moſt poignant ridicule ima⯑ginable.

The introduction of frequent parodies on ſe⯑rious and ſolemn paſſages of Homer and Virgil, give much life and ſpirit to heroi⯑comic poetry. ‘"Tu dors, Prelat? tu dors?"’ in Boileau, is the ‘" [...]"’ of Homer, and is full of humour. The wife of the barber, talks in the language of Dido in her expoſtulations to her Aeneas, at the beginning of the ſecond canto of the Lutrin. POPE's parodies of the ſpeech of Sarpedon in Homer, canto v. verſe 9, and of the deſcription of Achilles's ſcepter, canto iv. verſe 133, and the deſcription of the ſcales of Jupiter from Ho⯑mer, Virgil, and Milton, canto v. verſe 72, are judiciouſly introduced in their ſeveral places, are perhaps ſuperiour to thoſe Boi⯑leau or Garth have uſed, and are worked up with peculiar pleaſantry. The mind of the reader is engaged by novelty, when it ſo unexpectedly finds a thought or object it [238] had been accuſtomed to ſurvey in another form, ſuddenly arrayed in a ridiculous garb. A mixture of comic and ridiculous images, with ſerious and important ones, is alſo, no ſmall beauty to this ſpecies of poetry. As in the following paſſages, where real and imaginary diſtreſſes are coupled together.

Nay, to carry the climax ſtill higher,

This is much ſuperiour to a ſimilar paſſage in the Diſpenſary, which POPE might have had in his eye;

Theſe objects have no reference to Garth's ſubject, as almoſt all of POPE's have, in the paſſage in queſtion, where ſome female foible is glanced at. In this ſame canto, the cave of SPLEEN, the pictures of her attendants, ILL⯑NATURE and AFFECTATION, the effects of the vapour that hung over her palace, the imaginary diſeaſes ſhe occaſions, the ^* ſpeech of Umbriel, a gnome, to this malignant deity, the vial of female ſorrows, the ſpeech of Thaleſtris to aggravate the misfortune, the breaking the vial with its direful effects, and the ſpeech of the diſconſolate Belinda; all [240] theſe circumſtances are poetically imagined, and are far ſuperiour to any of Boileau and Garth. How much in character is it for Belinda to mark a very diſmal and ſolitary ſituation, by wiſhing to be conveyed,

Nothing is more common in the poets than to introduce omens as preceeding ſome im⯑portant and dreadful event. Virgil has nobly deſcribed thoſe that preceded the death of Dido. The rape of Belinda's LOCK muſt neceſſarily alſo be attended with alarming prodigies. With what exquiſite ſatire are they enumerated;

And ſtill more to aggravate the direfulneſs of the impending evil,

[241] THE chief ſubject of the fifth and laſt canto, is the battle that enſues, and the en⯑deavours of the ladies to recover the hair. This battle is deſcribed, as it ought to be, in very lofty and pompous terms: a game of romps was never ſo well dignified before. The weapons made uſe of are the moſt pro⯑per imaginable: the lightening of the ladies eyes, intolerable frowns, a pinch of ſnuff, and a bodkin. The machinery is not forgot:

Again, when the ſnuff is given to the baron,

Boileau and Garth have alſo each of them enlivened their pieces with a mock-fight. But Boileau has laid the ſcene of his action in a bookſeller's ſhop; where the combatants happen to encounter each other by chance. This conduct is a little inartificial; but has [242] given the ſatyriſt an opportunity of indulging his ruling paſſion, the expoſing the bad poets, with which France at that time abounded. Swift's Battle of the Books, at the end of the Tale of a Tub, is evidently taken from this ^* battle of Boileau, which is excellent in its kind. The fight of the phyſicians, in the Diſpenſary, is one of its moſt ſhining parts. There is a vaſt deal of propriety, as well as pleaſantry, in the weapons Garth has given to his warriours. They are armed, much in character, with cauſtics, emetics, and cathar⯑tics; with buckthorn, and ſteel-pills; with ſyringes, bed-pans and urinals. The execu⯑tion is exactly proportioned to the deadlineſs of ſuch irreſiſtible weapons; and the wounds inflicted, are ſuitable to the nature of each different inſtrument, ſaid to inflict them. ^†

WE are now arrived to the grand cataſ⯑trophe of the poem; the invaluable Lock which is ſo eagerly ſought, is irrecoverably loſt! And here our poet has made a judicious [243] uſe of that celebrated fiction of Arioſto; that all things loſt on earth are treaſured in the moon. How ſuch a fiction can have place in an epic poem, it becomes the defenders of this extravagant and lawleſs rhapſodiſt to juſt⯑tify; but in a comic one, it appears with grace and conſiſtency. The whole paſſage in Arioſto is full of wit and ſatire; for wit and ſatire were the chief and characteriſtical excellencies of Arioſto^*. In this repoſitory in the lunar ſphere, ſays the SPRIGHTLY Italian, were to be found,

It is very remarkable, that the poet had the boldneſs to place among theſe imaginary trea⯑ſures, [244] the famous deed of gift of Conſtantine to Pope Silveſter, ‘"If, ſays he, I may be al⯑lowed to ſay this,"’

It may be obſerved in general, to the honour of the poets, both ancient and modern, that they have ever been ſome of the firſt, who have detected and oppoſed the falſe claims, and miſchievous uſurpations, of ſuperſtition and ſlavery. Nor can this be wondered at, ſince theſe two are the greateſt enemies, not only to all true happineſs, but to all true genius.

THE denouement, as a pedantic diſciple of Boſſu would call it, of this poem, is well con⯑ducted. What is become of this important LOCK OF HAIR? It is made a conſtellation with that of Berenice, ſo celebrated by Cal⯑limachus. As it riſes to heaven,

[245] One cannot ſufficiently applaud the art of the poet, in conſtantly keeping in the reader's view, the machinery of the poem, to the very laſt. Even when the Lock is transformed, the ſylphs, who had ſo carefully guarded it, are here once again artfully mentioned, as finally rejoicing in it's honourable transfor⯑mation.

IN reading the Lutrin, I have always been ſtruck with the impropriety of ſo ſerious a concluſion, as Boileau has given to ſo ludi⯑crous a poem. PIETY and JUSTICE are beings rather too awful, to have any concern in the celebrated deſk. They appear as much out of place and ſeaſon, as would the arch⯑biſhop of Paris in his pontifical robes, in an harlequin entertainment.

POPE does not deſert his favorite Lock, even after it becomes a conſtellation; and the uſes he aſſigns to it are indeed admirable.

This is at once, DULCE LOQUI, and RIDERE DECORUM.

UPON the whole, I hope it will not be thought an exaggerated panegyric to ſay, that the RAPE OF THE LOCK, is the BEST SA⯑TIRE extant; that it contains the trueſt and livelieſt picture of modern life; and that the ſubject is of a more elegant nature, as well as more artfully conducted, than that of any other heroi-comic poem. POPE here appears in the light of a man of gallantry, and of a thorough knowledge of the world; and in⯑deed, he had nothing, in his carriage and deportment, of that affected ſingularity, which has induced ſome men of genius to deſpiſe, and depart from, the eſtabliſhed rules of polite⯑neſs and civil life. For all poets have not prac⯑ticed the ſober and rational advice of Boileau.

OUR nation can boaſt alſo, of having produced one or two more poems of the bur⯑leſque kind, that are excellent; particularly the SPLENDID SHILLING, that admirable copy of the ſolemn irony of Cervantes; who is the father and unrivalled model of the true mock-heroic: and the MUSCIPULA, written with the purity of Virgil, whom the author ſo perfectly under⯑ſtood, and with the pleaſantry of Lucian: to which I cannot forbear adding, the SCRIB⯑LERIAD of Mr. Cambridge^†.

IF ſome of the moſt candid among the French critics begin to acknowledge, that [248] they have produced nothing in point of SUBLIMITY and MAJESTY equal to the Para⯑diſe Loſt, we may alſo venture to affirm, that in point of DELICACY, ELEGANCE, and fine-turned RAILLERY, on which they have ſo much valued themſelves, they have produced nothing equal to the RAPE OF THE LOCK. It is in this compoſition, POPE prin⯑cipally appears a POET; in which he has diſ⯑played more imagination than in all his other works taken together. It ſhould however be remembered, that he was not the FIRST former and creator of thoſe beautiful machines, the ſylphs; on which his claim to imagination is chiefly founded. He found them exiſting ready to his hand; but has, indeed, employed them with ſingular judgment and artifice.

SECT. V. Of The ELEGY to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady, The PROLOGUE to Cato, and The EPI⯑LOGUE to Jane Shore.

