NOTES AND Miſcellaneous REFLECTIONS ON The FIRST BOOK.

BEFORE the Reader enters on the Notes, in referential Order, He will probably forgive a ſhort Remark or two upon the Nature of this Kind of Poem: The Age we live in, ſo profuſely overflowing in the Practice without ſtopping to conſider Judgment, that, to common Apprehenſions, Poetry gives no Idea but of Words with muſical Cadences: that is to ſay, plain Senſe, in Rhyme, and Meaſure.

It may ſeem ſurpriſing, that Pretenders to this Faculty (few of us having been thought guilty of too little Senſibility) ſhould reſt contented, under the Injuſtice of ſo mortifying a Contraction!—A Poet, when conſider'd in this narrow Light, were ſo contemptible a Creature, that he muſt give Place to a good Piper: who unqueſtionably has Power of raiſing Sounds, much more melodious, than Adjuſters of mere Words are capable of equalling.

The Truth is, Numbers, in their ſofteſt, and moſt pleaſing Fluency, make up but one Part of the Means, miſtaken for the End. They were deſign'd but as a Vehicle, that ſhould inſinuate the inſtructive Bitter, hid behind the Promiſe of Delight. The Muſic having gain'd the Ear, the Matter thence found Entrance to the Heart; and there prevail'd againſt Diſtempers, which, but for the fine Diſguiſe it came conceal'd in, it had never reach'd with ſuch Advantage; there being a Reluctance in our Nature apt to riſe againſt a plain Reproof; as, in our Taſte, againſt ſuch Phyſic, as is offer'd us too coarſely.

[38]All, as far as this, was well. The worſt was, that this Sweetneſs in the Art expos'd it, by Degrees, to Profanation by the Ignorant. Prompt Adventurers were ſo glad, to find the Pleaſant the moſt Eaſy, that This Handmaid of ſup⯑planted Poetry, like the treacherous Mayors of the Palace in France, ſat her down in, and poſſeſs'd, the Throne, ſhe was deſign'd but as a Servant to.

The Learn'd will favour me with their Indulgence, while I note, for Satisfac⯑tion of ſome Readers, of the Sex, that will be always ſureſt to hold Intereſt in a Poet's Purpoſes, that Epic Poems are ſo call'd, from a Greek Term for ſpeaking; becauſe, here, the Verſe runs narratively: as Stage Poems, on the contrary, are call'd Dramatic ones, from the ſame Tongue, in Reference to their being Acted.

But it will be ſtill more neceſſary, that ſome Definition of this Species ſhould be alſo given, by an Attempter of it, who has Modeſty, and wiſhes to avoid a Charge of high Preſumption: Critics having repreſented it in ſuch a formidable Light, that they could poſſibly have done no more, had they been join'd in a Confederacy to prevent Attempts to write at all, inſtead of furniſhing Inſtructions how to write diſcerningly.—It will ſuffice, to hear but one or two of Theſe, as Witneſſes. The Voice is all the ſame; one Note throughout the whole Fra⯑ternity.

‘It is (ſays Rapin) the moſt bold, and greateſt Work, that human Wit is capable of. All the Nobleneſs, and all the Elevation of the moſt perfect Genius can hardly ſuffice to form one ſuch as is requiſite. The Difficulty of finding, together, Fancy, and Judgment, Heat of Imagination, and Sobriety of Reaſon, Precipitation of Spirit, and Solidity of Mind, cauſes the Rarity of this Character's happy Temperament. It requires great Images, and yet a greater Wit to form them.—Finally, there muſt be a Judgment ſo ſolid, a Diſcernment ſo exquiſite, ſuch perfect Knowlege of the Language, in which he writes, ſuch obſtinate Study, profound Meditation, and vaſt Capacity, that ſcarce whole Ages can produce One Genius fit for an Epic Poem. And it is an Enterprize ſo bold, that it cannot fall into a wiſe Man's Thoughts but it muſt affright him.’

By this Time, it grows needful, that I haſten to cry out, and own, that the moſt vain, and empty Wretch in Nature, would be ſuch a Poet as, conceiving the tenth Part of theſe prodigious Difficulties in his Way, which the French Critic had, by overheating his Imagination, taught himſelf to think were really there, ſhould, notwithſtanding ſuch Belief, have Arrogance enough to undertake a Work, ſo terribly beyond his Compaſs!—under which neceſſary Shield of honeſt Truth, I will dare venture yet a little farther,—into what our own Sir William Temple has declar'd on the ſame Subject.

‘I am apt (ſays he, in his Eſſay upon the Art we are conſidering) to believe ſo much, of the Genius of Poetry, and of its Elevation, in Homer's and Virgil's EPIC Works, that I know not, whether, of all the Numbers of Mankind, who live within the Compaſs of a thouſand Years, for One Man that is born, capable of making ſuch a Poet, there may not be a thouſand born, [39] capable of making as Great Generals of Armies, or Miniſters of State, as any the moſt renown'd in Story.’

Caveats, ſo high-ſtrained as Theſe, have made it neceſſary for an Epic Un⯑dertaker to ſay ſomething, That may juſtify his Modeſty. A Definition of it, therefore, in the humbler Light I ſee it by, may hope to ſhew it a leſs arduous Adventure; and demonſtrate, that the Difficulty, however certainly conſiderable, is by no means ſo inſuperable, as Theſe Gentlemen appear to think it. Critical Syſtems reconcile two contradictory Extremes: and are, at once, too vaſt, and too reſtrictive. The Cauſe is, they lean with a too partial Biaſs, toward a few Great Names: to whoſe Example they would chain down Nature.

Many Friends of Fancy, on the other Side, miſtake for Epic Poems, any Story, told in Verſe, containing a wild Series of Romantic Incidents, related of ſome Hero, whom the Piece takes Name from. But there are ſcarce two Things in Nature, which more widely differ, than theſe Hiſtories in Verſe, from Epic Poetry.—I wiſh I could have ſatisfied myſelf with Boſſu's Definition: It had ſav'd me the Preſumption of attempting one, myſelf. But His appearing to be neither full, nor clear; and having never ſeen a better; I am forc'd on the ne⯑ceſſity of hazarding a new one, of my own; which will, I fear, be, ſtill, de⯑fective.

I take an Epic Poem, then, to mean ſome noble Leſſon in Morality, delivered under Colour of One Action, which muſt be illuſtrious and important, in Itſelf, and in its Perſonages, intereſt ſupernatural Powers in its Succeſſes, and be pro⯑bably, delightfully, and ſurpriſingly deſcribed, in Verſe; with ornamental Epi⯑ſodic Parts, depending on, and riſing naturally out of the main Tendency. Throughout all which the Poet keeps no view before him, but to ſtrengthen, by Example, That one moral Leſſon, he propoſes to imprint, upon his Reader's Admiration.

To explain This Definition, by enlarging its Particulars.—A Man, who un⯑dertakes an Epic Poem, is not to write a Hiſtory; but to propagate a Moral. Homer, for Example, had conceiv'd ſuch Purpoſe.—It was not his Deſign to write the Fall of Troy; That Story was already known; and could have brought no Novelty, but in the Pleaſure of the Verſes.—Pleaſure was not his chief End: He aim'd to give Advice. His Proſpect was, to teach the Greeks, ſplit into little independent States, that Union could recover Victory, when Diſcord had transferr'd it to an Enemy. The Grecian's Triumph over Troy was then diſ⯑cours'd of with much Vanity, through all their inconfederate Diviſions. Homer obſerv'd this Senſe of General Glory, and deriv'd a Story from it, that would beſt enforce the Moral, he prepar'd to teach 'em: borrowing Names, and Incidents from that remember'd, and high-boaſted War; but giving 'em a new, and proper Turn, for the Conveyance of his Moral only.—Had Homer not been born, till Alexander had made Greece one Monarchy, the Moral he would then have choſen had been the proſperous Effect of Power in one wiſe, and brave Man's Hand: and what ſure Benefits accrue from Subjects Loyalty. As, we ſee, Virgil, [40] living in a Time, when the Republic of the Romans had given Place to Monarchy, made it the Purpoſe of his Poem, to reconcile his Countrymen to ſingle Sovereignty in the Perſon of Auguſtus: under Fiction of a Prince, brave, wiſe, and pious, who, being guided by the favouring Gods, eſtabliſh'd, on the Ruins, of the old, a new Foundation, for Dominion of ſo much more Potency, that the whole Empire of the World was, by Decree of Heaven, to be included in it.—From That new Empire, then poſſeſs'd by Thoſe he writ to, All his Readers had deriv'd their Glory: ſo that it was eaſy to induce them to confide in, and to look for, the ſame Bleſſings from their Change of Government, which their great Anceſtors had gain'd, by Change of Country.

To impreſs the Moral forcibly, ſome Action is to be related, pointing out an Inſtance, in as ſtrong a Light as poſſible, where this inſinuated Moral was prov'd good by an Example.—The Action muſt be ſuitable: That is, of Dignity adapted to the Greatneſs of Events wrought into it, as Steps toward the Reſult laſt pur⯑pos'd. It muſt be ſingle: That is, unmix'd with other Actions of detach'd, or independent Tendency. There may be Incidents producing Incidents, the more Variety the better: but they muſt be ſuch, as ſerve but to bring forward, and illuſtrate, the One final Action, which intends Example from the Work. Neither is this Reſtriction any Nicety deduc'd from the particular Opinion of This Critic, or of That: It is a natural Neceſſity; and a Law of Reaſon; becauſe Actions not producing one another, as Effects from Cauſes, raiſe unpointed, and con⯑fus'd Reflections; and divert, and weaken an Attention, which it is the Buſineſs of This Poem to bind down to one ſtrong Object. An Epic Poet, of the Arioſtine Model, is a Traveller, who, if his Road lay ſtrait through Crete, would take the Labyrinth, in his Journey.

The Action may be feign'd, or real: If no Story, fam'd in Hiſtory, can be directly levell'd to the Poet's Purpoſe, He may, then, invent one, to his Liking: For the Truth, here neceſſary, conſiſts not in the Reality of the Events, but in the natural Veracity exiſting in the Moral.

It muſt be illuſtrious, and important; and the Perſons animating it, Great Princes, or diſtinguiſh'd Leaders: becauſe Every Man ſubmits to ſhrink, at Conſciouſneſs of Dangers, or Misfortunes, which he ſees have Power to puniſh Error in theſe Rulers of the World. The Weakneſs of our Pride (that, looking down upon, conceives Itſelf ſecure, in its ſuperior Situation, from all abject Miſery) not daring to exempt itſelf from Menaces, It muſt look up to: but ad⯑mitting, in this Caſe, the Apprehenſion of its own Expoſure.

It muſt intereſt ſupernatural Powers in its Succeſſes; the Influence of well-in⯑vented Circumſtances, of this Kind, carrying Terror with it, that excites a Reverence, and induces Warmth, from enthuſiaſtic Awefulneſs, into the Subject; conſonant to thoſe Impreſſions we are educated to religious Senſe of: and which favour Diſpoſition to derive All Good Propenſities from Heaven; and throw off upon the Devil, all Inſtigations, which propel to bad ones.

[41]It muſt be probably, delightfully, and ſurpriſingly, deſcribed in Verſe.—Probably, becauſe whatever we ſuppoſe impoſſible, we find unworthy our Attention. De⯑lightfully, becauſe Variety of well-mark'd Characters, ſurpriſing Incidents, ſmooth-flowing Numbers, Strength of Imagery, exalted Thoughts, and beautiful Expreſſion, keep awake our Expectation, ſtimulate the Fancy, and detain us, to the Author's Purpoſe.—And ſurpriſingly is added ſeparately, tho' a connected Conſequence, and unavoidable Reſult, from ſuch a well-maintain'd Succeſſion of unlook'd for, and ſtill varying, Beauties.

Epiſodes are neceſſary Members of extended Action: which, without them, would appear too ſhort, and general. But all theſe Epiſodic Members muſt be Limbs, not Wens: They muſt unite with ſuch Connexion, that diſplacing any One, will make the Reſt imperfect; and that adding Any would diſgrace the Symmetry.

In general, the Note moſt capable of height'ning our Regard to, and elucida⯑ting the aſſerted Force of Epic Poetry, is from a Recollection, that it comes down recommended to us by a Choice and Practice, that to Reaſon, joins the beſt AUTHORITY.—And without a Parable, ſpoke He not to them. Being aſk'd by his Diſciples, WHY ſpeakeſt thou to Them in Parables? His Anſwer is, Becauſe to YOU it is given to underſtand the Myſteries of the Kingdom of Heaven; but to THEM it is NOT given. That is, the Obſtinacy of theſe People's Minds, miſled by Habitudes of Evil, makes it neceſſary, that the Doctrine, I would teach them, ſhould be cover'd, and approach attractively: where, elſe, the Pride, that alienates their Hearts, would riſe againſt Conviction, preſs'd too plainly, and pro⯑pos'd without Diſguiſe; as Humble Men like you are willing to receive it.

It is probable, the Hebrews carried with 'em, out of Egypt, this delightful Way of teaching; It is clear, at leaſt, that they arriv'd to great Perfection in it, be⯑fore Greece grew civiliz'd from rude Barbarity. So far is it from true, that Homer, or ſome other Poet of his Country, was Inventer of the Epic Species. All the Books of the Old Teſtament abound with Inſtances, which prove the Skill of Hebrew Poets. And the Six hundred thouſand Volumes in the Ptolemaic Library could hardly fail to have contain'd ſome of their Poems of this Kind, in their due Length and Dignity.

To ſhew how little Difference there is, except in Ornament, and Size, between the Epic Poem, as above defined, and the ſhort Parables, I have been ſpeaking of, I will ſelect Two only: the firſt, taken from the Mouth of Chriſt Himſelf. The other I will go ſo far more backward for, as to the Reign of David, who was King of Iſrael ſo ſoon after the Trojan War, that he muſt neceſſarily have liv'd before the Time of Homer, to whom Greece would partially aſcribe the Merit of poetically teaching moral Truth by Fable. I ſhall give more Inſtances than one, of the unwarrantable Preſumption of thoſe Grecians Vanity, in arro⯑gating to Themſelves a Praiſe for Arts they borrow'd from the Aſiatic People; and the Hebrews, in particular.

[42]The Perſecution of the Prophets, by the Jewiſh Prieſts, was what Chriſt pur⯑pos'd to reprove: but knew, their Power was great; and that the Pride, It had inſpir'd 'em with, would render a diſtaſteful Doctrine little Fruit, if not en⯑gagingly inſinuated. Under this Conviction, the Divine Reprover thus addreſſes them. ‘There liv'd, ſays he, in a far Country, a powerful Land-owner, who had planted Vineyards, rais'd Incloſures, and built habitable Farms, on a de⯑tach'd Part of his Territory. He let out Theſe to Huſbandmen; and went, Himſelf, to where his chief Seat ſtood; upon a very diſtant Tract of his Poſſeſſions.—When the proper Seaſon came, the Lord ſent Servants to demand his Rents grown due. But thoſe ungrateful Tenants, truſting to the Diſtance for Security from due Revenge, inſtead of Payment, murder'd the Demand⯑ers; They deſtroy'd in the ſame Manner, other Servants, ſent with like Com⯑miſſion: At laſt, reſolv'd to try their Boldneſs to the utmoſt, His own Son was ſent, to whom, it was ſuppos'd, they could not dare refuſe their Reverence. But the Tenants, on the Heir's Appearance, hoping, by His Death, to make Themſelves a laſting Title to the whole Inheritance, determin'd on That exe⯑crable Deed; and kill'd Him alſo:’ —The Auditors inflam'd to an impatient Indignation, interrupt the Story, in this Part of it, and cry out angrily— ‘The Lord ſhould have deſtroyed Thoſe wicked Wretches, and let out his Vineyard to honeſter Huſbandmen.’ And, there, condemn'd by their own Sentence, and ſtruck dumb by conſcious Shame, they catch the Application, before Chriſt pro⯑ceeds to make it: for, as the Text expreſſes it, They conſider'd his Parable, and perceiv'd, that he ſpoke of Them.