THE ELEGY to the Memory of an Unfor⯑tunate Lady, which is next to be ſpo⯑ken of, as it came from the heart, is very tender and pathetic; more ſo, I think, than any other copy of verſes of our author. We are unacquainted with her hiſtory, and with that ſeries of misfortunes, which ſeems to have drawn on the melancholy cataſtrophe, alluded to in the beginning of this ELEGY. She is ſaid to be the ſame perſon, to whom the Duke of Buckingham has addreſſed ſome lines, viz. ‘"To a Lady deſigning to retire into a Monaſtery."’ This deſign is alſo hinted at in POPE's Letters^*, where he ſays in a letter addreſſed, I preſume, to this very per⯑ſon, ‘"If you are reſolved, in revenge, to rob the world of ſo much example as you may [250] afford it, I believe your deſign will be vain: for even, in a monaſtery, your devotions cannot carry you ſo far towards the next world, as to make this loſe ſight of you: but you will be like a ſtar, that, while it is fixed in hea⯑ven, ſhines over all the earth. Whereſoever providence ſhall diſpoſe of the moſt valuable thing I know, I ſhall ever follow you with my ſincereſt wiſhes; and my beſt thoughts will be perpetually waiting upon you, when you never hear of me or them. Your own guardian angels cannot be more conſtant, nor more ſilent."’

THIS ELEGY opens with a ſtriking abrupt⯑neſs, and a ſtrong image; the poet fancies he beholds ſuddenly the phantom of his mur⯑dered friend;

This queſtion alarms the reader; and puts one in mind of that lively and affecting image [251] in the prophecy of Iſaiah, ſo vigorouſly conceived, that it places the object full in one's eyes. ‘"Who is this that cometh from Edom? With dyed garments from Boſra^*?"’ Akenſide has begun one of his odes in the like manner;

The execrations on the cruelties of this lady's relations, which had driven her to this deplorable extremity, are very ſpirited and forcible; eſpecially where the poet ſays emphatically,

He deſcribes afterwards the deſolation of this family, by the following lively circumſtance and proſopopoeia:

The incident of her dying in a country re⯑mote from her relations and acquaintance, is touched with great tenderneſs, and intro⯑duced with propriety, to aggravate and heighten her lamentable fate;

The force of the repetition of the ſignificant epithet foreign, need not be pointed out to any reader of ſenſibility. The rite of ſepul⯑ture of which ſhe was deprived, from the [253] manner of her death, is glanced at with great delicacy; nay, and a very poetical uſe is made of it.

IF this ELEGY be ſo excellent, it may be aſcribed to this cauſe; that the occaſion of it was real; for it is certainly an indiſputable maxim, ‘"That nature is more powerful than fancy; that we can always feel more than we can imagine; and that the moſt artful fiction muſt give way to truth."’ When Polus the celebrated actor, once affected his audience with more than ordinary emotions, it was ‘"luctû et lamentis veris,"’ by burſting out into real cries and tears; for in perſonating Electra weep⯑ing over the ſuppoſed urn of her brother Oreſtes, he held in his hands the real aſhes of his own ſon lately dead^*. Events that have actu⯑ally [254] happened are, after all, the propereſt ſub⯑jects for poetry. The beſt eclogue of ^† Virgil, the beſt ode of ^‡ Horace, are founded on real incidents. If we briefly caſt our eyes over the moſt intereſting and affecting ſtories, ancient or modern, we ſhall find that they are ſuch, as however adorned and a little diverſified, are yet grounded on true hiſtory, and on real matters of fact. Such, for in⯑ſtance, among the ancients, are the ſtories, of Joſeph, of Edipus, the Trojan war and and its conſequences, of Virginia and the Horatii; ſuch, among the moderns, are the ſtories of king Lear, the Cid, Romeo and Juliet, and Oronooko. The ſeries of events contained in theſe ſtories, ſeem far to ſurpaſs the utmoſt powers of human imagination. In the beſt-conducted fiction, ſome mark of im⯑probability and incoherence will ſtill appear.

I SHALL only add to theſe, a tale literally true, which the admirable DANTE has intro⯑duced [255] in his Inferno, and which is not ſuf⯑ficiently known; I cannot recollect any paſ⯑ſage, in any writer whatever, ſo truly pathetic. Ugolino a Florentine Count is giving the deſcription of his being impriſoned with his children by the archbiſhop Ruggieri. ‘"The hour approached when we expected to have ſomething brought us to eat. But inſtead of ſeeing any food appear, ^* I heard the doors of that horrible dungeon more cloſely barred. I beheld my little children in ſilence, and could not weep. My heart was petrified! the little wretches wept, and my dear Anſelm ſaid; Tu guardi sì, padre: che hai? father you look on us! what ails you? I could neither weep nor anſwer, and continued ſwallowed up in ſilent agony, all that day, and the following night, even till the dawn of day. As ſoon as a glimmering ray darted through the dole⯑ful priſon, that I could view again thoſe four faces, in which my own image was impreſſed, [256] I gnawed both my hands, with grief and rage. My children believing I did this through eagerneſs to eat, raiſing themſelves ſuddenly up, ſaid to me, My father! our torments would be leſs, if you would allay the rage of your hunger upon us. I reſtrained myſelf, that I might not encreaſe their miſery. We were all mute that day and, the following. Quel di, e l'altro ſtemmo tutti muti! Ah cruel earth why doſt not thou ſwallow us up at once? The fourth day being come, Gaddo falling extended at my feet, cryed; Padre mio, che non m'ajuti! My father, why do not you help me? and died. The other three expi⯑red one after the other between the fifth and ſixth days, famiſhed as thou ſeeſt me now! And I, being ſeized with blindneſs, began to go groping upon them with my hands and Feet: and continued calling them by their names three days after they were dead. Etre di li chiamai poichè fur morti: then hunger vanquiſhed my grief!"’

IF this inimitable deſcription had been to be found in Homer, the Greek tragedies, or [257] Virgil, how many commentaries and pane⯑gyrics would it have given riſe to? What ſhall ſhall we ſay, or think, of the genius able to produce it? There are many of the ſame nature; and perhaps the Inferno of Dante is the next compoſition to the Iliad, in point of originality and ſublimity. And with re⯑gard to the Pathetic, let this tale ſtand a teſtimony of his abilities: for my own part, I truly believe it was never carried to a greater heighth. It is remarkable, that Chaucer ap⯑pears to have been particularly ſtruck with this tale in Dante, having highly commended this, ‘"grete poete of Italie,"’ for this narra⯑tion; with a ſummary of which he concludes the Monke's Tale. ^*

THE PROLOGUE to Addiſon's Tragedy of Cato, is ſuperiour to any prologue of Dryden; who, notwithſtanding, is ſo juſtly celebrated for this ſpecies of writing. The prologues of Dryden are ſatyrical and facetious; this of POPE is ſolemn and ſublime, as the ſubject [258] required. Thoſe of Dryden contain general topics of criticiſm and wit, and may pre⯑cede any play whatſoever, even tragedy or comedy. This of POPE is particular, and appropriated to the tragedy alone, which it was deſigned to introduce. The moſt ſtriking images and alluſions it contains, are taken, with judgment, from ſome paſſages in the life of Cato himſelf. Such is that fine ſtroke, more lofty than any thing in the tragedy itſelf, where the poet ſays, that when Caeſar amid the pomp and magnificence of a triumph,

Such, again, is the happy alluſion to an old ſtory mentioned in Martial, of this ſage going into the theatre, and immediately com⯑ing out of it again:

[259] From which he draws an artful panegyric, on the purity and excellence of the play he was celebrating.

WITH reſpect to ſprightly turns and poig⯑nancy of wit, the prologues of Dryden have not been equalled. The curious reader may conſult, particularly, a collection of twenty of them together, in the firſt edition of the firſt volume of Tonſon's Miſcellanies^*; many of them, and the moſt excellent, written on occaſion of the players going to Oxford; a cuſtom, for the neglect of which, no good reaſon can be aſſigned; except, perhaps, that even the players muſt now forſooth follow the contemptible cant of decrying that moſt learned univerſity, and of doing nothing that may contribute to its pleaſure and emolument. At this time Dryden was ſo famous for his prologues, that no piece was reliſhed, nor would the theatres ſcarcely venture to produce it, if it wanted this faſhionable ornament. To this purpoſe, an anecdote is recorded of [260] Southerne; who, on bringing his firſt play on the ſtage, did not fail to beſpeak a pro⯑logue of the artiſt in vogue. The uſual price had ever been four guineas. In the preſent caſe, Dryden inſiſted that he muſt have ſix for his work; ‘"which, ſaid the mercantile bard, is out of no diſreſpect to you, young man; but the players have had my goods too cheap."’

THE tragedy of Cato itſelf, is a glaring in⯑ſtance of the force of party^*; ſo heavy and declamatory a drama would never have met with ſuch rapid and amazing ſucceſs, if every [261] line and ſentiment had not been particularly tortured, and applied, to recent events, and the reigning diſputes of the times. The purity and energy of the diction, and the loftineſs of the ſentiments, copied in a great meaſure from Lucan, Tacitus, and Seneca the phi⯑loſopher, merit approbation. But I have always thought, that thoſe pompous Roman ſentiments are not ſo difficult to be produced, as is vulgarly imagined; and which, indeed, dazzle only the vulgar. A ſtroke of nature is, in my opinion, worth a hundred ſuch thoughts, as,

CATO is a fine dialogue on liberty, and the love of one's country; but conſidered as a dramatic performance, nay as a model of a juſt tragedy, as ſome have affectedly repre⯑ſented it, it muſt be owned to want, ACTION and PATHOS; the two hinges, I preſume, on which a juſt tragedy ought neceſſarily to turn, and without which it cannot ſubſiſt. It wants [262] alſo CHARACTER, although that be not ſo eſſentially neceſſary to a tragedy as ACTION. Syphax, indeed, in his ^* interview with Juba, bears ſome marks of a rough African: the ſpeeches of the reſt may be transferred to any of the perſonages concerned. The ſimile drawn from mount Atlas, and the deſcription of the Numidian traveller ſmothered in the deſart, are indeed in character, but ſuffici⯑ently obvious. How Addiſon could fall into the falſe and unnatural cuſtom of ending his three firſt acts with ſimiles, is amazing in ſo chaſt and correct a writer. The loves of Juba and Marcia, of Portius and Lucia, are vicious and inſipid epiſodes, debaſe the dig⯑nity, and deſtroy the unity, of the fable.

ONE would imagine, from the practice of our modern play-wrights, that love was the only paſ⯑ſion, capable of producing any great calamities in human life: for this paſſion has engroſſed, and been impertinently introduced into, ^§ all ſubjects. [263] In the Cinna of Corneille, which the prince of Condé called ‘"the Breviary of kings,"’ Maxi⯑mus whines like a ſhepherd in the Paſtor Fido, amidſt profound political reflections, that excel thoſe of Tacitus and Machiavel; and while the moſt important event, that could happen to the empire of the world, was debating. In his imitation of the Oreſtes of Sophocles, Crebillon has introduced a frigid love-intrigue. Achilles muſt be in love in the Iphigenia of Racine; and the rough Mithridates muſt be involved in this all-ſubduing paſſion. A paſ⯑ſion however it is, that will always ſhine upon the ſtage, where it is introduced as the chief ſubject, but not ſubordinate and [264] ſecondary^*. Thus, perhaps, there cannot be finer ſubjects for a drama, than Phaedra, Romeo, Othello, and Monimia. The whole diſtreſs in theſe pieces ariſes ſingly from this unfortunate paſſion, carried to an extreme^†. The GREATER paſſions were the conſtant ſubjects of the Grecian, the TENDERER ones of the French and Engliſh theatres. Terror reigned in the former; pity occupies the latter. The moderns may yet boaſt of ſome pieces, that are not emaſculated with this epi⯑demical effeminacy. Racine was at laſt con⯑vinced of its impropriety, and gave the pub⯑lic his Athaliah; in which were no parts, commonly called by the French l'amoreux [265] et de l'amoreuſe, which were always given to their two capital actors. The Merope and Oreſtes of Voltaire, are likewiſe free from any ill-placed tenderneſs, and romantic gal⯑lantry. For which he has merited the praiſes of the learned father Tournemine, in a let⯑ter to his friend father Brumoy.^* But LEAR and MACBETH are alſo ſtriking inſtances what intereſting tragedies may be written, without having recourſe to a love-ſtory. It is pity, that the tragedy of Cato in which all the rules of the drama, as far as the mechaniſm of writing reaches, is not exact with reſpect to the unity of time. There was no occaſion to extend the time of the fable longer than the mere repreſentation takes up; all might have paſ⯑ſed in the compaſs of three hours from the morning, with a deſcription of which the play opens; if the poet in the fourth ſcene of the fifth act, had not talked of the ſetting ſun playing on the armour of the ſoldiers.

HAVING been imperceptibly led into this [266] little criticiſm on the tragedy of Cato, I beg leave to ſpeak a few words on ſome other of Addiſon's pieces. The ^* firſt of his poems addreſt to Dryden, Sir John Somers, and king William, are languid, proſaic, and void of any poetical imagery or ſpirit. The Let⯑ter from Italy, is by no means equal to a ſub⯑ject ſo fruitful of genuine poetry, and which might have warmed the moſt cold and cor⯑rect imagination. One would have expected, a young traveller in the height of his genius and judgment, would have broke out into ſome ſtrokes of enthuſiaſm. With what flat⯑neſs and unfeelingneſs has he ſpoken of ſtatu⯑ary and painting! Raphäel never received a more flegmatic elogy. The ſlavery and ſu⯑perſtition of the preſent Romans, are well touched upon towards the concluſion; but I will venture to name a little piece, on a pa⯑rallel ſubject, that greatly excells this celebra⯑ted [267] Letter; and in which are as much lively and original imagery, ſtrong painting, and manly ſentiments of freedom, as I have ever read in our language. It is a Copy of Verſes written at Virgil's Tomb, and printed in Dodſley's ^* Miſcellanies.

THAT there are many well wrought de⯑ſcriptions, and even pathetic ſtrokes, in the Campaign, it would be ſtupidity and malignity to deny. But ſurely the regular march which the poet has obſerved from one town to ano⯑ther, as if he had been a commiſſary of the army, cannot well be excuſed. There is a paſſage in Boileau, ſo remarkably oppoſite to this fault of Addiſon, that one would almoſt be tempted to think he had the Campaign in his eye, when he wrote it, if the time would admit ^‡ it.

The moſt ſpirited verſes Addiſon has written, are, an Imitation of the third ode of the third book of Horace which is indeed performed with energy and vigour; and his compliment to Kneller, on the picture of king George the firſt. The occaſion of this laſt poem is peculi⯑arly happy; for among the works of Phidias which he enumerates, he ſelects ſuch ſtatues as exactly mark, and characteriſe, the laſt ſix Britiſh kings and queens.

There is ſcarcely, I believe, any inſtance, where mythology has been applied with ſo much delicacy and dexterity, and has been contrived to anſwer in its application, ſo mi⯑nutely, exactly, and in ſo many correſpond⯑ing circumſtances.

WHATEVER cenſures we have here, too [270] boldly, perhaps, ventured to deliver on the pro⯑feſſed poetry of Addiſon, yet muſt we candidly own, that in various parts of his proſe-eſſays, are to be found many ſtrokes of genuine and ſublime poetry; many marks of a vigorous and exuberant imagination. Particularly, in the noble allegory of Pain and Pleaſure, the Viſion of Mirza, the ſtory of Maraton and Yaratilda, of Conſtantia and Theodoſius, and the beautiful eaſtern tale of Abdallah and Balſora; and many others: together with ſeveral ſtrokes in the Eſſay on the pleaſures of imagination. It has been the lot of many great names, not to have been able to expreſs themſelves with beauty and propriety in the fetters of verſe, in their reſpective languages; who have yet manifeſted the force, fertility, and creative power of a moſt poetic genius, in proſe. ^* This was the caſe of Plato, of [271] Lucian, of Fenelon, of Sir Philip Sidney, and of Dr. T. Burnet, who in his Theory of the Earth, has diſplayed an imagination, very nearly equal to that of Milton.

After all, the chief and characteriſtical excel⯑lency of Addiſon, was his HUMOUR; for in humour no mortal has excelled him except Moliere. Witneſs the character of Sir Roger de Coverly, ſo original, ſo natural, and ſo in⯑violably preſerved; ^† particularly, in the month, which the Spectator ſpends at his hall in the country. Witneſs alſo the Drummer, that excellent and neglected comedy, that juſt picture of life and real manners, where the poet never ſpeaks in his own perſon, or totally drops or forgets a character, for the ſake of introducing a brilliant ſimile, or acute [272] remark: where no train is laid for wit; no JEREMYS, or BENS, are ſuffer'd to appear.