In the ſecond Inſtance, Nathan reproaches David, who had robb'd Uriah of his Wife, and caus'd the Huſband to be murder'd. But the Prophet, under⯑ſtanding well the Danger of the King's Reſentment, caſts about to take him by Surprize, and does it under this Diſguiſe of Parable. ‘I am come, ſays he, to aſk Relief from Royal Juſtice, in Revenge of a poor Sufferer's Diſtreſs, againſt the Cruelty of his Oppreſſor. Two Men liv'd together: one rich, the other poor. The rich Man had exceeding many Flocks and Herds; but the poor Man had nothing, ſave one little Ewe-Lamb, which he had bought, and nouriſh'd up: and it grew up together with Him, and with his Children. It eat of his own Meat, and drank of his own Cup, and lay in his Boſom, and was unto him as a Daughter. And there came a Traveller to the Rich Man: and he ſpar'd to take of his own Flock, but took the Poor Man's Lamb, and dreſs'd it, for the Man, that was come to him.’

What Effect this little Story preſently produc'd the Sequel tells us. And David's Anger was greatly kindled againſt the Man: And he ſaid to Nathan, As the Lord liveth, the Man, that has done This Thing, ſhall ſurely die, becauſe he had no Pity. And Nathan ſaid to David, THOU art the Man. He, then, pro⯑ceeded, ſafely, and reproached him, that he had tyrannically given way to an ille⯑gal Impulſe of Deſire; forcing away the only Wife, of a moſt faithful Subject, notwithſtanding the unlimited Variety of Women, who were All His own. Had [43] Nathan ſpoke the Truth thus plainly, at its opening, It had prov'd, perhaps, of dangerous Conſequence to his own Life: but the Cloud of the Invention ſhielded him; and the King's Paſſions having firſt been artfully ſecur'd in the Reproacher's Intereſt, the Reproach'd, who had confeſs'd a generous Senſe of the Diſhoneſty, while not conſider'd as his own, became aſham'd to diſavow his Virtue, when the Guilt laid Claim to his Confeſſion. So David ſaid to Nathan, ‘—I have ſinn'd againſt the Lord.’ —It is impoſſible to produce a livelier, or more pathetic, Proof, both of the Nature and the Power of Epic Poetry: For it is evident, that theſe Two Parables differ in nothing, but their Want of Names, Extent, and Paint of Circumſtance, from the Poems of That Nomination.

From their general Nature, I proceed to the particular Conſideration of this new Attempt, upon the Plan of Gideon.

A Poet, in an Age ſo factious as the Laſt has been, muſt have been blind, not to diſcern the Uſefulneſs of recommending Quiet, to a ſtormy Generation. It were ſaying nothing to the Purpoſe, to object, that we are now remote from Iſrael's Caſe, under no Yoke of Conqueſt, and above all Danger from a foreign Enemy. Civil Conteſt will be always the moſt likely Means of calling in, and aid⯑ing the Attempts of, ſuch an Enemy. We have ſeen too recent Proofs, to doubt that Certainty. But, not to dwell unneceſſarily upon our preſent happy Proſpects, our invaded Anceſtors, too often, felt the Weight of ſuch a Situation, as had made a Gideon the moſt welcome Public Bleſſing.—Could they have found him, and could all his Miracles have ſerv'd but to unite them in one Wiſh, and one Endeavour, far leſs laſting, and leſs bloody, had Thoſe various Inſults, then, been repreſented, under the Diſgrace whereof our Hiſtory bluſhes, while it tells the Triumphs of ſo many Conqueſts over us,—by Romans, Saxons, Danes, and Normans!—Where, therefore, is the Nation to be found, that better ought to like, than Ours, a ſtrong Example, to ſo ſound a Moral, as, that tho' Diſunion ſhould enſlave a People, joint Attachment to the Legal Government could ſoon recover, and protect loſt Liberty?

To cloathe this Moral in an Action, ſome ſuch diſunited People was to be made Choice of, ſuff'ring under foreign Conqueſt, from Effect of their Diviſions, and, when every human Hope had fail'd 'em, rais'd, at once, from their Deſpair, by Union of an inconſiderable Number, under a Reſtorer of their Laws and Freedom.

This being what the Critics call the Allegorical, or General, Plan, I never could have found a fitter Action to illuſtrate it, than the Redemption of the He⯑brews, under Gideon's Conduct, from the Yoke of foreign Conqueſt, as impos'd with infinite Contempt and Cruelty, by a confederate Body of Arabian Princes; whom the ſacred Writ diſtinguiſhes by the joint Name of Midianites. For the Events of this great War are, there, ſo comprehenſively related, as to ſuit at once with the Deſign, they are ſelected for, and leave ſufficient Scope for bold Invention, and Embelliſhment, in the particular Deduction. Whereas the Scripture Hiſtory of David (Mr. Cowley's Choice) was a completed one, as Mr. Rymer has objected to it, and is ſo circumſtantially deſcrib'd, as to reſtrain a [44] Poet's Fancy. Mr. Dryden, for this Reaſon, could not have ſucceeded, in That favourite Deſign of His, for forming a new Epic Poem from the Story of our Civil Wars in the laſt Century. Yet, I remember he has ſomewhere told us, that King Charles the Second, whom he had acquainted with his Purpoſe, very much approv'd it: notwithſtanding which, I take it to have been to the Advan⯑tage of That Great Man's Memory, that his Deſign was never executed. The Story was too recent, to be treated, as it ought; and the ſublimeſt Beauties of Invention would have loſt their Force on Readers, in whom ſad and deep Impreſ⯑ſions, from the Miſery of the real Facts, muſt needs have made All Fiction ſeem too ſportive, and an unbecoming Freedom taken with their ſolemn Sorrow. It was the very Caſe of Lucan; and his Subject barring out all Aids of the Poetic Kind, at leaſt Thoſe warm ones, which let looſe Imagination, his Pharſalia gain'd no Rank but among Hiſtories; and Verſe, indeed, is all the Right of That great Work to be conſider'd, as a Poem.

The Mention, here, of Mr. Rymer leads me to remember an Objection, which, I think, he has unjuſtly made to Mr. Cowley's Choice of Subject, merely as a foreign one: as if it were a Violation of that natural Reſpect, a Poet owes his Country, to look out of it, for a great Character! If Mr. Rymer had no better Reaſon for this Cenſure, than that ſince Homer was a Grecian, and has writ of Greeks, and Virgil, being a Roman, writ of Romans, therefore, Mr. Cowley, as an Engliſhman, ſhould have approv'd no other than an Engliſh Hero, the Argu⯑ment appears, to me, to be a very narrow, and mean-ſpirited one.—Nature is Nature every-where; and I ſhould never look for any Force of manly Reaſoning, from a Soul not large enough, to comprehend Mankind as One Fraternity.— However, more is to be ſaid, in Favour of a Hebrew Subject, than of All, or Any of, the Reſt, whatever.—The Reverence, we conceive, from the Old Teſtament, for Thoſe Objects of God's more immediate Care, has made Them Every Body's Countrymen. Beſides, the many Miracles, ſo terribly diſplay'd among them, are peculiar Helps, to a Poetic Fancy; and adorn their Hiſtory, above that of Any other Nation. Their Country was the Scene, too, of our Saviour's Life, and Sufferings, a Reflection, which entitles it to Veneration, from All Chriſtians. And, to add one ſmaller Circumſtance, that ſtill gives Strength|'ning to their Claim, They were Inventers, or, at leaſt, Improvers, and great Practiſers, of Poetry. The Song of Moſes, their firſt Leader, liſts Him early in the Number.—Miriam, Deborah, David, Solomon, and innumerable other of their Nation, were fine Poets. And This ought, methinks, to recommend their Memory to the Reſpect of ſuch, who would be thought ſo, after them.

Having ſaid this, the Reader, I believe, will hardly be diſpleas'd to ſee a Specimen of Hebrew Poetry. We meet with many noble ones, in the Old Teſta⯑ment; but they have the Misfortune to lie ſhadow'd under obſolete Tranſlation. —One of our Critics has done Juſtice to the noble Images of theſe Originals, when he declares, that there is nothing, ſo ſoft, ſo tender, and pathetic, and at [45] the ſame Time, nothing ſo grand, ſo majeſtic, ſo terrible; and ſo barmonious, as the Poetic Part of the Bible: to which All the Heathen Verſe is flat, and low.

I look upon the Song of Moſes, which Joſephus ſays, was written in Hexameter Verſe, to have been a Kind of Lyric Ode, becauſe it ſeems to have been ſung, to ſome String-Muſic, and to certain meaſur'd Motions of the Body. This is plainly gather'd from the Text. ‘And Miriam the Propheteſs, the Siſter of Aaron, took a Timbrel in her Hand, and all the Women follow'd her, with Timbrels, and with Dances.’ —And, when Moſes, and the male Singers, had open'd the Ode, Miriam, and the Women, anſwer'd, as a Chorus, ‘Sing ye to the Lord, for He hath triumph'd gloriouſly: The Horſe, and his Rider, hath he thrown into the Sea!’

I leave out the firſt Verſe; as conceiving it to have been but a General Head, and begin at the next following.

It will not be denied, that here is the Sublime among theſe Images, more glow⯑ing, than in any Greek, or Roman Writer.—When Longinus ſeems to have been moved ſo ſtrongly by That prais'd Exaltedneſs of Thought, where Moſes, to expreſs GOD's Power, with Energy, deſcribes Creation, not in its extended gra⯑duatory Progreſs, but as ſtarting to Exiſtence at a Word: ‘Let there be Light: and there was Light’ —I half ſuſpect, with the French Critic, He had heard of, but not ſeen, the Hebrew Bible. He could never elſe have paſſed by the prodigious Greatneſs, in the Paintings, and Conception, of the Ode foregoing; and in many other Tracts of Scripture Poetry. Would he have ſo profuſely given his Admiration to this Paſſage, out of Homer,

and have ſaid nothing, upon That of David?

We may pity, then, the Grecian Vanity, that would divide the Honour of inventing Poetry, between their Orpheus, Steſichorus, Alcman, Pindar, and a Number of their Countrymen; whereas, in Truth, the oldeſt of all Theſe, who was Orpheus, was but a Cotemporary with Gideon: in whoſe Eleventh Year he went, a young Man, with the Argonauts to Colchos. — Now Gideon was 200 Years ſince Moſes; and yet Moſes died not till the Year of the World 2454. Forty-one years after writing the foregoing Ode, which muſt have been at his firſt landing in Arabia, after croſſing the Red Sea, in the World's Year 2413.— So that the Hebrews had the practical Perfection of the Lyric Species for at leaſt 200 Years before the Birth of this Aſſumer, Orpheus, whom the Greeks pretend to have been its original Inventer.

[48]It is, indeed, the moſt unreaſonable Improbability, that Greece ſhould have been ſkill'd in ſo refin'd an Art as Poetry, when ſhe was little better than a Savage; ſo deficient in Improvements of this ornamental Quality, that, as St. Auguſtine has noted, the more neceſſary Uſe even of the Grape was ſtill unknown to the politeſt of thoſe People (the Athenians), till by Dionyſius, in the Time of Moſes: and a Greek Poet, wanting Wine, had miſs'd a ſurer Inſpiration, than his Muſe's. —Ericthonius of Athens was the firſt Inſtructor of his Countrymen, to yoke their Beaſts, for Plowing: and That, not till Joſhua's Days: And it was then, too, that the Uſe of Letters was communicated to the Greeks, by Cadmus, from Phoe⯑nicia, a cloſe Borderer on the Hebrews.—Before that Time, having no Alphabet, how could they make Pretence to Writing? The ſame national Vanity was mani⯑feſt again, in their aſſerting Ida, and Dactylus, who liv'd but after Joſhua's Death, during the Government of Othoniel, to have diſcovered the firſt Uſe of Iron; when 'tis plain, from the Old Teſtament (Geneſis iv. and 22.) that Tubal Cain, above a Thouſand Years before, had taught Artificers the Workmanſhip of Iron and Braſs: And nothing can be more demonſtrable (from the ſo often-men⯑tioned Chariots, Weapons, Armour, and vaſt Magazines of warlike Furniture of all Kinds, which we read of, among Kings of Egypt and Aſſyria), than that the People of the Eaſt were exquiſitely ſkill'd in ſuch mechanic Knowlege, at a Time, when Greece had yet no Name among the Nations. Thucydides, their own Hi⯑ſtorian, has confeſs'd, that in theſe early Days, wherein ſhe would pretend to arrogate Inventions never Hers, ſhe was unciviliz'd, and wholly rude: her Lands uncultivated, her Towns few, and mean, and the Employment of her Heroes, and high Demi-Gods, to rove for Robberies, by Sea and Land; ſteal Horſes, and make bold with other People's Cattle; without Senſe of Shame, or Secrecy.

But I forget the Elegy, which Mr. Cowley juſtly calls a moſt poetical, and ex⯑cellent one. — He purpos'd to have clos'd his Davideis with it.— It appears to me a Maſter-piece of the pathetic Kind: and I produce it, as an Inſtance, that the Hebrews were thus ſkilful, in the ſimple Species; which the Greeks, too, with their uſual Modeſty, put in for the Invention of, long after this fine Piece had been compoſed by David.

I have ſaid enough, I hope, to juſtify my Choice of foreign Action, and a Hebrew one particularly.—I come now to the new Structure of my Verſe: where I have us'd the Liberty of varying, every-where, the Meaſure, and of mixing, in one Poem, All the different Kinds, that can be rank'd among Heroic.—What I hop'd from this Extent of Latitude was, to derive Increaſe of Power, as well as Harmony. But, as this Choice, and Application of ſuch bold Diverſity of Num⯑bers, will require, and merit, ſome Defence, I will begin it with a previous Note or two in Anſwer to a modern Cry, that has been rais'd againſt the Uſe of Rhyme, in general.

It has been attack'd, but, ſince we learn'd to read, and underſtand, Blank Verſe, from Mr. Milton's noble Work: which (by the way) lay half an Age▪ at lea [...], [50] unfelt, unfriended, and un-notic'd, in the Country It now caſts ſo bright a Luſtre on. The Copy of it was (with Doubt and Heſitation) bought—for infamous TEN POUNDS! which not being made demandable but on Condition of a new Impreſſion, never was receiv'd, at all; Its Author having been in his neglected Grave near Thirty Years, before his matchleſs Poem (and then only by Effect of One Man's ſingle Penetration) drew the leaſt Regard upon it from his Country⯑men! to the eternal Scandal be it noted, of our high-preſum'd Diſcernment, and the miſerable State of Patronage, among us!—This was the hoſpitable Welcome Blank Verſe found, in England: And, now (ſo ſtrangely can our Currents turn!) our Gentlemen of the new Light are indiſpos'd to ſee, by any other. They affect the Reputation of a Judgment too ſevere, to be delighted by Effect of Sounds: and would explode all Conſonance of Termination, as too trifling, and effeminate, for Ears of Underſtanding.

What they have objected may, I think, be ſumm'd up in theſe few Particulars. Rhyme was a Goth, and came in with the Runic Impoliteneſs: Rhyme is unnatural: becauſe it puts Conſtraint upon Expreſſion: Rhyme is needleſs; becauſe Blank Verſe has nobler Harmony, and gives complete Delight without it.

As to the firſt of Theſe, 'tis quite miſtaken. Rhyme did not come in with thoſe Barbarities, they charge it to: and, if it had done ſo, what nobler Parentage could It have been deriv'd from, than the ſame to which we owe our Plans of Liberty? But, in Reality, It had a far more antient Origin. The Hebrew Poetry was writ with Rhyme. The Perſian, and Arabian, ſo peculiarly depended on this Ornament, that they have a Kind of Poem in diſtinguiſh'd Reverence among them (and call'd Cacideh) deriv'd from immemorial Practice, and devoted to the Praiſe of GOD, and godlike Characters. Its Frame contains from 50 to 100 Ladies: the two leading Verſes rhyme together, and the Reſt alternatively, ke [...]ping▪ throughout, but two Rhymes only. So that theſe Poems run the long [...]ſt, wh [...]n they light upon ſuch Terminations, as afford moſt Conſonances. There are many ſuch, of Giami, Haſis, Schemi, Enviri, and others. Some of them appear to have been moderniz'd Reductions (as our Chaucer's Works, by Dryden) their old Language being grown obſcure, in Both of the Countries above-mentioned.—So, this Argument, of Rhyme's Defect from want of due Antiquity, will carry little Weight againſt it; and might have an Anſwer ſtill more pointed and particular, if it deſerv'd to be allow'd, that Any-thing, in its own Nature good, could be the leſs ſo, for its Novelty.

They call Rhyme unnatural, becauſe it puts Conſtraint upon Expreſſion; which, however, is not true; for Poets have not only Liberty of changing ſtubborn Rhymes for ductile ones, but are oblig'd to do it, till they find ſuch new ones, as aſſiſt the Senſe, inſtead of ſtiffening, or obſcuring it. But, were there All the Force they would aſcribe to it, in this Objection, from Conſtraint on the Expreſ⯑ſion, what a partial Eye is Theirs, who cenſure ſuch Conſtraint, as an unpardonable Slavery, where authoriz'd by Cuſtom in a modern Tongue; yet ſee no Conſe⯑quence [51] but That of a pretended Beauty where it borrows Sanction, but from the ſame Authority, of Cuſtom, in the Antient Languages?

For, not to reſt upon their hard, and troubleſome Reſtraints, to Quantity, what Curb can poſſibly be more oppos'd to Nature, and her eaſy Order of Ex⯑preſſion, than their interweaving Words, and ranging them in ſo remote, and diſ⯑locative a Poſition, as the patulae in Virgil's Verſe hereunder, from the fagi, it immediately related to? for, while the genuine Conſtruction is, You, Tityrus, re⯑poſing under the Shade of a ſpreading Beech, the Latin was conſtrain'd, before it could arrange the Line to Harmony, to force it into this diſtorted Order.

That is, in Engliſh of the ſame Poſition,

What ſtrange Perplexity is, here (by Cuſtom, which we can indulge, with⯑out a Queſtion) thrown upon the Senſe, to liquidate the Sound, and make the Meaſure muſical!—Let the Reproachers of conſtrain'd Expreſſion ſhew where Rhyme has ever wrung an Engliſh Verſe into ſo cramp'd a Poſture.

So, again, in Martial,

What a charming Figure, in our Language, does This Latin Licence make, in the ſame literal Arrangement!

It muſt not be pretended, that theſe Inſtances are choſen ones. The very Genius of the Roman Tongue made ſuch disjointed Shuffle of the Words, for ever neceſſary: And, yet, which of our Exploders of the infinitely leſs-conſtrain⯑ing Uſe of Rhyme would think it reaſonable to condemn the not to be diſputed Elegance of Latin Verſe, in Deteſtation of a Practice, which is viſibly unnatural?

Even their celebrated Horace, notwithſtanding his peculiar Claim to the Con⯑cinnitas, and That Curioſa Felicitas, ſo exquiſitely fine, in his Expreſſion, could no more ſail free from the oblique Propulſion of this Side Wind, that blew every Roman Poet wide of his true Courſe, than Any weaker, and more careleſs Pilot. Witneſs his

What would be thought of a Writer, in our Tongue, who, when he was purpoſing to ſay clearly, Ivy Garlands, the Rewards of learn'd Brows, rank me [52] with the High Gods, ſhould expreſs it in this extraordinary Manner—Me of learned Ivy Garlands the Rewards Brows with the Gods rank high.

Surely, no Man, who, knowing Latin, knows that ſuch Conſtraint as This is unavoidable, in all their Verſification, will pretend to argue, againſt Rhyme, that It can poſſibly deſerve Exploſion for a Fault, It is not half ſo guilty of, as This allow'd bad Practice; which is, notwithſtanding, overlook'd, and held as nothing, in Compariſon with the acknowleg'd Graces, in the Tongues it throws ſuch In⯑tricacy on!

Rhyme, then, is neither newer, in its Practice, nor leſs natural, in its Uſe, than other Licences to Verſe, which, yet, its Enemies are very partially attach'd to.—We will ſee, in the laſt Charge, whether It ought to be held needleſs, from Superiority of Harmony, or any nobler, or more maſculine Perfection in Blank Verſe—or Meaſure without Conſonance.

Lord Roſcommon, one of the firſt Fallers in with the Applauſe of Milton (newly, in His Time, beginning to attract Conſenters), writes his Eſſay on tranſ⯑lated Verſe, in the beſt Rhyme he found Himſelf at Leiſure to afford it: But, drawing near the End, and growing out of Humour with his Choice, breaks out at once into a rapturous Declamation, againſt Rhyme, and Bondage; in a Specimen, which he picks, here and there, and pieces artfully together, out of ſome of the ſublimeſt Parts of Paradiſe loſt, to recommend Blank Verſe, where He, Himſelf, had juſt been diſregarding it. I think this Manner of proceeding not a fair one: The ſtrong Images, which animate the glowing Lines, he there ſelected, would have made Proſe, Poetry. They ſhake the Fancy, and allow no Leiſure to the Judgment to examine Numbers.—We are hurried on by the Exaltedneſs of Thought, and riſe above Perception of the Mechaniſm! Would he have try'd the Cauſe impartially, he might have found a thouſand Lines in Milton, every one of which had turn'd it quite to the Reverſe of his Intention.

But now, to let the Reader ſee, what Kind of Verſe it is, theſe Gentlemen would ſubſtitute in Place of Rhyme, I take the following Pattern from the men⯑tion'd Lord's Tranſlation of the Ars Poetica.

We ſhall preſently diſcern, by only placing theſe lean Lines in the proſaic Order, whether they have any Title to their Claim of Poetry.—VERSE, in the literal Senſe, we muſt allow it to be call'd, becauſe we but derive the Word from turning back; and Theſe, I own, do That, as oft as they have ſtretch'd them⯑ſelves [53] to their due Length of Meaſure. But obſerve, how readily this Proſe may be unverſified!

‘Theſe are the likeſt Copies, which are drawn by the Original of Human Life. Sometimes, in rough and undigeſted Plays, we meet with ſuch a lucky Character, as, being humour'd right, and well purſu'd, ſucceeds much better, than the ſhallow Verſe, and chiming Trifles, of more ſtudious Pens.’

If the Enemies to Rhyme had nothing better to produce in Room of it, than This, It would not fail to live and proſper; nor, indeed, is there an Argument they uſe for the Defence of their Opinion, but might better aid their Enemies; and ſerve (as moſt Deſerters do) with double Violence, againſt its Maſters. Meanwhile It is a pleaſant Kind of Tyranny they are for exerciſing over Reaſon! Firſt, they warp to their own Side the Pretence of Right to Harmony: and when they have apply'd all Sorts of Argument, unjuſtly, for their Service, and left none for ours, but what they think they may refuſe us, as of Counſel for the Plaintiff, they would run us down, full Cry, as if we had no Weapons to defend ourſelves withal.—It puts me in Mind of an honeſt Indian Traveller, who com⯑ing, in hard Weather, to aſk ſomething, at the Houſe of a Great Man, and be⯑ing bark'd at by his Maſtives, ſtoop'd for a Flint, but found it frozen to the Surface. Deliver me, ſaid he, from the unreaſonable People of this Country! They let looſe their Dogs, and faſten their Stones.

In Tragedy, Blank Verſe may claim a Preference, as coming nearer to our natural Mode of Speech, and yet retaining Dignity enough, by virtue of its Meaſure, to exalt it above Proſe. But Epic Poets ſpeak in Perſon; and, deſcribe⯑ing at full Leiſure, are ſuppos'd to have due Time for Ornament; and it will therefore be expected from them: ſo that Blank Verſe does not ſuit Their Uſe; ſince where its Flatneſs is not animated, as in Tragedy, by reſtleſs Agitation of the Paſſions, It muſt ever lean to one of theſe Extremes: either degenerating to plain Proſe, as in the Example before us; or becoming harſh, affected, ſtiff, and obſolete; as but too many Times it does, in our Great Milton, from a Purpoſe to induce Appearance, of the Venerable, where the Sweet was wan [...]ing.

The delightful Mean is Rhyme. It keeps Proſe diſtant, yet helps Eaſe, as well as Energy: for it was never meant to cramp Expreſſion, but lend Sound a Live⯑lineſs; and, what is evidently (and indeed peculiarly) a Benefit deriv'd from this connective Aid to Recollection, is, that by Retention of the Rhyme, the Memory catching readily at the coherent Matter, it becomes much eaſier to hold Ideas this way given us, than in Any other Form of Words whatever▪

Mr. D [...]nnis, who was one, of a too numerous Brotherhood, who ſuffer Pangs, in mortifying Lengths of Labour, at the Birth of Every Rhyme, and therefore, naturally hate the Child, that coſt 'em too much Pain in its Delivery, was for turning his broad Axe againſt our very Root of Argument, and has denied, that Rhyme is muſical, becauſe, ſays he, there is no Harmony in Uniſons. The Face of this Pretence is ſpecious: but It ought, before it can have real Weight, to find ſome Poem, where All Terminations cloſe with the ſame Rhyme repeated. [54] No one Note, indeed, will make a Tune: But, as we hear with Pleaſure the ſame Note ſounded ſometimes twice, or thrice (in ſolemn Compoſitions more eſpecially), and then give way to different ones, the artful Intermixture of All which is Muſic, ſo any tuneful Note, tho' ſounded ſeparately, and more than once, is Harmony.—No JARRING Note can ſtand in Muſic. Diſcord there muſt be; but That Diſcordance is to riſe, from Oppoſitions All harmonious in their proper, and disjunctive Particles: and but differing (not claſhing) into Melody, by joint Con⯑currency of Variations; not of Inconſiſtencies.—Neither will it be needful to con⯑feſs, that Rhymes are Uniſons. The Queſtion is of no Importance, or it would be eaſy to explain their Difference.

Another Reaſon in Behalf of Rhyme is, that no Language is ſo naturally form'd, as Engliſh, for receiving and becoming it. The Latin Verſe, tormented and con⯑ſtrain'd, as I have ſhewn it, in Purſuit of Harmony, could no way have admitted This: which that it was not in its Genius conſtituted for, or capable of, we need no plainer Proofs, than the ſequeſter'd Muſes of the Monks have furniſh'd us— if ever Muſe, at all, inſpir'd a Monaſtery.

And again:

Which, to engliſh 'em, juſt as well as they deſerve, would thus be render'd.

And, for the other,

Not even the Greek Tongue could have been capable of Rhyme: nor had it truly the leaſt want of it.—It was ſo muſically ductile, ſo ſonorouſly ſignificant, that it was naturally a full Tide of Harmony: It ſeem'd to roll along, like one of its own Homer's Torrents, down the Side of a vaſt Mountain; ſparkling, rapid, and ſounding, in all Parts of its Paſſage.

Yet, fain would I, with all the partial Fondneſs of a Lover, ſet in Balance ſome Defects, of this triumphant Rival of the Beauty I wiſh beſt to, againſt That great Advantage, which it would be Blindneſs to deny her claim to, in the tuneful Texture of her Cadences. I deteſt, for Inſtance, thoſe abominable Aids, call'd Expletives: a mean, and lazy Crutch, which not the lameſt Poet of our [55] Nation, now, ſubmits to heave himſelf along by! They were the dull, and in⯑ſignificant Stop-gaps of Greek Incloſures; a Degree at leaſt below the venerable from whences, for to's, unto's, and fine eke's and aye's, of our old cleric Com⯑poſitions.

But if Sincerity refuſes Patience to a calm Surveyor of this Grecian Licence, what would it not inſpire Contempt to ſay, againſt the ſervile Diſpoſition of a Race, call'd Commentators, who would have the Privilege, Their Poets us'd, of mixing in one Piece, their different Dialects, and altering Accents, at their Pleaſure, paſs for an Advantage to their Poetry! as if People, long habitu⯑ated to a Pronunciation the Reverſe of many of thoſe motley Ruſticiſms, could, in Reverence of a worthleſs Skill in weaving them together, quit their natural Partiality to their own Mode of ſpeaking!—On the contrary, rejected Idioms muſt have been extremely irkſome to a poliſh'd Ear: and left a Kind of coarſe provincial Brogue, upon the beſt Performances.

Were an Engliſh Poet, for Example, to avail himſelf of this licentious Practice of the Greek ones, in extending theſe five Words to Numbers, and due Length of Metre,—Theſe People were learned Writers; and admit he ſhould be told that, in ſome Counties of the North and Weſt, it was a Cuſtom to give drawling Prolongation to their Syllables, and open all the Diphthongs; and that, by Aſſiſt⯑ance of this noble Privilege, He might ſpin out a Verſe, thus elegantly,

Or, becauſe it would be Pity to want Choice of good Examples, let it be ſuppos'd, that the Three Words—meet, glorious, Occaſion, were to be ſtretch'd out, on ſome of theſe Greek Tenters.

It is viſible enough, the Verſes are fill'd up, by Help of ſuch a frightful Anglo-Graeciſm. But from what Force of Cuſtom could we reconcile ſuch Jargon to a London Ear? No Matter what Relief a lazy Poet might draw from it. It would never give his Reader Satisfaction. Yet, allow it but to be ſuppos'd, that Engliſh had been a dead Language for about a thouſand Years, and now but ſtudied, as a learn'd one, for the Sake of antient Stores of Knowlege, treaſur'd up in its Re⯑mains, in That Caſe, even the manifeſt Abſurdity above, as groſly as it ſeems to ſhock us, in a living Tongue, had paſs'd, perhaps, unnotic'd, in the dead one, or but bruſh'd us, with a faint Perception.

But Peace be to the Manes of the Greek, and Latin Tongues! Their very Faults are venerable; from the early Prejudice, that roots a Reverence in us, for theſe firſt Imprinters of our School Ideas.—The modern Languages have no ſuch Right to Preference; and their Defects may be obſerv'd more eaſily, and cenſur'd with leſs Danger.—Taſſone, noting a moſt obvious one, in the Italian Poetry, [56] confeſſes, with a candid Freedom, that he knows not, whether to impute it moſt to the Ill Fortune of his Country's Writers, or a certain Weakneſs in the Language, which, ſays he, wants Energy, and is unfit for high Expreſſion. This Defect, in That ſo favourite Tongue, which ſtands acknowleg'd, by their own Conſent and Teſtimony, chiefly flows from a Redundancy of Vowels, which, tho' ſweet'ning a ſoft Sound, enervates it.—Italian is the Language, wherein Love would chuſe to ſigh, or Laughter to be light, and wanton. It ſupplies, with Fulneſs and De⯑light, the Uſes of Intrigue, and Converſation; but wants Weight and Spring for Paſſion, and bends under the Demand of Comprehenſiveneſs. 'Tis like the flowing of ſoft Sand, in Hour-glaſſes: ſeeming liquid, while confin'd to its cloſe Currency; but flies diſpers'd, and opens its looſe Quality, as ſoon as ſhaken out, and truſted to hard Weather.