THE EPILOGUE to Jane Shore, is the laſt piece that belongs to this Section; the title of which by this time the reader may have poſſibly forgot. It is written with the air of gallantry and raillery, which, by a ſtrange perverſion of taſte, the audience expects in all epilogues to the moſt ſerious and pathetic pieces. To recommend cuckoldom and palliate adultery, is their uſual intent. I wonder Mrs. Oldfield was not ſuffered to ſpeak it; for it is ſuperiour to that which was uſed on the oc⯑caſion. In this taſte Garrick has written ſome, that abound in ſpirit and drollery. Rowe's genius ^* was rather delicate and tender, than ſtrong and pathetic; his compoſitions ſooth us with a tranquill and tender ſort of com⯑placency, rather than cleave the heart with [273] pangs of commiſeration. His diſtreſſes are entirely founded on the paſſion of love. His diction is extremely elegant and chaſte, and his verſification highly melodious. His plays are declamations, rather than dialogues, and his characters are general, and undiſtinguiſhed from each other. Such a furious character as that of Bajazet, is eaſily drawn; and, let me add, eaſily acted. There is a want of unity in the fable of Tamerlane. The death's head, dead body, and ſtage hung in mourning, in the Fair Penitent, are inartificial and mecha⯑nical methods of affecting an audience. In a word, his plays are muſical and pleaſing poems, but inactive and unmoving trage⯑dies. This of Jane Shore is, I think, the moſt intereſting and affecting of any he has given us: but probability is ſadly violated in it by the neglect of the unity of time. For a per⯑ſon to be ſuppoſed to be ſtarved, during the repreſentation of five acts, is a ſtriking in⯑ſtance of the abſurdity of this violation. In this piece, as in all of Rowe's, are many florid ſpeeches, utterly inconſiſtent with the ſtate [274] ſituation of the diſtreſsful perſonages who ſpeak them. When Shore firſt meets with her huſ⯑band, ſhe ſays,

He has then added ſome lines, intolerably flowery and unnatural;

This is of a far diſtant ſtrain from thoſe ten⯑der and ſimple exclamations ſhe uſes, when her huſband offers her ſome rich conſerves;

And again;

[275] She continues to gaze on him with earneſtneſs, and inſtead of eating as he entreats her, ſhe obſerves,

To which ſhe inſtantly ſubjoins, ſtruck with the idea that ſhe herſelf was the unhappy cauſe of this alteration;

What ſhe anſwers to her huſband, when he aſks her movingly,

Is pathetic to a great degree: and,

Theſe few words far exceed the moſt pompous [276] declamations of Cato. The interview betwixt Jane Shore and Alicia, in the middle of this act, is alſo very affecting: where the madneſs of Alicia is well painted. But of all repre⯑ſentations of madneſs, that of Clementina, in the Hiſtory of Sir Charles Grandiſon, is the moſt deeply intereſting. I know not whether even the madneſs of Lear is wrought up, and expreſſed by ſo many little ſtrokes of nature, and genuine paſſion. It is abſolute pedantry to prefer and compare, the madneſs of Oreſtes in Euripides, to this of Clementina.

IT is probable, that this is become the moſt popular and pleaſing tragedy of all Rowe's works, becauſe it is founded on our own hi⯑ſtory. It is to be wiſhed, that our writers would more frequently ſearch for ſubjects, in the annals of England, which afford many ſtriking and pathetic events, proper for the ſtage. We have been too long attached to Grecian and Roman ſtories. In truth, the DOMESTICA FACTA, are more intereſting, as well as more uſeful: more intereſting, be⯑cauſe [277] we all think ourſelves concerned in the actions and fates of our countrymen; more uſeful, becauſe the characters and manners, bid the faireſt to be true and natural, when they are drawn from models with which we are exactly acquainted. The Turks, the Perſians, and Americans, of our poets, are in reality diſtinguiſhed from Engliſhmen, only by their turbans and feathers; and think, and act, as if they were born and edu⯑cated within the bills of mortality. The hi⯑ſtorical plays of ^* Shakeſpeare, are always particularly grateful to the ſpectator, who loves to ſee and hear our own Harrys and Edwards, better than all the Achille'ss or Brutus's that ever exiſted. In the choice of a domeſtic ſtory, however, much judgment and circumſpection muſt be exerted, to ſelect one of a proper aera; neither of too ancient, or [278] of too modern a date. The manners of times very ancient, we ſhall be as apt to falſify, as thoſe of the Greeks and Romans. And re⯑cent events, with which we are thoroughly acquainted, are deprived of the power of im⯑preſſing ſolemnity and awe, by their notoriety and familiarity. Age ſoftens and wears away all thoſe diſgracing and depreciating circum⯑ſtances, which attend modern tranſactions, merely becauſe they are modern. Lucan was much embarraſſed by the proximity of the times he treated of. On this very ac⯑count, as well as others, the beſt tragedy that could be poſſibly written on the murder of Charles I. would be coldly received. Racine ventured to write on a recent hiſtory, in his Bajazet; but would not have attempted it, had he not thought, that the diſtance of his hero's country repaired, in ſome meaſure, the nearneſs of the time in which he lived. ‘"Major a longinquo reverentia."’

POPE, it is ſaid, had framed a deſign of writing an epic poem, on a fact recorded in [279] our old annaliſts, and therefore more engaging to an Engliſhman; on the ARRIVAL of BRUTUS, the ſuppoſed grandſon of Aeneas, in our iſland, and the ſettlement of the firſt foundations of the Britiſh monarchy. A full ſcope might have been given to a vigorous imagination, to embelliſh a fiction drawn from the boſom of the remoteſt antiquity. Some tale, equally venerable and ancient, it was alſo the pur⯑poſe of Milton ^* to adorn; for he ſays, in his [280] Reaſon of church government, ^* ‘"I am me⯑ditating what king or knight BEFORE THE CONQUEST might be choſen, in whom to lay the pattern of a chriſtian hero."’ But ſhall I be pardoned for ſuſpecting, that POPE would not have ſucceeded in this deſign; that ſo DIDACTIC a genius would have been deficient in that SUBLIME and PATHETIC, which are the main nerves of the epopea; that he would have given us many elegant de⯑ſcriptions, and many GENERAL characters, well drawn; but would have failed to ſet be⯑fore our eyes the REALITY of theſe objects, and the ACTIONS of theſe characters: for Homer profeſſedly draws no characters, but gives us to collect them from the looks and behaviour of each perſon he introduces; that POPE's cloſe and conſtant reaſoning had im⯑paired and cruſhed the faculty of imagination; that the political reflections, in this piece, would, in all probability, have been more nu⯑merous, than the affecting ſtrokes of nature; that it would have more reſembled the HEN⯑RIADE, [281] than the ILIAD, or even the GIERU⯑SALEMME LIBERATA; that it would have appeared, (if this ſcheme had been executed) how much, and for what reaſons, the man that is ſkilful in painting modern life, and the moſt ſecret foibles and follies of his co⯑temporaries, is, THEREFORE diſqualified for repreſenting the ages of heroiſm, and that ſimple life, which alone epic poetry can grace⯑fully deſcribe; in a word, that this compoſi⯑tion would have ſhewn more of the PHILO⯑SOPHER than of the POET. Add to all this, that it was to have been written in rhyme; a circumſtance, ſufficient of itſelf alone to overwhelm and extinguiſh all enthuſiaſm, and produce endleſs tautologies and circumlocu⯑tions. Are not theſe ſuppoſitions ſtrength⯑ened by what Dr. Warburton ^* has informed us, namely, that POPE in this poem intended to have treated amply, ‘"of all that regarded civil regimen, or the ſcience of politics, that the ſeveral forms of a republic were here to have been examined and explained; together [282] with the ſeveral modes of religious worſhip, as far forth as they affect ſociety;"’ than which, ſurely there could not have been a more improper ſubject for an epic poem.