Not to inſiſt, in this Place, on the too offenſive Frequency of their Eliſions, I make Haſte to note another, where the raſh Condemners of our own Exceſs in Monoſyllables will wonder, I find Cauſe to charge it. But I take their Poverty, in That Particular alone, to be the Reaſon, why Italian Rhymes induce a Kind of leaping Levity, upon the Terminations of their Verſes. They run generally in Stanzas, the Rhymes double, and the Structure in this Order.

• — Capitano,
• — Chriſto.
• — Mano,
• — Acquiſto.
• — Vano
• — Miſto.
• — Santi,
• — Erranti.

But diſyllable, or triſyllable Rhymes, if I miſtake not, carry with 'em ſome⯑thing of the Burleſque Air; and ſuit more aptly with that grinning Face of Wit, that loves to wear Grimace upon good Senſe, like Hudibras, than with the grave and ſerious Majeſty, that ought to dignify the Epic Poetry.

Both theſe Defects are French, as viſibly, as they muſt be confeſs'd Italian. But they find ſome Remedy in France, in that their Accent frequently is plac'd on the laſt Syllable of their long Words; and ſo their Rhymes appear to terminate more gravely, than Italian ones; which carry it upon their laſt excepting one. Take an Example of this beſt Kind of French accenting, from Boileau.

Amours

Diſcours.

Unif [...]rme

Endorme.

Ennuyer

Pſalmodier.

Lecteur

Achepteur.

[57]Here, All the Rhymes depend upon the terminating Syllable: But, yet they are not careful to preſerve this Benefit; too frequently degenerating into double Rhymes, like the Italians, as in this, of the ſame Boileau.

I will engliſh theſe four Lines, as near as I can do it, to the very Trip of the French Cadence; that the Reader may conceive a proper Notion of their debonair Heroics.

I judge with a too partial Ear, or there is ſomething ſo diſtaſtefully alert (to uſe a Phraſe of their own furniſhing) in the pert Skipping, of this Verſe, a Kind of Pauſe-check'd Recoil of Motion, like the Half whirl of a Spinning-wheel,— like the unlacing of a Muſe, as Mr. Hobbes expreſſes it, or, to hit the Image better, in Lord Dorſet's Simile, like the unvaried Rumbling of a Wheel-barrow, that the Numbers of their ſerious Poems ſeem as ill-adapted to their Subjects, as Jigg Tunes to a Church Anthem.—We may diſcover, in their very Verſe, the dapper Genius of their Nation: a Sort of ſpirited, or animal, Vivacity, that dances gaily thro' the Fancy, without ſtopping at the Judgment. I except their few Examples (which have been by Nature too excepted) of a fierce, yet ſteady, Fire, and a Reflection both profound, and volatile.

Concerning other modern Tongues, it will be needleſs to ſay much. What has been hinted, of Italian, will effectually include the Spaniſh, and the Portu⯑gueſe; the German muſt be own'd worth great Regard for its Antiquity, and Manlineſs; but will content itſelf with That juſt Praiſe, and claim no Merit from its Harmony. Whatever Roughneſs Engliſh may be thought to have retain'd, is but of Saxon Origin; and, to acknowlege a too obvious Truth, Poetry in High-Dutch, is like the Nile among its Cataracts: It may be rapid, and deep; but 'tis tumbling, and terrible: It has its Courſe obſtructed, every-where, by Mountains it muſt clamber over.—To carry Poetry ſtill further North, would be but drag⯑ging her to ſeek for Friends, among her Enemies, the Goths, and Vandals.

The Engliſh then, of modern Tongues, is fitted beſt for Poetry. Its copious Choice of Monoſyllables (which many have been raſh enough to call a Blemiſh) make it ſtrong, ſignificant, and comprehenſive. Its Derivatives, from Greek and Latin, have adorn'd it with Variety of Cadences; and intermix'd its maſculine Exceſs of Conſonants with a melodious Fluency, from interpoſing Vowels.—It adorns, and is adorn'd by, Rhyme; yet takes it in but as a Subject, not obeys it, as her Tyrant: It is grave, ſlow, ſtately, ſoft, ſwift, wanton, or majeſtic. It [58] has all the Lentor of Complaint and Pity; yet has all the Tranſport of excurſive Energy: It is an inexhauſtibly full Treaſury, ſupplied from the ſelected Tributes of whatever was moſt excellent, in other Speeches; but poſſeſſes them with ſo improv'd an Aptitude, as to have made That HONEY, which was raw Juice, in the Flowers It drew it from.

But I digreſs too far from what I had begun to ſay, upon the Structure of my Verſe, which differs little from a Species, Mr. Cowley, toward the Cloſe of the laſt Century, firſt reduc'd to Practice, and miſnam'd Pindaric: But if he conceiv'd a Greek Name neceſſary, Dithyrambic had, I think, expreſs'd his Pur⯑poſe better. From the Latitude of ſo diverſify'd a Numeroſity, there muſt ariſe a fuller Harmony, than can conſiſt with common Meaſure. Elſe, a Concert can be equall'd by a ſingle Inſtrument: our uſual Couplet-writing ſooner ſatiates, by too frequent, and too limited Returns, of the ſame Meaſure. Whereas, in this perpetual Change of Cadence, and new Courſe of Numbers, the Attention is beat up, provok'd, and render'd lively; the Ear, every-where, reliev'd; and Images of Actions, Sounds, or Things, how different ſoever they may be, are cloath'd with Words, beſt ſuited to their Nature.

The Compaſs, and the Freedom of this Range of Verſe, have recommended its Attempt to many Practiſers in Odes, and ſuch brief Sallies; but, too generally, with bad Succeſs: They check'd the Gracefulneſs of Stepping, by too viſible a Fear to fall. Like Children, who, firſt learn to go alone, they took ſhort, tottering Starts; and hung upon, and reſted at, All ſtopping Places, they could ſtretch their Hands to. They confin'd their Muſe, too humbly, to a Lyric Length of Leading-ſtrings: and gave the ſnug, ſet, round-head Crop, to Stanzas, that ſhould flow out cavalierly. Pindaric, in ſhort Meaſure, is a Woman of Quality, in Knee-deep Petticoats; ſhe may have very well-ſhap'd Feet: but they can never be ſo fine, as to atone the Indecorum. Lyric Numbers carry ſong-like and familiar Levity, quite inconſiſtent with the Epic Gravity. A few bold Writers of Pindaric Odes have ventur'd, now-and-then, as far as the Hexameter: but hardly dar'd ſo much as dream of the Heptametrical ſeven-footed Line, of fourteen Syllables: Indeed the ſhorteſt Meaſure is too long, unleſs That Length is fill'd with Meaning. For nothing can be more ridiculous, than a weak lan⯑guiſhing Extent of Verſe without proportion'd Vigour in the Sentiment: Such Verſe plays looſe, like ſome vaſt main Sail of a Ship, that flags, and flutters heavily upon the Proſpect of a Breeze, but preſently falls back againſt the Maſt, for want of Wind, to ſwell it into Energy. It is in Poems ſuch as Theſe, where, as was paintedly expreſs'd by Mr. Pope (but might have been ſtill more ſo, by his length'ning out his ſecond Verſe to the Heptameter Extent juſt mentioned, and hereunder given it by an Addition only of the two ſmall Words, in Roman Cha⯑racters)

[59]Mr. Dryden, who was willing enough to allow That Praiſe to Mr. Cowley, juſtly due to him for having introduc'd a new, and noble Way of Writing, is, how⯑ever, of Opinion, that much ſtill was wanting to his Practice, of That wiſh'd Perfection, which This Kind of Verſe ſeem'd capable of. He inſtances the Roughneſs, and the oft-deficient Numbers: The Truth is, Mr. Cowley's Judg⯑ment, not his Ear, deceived him. What his learn'd, and Reverend Editor would repreſent, as an Effect of generous Negligence, in a too active Race of Fancy, ſeeming to have been the cool, and moſt deliberate Reſult of wrong Election: we may plainly gather This, from his own Note to the firſt Book of Davideis; where he ſpeaks of This ſtrange Line.

It was in his Intention, to expreſs the Struggle of an overflowing Luſtre, labouring for Room, in the whole Breadth of Heaven.—I am ſorry (ſays Mr. Cowley) that it is neceſſary to admoniſh the moſt Part of Readers, that it is not by Negligence, that this Verſe is ſo looſe, long, and, as it were, vaſt: It is to paint the Nature of the Thing, which it deſcribes: which I would have obſerv'd in divers other Places, that elſe will paſs for very careleſs Verſes. And then, he names theſe following.

And This,

Painting the Image, by the Sound, is, queſtionleſs, one of the livelieſt Beauties, of which Verſe is capable. But how far That is done, by running out of Meaſure, and admitting plain Proſe, as an Ornament in Poetry, I leave to be determin'd by the Judgment of the Reader. He will recollect, that Homer was, and Virgil (in his Imitation) every-where, ambitious of this verbal colouring: but They neither of 'em thought it neceſſary to That End, to diſarray, and proſify their Numbers. On the contrary, they rais'd, and added to, their Harmony, by a melodious Latitude, that circumſcrib'd, at once, and diſſipated, by Effect of this all-com⯑prehending Practice. Mr. Cowley needed not have ſtarted out of Numeroſity, to reach effectually the View before him.—For Example—

For the Second,

For the Third,

[60]And here are three ſucceſſive Inſtances, of the great Uſe and Benefit, an Engliſh Poet has it in his Power to make, by ſparingly (and always aptly) daring to launch out, into the long Heptameter Extent of Meaſure. But there will be found too much obſtructive VOID, in this poetic Saul's big Armour; if a Dwarf, in Genius, ſhould attempt to wear it.

Mr. Cowley's Ear indulg'd him in another equally untuneful Practice, which (in Reverence to the never-failing ſtrong Characteriſtic of the Tribe of Imitators) the Implicites in His Track have All, with devious Diligence, been careful not to ſtart a Step from. He, too often, plac'd his Pauſes, in the wrong Part of his Verſe. They ſhould, in the long Meaſures, be found always poſited exactly. I ſubjoin an Inſtance of the Error.

Here was nothing, that reſembled Numbers: no Harmony at all, unleſs the Reader paus'd at Nume in the Word numerous: and if he did ſo pauſe, in that divided Word, he made a diſagreeable Hiatus, in the Senſe; and would have wounded a nice Ear, as harſhly as an old Greek Expletive. How infinitely more majeſtically, flows the Verſe hereunder, tho' the Meaſure is the ſame, and Both are Mr. Cowley's!—for no other Reaſon but, becauſe the Pauſe is, here, plac'd rightly.

Run about, indeed, may want a little of the purpos'd Greatneſs, from the too light Vulgarity of the Expreſſion.—Strive to fly, had been, perhaps, more aptly ſuited to both Sound, and Image. But I introduce the Verſe, in this Place, only with a View to the right placing of its Pauſe, ſo wrongly judg'd in the preceding one.

That noble Writer ſeems to have been ſenſible of the Perplexity, this Rough⯑neſs of his Numbers, now-and-then, muſt throw a Reader into. For he gives a moſt exact Deſcription of Pindaric Verſe (as he then practis'd it) in his Ode upon the Reſurrection.

This was the true Condition under which he left it. But if he had liv'd to give the needful Hand to what he ſo ſucceſsfully had introduc'd, 'tis probable, he [61] would have ſo far chang'd his Practice, that it had been nearlier deſcrib'd, in This, from his fine Ode, on Liberty.

A Species, once, I think, was tried in Tragic Poetry, not wholly differing from this new Compoſite Order. Ariſtotle notes it of a Work of Cheremon, a Scholar of Socrates. The Piece was call'd the Centaur, and compos'd, he ſays, of All the different Sorts of Verſe. He ſhould have added, except long ones: For he diſapproves That Practice, in dramatic Works, becauſe Iambics, and Tetra⯑meters, and ſuch SHORT Meaſures were too ſkipping, and too light, for ſerious Poetry. Our Language carries natural Gravity, and might allow ſhort Meaſures with leſs Lightneſs. Yet, they ought not to be often us'd, in Epic Writings, even of This new Sort: and never, but in Places, where they help the Harmony, without detracting from the Dignity.

That This Poem is divided into Twelve Books, was a Determination of ſo little Conſequence, that 'twere impertinent to offer at a Reaſon for it. Theſe are Points indifferent; and in which a Poet will not need to ſtrengthen his own Prac⯑tice by Examples. The Extent of his Deſign ſhould be a Guide, in his Diviſion of it. Mr. Cowley profeſſedly imitated Virgil, in his Choice of Twelve Books, to his Davideis: tho', I think, he might as juſtly have rejected Virgil's Number, as He (Virgil) had rejected Homer's: The Number of whoſe Books, too, the Roman would, methinks, more gracefully have been a Borrower of, than of his Epiſodes, and Incidents.—Sir William D'avenant ſprings quite aſide from this old imitative Road; but into an Extreme, as wrong, tho' oppoſite. He is for neither Books, nor Propoſition, Invocation, or Machinery. Like ſome of thoſe ſtiff-hearted Puritans, who dirtied his own Times, and would hear Sermons with their Hats upon their Heads, in Defiance of Church Ceremony. He divides his Gondibert into Five Acts, as if it were a Tragedy: and Each Act into Cantos, which may hold, he ſays, the Place of Scenes.—This Method Mr. Hobbes, in a long prefatory Tract, thought worth his Pains to juſtify; but was, I think, Himſelf, the ſole Supporter of his Argument. In Matters left indifferent, the old Way, if not beſt, is ſure to be the modeſteſt. For my Part, if Diviſion into Twelve Books needs more Reaſon than, becauſe the Subject offer'd Matter, for That Number, I ſhould think it fully juſtified, from the Diviſion of That People, [62] whom it treats of, into their Twelve Tribes: If ſtill a ſtronger Reaſon ſhould be aſk'd for, take it thus. The Action of an Epic Poem ought not to be ſtretch'd beyond one Year; and Twelve Months make up the Diviſion of the Term, ſo limited.—And now I enter on the Referential Notes, in Every Section mark'd progreſſively.

Sect. I. L. 2.—Seek, O Soul! ſome Heavenly Theme.

It was the Cuſtom of Greek Poets to mix in one the Propoſition and the Invo⯑cation. The Latins (and the Moderns, moſtly, follow them) propos'd their Subject firſt, and then invok'd Aſſiſtance from the Muſes.—It becomes a Chriſtian Poet better, to begin with Invocation. It is a Way more ſolemn, and propor⯑tion'd to the Weight of an Addreſs to our Inſpirer, not alone to pray his Aid in the Performance, but his previous Guidance in the very Choice of what we go upon.—That Invocation ſhould, by no means, be omitted, ſeems a Point agreed, for many different Reaſons. A Work, that has its firſt Foundation in a Moral Purpoſe, owes a Reader (ſays Boſſu) a good Example, for his Piety and Venera⯑tion. Add, that many Things muſt be deſcrib'd, in Courſe of theſe Great Poems, which the Poet not being thought in any reaſonable Likelihood of com⯑ing to ſo full a Knowlege of, by any common Means of Information, He could never hope to give his Teſtimony Weight enough to merit Faith, but from im⯑preſſing, firſt, his Reader's Mind, with a Conceit, that Heaven infus'd it.—Sir William D'Avenant, then, did ill, to throw aſide his Prophet's Mantle. What the Robe is to the Judge, the Poet owes to Invocation.

Sect. I. L. 18.—Redeem the Uſe of long-loſt Poetry.

Every body knows, that the Original of Poetry was in the Worſhip of the Gods, and Celebration of their Glory. It is equally notorious, how degenerate It is, ſince, become in its too beggarly Flattery (as Mr. Cowley calls it) of Great Men. He adds, in idolizing Women; which laſt Obſervation, to diſcredit Gallantry He was ſo fitted for, and ſo excuſable for painting, I would certainly have let alone, had I been Author of his MISTRESS.—To redeem the Uſe of Poetry, then, is to reſtore it to the Praiſe of God, to the Advancement of true Virtue, and to Animation of thoſe nobleſt Paſſions, which lend Wings to human Ardour.

Sect. II. L. 4.—Wilful, they ſtarted from protective Grace.

Among the many Arguments enforc'd by Democratic Writers, againſt Mon⯑archy, It ſeems the moſt immodeſt one, and the leaſt founded upon Reaſon, when they are for Liſting God Himſelf into Their Party! From what Appearance they deriv'd this Claim, it is not eaſy to diſcover: ſince the Unity of Power [63] aſcribed to the Almighty, by Themſelves, as well as their Opponents, does not ſeem, at all, to favour any Preference, of the remoteſt Form of Government on Earth, from That which Heaven is rul'd by. Yet there runs no Principle, more univerſally aſſerted, through the Writings of the warm Enthuſiaſts of the laſt unquiet Century, than, that GOD declared Himſelf aloud for the Republican Syſtem, by his perſonal Command to Moſes, for preſcribing That ſelected Form to his own choſen Race of People: For they inſiſt, that the Moſaic Model was a Popular one. They hold it, too, a Claim aſſigned them with ſo full a Right to their political Free-will, that GOD ſubmitted Laws, and Propoſitions, to the People's Confirmation, or Refuſal: and became the Civil Magiſtrate of their Theocracy. That, when accordingly they found it proper to DEPOSE Him from his temporal Authority (I uſe the very Word, which Oceana, and many other of their Treatiſes, take Boldneſs to make free with) and to chuſe Themſelves a King, who ſhould reign with them, in His Stead, GOD blam'd but their Ingratitude, confeſſing, and admitting, their aſſerted Right, (to Samuel)—It is not Thee they have rejected; but they have rejected Me, that I ſhould not reign over them; and, that what is meant by giving them a King IN WRATH, was a Reproach, that they inclin'd to chuſe a King at all, and ſo, but conſequential Menace, that Their Monarch ſhould enſlave 'em, into a corrected Senſe of That ſuperior Happineſs, they parted with, in Favour of him.

This ſtill continuing to be the Light, wherein they ſee That Hebrew Revolu⯑tion, 'twill be pulling down one Prop of their political Fabric, to make plain, in Courſe of theſe Reflections, that the Government of Iſrael, as aſſign'd by GOD, was not a Commonwealth, but an Hereditary Monarchy: and that All the Hebrew's Miſeries, in thoſe ſucceſſive Slaveries they fell into, for three hundred Years to⯑gether, were a natural Effect of Factions, and Confuſions, which the Princes of their Tribes became divided by, upon aſſuming to Themſelves, in their provincial Severalties, a ſecular Direction of the military Power, which, in their firſt Inſti⯑tution, was the Sovereign's Prerogative, excluſively; together with a Right of Judicatory in the laſt Appeal on Civil Cauſes: only reſerving to the Popular Aſſent or Diſſent the Election, or Rejection of new Laws, originally to be brought before the Congregation, and enacted by and with the People's Approbation, and the Regal Fiat, of the Sovereign Authority.

I propoſe to leave it undeniable, that This Sovereign Power was veſted in the High Prieſt, perſonally, and that Moſes plac'd it, not in his defective Line, but, in his BROTHER's, who had many Children; down, ſucceſſively, to whom, de⯑ſcended the Monarchic, with the Sacerdotal, ſole Supremacy; and form'd That Species of Adminiſtration, call'd Theocracy, not to be underſtood, as if GOD, in his own immediate Perſon, condeſcended to be King in Iſrael; but as aſſiſting with his influential Preſence, always virtually (and ſometimes openly, and mira⯑culouſly), to inſpire, and actuate, the High Prieſt's Determinations. I pretend to make this Syſtem clear, in all its Branches, and to reconcile to it the whole Gradation of Events, to That deſtructive Period under Saul, at which Time, [64] firſt, the Prieſtly Power became ſubordinate to, and dependent on, the temporal Royalty: as in the other Eaſtern Nations, that lay neareſt to 'em.

It may merit Recollection, that the Papal Claim to an Infallibility, in Chriſtian Spirituals, has ſometimes made ſuch near Approach to take in temporal Supremacy conjunctively, as in no very wide Degree to hold Itſelf remov'd from Proſpect of a new Theocracy. And nearer ſtill was That, of the old Caliph's Claim, in the Mahometan firſt Outſtart of Enthuſiaſm.

Sect. II. L. 10.—Then GIDEON, wiſe, and generous Leader, roſe.

This Line begins the PROPOSITION, (and the Progreſs of the Section ſpecifies the ACTION, of the Poem.)—In its Opening, it is general—to teach, in the Ex⯑ample of the Leader nam'd, that the Inſpir'd by Heaven are to apprehend no Danger, from the moſt unequal Oppoſition: all divided Power becoming weaker, on Exertion; while united moves direct, and ſtill grows ſtronger, in That Motion. The Propoſition next deſcends to the particular: declaring it to be the Redemption of Iſrael, from her Yoke of foreign Conqueſt.

It is a terrible Duſt, the Critics raiſe, in their Diſputes, concerning the beſt Way of opening Propoſitions. Every body agrees, with them, in recommend⯑ing Modeſty: but Fulneſs, too, ſeems not at all unneceſſary.—I can be as unſatiſ⯑fied with Statius, as Boſſu has been, for his encumb'ring the Propoſition of his Achilleid with Declarations, that his Hero had frighted the Thunderer: as alſo with his perſonal Boaſts, how nobly He (the Poet) had exhauſted Inſpiration; inſo⯑much, that Thebes, ſo ſung by Him, ſhould reverence him, as her ſecond Founder. In a juſt Diſlike of This, All Men, of common Senſe, muſt join; but, from Effect of the ſame Senſe, they ought to quit his Cauſe (I mean Boſſu's), when undiſcerningly attach'd to every caſual Choice, of Homer, or of Virgil, he deduces an Authority to ſtate Their Practice, as a not to be diſputed Standard for All Epic Plans to follow.

There is a celebrated Ipſe dixit, which has been too long conſented to, upon this very Subject, of the Propoſition, and which it is now high Time to weigh, and find too light, even after I confeſs it Horace's. If I have any Notion, what it is he means, He either has meant evidently wrong, or (which 'twere bolder to ſuſpect him guilty of) has miſ-expreſs'd his own true Meaning.—hear him, in Lord Roſcommon.

In the firſt Place, I can ſee no Reaſon, why, becauſe One Man has undertaken to deſcribe a War, and prov'd not equal to his Enterprize, Another therefore ſhould be arrogant, in but propoſing the ſame Subject. And, as to Modeſty of Propoſition, for the want of which the Writer is here treated ill by Horace, and accus'd of Noiſe, and Oſtentation, I am frank enough to dare confeſs, that the Immodeſty, if there is Any here, lies too conceal'd for my Diſcernment. Pray, what could any Author, who deſign'd That Subject, have contriv'd to ſay upon it, leſs, when he was entering on the Propoſition of it? Where is the too much Fire in his Beginning? Smoke in the Progreſs can be nothing to our Purpoſe: why is there more of Pomp expreſs'd, or why more Expectation rais'd, from a plain Promiſe to deſcribe the Ruin of one Town, and Death of one Man, than to ſhew the Manners of many Men, and treat on the Affairs of many Cities? If we were not to expect Accounts, of not alone the Things Ulyſſes ſaw, but alſo why he ſaw them, to what End then did Homer promiſe any thing about 'em, in his Propoſition? If we were to entertain That Expectation, certainly our Hopes are higher rais'd by Homer, who aſſures us, we ſhall hear of many Cities, and of many Men, than by the other, who propos'd to ſet before us but the Ruin of one City, and one Man's Deſtruction.

There is a Narrowneſs in theſe implicit Reverencers. They underſtand, and follow in their Author's Rear, with a too creeping, and too blind Servility. Who reads, and is not Horace's Admirer? and yet, who ſhall be afraid of ſaying, He would better have inſtructed us, by ſome intelligible plain Precept, on this Point, of Propoſitions, than by Two ill-underſtood, and wide Examples?—To conclude with my own humble Notion of the Matter, He certainly propoſes well, who comprehends within his Propoſition, the Extent of his whole Meaning, and adds nothing further: And He errs, as certainly, who, being ſcrupulouſly terrified, by Words without a Reaſon, is kept back by groundleſs Fear of ſaying more, than This or That Man would have ſaid upon the Subject, and ſays leſs, than his own Meaning calls for.

Sect. III. L. 11.—Not to Pride's tranſient Phantoms poorly kneel.

I would not be miſunderſtood, in this Place, as renouncing Reverence for the Age, I live in, or for Any Great Man, who adorns it. (I except all ſuch, whoſe Minds are no Partakers in their Greatneſs.) What I mean by my unfaſhionable, and not over-politic, Abjuration, is no more, than that I bluſh to find, it is not thought below the Condeſcenſion of a Man of Genius, to confine his Views to little Hopes, and tranſient Intereſts from the Powerful: His Buſineſs, as I take it, being rather, to aſſert, and vindicate, neglected Excellence, than to be poorly proſtituting his Hoſannah, to the HIGHEST. The Poet, and the Prieſt (Antiquity [66] ſo join'd 'em) ought to guide their Ends, not, by the Humours, Inclinations, or immediate Paſſions, of the Age, they write in. They ſhould carry down their Proſpect through Futurity, and never rate their Recompence at all the lower, from their Perſon's being doom'd to die, before it reaches 'em.

Sect. VII. L. 2.—Had reſtleſs Midian pour'd her ſwarthy Hoſts.

What People theſe Midianites were, into what Nations divided, how govern'd, and where ſeated, as alſo who are now their Deſcendents, I ſhall have Occaſion to deſcribe in the next Book. This Race had waſted Iſrael, for ſeven Years; within the laſt of which, about the Time of Harveſt, the Poem takes Beginning: that ſo, the Unity of Action might be properly maintain'd, in comprehending only their Redemption, without Retroſpect to their Invaſion; which had form'd Two different Actions, and deſtroy'd the Regularity, requir'd in Epic Poetry. Critics believe they ſee, that for this Reaſon only, Homer commenc'd his Iliad, in the tenth Year of the Siege, and Virgil his Aeneid in the laſt Year of the Voyage. No doubt, they had been, elſe, incumber'd by Exceſs of Matter.

Sect. VII. L. 5.—To Theſe old Amalek her Standards join'd.

This numerous and mighty Nation will have Place at large, among the Notes of the ſucceeding Book. They were the Hebrew's firſt and ſureſt Enemies: Firſt, becauſe, They, firſt, attack'd 'em, in their March; when they were beaten, under Moſes.—And ſureſt, as the Iſraelites receiv'd particular Command from GOD, never to make Peace with the Amalekites, but purſue, till they had quite eradica⯑ted them. And this, at laſt, they very nearly had accompliſh'd, after many hundred Years were paſt, firſt. What, in this Affair, I find leaſt comprehenſible, is, GOD's remembring, for a People, who Themſelves had long forgot, this Right to Vengeance. They appear to have deſerv'd it very little: it being after their Rejection of His Care concerning them. I am at ſome Loſs, therefore, to account for the ſurpriſing Rigour of the Curſe denounc'd on Saul, by Samuel, three hundred and fifty Years after the Injury receiv'd: in Puniſhment of but a generous Pity, ſhewn to Agag, when his Priſoner. As the Compaſſion was a Virtue, and 'twere hard, to think the Prophet's Love of Vengeance keener than the King's, the Anger could ariſe but from a Recollection, that ſuch Mercy, ſhewn to Amalek, was a Contempt expreſs'd, of Heaven: there ſtanding out an un-re⯑peal'd Decree, for total Extirpation of That People.

Sect. VII. L. 17.—Their heavy Harveſts load the plund'ring Foe.

From the Story of this War, as in the Book of Judges, It was predatory, and incurſive: and the Hebrews, after their firſt Conteſt, had abandon'd all the Plains, and open Country, and ſecur'd themſelves among their Faſtneſſes, on rocky [67] Mountains: while the Enemy, maintaining Winter Quarters in ſome Cities, which they held on Purpoſe, made Excurſions thence, in Summer, to deſtroy the Har⯑veſt, burn the open Towns, and Villages, and carry off (as Plunder) People, Cattle, and whatever elſe fell into their Poſſeſſion.

Sect. VIII. L. 2.—Where Half the MANASSAEAN Tribe, &c.

Jordan, that riſes in the northern Part of Paleſtine, runs, almoſt ſtrait South, through the whole Length of the Country; nine Tribes, and a Half, of the Twelve, in the Diviſion made by Joſhua, of the conquer'd Lands, had been allotted the Poſſeſſion of That Tract, between the weſtern Shore of Jordan, and the Neck of the Levant, or Syrian Sea: excepting only, that the Coaſt Itſelf, together with a Breadth of ſome Miles inward, was poſſeſs'd by the Philiſtines, and the rich, and powerful trading States of Tyre, and Sidon. The other two Tribes and a Half, being Thoſe of Reuben, Gad, and one Half of Manaſſah, held the Country, lying Eaſtward along Jordan, which was conquer'd, firſt of All, by Moſes, from the Amorites, and their Allies. But That Half Tribe of the Manaſſans, which is here alluded to, had their Allotment to the Weſt of Jordan. It was a long, but narrow, Slip of Land, which trended, from the River's Brink, 'twixt Iſſachar, and Ephraim, almoſt to the Sea Coaſt abovemention'd. On a Mountain, toward the Eaſt End of this Slip of Land, in Sight of Jordan, ſtood the City of Ophra (Gideon's Birth-place), ſafe from Inſults of an Enemy, by its impregnable Situation. At the Foot of this high Mountain, open'd a large, beautiful, and fruitful Valley, That of Jezreel; where the Midian Army is ſup⯑pos'd to lie encamp'd at This Time, whence the Poem takes Beginning. This Valley of Jezreel has been the Scene of many bloody Battles. It was there, our Gideon overthrew the Midianites, Saul, the Philiſtines: Achab the Syrians; And, in more modern Times, the Tartars the Saracens.

Sect. VIII. L. 23.—This Tree a Shade o'er half the Mountain caſt.

That there was a Tree, and a Bench under it, before Joaſh's Houſe, we have the Teſtimony of the Bible, which informs us, that an Angel of God came, and ſat there: but, that it was ſo large, and old a Tree, is a poetical Diſcovery. That it was remarkable however for its Size, and Situation, may be gather'd, from its being thought worth ſo particular a Notice in the ſacred Story. But, becauſe I have ſuppos'd it many Ages old, and yet in its full Flouriſh, It is neceſſary, I ſay ſomething, in Defence, and Honour of theſe venerable Children of the Earth.