IT is not impertinent to obſerve, for the ſake of thoſe who are fond of the hiſtory, of literature, and of the human mind in the pro⯑greſs of it, that the very firſt poem that ap⯑peared in France, any thing like an epic poem, was on this identical ſubject, of Brutus ar⯑riving in England. It was written by Ma⯑ſter EUSTACHE, ſo early as in the reign of Louis the ſeventh, ſirnamed the Young, who aſcended the throne in the year 1137, and who was the huſband of the celebrated Ele⯑onora, afterwards divorced, and married to our Henry the ſecond. The author called it, Le ROMAN de Brut. Every piece of poetry was at that time denominated a romance. The latin language ceaſed to be regularly ſpoken in France, about the ninth century; and was ſucceeded by what was called the Romance-tongue, a mixture of the language [283] of the Francs, and of bad Latin. The ſpecies of writing, called Romans, began in the tenth century, according to the opinion of the Be⯑nedictine fathers^*, who have well refuted, M. Fleuri and Calmet, who make them leſs ancient by two hundred years. The poem, or Roman, we are ſpeaking of, is full of won⯑derful and improbable tales, and ſupernatural adventures, ſuited to the taſte of ſo barbarous an age. It is matter of ſome curioſity, to ſee a ſpecimen of the ſtyle of this eldeſt of the French poets. This is his exordium:

We may judge, from this paſſage, of the ſtate of the language. Maſter Euſtache has been particularly careful to mark the time in which he lived and wrote, by his two concluding lines:

[284] I will take leave to add, that the ſecond poem now remaining in the French language, was entitled, The Romance of Alexander the Great. It was the confederated work of four authors, famous in their time. Lambert le Court, and Alexander of Paris, ſung the ex⯑ploits of Alexander; Peter de Saint Cloſt, wrote his will in verſe; the writing the will of a hero being then a common topic; and John le Nivelois, added a book concerning the manner in which his death was revenged. It is remarkable, that before this time, all the Romans had been compoſed in verſes of eight ſyllables: but in this piece, the four authors firſt uſed verſes of TWELVE ſyllables, as more ſolemn and majeſtic. And this was the origin, tho' but little known, of thoſe verſes, which we now call ALEXANDRINES; the French heroic meaſure: the name being derived from Alexander, the hero of the piece, or from Alexander, the moſt celebrated of the four poets concerned in this work. Theſe were the moſt applauded poets of that age. Fauchet highly commends this poem: par⯑ticularly [285] a paſſage where a Cavalier is ſtruck to the ground with a lance, who, ſays the old bard,

Which is not inferior to Virgil's,

One would not imagine this line had been written, ſo early as the middle of the twelfth century. A great and truly learned anti⯑quary ^* has remarked, for the honour of our country, that about this time, 1160, appeared the firſt traces of any theatre. ‘"A monk called Geoffry, who was afterwards abbot of St. Albans in England, employed in the edu⯑cation of youth, made his pupils repreſent, with proper ſcenes and dreſſes, tragedies of piety. The ſubject of the firſt dramatic piece, was, the miracles of ſaint Catharine, which, ſays my author, appeared long before any of our repreſentations of the MYSTERIES."’

SECT. VI. Of the Epiſtle of SAPPHO to PHAON, and of ELOISA to ABELARD.

IT is no ſmall merit in Ovid, to have in⯑vented this beautiful ſpecies of writing epiſtles under feigned characters. It is a high improvement on the Greek elegy; to which its dramatic nature renders it greatly ſuperior. It is indeed no other than a paſſionate ſolilo⯑quy; in which, the mind gives vent to the diſtreſſes and emotions under which it la⯑bours: but by being directed and addreſſed to a particular perſon, it gains a degree of propriety, that the beſt-conducted ſoliloquy, in a tragedy, muſt ever want. Our impatience under any preſſures of grief, and diſorder of mind, makes ſuch paſſionate expoſtulations with the perſons ſuppoſed to cauſe ſuch un⯑eaſineſſes, very natural. Judgment is chiefly ſhewn, by opening the intereſting complaint juſt at ſuch a period of time, as will give oc⯑caſion [287] for the moſt tender ſentiments, and the moſt ſudden and violent turns of paſſion to be diſplayed. Ovid may, perhaps, be blamed for a ſameneſs of ſubjects, in theſe epiſtles of his heroines; whoſe diſtreſſes are almoſt all occaſioned by their lovers forſaking them. His epiſtles are likewiſe too long; which circumſtance has forced him into a repetition and languor in the ſentiments. It would be a pleaſing taſk, and conduce to the formation of a good taſte, to ſhew how differently Ovid and the Greek tragedians, have made Medea, Phaedra, and Deianira ſpeak, on the very ſame occaſions. Such a compariſon would abun⯑dantly manifeſt, the FANCY and WIT of Ovid, and the JUDGMENT and NATURE of Euripides and Sophocles. If the character of Medea was not better ſupported in the tragedy, which Ovid is ſaid to have produced, and of which Quintilian ſpeaks ſo advantageouſly, than it is in her epiſtle to Jaſon, one may venture to declare, that, if this drama had ſurvived, the Ro⯑mans would not yet have been vindicated, from their inferiority to the Greeks, in tragic poeſy.

[288] THE EPISTLE before us is tranſlated by POPE, with faithfulneſs and with elegance; and much excells any that Dryden tranſlated in the volume he publiſhed: many of which were done by ſome ‘"of the mob of gentle⯑men that wrote with eaſe;"’ that is, Sir C. Scroop, Caryl, Pooly, Wright, Tate, Buck⯑ingham, Cooper, and other careleſs rhymers. A good tranſlation of theſe epiſtles, is as much wanted, as one of Juvenal; for, out of ſix⯑teen ſatires of that poet, Dryden himſelf tran⯑ſlated but ſix. We can now boaſt of happy tranſlations in verſe, of almoſt all the great poets of antiquity; whilſt the French have been poorly contented with only proſe tranſ⯑lations of Homer and Horace, which, ſays Cervantes, can no more reſemble the original, than the wrong ſide of tapeſtry can repreſent the right. The inability of the French tongue to expreſs many Greek or Roman ideas with facility and grace, is here viſible: but the Italians have Horace tranſlated by Pallavacini, Theocritus by Ricolotti, Ovid by Anguillara, the Aeneid, admirably well, in blank verſe, by [289] Annibal Caro, and the Georgics, in blank verſe alſo, by Daniello.

I return to Ovid, by obſerving, that he has put into the mouth of his heroine, a greater number of pretty panegyrical epigrams, than of thoſe tender and paſſionate ſentiments, which ſuited her character, and made her SENSIBILITY in amours ſo famous. What can be more elegantly gallant than this compli⯑ment to Phaon?

This thought ſeems indiſputably to have been imitated, in that moſt juſtly celebrated of mo⯑dern epigrams:

My chief reaſon for quoting theſe delicate lines, was to point out the occaſion of them, which ſeems not to be ſufficiently known. [290] They were made on Louis de Maguiron, the moſt beautiful man of his time, and the great favourite of Henry III. of France, who loſt an eye at the ſiege of Iſſoire; and on the Princeſs of Eboli, a great beauty, but who was deprived of the ſight of one of her eyes, and who was at the ſame time miſtreſs of Philip II. King of Spain.

IT was happily imagined to write an epiſtle in the character of Sapho, who had ſpoken of the joys of love with more warmth and feeling, than any writer of antiquity; and who deſcribed the violent ſymptoms attending this paſſion, in ſo ſtrong and lively a manner, that the phyſician Eraſiſtratus, is ſaid to have diſ⯑covered the ſecret malady of the Prince An⯑tiochus, who was in love with his mother⯑in-law Stratonice, merely by examining the ſymptoms of his patient's diſtemper by this deſcription. Addiſon has inſerted in two of his Spectators^*, an elegant character of this poeteſs; and has given a tranſlation of two of [291] her fragments, that are exquiſite in their kind: a tranſlation, which we may preſume Addiſon himſelf reviſed, and altered, for his friend Philips. As theſe two pieces are pretty well⯑known, by being found in ſo popular a book as the Spectator, I ſhall ſay no more of them; but ſhall add two more of her fragments, which, though very ſhort, are yet highly beautiful and tender. The firſt repreſents the languor and liſtleſſneſs of a perſon deeply in love; we may ſuppoſe the fair author look⯑ing up earneſtly on her mother, caſting down the web on which ſhe was employed, and ſuddenly exclaiming;

The other fragment is of the deſcriptive kind; and ſeems to be the beginning of an Ode ad⯑dreſſed [292] to EVENING: it is quoted by Deme⯑trius Phalereus,^*

From theſe little fragments, the firſt of which is an example of the pathetic, and the ſecond of the pictureſque, the manner of Sappho might have been gathered, if the two longer odes had not been preſerved in the treatiſes of Dionyſius, and of Longinus. I cannot help adopting the application Addiſon has made, of his two lines of Phoedrus, to theſe remains of our poeteſs; which is perhaps one of the moſt elegant, and happy applica⯑tions that ever was made from any claſſic whatever:

[293] The verſification of this tranſlation of POPE, is, in point of melody, next to that of his paſtorals. I am of opinion, that the two fol⯑lowing lines, in which alliteration is ſucceſſ⯑fully uſed, are the moſt harmonious verſes, in our language, I mean in rhyme:

The peculiar muſicalneſs of the firſt of theſe lines, in particular, ariſes principally from it's conſiſting entirely of iambic feet; which have always a ſtriking, although unperceived, effect in an Engliſh verſe. As for example;

Even if the laſt foot alone be an iambic, it caſts a harmony over a whole line:^*

There are many niceties in our verſification, which few attend to, and which would de⯑mand [294] a regular treatiſe fully to diſcourſe: we ſhould ſurely uſe every poſſible art, to render our rough Northern language harmonious.