Pliny tells us of Oaks, growing in his Time, ſuppos'd to have been coeval with the World Itſelf. Their Roots, ſays he, were united, and rais'd into Arches, like the Gates of Cities; and the Earth was ſwell'd, about 'em, into Mountains.— Joſephus has made Mention of a Turpentine Tree, that was thought as old as the Creation. Mr. Maundrel, in his Journey to Jeruſalem, affirms, He meaſur'd one [68] of the Few yet remaining Cedars of Lebanon, and found it above twelve Yards round the Body: and that, at almoſt one hundred Foot high, It ſpread out into five ſeveral Limbs, the leaſt of which would have been ſingly a great Tree.—Sir Francis Drake informs us, that he meaſur'd a huge Maſtic-Tree, in one of his Voyages, that was four and thirty Yards about! It is eaſy to infer, Theſe vege⯑table Giants muſt have borne the Growth of no ſmall Number of Ages.—St. Jerom, too, relates, that he had ſeen the very Sycamore Tree, Zacchaeus climb'd into to look upon our Saviour, when he rode in Triumph to Jeruſalem.—But the Tree of Trees, at laſt, is an old Engliſh Dryad: one that Mr. Evelyn, in his Sylva, mentions, with becoming Gravity; and hands down to us the Record of ſuch a Magna Charta in its Reverence, as deſerves to be remember'd, and main⯑tain'd, to an immortal Length of Triumph. And no Doubt, It will be ſo, by thoſe bold Sons of Liberty, who boaſt the Honour of their Birth within due Diſtance of its Shadow. The abovenam'd Gentleman aſſerts, from his own Knowlege, that there is This pleaſant Kind of Privilege annex'd to an old Oak, which has, Time out of Memory, been the Glory of Knoll Wood, near Trely Caſtle, in Staffordſhire: The Shade of This Tree's Boughs, he ſays, is very ample; and, in due Reſpect to its Antiquity, whoever will make Oath, on Birth of any Child who muſt call nobody Its Father, that This Child was actually be⯑gotten within any Part of Its Shadow, the Offence is free, and ſtands exempted from all Cognizance, whether of civil, or eccleſiaſtic Magiſtrate.—But, to return to the Longevity of Trees, undignified by ſo indulg'd a Sanctuary, Mr. Lawſon, in his Tract of Orchards, has brought reaſonable Arguments to prove, a Pear-Tree's Life may be a thouſand Years. And truly, if the Age of Man, before the Flood, was from Six hundred to Nine hundred Years, it can be no great Raſhneſs to imagine, that an Oak, ſo much more durable, and ſolid, in its Sub⯑ſtance, and not ſubject to the Dangers and Diſeaſes, which diſorder human Bodies, may be capable of living many thouſand Years; the Soil ſuppos'd adapted, and no Accident ariſing, that might interrupt, or ſtop its Progreſs.— And thus much I thought it not amiſs to note, in Reference to the Age I have aſſign'd the Oak of Gideon.

Sect. IX. L. 1.—The Morning riſing over Iſrael's Spoils.

The Deſcription, which this Verſe begins, I took ſome Pains to make a pleaſing one; but would not have it thought, I introduc'd it, to make Way for Ornament.—Not but Deſcription is the Life of Epic Poetry; and it is There (as Boileau well obſerves) the Poet ought to laviſh all his Fancy, and his Rhetoric; yet, if it ſerves no other End than mere Delight, the Poem will be found to languiſh; for, the Race of Action is too coldly ſtopp'd, in Favour of detach'd Ideas. BOSSU writes much, to ſay a very little to the Purpoſe, in his Chapter of Deſcriptions: Mr. Dennis is more clear, and hits the Point directly, in one ſhort Remark of his Diſcourſe againſt Prince Arthur. Deſcriptions, ſays this Gentle⯑man, [69] ought never to be made, in Epic Poems, unleſs neceſſary; which they never can be, but in one of theſe two Caſes; either where of Uſe, for giving us a reaſon⯑able Account of ſome Part of the Action, whereby to make it probable; or when they ſerve to imprint ſtrongly ſome important Circumſtance.

It is in this laſt View, that the Deſcription of the Morning, dawning over Gideon, ſhadow'd by his Oak, was introduc'd, in order to impreſs a ſtrong Con⯑ception, not of the Place and Poſture ſimply, but of all the hoſtile Proſpect opening before him, to convey a local Image, and tranſmit the Senſe of Danger, and of his Reflections on it, from the Hero's, to the Reader's, Paſſions, as we ſee in common Life how forcibly Regards of Place aſſiſt Imagination. He, who had ſeen Edge Hill, or Newberry, or Naſeby, would have found himſelf more ſtrikingly attach'd, in reading the Accounts, our Hiſtory records of thoſe three Battles.

Sect. X. L. 12.—Here and there, high-mettled Steeds.

The Uſe I make of Horſe, in the Progreſſion of this War, being frequent, and conſiderable, I take Occaſion, from their firſt being mention'd, in this Verſe, to aſſert the Uſe of Cavalry among the Hebrews, leſt ſome haſty Doubt, perhaps, might cenſure it, as not in Practice, in That early Period. And the rather, be⯑cauſe Homer, writing of a War much later, makes no Mention in His Work of Horſemen: but deſcribes That noble Creature in no other Manner, than as har⯑neſs'd to the ſkirmiſhing little Chariots, of his Greek or Trojan Captains.—How this happen'd in the Iliad I am not able to account for: tho', that his Country⯑men were then unſkilful to back Horſes, I can eaſily enough believe, becauſe, not long before, they had miſtaken the firſt Horſemen they had ever ſeen for com⯑pound Creatures, Half-Man Half-Horſe, and given 'em the Name of Centaurs: from the Buſineſs they ſeem'd fondeſt of, which was, to ſteal their Cattle. But, that ſuch, too, ſhould have been the Caſe among the Trojans, muſt not be ſo readily admitted. Troy held the Empire, then, of Aſia Minor, and drew power⯑ful Allies to her Aſſiſtance, from ſo many diſtant Places, that it is impoſſible to fancy, they were All unſkill'd in Riding; when ſo many Ages before That, the Wars all over Aſia had been dreadfully diſtinguiſhable for the Number of their Cavalry —Ninus, the Founder of Nineveh, had enter'd Bactria with Two hun⯑dred thouſand Horſe, beſides his Chariots; which were above a Hundred thou⯑ſand; Semiramis, his Wife, who was the Builder of Babylon, invaded India (ſays Suidas) with a Million of Horſemen: and of Chariots arm'd with Scyths at the End of their Axle trees, above a Hundred thouſand, alſo.

It may be ſurmis'd, that Horſemen in ſuch Numbers, in thoſe early Ages, pro⯑bably were over-rated by the Inaccuracy of Hiſtorians: Let it be ſo; It has no Force againſt the Uſe of Horſe in War, ſo antiently.—If, therefore, the Aſſyrians thus abounded in their Cavalry, It muſt be paſt Diſpute, that bordering Nations alſo had the Uſe of 'em: and cou'd not have come ſo far with Purpoſe to invade [70] the Hebrews, without bringing Numbers, in their Armies.—As for the Hebrews Themſelves, Scripture is full of Inſtances, how early They were able Horſemen: and it had been ſtrange, indeed, to find them otherwiſe, when we remember they came out of Egypt: where the Pharaohs were ſo generally powerful, in Arms, and ſo particularly furniſh'd with fine Cavalry, that One of 'em purſued the Hebrew People, in their March to the Red Sea, with Fifty thouſand Horſe (ſays Joſephus) and Two hundred thouſand Foot; beſides all the Chariots, of Egypt.

Sect. X. L. 14.—In other Parts, the Scyth-arm'd Chariots driv'n.

Concerning theſe Chariots, an antient and terrible Invention, and of infinite Effect, in thoſe vaſt open Plains, of Aſia, the moſt proper Place to ſpeak, at large, will be in the Remarks upon the ſecond Book: and, there, a full Deſcription will be found, not only of the Chariots Themſelves, but of the different Ways of uſing, and avoiding them; and what Effects they did produce; and might have been made capable of producing.

Sect. X. L. 22.—The tortur'd Drums, and ſprightly Trumpets join'd.

The Antients made great Uſe of Drums; though differing, in Shape, and Mode of beating, from the Ways in modern Practice. They were not ſtruck upon by Sticks; but with ſtrong Pulſion of the Hands alone, and both at Top and Bottom; being ornamented, round their Rims, with thick-ſet Plates of jingling Braſs.— And certainly, ſuch Drums muſt have deriv'd their Uſe from the moſt early Times; having been found with the Chineſe, when firſt diſcover'd by the Europaeans. And, for the Trumpet, there are ſuch concurring Proofs of its Antiquity, in Holy Writ, that I was much ſurpriz'd at Mr. Pope's Aſſertion, in his Notes on Homer, that it was not yet invented, in the Trojan War! That War was in the Time of Abdon's judging Iſrael; and Trumpets were ſo long before in Uſe among the Hebrews, that the Ark was never mov'd, nor any Congregation ſummon'd, but by the Sound of this known Inſtrument. They had a Feſtival, too, call'd the Feaſt of Trum⯑pets. The Walls of Jericho fell down, at Sound of Joſhua's Trumpets. Gideon blew a Trumpet, and All Abiezer was gather'd after him. Moſes, in the very Wilderneſs, directs the making Silver Trumpets, whoſe Shape, and Dimenſions ſuit exactly with Thoſe, now, among us.—How has Mr. Pope then form'd this Notion, that they knew no Uſe of Trumpets in the Trojan War? Was it, becauſe he found it not in Homer? Poſſibly his Greeks were, yet, too rude to have ac⯑quir'd the Practice in their Armies. Poſſibly they held it too inſpiring, and exci⯑ting: as we read, that ſome of their vain Countrymen (the Lacedemonians) rejected it, long after, as a Stirrer up of Courage: which, it ſeems, they had a mind to repreſent, as naturally over-active, in their Conſtitution.—Therefore, march'd to Battles with the ſoft appeaſing Sound of Flutes and Flagelets, before 'em: They would induce their Enemies to think, They rather found it needful to correct the [71] overboiling of their Ardour, than propel and irritate it. Virgil, however, gives Aeneas a Trumpeter; and ſays, He had, before, belong'd to Hector: Virgil, therefore, thought the Trumpet was of That Antiquity: and, out of all Diſpute, It was of older Origin.

Sect. XI. L. 1.—Light, from his Bench, enrag'd, young Gideon leapt.

From deſign'd Effect of thoſe fine Proſpects, which lay ſtretch'd before him: For the natural, and improv'd Embelliſhments of ſuch a fruitful Valley, when ſurvey'd together with the Enemy, whoſe Rapine held it from the famiſh'd Own⯑ers, muſt inflame the Spirit of a ſuffering Obſerver, into aggravated Senſe of what he felt, and apprehended, for his Country. The natural Conſequence of ſuch a Flame, in ſuch a Mind as Gideon's, was the rouſing all thoſe Paſſions, which break out in his Soliloquy:—and ſerve to open his true Character: the Reader being, yet, a Stranger to it: and It muſt have touch'd him in a fainter, and leſs animate⯑ing Manner, had It been, in a cool Form of Narrative, anticipated to him.

Sect. XI. L. 24.—Now, were ſome ſingle Pow'r a gen'ral Bliſs.

The Hebrews, after Joſhua was dead, concluded only a ſlight War, of little Conſequence, in the South Parts of Judah, during the Reign of Phinehas; and then, with one concurrent Lapſe from any further Application to their inſtituted Modes of military Practice under general Attachment to dependent Regulation, threw That Care, in a divided Truſt, to their provincial Heads of Tribes: who, now, had their allotted Severalties, in Territory, and in Civil, and Palatinate Pretenſions: and fell in with the whole People's Diſpoſition to improve, and cul⯑tivate their Lands; drinking (as the Text expreſſes this Deſertion of the Public Duty, for the private Intereſt) Every Man under his own Vine, and eating under his own Fig-tree.

This univerſal Spirit of Defection met too little Oppoſition, from a Want of due Attention in their prieſtly Sovereigns, to the Civil Branch of their Prerogative, and of the Military ſtill more willingly; as from their Turn of Education, leſs adapted to its Duties. They depended on the awful Influence of their divine Pre-eminence, and their Poſſeſſion of the Ark of God, whereto lay All Appeals, and to whoſe final Sentence, in the High Prieſt's Voice, the People were injoin'd im⯑plicit, and direct, Obedience, under Penalty of preſent Death, by ſtoning; ſo, they took no Care to educate ſome martial Genius (ſuch as Joſhua's had been), and to attach him, by his Intereſt, to ſole Dependence on the Royal Safety: under whoſe delegated Right to That Supremacy in warlike Exerciſe, the Tribes had been, till then, enur'd, and diſciplin'd, and held unitedly together.

The Knot had long been looſening; but Love of Eaſe, and Taſte of Luxury, now all at once diſſolv'd it.—Till this fatal Lure, in their detach'd Diviſions of the Land, the Want of Property among Particulars ſuſtain'd no other than the [72] general Intereſt. Hope of the future, from the State's Proſperity, kept every Individual Eaſy in his preſent Indigency: The joint Diſtreſs of their collective Body held it cloſe compacted, like a Heap of Pebbles, in a watry Soil, froze hard to⯑gether: The new Warmth of Self-dependency, diſſolving the Adheſion, Every Off-falling Pebble became a ſeparate Body, and contributed no longer to the Tex⯑ture of the Univerſal. In this diſpers'd Condition, what, before, had been im⯑moveable, by virtue of its Weight, lay liable, thenceforth, to be trod down by every Hoof; and only magnified its Breadth, to ruin its Conſiſtency.

Plenty in Eaſe was the firſt Step toward Anarchy: It drew on Diſregard of public Happineſs: The next was Wealth with Luxury; to which ſucceeded Pride; and That, in natural Conſequence, produc'd Contempt of Law; ſoon follow'd by Defiance of Authority. The ſure Reſult of All together was Diſſenſion, and Confuſion.—Turbulent Ambition ſet up Every Tribe to wiſh, and act, with views to Independency; and under this relax'd Inſenſibility to National Coherence, the Remainder of the Canaanites (whom Avarice, not Mercy, had too indiſcretely ſpar'd) took Arms againſt ſo viſible a Weakneſs; and ſucceeded frequently in their Revolts: till they not only brought this factious People to the loweſt Pitch of In⯑famy, but taught the Nations, that ſurrounded 'em, to think of, and to treat 'em, with Contempt: than which no State can poſſibly be curs'd with an unhappier, or more dangerous, Condition.

The Progreſs of all This was natural.—It help'd 'em little, that they ſtill had Strength enough, to have repuls'd their Enemies. The Feet and Arms, like Thoſe in the Old Fable, of Menenius Agrippa, thought it hard, that they ſhould work to feed the Stomach: and deſtroy'd themſelves in not ſuſtaining, what they were ſuſtain'd by.—While thoſe proud Hebrews multiplied their Claims into lean Inde⯑pendencies, Exemptions, and Immunities, they were pluck'd, One by One, away, like the Hairs of Sertorius's Horſe-Tail, which if pull'd at, All together, had been found irradicable.—It is in Bodies Politic the ſame, as in a Body Natural: In the Rapidity of ſome wild Race, a Man perceives a gaping Pit, before him; what a Happineſs, in ſuch a Caſe, to have the Seat of Counſel, and of Power, the ſame! He ſees the Ruin in the Moment, that he ſhuns it in; for, Reaſon and Authority, concurring in the Head, put preſent Stop to the retracted Members; and they ſtand ſecur'd, upon the very Verge of their Precipitation. But, could we here ſuppoſe our Limbs ſtuck over with fine Mouths and Eyes, like Virgil's Fame, and the imaginary Argus, and that every Mouth, and Eye, becauſe it look'd a little like a Face, would ſet up for a Head too, and lay Claim to Privilege of Contra⯑diction; what Conſequence could we expect to ſee, from ſuch a Popular Balance? Clamour, more than enough, there could not fail to be, to give Alarm to ſuch a Body; but the Monſter's Neck would run the Hazard to be broke, before each Member could be aſk'd his Sentiment. There could not well be fanſied a more lively Emblem, than, when Reaſoners for Monarchy compare a Commonwealth to That imaginary Serpent, ſome old Writers dreamt of, with ſeven Heads, and but one Tail. The turbulent Reptile would, in ſpite of its big Hiſſing, only [73] hang itſelf in every Hedge: whereas, with but one Head, It would draw all its ſeven Tails through, and find no Danger, or Incumbrance.

Sect. 13. L. 4.—How comes it He permits my Country's Shame?

The leading Character, in Epic Poetry, muſt be diſtinguiſh'd, not alone from other Characters of the ſame Poem, but from other Poem's Heroes. He is to be mark'd by ſome Peculiar, of a noble Kind, by which He would be known in every Company; not only as a brave, wiſe, glorious Man:—but as That very in⯑dividual brave, wiſe, glorious, Man.—We are not ſatisfied by a too general De⯑ſcription, even of a fine Woman; but we liſten with full-pointed Approbation, when, beſides the Attributes, She holds in Common with the other Beauties, of her Sex, we are brought cloſer to her Image, by Communication of ſome one Pe⯑culiar Grace, that teaches, and appropriates, HER ſeparate Manner of engaging. Then, we form her, to our Fancy; and become acquainted with her Picture.— Thus, in Virgil's Hero, the Characteriſtic is benevolent Piety. In Homer's, It is Fierceneſs: and in Gideon, Patriotiſm.

Sect. XIII. L. laſt.—Will Iſrael's haughty Tribes be led, &c.

No Obſervation can be juſter than is That, of the Political Writers, that Au⯑thority is POWER; and Reputation is AUTHORITY. The Nature of Things, and Actions, can be examin'd but by few: their Appearance reaches Many. Machiavel had Reaſon for his Obſervation, that the only Difficulty in Aſcent to Greatneſs will be found at its Beginning. Never Man (ſays he) attain'd conſiderable Height, from low Condition, without infinite Fatigue, and Danger from Opponents. Re⯑poſe a Milſtone on the very Border of a Hill; It there lies fix'd for ever, if it wants the Impulſe of ſome new firſt Motion. Let That Puſh be given, and not a Rock, in its Deſcent, will have the Strength to ſtop its Progreſs. All That Envy, which impels our Oppoſition, when we croſs the Way of ſome new Riſer, (from the natural Stimulation of a Vanity, that makes Compariſon betwixt a Con⯑ſciouſneſs of our own Worth and His) becomes extinguiſh'd, in Amazement, when we contemplate the Hazards, of ſome terrible Reputation. The Honours, of a Man ſo dangerouſly rais'd, we can no longer look upon with Malice: we ſurrender 'em, as but the Perquiſites of the advent'rous Poſt, he won 'em in: and while Everybody admires, applauds, expects,—Reſiſtance is diſcourag'd, and falls in with Furtherance; till, now, the Man, whom All believe moſt capable, grows capable, in Conſequence of that Admiſſion.

However equal, therefore, Gideon might, in Nature, have been form'd, for Proſecution of his Purpoſe, as to his unnoted and ſelf-reap'd Advantages, from Meditation, Study, Virtue, Obſervation, Courage, or Experience, It had been to diſregard the common Courſe of Things, had I made ſlight of thoſe Reſtraints, which heap up Mountains upon Mountains to raiſe Bars againſt unaided Merit. [74] I durſt not, under this Conviction, dream his Virtue raſh enough to have pre⯑ſum'd a Glory, ſo unlikely, and remote from his ſuppos'd Pretenſions (wanting Power, Authority, and Reputation) till the GOD, who had inſpir'd him with adapted Qualities, impell'd 'em alſo into Action by Impreſſion ſupernatural; or, to take the Story in its literal Senſe, by the Apppearance of an Angel, to encourage him.

Sect. XVI. L. 1.—Be taught, reply'd th' unbody'd Gueſt, &c.

Gideon diſtruſted the Reality of ſo improbable a Charge, tho' ſeemingly deriv'd from Heaven, becauſe the Vaſtneſs of its Depth was more than he could ſound, by the ſhort Line of human Reaſon. The Celeſtial Miſſionary diſcern'd this natural Struggle betwixt Faith and Foreſight, and removes it, by a Document, in⯑cluded in, and made impreſſive by a MIRACLE.—Reach me (ſaid the Angel) yon neglected little Store of your laſt Night's Proviſion. Gideon, in mere Reſpect to the Command, complies with it, in Doubt, and Wonder at its Meaning: and That Doubt and Wonder gave Occaſion to the Angel to enforce the Credit of his Errand, and exact the like implicit Reverence to it, without bold Examina⯑tions of its human Probability. I take the Liberty to look on This, as the true Meaning of the Paſſage in the Text: For, certainly, it could not be conſiſtent with the Dignity of an Ambaſſador from God, to order Meat and Broth, to be pour'd out upon the Rock, with that too trivial Purpoſe, merely to blow it up, that he might vaniſh in the Fire, and leave Gideon in the Smoke.—Whereas aſcending in the Flame after Delivery of ſo ſolemn and authoritative an Injunction, muſt have anſwer'd fully the majeſtic View, with which it ſeems to have been done: and left the Doubter animated into a becoming Faith and Reſolution.

Sect. XX. L. 7.—Oreb, a Midian Prince of warlike Fame.

Too limited a Knowlege in Things military, founded on a ſuperficial Obſerva⯑tion of the Pride, and formulary Petulancies, of diſputed Rank; and querulous Exceptions to, or Emulations of Detach'd Commands, in modern War; will pro⯑bably object, againſt This Place, that Oreb was a Perſon of too high a Quality, to lead a Party out to lie in Ambuſh for Surprize of a ſmall City. But I recur to antient Practice, and proteſt againſt defective Teſtimony.—Actions of moſt Re⯑nown, were Theſe Surpriſals, and light Ambuſhes: Ulyſſes, thus, and Diomede, go out diſguis'd, by Night, as but Diſcoverers of the Enemy's Camp.—Achilles reproaches Agamemnon with his Backwardneſs upon Occaſions of this Nature. And we muſt not bring down Gideon's Days to ours, and buckle Reaſon to Per⯑verſity of Will, in faulty Adulation of Men's Pride and meaner Paſſions. But, to make a large Step from Antiquity, which every-where is crouded with Ex⯑amples; Modern Times have had their Proofs, that nobleſt Spirits fly above theſe petty Loftineſſes. Marſhal Montluc, in his Commentaries, prides himſelf upon [75] appearing perſonally, at the Head of all ſuch Enterprizes; and aſcribes his whole Good Fortune (which was certainly the longeſt laſting, and the happieſt, nay, indeed, the moſt unmatch'd and wonderful, that ever was recorded) to his reſolute perſiſting in This ſingle Practice: the Duke of Rohan too, in his military Work, maintains (with ſome Degree of Anger, that it ſhould be queſtion'd) that no General, who is not prompt, by his own Preſence, to promote the Execution of theſe little Services, can ever bring his Soldiers, either to That Vigilance, or That Opinion of his Valour, which are neceſſary to Authority. And, now of late, in our own Times, we ſaw good Proof of the Validity of That French General's Remark, in the Succeſſes of the Earl of Peterborow, overrunning ſome of the beſt Provinces in Spain, againſt the Oppoſition of an Army, in Compariſon with which His own might have been well miſtaken for his travelling Retinue! This illuſtrious Kind of Victory, which Men obtain by inbred Energy of Genius, is what properly deſerves the Name of Conqueſt. A Power of beating down one Force, by an oppoſing Equal one, can claim no other Title but of Overthrow.

Sect. XXI. L. 2.—Obſerv'd a tott'ring Cliff, that looſely hung.

Ariſtotle is for the Wonderful, in Poetry; by which, however, I ſuppoſe, he could not mean, that we ſhould diſregard the Probable, in Search of the Miracu⯑lous. But, if it muſt be look'd upon as reaſonable, that Hector in the Twelfth Book of Homer's Iliad, could throw a Stone of Weight enough to burſt the Gate of the Greek's Fortification before their Ships, and throw it with ſuch Force, too, as to break the Bars in Pieces, and ſnap all the Iron Hinges (which thund'ring Stroke had the Good Fortune to pleaſe Taſſo, ſo ſurpriſingly, that he made bold to borrow it for the Uſe of his Rinaldo, againſt the Temple of Jeruſalem)—if This, I ſay, can, reaſonably, be believ'd, it will be no great Difficulty for the Reader to allow it likelier, that Oreb ſhould puſh down a Cliff, that hung half looſe already: Men, who travel on the Alpes, the Mountains of Switzerland, or croſs the Pyrenees; or even among our own Scotch Alps, or Welſh ones; meet with nothing commoner, than ſuch huge Craggs, broke off from upper Rocks, and ſtop'd by ſome protuberating Point, half over which they hang, ſo looſely, and ſo tott'ring, that a very little Impulſe from behind, would ſerve to throw 'em downward; tho' a Team or two of Oxen would have much ado to move 'em, from a Place they lay on, horizontally.

Sect. XXII. L. 19.—Ignobly hurl their Jav'lins down in vain.

This Weapon was a very antient one, in Uſe among moſt Nations: tho' 'tis now ſcarce known, in Europe, except only in the Turkiſh Part of it. They call it, there, Jeritt, and are extremely dext'rous in its Exerciſe. The Moors too, all through Africa, retain the Uſe of it; and ſo do the Arabians; and ſome Nations of Eaſt India, where it has the Name of Zagai. The Hebrew Soldiers, [76] and great Leaders, kept 'em in their Hands by way of Ornament, in Time of Peace. Saul threw one of theſe Javelins at Jonathan, while he ſat at Table with him. It was one of Theſe, that Joab thruſt through Abſalom. They were brought early out of Aſia into Uſe among the Greeks; for we find few, in Homer, kill'd by any other Weapon. Mr. Pope tranſlated unreflectingly, in calling it a Spear. What graceful Image can we form, of Hector brandiſhing two Spears? By Spear, we are to underſtand, a Pike. Whereas the Javelin was but a ſhort Staff, for caſting at a Diſtance. The Romans call'd it Pilum, and became ſo fond of it, that they affected to be thought Inventors of its Uſe: ſo much is certain, that they met no Enemy, who us'd this Weapon; for what elſe can Lucan mean, when, in deſcribing the Pharſalian War, he tells us that Piles threatened Piles? Had other Nations been ſo arm'd, This might have been the Caſe, in any of their Wars. But ſince the Uſe was proper to the Romans, to ſay Javelins againſt Javelins ſerv'd as ſtrongly to expreſs a Civil War, as if he had ſaid Romans againſt Romans.

The People of Rome could not have borrow'd it from Greece, becauſe we find in Livy, that They us'd it before any Intercourſe had yet been open'd with That Nation. And beſide, the Greeks themſelves had, then, diſus'd the Javelin: and been train'd to the Egyptian Practice, of long Pikes, of four and twenty Foot; in Bodies, which conſiſted of a Thouſand in the Front, and Sixteen Men in File: ſometimes, reduc'd to only Eight in Depth, the Ranks thereby extending to a double Length, when they would ſhun the Danger of being charg'd in Rear, by Enemies, who might out-wing them. In this Order, they compos'd a firm, im⯑penetrable, and, on plain Ground, ſcarce reſiſtible oblong Figure, call'd a Pha⯑lanx: where the Soldiers, arm'd defenſively with Helmets, Taſſets, Corſlets, Braſs-Boots, and Targets, cloſing Ranks, and propping and ſuſtaining one another, with their Pikes preſented over the preceding Shoulders, like the Quills of Porcu⯑pines, 'tis eaſy to imagine what Impreſſion ſuch a well-compacted Weight was capable of making; and how firmly It ſupported Charges from an Enemy; unleſs where Ditches, Hills, or other Inequalities of Ground, diſturb'd, and broke their Order into little Gaps, or Intervals, at which (as in the Example of Aemilius, againſt Perſes, at the Battle of Pydna) the Roman Legionary Maniples forc'd Entrance, and aſſaulting them in Flank, with their ſhort Swords, gain'd frequent, and conſiderable Victories.

As to the Pilum, 'tis moſt probable the Romans had it, with their Trojan Found⯑ers, who no doubt brought into Italy, All Weapons they had been accuſtom'd to, before their Emigration. Vegetius and Polybius, Both, deſcribe this Pilum, but a little differently. As far as can be gather'd out of Roman Tactics, It was a Staff, of weighty Wood, of four Foot long, excluſive of the Steel, one End of it was faſten'd into. This Steel Head was triangular, in Length two Foot, and very ſharply edg'd, and pointed; ſo that the whole Length of the Javelin was about Six Foot: It was largeſt, where remoteſt from the Iron (though ſometimes [77] they are deſcrib'd as double-headed): The poizing Place, for Graſp, was com⯑monly about an Inch and a Quarter in Diameter.

The Legionary Foot, All, carried this peculiar miſſile Weapon: and could hurl it with ſurpriſing Aim, and Force, againſt an Enemy. The Manner of their caſting it was thus—When the firſt Rank obſerv'd the Diſtance within Reach, they threw their Javelins, point-blank, and ſunk immediately upon one Knee, to give the ſecond Rank uninterrupted Sight, who, then, threw alſo, and knelt down, to give the ſame Advantage to the Third. And thus, when Ten whole Ranks had thrown ſucceſſively (which was diſpatch'd with an unceaſing Swiftneſs, and Agility), They ſtarted up together, with a general Shout, drew All their Swords at once, and ſo ruſh'd in upon the Enemy.

What terrible Effects have been produc'd by Javelins, we have innumerable Inſtances in Hiſtory: but none more worthy Notice, than That Great one, at Pharſalia; where Caeſar, with his uſual Skill, foreſeeing, that Pompey's Horſe, compos'd of the moſt warm, and fiery Spirits of the Roman Youth of the Patrician Houſes, would be endeavouring to fall in upon his Rear, on That Wing, where his own few Horſemen were exceedingly out-reach'd, by Pompey's, He plac'd, in oblique Line, extending from behind the ſo-expos'd and threatened Flank of Cavalry, ſix choſen Cohorts of his veteran Foot (which made about Three thouſand Men) and order'd Theſe, when they receiv'd the Squadrons in their coming round upon 'em, to aim All their Javelins at the Faces only of Thoſe gay young Chargers. It ſucceeded, to his Wiſh. The Horſe came furiouſly about: but ſtarting unexpectedly on this Reſerve of ſuch experienc'd Wounders, were receiv'd with ſo ſucceſſive Showers of Javelins, in their Eyes, Cheeks, Necks, and Foreheads, that unable to ſupport the Horror of ſuch maim'd, and miſerable Faces (for the Horſe had no Vant-braces to their Helmets), they All turn'd their Backs precipitately, and diſordering their own Foot, loſt Pompey that important Day; and gave the World to Caeſar.

Sect. 25. L. 5.—Then Gideon found it prudent to retreat.

There is no Chance, and moſt eſpecially in War, which ſo effectually, and ſuddenly, deſtroys the Intereſts of Men, as Want of due Diſcernment where to ſtop, in the ſmooth Race of Fortune. They ſee nothing but plain bowling Way, before 'em: and, if they ever look behind, it is not till their Rear is broken in upon. There is an Eye on every Side of Prudence, and ſhe ſees all round her. Gideon, who had ſo lately gain'd the Out-ſet of his Influence, by the Valour he had ſhewn in the Diſpute with Oreb, was to make Advantage, of the favourable Opportunity. As he was Leader, in this hot Purſuit, and ſaw, that he was follow'd by his Countrymen without Regard to Conſequence, He might have puſh'd the Enemy beyond the Hill, and made conſiderable Slaughter, as they paſs'd the River. But how, there, ſhould ſo diſorderly a Body have reſiſted, on plain Ground, the Re-inforcements coming up, to the Aſſiſtance of the flying [78] Enemy? In calm Debate, within Himſelf, he found the Hope of added Glory, from the Conqueſt, overbalanc'd, by a Certainty of loſing That already His, in caſe of Diſappointment, and Defeat in Hazard for it. He determines, therefore, to retreat, and guard the Safety of the People with him: on whoſe Favour he was now to build, for All the Promiſe of his future Fortune.