FENTON alſo has given us a tranſlation of this epiſtle to Phaon; but it is in no reſpect equal to POPE's: he has added another, of his own invention, of Phaon to Sappho, in which the ſtory of the transformation of the former, from an old mariner to a beautiful youth, is well told. Fenton ^* was an elegant ſcholar, and had an exquiſite taſte; the books he tranſlated for POPE in the Odyſſey, are ſupe⯑rior to Brome's. In his Miſcellanies, are [295] ſome pieces worthy notice; particularly, his Epiſtle to Southerne; the Fair Nun, imitated from Fontaine; Olivia a Character, and an Ode to Lord Gower, written in the true ſpirit of Lyric poetry, of which the following allegory is an example:

His tragedy of Mariamne has merit, tho the diction be too figurative and ornamental; it does indeed ſuperabound in the richeſt poetic images: except this may be palliated by urg⯑ing, that it ſuits the characters of oriental heroes, to talk in ſo high a ſtrain, and to uſe ſuch a luxuriance of metaphors.

[296] FROM this EPISTLE of Sappho, I may take occaſion to obſerve, that this ſpecies of writing, beautiful as it is, has not been much cultivated among us. Drayton, no deſpica⯑ble genius, attempted to revive it, and has left us ſome good ſubjects, tho' not very art⯑fully handled^*. We have alſo a few of this ſort of epiſtles by the late Lord Hervey, in the fourth volume of Dodſley's Miſcellanies, ^† Flora to Pompey, Ariſbe to Marius, and Monimia to Philocles, in which laſt are ſome pathetic ſtrokes, and Roxana to Uſbeck, taken from the incomparable ^‡ letters of the late preſident Monteſquieu; a fine ^§ original work, [297] in which the cuſtoms and manners of the Perſians are painted with the utmoſt truth and livelineſs, and which have been faintly imitated by the Jewiſh, Chineſe, and other Letters. The beauty of this writer, is his expreſſive brevity; which Lord Hervey has lengthened to a degree that is unnatural; eſpecially, as Roxana is ſuppoſed to write juſt after ſhe has ſwallowed a deadly poiſon, and during it's violent operations. I have lately ſeen ſeveral pieces of this ſpecies, which as the ſubjects are ſtriking, will, I hope, one day ſee the light. They are entitled, ‘"TASSO to LEONORA; written in an interval of his madneſs: LUCAN to NERO; juſt after he was condemned to death: Lady OLIVIA to CLEMENTINA, on her refuſing to marry Grandiſon: CHARLES V. from the monaſtery he retired to, to the King of France: GALGACUS, general of the Britons, [298] to AGRICOLA that commanded the Romans: MONTEZUMA to CORTEZ: VITIKINDA, the general of the Saxons, to CHARLEMAYNE: and ROSMUNDA to ALBOINUS, King of the Lombards."’

BUT of all ſtories, ancient or modern, there is not perhaps a more proper one to furniſh out an elegiac epiſtle, than that of ELOISA and ABELARD. Their diſtreſſes were of a moſt SINGULAR and PECULIAR kind; and their names ſufficiently known, but not grown trite or common, by too frequent uſage. POPE was a moſt excellent IMPROVER, if no great original INVENTOR; for, as we have ſeen what an elegant ſuperſtructure he has raiſed on the little dialogues of the Comte de Gabalis, ſo ſhall we perceive, in the ſequel of this Section, how finely he has worked up the hints of diſtreſs, that are ſcattered up and down in Abelard's and Eloiſa's Letters; and, in a little French ^* hiſtory of their lives and [299] misfortunes, which he made great uſe of. ^* Abelard was reputed the moſt handſome, as well as moſt learned, man, of his time; ac⯑cording to the kind of learning then in vogue. An old chronicle, quoted by ^† Andrew du Cheſne informs us, that ſcholars flocked to his lectures from all quarters of the latin world. And his contemporary St. Bernard relates, that he numbered among his diſciples many principal eccleſiaſtics, and cardinals, at the court of Rome. Abelard himſelf boaſts, that when he retired into the country, he was followed by ſuch immenſe crowds of ſcholars, that they could get neither lodgings nor pro⯑viſions ſufficient for them; ‘"ut nec locus [300] hoſpitiis, nec terra ſufficeret alimentis.^*"’ He met with the fate of many learned men, to be embroiled in controverſy, and accuſed of hereſy; for St. ^† Bernard, whoſe influence and authority was very great, got his opinion of the Trinity condemned, at a council held at Sens, 1140. But the talents of ^‡ Abelard were not confined to theology, juriſ⯑prudence, philoſophy, and the thorny paths of ſcholaſticiſm: he gave proofs of a lively [301] genius, by many poetical performances; in⯑ſomuch, that he was reputed to be the author of the famous Romance of the Roſe; which, however, was indiſputably written by JOHN OF MEUN, a little city on the banks of the Loire, about four leagues from Orleans; which gave occaſion to Marot to exclaim;

Of this ancient French poet much more will be ſaid, in the courſe of this work, when we come occaſionally to ſpeak of Chaucer; ſuffice it at preſent to obſerve, that he certainly continued and finiſhed the Romance of the Roſe, which ^* William de Lorris had left im⯑perfect, forty years before. If chronology did not abſolutely contradict the notion of Abelard's being the author of this very cele⯑brated piece, yet are there internal arguments ſufficient to confute it. The miſtake ſeems [302] to have flowed, from his having given Eloiſa the name of ROSE, in one of the many ſon⯑netts he addreſt to her. In this ^* romance, there are many ſevere and ſatirical ſtrokes on the character of Eloiſa, which the pen of ^† Abelard never would have given. In one paſſage, ſhe is introduced ſpeaking with in⯑decency and obſcenity; in another, all the vices and bad qualities of women are repre⯑ſented, as aſſembled together in her alone.

In a very old epiſtle dedicatory, addreſſed to [303] Philip the fourth of France, by this ſame John of Meun, and prefixed to a French tranſlation of Boetius, a very popular book at that time, it appears, that he alſo tranſlated the epiſtles of Abelard to Heloiſa, which were in high vogue at the court. He men⯑tions alſo that he had tranſlated Vegetius, on the Art Military, and a book called the Won⯑ders of Ireland; theſe works ſhew us the taſte of the age: his words are; ‘"t'envoye ores ^* Boece de conſolation, que j'ai tranſlaté en Francois, jacoit que bien entendes le Latin"^†.’ It is to be regretted, that we have no exact picture of the perſon and beauty of Eloiſa; Abelard himſelf ſays, that ſhe was, ‘"facie non infima;"’ her extraordinary learn⯑ing many circumſtances concur to confirm; particularly one, which is, that the nuns of the Paraclete are wont to have the office of Whitſunday read to them in Greek, to per⯑petuate [304] the memory of her underſtanding that language. The curious may not be diſpleaſed to be informed, that the Paraclete was built in the pariſh of Quincey, upon the little river Arduzon, near to Nogent, upon the Seine. Happening to be in France a few years ago, I had the curioſity to viſit the very ſpot; which I ſurveyed with much veneration. A lady, learned as was Eloiſa in that age, who indiſputably underſtood the latin, greek, and hebrew tongues, was a kind of prodigy: her literature, ſays ^* Abelard, ‘"in toto regno nominatiſſimam fecerat:"’ and, we may be ſure, more thoroughly attached him to her. Buſſy Rabutin ſpeaks in high terms of com⯑mendation, of the purity of Eloiſa's latinity: a judgment worthy a French count! There is a force, but not an elegance in her ſtyle; which is blemiſhed, as might be expected, by many phraſes unknown to the pure ages of the Roman language, and by many Hebra⯑iſms, borrowed from the tranſlation of the bible.

[305] I now propoſe to paſs through the ^* EPISTLE, in order to give the reader a view of the various turns and tumults of paſ⯑ſion, and the different ſentiments with which Eloiſa is agitated: and at the ſame time, to point out what paſſages are borrowed, and how much improved, from the original Let⯑ters. From this analyſis, her ſtruggles and conflicts, between duty and pleaſure, between penitence and paſſion, will more amply and ſtrikingly appear.

[306] SHE begins with declaring, how the peace⯑fulneſs of her ſituation has been diſturbed, by a letter of her lover accidentally falling into her hands; this exordium is beautiful, being worked up with an awakening ſolem⯑nity: ſhe looks about her, and breaks out at once.