Sect. XXVII. L. 4.—Th' aſſembled Elders, o'er the City Gate.

The frequent Devaſtations brought upon the Jews, firſt, by the Princes of the Eaſt, then, by the Roman Emperors, and, in All Ages ſince, by the Reſentment and Revenge of Chriſtian Zeal, for ever warm againſt them, have ſo irrecoverably deſtroy'd their Records, that, excepting their Remains of Law and Hiſtory, pre⯑ſerv'd in the Old Teſtament, there can be nothing more obſcure, than the For⯑malities in Civil Government, obſerv'd by this unhappy People. Their Prieſts, who were the ſole Repoſitories of their Learning, Faith, and Ceremonies, have been cut off, almoſt to a Man, in general and commiſſion'd Maſſacres: and Op⯑portunities, which This produc'd, gave Room for Forgeries, and infinite Imper⯑tinence, and ſuperſtitious Dreamings, to their Rabbins, and their Talmudiſts. Nor have the Chriſtian Writers, to ſay Truth, clear'd more from the Confuſion, than appears to have been added to it. Joſephus liv'd at the ſame Time with Chriſt's Apoſtles, and is one of our beſt Guides, in Searches of this Nature; but, beſides that he is often not ſo full, as might be wiſh'd, his Countrymen had undergone ſo many Changes before then, that Ten Tribes of the Twelve were utterly extir⯑pated: and the Government, and Cuſtoms of the other Two, ſo different, in many of their moſt conſiderable Circumſtances, from the Inſtitutions left by Moſes, that for Matters of remote Antiquity we cannot ſafely reſt on his Authority. Thus much, however, may be gather'd, from his Teſtimony, and the Hebrew Model, as remaining in the Bible, that Each City had a Senate, of her Elders; that Theſe were generally Seven, with a Levite on each Hand, for Expoſition of their Law, and to record, as well as regulate, Proceedings. They ſat exactly in the Form deſcrib'd: The Place above the City Gate; to ſignify, that Juſtice was to guard, and circumſcribe, their Habitations. Theſe Senates of their Cities judg'd All Points of Right within their Diſtricts: but were under Check of an Appeal to Capitals of Tribes: the Cauſe might, there, be heard again, before the Prince of That particular Tribe; who had Election alſo of his City Senates: Laſtly, from theſe provincial Princes, lay Appeal, in final Termination, to the Sanhedrim: But, till the general Defection alter'd the Moſaic Order, Appeal lay from the Sanhedrim to the High-Prieſt; and His Deciſion was the laſt; and under Penalty of Death, to be ſubmitted to.—All which ſhall be progreſſively, made evident, in Notes upon the Books to follow.

Sect. XXX. L. 10.—Were, ſure, deſign'd by Heav'n, for wide Controul.

[79]The Accident, that had ſo lately given Occaſion of Applauſe on Gideon's Bravery, returning with a Royal Priſoner; and which had open'd to his Country⯑men an unexpected Promiſe from his Virtues; is the Point of Sight in his par⯑ticular Caſe, ſome one, of which, Men often are plac'd in by Fortune: but whence, if they have fit Diſcernment to make uſe of the Advantage, they find All their future Way more eaſy. They dazle, by their ſudden Splendor; and prevent Inſpection, by Exceſs of Luſtre. Like Men, who hold Dark-lanterns up before 'em, they preſent a ſtrong, but undiſtinguiſhable, Glare, behind which They Themſelves diſcern Things clearly, through the Light, which makes Thoſe blind, who look againſt them.

Such a Light enlarg'd the Influence of Gideon's Virtues. It is not from the Merit of the Truths, he has been recommending, that the Senators derive their Warmth of Admiration. A Man, to whom ſuch Sentiments were natural, would doubtleſs have expreſs'd 'em many Times before, when, yet, they had produc'd no ſuch Effect in Favour of the Speaker. But the Caſe is, now, grown different. It is not to Gideon, the Son of Joaſh, their Fellow Citizen, and old Acquaintance, they have all this while been liſt'ning. It is to Gideon made illuſtrious, by Applauſe and Wonder of the People. What had been common in the MAN, was grown prodigious in the Conqueror; and Words, which were, before, thought only worth Neglect, are found, by this new Light, to merit more than Admiration.

Every Thing we have heard of, Every Thing we admire, will be found, upon Reflection, to have been the Gift of Opportunity. Had not Lucretia's Death ſucceeded to her Rape; or ſome equivalent Excitement rous'd the till-then latent Indignation of the Roman People into Tranſport; Brutus would ſtill have been conſtrain'd to have kept on his Cloak of unexampled Diſſimulation; and the Hiſtory of His Times had wanted one ferocious Inſtance, that Diſguiſe of Paſſions can conſiſt with the moſt ſtern Inflexibility.

In the ſame City, the ſame Senate, and ſame People, who, while under Hope, or Fear from Pompey's Fortune, gave Conſent to all Indignities his Jealouſy could heap on Caeſar, and who, with a malignant Lazineſs, ſuppos'd him, in his Abſence, of no longer Conſequence, chang'd Diſpoſition in a Moment, and had, now, no Ear for any Thing but Caeſar.—Caeſar's Valour! Caeſar's Goodneſs! Caeſar's For⯑tune!—For they ſaw All This by the new Light, his unexpected March to Rome had lent 'em. The terrible Succeſs of ſo aſtoniſhing a Boldneſs taught 'em to conſider, as invincible, a Courage, that could meet ſuch Danger with a ſteady Eye. And That firſt daring Step drew Half the Nation from his Rival's Intereſt.

Sect. XXXI. L. 11.—So, wand'ring wide, he reach'd the Grove of Baal.

Baal was the Sun, and Aſhtaroth the Moon; at leaſt, they were moſt generally ſo reputed. But concerning theſe great Eaſtern Idols, and the different Accounts, in Writers, of their Forms, and Modes of Worſhip, much more might be noted, [80] than could be of Uſe, or Pleaſure, here.—It will be All the Subject calls for, to obſerve, that they were generally plac'd on Hills, with gloomy Groves ſurround⯑ing them. For they were worſhip'd in the open Air, becauſe it was ſuppos'd pre⯑ſumptuous to confine their Gods to Temples, who were Omnipreſent, and illimi⯑table.—Therefore, when the Hebrews (as they often did) fell off to the Idolatry of their next-bord'ring Nations, They made them Images, ſays Scripture, and planted Groves about 'em; and ſet up an Idol upon every high Hill, and under every green Tree; after the Abominations of the Kingdoms, which were round about them.

The Deſcription of the Grove of Baal, and of the Image, was to be as full, and circumſtantial, as it could be made; firſt, as it was a matter of Importance in the Story, there having really been, at Ophra, ſuch a Grove, and Idol; moſt of the Inhabitants, and even Gideon's Father, ſeeming to have been its Worſhip⯑ers: and ſecondly, as there aroſe poetical Occaſion, for an Ornament, from the Poſition, Figure, Grove, and ſolemn Picture of the Hill; which commonly was artificial, many ſtill remaining, in ſome Parts of Paleſtine.

Sect. XXXII. L. 17.—Where can we better Virtue's Race begin?

It is with a prophetic Spirit, Gideon's Zeal tranſports him in this Place; the ſacred Text diſcovering, that the Conſequences, of his cutting down the Grove of Baal, became the Means of raiſing him to a Capacity of gathering into one col⯑lective Body That firſt military Strength, to which he ow'd his own ſucceeding Triumphs, and his Country's double Reſcue, from the Arms, and Idols, of their Enemy.

Sect. XXXIII. L. 15.—Enough for Them, that 'tis by GIDEON meant.

From the Aid he here receives from the Ten Slaves, whom he had taken in the Cave, and ſaved their Lives, when ſentenc'd by the Senate, there ariſes ſeaſon⯑able Opportunity to ſpeak a Word or two, concerning Epiſodes, in general. They never muſt deſerve the Name, which Horace gives the independent Parts of ſome of his Cotemporary's Pieces; they are, inſtead of the DISJECTI membra Poetae, to be found attach'd, as well as beautiful. To heap together a wild Store of In⯑cidents unlook'd for, and ſurpriſing, will require but the Aſſiſtance of a lively Fancy. To chuſe which is fit, which not, This is a Buſineſs for the Judgment. There was, ſome time ſince, a Sheep, with a fine Top-knot on its Head: There was a little after, an Hungarian Girl, who had a Siſter growing to her Back. Both Theſe were Objects unexpected, and ſurpriſing; but they were, however, Monſters, and offenſively unnatural. They were like the Poems of Arioſto, (and I wiſh I could not add, ſome Paſſages in our Great Spencer's) into which a fairy Dance of incoherent light Adventures, of the moſt Romantic Model poſſible—if we except the Tales in the Arabian Night's unmatchable Extravagancies—crouded on, and wedg'd themſelves without Connection, Cauſe, or Conſequence; All, looſe, and [81] ſeparate, in their Natures, and yet ramm'd together by the Impulſe of the Poet's Spirit. In reading ſuch a Poem, I imagine it like looking down upon a Sea, where long Succeſſions of huge Surges after Surges, foaming from all Quarters, without Point of View to reſt upon, move Horror, tho', at the ſame time, they ſtrike with a wild Kind of Wonder, ſomething like Delight. The Whole amuſes the Attention: nothing leads it, in particular. A regular Epic Poet draws along the Mind, as Rivers do the Sight: however ſtrong the Current, and the Courſe tho' vaſt and winding, yet the Flow itſelf is orderly, the Force confin'd within its Banks, and if it takes in Epiſodical Brooks, it is, to deepen, not divide, its Chanel.

Should therefore this Deliverance of the Slaves have purpos'd nothing further, than to ſet off Gideon, and diſplay his Generoſity, the Contrivance had been flat, and wanted the Characteriſtic of an Epic Epiſode. For, while it could not be diſ⯑cern'd, that It had any Influence toward Advance of the main Action, the Reader would have thought their Hiſtory too inconſiderable to atone for the Digreſſion, they miſled him into. But the Intereſt of theſe honeſt Men becomes intitled to our whole Attention and Concern, as ſoon as we obſerve, that, from their Grati⯑tude, an Action is deriv'd, that gives Foundation to the great one, purpos'd by the Poem: and reflect, that no Men, leſs oblig'd, could have been drawn to a Participation, in ſo menacing a Danger.

It is probable, in actual Truth, that Theſe ten Servants, who, the Text ſays, aided Gideon, in the Night (for Fear of the Inhabitants of Ophra, and the Reſt of their own Family), were Perſons, whom He had engag'd to his particular Intereſt, by Effect of ſome uncommon Obligation; It being impoſſible they ſhould not have foreſeen the Uproar and Reſentment, which attended their Preſumption: and no Ordinary Temptation had prevail'd on Men of Their expos'd Condition, to pro⯑voke ſo viſible a Hazard.

It is the ſame again, in That next Epiſode; where the Defeat of Oreb's Party, and His being made a Priſoner, was not introduc'd to give a Proof of Gideon's Bra⯑very, but, from Effect of its Exertion, to poſſeſs him of the Public Admiration. I repeat the Obſervation, tho' already noted, to imprint Remembrance of this not to be diſpens'd with Requiſite, in Epiſodes, that they produce, and make Each other neceſſary; and contribute, All, to the Completion of the Epic Action.

I purpoſely abridge the ceremonial Rites of Sacrifice: not only as the formal Apparatus for, and Practice in 'em All (Burnt-Offerings, Peace-Offerings, Sin-Offerings, and the Reſt), may be particularly found, in the Moſaic Writings, but, as Gideon, in ſo unforeſeen a Call to the Occaſion, could not be expected to have come prepar'd for the Formalities; nor was he veſted, for it, with the Right of [82] Prieſthood: and He knew ſufficiently, by the Direction he proceeded under, that His Offering could need no Punctuality, to render it acceptable.

But over and above All This, there cannot be denied to riſe offenſive Images, from a too long Detail of Cutting up of Beaſts, waſhing their Bowels, broiling the Fat, and ſuch carnific Circumſtances. I conſent with all my Heart, to Lord Roſ⯑common's Notion of this Matter.

I hope I need not apprehend this Line in Danger to be look'd upon, as guilty of more Roughneſs, than It very well can juſtify, from what was touch'd in a preceding Note, concerning the Aſſimilation of the Sound to the deſcrib'd Idea. But, as the hard Rebound is owing here, to the ſelected Monoſyllables, I ought to add, in their Defence, that, us'd with any Choice, or Care, they are a Beauty, and Advantage; and both tune our Language and enrich it. I will wiſh no plainer Proof, in Favour of, than Mr. Pope has brought, againſt them.

By the Way, creep THROUGH, had better anſwer'd his Intention, than creep IN. But, if it had not been for our abundant Choice of Monoſyllable Words, how then could Mr. Pope have imitated, with ſo beautiful a Force, the very Fault he was expoſing? The Truth is, It is not a long String of ſuch ſhort Words, that makes Verſe jar upon the Ear.—Short Syllables, when they are Words, may, by judicious Intermixture of the Vowels, with the Conſonants, ſucceed Each other with as ſmooth a Cadence, as can Syllables, which are but Parts of Words.—The ſtudied Roughneſs, in this Verſe of Mr. Pope's, ariſes only from a refluent Relu⯑ctance of its Accents to concur, in That Inſertion into one Another, which is ne⯑ceſſary, to make Words harmonious. I could ſhew a thouſand Monoſyllable Lines, in Mr. Dryden's, and great Numbers, too, in Mr. Pope's own Poems, than which nothing can be capable of a more exquiſite Smoothneſs.—It is eaſy to derive the ſame Proof, even from Blank Verſe, and Milton, where it ſeems leaſt reaſon⯑able to ſuppoſe too nice a Care of Softneſs, from Selection of his Syllables.—In Eve's Reproach of Adam, for Example, Paradiſe loſt, the Ninth Book.

She ſpeaks it of the Devil; and the Author, therefore, will be ſcarce conceiv'd to have endeavour'd this ſweet Flow of Monoſyllables. Verſe compos'd ſo, never [83] carries Roughneſs, where due Care is taken, that the Syllables are heavily, or lightly ACCENTED, in juſt Proportion to the Senſe, they move with. But, in Mr. Pope's, the Words are purpoſely ſo choſen, that Each Syllable requires Emphatical Expanſion: and, in That Caſe, there can be no Muſic, for the very Reaſon, that makes Difference betwixt the Tolling out one Bell, and ringing a whole Belfry.

I have omitted a ſhort Note, which ought to have been plac'd in the Beginning, The Reader will obſerve, I commonly make Choice of the Appellative, He⯑brews.—The Word Iſraelite is no more fit for Poetry, than Children of Iſrael: To have call'd 'em Jews had been a viſible Abſurdity; ſince That was a poſterior Name, on their Reduction to Two Tribes, and the excluſive Kingdom of Judah only. The other Ten Tribes, till their final Extirpation, own'd no Name but their Original one, of Iſrael. Their general Appellative, among the bordering Aliens, ſeems to have been Hebrews; which effectually includes 'em All; and was deriv'd to 'em from Heber, Sixth, in Aſcent, from Abraham; and Second, from Arphaxad, Noah's Grandſon.