She then reſolves neither to mention or to write the name of Abelard; but ſuddenly adds, in a dramatic manner,

[307] She then addreſſes herſelf to the convent, where ſhe was confined, in fine imagery:

She proceeds to enumerate the effects, which Abelard's relation of their misfortunes has had upon her; yet notwithſtanding what ſhe ſuffers from them, ſhe intreats him ſtill to write.

This is from the Letters—‘"Per ipſum itaque Chriſtum obſecramus; quatenus ancillulas ipſius & tuas, crebris literis de his, in quibus adhuc fluctuas, naufragiis certificare ^† dig⯑neris, ut nos ſaltem quae tibi ſolae remanſimus, doloris vel gaudii participes habeas."’ On the mention of letters, ſhe breaks out into that beautiful account of their uſe, which is finely improved from the latin.

‘[309]"De quibuſcunque autem nobis ſcribas, non parvum nobis remedium conferes; hoc ſal⯑tem uno, quod te noſtri memorem eſſe monſ⯑trabis."’ She then quotes ^* an unneceſſary paſſage of Seneca, and adds, ‘"Si imagines nobis amicorum abſentium jucundae ſunt, quae memoriam renovant, & deſiderium abſentiae falſo atque inani ſolatio levant; quanto jucun⯑diores ſunt literae, quae amici abſentis veras notas afferunt?"’ The origin of Eloiſa's paſ⯑ſion is, with much art and knowledge of human nature, aſcribed to her admiration of her handſome preceptor: this circumſtance is particularly poetical, and even ſublime;

Theſe ſentiments are plainly from the letters, ‘"Nihil unquam, deus ſcit, in te, niſi te requi⯑ſivi; te purè non tua concupiſcens. Non ma⯑trimonii foedera, non dotes aliquas expectavi. Et ſi uxoris nomen ſanctius ac validius videtur, dulcius mihi ſemper extitit amicae vocabulum, aut ſi non indigneris, concubinae vel ſcorti."’—POPE has added a very injudicious thought,

It is improper for a perſon in the ſituation of Eloiſa to mention Cupid; mythology is here out of its place. The Letters alſo furniſhed the next thought:

‘"DEUM teſtem invoco, ſi me Auguſtus, univerſo praeſidens mundo, matrimonii honore dignaretur, totumque mihi orbem confirmaret in perpetuo praeſidendum, charius mihi & dignius videretur, tua dici meretrix, quam illius imperatrix."’ Next ſhe deſcribes their unpa⯑rallelled happineſs in the full and free enjoy⯑ment of their loves; but all at once ſtops ſhort, and reclaims with eagerneſs, as if ſhe at that inſtant ſaw the dreadful ſcene al⯑luded to,

[313] One knows not which moſt to applaud, the lively imagery, the pathetic, or the artful de⯑cency, with which this traſaction is delicately hinted at, in theſe moſt excellent lines: which are the genuine voice of nature and paſſion, and place the object intended to be impreſt on the reader full in his ſight.

SHE next reminds Abelard of the ſolemnity of her taking the veil, from verſe one hundred and ſix, to one hundred and eighty four, which are highly beautiful, particularly theſe circumſtances attending the rite—

[314] Theſe two circumſtances are fancied with equal force and propriety; and this ſuppoſed prognoſtic of the uneaſineſs ſhe would un⯑dergo in the monaſtic life, is very affecting. But her paſſion intruded itſelf even in the midſt of this awful act of devotion; the ſtrength of which ſhe repreſents by this par⯑ticular,

Here ſhe gives her fondneſs leave to expatiate into many luſcious ideas;

And then follows a line exquiſitely paſſionate, and worthy the ſenſibility of Sappho or of Eloiſa,

Suddenly ſhe here checks the torrent of this amorous tranſport—

She puts him in mind of his being the father and founder of the monaſtery, and entreats him to viſit his flock on that account. This topic is taken from the Letters.

‘"Nihil hic ſuper alienum aedificâſti fundamen⯑tum; totum quod hic eſt, tua creatio eſt. Solitudo haec feris tantum, ſive latronibus va⯑cans, nullam hominum habitationem nove⯑rat, nullam domum habuerat. In ipſis cubili⯑bus ferarum, in ipſis latibulis latronum, ubi nec nominari deus ſolet, divinum erexiſti tabernaculum, & ſpiritûs ſancti proprium de⯑dicâſti templum. Nihil ad hoc aedificandum [316] ex regum vel principum opibus intuliſti, cum plurima poſſes & maxima, ut quicquid fieret, tibi ſoli poſſet aſcribi."’ Which laſt ſentence is finely improved by POPE; being at once heightened with pathos and poetic imagery; and containing an oblique ſatire on benefac⯑tions raiſed by avarice, or extorted by fear;

NO part of this poem, or indeed of any of POPE's productions is ſo truly poetical, and contains ſuch ſtrong painting, as the paſſage to which we are now arrived;—The deſcrip⯑tion of the convent, where POPE's religion certainly aided his fancy. It is impoſſible to read it without being ſtruck with a penſive pleaſure, and a ſacred awe, at the ſolemnity of the ſcene; ſo pictureſque are the epithets.

All the circumſtances that can amuſe and ſooth the mind of a ſolitary, are next enume⯑rated in this expreſſive manner: and the reader that ſhall be diſguſted at the length of the quotation, I pronounce, has no taſte, either for painting or poetry:

The effect and influence, of MELANCHOLY who is beautifully perſonified, on every ob⯑ject that occurs, and on every part of the convent, cannot be too much applauded, or [318] too often read, as it is founded on nature and experience. That temper of mind caſts a gloom on all things.

The figurative expreſſions, throws, and breathes, and browner horror, are I verily believe the ſtrongeſt and boldeſt in the Engliſh language. The IMAGE of the Goddeſs MELANCHOLY ſitting over the convent, and as it were ex⯑panding her dreadful wings over its whole circuit, and diffuſing her gloom all around it, is truely ſublime, and ſtrongly conceived.

ELOISA proceeds to give an account of the oppoſite ſentiments, that divide and diſturb her ſoul; theſe are hinted in the Letters alſo.

This however is improved greatly on the ori⯑ginal. ‘"Caſtam me praedicant, qui non de⯑prehendunt hypocritam—Quomodo paeniten⯑tia peccatorum, quantacunque ſit corporis afflictio, ſi mens adhuc ipſam peccandi retinet voluntatem, & priſtinis aeſtuat deſideriis?"^†’ She then fondly calls on Abelard for aſſiſt⯑ance,

Fired with this idea of religion, ſhe takes oc⯑caſion to dwell on the happineſs of a BLAME⯑LESS veſtal, one who has no ſuch ſin on her conſcience, as ſhe has, to bemoan. The life of ſuch an one is deſcribed at length by ſuch ſorts of pleaſure, as none but a ſpotleſs nun [320] can partake of; the climax of her happineſs is finely conducted;

What a judicious and poetical uſe hath POPE here made of the opinions of the myſtics and quietiſts: how would Fenelon have been de⯑lighted with theſe lines! True poetry, after all, cannot well ſubſiſt, at leaſt is never ſo ſtriking, without a tincture of enthufiaſm: the ſudden tranſition has a fine effect;

Which raptures are painted with much ſen⯑ſibility, and in very animating colours. ‘"Nec etiam dormienti ſuis illuſionibus parcunt."^§’ Again,

[321] This is very forceibly expreſſed. She pro⯑ceeds to recount a dream; in which I was always heavily diſappointed, becauſe the imagined diſtreſs is ſuch, as might attend the dreams of any perſon whatever. ^*

Theſe are, indiſputably, pictureſque lines; but what I want is a VISION of ſome ſuch appro⯑priated, and peculiar diſtreſs, as could be in⯑cident to none but Eloiſa; and which ſhould be drawn from, and have reference to, her ſingle ſtory. What diſtinguiſhes Homer and Shakeſpear from all other poets, is, that they do not give their readers GENERAL ideas: every image is the particular and unalienable property of the perſon who uſes it; it is ſuited to no other; it is made for him or her alone. [322] Even Virgil himſelf is not free from this fault; but is frequently general and indiſcri⯑minating, where Homer is minutely circum⯑ſtantial. She next compares his ſituation with her own:

Here Eloiſa glances with great modeſty and delicacy, at the irreparable misfortune of her mutilated huſband, which however ſhe always mentions with regret. I queſtion whether it may be improper to alleviate the dryneſs of theſe critical remarks, with the following ſtory; which I wiſh had fallen into the hands of Fontaine. ‘"The Greeks waged war upon the duke of Benevento, and made him very uneaſy. Thedbald, Marquis of Spoleto, his ally, marching to his aſſiſtance, and ha⯑ving taken ſome priſoners, ordered them to be [323] caſtrated, and in that condition, ſent them back to the Greek general, with orders to tell him, that he had done it to oblige the emperor, whom he knew to be a lover of eunuchs; and that he would endeavour to ſend him, in a ſhort time, a much greater number of them. The Marquis was preparing to be as good as his word, when one day a woman, whoſe huſband had been taken priſoner, came all in tears to the camp, and begged to ſpeak to Thedbald. The Marquis having aſked her the cauſe of her grief, my Lord, ſays ſhe, I wonder that ſuch a valiant hero as you ſhould trifle away your time in warring with women, when men are unable to reſiſt you. Thed⯑bald replied, that, ſince the days of the Ama⯑zons, he had never heard that war had been made upon women. My Lord, anſwered the Greek woman, can a crueller be made upon us, than to deprive our huſbands of what gives us health, pleaſure, and children? When you make eunuchs of them, it is mutilating us, not them: you have lately taken away our cattle and goods, without any complaint [324] from me: but this being an irreparable loſs to ſeveral of my neighbours, I could not avoid imploring the compaſſion of the conqueror. The whole army was ſo pleaſed with this woman's ingenuous declaration, that they re⯑ſtored her huſband to her, and all they had taken from her. As ſhe was going away, Thedbald aſked her, what ſhe would be will⯑ing ſhould be done to her huſband, if he was found in arms again. He has eyes, ſaid ſhe, a noſe, hands, and feet: theſe are his OWN, which you may take from HIM if he deſerves it; but leave him, if you pleaſe, what be⯑longs to ME."^*’

A HINT in the Letters has been beautifully heightened, and elevated into exquiſite poetry, in the next paragraph. Eloiſa ſays only, ‘"Inter ipſa miſſarum ſolemnia, ubi purior eſſe debeat oratio, obſcoena earum voluptatum phantaſmata its ſibi penitus miſerrimam cap⯑tivant animam, ut turpitudinibus illis, magis quam orationi, vacem. Nec ſolum quae egimus, [325] ſed loca pariter & tempora."’—Let us ſee how this has been improved.

Then follows a circumſtance peculiarly tender and proper, as it refers to a particular excel⯑lence of Abelard,

To which ſucceeds that ſublime deſcription of a high maſs, which came from the poet's ſoul, and is very ſtriking.

I BELIEVE few perſons have ever been pre⯑ſent at the celebrating a maſs in a good choir, [326] but have been extremely affected with awe, if not with devotion; which ought to put us on our guard, againſt the inſinuating nature of ſo pompous and alluring a religion as popery. Lord Bolingbroke being one day preſent at this ſolemnity, in the chapel at Verſailles, and ſeeing the archbiſhop of Paris elevate the hoſt, whiſpered his companion the Marquis de *****, ‘"If I were king of France, I would always perform this ceremony myſelf."’

ELOISA now acknowledges the weakneſs of her religious efforts, and gives herſelf up to the prevalence of her paſſion.

Suddenly, religion ruſhes back on her mind, and ſhe exclaims eagerly,

This change is judicious and moving. And the following invocation to hope, faith, and chriſtian grace, to come and take full poſſeſſion of her ſoul, is ſolemn, and ſuited to the con⯑dition of her mind; for it ſeems to be the poet's intention to ſhew the force of religion over paſſion at laſt, and to repreſent her as a little calm and reſigned to her deſtiny, and way of life. To fix her in which holy tem⯑per, the circumſtance that follows may be ſuppoſed to contribute. For ſhe relates an incident to Abelard, which had made a very deep impreſſion on her mind, and cannot fail of making an equal one, on the mind of thoſe readers, who can reliſh true poetry, and ſtrong imagery. The ſcene ſhe paints is aw⯑ful: ſhe repreſents herſelf lying on a tomb, [328] and thinking ſhe heard ſome ^* ſpirit calling to her in every low wind,—

This ſcene would make a fine ſubject for the pencil; and is worthy a capital painter. He might place Eloiſa in the long ile of a great Gothic church; a lamp ſhould hang over her head, whoſe dim and diſmal ray ſhould afford only light enough to make darkneſs viſible. She herſelf ſhould be repreſented in the in⯑ſtant, when ſhe firſt hears this aërial voice, and in the attitude of ſtarting round with aſtoniſhment and fear. And this was the [329] method a very great maſter took, to paint a ſound, if I may be allowed the expreſſion. This ſubject was the baptiſm of Jeſus Chriſt; and in order to bring into this ſubject the re⯑markable incident of the voice from heaven, which cried aloud, ‘"This is my beloved ſon,"’ he repreſented all the aſſembly that attended on the banks of Jordan, gazing up into heaven, with the utmoſt ardor of amaze⯑ment.

AT this call of a ſiſter in misfortune, who had been viſited with a ſad ſimilitude of griefs with her own, Eloiſa breaks out in a religious tranſport,

She then calls on Abelard, to pay her the laſt ſad offices; and to be preſent with her in the article of death,

And then a circumſtance of perſonal fondneſs intervenes,

But ſhe inſtantly corrects herſelf, and would have her Abelard attend her at theſe laſt ſolemn moments, only as a devout prieſt, and not as a fond lover. The image, in which ſhe repreſents him coming to adminiſter ex⯑treme unction, is ſtriking and pictureſque;

She adds, that it will be ſome conſolation to behold him once more, tho' even in the ago⯑nies of death,

Which laſt line I could never read without great emotion; it is at once ſo pathetic, and ſo artfully points back to the whole train and nature of their misfortunes. The cir⯑cumſtances, [331] ſhe wiſhes may attend the death of Abelard, are poetically imagined, and are alſo agreeable to the notions of myſtic devo⯑tion. The death of St. Jerome is finely pain⯑ted by DOMENICHINO, with ſuch attendant particulars.

This wiſh was fulfilled. The body of Abe⯑lard, who died twenty years before Eloiſa, was ſent to Eloiſa, who interred it in the mona⯑ſtery of the Paraclete, and it was accompa⯑nied with a very extraordinary form of Abſo⯑lution, from the famous Peter de Clugny; ‘"Ego Petrus Cluniacenſis abbas, qui Petrum Abelardum in monachum Cluniacenſem re⯑cepi, & corpus ejus furtim delatum Heloiſſae Abbatiſſae, & monialibus Paracleti conceſſi, [332] auctoritate omnipotentis Dei, & omnium ſanc⯑torum, abſolvo eum ſuo officio, ab omnibus peccatis ſuis."’—‘"Eloiſa herſelf, ſays ^* Vigneul Marville, ſollicited for this abſolution, and Peter de Clugny willingly granted it; on what it could be founded, I leave to our learned theologiſts to determine. In certain ages, opinions have prevailed, for which no ſolid reaſon can be given."’ When Eloiſa died in 1163, ſhe was interred by the ſide of her beloved huſband: I muſt not forget to mention, for the ſake of thoſe who are fond of miracles, that when ſhe was put into the grave, Abelard ſtretched out his arms to re⯑ceive her, and cloſely embraced her.

ELOISA, at the concluſion of the EPISTLE to which we are now arrived, is judiciouſly re⯑preſented as gradually ſettling into a tranquillity of mind, and ſeemingly reconciled to her fate. She can bear to ſpeak of their being buried to⯑gether, without violent emotions. Two lovers are introduced as viſiting their celebrated [333] tombs, and the behaviour of theſe ſtrangers is finely imagined;

With this line, in my opinion, the poem ſhould have ended, for the eight additional ones, concerning ſome poet, that haply might ariſe to ſing their misfortunes, are languid and flat, and diminiſh the pathos of the fore⯑going ſentiments. They might ſtand for the concluſion of almoſt any ſtory.

THIS EPISTLE, is, on the whole, one of the moſt highly finiſhed, and certainly the moſt intereſting, of the pieces of our author; and, together with the ELEGY to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady, is the only inſtance of the Pathetic POPE has given us. I think [334] one may venture to remark, that the reputa⯑tion of POPE, as a poet, among poſterity, will be principally owing to his WINDSOR⯑FOREST, his RAPE OF THE LOCK, and his ELOISA TO ABELARD; whilſt the facts and characters alluded to and expoſed, in his later writings, will be forgotten and un⯑known, and their poignancy and propriety little reliſhed. For WIT and SATIRE are tranſitory and periſhable, but NATURE and PASSION are eternal.